By Flandria to Sandringham. 24 July 2011

Bury St Edmunds impressed the organisers of last year's Tour of Britain, and the ToB impressed Bury, to the extent that the Council stumped up the ante to do it again. So we have another East Anglian stage - and it starts in Bury and finishes, courtesy of HMQ, at Sandringham. This year there was a 'Tour Ride' in aid of (and run by) The Prostate Cancer Charity. It's a British 'Étape du Tour' - except that the French don't 'do' Charity like we do. They feel that the care of the sick is the Government's business (C'est pour quoi nous payons nos Taxes, mate). I leaned that nugget of cultural background when I was attending French lessons at WSC. And there will be those who will glance at my parenthetic aside, and wonder what I actually did during said classes.

Despite several full pages of editorial coverage in the EADT, and the handing out of leaflets at the last Club Meeting (first Monday of the month, 7.45, Club HQ, Shaker's Lane entrance of Priory School), there were hardly any Wheelers present at the start. A great many Stowmarket and Distracted CC, however. I observed to a S&DCC rider alongside me

"Good turn out for your Club; not many of our lot seem to be interested"
"And your lot being? . . . . ."
(I was in full New Club Strip)
"West Suffolk Wheelers"

"Oh. Anyway I've got a cold , coughing and sneezing and I haven't done a ride of more than fifty miles since January and I'm down for a hundred next week so heaven knows how I'm going to do do that I don't know if I'll make it this morning really what with so few miles in the legs and what with the cold and everything but I suppose I'll struggle with it as far as I can"

The struggle began just as soon as we swung out of the gates and up the bumpy and leafy lane (swerving to avoid a lady in pink as she coped with one of her behind-the-saddle bidons leaping out of its cage as she hit a pothole - and by the way what is the point of those devices? Without wishing to be rude, the lady is unlikely to be going fast enough to have serious aerodynamic problems and would be better of with the bottles where she can (a) reach them and (b) not loose them). We sweep past Justin who is lurking suspiciously, looking almost like someone who hasn't signed on and paid up. Left past Nowton village hall then join the A134. Straight up to 23mph.

There about four of us hitching a ride on the Stowmarket Express - but I'm the one without a ticket or, to continue with the analogy, the one in first class with a standard class ticket. Actually it is neither of the above; my ticket is clearly labelled 'Single. Lavenham.' Just before I decided to let the others go, we whooshed past a lady in WSW colours. When I checked the photos from the event (about six cameramen dotted around the course) you are just behind me as we climb towards the snapper. I had no idea. And I still don't know your name - and because you were out of focus identification is tricky. They say the camera doesn't lie, but in the picture I'm sharp; yet I was feeling distinctly unfocused at the point having averaged 22mph courtesy of S&DCC.

With the help of a cross/tail wind I managed to hang on to most of my hard-earned average (slipping a bit as I climbed out of Monk's Eleigh towards Semer - a bit early for tea, it's not eight yet) and still above what we used to call 'evens' (20mph) as I negotiated Hadleigh. The sun shone, the wind blew, the miles passed.

Along the A1071 towards Ipswich, still very early so far less traffic than when Sir Jack and I followed the same route in the Bury Bike Ride on June 12th. And I'm going faster. Down the hill into Ipswich at 30+ mph, I caught up with a couple of guys who'd passed me earlier, and hung on as we negotiated the Ipswich Crits towards Christchurch Park - where I went straight past the gates (to the probable amusement of the lady in a hi-viz gilet waiving riders in). OOps. Never mind, first left, follow the perimeter, make it look like I chose to go this way. soon back on course. Spot of climbing, Northwards. Since Lavenham I've so far found no one to team up with. They either flash past in a cloud of embrocation vapour, looking like lycra-clad greyhounds (Iceni Racing Team) or they are solo 'testers' of the sort who used to catch me for handfuls of minutes back in the day I was a middlemarker. Even if I could keep up I'd have been most unwelcome, draughting (or slipstreaming, or wheelsucking) being a big no-no in 'The Race of Truth' (and why bring 'truth' into a discipline where most riders tweek their times as a matter of course - 23m 01s becoming 'a long 22' in extreme cases). These chaps tend to be quite stocky, and aged 62. They beat me when I was 40, and they're passing me now. Slightly rolling style, often with knees outwards, grinding a massive gear with relentless power. Or, of course they're even slower than me. As a driver, I am used to classifying everyone; faster than me and they're lunatics, slower and they're a nuisance.

There was a surprise right turn on a straight section south of Diss (I think - much of the route is now just a blur) which I was pleased have not quite missed. I was actually passing the turn when I glanced down it - and saw the arrow nestling in the hedge. U-turn (another TT no-no) and saved one rider from missing it while missing saving another one who did (miss it). I rode in company with a guy who caught me up, for the last three miles to Diss - but I missed the sign to the drinks stop and he didn't. This wasn't a problem, in fact it was probably a bit quicker (but no shorter, I hasten to add).

