Wednesday 5th Sept. A long story

Peter Heath.

Yesterday the 12^th of January 2013, for the first time in four months, I went out for a ride. On the road. Riding my Mercian road bike for 12 miles with Peter Heath. Why the long gap in my riding? I'll come to that shortly. Right now I want to share with you the detail of our ride, and how it came about – after all, not only have I not ridden since September, I haven't written a blog since 31^st of July. To get me to the point of going on a 'proper' ride I had received offers of escort duty from three other friends since late October. But they relied on me getting my act together first, and I still had a slight feeling of anxiety. A couple of weeks ago I had tottered down to Beyton to meet the chums before they left on their ride. It was OK, but still a slight uncertainty. What was needed was a more positive incentive. Peter Heath.

His email carried an outline short route and a suggested time. Being Peter, it was an imperative suggestion “I'll come to your house on Friday afternoon, I'll phone first ” it ended. Then, on the day, the call. “What do you think?” he asked “Weather seems fine” I said. He turned up at 2pm and barked “Now, you're still happy to do the ride round to Woolpit?” . . . “Yup” Say I, . . . “RIGHT! Off we go” says Pete. . .pausing to check traffic. . . . “ALL CLEAR!!,” ….. and he twiddled off our forecourt and up the A1088 at what felt to me like a positively Wigginsian pace – and I'd yet to get my second foot in. I was already chasing and it was only the first few yards of our ride! How would I cope? But I was back on, just before the left turn to Thurston, “I caught up” I said “only because I waited!” Peter barked with a grin, and we cruised down to the hump back bridge over the Blackbourne (well, Peter cruised, and had no reason to doubt that I was doing any different). We discussed drainage, and the whereabouts of my new running route which used a brand new wooden pedestrian bridge over the Blackbourne and then followed a footpath and a Byway up the top of the climb to Great Green Thurston (on my run, I turn round and go back down hill to home, and a bath. No chance this afternoon). We climb (don't laugh )on the road to the Z bend at the top, and turn left towards Tostock. A hundred yards along the lane, past the excellent new house belonging to Harvey's Nursery, we pass the opening to 'my' Byway. We discuss Barn Owls, and marvel at the amount of standing water along 'my' route today. I relish hearing the sharp cries of warning from Peter “car behind!” “hole!” and “puddle!”. This is a proper ride. We go over the railway bridge, commenting on the newly restored Victorian houses on the right. Peter tells me that the railway is where Thurston officially ends. This was a surprise to me, as one who only recently aware that Great Green was IN Thurston. So on we went. Side by side along the lane to Tostock, down into the dip with another double bend then up through the lovely woodland to the junction. Then right ande left, then right again along the lane to Drinkstone, down past the windmills, the left and in to Woolpit. After a detour to the Health Centre (to collect Peter's drugs – I didn't ask), we stopped for tea in Woolpit and discussed post traumatic whatnots, over tea and cake and scones. In an act of almost excessive generosity Peter insisted that I have the only remaining scone, and that he paid for the entire repast.

Sharon & Rob at Thetford GC

So, how did I get to this? Wednesday the 5^th of September, was the last ride that I had. Around ten of us set off on a ride that followed a route decided by me. We followed a fairly routine route north east, followed by the equally familiar course along to Croxton (which is always a surprise to me, it being such a familiar place when riding west from my previous home of Cambridge), then an enjoyable blast back to Thetford – especially enjoyable, since I was on Flandria, the best bike, and feeling good. Obviously 'feeling good' is entirely relative, and nearly always ends being caught just before turning right to Tesco and the Thetford Garden Centre, the latter being our refreshing destination. Jonathan Howe left before the tea stop – allegedly to ruin someone's life. Jerry Barton also chose the early bath. After our tea we took the usual and always enjoyable via Brettenham (yes, another duplicate) and up onto the A1066 to Rushford where, if my memory serves, Gareth Doman (one of our two Critical Care Medics) turned right to join the A1088 and reach home in Ixworth as quickly as possible. We follow the route (my route) to Coney Weston, where we turn right, as always, and follow the route that gives us the choice of left to Bardwell or straight on to Honington. As in 90% of the rides that follow this general route – we go left. I am on the front (must have been the best bike effect still operating) as we head south westwards. Alongside me is Glenn Morris. About ¾ of a mile along the lane, so I'm told, I hit a pothole, some tree-root distorted tarmac and land very badly. Glenn was unable to avoid my flight from right to left, and fell. Sharon Calton, Ron Fisher and Stephen Linden also fell (I apologise for not being more accurate here - but bear in mind that I had no idea what had happened to me, either). Bikes were damaged, I was later told. Mark Harris, Mark Saunders and Rob Webb managed to avoid falling. To those still conscious (that’s everyone except me) I looked to be in serious trouble. A good deal of blood and no movement at all. I was unconscious, so I'm told, for about five minutes. Sharon and Rob came to my aid and did all the recovery position stuff while covering me with spare clothing, trying to engage me in conversation. I came round just before the Air Ambulance arrived, but I was making no sense at all. Sharon later told me that I asked to be helped up – a spot of the Tom Simpson "put me back on my bike"? The Air Ambulance Doctor asked me questions (apparently) but I couldn't answer. My first memory was of two people working carefully on my left forehead with what I assumed (what would I know?) to be a needle and thread. They were discussing the sewing strategy. I think they'd been at it for quite a while, but I imagine that thirty stitches take some time.

