23 September 2009, to Hollow Trees for Ann's Birthday. Two weeks running with free teas -when will it ever end? Wednesday-ers are perhaps getting blasé, since we are only nine free-loaders this week.
As you can see from the photo, we were Jeff, Justin, Ron (resplendent in red), Ann, Nigel (from East Harling!), Tony and Peter Gay. Out of the picture (in the visual sense) were 'TomTom' and I (who rode through the ford) plus Pete Hogg who retired early with the saddle malfunction mentioned above.
We were about half an hour into the ride when Pete called out for us to stop. He is rightly proud of his 5-speed seventies machine, and has no problem keeping up as a rule but, this time it was serious. A bolt on his seat pin had sheared, and it was one of those needlessly complex arrangements with two bolts with hex heads that threaded into two lateral pins with threaded holes. Dreadful to tighten, I remember, needing to wiggle an open ended spanner under the saddle and move the bolts about 5 degrees at a time. Out in mid-Suffolk, without a spanner, and the outlook was bleak. Pete kept with us, rolling along out of the saddle, to Monks Eleigh, where we bade him good luck at Bildeston, and Lifecycle (who's stock is all pretty recent I seem to remember, and might not include 30-year-old seat pin spares). Just before Brent Eleigh (which, in turn, is just before Monks Eleigh) the riders at the front (I seem to remember Justin and Ron) suffered an extremely close encounter with a young deer which burst through the hedge on the right, and crashed through the hedge on the left, at a constant height of three feet and what looked like about two feet ahead of our shaken leaders. A glance to the right revealed the rest of the beasts, watching. They looked as if there had been a wager, with the Stag offering a fiver if the youngster made it. All too fast for a photo. What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
T-T took us on a twiddly loop round to Hollow Trees where we sat outside in the now-usual sunshine, wishing Ann a Happy Birthday as we scoffed our free tea, and headed off into deepest T-T country round Wissett and Offton (which we visit increasingly, um, er . . . .). Near Offton we did one of TT's special little lanes, the sort that have more grass and gravel than strips of tarmac, and that are punctuated by fords.
We covered a civilised 50 miles at a sensible average speed that brought us home nice and early. We hope that Pete Hogg reached home safely and in good time - and without having to ride out of the saddle the whole way.
After several attempts, Julian at last persuaded us that it would be a jolly idea to go to Attleburgh. So that's where 11 of us [ Justin, Julian, Nathan, Mark, Deane, Paul C, Ron, Barry Woodhouse (whom I last saw maybe six years ago in my earliest Wheeler clubruns - when there was just the one) Jonathon, Ed Bucknell and me] were bound for, under cloud that promised sunshine for later on.
The journey out was orderly and almost sedately paced. The only break in discipline concerned pee-stops. We still need to convince some riders that it is delusional to attempt to ride off the front and gain a large enough gap to stop; pee; adjust their clothing and remount before the rest of the ride catches up. This is a futile exercise, with everyone riding past laughing whilst you pee - or one (or several) riders think it's an attack and chase you down. The other unexpected consequence is that those who didn't get asked if they wanted a pee now realise the do want a pee and stop randomly along a half mile stretch of road. An organised stop is the way to do it. Right back to childhood car journeys "go before we set off, because we won't be stopping later"
Arriving at Attleburgh, in the aforementioned sunshine, we did a few laps of the centre, noting 'The Norfolk Kitchen' each time (with its welcoming tables and chairs set out in the sunshine) until Julian relented and allowed us to stop there. Fast and efficient provision of mainly baguette-based nutrition which, in some cases needed a little fine tuning - plus portions of beanzontoast the size of a small pond (the fly enjoyed my Cappuccino)
This was an opportunity for me to attempt changing gear on my new best friend, Pearson. As luck would have it, my mechanic was on the ride so I was able to delegate this delicate operation. Nathan built the bike, so could be relied on to effect the change. I watched, in case I ever needed to do it on my own. After the break, more work for Nathan as his Dad, Julian discovered a puncture at the bottom of his rear wheel.