After Diss and Shelfhanger I was passed by a couple of guys who started in Diss. I stayed with them, and we worked for a while, until it became apparent that one of them was seriously slow on anything like a climb. I waited twice (self interest, it was a strong crosswind) but then they dropped just too far back and carried on. After Dereham, when we turned WNW to Sandringham, the wind was almost head-on and getting stronger. Probably our graphs were crossing - I was getting weaker at the same rate as the increase in windspeed. I needed help.

Grabbed a gel and, as I had stopped (gels can be disgustingly sticky and messy) a rider passed me. I recognised him as having passed me early on, and spent the next three miles catching him up. He was clearly suffering as much as I was, but without the motivating effect of having something to chase. Perhaps I should clarify that term; this wasn't "chase" as in a road race, this was "chase" as in very, very slowly gain on another tired rider. I had rehearsed my introduction.

"Why don't we ride together?" I suggested "I been trying to catch up for the last three miles or more. I'll go in front first then you take over"

"OK"

Something had given me the impression that my new best friend hadn't done this sort of thing before - and this proved to be the case, but he caught onto the idea v quickly and, after we'd finished he said he was so impressed with the possibilities of group riding that he thought that he would try and join a Club. Unfortunately, he lives in Sudbury. Unfortunately again, the results website isn't operational any more so, though I looked up his name, I've forgotten it and can't go back to check.

We made much better progress as a two-up, our speed lifting from 14mph to 18 - 19mph as we fought back against the wind and the grippy, heavy Norfolk road surfaces. Sandringham at last! Then a bit of Estate Road, then left and another, then right then left then barricades that the crowds had been drilled to bang on for each arrival, two sweeping curves - feeling Tour de France-ish, get ready for the hands in the air . . . . and round last, blind bend they took the tarmac away and it was a rough shale section, like cyclo-cross, with big lumps randomly distributed here and there. Rather spoilt the effect. But it could take the shine off the relief felt by me and my NBF. A sniff over126 miles in 7hrs 40m.

Its just so wonderful when you stop.

SJH

SJH & Sir Jack's Long Day's Ride

Sunday 12th June began as a morning of brilliant perfection to the extent that I thought that I might be overdressed (though my wardrobe choices had been dictated by the ambient of 8c that greeted me when I wheeled 'Sir Jack' from the garage). All around in the sunlit Abbey Gardens, cyclists in shorts and short sleeved tops looked casual, confident and fit as butchers' dogs. Sir Jack leant casually against a tree (see photo) but as you can see, his attempt to engage in conversation the top-of-range Basso failed utterly. So he turned his back. There was a very reassuringly high proportion of our 'new' Club Strip on show, as we shared our consternation that the route was (as the posters advertising the event had made completely clear) 'all new'. I stared at my copy, pretending to memorise it. Parts of the route, and its overall shape remained in my brain, along with the overall impression that there wouldn't be much climbing. During the ride I relied on the brilliant way-marks at every turn. This decision was made easier when my copy of the route was blown out of my bicycle basket at around 15 miles. We who were about to ride a hundred miles went off at 08.15 (ish) which was a full hour before the other rides. Even with the early start I was concerned that I might not get back before 5pm when the finish would pack up and go home, and I also worried that we would actually start a bit late (like last year).
In past years the hundred attracted only the most committed cyclists. With the huge increase of participation in 'Sportive' events creating a much larger pool of riders, we were 60 at the start this year. The slight downside to the 'Sportive' upsurge is that many who participate don't actually ride with others very much, and lack some of the basic skills and courtesies. I enjoyed the occasional moment when, having been passed on a climb by an erk who didn't respond to my olde-worlde greeting, I would gradually haul him back in on the flat and then sit on his wheel for a few miles before the next climb. It was the frequent slight turn of the head to see if I was still there followed by an attempt to drop me. Hah! once you've got 23 kilos of steel and heavy-duty rubber rolling along the flat, it keeps on going. Floriat Momentum, I say.
I had a clear idea in my head that by the top of Mount Rd I would be on my own, watching a tight bunch of hardmen disappearing down the road but, because of the numbers and resulting bunching on the hill, the last road-biker didn't pass me until near Lavenham. Several groups and pairs overtook me several times because I didn't stop at the designated feed stations. I was particularly pleased to be passed three times by the group that included a Junoesque young woman with a slight German accent who had ridden behind and then alongside me in the first five miles. She was impressed by my single gear (if nothing else). On the final two passes she was towing the blokes along.

One guy overtook me on a short climb just west of Hopton - but I caught him a couple of miles later (see photo) and, after a bit of a chat, he became the only rider that I dropped on a climb. Now some would say that I should've offered him a wheel, but charity would have been a lot to ask after 80 miles - and I doubt he'd equal the £3 a mile that I was getting for the Multiple Sclerosis Society. So, time for a plug for my sponsors.

