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The evidence is clear, never rely on a weather forecast when deciding to go cycling.
Me and 6 others from my tri club turned up for the annual Tour of the Weald.
This is 100k starting from Staplehurst and takes in many of the Kent Villages Headcorn Smarden Yalding Benenden Biddenden Goudhurst to name but a few. This is one of Steve's favorite annual rides but he has had a relapse into girls blouse and put out that fatal e mail .
Not to be deterred by a bad weather forecast.
So it rained at the start . I asked Mike who runs this annual event if he could turn the rain off but he said you will need to keep cool as there is a steep hill after about 3 miles . Those who have done this ride will remember this hill , it is steep but Mike had promised to switch the rain off at the top and he did. From then on there was no rain for 4 hours but plenty of sun. Rain jackets were shed and not needed again. This would have seen most of the riders home but not me .
We had a shower at 57 miles but as many will remember this is the start of the famous time trial. You are timed over a 7 k section which starts fairly easy but the last section is quite steep.
The 1 H&stL ( apart from me )was Duncan Pain who was pleased to see some familiar faces as he knew me and Kim.
I really love this ride . There are 7 significant climbs but lots of flat sections in between. The course had been altered from previous years and a feed station is at 45 miles.
The sad thing about this event is that only 49 riders had booked in advance. Mike runs a good event as every turn is marked . Last year it was cancelled through lack of advance entries. I hope it is on next year but if not the reason is clear. It is cheap compared to many Sportives .
Dave Dixon was first home . Many will remember him as he had been a Hastings member for probably 20 years but now does Tri.. He was followed by Dawn then Kim then Roy Beeley the 1066 chairman.Then me. Then Nick Bridger who has been a Hastings member for the last 2 years . I am working on his renewal.
Duncan went quite fast down Whydown Dip today, quickly passing four riders and rapidly catching Neil. Duncan did the gentlemanly thing and didn't go past Neil on the approach to the sharp left hander. Of course Strava segments mean nothing to us semi pro cyclists, but it was noted that Duncan's new time of 45 seconds and All Time 5th on this segment precisely matched that of Neil Smith's previous PR. Later in the café Neil would remark upon there sometimes being horses just around the corner, something to watch out for. So Duncan stopped pedalling, tucked behind Neil's wheel and leaned to the left. Duncan was somewhat puzzled and severely alarmed to hear this almighty and terrifying whining noise coming from the depths of his steed. It felt like something could easily jam up and throw him off, not pleasant at this jaunty caper. Duncan stopped. Riders went passed. "Everything ok" "Yeah" Well no actually, I am standing here with a problem that I don't even know what it is. Duncan looked down expecting to see a shredded tyre at least. Nothing. Rien. Nada. Wtf is going on he thought. Got off and spun both wheels. Nothing. Rien. Nada. All went passed. "Everything ok" "Yeah" Well no actually, I am standing here with a problem that I don't even know what it is. Abandoned, lonely, deserted, downhearted he thought. Bollocks he thought. Oh well, time to man up and get on with it, put hanky away. Ride slowly up hill looking down. Nothing. Rien. Nada. OK so he wanted a gentle ride as doing Tour of the Weald on Sunday, hey presto now you have it. Rode slower than normal up the hill. At some point further on the noise mysterious cam back. Stopped, looked. Nothing. Rien. Nada. Wtf! Pressed on with feelings of bitterness at abandonment and desertion slowly turning to the realization that he could ride as slow as he wanted and enjoy the splendid Spring vitality of a rather lovely day. The daffodils at the top of Cricketer's Lane were so splendid he actually pulled off and rode slowly around the little triangle. Spirits soared, he really started to feel at one with this Green and Pleasant Land, cycling Nirvana achieved.
Thanks for waiting boys, what time can I get a pint?
At some point when not pedalling he looked down and thought the chain had come off. Wtf? How can it come off, I'm not pedalling. Hmm, cogs clicking and whirring. Mental ones that is. Stopped. Dismounted. Looked. But it hasn't come off. Uh? My lower chain strand is practically dragging on the road. Eureka! Looked at his rear derailleur which did not appear to be tensioning the chain at all. Reached down and pulled it. Found it to be about as limp as a lettuce leaf that's been left on the parcel shelf of a car all day in Summer. So if he stops pedalling, the chain goes very very loose and is maybe rubbing on the side of those Leviathan width 25mm tyres. Hey, he thought, that must be it. Case for the prosecution closed. So, er, um, if he just keeps on, um, pedalling like, you know, all the time, even on the downs it should maintain tension. Shouldn't it?
...and he drove the fastest milk cart in the West, Ernie..
Well as it happens that appeared to work a treat, change up more than normal, just pretend you are Ivan Man Machine Johnson and keep on pedalling.
Duncan rode to Herstmonceux and turned up the Cowbeech Road. He enjoyed a most pleasant solo ride, with the sure and certain hope of bumping into the others at some point. He noted with more time than normal the splendid houses and gardens along the road. Of particular interest to him was a house with a pretty board on it, "Tranquility" was its name. Ah he thought, that is indeed perhaps a sign in more ways than one.
Must go in the Merrie Harriers at some point
Duncan stopped at the Merrie Harriers pub and sat down, contemplating how lovely the Bacon Butty Ride is. He sat on a rather quaint old seat, lovingly marked with "In memory of Ernie". Now Duncan is quite old, older than his lithe frame suggests. He chuckled. "And he drove the fastest milk cart in the west, Ernie, and he drove the fastest milk cart in the west" More chuckles and mental pictures of Bennie Hill chasing scantily clad young girls around random fields in time honoured fashion. Wouldn't be allowed these days, no way, no how. Back then I think it was just innocent fun. Make up your own non pc comment here about no known association with Jimmy Saville, evil man, ruiner of lives. "Beware the wolf in sheep's clothing" And for our younger readers, go YouTube it if you don't have a clue what Duncan is on about.
And so he waited. And waited a bit more. They must be coming soon, he will hear the soft whirring of GP4000's on smooth tarmac as they approach this little bend. He started getting slightly cold, something Duncan seriously does not like being. Saddle up. Head North. Sure enough I saw Neil approaching. About 2 yards from me he says rather surprised, Duncan?! Yes sir, Duncan here, reporting for duty, raring to go after his gentle relaxation and musings on life.
Happiness is a bike and a pub.
Duncan did a U turn. Neil was up front going a fair lick. Darren was next. That's my target he thought. Got on the back of Darren. Darren seemed a bit more tired than normal. Went in front of Darren to lend a hand. Duncan asked you alright mate? Bit tired came the reply, I've been up Beachy Head on the pre BBR. Sure, that does take it out of you a bit Duncan says. Duncan slowed a bit and towed Darren along, finally coming across Neil and some others at the little left turn triangle.
At this point, dear reader, the narration will pass back to Neil. An incident happened where an old git accompanied by an old crone in a Volvo Estate attempted to drive into Duncan's rather shapely left leg as he was sitting astride his bike chatting to myself [Neil]. Duncan cannot speak of this incident anymore, he is too traumatized and has booked himself on a 6 week course of counselling in the hope of erasing it from his memory.
[Over to you Neil]
Post ride relaxation with the best little water bottle in the World
When Patrick said he was planning a ride to the seafront for some fish & chips, I thought doesn’t sound too bad quick sprint up Friars Hill and a cruise past the the speed camera on Old London Rd and then let’s get stuck in. But then the bombshell “Not not in Hastings you plonker – Whitstable”. Fine I thought, then Nigel the Caveman got hold of the idea “no not straight there plonker - lets do the Oasts & Coast route through Hythe, Folkestone, Dover, Deal, Sandwich, Minnis Bay, Reculver, Herne Bay and finally Whitstable (apologies to any seaside town in Kent we went through that I have forgotten – but they have blurred into a blur). Ok why not – invites sent and lycra ironed - Easter Saturday the plan. Then the weather forecast so a last minute switch to Good Friday.
