Saturday Pre-BBR and BBR - Modest Turnout Enjoys Good Weather

 Just two of us made the border crossing with Normans Bay for the pre-BBR jaunt to Beachy Head, with various others either riding the Pete Tadros Hack Ride or being in France, or on the way back from France, or buying Christmas trees, or collecting Aunt Mabel from the dog's home. It's that time of year.

Just two riders at Norman's bay!

Adam and I set off a little late, waiting for any last minute arrivals, but there were none. For once this month, there was no howling gale and rain to fight against. Happy days! The marsh lane was busy with a good number of cyclists, among them our own most excellent Stuart Hodd, whipping along at a good pace. We enjoyed a chatty but fairly quick ride to Beachy, pausing for a shot of the view (grey on top of grey) and a stylish 'selfie'. What wind there was gave us a helpful push back along the top road and, once we have descended Dukes Drive, along the Eastbourne sea front. Somehow, I picked up a PR on the stretch to the pier, without really trying.

Grey skies at Beachy!

We pushed on along the Langney and Pevensey stretches, riding through the site of a police checkpoint we had passed on the way out. A car was parked at the side of the road with a big orange poster plastered to the windscreen - "East Sussex Police - Car Seized", or something similar. I reckoned it was because of no insurance, but Adam reckons it was something more sinister. We both thought we saw a couple of Peter Buss's favourite cushions on the back sill and an empty bag marked 'swag' on the back seat. Very curious.

Pulling into Di Paulos, it was soon apparent that it would be a small group ride for the Bacon Butty Run ie just me and Adam. I tucked into a piece of the excellent fruit cake and Adam scoffed scrambled eggs, both washed down with good coffee. It tasted brilliant after the 30 mile round-trip to Beachy. We sat, checked phones, looked out of the window. A brief drizzly shower was lifting and the sky brightened.

Aha! Who was this? Theo Tadros rolled up, too young for the boozy exploits of his father's ride. Then Mark Ingram arrived and we had enough riders to call ourselves a group. Just as we were pulling away, Jaguar arrived too, breathless from his frantic ride to make the start in time. Five fine riders.

All in all, we were well matched as a group, some of us stronger on the flat and others strong on the hills. The less well-used lanes were wetter than I expected, with standing water in many places and plenty of mud. Even with mudguards, my bike was filthy before we reached the turn for the lane to Rickney. Mark picked up a puncture. We waved on Adam, Theo and Jaguar and paused to assess the situation. A small but perfectly formed flint had cut and then wedged itself into the tyre, neatly puncturing the inner tube. It looked hand made. Ok, small hands, but nonetheless finely done, I thought.

Mark is a craftsman: 'I'm not going to rush this", he said. One of his bottle cages held a tool cannister. Out came a small folding table for the tools and on went the latex gloves. "If you could assist please Neil?" I felt a weight of expectation fall on my shoulders - one false move and this repair could go pear-shaped. "Sure", I replied, nonchalantly. "Then bring over the patient".

The rear wheel was out of the frame in a flash and I held it as Mark went in with the tyre levers. "Hold it still man, steady yourself!", Mark growled. "Sorry" I meekly whispered. The tyre levers span left and right around the tyre, and then in one deft movement the bead was levered over the rim. "We're in" said Mark, "now, stand back".

I took a pace to my left. Mark's left hand pushed up the valve and his right hand pinched the tube between thumb and forefinger. He gave a sharp tug and the tube was out, flung to one side, limp and airless. I picked it up carefully, folded the valve stem first and then wrapped the rest of the tube into a neat bundle, for later repair.

Meanwhile, Mark was breaking out a new inner tube, tearing off the sterilised packaging and pushing the valve into the rim. His hands worked in a precise and fluid motion to first lift the rim and then tuck in the tube. In a similar manner, he worked the bead back over the rim, circling around the wheel and motioning for some help for the final push. The tyre was in place and Mark now pumped in some air as I held it steady. Next, for the final inflation, a CO2 cylinder was emptied into the tube, the bead popping satisfyingly into place on the rim. Final checks were made and then the wheel replaced in the frame, the disk slotting neatly between the brake pads.

"Clear up the tools, nurse." I think he meant me, so I wiped off any mud or water and slid them back into the tool cannister. "Your tools Mark" I said, as I handed him the cannister. "Let's go" was the brisque reply.

Heated accommodation at Chilly farm!

By now, the wind was picking up and we worked hard to get across the marsh to the Rickney turn. Rolling into Chilly Farm, we ordered and moved into the very cosy shelter, heated by a large woodburner - the one that Peter Buss 'mated' with the other week. Some shreds of charred and molten lycra hung from one corner of it, as a warning to anyone else tempted to do the same. I shuddered at the thought.

Theo and Jaguar take training seriously, although Jag is keener on weights than cycling. Theo is aiming for 200 miles a week at the moment, an impressive mileage target for a young man of 13. The most I have managed is about 150 miles, and that was enough, but I guess if you do a daily commute over a decent distance it's easy enough to rack up the miles.

Our group span back to Bexhill ahead of the increasing breeze, parting ways at the traffic lights in town. An excellent morning's riding!

Neil