Rembrance Day Wednesday 2009.

"Let's go to Clare" I suggest to the Bus Stop Bunch as we take turns at guessing what the grudging morning's weather will do between 09:00 and lunchtime. Peter Heath arrives and tells us that we could go to Ipswich, and the new café at the new Dance East dance centre on the Quay (It's called Dance Eats, by the way. A gift for dyslexic jokes). I am sceptical. Curmudgeonly, even. But I give in to the general mood and we set off for what I just know is going to be an awful ride through Ipswich and out again. "It's somewhere different" said Peter "So's Gt. Yarmouth" I thought (having recently taken a trip there).

We were ten to start with. A surprise guest appearance by David Young, organiser of WSW's very own version of Rollapalusa (Saturday 21 Nov at Horringer Village Hall), Juliet McGuire (another time-juggling lady, who must turn for home early) T-T, Tiger-Tony, Jeff, Ron, Peter, Justin, Pete G & SJH.

Richard T-T led us on a superbly ingenious route, which took us through quiet, leafy suburban avenues - passing Christchurch Park just as the guns signalled the Silence at 11.00 - and emerging barely a quarter of a mile from the Quays. DanceEats is excellent, with efficient service from a chef in immaculate whites and top food at keen prices. My bacon baguette and pot of tea came to a credit-crunch beating £3 - and the ketchup came in a dish! Better still, the place is done out in club colours; red chairs, red logos on the windows - red doors to the loos. In fact I went a bit over the top with the snaps, the photo-ops were so hard to resist.

Photo points to make: In fairness to Jeff, these doors are inexplicably 10 feet tall - you probably need to be an architect to understand why (10ft = 3.05m - do your own calculations for spans, cubits & ells); There is more than one Peter Heath in one of the photos; Peter & Justin were able to rehearse one of the pauses in an upcoming production by U3A of a lesser-known Pinter play called 'The Tea Party'; No actual mirrors were used; No cyclists were mistreated in the course of the photo shoot.

As you will see if you follow the Dance Eats link, they have no photo of the really impressive building they've spent a fortune of our money building. I guess they're working on it but . . . . . . it does seem a bit odd. Just check out the staircase and chandelier. After an extended tea we rode along the quay to the floating restaurant the used to be called Il Punto but was renamed Mariners (How dull) so that we could have a group shot. We couldn't find a suitable group, nor anyone prepared to shoot them, so I took a photo instead. After this further delay, T-T threaded us out of Ipswich very skillfully, using an old cycle-commuting route that took us under the A14 to Spraughton. Thrilling. Sixty miles covered, but not home until 1.45, mainly due to enjoying Ipswich. My apologies for being a curmudgeon at the start. SJH

November 8, 2009. A well-ordered Espresso ride

In the week that Johnny Helms died, we had the perfect Helms dog run out from a garden to our right, and straight into the bunch at third wheel. How we avoided falling in a heap I am uncertain - perhaps the spirit of Helms was watching over us. The mutt whirled round and ran back from whence he had come without being hit -how? It was white, and terrier-like and we were lucky.
This happened on our way back from Bressingham but I can't recall exactly where - though I'll recognise it next time we pass. Some cottages on the right, we nearly always pass them on the way home from Diss, watch out for the dog. After a fairly extensive trawl through the net, would you believe that I couldn't find a single cartoon with a dog in it, innit?

Surviving this incident were: Julian, Justin, Neil, Martin, Pauls R, C, & B, Glynn, Ron, Deane & SJH.

With the wind from the NE, Bressingham was a no brainer. The pace was remarkably steady both out and back. We had two punctures, one for Paul Barry and one for Julian (unencumbered by family on this occasion). Brownie points all round as the short-ish (60m) distance meant we were all back by lunch time. I slightly livened things up by stealing Neil's bike as we left Blooms. Previous research has established that use the same saddle height and spd pedals, so jumping on and pedalling away was simplicity itself. Neil looked comfortable on fixed for the first time in ever so many years, lasting until Redgrave before requesting a swap. I must say, his Tarmac Pro seems to weigh about 5/8 of f*** all and require minimal effort in the propulsion department - plus, of course, that amazing trick of being able to stop pedalling! - Will freewheels catch on? Some say it's just an unnecessary over-complication, others see it as the way forward. The jury's still out. Take care out there. SJH

Wednesday 4th November. Spencers Again

Was it only ten days ago that I navigated the Espressos (Espressi?) to this remote watering hole in the tangled Essex/Suffolk borders? Yes.