This account, written in January 2013, has been delayed whilst I try to decide what form the blog should take. I began straightforwardly enough - 'pretty major prang' is the default, laconic, approach. But then there's a rather more to say, really. Cyclists, and probably all who do sports with an accident risk, tend to have a fairly casual approach to the inevitable damage of scars, bumps, bruises and grazes. Most injuries do heal pretty quickly. It's when one breaks bones or get's a bump on the head that matters become more complex. And for me that complexity has had a rather long term impact. Our Club Orthopaedic Surgeon, Soren Sjolin had warned me, as he chatted from my bedside at West Suffolk, that it might take me three months to recover. As any seasoned cyclist would, I thought to myself "I'll keep quite, but that can't be right".

Now, in the middle of January and with plenty of time to think, I feel that "Maybe Soren was right after all" was probably the more accurate choice. Then the know-all, argumentative Bikie in me revised his opinion of Soren's judgement – aha! He thought. Soren was wrong after all. Three months? Optimistic nonsense. Closer to five is likely (Sorry Soren). The effects of the impact include a slight (but diminishing) problem with balance. So until yesterday (and there's more of that later) I only rode my road bike on the turbo (and even then I ran out of commitment after 30 minutes, and then several days to regain that commitment). The main advantage of sticking to the turbo was that I was less likely to fall over (not, I hasten to add, that I actually have fallen). I had tried the odd test in our garden, and the tendency to waver in the direction of the leg being swung over the bike was rather too pronounced for comfort. Before Christmas I began an heroic session of 10 min turbo warm-up on ATB (v effective, if anyone's interested) followed by my 5k off road run (at extremely gentle pace). Then it froze, then I got the seasonally obligatory cold followed by chest infection followed by Christmas - and now I'm back on (though not in) the running. An advantage of off-road running is that falling over is less likely - though in the early stages I was unnervingly wobbly. Another post traumatic effect (getting cod medico-technical now) is fatigue. Many attempts at physical or mental effort have been sabotaged over the last four months by the need for slumber. There's been a general slowing up (I rely on my wife Susan for opinions about what proportion of these shortcomings is due solely to being 69, or to a whack on the head) reading is slow, spelling a lot worse, memory has, er, um . . . . oh you know!. Now that I've moved into a more general discussion of all this, I might as well mention the mood swings and emotional incontinence. Or perhaps not.

This last section is one of the dangers of writing the blog - being boring about my health. I'm sure there will be readers who will criticise me for giving too much detail or a flippant lack of, erm, seriousness.

SJH

The Wiggendish Ride. Wednesday 25 July 2012

Stephen Linden's contribution

Who's got the Picnic?

Peter bareheaded

Stephen Linden, Tom Cahill Smith, Ron Fisher, TomTom, Peter Heath, Dale Sturman, Tony Panting, Justin Wallace, Barry Denny, Peter S-W, Michael Lawson, Gerry Barton & me (SJH). Our prime mover for this jaunt into Essex and the Blue Egg Café at Great Bardfield was Peter Heath and we had been, in his email directive, encouraged to wear items of yellow or Union Jacks or anything that would celebrate the historic and astonishing success of the Sky Team in producing not just the Winner, but 2nd place and the Champs Elysées winner in the Tour de France. The title of this blog celebrates Cav as World Champion and regular at the Blue Egg, and Brad as the man who made history.

