It’s been a couple of weeks since I wrote a report of any
sort and there has been a fair few rides in that period. Here then are reports
of three recent club rides.
Pre-BBR Special to Brighton with
Last weekend saw the pre-BBR Special to Brighton, although
it does not actually go to Brighton at its furthest extreme, but to Sussex
University for the famed congealed beans so beloved of Peter ‘Babs - Shirley’
Baker. I’d expected maybe six riders, but was pleased to see 11 turn up:
Patrick P, Stuart B, Sue L, Duncan F, Gareth P, Adam, JV, Mal C, Marcus and
Simon from Australia.
It was a very cold start at Normans Bay with temperatures
only a little above freezing, but compensated for by some sunshine and the
promise of dry weather. Hurrah! First to arrive were Patrick and Peter,
although all was not well. Babs was wearing only his lightweight summer blouse,
the lovely pink and orange floral one with the ‘Vivance’ frill panel, ruffled
neck and tortoise shell buttons. It’s a great looking ‘chemise’, perfect for wearing
on the balcony of a Tuscany villa, but perhaps a little thin for a frosty
November morning. Babs was semi-hypothermic. After the transfer of some manly
body heat and stretching him out in the early morning sun, Patrick and I lifted
him back on to his bike and steered him off to the garage at Pevensey for a hot
drink. Oh dear, not a great start.
The gang paused near the garage whilst some of us visited
Babs. He was a little more with it, but had sensibly decided to thaw out
completely before heading back to Di Paulos for breakfast and a gentle ride
home. He promised that next time he would wear his winter-weight blouse – the
one with the wool and polyester mix panels – and we promised to fill our shorts
with sticky-beans for him to enjoy on Sunday, at home in the warm. We patted
him on the head and had a word with the garage staff: ‘he’s a bit vulnerable,
keep an eye on him please’ and ‘he gets confused easily – call this number if
he makes a scene’. We walked to the exit and looked back one last time. There
he was, resting his frozen little face in his hands, thawing his nose in the
steam from his hot chocolate, perhaps a little tear of disappointment
glistening in his eyes. Bless.
‘What a to$$er’ said Lord B, rather unsympathetically, ‘he’s
not in bloody Majorca!’ He’s so gruff sometimes. On we rolled, west across the
marsh and then north to Hailsham. Having sorted out a navigation mix-up, we
rolled around the Boship roundabout and through the ‘Dickers’. Sue snorted and
giggled, amused by the names. ‘Oh do grow up Sue!’ admonished Duncan ‘The
Vicar’ Feathers. Quite right Duncan, we don’t want that sort of thing in the
club!
The temperature was slowly increasing and with it our spirits,
riding at a steady pace along quiet lanes that wove through freshly ploughed
fields and small hamlets. It was a beautiful moving autumn tableau of browns,
golds, yellows and reds, set against patches of green leaves and scraps of blue
sky. The cold was worth putting up with in order to enjoy the glorious autumn
day, riding through some of Sussex’s most beautiful villages.
We rode on and eventually reached Ditchling Beacon, the
first big climb of the day. I always forget how long this climb is – just when
you think ‘that must be it’, it throws another slope at you. I came in third in
the ‘man-off’ between me, Patrick and JV, legs and lungs burning and not really
feeling the same competitive desire as them. Other more sensible riders made
their way up more steadily, measuring their effort and keeping something back
for the two climbs still to come – Exceat and Beachy.
But first, a fine repast was due us as reward for our
sterling efforts. We swooped into the University café like vultures onto a dead
zebra, flapping and squawking as we pushed and shoved our way through the
throngs of starving students to the fried delights of a Michelin-starred
eaterie. Well, sort of – the students were all still in bed (this was well
before 12:00) and I went for the continental option of a croissant and two pain
au chocolat (vegan, of course). No sooner had I sat down to eat than Sue
started pestering me for one of pain au chocolats. For the sake of a quiet
life, I gave in, riding the rest of the day on reduced fuel. No, it’s fine Sue,
don’t worry – as I’m sure you’d point out, I do need to lose a few pounds.