The other week we had the Eagle landing, in the form of Glen Grant. This week it was The Man From The Land Of The Condor. Now fully acquainted with Ecuador, our globe trotter Neil Dykes honoured us with his presence. We never take these migratory visits for granted, we are truly grateful for the sunshine and vitality that Neil brings to our parochial existences. As my tea time picture shows, Sharon is having to shield her eyes from the dazzle of Neil's effortless charisma.

As would be expected of such a seasoned traveller, Neil left nothing to chance. He made absolutely sure that if he was going to set out on a ride without spare tube, tyre levers, pump or money then the ride to choose would be this Wednesday's edition. Pete Gay was buying the teas in memory of a recent birthday and, when the inevitable puncture occurred there was no shortage of help with the entire operation. If you've remembered to attach your pannier for that round the world trip you've always promised yourself, the most important item to pop into it is LUCK.

This trip to Spencers, unlike the Espresso jaunt, contained riders who knew the way. I didn't let this deter me from leading. And following the same teasing route. And there were the same protests at the same point, and I ignored them again. Then we (I) took a left turn too many, which swung us a touch too far south, necessitating a swing westwards to Gestingthorpe (and missing out Belchamp Walter). Down in this area the land is quite sharply rumpled, producing a great many short sharp ascents that can be quite tiring. This lumpiness exposed the revelation that Sharon is not, after all, bionic. A 10k run the day before (fitted into a normal day's fitness and Pilates classes) followed by an 05:15 start to today, with a class completed before joining us - was beginning to take its toll, and the tea stop came just at the right time. It was about a couple of miles short of Spencers that Neil had his puncture. Naturally, most of us sped off to the Café so that we could sit down while we waited. We were greeted perfectly well, but the puncture party were very brusquely dealt with and only grudgingly led to join the rest of us. Justin was unimpressed, and mentioned as much to the lady in charge of the Farm Shop (different ownership). The struggle across unfamiliar territory may not be worth it if there's only a dusty welcome at the end . . . . . though thexperience was redeemed this time on account of Pete G picking up the tab. Many thanks.

T-T led us on a route that skirted to the west of Sudbury on a skilfull selection of quiet roads that were not too muddy, flinty or thorny. I still managed to get a puncture. Pearson's first. If you can imagine a bicycle having an expression, Pearson's was one of startled dismay - akin to a horse encountering a carrier bag. Rear wheel, as is the case with more punctures than would be expected using probability as a guide, but quite quickly dealt with. It's always location of the hole and then the cause that takes the time. I had more help than I could imagine that I deserve, including having my tyre pumped up and Justin slipping me a wet one (it's a moist hand cleaning tissue, since you ask).

Somewhere round this area, in the last three weeks, I remember that Richard and I saw a grass snake emerging from the verge, fat and smooth and green. We realised that neither of us had seen one before. Just thought I'd mention it. Can't remember why we didn't mention it to the rest of the ride.

As the pictures show, the weather was breathtakingly picturesque, and God's own county of Suffolk was displayed to perfection. The approach to Long Melford from Liston, past water meadows and over the river Stour. As we ambled homewards, Sharon faded a bit more - but graciously accepted that occasional push. I know from being on the receiving end what a life-saver this simple act can be - the benefit to the 'pushee' is vastly greater than the cost in effort to the 'pusher', and it can keep a ride on the move and get everyone home sooner than otherwise

The full composition of the peleton was Neil, Sharon, Justin, Peter H, Pete Gay, Jeff, Tiger Tony, T-T, SJH & Ron. I covered a bit over 60 miles. A lovely ride.

2 November 2009. WET, WET, WET, or Nine get Inundated.

It was dark, but there was no rain - just an occasional drizzle-y drop, as I rode up and down the A1088 filling in time before the Bury Bunch arrived, with the Thurston Contingent. Somehow or other, we must have passed my house about three minutes before Lindsay Clayton arrived; some time after the advertised 07:20, but crucial moments before the 07:30 that Lindsay thought she should be there.

There was more to come. I joined the front of the group, and didn't fully take in who was on board. Only later did Peter Heath ask "where's Jonathan?". We discovered later from his e-mail that the poor chap had a real, full-on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" puncture., just at the point where the ride turned right to Woolpit 'Nord' and A14. Being a relative newcomer he didn't immediately shout at the top of his voice, the magic word "PUNCHERRR!!!" which (usually) brings the most determined ride to a halt. So that was the end of HIS ride.