Duncan Patrick & Nigel met at the Harrow and made their way to Pett where I was enjoying my lay in. We then set off across the marshes, the north westerly tormented us alternating between cross and a headwind. To add to the party, the amount of c*** on the road began to clog the brakes, so much so we had to stop and remove wheels to get the stuff off. Arrived in Hythe and stopped at the cycle friendly café in Hythe where we were greeted like Tour de France riders by the attentive staff. We sat outside and joined in the outdoor Sally Ann Good Friday service. The sermon was focussing on suffering – how we laughed!!
Even cavemen need fuel
Any way, off we went on the intriguing route the bank holiday bought traffic jams in the towns and thousands on the cycle paths, causing us to have to weave and brake for good parts of the journey. The route was brilliant and on any other day (ie no head wind and fewer holiday makers) would be perfect – bring on the Oasts and Coasts. We paid homage to my Aunty Pat’s caravan at Recluver although I insisted on not popping in as she knows too many embarrassing things about me. Just before Minnis Bay, Nigel bequeathed home made rice cakes to us. I for one became a fan – easily digested and loads of energy.
We arrived in Whitstable around 3pm and the place was heaving – we tried to queue for fish & chips and gave up after estimating the 45min wait. We then pushed on to Canterbury on another really nice country lane route and eventually selected ‘Spoons’ as the place for our late lunch (You can take the boys out of Hastings but you can’t take Hastings out of the boys). At that point all of our Garmins were telling us they were on low battery. Fears of no representation of the ride on Strava gripped – so adjustments to backlights and navigation left us reliant on Nigel’s route knowledge, even though he had never completed the route this way around.
Chips and beer, the food of champions
Then the final leg back though the lanes, by this time legs were suffering and we all worked hard for the cause of the group. Not helped by the wind shifting to a south west head wind (Easter suffering theme continued). We decided at Kennardington not to take the route back through Wittersham but to go back along the Military Canal road to Rye and the back via Pett Level and Battery Hill to home. My Garmin turned off with a mile or so to go but still registered 130 miles plus. But Duncan must have gained the prize with his ride back to Bexhill.
In the morning when I arranged to meet up with Ivan for the Friday night ride, I felt a tightening of the chest, was this the beginning of yet another chest infection?
By the time Ivan arrived I was buzzing with fever, wheezing like a 40 a day man and starting to cough up flem. I was so breathless cycling up to the lodge that I couldn't hold a conversation.
I was pleased to see a good turnout of five other riders. this meant that if necessary I could start the ride and peel off without leaving Ivan on his own.
Myself, Nigel and Ricky set off down Battery Hill two minutes before the others. Nigel had a close shave when he narrowly missed a fox that darted out from the undergrowth straight into his path.
Near the bottom of the descent there were some very bright cycling lights. At first I thought it was Paul Baxter but there were three cyclists rather than one. I found out later the lights belonged to Peter Baker, Nigel T and Patrick who were on the last leg of their epic 140 mile Tour Of Kent.
The earlier spring weather must have energised the local wildlife as the Nature reserve was full of rabbits . Many of them seemed to have a death wish and were darting in and out of Ricky's wheels.
Ricky's flats will soon be consigned to history
The still cold air seemed to have helped clear my chest so I decided to see it through to the end. Despite being hindered by flat shoes and pedals (spds arriving soon), Ricky has made big improvements to his fitness and shot past myself and Derek to join up with Sargent Grogans and the other faster riders.
This proved to be only temporary and by the halfway point Derek and I had reeled him back him. With Ricky to spur him on, Derek increased the pace slightly and I ended up being last man to Broad Oak.
Not wanting to hold the group up any longer I asked Ivan to lead on. The weather was so perfect, a cool windless dry night unlike the bad weather which would be on its way at the weekend.
On the Stonestile approach I noticed a sign about road closure due to road repairs but didn't spot what date this is due to start. This is surprising as I thought the road was in pretty good condition, although its good to know the council are taking such care over our our 'Friday Night' route.
A warm Wednesday evening encouraged 20 riders to test their mettle on the chain gang. There was another good turn out, but we thought there might be more, given it was such a pleasant evening (relatively speaking - this aint Mallorca). Dry roads, light winds and a temperature of seven degrees or so; lovely! Amongst those present were George Welfare, making a guest appearance for Rovers, and Simon 'Champ' Grogan, the fastest oldie in Sussex (it's official after his speedy ride at Sunday's ESCA Hardriders' TT).
With at least ten riders in the first group out, there were twice the number of ultras this week than last. A brisk but slightly relaxed pace was set by Barney 'yellow leader' Willard and Stuart 'Awesome' Hodd whilst they had a good chinwag. I sat in behind them alongside Michael Maxwell, the ultras riding tight to each other's wheels, efficiently cutting the night air. The following group were just off the back, with a few making it across later in the outward leg.
Yet again, the late rotation saw me make the front just as we reached the Cooden Beach hotel. I've no idea if I go too fast or slow around the right hand bend. It felt a bit slow to me, so I took the left hander into Herbrand Walk as wide as I could and pushed on up the slight slope by the station. The pace picked up as the group went past me, but I felt strong and the speed was exhilarating. We rode well as a unit, swapping smoothly off the front and each time injecting a little more energy.
The newly retired Andy C is riding much faster
I was mid-group as we swept into the marsh lanes, the tight turns and gaping potholes to my left adding a surge of adrenaline as I concentrated hard on the road ahead and avoided pitching into wheel and body-breaking pits in the gutter. I rode the Giant TCR (aluminium SL frame) last night in summer trim, with new cables and fresh wheels, and I certainly felt the benefit of the lighter bike, compared to the cannonball.
I made the front of the group as we turned over the first and smaller red-brick bridge, heading fast along the straight to the Star Inn, where first Barney and then Stewart B bounced past me, with George close behind. A car was coming towards us as we banked right, but we managed the risk well with clear, sharp shouts and good bike handling, avoiding the potholes to the left as we accelerated away from the Inn.
Next comes Normans Bay and then Spooky Hill. For once I was not on the front and I had no intention of being there either! Half-way up, the pace felt very manageable, but this was deceptive. On the front, someone pressed the button marked 'afterburners' and a group of five torched the road, pulling away with a whiff of burning rubber. As the dust settled, the next two riders over the summit were Stuart H and me, working hard to reach them, but they had stolen a march on us, staying in sight but tantalisingly out of reach. I took the front on the way down the hill before Stuart swapped on and shouted 'stay on Neil', upping his cadence and getting low over the bars. I dug in and hung on, trying hard to take a turn, but I had to wait for half a kilometre before he slowed just enough to make this possible.
On we rode, my breathing ragged and at the limit. I started to wish for the layby to come into view, but there were more left and right hand bends to bank through, and the last straight to pelt down before I could rest. We arrived moments after the front group as they circled the roundabout and eased into the marsh lane again. Stuart and I rode round, watching in some confusion as Barney disappeared into the garage.
'Why has he gone in there?' asked the others as we waited.
'More petrol, I think' I said, and in a way I was right - he needed to refuel with a mars bar, declaring it 'the food of champions'. I'm not so sure, but I guess it's just the thing when you need a fast shot of energy.