Peter without helmet!

 If our rendezvous at the earlier hour of 0830 had been a Féte, and our outfits were to be judged in the Fancy Dress Competition, then Tony Panting (left) would have been the undisputed winner. Note the aero modification to the helmet (Of course Wiggo had the Roundel on his TT helmet as his modification). 

One approach to re-hydration. . . . . .

The guilty tyre

Our route was a  joint effort by TomTom and Justin, with a dash of Kevin Flanagan on the way home.The pace seemed quite brisk, and I was glad that I had decided to use the Flandria (best bike). We rattled our way to Clare via Glemsford and Cavendish heading to Essex and a crossing of the main road that most of us still think of as the A604. A short way west of our crossing, just a hundred metres short of Toppesfield, there was a familiar "CRACK!!" from the rear of the peleton. Stephen L had a puncture. But it as rather more serious than a mere flint or thorn, both the tube and the tyre having split - when the tyre was eased off the rim on one side, the damage was far more extensive than the photo shows. As is customary, several of us explained to Stephen exactly why it was entirely his fault (we felt confident in this, since we knew that he only recently returned to serious cycling). Mainly, we accused him of causing damage when fitting the tube. We (well, Stephen mainly) now had a problem. No one (natch) had a spare tyre  (well, ok, some of us were displaying something along those lines - but not the thing we needed). The ride had begun to resemble one of those irritating team-building exercises, where groups randomly thrown together solve problem like crossing  a river using a box of tissues, insulating tape and some twigs. Justin nipped to Toppesfield while the rest of us ran through further possibilities. Mrs Linden was at London learning to be an Olympic Games Maker, Stephen only had enough cash for the tea stop, and no credit card. No one seemed to be able to do any of those tasks now possible with smart phones - not even find were we where - and this with more than one Garmin available! Someone remembered that we had passed Malcolm Borg's Cycle Clinic repair and sales business as we left Glemsford, Gerry had the phone number, and Tom Tom used his photocopied fragment of Suffolk and Essex to explain our position (in both senses of the word). At this point Justin returned to announce great news, he had found a man who would summon a Taxi to take Stephen and bike to a bike shop. No one was listening. It turned out that the man had already phoned for the taxi - so Justin had to nip back and get it cancelled. I thought that Justin handled this reversal with admirable equanimity. With Malcolm due to be there in half an hour, we were able to do what we had really wanted to do at the start; leave Stephen behind.
He would try to make his way to the Café (about 5 miles) and arrive before we had left.
We made a classic Wheelers Clubrun restart, with half a dozen of us dropping the other five . . . . and not noticing that we'd done so until we had a considerable gap. Re-forming into an orderly group we sped to Gt Bardfield and on, southwards, to The Blue Egg. There were a lot of cyclists on the outside area, and more inside, plus a few 'civilians'. We had just formed an orderly queue when Kevin Flanagan arrived -with impressive timing, having ridden directly from his home in Hundon. One of the special features of this place is the ability to cope with large groups with ease. The fifteen or so riders from the Cambridge CC Wednesday ride (fast chapter) who arrived very shortly after us were absorbed with ease. The food is reasonably priced and, with the exception of the scones (which are disappointing) is varied and of high quality. Ron's Bread Pudding was the size and shape of a lump of Belgian Pavé. TomTom and I had bacon sandwiches which, though a bit slow to arrive, were packed with more slices of cured pig than one could count without dismantling the two, huge, crusty and fresh white bread triangles. Stephen had passed on to Peter a Union Jack plastic tablecloth (we were impressed when he brought along a bottle of Champagne in an insulating bag within a small rucksack, with which to ply us in celebration of his sixtieth birthday the other week, so we shouldn't have been surprised at this attention to detail) provided us with a customised table and later, a backdrop for the group photo (sadly, without Stephen) I commandeered my old friend Tim Williams from the Cambridge group to press the button.

Stansfield. The moment they drop me . . .