There was a brief discussion of the pit stop strategy for the return and, after making absolutely sure that everyone had 'been' before we set off, a two-stop strategy was considered a reasonable solution. In fact, we didn't need to stop at all. Maybe the certainty of a schedule calmed the collective bladders. More research needed.
Julian guided us back by a charmingly scenic route, and my 72.5" gear was a great relief after the 65.6" of the outward journey (to the extent that Mark kept asking me to slow down - always nice to hear). The pace gradually increased towards the end, especially between Stanton and Stowlangtoft, with Ed "what's a small ring?" Bucknell on the front. I even heard Justin remark on the following Wednesday that he'd never been up the rise to the water tower so fast (20mph all the way up and a bit more at the end but I didn't notice how much because my eyes were crossed). 66 miles for me, didn't record an average speed (no Garmins this week - Tricia providing bicycle-support for runners in the Round Norfolk Relay. In the dark. On the A143.)
Monday, September 21, 2009
High summer High aspirations
An enjoyable cycling trip down to the Pyrenees last summer had whetted my appetite for more of the same, but maybe in a different part of France. Some of the alpine climbs and perhaps the Giant of Provence: Mount Ventoux? The penultimate stage of this year’s Tour de France finished on its summit, and the TV pictures of our own Bradley Wiggins turning himself inside out in an effort to hold on to his fourth place on GC proved truly inspirational. So why not combine a family holiday to Provence with a couple of days cycling? ( why not precipitate a divorce as well? ed.) The plan was to drive down there with an overnight stop on the way. The bike slotted into the car along with the suitcases, and as long the holiday/cycling balance was maintained everything should be fine.
A week in Provence
Stephen Hill had often waxed lyrical about Provence and had given me a few tips on where to stay. And now, having sampled its delights, I can see what he meant. It is a delightful part of France and we thoroughly enjoyed our seven day stay in the area. Mind you, wherever we went Mont Ventoux was always there overlooking the surrounding hills and reminding me that I’d soon be making my way up its slopes. Four days in and I felt I’d acclimatised enough and was ready for the challenge. After a good breakfast I rode out from the hotel and headed for Bedoin, one of the start towns. The 15 mile ride-out was a good warm-up, although there were a couple of minor cols to get over on the way. I wondered what they would feel like on the way back!
Mad dogs and Englishmen
The timing wasn’t ideal. Arriving in Bedoin at about 11.30am with the temperature nudging 29 degrees, I knew I was in for a warm ride. Helmet slung over the handlebar stem I rolled over the marble start line that is embedded in the road and began the climb. The relatively shallow gradient for the early miles lulls you into a false sense of security. Spinning along at a brisk pace with the sent of pine in the air and warm sunshine on your back, what could be better? The reality arrives as soon as you get into the trees. The gradient ramps up to a level that is uncomfortably steep and has you clicking down through the gears. 34X23 was a little on the high side and the next one down (34X26, my lowest gear) was a little on the low side. I settled for a fast cadence on the 34X26. This plan, coupled with the occasional out-of-the-saddle dance around the hairpins, seemed the least painful option. The painted messages on the tarmac to those present and past Tour heroes made for light reading and helped take my mind off the job in hand. Another thing to focus on was the steady stream of riders suffering their way up the mountain. Such is its attraction to cyclists from all over the world, that on this Tuesday afternoon in September I must have passed over 50 riders on my way up to the summit.