Thanks to long tailwind sections, and the fact that heavy old 'Sir Jack' would freewheel at 16mph with the slightest of downward gradients (plus a new route that had no serious climbs) meant that an average of 14 to 14.4mph could be held for the first 50 miles. As the wind became stronger and unfavourable, with spots of rain becoming proper showers I no longer felt overdressed - and not as fresh as I had when the ride was young. My two-stop strategy served me well, taking on more supplies from my team car just twice for a total time penalty of five minutes. The route passed within yards of our house, and the final 30 miles remained within 10 miles of home, so Susan and Polly were able to provide refills for bottles and re-stocking of fig rolls, energy bars and dried apricots.
A bicycle basket is absolutely perfect for this sort of ride, everything needed is there, laid out (and bouncing around from time to time). I grazed and slurped at regular and frequent intervals for the entire ride - which may explain how I was able to complete the ride in a shade under seven and a half hours - half an hour inside my target of eight hours (which really was just plucked out of the air as a time that might be possible, but only if I was lucky). In fact, including being given the medal to which all finishers were entitled and then riding 7 cold and wet miles home I was still inside the my projected time. Total mileage for the day 114 miles.
The high point of the final section, as I grovelled up from the Honington crossroads battered by a bad tempered crosswind was the sight of a slight and welcome figure of Rich 'Tom Tom' Seggar riding towards me. With his '50' already under his belt, and the rain beginning to get serious, here he was prepared to add another 25 miles to his total. As Polly's photo shows, I wasn't too proud to tuck in behind the senior rider.
A note on the Hat. When Andy Abbott came to take the photos for the East Anglian Daily Times, I crammed the trusty panama on my head to match the picture on the www.Justgiving.com/stephenjameshill web page. Then I though that I'd wear it for the start, so people could make the connection with the news story. I never considered that it would actually stay on. There were some ferocious gusts on my way round and, though there were occasions when I felt the brim flap about at no point did it feel that it was about to part company from my head. The only modification was that on fast descents (max speed 30.4mph) I had to flip the brim up rather than the customary down. In fact for most of the ride the hat stayed like that. Like a cowboy galloping to head 'em off at the pass.
Thanks to all who have donated to the MS Society via justgiving.com. I believe that the page remains open for another two weeks, so you didn't forget – you were just waiting until I'd actual done it

There are more photos on the West Suffolk Wheelers & Tri website's Picasa link


SJH

Go-Ride for Grown-Ups

In between Wednesdays and Sundays I tried the “Go-Ride for Grown-Ups” sessions at Priory School, run by Barry Denny. I was one of those 'happy to help but prepared to learn'. Mostly learning, I can now reveal. The first session was done entirely on the grass of Priory's playing field; all the basics, weaving in and out of cones, picking up drinking bottles from the top of one crate and putting them down on another (two laps passed before I got the hang of that). Riding side by side touching elbows? An interesting exercise. The 'cyclo cross' dismount, 30ft walking the bike just holding the saddle ditto scooting along with one foot on a pedal (best to get the appropriate foot and pedal combination sorted out. Will Curtin was keen to demonstrate that there wasn't an actually 'wrong' way to do this – but failed to convince) then swing the free leg over the saddle and off you go. Generations of cyclists over the whole of the twentieth century have mounted their bikes this way, and I still do this if I'm riding my trade bike. Guessing that we might be asked to do this, I had a go on my Mercian the day before; it's very different when your foot is clipped in and the bike is half as heavy. I fell in a heap on our paved forecourt, almost instantly. At least no one was watching. We also tried riding through a 'chicane' or 'slalom' two abreast, then three, then four then whooops! Perhaps not five after all. There was a fine 'scotch mist' or drizzle for a lot of the time, and the grass became very slippery. Barry kept telling us that we'd cut the session short because of the weather – but carried on until just ten minutes short of the scheduled finish.

The second session (Saturday 19 March) was the last of the two, and entirely on tarmac. More of the same – elbow to elbow, in and out of cones – PLUS going round cones (they are only a few inches tall, by the way) so that the front wheel goes one side and the rear goes the other. Every bit as hard as it sounds, until the penny drops and the technique develops. We did stopping in a box with feet clipped in, we went under the limbo pole, we clung on to a large, tethered wheelie bin with one hand, and then moved off, Barry and I demonstrated the possibility of two riders holding each other up, to a sceptical audience and we went on a miniature club run which, in the best tradition was split into two rides which wound their way around the roads near to Denny Bros. We saw Barry's group only once – and they looked very impressive, riding in pairs with arms on each other's shoulders. I fear that 'my' group looked a bit bit of a shambles until we got Lara's son on the front (he had the double penalty of a tiny bike, and being over twenty years younger than most of the group- and sixty years younger than some). Warm Sunshine made it a very enjoyable couple of hours. We really need more of these.