Just as we were leaving, a sweat-soaked Stephen arrived having been riding hard all the way from Toppesfield.  Good service received from Malcolm, and payment deferred, plus advice that because the tyre appeared to have failed (it came away from the cord) there might be a possibility of compensation from Continental. We allowed him to go and fill his bottle from the standpipe on the outside seating area, and set off, with a slightly different route led by Kevin, which veered left before Toppesfield. Peter S-W has a rear puncture, and we settle down in the sunshine while it is fixed. No one thought to bring a picnic, though. After this leisurely repair we crossed the "A604" at Ridgwell and headed for Clare via Ashen. Still a Glorious ride in perfect weather. Though it was pretty warm I was pleased that I had managed to finish two bottles by the time we reached the café and already getting through the refills as we sped back. After Clare it was, as almost always, a right turn to go through Poslingford and up the hill towards Stanningfield. This was when I felt that something wasn't quite right, I dropped back rapidly up this short (but sharp) hill that normally (these days) I manage quite comfortably. And I'm on the best bike and all. Get back on before Stansfield, pass the group, charge the bank up past the church . . and die again. Peter S-W passes me, with his rear tyre partly deflated. I only catch a distant glimpse of the ride two or three times before they finally disappear over the summit of the Cote de Hawkedon (see picture). Between Stansfield and Hawkedon Stephen L catches up with me, and thanks me for waiting - what a tactful chap, or was it sarcasm? We rode together (he waited after each climb, even uneven road repairs were becoming a challenge by this stage) until the point where I turned left up to Whepstead. At least SL had sound reasons for feeling slightly sub-optimal, having had no tea stop and passing his previous longest ride distance at about 60 miles. He expressed the desire to spend the afternoon asleep in his garden before turning out to collect Mrs Linden from the last London Train at Cambridge.
It is said that history is written by the victors but, as I have said before in similar circumstances, clubrun accounts can end up being recorded by the loser who gets dropped. But I'm not going to complain, I knew my way home (always do). I just regret not having the opportunity to say 'goodbye'.. . . . . . .sob. . . . .
SJH   PS, I haven't got the hang of moving pictures around on this latest version of Blogger - as you can see. I hope for improvements, especially if someone out there has a few tips . . . . .

 . . . . . .and another

Stephen L & Dale at the start

What got missed out over the last two years . . . .

Yesterday I released the Deer encounter account from 2010. On closer examination of the dusty corners of the 'drafts' section of the ramshackle archive of the SJH blog I realise that there are fragments of this and that which could possibly bear the glare of daylight on the screens of those who follow (lately in vane) my accounts of life awheel.
SJH

7th April 2010 Peter H, Darren Fowler, Tom-Tom, Ron Fisher, Gareth Doman John Gould and SJH were joined by Tim from the USA, who is over on a visit - his son is recently returned from Afghanistan, is based at Lakenheath and a keen cyclist. Tim is keen, too, but hasn't done more than a handful of miles since last summer when he first switched to a road bike from ATB. He's done a lot of skiing though, and this kept him afloat for the close to 60 miles of undulating Suffolk that he endured this morning. The picture above was taken by a member of staff at 'Mere Moments' in Diss.

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14 April 2010. USA Tim was back for more, Al MacPherson dipped his toe into the wonder of Wednesdays and Darren turned up for the last Mercredi before a run of unfavourable shifts. Nathan was due back in Bury for a driving lesson, so would be turning back before tea.

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21st July 2010. Tony "Wrong-way" Panting. Two weeks b4 the Lynmouth flood in 1952 had stayed at cottage that was swept away. He could have been a statistic, instead of a legend. Thinking of legends - who else is having a sub-optimal farewell season?

New venue, old attitudes. Peter warns against parking in the car park - 'they' would want to charge, because 'they' wanted £15 for his Rambling group to park there. Also has seemingly-obligatory sign forbidding just about everything, starting with Cycling and including Ball Games except (possibly) walking (though walking too slowly might cause anxiety and suspicions of loitering). Keen to avoid the latter, we moved off at a modest pace pausing only for SJH to nip down to the Bus Shelter and check for riders in the wrong place. I note that the website hasn't been changed yet.

