Sunday 10 January 2010. A small turnout

Barry was leading an MTB outing from Brandon Country Park today, and I'm keen to hear how it went. Personally, I don't have a suitable machine in reasonable order, so I skulked indoors. However, I did spot an intrepid group who were certainly not put off by the snow. In fact they carried on, riding in the headlights of their team car. There was a time when I would have done the same. It was 1984, and our club - the VC Free Press brought the Beaujolais Nouveau from Beaune to Cambridge. This has to be done on the third Thursday in November, so not ideal riding conditions. Day one took us from Beaune to Epernay, mostly in pouring rain, and with considerable trouble with the tubs that several riders were using - getting the wheels dry enough to stick the new one on after a puncture was the problem. Our absentee host at a Chapagne Vinyard (we slept in the pickers' dormitory) left us a large fridge FULL of label-less bottles of the house product. The fifteen of us felt duty bound to finish the lot. Day two was Epernay to Calais; 225 miles it turned out to be and for the final 100 there were only four of us still on the road. We reached Calais at 2.30 in the morning having done just what these plucky little chaps have done for the final fifty miles or so, in snow that was over 4" deep. By eight the next morning we were climbing the hill out of Dover, headed for Cambridge. It had felt that this would be the easiest bit, and really hardly any distance at all. By 6pm at the Free Press Pub, we knew otherwise. SJH

Twelfth Night, but no Drama.

Definitely the core of the ride on this wintery Wednesday. There were clear roads for Tom-Tom, Peter H, Justin and SJH all the way to Alder Carr, which had closed its Cafe until (maybe) February. The disappointment was all the greater because Justin had confessed to never having been this most superior of Farm Shops, and we were looking forward to introducing him to its delights.

We are a group not easily cast down by life's vicissitudes, so back into Needham to search for tea. We found, inside a building that Susan and I had visited last May and had a rather indifferent experience, a new enterprise and a warm welcome. Our waitress was more than a match for Peter (terror of the tea room) Heath.

"Can we have a pot of tea . . . . and can we have a jug of hot water to go with it?"
"We do that anyway"
"I'd like a cheese scone - and can you pop it into the microwave for ten seconds?"
"We always do that"

Not only all that, but we were served loose tea, home made scones with jovial service. All this at the double fronted place near MSDC offices, I don't think that it has a name yet. Needham is a bit close for normal weather, but in special circumstances this could be a life saver.

At the café Pete gave a discourse on the Building of the Cathedral Tower, via a few anecdotes gleaned from Horrie Parsons, the Project Manager for the task, which he delivered at an excellent talk he attended recently. What a project; if you wish to be delighted and entertained for ever, then Pete's your man and the tower's the subject. It was, in fact truly fascinating.

T-T suggested that we risk the Creetings rather than the main road, and he was correct, but ominous clouds that looked like wet grey sheets - with pleats in them were developing fast to the north east as we wound our way down through 'Toy Town' to Stowmarket. Fine sleet began as we passed through Borley Green, and became heavier as we went through Woolpit (refusing T-T's offer of a snifter of Bushmills at The Old Police House in favour of getting home safely). Snowflakes were getting fatter, and had settled on the traffic island with A1088, getting heavier as we neared Norton. The glasses needed a regular finger across the lens to be able to see anything. I was dropped off at my door, just grabbing the pic above featuring Peter waving farewell.
I later heard that Justin and Pete got home OK. My total was 32.6 miles. 14.2mph.

Everything's white outside now, 3/4 hour after getting home.

3 January 2010. Bright, Cold, Crisp and Scarey

A modestly attended ride of three, possibly certifiable, participants. Paul Callow, Paul Rooke and me. On our way out of town we met Deane, wrapped in the safety of his 2.7 litre Audi and heading for B&Q. When a cyclist prefers DIY to a ride, something is amiss. That something was possibly just what we three had overlooked; the danger of falling or being knocked off our bikes through a lack of skill/lapse of concentration by ourselves or a motorist.