On most runs there are moments when you can see the gaps in riders' skill set. It's when we stop for someone's puncture, or wait for a long time before launching ourselves across a main road or (occasionally it happens) turning round in the road because we've taken a wrong turn that the difficulties show up. A hopping and scooting, wobbling and weaving, taking too long to clip in, inability to let go of the 'bars for more than a couple of seconds. Greater confidence brings better safety. The 'stop box' exercise we used was a real test for many, but is a basic necessity if you need to just pause for long enough to check a junction, without doing the whole dismounting bit. I know that u-turns are frowned on at time trials for safety reasons (and you really must check behind you before you do this) but I'm often surprised by how few otherwise skilful riders just cannot turn in a single-track lane with putting a foot down.

Wednesdays in March

Time for a look back at a few Wednesday Ride accounts that have been lurking aound the dark corners of my laptop

On Wednesday 9^th March, around 16 of us set off for 'La Hogue' which is fast turning into a favourite browsing and sluicing station. It is on a single-track road off the the road from Kentford to Chippenham. Heading East you turn left at the apex of the second bend of the 'S' about a mile after going over the A11. In fact, if you pass La Hogue and keep going you meet the A11; but you may only head to Norwich. We went by a circuitous route that included Ousden and Dallham, and it was just before Dalham that Mary Narey (noted runner, but new to road cycling) slammed through a pot hole and punctured both tyres. Enough spare tubes were found, and also the expertise to fit them. We Wednesday guys (that's 'guys' in the American usage which encompasses everyone) are just so deeply wonderful and truly helpful.

At La Hogue, it turned out (Dawned on us) that it was Dawn's birthday, and she was presented with three candles in her chocolate muffin. I preserved this moment with my Canon Ixus, as well as a snap of the multiple-puncture moment. Later, attempting to adjust the file-size setting (which had been changed to the smallest setting, giving quite poor quality results) I inadvertently wiped the memory card. Feeling hugely digitally competent, I downloaded to the laptop that I have 'inherited' from Polly, the free software Zero Assumption Recovery, and rescued the missing pictures. Hurrah!. The following Wednesday, I told Dawn all of this, and promised to send her a copy. Then while doing some cleaning-up of the photos on the laptop – I wiped them all ! This time it was permanent. I haven't told Dawn yet, so not a word, OK?

The following Wednesday, 16^th, again we were around 16, and I was on gears for the first time since last September. Surprisingly, so was my usually-fixed wheel companion Glenn Morris. I was having a road test of Richard Stiff's Flandria, with a view to purchase, Glenn was on a dark grey full-Carbon job. He mentioned that the Flandria's front brake was rubbing. I thought to myself “how on earth did he hear that?” forgetting that Glenn is still in his prime. We of the Wednesday Core often communicate via 'dialogues of the deaf', so such acute hearing is bound to impress. We head North-Eastwards, with the inevitable Bressingham tea stop as our goal. Justin takes us out via Walsham le Willows and Gislingham and thence towards Mellis. We meet a few tractors, and have the odd car behind which just sits there for what seems like miles. His means that we travel in single file for rather more of the ride than we enjoy. There is grumbling at the back, concerning the 'Yo-Yo' effect, plus some who were spooked by the approach tractors – one of which was quite exceptionally wide, and tested the nerves of the less hardened. We went through the edge of Diss, out the other (North East) side and looked settled for a substantial loop before tea. This was a tactical error. We had within our number Sharon Calton, who has intimate knowledge of the area, and had noticed that we had just passed a right turn that would have taken us to Bressingham – metaphorically speaking, we could smell the coffee. Result? Rebellion. The tail end turned round and took the tea route (which also led to coffee). Justin, and those riders 'loyal to Justin' carried on.

The breakaway arrived after about twenty minutes. Can 'breakaway' be the correct description? since they were arguably 'the ride' and we (lounging around sipping and nibbling) were the breakaway – except, of course, for the fact that we broke off the back, so what should we be called? I think that at one point Justin could have been relied upon to come up with a few suggestions. Now that we were all together (though at separate tables – see photo) there was a degree of jollity and that relaxed and warm friendliness for which the Wednesday ride is so rightly famed.

The service was quite the fastest I've experienced here. The scones were the now-usual enormous size, but felt a bit yesterday-ish. When eaten, they were well up to standard though perhaps those who opted for microwaved ones enjoyed the best experience. We returned as a group, though there was a certain friskiness at the front that had to be tamed. Again, we had quite long periods of single file riding. By dint of an extra loop after Thurston, dropping off Tom-Tom at Woolpit on the way, Justin and I managed 55 miles.