Calvin proves just how light his new cube is
As we waited, Lord Buckland passed some snobby, toffee-nosed comments about my new red cable outers, which in his opinion were garish and out of keeping with the bike's colour scheme. He muttered about this being a 'style crime' of some sort, and this from the man that rides a souped-up Raleigh Grifter. Really, I ask you! Michael's opinion is that outers should be 'black, or nothing'. I get the black, but not the nothing - transparent? I think silver, white and red is a classy combination, especially when offset with black bar tape, saddle and bars.
Not before time, given the rising tension over bike colour schemes, we counted in the last rider and watched Steve Curtis roll out to start the return leg. I found myself riding after him and for a while I struggled to catch up, my legs not yet recovered from the maximum effort on the way out. The pace soon picked up and I rode in a mixed group that yo-yo'd back and forth as small breaks came off the front and were then hauled in again. Eventually, we settled into a fast and not quite as fast group, with 'Champ' Grogan, Lord 'Style Council' Buckland, Selmo and the 'not-seen-for-a-while' Ruth (amongst others) working well together, without really finding a pace we were all comfortable with. So, it was a slower ride back, but I was happy enough, given the earlier efforts.
My second chain gang lap was far more pleasant than more recent rides, mostly because it was comfortably warm rather than a frozen ordeal. It was just good to be out riding, without the grim trial of trying and failing to generate enough heat to enjoy the trip. On the way across the marshes, I became aware of a bright light that was slowly gaining on me. Well, I couldn't let them reach me, so I put in more effort and maintained a gap. Stopping at the roundabout, Ruth pulled into view, having tried hard to catch me. I suddenly felt bad for not slowing and working with her, to our mutual benefit. Ruth gave me the lowdown on cycling in Lanzarote (impossible to say without using a bad Geordie accent), with tales of horrendous headwinds and steep hills. I think that this year more people than ever have gone to Mallorca or some other island for a mid-winter training session.
Riding back, I decided to do another 10km or so as the overall fast pace meant I had time in hand, and anyway I was having fun. I rode the Giant for the first time this year at the ESCA Hardriders, having sorted out the cables easily enough, and as I've said I appreciated the lighter weight compared to my bad-weather bike. I really like the riding position on the cannonball, so I have tried to replicate this on the Giant, tape measure and allen keys in hand, moving this and that back and forth to match the position. Oddly, the cannonball has slightly racier tube angles than the Giant, and the saddle is a good centimetre higher.
I tried hard to raise the saddle on the Giant to the same height, but failed as the carbon seat post is firmly stuck in the aluminium frame. 'The Internet' (that well-known font of all knowledge) advises against using penetrating oils as this might make the carbon swell. The only option will be to heat the seat tube and hope it expands enough to break the bond between the two materials. Trevor suggested a small blowtorch, but I'm not sure about that. I'll try boiling water and some brute force. The seat post is an aero shape, so I can't twist it. I have to hope it will release and slide out... A range of innuendos pop into my mind at this point, but I'll leave them unsaid.
The Giant might be lighter, but the bottom bracket area is not as stiff as the Cannondale's and the straight forks make for a choppier ride with more vibration. The caadx has curved, deep section fork legs that you can see work up and down to damp the rough road surface. The back end of bike and smaller diameter seat post are also better at smoothing the road, without losing power, I think. But its clearly a heavier bike - great for training and for bad-weather, but not fast enough for TTs or riding with the ultras...
Hastings & St Leonards CC provided 18 out of the 69 finishers in Sunday morning's East Sussex Hard Riders time trial. Ivan Johnson was our strongest rider taking 45:19 to cover the challenging 15 mile course, starting and finishing at Bodle Street Green. He was also our best ascender of "Agony Hill" going north from Ashburnham, taking 3:55.2 to climb and then speed up on the gentler rise to the prime finish timekeeper by the chapel.
It was a grey overcast morning with a bit of a bite in the chill wind which had some east in it, but it was dry, so pretty reasonable conditions for this time of year. Many thanks to all the supporters who turned out, with some of their photos posted on our Facebook Group within hours of the finish, see Sharon's pictures. Sharon's pics
There was a good buzz in the HQ as the riders came back for coffee and cakes to chat and await each batch of times going up on the screen. Tenn Outdoors were present with Colin Vicary handing out track mits to all entrants, and others. Tenn are based on the Castleham Industrial Estate and many of us buy their products, those in the know using a discount code on top of what are already good prices.
Seasoned Hard Rider Simon Grogans
Testing times for Andy T
David Earl is considering a comeback season, and so he should with our second best time of 47:48. With an appropriate surname Andy Tester should be suited to the discipline, setting an excellent debut time of 48:20. Four more went sub 50, Neil Smith being rewarded for his regular chain gang training and Pre BBRs with 48:28 on his debut, seasoned hard rider Simon Grogan 49:12 and in his first ever TT Patrick Piper 49:55.
We had two juniors with Fabien Large (51:25) setting a PB by a massive 6 minutes and Finlay Pritchard-Brady Finlay (58:13) coming close to his, very decent times for lads that have both only just turned 14.
Also riding were:
Tom Norris 50:15
Paul Butler 50:58
Simon Tyler 51:32
Andy Lancaster 52:07
Duncan Pain 53:33 an excellent first TT. His first BBR was only a few months ago ...
Greg Blackwell 54:48
Steve Curtis 55:22
Tim Miles 59:42
Chris Parker 61:24 now the only rider to have completed every ESCA HR since 2000
Kim Richmond 63:31
Normally at this time of year it is Belgium and the early Spring Classic ‘’pro’’ races, Het Nieuwsblad and Kuurne-Brussels-Kuurne plus the rain, wind, cold and cyclosportives that accompany these early season openers.
This year with maybe old age and getting soft, I opted for the South of France, a bit of March sunshine, hopefully shedding some of the winter clothing for a few days and so why not combine five days in Nice with the famous week long Paris-Nice pro race…..’’The Race to the Sun’’. It starts in the cold of Northern France and winds it’s way South, hopefully to warmer climes.
This race is a great opener for the serious grand Tour contenders and the winners list is a who’s who of great past and present cyclists, I was hoping to see the last stage plus ride the Paris-Nice sportive the day before, also get some warm miles in to help me try and cope with the bashing I get every Saturday morning and Wednesday evening back in Blighty.
So, Thursday, Easy Jet, Gatwick to Nice, £58 return plus £60 for the bike, very early flight, taxi to hotel, put bikes together and the afternoon spent on the coast road to Cannes and back, 55 miles, short sleeve jerseys and shorts, nice views, big yachts everywhere plus a chance for me to get spotted as maybe the new James Bond.
My travelling companion and myself stayed in a 3 star hotel, centre of town for about £23 per night each, brekkie extra, this time of year prices are excellent, Nice is a busy but laid back sort of town, plenty of stuff going on, lots of restaurants and bars and the plus of great cycling on quiet roads along the coast or up into the mountains
The pros arrive
Friday, train to Ventimiglia on the Italian border (40 minutes) then 25 miles along a super coastal cycle path to San Lorenzo della Mare, lunch and then a bit of iconic cycling…..San Lorenzo is where the Cipressa climb starts, as used in the Milan-San Remo classic, it is 3 mile climb, then back down to the main road, another 8 miles and up the Poggio, this is the hill that decides Milan-San Remo, if you are not near the front at the summit then you are finished . There is a very fast and technical descent down to San Remo and the finish line, Mark and myself could not do a ‘’sprint’’ due to afternoon traffic, they should have closed the roads for us. The evening was spent in Monte Carlo where I tried to find a cheap yacht and watched FC Monaco draw 2-2 with Stade Reims, a top division match and only 20 euros to get in
Saturday and the big day, the Paris-Nice sportive, 78 miles over 4 ‘’Cols’’. 803 amateurs and a smattering of former pro’s lined up at 8am on the Promenade des Anglais, numbers attached (with timing chips for the two timed climbs). This exact route would be ridden by the pro’s the next day as their final race stage, it was medium and low mountains, 2300 metres of climbing but enough for the middle of March. Off we went, closed roads for the first 10 miles, of course I let the younger, fitter contestants get a bit ahead of me with the intention of catching and breaking them later in the day but it never happened.