Westley roundabout, head for Fornham, tempted to turn left to Risby - go a few hundred yards and change our minds. Lots of black, and some white ice. We end up going through Fornhams and left towards Culford, just keeping to the treated roads - though they still had a fair amount of hard-frozen slush down the middle of each carriageway. As we travelled northwards there was more snow on the fields, making for absolutely stunning views in brilliant sunshine (you had to be there). King's Forest was enchanting - but sheltered from the sunshine, and thus requiring quite a bit of concentration. Just as well Paul C was concentrating, and was thus able to warn us that about eight Does were hurtling at the road from the right. As we watched, slack jawed in amazement, they crossed at about 18mph, each one doing a leap and a shake of the hind legs at the same spot as they passed. Breathtaking sight. And the bloke with the camera did nothing.

A quick dash along A11 (less than a mile) at Elveden and first right down to Barnham, hoping to get through to Euston. Well, we tried Barnham village, but as you can see below, it was going to be a very, very difficult couple of miles. The white stuff you see was rock hard and polished. We gave up. A whizz down a nearly deserted A134 brought us back to near Fornham, where I turned off to Gt Barton and home. 38 miles pretty slowly - but well worth it. No really. SJH

Grand Christmas Lunch. 16th Dec 2009

The big day arrives. There had been talk of a motorcade to Semer, in view of the all too seasonal weather conditions combining with at least five of us stricken down (but not yet out) with infections of varying severity to our chests, however we were seven on our bikes plus Tom Tom in a car, which prompts me to burst into doggerel, to the tune of "We three kings".

"We free guys from West Suffolk are,
Wearing smiles and travelling far,
Rede and Flowton, Diss and Offton,
Following Tom-Tom's Car"

December 16th has been a special day for Susan and I since the early eighties. The Restaurant the we ran in Cambridge was in a cricket pavilion built by public subscription in the 1930s to honour Sir Jack Hobbs, (aka "The Master") the Cambridge-born cricketer. 16th December was his birthday, and also the day that I first opened the restaurant in 1978 (not realising the significance). We only found out through John Arlott writing Hobbs's biography. John told us about the "Master's Lunch" which Sir Jack used to attend in London with cricketing friends and which was continued after Hobbs's death; the toast, in champagne, was "The Master". For years we had a Dinner at The Pavilion commemorating these two events for about 35 regular customers. Fixed price for the food plus all the wine you needed - ending with a Salmanazar of champagne (9 litres). (I just had the couple of glasses of shiraz with our meal at Woodlands.)

The journey there was very wintery, with fine snow and a brisk wind. Probably four of the chests shouldn't have been out in that - but it wouldn't be a Wednesday ride without an element of un-caution. When we arrived, we realised that the hand of another "Master" had been busy. Justin and Ann had been up at Semer days ago to deliver all the essentials for a festive table, and J himself was whizzing round like a Maitre D putting the finishing touches. Even party poppers! Justin also had a customized paper hat for me - with a compilation of photos taken over the year and a dedication that modesty forbids me to quote. Peter Heath rightly also had a special presentation. Our very own personalised navigation system, Richard "Tom-Tom" Seggar was presented with a bottle of Bushmills (and to deliver this, Peter carried a pannier) and a suitably cartographic card signed by a grateful public.

For the food, we had decided when booking that we would order individually - thus tailoring our intake to suit an eighteen mile ride home. Mine was a sophisticated bacon and sausage sandwich with lots of ketchup - others were more civilised, but then we had treacle tart and custard - Tony's garnished with holly and a smile.

The presentation ceremony was happy and informal and, as we now know, resulted in a good position for a half page version of one of the photos taken by a staff member. One with Peter's camera and one with mine (I'm still not certain which one was used). We had vaguely hoped that the weather would ease off a bit for the return. It wasn't actually snowing anymore, but there was a modest dusting on the smaller roads just enough to make the scene festive (see snap of festive scene approaching the humpy-back bridge at Chelsworth). Prize for best decorated bike goes to Tony, and his miniature Father Christmas clinging on to the tinselled handlebars (no sign of Justin's plastic Jesus). So, God bless us all, each and everyone. (Tiny Tim, Christmas Carol)