Wednesday, 23rd March. Probably most Wheelers will know that this was a slightly controversial ride, though enjoyable for (I venture to suggest) almost everyone. The weather was so warm that I took off a long sleeve base-layer before we'd even set off. Jeremy Waterson (new rider – done a couple of Espressos) kindly (and unpromptedly) offered to store my surplus clothing in his van and we set off. Crockery Barn was the destination, and Peter took his ride leadership to a new level by phoning ahead to make sure that the Café could cope with the 19 riders that we were. We somehow managed the lanes with our large and unwieldy peleton without too much drama, Rich Seggar navigated with his usual panache – he does this trick (doesn't work with me because I've been to Crockery Barn too many times) of almost circling Ashbocking before emerging from a tiny lane, almost opposite the entrance, which gives the impression that we are in the middle of nowhere. We are, in fact, barely a mile from the main road from Wickham Market to Needham ditto.

The friendly staff had already moved the outdoor furniture into position for us, and coped pretty well with a group that was probably three times the usual size. Smiles go a long way in compensating for delays. Lindsay Clayton, who had been coping with only one brake for most of the ride out, left early to ride up to Diss, Madgett's for a new cable.

On the return journey, in glorious sunshine and with a favourable wind, the pace began to rise and, by the time we reached Debenham, the gap had grown to the point that communication was difficult. Not so much Chinese Whispers as Chinese Bellowing, but the effect was the same. I missed what I had thought was the left turn we were supposed to take (but wasn't). Behind us came cries of (we thought) “straight on”. What was meant by “straight on” was in fact “straight on past the one you've already missed and take the next left” - but the cries of left got lost in the wind, and flew on to a set of lights at roadworks and waited there. No one appeared. We sent an emissary who reported no cyclists to be seen. So we carried on towards Eye, not quite realising the storm that we had caused. The rest is history and red cards. I clock up nearly 65 miles.

There was quite a good turnout for Wednesday 30th March and there was a deal of light hearted banter about Red Cards and unacceptable behaviour. Peter was toiling around the villages collecting the collecting boxes full of change collected for the Marie Curie Cancer Care. This is an arduous task; coins weigh a lot; panniers soon get over-heavy. Peter spends several days spread over a couple of weeks each year doing this (secretly getting stronger and stronger).

I can't remember whether we went to HollowTrees or to the Cavendish tearooms, but I do know that we met this lorry unloading building materials near Liston (I think). Quite a tricky job carrying the bike while walking in cleats on a 45 degree grass slope and leaning against the large vehicle.

Espresso Ride(s) 13 March 2011. "Its a Ride of Two Halves"

Weather's warmer outside, though I still pile on my entire 'New Wheelers' wardrobe. Weather forecasts have been a bit pessimistic this last week – refusing to acknowledge that it's actually sunny, promising (threatening?) rain that doesn't arrive. Perhaps this is a new policy, to bathe the nation in a glow of pleasant surprise, thus equipping us to march forward to the New Dawn of the Big Society. Perhaps it isn't.

I confess to not having done a careful count of how many we were this morning, but the figure of 21 was mentioned, which triggered Justin to announce that we should split into two groups. Now, I have a hankering for the days of playground games, when the two leaders would choose their teams and there was always the same child left until last. But this is the 21^st century, and we are mostly grown ups, so there is a show of hands (like votes for strike action and the 70s). Justin proposed that he would lead an ascetic group that wouldn't stop for tea, leaving the rest of us (10) to make our own arrangements. We watched the Eating Disorder Group ride off, and went in the opposite direction (in every way). We thought we'd go to Cavendish (too close, apparently – even though I pointed out that it depended on the route) or to Castle Hedingham (too far, and even I couldn't argue against that. If the shortest route is still too long, that's it) or Semer (which is also too close if you want to be like that, but can be made further away with careful use of detours).