The start of the final stage.
The sun was shining, the event was very well organised, sweat was in abundance up the climbs which varied from 4 to 6 miles in length, scenery was stunning and I had a 13 mile descent to the finish line back in Nice where a medal was placed around my neck and a well earned sit on the beach was taken
Sunday and back to the Promenade to watch the start of the pro race, these smaller events are great for getting amongst the riders, looking at the bikes, feeling the vibes, there are no barriers between the fans and riders, of course you respect their need to get ready for a hard days racing, there is no ‘’Oi Contador, how about a selfie’’.
Terry enjoys the glorious coastal views
The rest of the day was spent cycling around the headlands before returning to Nice for the race finish, Geraint Thomas (Sky) won by 4 seconds overall from Alberto Contador (Tinkoff), it was a hard fought week of racing.
Monday and time to go home, but I had booked the latest flight I could, 7pm, YES!!!! Which meant a whole days riding, so off we went, over the Col d’Eze and down to Menton, glorious coastal views.
Making the most of the final day before flying back to blighty.
From Menton the idea was to climb the Col de la Madone (937 metres and 9 miles in length) , this ascent has been made famous by a certain Lance Armstrong who used to judge his ‘’numbers’’ by going up it as fast as he could, 34 minutes being his best time. Of course, me being ‘’clean’’, old, arthritic plus a false hip it was going to take a bit longer, 58 minutes and my ‘’numbers’’ equated to ‘’sack of potatoes’’
From the summit, a super descent back to Nice, 60 miles done, quick cake on the beach, bikes packed, taxi to airport and home, I do not think we were very popular on the plane as we had’nt had time for a wash, sort of smelled a bit sweaty, even the Air Hostesses avoided us.
Total of 250 miles in five days, loads of ‘’Cols’’, plenty of sun, the odd glass of wine or two, I recommend it to all.
A bright, sunny Wednesday, gave way to a clear, moonlit evening with a scouring, chilling east wind. 18 riders braved the cold for the chance of a swift outward leg, thinking that perhaps they could make the return journey sheltering behind larger 'fence panel' club members. For some, this was an ambition they fully achieved, as we shall see...
A chatty wait before the 'off' saw me nearly miss the ultras rolling out, so I had to pelt after Stuart, Shaun, Barney and Michael, catching them just as they were talking about how small the group was - 'and me - El Capitan!' I shouted, like a bloody schoolboy. Which reminds me, where is El Presidente and his chequered board these days?
Stuart gave the signal and we rotated neatly all the way to Cooden, the smaller number of riders making for better communication and easier encouragement. I think my pacing on the front has improved this year, mostly due to going up a gear when I move across, slowing just enough to slot in front of the previous front man. That said, I was a little too enthusiastic at times and was reminded not to surge. I think getting the pace right on the front is the hardest part of riding in the chain. For some, it is evidently so hard that they avoid it altogether.
On we pressed, the pace increasing all the time, but I managed to hang on and do my turns on the front. The bridge at the Star Inn slowed us and gave me a breather, before the group again sped on towards Normans Bay and the foot of Spooky Hill. At this point, Stuart gave me some encouragement and Shaun gave me some advice, both of which were very welcome. I dropped a gear as we hit the slope and got out of the saddle to really push myself up the hill, but I couldn't match their pace. A ridge part-way up the hill made the rear wheel skip sideways, as it had a couple of weeks back, and I thought I was coming off. I hesitated for half a pedal stroke and the gap that had already started grew to 10, 20 and then 30 metres. For a short while I thought I was catching them again, but they sped off down the hill and that was that - the evil slope had done for me again!
I rode on feeling fairly confident that I would not be caught by the others, until quite late on I became aware of lights coming up behind me. For a few hundred metres, I convinced myself that they were from a car, but eventually I could deny the truth no longer - it was the 'others'. Ugh! I did my best to hold them off, but Gareth P honked past me on the home stretch, the cad. I threw imaginary daggers at his arse and then went past him just before the layby, technically beating him. Ha! Not that it's about winning or losing, you understand.
Stuart called me over for a chat and I will admit I was slightly distracted by the appearance of Michael. It took a moment or two to work it out and then I realised his eyebrows were missing. Chemotherapy (he had said he was ill again), burnt off by an exploding chip pan, or a student prank of some sort? What do you think? He said later that his eyebrows are now 'aero', by which he means 'gone'. It's not a look I recommend and I think plenty of pros ride with bushy ones - Wiggo and Cav amongst them.
We waited for the lantern rouge to ride up, this week handsomely played by the debonair and stylish 'Gadget man', complete with new flashing cycling blouse. Steve F certainly has a fascination with cycling electronics and I can see why he is an electrician - the wiring alone must be a marvel of modern technology, let alone the solar panels and wind turbines needed to power the 'mobile disco'. Good to see you back on the bike Steve.
No sooner were we gathered up than we set off to Bexhill, through the teeth of that damn east wind. I took it easier than on the way out ('If it's windy, slow down' - Chris Boardman, truly!), falling into a group with Dan S, Simon G, Ian Webster and a couple of others. We rode well together, although I was aware of someone lurking at the back, whilst the rest of us toiled away honestly at the front. I didn't think about it too much, I just got on with working as a team with the others, doing my share, taking my turn, working for our mutual benefit. That is, after all, the spirit and intent of the chain gang.
And so we rode on, fairly smoothly, picking up speed as we rolled along Cooden Drive towards Wickham Avenue and the lights. Suddenly, from nowhere, there arrived a rider clad in luminous green, a shade of green that clashed horribly with his garish ginger beard. More shocking than this was the speed with which this 'bandit' rode off, having had, I realised, a long and restful tow all the way back to Bexhill! This miscreant and reprobate was none other than Gareth 'I need a rest' Purves. The cheek of the man! Having worked hard and fair all the way back, none of us could respond.
We rolled into the lights just behind him and made clear our views on his outrageous behaviour. He seemed not to care a jot, such is his appalling lack of riding manners. I suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Kerri, his older, wiser and better looking brother, who must've spent years trying to make Gareth into a decent human being, only to be rewarded by seeing him grow into an uncouth cycling lout*.
'What happened' asked Peter as we trundled back to Cooden with Stewart.
'Banditry' I replied.
'Ah...' said Peter and Stewart together, followed by a quizzical 'Gareth P?'
'Yes', I grumbled, 'Gareth - my legs hurt - Purves'.
'Ah..!' they said together again, this time with feeling.
The second return from Pevensey roundabout to Bexhill was horrible. A solo ride into a vicious cold easterly with no-one to share the load with. I doubted the wisdom of doing a second leg and could think of nothing better than getting home, warming up and eating a hot meal. That's the last tough ride I'll do before Hardriders on Sunday - just a couple of easy spins between now and then. See you there, either as competitors or as spectators!