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(date about a week after the above) Justin, Jack, Peter H, Jeff Agricole, Dawn, Richard Muchmore, a guy named Paul on a first-time ride, Glenn Morris (the one who isn't Glenn Grant), Tom-Tom, Tiger Tony and me (SJH).  We met up at our revised venue of NEW GREEN (there is a sign to the New Green Centre, off Station Road in Thurston, on the Eastern side) and had a short but amiable discussion with the lady who looks after the Centre and its car park (we may not use it at present, but possibly at some time in the future we'll cut a deal involving a donation ) during which we tried to project an amiable , approachable impression.

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Thetford Garden Centre - in the grounds of Kilverstone Hall, which used to be the home of the Zoo that achieved fame via those stickers in the rear windows of thousands of ageing family saloons. I knew it well, but only because of the stickers - I never went there. Perhaps that was were they went wrong?

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4th August 2010. How far is it to the far side of Livermere from Thurston New Green? Not far, is how far, and it was the distance that we travelled before the first puncture. As the pictures show, Peter was having quite a tough time even though Tom-Tom was providing assistance. With all the latest techniques acquired at Elmy Cycles' puncture-repair seminar that he attended last winter, and with the aid of my now-famous tool (a putter-on-er-er of reluctant tyres) Peter was all done in a mere twenty minutes or so. Then it was noticed that Paul-on-his-first-Wednesday-ride had a flat rear tyre. This took a little longer. The scenes below took place outside Livermere Village Hall.

After a total stop of  nearly 3/4 of an hour the ride finally got under way. I didn't get as far as describing the remainder of the ride.

Richard sees something

Peter Models his Overshoe modifications

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8th May 2012. The day began with sunshine, then clouded over and then brightened. Perfect tactical weather to get the riders out of bed and into the car and off to the races. The rain came much later and, not for the first time the final race was run on wet roads with grey cloud overhead and pavements now emptied of spectators. The huge amount of snaps and vids I took filled memories and emptied batteries. I was taking the video for Michael Lawson to turn into a record of the day, so needed to begin with the setting-up, against a background of the village waking up. I took most of this with my compact Canon Ixus (nice and discreet) rather than Polly's proper video Cannon Legria  that I didn't yet fully understand. The results looked quite usable. I couldn't have imagined that I would lose nearly all of the stills and video taken . But I did. I got someone to recover most of the data - but there were quite random chunks that have gone forever.

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15 August 2010: How Dare Dat Deer Do Dat?

Buckley's Tea Room

This Blog was found down the back of a settee in my blog Archive. Unsent and unappreciated. Yes; the year is 2010!

With the wind from the North East, the logical route wouldn't be one that took us to the South West. However, when a new venue for tea is discovered it has to be visited at once. So Castle Hedingham it was to be. Justin led us with a directional fluency few could have questioned due to that part of Essex being considered another country to we West Suffolk-ers. We had a Tom-Tom in reserve, just in case a second opinion was needed, but he was able to relax in the bunch free of all responsibility. It was Castle Hedingham that we needed, rather than dear Sible, and the tearooms that some say used to be the site of Buckley-Saxon Cycles (and others muttered that the real site was "just over there") all we know is that the Buckley bit remains in the tea room title, and that the service was very friendly (if a touch confused and uncoordinated for the total approval of Peter Heath, our Teafinder General). We were surprised to find a startled-looking Mike Bowen and friends already seated! Part of the building was given over to Bric-a-Brac and Bygones, all for sale and some bizarre (a chest of drawers in the shape of a Cello anyone?).

As we set off up the fine main street (a touch steep for 'café legs') we past an early Georgian house with a Blue Plaque. I was just able to make out the name of one of my favourite twentieth century English artists, Eric Ravilious. The journey home seemed straight forward, if a little brisker than the outward run. Some miles after leaving Glemsford Tom-Tom took a right turn for a peaceful ride home at his own pace. Then it happened.

Tricia was riding on my right, and we were chatting about something or other that has now quite gone out of my head when it happened. I don't think that we could, in the cirsumstances, be expected to identify the Gender of the Beast. Mercifully, the number of the beast amounted to just the one, and it was most certainly a DEER As to the type of deer - follow the link, and you decide. All I know is that this face appeared from the right and just above handlebar height and attached to a very solid body. The animal being unavoidable a crash became inevitable and the result was regrettable.
I was lucky in landing mostly on the grass verge - swiftly followed by Barry and Adi. Tricia had a high gravel-rash score, specially her right (?) arm. Every one gathered round and, as you can see from the picture, my bike received a great deal of attention. Julian was very concerned that I had bumped my (unprotected) head, and I was very concerned that my front wheel was badly damaged - though probably rideable. Tricia felt it important that she start riding again at once (must be a horsey thing) and was escorted homewards by Julian Long - with a transfer to motor car driven by Mrs L chez Long at Gt Barton.
I was escorted home by a select and watchful group, my main concern was the amount of wobble in my front wheel. I was offered a lift home from Bury, but (as one does) I politely refused. I did, however, accept Justin's company for the entire route home.