We, of the Café Faction were: Deane, Glynn, Graham, Ron, Tricia (raring to go after her 59 minute ride in the Club 21 mile Hilly TT) Julians Long and Colman, SJH, young Josh (on his first Cappuccino) and a guest appearance from Mark Harris, erstwhile Voice of Discipline and regular rider, though a rarer (but welcome) sight these days. We set off up Horsecroft lane, and kept on course through Shimpling up past the top of Hartest Hill, down to Stansted, up to Glemsford right to Cavendish (see? It was too close) and sort of Pentlow direction. I was partly responsible for our taking a right fork just outside Cavendish which takes one up a very (to me) steep hill, then a left at the top and through to Foxearth. The winding and fast road through this charmingly-named village is always a blast, and continues for two or three miles, to the point where we cross the old Sudbury Rd. Checking all this on my O/S map sheet 155, I have more than the usual difficulty reconciling the remembered route with the lanes and roads on the map. Then I realise that it's the 1974 edition. Sudbury hasn't moved, nor any of the other settlements. We haven't acquired a 'New Cambourne', for instance. But the roads are a very different matter. At the top of Sheet155 there is the A45, running (thundering) through Beyton and Stowmarket, no A14 in those days. Anyway, let's cut to the chase as we ascend the rise that takes us to the junction with the NEW Sudbury road (for the eagle-eyed and pedantic, there isn't a 'new' Sudbury. It's just a new road to the existing Sudbury. But you knew that. I'll get on with the story). which we cross and weave our scenic way through Acton and upwards to the Lavenham - Sudbury road, which we cross into a 'by road' that Suffolk speciality (I'm sure it's not an exclusively Suffolk classification - but we do have a nice lot of them) with a sign saying 'Washmere Green'. Julian C, who has been navigating so far, says "NO!" and then elaborates "we need to go left to Lavenham, this is only a By Road, and might not go anywhere". I have to confess to dissension at this point. I proposed that, in the spirit of adventure, we should give the little road a chance. I think that I carried the day - everyone followed - and we rode off in what turned out too be a rather worryingly persistent right handed curve. We just might end up back on the main road. But no, after a couple of miles we joined the B1115 in the Monk's Eleigh direction (taking the little lane which runs parallel to and south of the main road and is marked Swingleton Green on the map - passing the tiny lane to the right which goes up, with a 'chevron' graded ramp, towards Milden) then up the sharp Clay Hill to our social interaction point of choice. Hollow Trees Farm Shop & Woodlands Café. Chloe served us with the efficiency and amiability that we always appreciate. Deane sat back in his chair and declared with a contented sigh that "This is what it's all about". And we all agreed, and congratulated ourselves on the wisdom of our decision to include a stop. The photo shows Tony Panting's elder brother Peter, and his Glendene CC chums enjoying a rather more basic tea break. Peter Panting's hand clasps what looks like a pair of scones. That knitwear, those caps; is it too late to get Paul Callow to change our order for club caps?

After this smug interlude we descended Semer Hill and took the simplest route back via Bildeston and Hitcham, taking the left for the lanes route to Buxhall. Deane was about 200 yds ahead, with Josh (who managed very well on his first Espresso) glued to his wheel. Our shouts - and they were many and loud - had the desired effect eventually of getting them to turn back and rejoin us. Ah yes... the old 'left turn trick'. What fun it can be. I forced a curlicue on the route at Buxhall and we went to Rattlesden and up to Drinkstone. At an early point on the little detour, Deane said (without a contented sigh) "We're going back on ourselves here" "yes" I agree "maybe so, but it doesn't matter"

I have achieved a modest 55 miles - but am home at the surprisingly early time of 12.40. Waiting for me in the garage is Richard Stiff's 'Flandria'. It is there for assessment, with a view to purchase. But that's another story. Check out the Blog about the 'Pearson Saga'. Why is it that when I'm home early, wife and daughter are out shopping?

Discover, to extreme annoyance, that my spectacles are missing. Last used at Blooms at tea time, they would have been in the dark grey plastic case you can see on the right of my "all you need for a ride" photo. Phoned Blooms, nothing found. The helpful lady walked from her office to the Cafeteria, and even to our table (I could hear her heels click-clacking on the floors as an accompaniment!). Possibility they would have been swept into a bin bag unnoticed. Damn.

PS. Had an email from Tricia - "I thought today's ride was one of the loveliest I've been on. The group size was right & we kept together, pace was just right, no punctures & everyone was chatty & friendly"

Perhaps I should ask which ride she was on?

SJH

Espresso 6 March 2011. To Tea or not To Tea?

First Espresso of March, so here's a seasonal mad March hare. I set off in good time – don't want to cut it fine like last week – and find that the cold is just awful. One of those mornings when I spend most of the seven and a half miles to Cornhill wondering why I'm doing this to myself. Why does it feel SO cold, when the numbers aren't that alarming? I mean, it's only just below freezing at Norton. How short can I decently make this ride? How soon could I claim an imperative obligation to be home – entertaining relatives, doing chores? Just as I arrive in Bury I notice the empty bottle cage. Aha! Help is at hand. Keep that one up my sleeve, and play it early. Rehearse anger and frustration at missing the ride . . . . Then the others arrive, and soon we are thirteen. Justin, Adi, Pauls Callow and Barry, Jonathans Howe and Sjolin, Jeremy Waterson, Glynn, Deane, Ron Fisher, Mike Bowen, Glenn Morris and Self. The mood is relaxed, and we agree on a sort of Bressingham, though Justin keeps mentioning somewhere called Winfarthing. I'm feeling better about this. Then I remember – Damn! I don't have a bottle!