Oh, and if you see a bloke in a luminous top with a badly trimmed red beard, be sure to hurl insults, rotten eggs, cow dung and bare your arse in his direction.
Safe rising, Neil Smith
* For the avoidance of doubt, I am joking - Gareth is a nice chap really. An ignorant rider, but nice underneath it all.
Just three intrepid riders made it to Normans Bay for the pre-BBR ride to Beachy Head and back, the other regulars either put off by the early morning fog or, like Peter Buss, too busy dusting the houseplants. It's a question of priorities, that's all I will say.
And so it was that Stewart 'Lord' Buckland, Duncan Pain and me began a rapid ride to Beachy in the cold, damp mist. I wouldn't call it pleasant - the dampness made it easy for the cold to penetrate our clothing - but we maintained a good pace.
The three 'Pre BBR' amigos
Still cold but the sun is gaining strength
We were rewarded for our efforts with a break in the mist as we climbed towards St Bede's, and then with full-on spring sunshine on Beachy Head. Larks tumbled through the frost and wind-beaten grass. The warmth of the sun lifted the scent of early spring from the stirring ground and the sea twinkled sweetly through the scraps of cloud below. We paused for the obligatory group selfie, remarking how very much we looked like slightly ageing but rugged rock stars. I think Stewart actually believes this, bless.
The rapid descent into Eastbourne returned us to the cold and damp world of fog, but the wind was low and we continued to ride at a good pace. This pleased me greatly - more time in the cafe! Near Asda, Stewart nearly came a cropper, swerving for no reason into my path as a passing lorry also made me swerve towards him. He says his heart rate went over 200 in the resulting panic and there was certainly a lot of beeping and swearing from him. He contrived a story where I was the villain of this little episode, but I tell you now that these are vicious and groundless accusations, m'lud. Hold your line Stewart!
Another big turnout at Di Paulo's
That drama over, we made Bexhill in good time to find Di Paulos already filling with enthusiastic BBR-ers. In all, the group was 19 or 20 riders, another excellent turn out. The sun had by now burnt off the mist and it was warming the air nicely. The route was varied to check out the Hardriders course before the event on Sunday 20th. By the way, those taking part should have received an email from Peter Moon, the organiser, giving the start times.
Patrick's puncture problem.
There followed a lengthy delay outside the cafe whilst Patrick 'Puncture' Piper gave an impromptu demonstration of how to fix a freshly-holed inner tube, his front tyre having spontaneously deflated as we stood around waiting for the start. It started well enough - wheel out, tyre levered over, inner tube removed, new tube in place - but went downhill from there. His CO2 cylinder was missing, so I gave him one of mine. The valve then played up, so he vented the entire cylinder into the fresh air, a cloud of condensing gas shrouding him from view, like a magician, but without the cloak or beautiful assistant.
If only Patrick COULD fix his punctures with magic, we would not have waited a further ten minutes whilst he tried to inflate the tube by hand. He spoke the following immortal words: 'I'm pumping away as hard as I can (darling), but it's not going up - I need some help to get it hard'. Ok, I added the 'darling' bit, but it was clear that this is a phrase that he uses often. Meanwhile, his heart rate continued to climb as we gave him helpful advice and support, for which he did not seem that grateful, the wretch! After a while, we lost interest and started the ride, leaving him to his fate.
Eagle eyed Sue, spots flint embedded in the tyre rubber.
So began my second fast ride of the morning, hooking up with old adversary Tom Norris and young flash-heart Trevor Deeble. We did not ride in the usual sedate tradition of the BBR, but we did wait for the group at pre-agreed assembly points around the route. Trevor provided a wealth of advice and knowledge, with which Tom was particularly impressed. His favourite nugget was 'you don't need brakes from here'. I could see Tom's no-nonsense Yorkshire brain wrestling with the concept: 'you don't need brakes...'. No, it clearly did not compute. My favourite was 'stay aerobic Neil, stay aerobic', shared as we climbed the Ashburnam Road - a stretch of road that I loath. I repeated this mantra over and over as we ground our way upwards - 'stay aerobic, stay aerobic, stay aerobic...', but gave up when I started feeling faint. 'Trevor, I'm not staying aerobic - what do I do now?'
'Ahoy, another BBR rider on the horizon'
The Hardriders route takes a turn to the left, cutting short the tedious torture of the 'Ashburnam Arse'. Once you've negotiated the tight bends with loose stones, there is an excellent high-speed descent to the foot of 'Agony Hill', one section of which is particularly sharp. The slow speed you will inevitably enjoy here gives riders an excellent chance to admire the flowers in the verge - yellow primroses and white starbright, to name but three. I guess this is where most time will be won or lost, the very best riders able to burn up this stretch at an indecent speed.
My strategy is to weigh as little as possible on the day. Having read the rules, it appears the only thing I have to wear is a luminous race number on my backside. Pinning it on will be an ordeal, but this will save a pound or two. I might tie it around my waist with a small flap at the front, so that I don't scare any spectators or horses. It will also show off my new 'star' tattoo. Other weight-saving strategies might include removing the saddle, no handlebar tape, no brakes (thanks for that one Trevor), no drinks bottles and replacing the chain with high-tensile string (have you seen how heavy a chain is?).
Duncan does love a good BBR
More sensibly (if I must), Trevor's braking advice refers to the stretch of the route from Three Cups to the finish in Bodle Street Green where, with the exception of one turn, you mostly have the run of the terrain and can really push on. I adopted this philosophy wholeheartedly as we left Rushlake Green, going too fast for the turn by the big house, overshooting and ending up in their drive. I was left to play catch-up with Trevor and Tom, closely followed by Chris Parker, who was having a good day on the bike - chapeau Chris!
I think the plan from there was to meet at Chilley Farm, but a good portion of the group had taken the normal route back from Rushlake Green, through Cowbeech and Herstmonceux. Our group of eight or so riders headed back via Joe's Lane and Wartling Road, with Tom, Trevor and me again in the vanguard. We met the splinter group near The Lamb, overtaking Sue L and Duncan at speed on the Wartling Road. Trevor went into hyperdrive at this point, losing me and Tom, and that was that. A quick ride home meant I missed the festivities at the farm - I hope the bacon was good although I would encourage you all to make the vegan choice and have some fruit.
It is easy to miss that turn at Rushlake Green for Bodle Street Green, not something you want to do during the Hardriders event! The forecast is currently for cloud and a northerly breeze, with a temperature of about 10 degrees C. I reckon that's pretty helpful as the hilly parts of the ride will provide shelter from the breeze, then be at your back for the home stretch. Good luck to everyone who is taking part, see you there!
We had a good club turnout today for the kent Invicta audax. This audax is a tough one with 6,000 feet of climbing in just 66 miles. Riding it for the first time were Patrick, Ivan Shirley and Alec.
The organisers set everyone off at 9;30, from the scout hut near Otford railway station. The route consists of two reverse loops (clockwise and anticlockwise) . This year we had to start with the clockwise loop which meant an immediate 1.5 mile climb up Otford Mount. It felt strange to be riding among so many strangers up this steep hill. Everyone had cold legs so the pace was low.
Ivan is not known for his patience and so rapidly overtook every single rider and ended up at the front of the field. Unfortunately Ivan had no gps and at the top of the climb took a right turn rather than left. It was only after about three miles of riding he realised his mistake and had to ride back to the turn.
By the time he got back he was in among the main grupetto again, so once more had to battle his way to the front (unusually he was on a geared bike). John, Peter baker, Patrick and Alec were somewhere near the front of that mass of riders. I ended up riding with Adam who had forgotten to put the route on his gps while Malc C was riding with Shirley who did have the route on hers.