High respirations
The ride through the trees seems never-ending, but eventually you leave them behind and enter the sun-bleached rocky scree slopes for the final kilometres. The contrast between the two is quite extraordinary. At Chalet Reynard, with 6 km to go, the incongruous sight of dozens of diners staring out from the panoramic windows of the café and dozens more catching the rays on the terrace exerts a pull on the sweat drenched cyclists. As I had only drunk half a bottle (difficult to drink other than a quick mouthful every so often) I carried on, the end in sight. Thankfully the gradient had eased and I was able to click up a gear and speed up ready for the final push to the top. The aforementioned scree was reflecting back the heat nicely, and I wondered if it could be harnessed for sustainable energy. For a minute or two my head started to pulsate and I felt nauseous, but thankfully it past quickly. Funny how odd things pop into your head at times of stress: I had an image of Robin Williams in his marvellous role as Adrian Cronauer, that irreverent, non-conformist DJ in Good Morning Vietnam giving the daily weather forecast to the troops: ‘It’s hot, it’s damned hot!’ Onwards and upwards, past the memorial to Tom Simpson with its collection of bottles, tyres and caps covering its steps. How close he had come to making it to the top on that tragic day in 1967. Passed the last of four photographers who spend their days capturing the grimaces of riders, albeit with a nice background, and I’m almost there. One steep hairpin and there’s the finish line. Aim for a gap between other finishers, and it’s over. One hour 37 minutes for the 21 kilometres. The legs don’t want to stop and twitch for a minute or two. An earlier finisher smiles and points to his camera and the summit sign. I manage to take a shaky image and he reciprocates the favour
Wide eyed and legless
I swallow an energy bar (first food since breakfast) and finish off the rest of my bottle of water. Caped up I head down to Chalet Reynard and join the gallery for a can of Coke. The sweeping bends of the moonscape top section were soon replaced by the more technical twists and turns through the trees. As the road levelled out at the bottom, and the need to pedal became evident, my legs didn’t seem to be functioning. They were going round and round but there was no power in them. It took a couple of miles before they came back to some semblance of life. The ride home over the two small cols wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t until a string of Belgian riders – who were staying at our hotel - came past, that I had the energy to muster up some speed for the final couple of miles – mostly downhill. A memorable day.
A man, a plan, a canal, Panama
Apologies for adding the irrelevant words ‘a canal, Panama’ to the heading; it was just a good opportunity to share with you a rather long palindrome. A couple more days left to enjoy Provence and then homeward bound. I had noticed that, with a small detour (it looked that way on a small scale map), we could go back via Grenoble, drive through the alps and spend the night near Alpe d’Huez - provided Ann was agreeable. To her great credit that kind and generous woman said yes, and so off we went.
21 – 20 – 19 – 18 and so on
We arrived in Bourg d’Oisans, at the foot of Alpe d’Huez, at about 5pm and found a small hotel just on the outskirts. Bright and early the next morning I was to be found riding up and down the valley road trying to warm up my stiff and cold legs. Unlike Provence, the Alps, with their towering presence, restrict the sun’s rays and the temperature on the valley floor was still around 12 degrees. So in a long sleeved top and leg warmers – a mistake - I started the climb. After three or four of the hairpin bends I was in the morning sun and getting warmer by the minute. Too bad, have to get on with it. Each bend is numbered and the name of a past stage winner of the Tour on Ad’H has pride of place alongside. Already there are other riders making the ascent of this iconic climb, each suffering on the steep gradient. The TV images don’t give a true picture of the severity of the climb and the scenes of Armstrong and Pantani dancing up the slopes only add to the illusion. This is one tough climb. No respite, just keep tapping out a rhythm that you are able to sustain. More photographers, more forced smiles. Through the ski lodges and follow the signs ‘Itinerary Tour de France’ up a few more bends and there it is: the finish line banner. One last effort and the clock stops at one hour 39 seconds. There on the left is a podium. Barely able to climb onto it, I overcome my modesty and keep going to the top step. A friendly French cyclist obliges with the camera, and for a moment I can hear the cheers of the crowd ringing in my ears. Or is it Ann phoning to remind me we’ve got to be out of the hotel in an hour? A quick descent, stopping only for a couple of snaps, a hasty shower, suitcases and bike in the car and our journey north continues. Here’s to the next time.
Happy Times . . . . . . . . . as King Lear celebrates ("smile like this" says Tony)
It was one of life's more expensive coincidences that my birthday and Wednesday fell on the 16th of September. A more expensive one for many was Black Wednesday, 16th Sept 1992 when something went awfully wrong something complicated and financial in the City (of London). At least my losses would be restricted to a few teas.