SJH

Sunday 22nd April. A Sunny Group Ride

As I arrive at the HQ, imagining that I am early (or at any rate not late) I am confronted by a large group of Wheelers, at the centre of which stood Julian Colman. Organising. "Everyone who wants to be on the B ride, go over there, those who want to join the A ride come down here!!" he was saying. As could have been predicted, at least three 'A' riders were hiding in amongst the 'B' group, only emerging after Julian had done a head count and worried that there might be too many 'A's. I had placed a few possible routes into my medium-term memory, in case no one else had a bright idea, but going to Wheldon's fruit farm at (variously) Newton Green or Great Cornard wasn't one of them. It is actually between the two places, and the only routes that I had experienced (courtesy of Peter Heath and TomTom respectively) were fiercely complex and involved 11% climbs. I was the only person in the 'B' ride who knew (who knew?) so I would need to improvise 'on the fly'. Up Mount Rd from HQ, and onto the cycle path we went - except for the trio who had attacked through the Moreton Hall estate and thus not noticed that they were on their own. They were milling around at the Rougham cross roads, so we were all together again. A few more attacks were  ignored, and then the ride seemed to settle into a fairly ordered group of about fifteen.

We were soon joined by the A ride

There was sunshine, wonderful light, and a fairly brisk headwind. I had settled on a yet-to-be-finalised-in-my-head route that would include a few loops around Milden,  and Boxford. I miscalculated, and ended up going into Boxford from the route that I had intended to leave it by. This left the  choice of crossing to Assington, and the fiercely complex route or turn right and follow the main road. Main road it was, then. But it was rather further than I had thought, however the traffic was light and not very threatening (have you noticed, as I have, that traffic other than rush hours is getting lighter? Is the cost of fuel beginning to change peoples' driving habits?) We did, however, split quite badly before we joined the A134 - the breakaway group waited at Newton Green, and we re-grouped. At this point Sharon announced that there was a short cut via a bit of un-made road through a golf club, to the Tea Stop. Hardly anyone believed this, but I felt it seemed logical - and anyway, it wouldn't be my fault if it lead nowhere. Worked like a charm, through to a T junction, turn left and Wheldon's in 50yds. Since we were over fifteen, the service system was quite stretched. Ten minutes later the 'A' riders arrived having ridden about 44 miles to our 32. This was a severe test for the unfailingly pleasant staff, but I only noticed quite how much of a problem had been caused when my scones hadn't arrived - but chocolate cake was being rushed to the fast group. I was persuaded to go against my instinct, and tactfully enquire about my order. It was hidden under a pile of paper napkins, but there was nothing to suggest that this had been deliberate and a panic production of food and drink brought me in line with the rest of the ride.
We set off ahead of the A ride and predictably they caught us just as we turned out of Gt Waldingfield towards Acton. I think it must have been Shaun Sivertson who crossed the gap and joined the faster ride, but there was a certain amount of  restlessness amongst others in our group until I took us off on a right turn, so that we didn't have the speeding bunch in the distance any more. We crossed the B1071 Lavenham road at Washmere Green and took the little cut-off lane to the B1115 to Monk's Eleigh where we went up past the church and thus to Preston, and home. The favourable wind sped us on our way to the conclusion of a great ride (if you ignore my choice of too large a chunk of 'A' roads just before the café)

SJH

Wednesday 25th April. Very Wet, Very Short.

Would anyone be there? Should I be here? Rain is forcefully forecast by all weather sites viewed, and promised to be very heavy by lunchtime. I am, unusually, slightly early. I cycle in circles, and up and down the roads surrounding New Green Centre in Thurston. I see two bikes resting against the side of NGC - Sharon & another; Dawn perhaps? How long does it take to fix waterproof mascara?