Our one and only puncture on route
Ivan finally passed the entire field once again but this time decided to stick with the front rider who was on a fancy machine and clearly out to be first man home. Ivan being a friendly chap tried to strike up a conversation but the unknown rider clearly did not want to chat.
I haven't had much experience of riding with Adam before but by now we had settled into a good partnership and so far the hills were not troubling us. Our journey was temporarily suspended while we fixed a puncture on Adam's rear wheel. Adam has yet to discover the joy of CO2 canisters so even after frantic pumping he would have to continue on about 60 psi on the rear.
Before long Shirley turned up but we urged her to keep going as we were confident of catching her up. There was no sign of Malc, somehow he had got lost.
Setting off once again we got into a steady rythm . The hills kept coming relentlessly. Finally we dropped down into a valley and a checkpoint. Helping ourselves to sports drink and snacks we suddenly realised that this check point was for riders who were doing an Evan's sportive in the same area. Much to our surprise Malc was already there, he had been following the signs for the Evan's ride by mistake. We quickly slunk off before anyone told us off and discovered the Invicta checkpoint just down the road.
I look podgy but felt strong on York's Hill
In the distance we could see a regular flash of light and realised that this could only be the sun reflecting off Shirley's impressive shiny helmet. Encouraging Malc to stick with us we set off in pursuit.
Having passed Shirley we started riding what appeared to be the foothills of another long climb. It was then that I realised that this was the approach to the infamous York's hill! I had completely forgotten this monster was on the route. For those that don't know its a 1.3 mile climb with an average gradient of 6%. The final part of the climb is a lot steeper than that, in fact its so steep that with my weight on a well set back saddle, the front wheel was threatening to lift up into the air. We took a short breather at the top while Adam borrowed a track pump from the checkpoint to bring his tyre pressure up to a proper psi. Shirley soon appeared but her legs gave out just before the end and she had to walk the final nasty bit.There was no sign of Malc. Having made it up the hill we were now to enjoy a five mile descent back to Otford
Shiley couldn't quite climb the final bit of Yorks Hill
Long before we arrived at the top, Ivan and his silent nemesis had also arrived. They were still in front of the entire field but here Ivan's silent companion deviated from the course to go another way (perhaps he had got the hump). It was only when Ivan spotted signs for Otford that he realised they were going the wrong way and had retrace his steps. Rejoining the correct route Ivan struck up a conversation with one of the audax riders. They rode together for a while before stopping at a junction. neither had a a gpx and Ivan enquired whether it was right or left. He was told which way to go and headed down the hill but after some descending realised that he was on his own and the 'friendly' rider had gone the other way. Was this deliberate sabotage? By the time he finally got back to Otford he arrived at about the same time as Patrick, Pete, John and Alec.
Ivan had had enough of getting lost and unfriendly audax riders and for the second lap would stick with the others. Alec decided one lap was enough and bailed at the HQ
Shirley is relieved to finish the ride
By the time myself, Shirley and Adam arrived Patrick et al had departed but much to our surprised Malc was there before us having gone a different way. He also abandoned, having had enough of getting lost.
The three of us had a long break while we refuelled on sausage rolls, sandwiches and several cups of tea. Eventually it was time to head off for the second lap (anticlockwise) . last year I found the second lap easier than the first and so it was this year although we both suffered badly on the incredibly long 4% climb past Igtham mount plus the sun and gone in and the wind had picked up so it felt like the return of the grim winter weather after the earlier spring sunshine.Shirley was finding this second loop far tougher and we had quite a long wait back at HQ, which was the ideal excuse to stuff our faces with more tea cake and sandwiches.
A tough but very enjoyable day and good training for the 'Improver's Spring 'Specials which I will organise April/May
The dry weather, light winds and the promise of beer at our new watering hole (Robert De Mortain) brought out a good turnout of eleven riders. It was good to see Jon S after many months. Jon has not been totally idle over that time but now needs to step up the mileage if he is to tackle his planned ultra endurance challenges in the summer.
Good to see John S again.
Despite the light winds it was still cold, around four degrees. Everyone agreed that we have all had enough of the cold and are now longing for the warmth of spring. Dan was particularly fed up with the low temperatures and admitted to ' not feeling the love' for any-more winter cycling.
Myself , Ricky and Ivan set off two minutes before the others. After many attempts to find the perfect head start, two minutes does seem to be just right as the others caught us up about halfway before the reserve.
Despite saying he was going to take it easy, Patrick and most of the others disappeared into the distance on the Broad-Oak drag working together and 'practising through and off'. Dan got a little ahead of myself and Ricky and the gap remained constant all the way to Broad-Oak with Derek some way behind us.
As we set off down the steep hill towards Brede the zip on my windproof came undone but it was too dangerous to try to fix it on the move so I felt like a cold turkey by the time we swept left towards Doleham and I was finally able to stop and zip it up (instant warmth).
Flats or clipless? You decide.
Dan had no energy left by the foothills of Stonestile and even hanging onto myself and Ricky's wheels proved too much for him. Ricky, on the other hand was bursting with energy and climbed Stonestile significantly faster than last time and easily dropped me about half way up the climb. It was then that I noticed he was only riding flat pedals. We all tried to persuade him of the benefits of going clipless but I don't think he was convinced (I suppose if flat pedals are good enough for endurance/mtb heroine Jill Homer they are good enough for us? This is what Jill thinks about flats vs clipless http://www.jilloutside.com/2008/06/my-clipless-platform.html )
We had a record breaking turnout for our post ride bevies. Peter baker was in a particularly ebullient mood and a fine time was had by all . I was glad that I had purchased yet another long lock to leave there on a permanent basis as it was only just sufficient to get round all the bikes.Here's looking forward to the next Friday night outing.
Having made many sacrifices and burnt offerings on Monday and Tuesday, the cycling gods favoured us with a weather window of relatively calm, dry and warm tarmac-tearing conditions. A good turnout included riders such as Darren, Peter 'Burka' Baker, Nick S, Ivan the 'Supertanker', Stewart 'Poshington' Buckland, Gareth 'Red Beard' Purves, Dan 'Selmo' Selmes (I do listen) and Kie Smith. It's always good to ride with another Smith or two. In all, including Shirley 'Headstart' York and Simon 'Gorgeous' Grogan, we were 18 riders. I will resist hereafter the urge to give everyone a daft nickname, but I can't promise, and apologies for those whose names I can remember but not necessarily from last night. Shall we get on?
You could tell that it was going to be a fast night - everyone was lined up for the start a good five minutes beforehand, chatting happily, but all staring down the road for what we knew would be a swift outward leg. What wind there was came from the east. A quick time check revealed we were 14 seconds late starting, so the 'gun' was fired and out rolled the ultras. For reasons unknown, I rolled out with them.
'Feeling strong tonight Neil?' asked the incomparable Stuart H.
'Yes, I always feel strong with a following wind', I replied.
'Who doesn't Neil, who doesn't?' There's no arguing with that, but did I detect a faint hint of menace in his voice? No, my overactive imagination was at work again.
I felt slightly giddy to be riding in such elevated company with Stuart, Barney, Shaun, Trevor, Michael and Ivan. We rattled along Bexhill front at a steadily increasing rate, rotating the front in style. Ivan, it has to be said, was prone to going off the front. Shaun sensibly said 'let him go' and before long we wound him back in, only for him to fly off the front again on his turn. Meanwhile, the speed increased ever higher, as we attempted to catch the 'ultra-ultra' that is Shirley York (so christened by Stuart H). I believe she started after everyone else, but passed us all, visible only as a fleeting flash of bright light as her metal helmet super-heats in the night air.