We rode into Woolpit and collected Richard 'TomTom' Seggar. 50yds further on, "BANGGss-Phssss-Phsssss-Phssssss-Phssssss" and Andy Davison's rear tyre gasped its last. As Andy tried to work out which of the several cuts in his tyre might be responsible for the puncture, Peter seized the victims spare tube collection and held it up in horror. Despite all this ritual humiliation by friends and sabotage by equipment, Andy was soon back in the saddle, and we headed off towards Onehouse where he decided finally to throw in the towel as it became obvious that the replacement tube was going down. He was going to go to his mother's house nearby, he said.

So now we were nine. The wind was getting stronger, and the rain was getting harder, and we were riding directly into this combination of elements. Following the original A45, through Needham Market and on past Baylham and Great Blakenham, dropping two consonants to reach Akenham then Whitton and the cycle route into Ipswich via Old Norwich Rd. Weather now pretty much as advertised on the forecast over the last week. We pause to phone ahead and tell Bonnet's that we are down to nine instead of sixteen (how polite is that? How thoughtful? Justin's sense of propriety and etiquette, even when dripping wet, never ceases to amaze). Despite the comparatively main road route, motor traffic has been almost non-existent so we continue through Central Ipswich.

Another puncture. Peter this time. We (well I am) are getting cold if we stop for more than a minute or so. We begin to see Felixstowe on the road signs (in as much as we can see anything - my prescription polaroids are becoming an increasingly less good idea). TT takes us off the main drag, to go through Levington. This is an extremely lumpy section; very short but steep climbs immediately followed by descents which are immediately . . . . well, you get the idea.

Out onto main road for a terrifying while, then onto the cycle route to Felixstowe. This isn't that wonderful either; the road is reduced to a sort of cycletrack width, with 'passing places'. The main snag is that it isn't one way. Cars are coming towards us at speed. In the gloom. With a couple of feet to spare. The final section seemed to go on for a very long time, while feeling as if we are only yards away from our destination. The weather is getting even rougher, and we are grateful to have Deane on the front, hunched into half a gale, hauling us through the driving rain as we dodge cars both parked and moving plus the occasional smashed pumpkins.

As we fight our way down the final street to Bonnet's, the wind gets wilder still. We walk our bikes round a corner to reach the semi-secure parking area down a narrow passage to the rear of the café (just WHO in their right mind would want to steal a bicycle today?). Stagger back round, hanging onto lamp posts and railings to avoid being blown over the rooftops and back to Bury St Edmunds. One or two of us were carrying enough personal ballast and gravitas to make this not too much of a real and present danger; but I feared for the sub-ten stoners.

Our welcome was surreal in its warmth and poise. We were a bedraggled and leaky lot, dripping water where ever we went - and even more so when we stood still. Our 'coats' were taken to be put in a drying area! We were treated like the the most distinguished guests, which was the last thing that we actually felt like. Up the stairs to a large and elegant dining room, and a table laid for nine, replete with spotless linen napery and gleaming silver. Deane found his sea view at the head of the table anything but comforting, as the dark beige waves hurtled shorewards with foam-flecked anger, driven by the howling wind. He also put today's heroics in perspective when he pointed out that he'd had the same weather as this all the way from London to Edinburgh and back, earlier this year in the Inaugural LEL Audax.

Our food was excellent, and all the various extras and deletions had been recorded. The staff were very patient and good humoured as we led them through the complexities of which food would not be required, and who was who and who wasn't here. Yes we had a Justin but not a Julian; yes we had two Stephens and a brace of Pauls; yes we had a T-T-Richard (singular and irreplaceable) and tea-taster Peter, indestructible Dean and multi-athlete Tricia. Steve Mayes and I can vouch for the Eggs Benedict with bacon and (in my case) and extra egg. Generous cappuccinos and ample tea (that matched Peter's high standard). The only hitch was my missing croissant, which I eventually ate while paying - it would have been entirely understandable had they considered that I'd eaten enough already. After at least an hour in the warm glow of Bonnets, it was out into the (still howling) gale and (still lashing) rain.

With the wind mostly at our backs, we retraced. I was fortified by Justin's kindness in lending me a Helly-Hansen base layer to add to my existing two. What rider carries a SPARE base layer? We avoided the Levington loop and stuck with the main (but not A14) route back to eastern Ipswich, a bit (but still rather more than was enjoyable) of ring road then off into the countryside again. The traffic was now quite heavy and mostly barking mad, but unfortunately not heavy enough to come to a standstill. Vehicles were all hurtling through standing water, some even without lights, passing within inches of us and narrowly avoiding head-on collisions with the headless chickens coming the other way.