As we set off along Mount Rd, and it's apparent that we're heading towards home (mine) I put in a request to Justin for us to swing by Blogger HQ and pick up a bottle. Mike Bowen immediately offers one of his. Some time later he tells me how to open the nozzle. We avoid, as has become the habit, the cyclepath from The Flying Fortrss pub to the Rougham crossroads. Now this is a shame. I know why it began, it was at the beginning of January that the path was gritted with sand containing a very high proportion of flints. I had three punctures in the first two days of the year, and I wasn't the only one. No one has dared use it again – except me, that is. I've used it for the last three weeks with no problems and, though there is still some sand lying around, it can be easily avoided. I think that we should go back to using it. But if I suggest it, and manage to persuade the group to follow me, and someone gets a puncture (as could happen at any time in any case) I'd be in the merde.

We do the rotating leader thing, without really thinking about it, and it keeps us pretty neat and fairly tidy. We go via Wattisfield and Hinderclay, Knettishall and Freezen Hill – cross the A1066 and wiggle across to Shelfanger. There were one or two times when we split, but nothing too dramatic or long lasting. As we turned off at Shelfanger Justin called a halt, and there was a brief conference on route choices. He was going to take any who wanted on a loop via Banham (further North East) then a return without tea. The remainder of us would go back to Bressingham and have a pleasant break. I was of the tea-break faction and lead the way to Blooms with Jeremy (who didn't want to repeat his experience of a fortnight ago when he opted to join the five of us who 'rode through' and skipped the stop at Semer. He ran out of fuel big time.) Glynn, Deane, Ron, Glenn and Jonnie Sjolin. The Sensible Seven. We crossed Boyland Common, which Justin had warned us was a wild place. Was he ever right! On the bleak and muddy common itself, a scattering of small caravans was outnumbered by tethered horses of various sizes; all of the type favoured by Travellers. A couple of Jack Russell-ish terriers gave chase and one, misunderstanding the game, overtook us and sped ahead at 12mph. Close to the road a girl of about 12 was filling a small churn from a stand pipe, a wild-looking woman with long matted hair hollered at the the tiny hound (which froze in its tracks at the side of the road – as any creature on the receiving end of that voice would). There were no trucks or chaps – all out hare-coursing or totting no doubt. Deane was impressed and, as we waited round a corner at a safe distance (the group had split up) he said “how can they live like that?”. I reminded him of his bungalow days this winter, coping with no heating or water, “no, no, not that – I mean the environment, such a mess, how do they get away with it?”

We move on. Zig zagging across the network of tiny lanes that brought us back to Bressingham. Their displays of food are, these days, quite extravagant – as the pictures show. There's always time to make several different choices (I always seem to be behind a queue of cyclists). Those cakes, huge, generously-filled baguettes, plated salads, chocolate éclairs, short bread, biscuits, macaroons – all seem to be twice the size of the normal item, and begging to be chosen. And look, the little bottles of red wine, there's a cabernet-sauvignon as well as a merlot! But as ever, it comes down to a scone weighing half a pound, plus butter and jam. We sit and savour our sensible break, chatting about track-standing couriers in London (look, no hands) and the self-evident wisdom of our choice to stop. Glynn implies that Justin's group are all in mortal fear of being late home, and that thus we, self evidently, are the real men. He put it more pithily than that, I remember. Our civilised chat is interrupted by the arrival of the Cappuccini. Time to go. Ron opts for the gentler ride home and, now we are six, we head off across Redgrave Fen, past Thelnetham Windmill, and the splendidly-named Blo Norton, lined-out behind the hunched figure of Dynamo Deane (also known as Metronome Man). Jeremy was flagging by the time we reached Sapiston, and young Jonnie began to fade at Honnington – but hey, we got home nice and quickly.

I got home at 1.10 with 63 miles under my wheels. I later learn the Wallace faction (well, Justin, anyway) did 66 and were home by 1.00. But we'd had tea and social interaction.
SJH

Espresso ride 27 Feb 2011. Anarchy in East Anglia

I wasn't exactly late. The Moyses Hall Clock had reached, maybe, 6 out of the 9 chimes as I joined the large group of riders on Cornhill. I had a quick count, then asked (for confirmation) how many we were. 22 seemed to be the consensus. “So we ought to split into two groups” I suggested. This didn't go down well. There were mutterings.

In the absence of any suggestions, I offered Anglesey Abbey. No disagreement with that. “Two groups, a ten and a twelve!” was announced, and the first fifteen riders headed off down Risbygate with some urgency. The stragglers soon managed to catch up, though we seem to have lost a few, and there had been a cry of “puncture!” as we entered Out Risbygate (mind you, most shouts sound like 'puncture' at a distance; or 'easy up' or 'slow down'). I went to the front of the ride to advise. We slowed a bit; for a while, and there was mention of waiting (but we didn't really) Ben Mickleburgh asked were we were going to and we said Anglesey Abbey. He rode off ahead. We never saw him again. This wasn't going to be the best organised ride of the New Regime. In the interests of self-preservation, I stayed with the front group (which was now 'the group' comprising about 19 or 20 riders).