Well, a dozen, including mine. The original plan had been to ride to Hollow Trees at Semer, but the wind was quite brisk, and from the North, so Diss was it (in that dawn to be alive,
This account is going to be dominated by references to me, my birthday and my birthday present to myself. Susan tells me that no one will be interested in this - especially because I'm writing it on Sunday the 20th, by which time all normal people would have forgotten all about their most recent birthday. The present (and I think I must have bored the world about this already) is a Pearson 'Cartouche' Carbon-framed fixed wheel bicycle. I rode it for the first time on this day. Despite my irascible expression, I'm actually very pleased with it. Kevin Flanagan has asked if I'm going to do a review - I might, so I'll say no more at this point. Richard 'TomTom' guided us on an Eastward loop as a change from Sunday, and last Wednesday. We visited Finningham, Cotton and a few other places that I can't really remember because I was concentrating on my new bicycle. Justin was with us, fresh from Provence. He kept distracting our attention from me and my bicycle with endless accounts of how marvellous it all was in France. It never ceases to amaze me how self-centred people can be, I mean, we've all been abroad these days. It's probably just as well that Neil couldn't make it, or we would have had to endure endless tales about China, or India, or Sri Lanka, or even Ethiopia and Pangbourne.
We achieved Diss with perfect timing, and burst into Amandines to request a dozen teas. Peter Heath, spotting a long table in the semi-open area at the rear of the restaurant with elaborate decorations down the middle said "I see you've prepared the table already". Despite this frivolous remark, we were seated and served with swift efficiency.
No more than ten minutes later Susan arrived to whisk me away. I paid up, made my excuses and left. The lunch that followed was truly wonderful - and another story.
The Cast for this Production were: Mike Cross, Sharon Calton, Peter Gay, Ann Fish, Justin Wallace (did I mention Mt Ventoux?), Peter Heath, Gareth Doman, Tony Panting, Jeff Agricole, Ron Fisher, Richard 'TomTom' Seggar, SJH (did I mention my Birthday?)
Talk in Cornhill was centred on Peter Balls' success on the track at Welwyn yesterday, winning the individual pursuit in whatever championships were being held. There will be a report from Adi soon. We were 16 this morning. 15 of us arrived (unsurprisingly) by bicycle and Neil arrived by speedy Motor, with his bike in the boot and dressed in not quite enough cycling kit. Mark Harris remarked that elements of Neil's current life style seemed to have led to a certain lack of attention to the wearing of sufficient clothing. Sounds of mirth echoed round Bury's historic city centre. To general relief it was decided that we would go to Bressingham for tea - the wind was in the right quarter and there are no hills around Diss. It wasn't long before the first puncture - in fact it was before Ixworth - struck. The lucky rider was Julian Colman, who went for the bonus ball in life's anti-lottery by having the first replacement tube blow up on him. I know that CO2 cartridge thingies are supposed to be ever so good for blowing up tyres, but I hadn't considered it in quite this way - and in an explosion of gas, too. Fortunately, most of us were a safe distance away, as usual, though Hugh and John seemed dangerously close. Neil, sensing a rather long delay, finally went to investigate and managed to arrive just as everything was being put back together. This enabled him to hint at having 'sorted it all out'.
While we waited, chatting, Adi raised a minor niggle about these blogs; he felt that we were representing the club as a group that spent nearly all its time sitting in cafés. Well, Adi, how can I put this . . . .I think, in all fairness, that I should point out that shortly after the photos above were taken Adi leapt on his bike and, at a thundering pace, led the a struggling bunch all the way to Stanton before he swung off the front.
So anyway, puncture fixed, Ixworth disappearing behind us, and an arcing route (that's a hard 'c' by the way) out near the various Harlings to Quidenham (home of Quiddich, of course) where we took a brief architectural detour so that Neil could share with us his enthusiasm for the Village Hall, and excellent example of Tesco Revival vernacular. Ron Fisher and I took to the front at this point, and navigated faultlessly to join the A1066 about 400yds North of Blooms. Neil, Mark. Ron and I were pleased to have got to the counter first. When we made our way to a table we noticed that a huge queue of 13 cyclists had formed behind us. Whew! lucky or what?