In our desire to get it over with ASAP, and powered by the thundering tailwind, we found ourselves reaching 26/7 mph and starting to split. Sense prevailed and order was restored. We nearly lost Dean at a large island when he hurtled off to the right; we needn't have worried about such a seasoned Audaxer losing his way . . .

They lanes brought us some crosswinds, and also puncture number . . . . how do we count this? Jonathan's at the beginning, Andy's first in Woolpit and second gradual one at Onehouse followed by Peter's in Ipswich, and now Paul Callow's somewhere west of Ipswich makes five!

We were now getting to more familiar lanes and roads, the signs mentioned Needham and Stow Markets, the rain was easing. Fatigue was higher than expected for such a comparatively short ride (I ended with 71, and the Bury Bunch around 84). Tricia was feeling the effects of "the longest run I've done in ages" which she was rash enough to do on the day before . . . . . . . .

We kept together until routes to different home addresses split us, which was commendable. after Woolpit we didn't mislay anyone. Are we learning how to do this? Certainly a ride that will grow in heroics as time goes by and the tale is retold around the virtual campfires.

What a day.

And finally - we know what Bonnets meant by this note, (pictured on the right) but somehow it doesn't come across quite right.
Oh, and not forgetting Tricia's Garmin Map

28 October, and Six out of Nine Wheelers choose Club Colours

Bright, low, sunshine yet again for the start of a ride. And yet again we set off southwards from the Bus Stop. Both Sharon and Mike are sportily sporting shorts - and it's almost warm enough at 09:00 now that the clocks have gone back. I used to have trouble remembering which way the time went when it was moved. Now I have a fix for this uncertainty, but it involves a term for Autumn more generally found in the US (well, for about 300 years). "Fall back; Spring forward" there, simple. The almost misty conditions made an attractive start and, as you can see, red was very popular

We welcome the return of TomTom's chum John from the Channel Islands (not all of them, naturally, but in a senior moment I can't recall which), and also hail the presence of future Star Esther Colman (she who slept at the tea stop on Sunday) who is to appear at the Manchester Velodrome 'Revolution' meeting on 14th November. She was with us to ensure that Julian got home safely, of course.I mentioned to Esther that it was good to see so many club Jerseys, I added that Adi had noticed that Wheelers were easily noticed in a racing bunch on the track, and then I mentioned that recent research had tended to indicate that the wearing of red gave sporting teams enhanced morale. I supported this by observing that "It hasn't done Manchester United much harm". There was a pause; then Esther said, hesitantly, "I don't follow football, are they quite successful?"

A you can see from the link, there were over 67,000,000 hits on Google. But I like a fresh and unspoilt view of the world. Well done, Esther, for your independence.

Mike Cross's tyres stayed inflated, but there was a puncture; but another senior moment (or even a blond one - I have double the risk) draws a veil of uncertainty over the victim's name.

We had an excellent tea at Hollow Trees, again, and enjoyed more sunshine for our return journey, when we turned right out of the tea stop car park, then right again, and yet again, following a selection of the many tiny lanes in that triangle of Suffolk south of Brent Eleigh. A total of 50 miles for me, and most enjoyable. SJH

Sunday 25th October. Where is Spencer's?

Belchamp St Paul? Walter? Otton? Well actually, none of these, it turned out. Wickham St Pauls was where it was, further south than the nest of Belchamps west of Sudbury - but reached via those villages.

I only mention this because Adi suggested we go to Spencers but didn't know how to get there. I sort of did, having been a couple of times with Justin at the helm, so I was to lead us there. Barry would get us out of Bury and on our way. We were 15. We had three Pauls but no Walters. P Callow, P Rooke and P Barry - and then Barry, and Glynn Smith and Graham Smith, then Deane Hill and Stephen Hill, Esther Colman and Julian Colman (the only ones actually related), Ed Bucknall, Martin White, Adi G, Dr Tom and Tricia Dennison (whose Garmin-generated map decorates the foot of this Blog). Nathan put in a dramatic but brief appearance which came to an end when he confused the beginning of a club run with the bunch sprint at the end of a Belgian Classic before the ride had left Cornhill. A buckled front wheel and torn Assos clothing added up to an expensive morning (I later heard from Julian).