If there had been any lingering doubt about how things were going, it was removed when the first two riders on the front, wanting to change, free wheeled back, two abreast to the rear of the bunch. In our defence, I should mention that we were in pairs and pretty neat and tidy – at least until that incident. Whatever happened to the half-mile stints and rolling through that were a feature last week?

First (and only) puncture was at the top of Poor Man's Heath. Lucky rider: Graham Smith. In line with the new Guidelines we formed an orderly chicane by dividing ourselves into three groups on alternating sides of the (mercifully quiet) road.

I take us left just before Cavenham, down to A14 underpass near Kentford, left then right up to Gazeley. We have been rolling through for quite a few miles, with modest success (i.e. the eight riders at the front rotate amongst themselves) The Climb towards Gazeley can be a bit of a tough one – depending on the pace, of course. We thought that we were being fairly sensible. If I was still on, I thought, then it wouldn't be too fast. I was wrong – maybe it was something in the porridge this morning. As we neared Gazeley, we had a call that some were off the back. Communications working! We slow to something short of track stands, and some bright spark says “Are we lost?”. I thought this unworthy of comment, someone else replied that he didn't think that we were. Adi and Boyd Nicholas jump ship, citing the need to be home before 5pm (or something). The general opinion now was that we seemed to be a group of 18.

Going down into Dalham, straight through and up to the junction at the top where we went right towards Newmarket then left to Upend then working our way round to the south of Newmarket. We split into two at the top of Duchess Drive, when those who had a life to get home to followed Julian and peeled off to take their chances with Coffee & Co while the remaining 9 of us carried on towards AA. Those of you who did a variant of this route with me a while back will remember my shaky grasp of the distance between Dullingham and Lode (home to Anglesey Abbey). That time I said it was about 4 miles, and it turned out to be 9. I made the same error this time but I didn't actually tell people, I just thought to myself “perhaps it'll be shorter this time”. A bit like computer programs that won't work, but if you keep repeating the same routine enough times they suddenly do. Geography isn't like that, so we'd done thick end of 40 miles by the time we ran the gauntlet the Abbey crowds all eager for glimpses of snowdrops to join the queue for tea and cake. Re-reading that last bit, I notice that I've included my journey in to Bury so, with the exception of Richard Stiff (calendar collaborator and fellow Norton resident) the total was more like 33 miles for Bury -based riders. The displays of cake were intimidating, laid out on all sides. At least twice the amount normally offered; sufficient for a modest siege, in fact. The staff must have been hoping that the hordes in the gardens admiring the snowdrops would start to feel thirsty and (particularly) hungry quite soon. A few coins short of a fiver was at the high end of the range for a scone (even with excellent butter and jam ) and a cappuccino (with sprinkles). On last Thursday's Wednesday ride (it was a weather decision) at the excellent La Hogue, near Chippenham I paid just £3.20 for the same, and in fact the jam was better. However, this detail never deters me from coming here on a ride – the space is light and airy, with room for a ride of at least thirty and they have a Dyson Airblade hand dryer in the loo. What's not to like?

I assured everyone that the journey home would be flatter and shorter than the somewhat challenging outwards route. Darren Fowler, who had found the first section pretty tough, was comforted by this. I didn't say it would be totally flat nor even very short. Towards the end of a tough run, even speed humps can be a challenge.

Shortly before we reached Burwell, Darren was feeling the pace and said that he would find his own way home. I gave him an outline of the route I planned for us to take, then joined Ron Fisher at the front at the point where we turn right to go Exning, keeping the pace down. We thought that we still had Darren in tow, but I reckon that we lost him either on the rise towards the A14, or the little climb out of Exning towards the A152 Newmarket to Exning road. Then I had Glynn with me until the end of that little road from Chippenham, when Deane took over the front. The increase in speed was barely perceptible to begin with, but by the time we'd done Herringswell to Tuddenham I decided to let them go ahead. It's a surprising effect, easing up just that fraction. The pain slips away, you pedal with ease – and the group stays clearly visible for ages. This leads to two trains of thought. Why can't I just put in a bit of an effort and get back on? No more than 200 yds – why not? Well the answer lies in the reason you slipped off the back in the first place. You've blown. The second train of thought involves seething resentment, and an attempt concentrate all that emotion down the road as some sort of force field (I'm no physicist) that will cause anxiety in those heedless riders ahead, and cause them to slow down. But because you've blown, you'd drop straight off the back as soon as they resumed their previous pace. So you become resigned to your solo finish, and enjoy the comparative ease with which the pedals keep turning (fixed wheel is particularly good for this). I wonder if you went through these stages, Darren?

Home by 2.20, to lunch and bath. Heaven. But I do hurt. SJH