We set off on the time-honoured route south on 1066, then left down Freezen Hill(I was spared the humour, because the weather was merely warm, neither hot nor cold enough for irony). Neil hit the front like a man fuelled by 1.5 scones (I knew I shouldn't have shared my second one with him) and pounded out a brisk tempo. Andy joined him, and upped the stakes. Neil raised him to 24mph Andy saw this and now we were doing 27mph. There were complaints. Sense prevailed, we eased. Richard Stiff and I, as Nortonites, peeled off at Pakenham, the rest of the field - sorry, 'ride' headed off towards Bury. I covered 62 at around 17.8mph. We didn't split (well, not permanently) and there was only one puncture
Those taking part: Juliette McGuire & partner, Mark Harris, Lord Dykes, Andy, Mike Bowen, Ron Fisher, John Dumont, Ed Bucknell, Deane Hill, Adi Grimwood, Julian Colman, Hugh O'Neill, Richard Stiff, Paul Callow and one's self.
I arranged to meet Lindsay at Gt Livermere to ride in together. We went Lindsay’s way as it was safer, apparently. It involves the A143 from Gt Barton to Moreton Hall & takes in the Sainsbury’s roundabout, whereas my way goes through Fornham, avoids A roads & is a mile shorter. And I’m the half Irish one!
We arrived in good time and by 9.30am a group of 13 had assembled. Chris Dolan; Dick Lines; Soren & Jonathon Sjolin; Peter Heath; Lindsay Clayton; Ann & Grayhame Fish; Steve Cleal; Mark Taylor & Dave Whitehead joining us from Stowmarket; Barry Woodhouse & I set off for somewhere. The joy of the Sunday rides for me is tagging along with someone else making the decisions about routes & destination, the company & of course the cake!
Please pay attention to Peter’s feet and the NEW SHOES! After the success of the tea stop at Peacocks on Wednesday, Peter went back with Gill , stopped at the bike shop in Ely & invested in some rather fab new cycling shoes. (they are, it has to be said, extremely white... ed.)He did suggest to Gill why not a bike to match the new shoes while they were there? They left with just the shoes!The journey out was a lively buzz of conversation & I have no idea which way we went from memory but the Garmin printout reveals all. Until I joined the Wheelers rides my poor sense of direction dictated that I just did the same two loops from home again & again or stuck to the A roads that I went on in the car; no wonder I hated cycling.The Wheelers really opened up my horizons... OK, I still have no idea which way I’ve gone or where I’ve been but I do have the Garmin printout as evidence and it has given me the courage to occasionally go out on my own (with an OS map used frequently) on new routes . Only one puncture and with impeccable timing – Dick, just as we rode into Hollow Trees for coffee. At HollowTrees – aren’t shoes on the table unlucky Barry?!
Hollow Trees serves excellent cake but cappuccinos are off. Coffee is served in an individual cafetiere & is delicious but this is the cappuccino ride after all! Soren obligingly answered Barry’s spinal question, despite being off duty. Jonathon chatted about starting at St Benedict’s and Grayhame & I talked about running club politics. Not sure what the other end of the table talked about but they seemed very cheerful!It has been suggested by a running friend who reads the Wheelers BlogSpot that the Wheelers seem to be more about cream teas than cycling. And here is Peter demonstrating that the club rides really are about cycling!
Dave’s drink. Nice bike obviously but what’s the blue drink about? Disturbingly matched his cycling helmet & his pal’s kit. Kryptonite??
And so the journey home: a bit of an advantage to me here as it took in part of the Welnetham TT course & if you do the same route often enough even I know where I’m going. So for the second half of the ride I knew where I was. Until we reached Thurston, where instead of going straight on & home across the A143 to Livermere, bewilderingly Lindsay turned right towards Pakenham & I was lost again. She stopped so suddenly we had the only incident of the day when Chris rode straight into the back of her. No damage done. So we rode home via Pakenham! Lindsay did the 200km audax at Mildenhall last week so clearly can be a little bonkers but great company.