No surprises or originality in the early stages, as we made our way south to Glemsford on the B1066 (choosing to ignore the easier option of a right turn in Boxted, so that we could tackle the short, but challenging 'Cote de Monk's Hall').

At the foot of the hill from Glemsford down to the A 1092 Long Melford-Cavendish Road, Barry had his first puncture in about two years. Four minutes later, he had his second. Both down to glass. The second deflation came shortly after I had taken a controversial left turn, which led some to question my navigation - there had been shouts of "wrong way" from behind. I had ignored them. Glynn & I mischievously wondered if the following cries of "puncture" were just a desperate final ploy to get us to stop and turn round. Hard faces and deaf ears were employed. Julian came up from the puncture party, to finally check that I hadn't gone mad. I assured him that we were headed the right way. My way.

Shortly, we picked up the route that I hoped we'd find; one that was discovered by mistake on a recent Wednesday that took us through Borley and Borley Green (not to be confused with Borley Green near Woolpit). We then branched off to Belchamp Walter (not to be confused with the Prince of the Softies) and on, on and on, through Gestingthorpe, to join the B1058 heading towards Bulmer, looking for the signs advertising 'Spencers'; shortly before we saw these, however, we saw a nut-brown lady cyclist who purposefully turned off to the right and, assuming (erroneously) that she would be in need of a tea-stop we followed and accosted her with confused requests for affirmative directions. She was pleasant, friendly but, when it came down to it - utterly useless. We bade her jolly farewells, returned to B1058 and, about a mile further we took the right turn to Wickham St Paul's, continued in the faith and on the unstraight and narrow to the deep gravel of Spencers Farm Shop.

When I first came here on a Wednesday, I remember that a lady arrived on horseback and, staying aboard her mount, leaned through an open window and had a conversation with a customer. How deeply rural, I thought. No horses this time and, under new management since April, there are more staff of lesser age to bring us our teas and scones and cakes. I vividly remember the brightly-coloured jam; not quite the quality we have come to expect in Suffolk Tearooms; a bit worrying.

Return journey was a straightforward blast through Sudbury via Ballingdon Hill (obviously, I got dropped going down this no-nonsense dead straight dose of 1 in seven) to Long Melford (how surprisingly quickly the Long Melford sign appears, after leaving Sudbury. There, but for the Green Belt, would Long Melford have disappeared). In Melford's High Street Dr Tom demonstrated just how easy it is to a track stand.

At Spencers, Esther Colman took a power-nap at the table - and in my other snap, my camera shows the effect of a hot back pocket on picture quality.

23rd October '09. When Wednesday fell on Friday

We didn't intend to keep this a secret. Only when we were setting off (Tony, Peter, Richard and I) did it dawn on us that we should've emailed the Wednesday List. And then there's the awful thought that someone truly intrepid might just possibly have shown up on the Wednesday Wednesday.

Destination Crockery Barn, route courtesy of Richard. Both Peter and I had checked the map before coming out, and noticed the lack of choice of roads in the area near to Ashbocking. Richard found the ones that we didn't see. The weather was as perfect today as it had been awful on Wednesday, the only snag being the very low sun, which shone not only into our eyes, but also (of course) into the eyes of any following drivers. An incident free ride brought us out of a tiny lane almost opposite the Crockery Barn. The small café area was humming with business, but a table was easy to find since we were only four. We discovered from the owner that the reason for closing on Sundays (there had been a notice) was lack of demand. Apparently Sunday trade had gone down to about 6 customers. He did say, however, that if we told him in advance and there were enough of us, they would arrange something. We had permutations of scones, jam, butter and cream. Two jam no butter, one butter no jam and mine - cream, jam and an extra scone. No wonder I'm two and a half stone heavier than any of them. We then settled down to discuss politics - well, the question of Question Time and the awful Mr Griffin - then swerved away to the lighter topic of Master Chef. On the way back (idyllic, as the picture shows) there was more chat, and Peter told me the fascinating tale of the Large Blue butterfly on Dartmoor, and how it nearly became extinct despite the best endeavours of ecologists and the like, and how it turned out that all their best efforts had been woefully misjudged, and had actually caused the near-demise.

When I tried to give the flavour of our wide ranging conversations (there were further topics, but time and space prevent any more examples) to Susan, she just said "sounds like Last of the Summer Wine" Perhaps she's right. If so, who is going to apportion the characters? There's a project.

Our Friday project yielded just about sixty very pleasant miles.