Now, it seems to me that you hear plenty about the middle and the back of the pack in these blog entries, but not much about the front end. Tonight we will (mostly) put that right and, in the process, reveal shocking truths about life in the ultra fast group. Truths you would never have guessed, truths so shocking that you will be truly, er, shocked.
We rode onto the marshes and I noticed Michael pull over and fiddle in the bushes, before jumping back on his bike and rejoining us. Barney rode alongside him and asked 'did you set it?'
'Yes Barney, it's set' said Michael, mysteriously.
We rode on as far as the Star Inn, when Stuart at the front shouted 'slowing, slowing, single-up!' I thought a car must be coming, but no - the ultras slowed, stopped and dismounted, heading straight for the Inn.
'What about him?' growled Ivan, nodding in my direction.
'Bring him - it's time' said Stuart.
I was just about to protest when Ivan grabbed me none too gently, his rough workman's hands chaffing my thighs as he slung me over his shoulder. I struggled - 'let me go you beast!' - but Ivan tightened his grip and I felt quite faint. The others laughed in low, guttural tones. Trevor produced a paper bag and put it over my head. Immobilised and blind, I was carried inside the Inn. A voice - the innkeeper? - welcomed the gang, seemingly familiar with this odd ritual. I heard the scraping of a stone slab as they slid it to one side, uncovering an echoing stairwell that smelt of damp and old rum. The smell was somehow familiar...
Ivan carried me down into the cool air of a cellar, where he dumped me carelessly in a wooden chair. Trevor removed the paper bag but a bright light was now shining in my face. All I could see was the silhouettes of the group, arranged in a ring around a high-backed chair that stood on a low platform in front of me. I became aware of a man sitting in the chair. That smell was stronger than ever, joined now by the reek of a cheap cigar. Somehow repellant but even more familiar. Could it be... but how? The smell was unmistakable and at last I placed it - Peter Buss!
I must've said his name out loud, because he shouted 'shut it, mush, that's Lord Buss to you!' I trembled and giggled with nerves. A slap came from nowhere to the side of my head. 'My your manners when you're in the Lair of the Lord!' snarled Shaun. 'What the...'. Smack! Another blow. I buttoned my lip.
'How long have we got?' asked the Lord.
'15, maybe 20 minutes at most' said Stuart.
'The alarm is set?'
'Yes, the bell will ring when the group enters the marsh' said Barney.
'Ok, that's enough time, just enough time...' The Lord's voice trailed off as if contemplating some terrible torture, but I recognised this as one of his mental 'absences'. A polite cough from one of the group brought him back to the present - 'right, prepare him, and not too gently - he needs to learn a lesson'.
Rough hands again grabbed me, lifting and then pinning me to the floor. 'Bring the machine'. I was dumbstruck with terror. A whirring, clattering sound filled the cellar as my face was pressed into the wet, stinking floor.
'Which side, your Lordship?'
'Hmm, the left I think'. He suddenly kicked out with his silver-tipped Castelli cycling slippers, grazing my left buttock. 'Yes, that's the spot - har, har, har'! The group paused for a moment, then laughed as well, loud and hard. Then a knife cut open my shorts and I felt the sharp sting of the tattoo needle pierce my flesh.
'If you want to ride with us, you must bear the Lord's mark, and pledge allegiance to him, you dog'! The needle quickly traced it's cruel outline on in my skin, but I could not make out the design - some sort of spider, but with seven legs? A star perhaps? Yes, that must be it - a seven point star, the number of riders in the ultra group tonight, if you included me.
'What colour?'
'No colour, he hasn't earned that yet - just rub some dirt in - har, Har, HARRR!'
I heard a hand scrabble in the filthy dirt and felt it smack into the raw tattoo, then rub the muck into the bloody mark. My vision clouded over, I groaned, lost consciousness. Just before I went under, I heard the ringing of a bell and felt myself being picked up...
I awoke at the side of the road, Trevor standing over me with an empty bucket of water. 'Get on your bike and ride, dog!' I staggered to the cannonball, slung my leg over and was quickly reminded of the ordeal in the cellar - I could not sit properly on the saddle, so raw was my hindquarter.
'Come on, they'll be here in a minute!' shouted Stuart, and with that the group accelerated towards Normans Bay. Riders either side of me pushed me up to speed and with adrenaline bursting through my veins, I span my legs, flying up Spooky Hill and, as usual, getting dropped at the summit. But this had the appearance of normality - how clever the group had been, and how terrible.
The rest of the ride was a blur. On the return leg, I rode hard and fast to stay with the ultras, feeling a strange loyalty despite my degrading treatment. Yes, I had needed that lesson in humility and a part of me was grateful, but I needed to know more, but who did I think I was, to ride unbidden with the truly fast and strong riders. But how does Lord Buss fit into that category? Anyway, I stayed with them as far as Herbrand Walk, but for once stayed away from the chasing pack. Perhaps more than one threshold had been crossed tonight?
'No-one will ever believe you, mush, so don't go shooting your marf off, right? You'll look a proper Charlie and then you might, well, have an accident. Capiche?' I looked sideways at Peter as we rode back across the march - he was no longer the bumbling geriatric millionaire from Normans Bay, but a troubling and vicious hard man from 'Sarf Lundan'. I keep quiet, I can bide my time - I have connections, people who know people - I'd find out more in due course.
'And don't get clever, matey, don't do too much thinkin' and don't think your 'friends' in Lundan can 'elp you, because you're an ultra now, mush, and your loyalties lie with us, and with me - got it.., GOT IT?' He leaned into my face, that smell again - rum, cigars, musty dampness... For good measure, he slapped my left buttock hard with the flat of his hand.
'Yes, I've got it your Lordship, I've got it.' We rode on in silence; I turned at Normans Bay and rode my second lap, each pedal stroke providing a reminder of the night's violence as my backside pressed on the hard saddle. I also felt some pride at having ridden hard and stayed with the ultras for most of the chain, even if other doubted this.
That ceremony aside, it had been a good ride - a few degrees warmer makes a difference to everyone, as last week's freezing cold had numbed the muscles of some of us, making the ride truly hard work. I hope next week is warmer still and free of 'incident'.
09:09 Level Crossing, start of Herbrand Walk (waiting for the lights to change)
"Do you know, Terry, we have the combined age of a Galapagos turtle?"
With that Mal C pulled alongside.
"Oh, no , I thought, we now have the combined age of one of those Californian Redwoods"
We were than joined by 'Harpo' Coleman. At least this has brought the combined age down quite considerably, I thought.
You see Adam has got a new set of deep rims and so he announces his arrival through various whistling tones (dependant on his speed), a bit like 'Harpo' of Marx Brothers fame (anyone under the age of 50 probably thinks I'm talking more shite than usual.)
It had been a really nice little Pre BBR, very chatty and nowhere near as strenuous as the usual 'Beachy' Pre BBR. I met up with Adam and Terry, who were waiting patiently for me whilst 'basking' in the watery, but better than nothing early morning sunshine. Despite Steve C's warning of a return to the Ice age we were pleasantly surprised by the conditions and there was no obvious signs of any glacial development.
We covered various topics of conversation, including football and astronomy. It turns out that Terry and I both have a shared interest in the cosmos. I was explaining that I have taken my 'go to' (automatically finds objects in the night sky) telescope to France because of the darker skies, and that one of my goals was to observe all the planets. Terry pointed out, quite rightly, that Pluto and Neptune would be beyond the scope of an amateur telescope, but Uranus would be visible as a small fuzzy green spot.