My stats: Home > Nowton Lindsay’s route!12.86miles @ 16.4mph;Nowton> Hollow Trees 23.4miles @15.2mph; Hollow Trees > home 30.12miles @16.6mph.
Wednesday 9th September had been forecast to be a scorcher, but was a rather more grudging affair on the day. The sun held itself back until later on, the wind was 'moderate' and from the North East.
We were a record -breaking fourteen riders, including three visitors from another age; racers from the seventies and eighties - (not the same thing as those riders actually in their sixties and seventies) - Neil Dykes, wearing well at just over the half century (still with the ravaged remains of his film star good looks and queasy charm) was backed up by that King of Retro Chic, Richard Muchmore, showing how to put a Mullett to good use, and the evergreen stylist Steve Mayes, Mr Colnago himself, always just a Quick-Step ahead. Back in the peleton were Peters Heath and Hogg, Ron Fisher, Ed Bucknell, Mike Cross, Ann Fish, Sharon Calton, Jonathan Howe, Gareth Doman, Tony 'Tiger' Panting and your Blogger. An amiable and uneventful roll across the unchallenging terrain to the North East to Diss, was marred only by a mechanical malfunction of my bike. CLICK-CLICK, CLICKETY-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK, CLICKETY-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK, every pedal revolution. "Bottom bracket" several old-timers muttered, "I don't think so" I riposted "Pedal" I surmised. "Madgetts'" we agreed. Tea was at 'Mere Moments' (run by Sharon's sister). We were led around the back to a decked area with a view across the Mere. We filled all available space, lounging around and causing the sort of merry confusion that comes easily to a group of fourteen cyclists bent on tea-time fun. Peter called the meeting to order so that he could show us all his new blue shoes. No one trod on them, we merely gasped in admiration, as Peter moved on to item two on his agenda. Text from Justin in Provence. Le Mont Ventoux ascended, from Bedouin, in an astounding time of 1hr 37 min. Now I've climbed Ventoux a number of times, but I've always felt that the views and the experience were not to be rushed, thus even on my best attempt about twenty years ago I managed to take a civilised 2hrs 20m. These days I'm relishing a full three hours on the climb. Justin is now a Grandpa which, as any fule kno is Grandpére in French - and which rhymes with 'grimpeur' which is French for a climber. Should he suffer a mishap on the descent, however, would he would become a 'Croque Monsieur'? I munched my scones, gulped my tea and sped to Madgett's. It took Mick's lieutenant a couple of minutes to fix the noise - though he couldn't find anything actually loose. He tightened the pedal to the crank and the crank to the BB axle. All is now silky silence, and I may not be able to remove my left pedal, ever again.
On the way home, Sharon dropped her bottle. Mike gallantly went back to pick it up, I gallantly stopped to see that all was well. We set off to catch up with the others, passing the right turn to Walsham which would have been a route option, but there was no sign of red jerseys so we sped along at 26-7 mph in hot (ish) pursuit until near Finningham when we realised we'd never see them again that day. Peter e-mailed me to say that they'd waited for quite a while (but out of sight) and that Neil had, gallantly, offered to try and find us and then meet-up in Walsham. For his pains he was beaten in the sprint for the sign. So a second week with a split. Not a long ride (49m for me) but a large one. It's just so easy to lose people. Still, we had an enjoyable last few miles, and I learned about Sharon & Mikes' successes in the Triathlon world. Never too old to learn, eh?
This was pronounced by Peter Heath to be the cheapest tea stop for a very long time indeed (probably since the previous cheapest tea stop, whenever and where ever that might have been). Not just remarkably reasonable, but reasonably remarkable quality as well. VGFM in fact.
What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
What I could capture in pixels, however was a very supercilious looking Alpaca. I came to the sign at the farm gate, and his evident attitude was explained "Alpaca Stud Farm".