Matt the racing motorist appears, slightly underdressed as usual. And also being slightly built there seems even less protection from the promised precipitation. Wind: east south east, gusts 31mph possible. I was thinking Thornham for tea, but Sharon has the better idea - circumnavigation of Bury St Edmunds so that, if the weather is seriously bad we won't be far from home at any point. I take us on an anti clockwise route which, with hindsight (a special power much in the news these days) wasn't the smartest move if Bury was to be at the centre of the route, since we were beginning 4 miles to the east. And, if we made it round to the west of Bury we'd have a headwind home. But none of this mattered at all, because we only made it round to Haughley before heading inwards. The rain had been gradually getting heavier since (possibly) Drinkstone. I had very roughly calculated that if the rain held off we could cover at least 50 miles without straying further than about 10 miles from Bury - no longer an even remote possibility!

The homeward stretch was tailwind-assisted which meant that what was by  now quite heavy rain wasn't being lashed into our faces; Matt and I began to quite enjoy our swishing splashing progress through the puddles - but in my case, not quite sufficiently to consider riding straight past my house. I waved farewell and scuttled indoors for a hot bath, leaving my companions to ride the remaining seven miles back to Bury.   SJH

Wednesday April 18th. Short Wet One.

I haven't attempted this for a while, the list of riders. We are now such a large Club, with new members nearly every month, that it can be hard to know who is who. I get everyone's names passed on to me by Peter - but I don't know what they look like. Photos, that might help. Anyway, we were: Glenn Morris, Guy Lesser, Will Mapus-Smith, Matt Parry, Mark Saunders, Dawn DiMarco, Sharon Calton, TomTom, Peter Heath and me (SJH). All forecasts were pretty grim - even the most optimistic, why is it that I try to seek out a better forecast? It's not going to change what will actually happen, after all. The promised rain held off until after our pitstop - but it made up for this by really chucking it down. The wind was absolutely as predicted, wild, 19 mph and gusting  to 30mph. I was very pleased that my "Lobster Claw" cloves are not only v v warm but also waterproof. Guy's breathable and waterproof jacket proved that it could only achieve one of those two properties. Don't worry Guy, I fell for favourable write-ups when I bought a pair of Endura "Deluge" gloves that had the word "waterproof" printed in yellow on the backs. Barely showerproof. Evans Cycles took it very well and refunded without quibble (just a "must be a faulty pair, I've used them all winter with no problems" to which the only reply has to be "yeah, right").

Peter entertained us

Pace felt quite brisk, possibly due to the youthful element - but maybe it's just subjective, like the Met Office weather website which gives the temperature and then a "feels like" number. So, pace medium feels like brisk. We are to go to Hollowtrees, which is actually Woodlands Café at Hollowtrees Farm, and is at Semer, as any fule no. As we near Lavenham Sharon peels off for home, and we peel off towards Preston St Mary, down to Brent Eleigh then up to Milden - marvelling that this was actually considered as a Mountain Points Prime in the Tour of Britain 2010 (admittedly, the Heroes of the Tour didn't have to stop at the crossroads partway up). The rain was still holding off as we arrived at Woodlands. Then there was a very loud drumming on the plastic roof of the entrance to the cafe, and on the sky lights in the room. Stair rods is the expression that covers what we saw outside, so we decided to dig in for a long tea stop. We'd arrived earlier than usual, and had time in hand. Every now and again someone would pop outside to check on the rain. Peter entertained us with a graphic demonstration of resuscitation technique - I can't recall how we got onto this - not realising that those at the far end of the table could only see his arms down to the elbow. Not able to see what his hands were up to, they just got the vigorous pumping action. Oh yes, and  his spirited rendition of "Staying Alive". Dawn had tears streaming down her face as we all laughed hard. Apparently, mouth to mouth resuscitation is no longer the priority, it is getting or keeping the heart going that's the thing. Peter quizzed good Doctor Lesser at the far end of the table about matters concerning  blood and oxygen and the good doctor confirmed the change in emphasis adding, dryly, that it was difficult to conduct any controlled tests.

The rain still sounded serious, but wasn't too awful once we were out in it, innitt. Those without mudguards suffered quite badly with the amount of surface water around, and all of us got the aforementioned soaking by the time we got home. Just 42 miles for me - and felt about right.