"I've got an eight inch one", he said
I considered this remark; I really know I should act my age and not my shoe size, but I simply cannot resist
a double entendre - in the same way that a dog can't pass a lamp post without p*ssing up it, or Neil can't resist pointing out every single lolly stick, lichen patch or fag butt that may represent a cycling hazard - I couldn't resist the predictably childish response to this comment; I tried for a moment to bite my lip, but it was no good, I just had to blurt it out.
"So how big's your telescope then?"
These big glasses make ' Baron Buss' look strangely young!
Terry, very maturely didn't rise to the 'bait', and changed the subject to football.
It was turning out to be a lovely morning for cycling and we felt a bit smug that we had made the right decision to risk ice and do a Pre BBR.
At the Pevensey roundabout we saw a couple of cyclists; one of whom was taking a leak, and the other one shouted out:
"Alright Pete?"
I couldn't make out who it was. As we turned the first corner of Sluice Lane we spotted Mal C (who was also taking a leak)
"Oh, it's you!", I shouted as I sped past. I decided I wanted to catch up with the other two cyclists to see who they were, but after a couple of minutes I decided it was too much like hard work and dropped back to the others.
Terry decided he wanted to go along the seafront, rather than all the way along Cooden Drive, so we agreed we would go that way with him. Nearing The Di Paulo roundabout I spotted the mystery cyclists and gave chase, along with Mal C, unfortunately they just managed to get away.
There was quite a few bikes lined up outside. Steve C saw me come in and said immediately:
"I've put 28 mm tyres on my bike; you would not believe the difference it makes..."
"Oh, that's good Steve, do they do them in a floral pattern?", I said sarcastically
"No, only in black", he replied
I ordered my usual DSC (double shot cappuccino )from Luigi and sat down.
There was a few new faces again this week, some of whom I got to know and some (the quick ones) I never saw until the end of the ride. (apologies for not naming people but I didn't really get a 'grip' of the names.)
I sat with Terry, 'The Colonel' and Steve C and I can't remember how, but we got onto the subject of accents.
Andy F returns to HSLCC after a year's absence
"Talking of accents, I said, I had a call yesterday from France:"
"'allo, iz zat Mr Booss?"
"Yes, it is"
"It eez Monsieur Mitie from Credit Agricole, Clairac I 'av some zing I need to talk about wiv you"
"Oh, about what?"
"About your accunt"
"Well, really! there's no need to be like that!"
"No, it eez about your bonk accunt"
"Oh, I see!", I said with some relief.
"When are you in France next?"
"In a couple of weeks"
"O.K zats good, could you call in to ze bonk and ask to see me?"
"O.K, I will, au revoir"
"Zank you , aurevoir"
This leads me nicely on to the subject of club hierachy (very loosely). It was bought to my attention by Steve C that there has been some dispute in the club's Facebook site over the honorary title of Baron which was bestowed on me by the aforementioned Steve - a senior and well respected ,member of the club. Sargeant 'groaning' Grogan (thanks to another blog writer for the use of the term 'groaning Grogan'), has suggested that I should be given a lesser title I can only assume , that like a lot of NCOs, there is some frustration and resentment about the 'glass ceiling' which prevents them from moving into the higher echelons of the club occupied by commissioned officers. When all is said and done it is unlikely that Simon would make colonel. Take the qualities of Col C 'J' Parker for instance; the chiseled jaw, the air of authority, the confident jauntiness, qualities not possessed by all members of the club.
At least one person is listening to 'The Colonel's' Instructions
I would suggest therefore that he wishes to advance he could perhaps 'chance his arm' in the Groanandier Guards (oh dear,groan!.) I can see a 'Groaninggate' developing, but I can only hope, like with 'Sausagegate' that things will slowly die down and we carry on as usual.
We also discussed where we would stop for breakfast and it was agreed that I would phone ahead to The Pevensey Bakery to book a table once we had arrived at the Boreham Street garage.
Much refreshed after the coffee, I was first to get on my bike and waited patiently by the De La Warr for the others, but as I went to take a sip of Ribena I realised I had left my bottle in the Di Paulos. The panic set in; there going to leave me behind again!, I needn't have worried though, because one of the young waiters rushed outside and was looking for the owner of the bottle.
It wasn't long before we became spread out - which is essential when there are so many riders. We casually regrouped several times, the first formal regrouping was the end of Straight Lane and then again at the top of Borham Hill.
"I've put 28 mm tyres on my bike; you would not believe the difference it makes...", said Steve to the others who were gathered there.
I managed to get a feel for how many wanted breakfast from those gathered at the garage, but as I attempted to ask those in the lay-by they shot off just as I pulled out my phone. I reserved a table for 8 (and my usual cakes.) and watched them all speed off; Paul and Gareth, however, waited with me, gallantly.
I took off after the others to tried to regain my position of somewhere in the middle of the pack, but for some strange reason I thought I had overshot the Tilley Lane turnoff and did a u-turn, which I hadn't. I was then cycling towards Paul and Gareth! and by the time I had done another u-turn I was at right at the back - as I said earlier, this always gives me a sense of panic, because I can get lost any time, any where. I gave chase and then spotted Shirley who had arrived late - at least she can keep an eye on me from the back. This did turn out to be most useful, because she did stop me from going left at a part where you need to go straight on (most people will be thinking 'what a tw*t', except Steve C and Mal C who will be thinking: 'well it's an easy mistake to make.')
I pushed on and was relieved to see the Colonel waiting at the White Horse pub. I repaid his consideration by having a good 'bitch' about being 'dumped' at the garage. As usual, he displayed his Colonely qualities and explained that it is good that the group stays stretched out. (I did apologise to him at the bakery for my petulance - I think I must have been dumped somewhere when I was a baby and never really got over it.)
It was a heart-warming site to see the whole group waiting at Rushlake Green - they must have been there for sometime.
Refusing to be at the back again I joined the front runners - I think this was Tom and Paul. I eventually drifted off the back of their wheels and was slowly overtaken by some of the others including Patrick and Alec (the new guy) and few of the others.
I don't know exactly what went on with those at the front, but I know from the Strava comments afterwards that there had been a lot of testosterone on display from Mark, Patrick , Alec and others.
I had a nice little two man chain going down Wartling Hill with Andy (back with the club after a prolonged absence); we all met up again at the Pevensey roundabout and I was quite pleased to see a few arrive after me.
Back at the Bakery we sat at our reserved table, and the staff thanked me for phoning ahead and encouraged me to do it every week.
I sat next to Steve C who had stripped down to his vest and was looking a bit like Rab C Nesbit:
"I've put 28mm tyres on my bike; you would not believe the difference it makes..."
Great to see newbie Alec out with us once again
"I've just seen someone I know....."
Seriously, Steve was explaining to me the difficulties of being a teacher these days and has my every sympathy!
A favourite part of the BBR for me is the steady run down Coast Road after the Bakery, and the accompanying banter, as this represents the final stage back to Normans Bay.
12:51 Normans Bay
"Hello, sweetie, good ride? Is next doors cat a tabby?", asked Vicki, all in one sentence.
"Yes, why?", I replied
"It's doing it's business underneath our Phormiums"
"Well they never cr*p in their own garden", I said philosophically.
We had our cakes and a cup of tea.
"Where are you going with that toilet roll and rolled up newspaper?", asked Vicki
I'm going for a dump", I said
"Please don't use that kind of language, and why are you going out the front door?"
"I thought I might use Jeremy's bog - it's only fair!"