The ride heads east from this stop, skirting Lewes and then
taking the ‘C7’ road to Newhaven, a fast and swooping route that can be busy,
but which rides quickly. We regrouped and carried on by the cycle track to
Seaford, shooting down to the Golden Galleon, and then starting the long climb
up from the Cuckmere. I’m not that keen on this stretch – too much traffic on a
narrow road – but it went quickly enough, JV pulling past me and then trying to
catch him. No chance, not got the snap in my legs; running a diesel engine
these days, rather than a pokey two-stroke. Sue reported that Patrick
wheel-sucked for the entire ascent and then pulled past her at Friston Ponds to
take the honours. Outrageous!
I got my own back on the descent to East Dean, finding a
good line and a lot of speed to make the turn and still carry momentum to pass
the Tiger Inn. I can’t remember if the wind was then with me or what, but I
made good time to Birling Gap. The road from there to Beachy Head has been
resurfaced and is much improved over the old, pot-holed, bumpy and worn
surface. I managed to keep up a good pace and JV could not catch me before the
top. Finally, some honour restored.
We congregated at the car park and then, once recovered,
headed back on the road to Eastbourne. The road gang was laying tarmac, but we
ignored the advice of Mal C and did our best to ride on the road, almost as
soon as they had rolled the road. Some sharp words from one of the road men
stopped this foolery, so we went off-road for a short stretch, re-joining the
road where the tarmac had ‘set’. The group then rode well together and made it
as one to Normans Bay. I’d turned off for Chilley Farm for food and rode on to
complete a century, still feeling strong. Stewart has proposed that next time
we ride the route in reverse, but I’m not that good at riding backwards. Hey,
I’ll try anything once.
Wednesday Chain Gang –
Chilly and Fast Baker’s Dozen
Just 13 of us made this week’s chain gang, the rest either
at home by the fire, or packing their undies for the trip to Majorca. The
hardier souls among us rode as one group from the start, with the incomparable
Stuart H leading the way, back to restore order to the ranks.
We rode as a good group, dropping just a few on the way to
Pevensey and riding back in a similarly tight fashion. The range of class in
the group is clearest near the end of each leg, with the Ultras slipping into
fifth gear, turning on the turbo and accelerating away from the rest. Michael
Maxwell seemed in particularly good form this week – chapeau Michael!
My second chain gang started the same as last week, riding
out with Neil Shier, Ruth and Adam, with Tom taking things at a more leisurely
pace. Thankfully, the head wind discouraged anything too fast and furious, but
again Neil set a high pace, whilst the rest of us hung on grimly behind. I
think we managed a rotation or two, but then Adam had a puncture. I was all for
hitting him on the head, pushing him a ditch and selling his bike, but no –
Neil and Ruth wanted to help him - sigh.
Adam changed the inner tube pretty quickly, with no obvious
sign of a hole in the old tube, and no flints or glass in the tyre. Strange! He
put the wheel between his legs and was thrusting away with the pump at a
rhythmic tempo to inflate the tube. It’s all about timing… Tom rode up and saw
Adam bent over, his right arm pumping in and out of his groin. ‘That reminds
me, when I get home…’ said Tom, straight-faced. ‘Too much information, Tom’
said Neil. Ruth blushed; Adam looked confused; and I asked ‘reminds you of
what?’.
Disaster averted, I eventually rode home as the temperature
continued to drop and the wind picked up. I was pleased to have it at my back!
Pre-BBR and BBR –
‘It’s Saturday – Let’s Spend Five Hours out in the Rain’
Baron Buss has returned from his late summer visit to his
country estate in France, and looks rather, well, French – one eyebrow raised,
Gauloises hanging from the left of his mouth and a rather bandy-legged stance.
Thus he stood at the Normans Bay level crossing, greeting Charlie and I with a
shrug and an ‘allo’. This has happened before, but it usually wears off after a
few weeks back in Blighty. This was, however, Charlie’s first Pre-BBR. I’m not
sure Peter was making the impression that the club would want him to make.
 |
| Only a few brave souls tuned up for a very wet BBR |
No matter, we three brave Musketeers sallied forth into the
teeth of a nasty headwind. Charlie and Peter ‘Baron’ Buss were seemingly not
affected by the wind and I struggled to keep up. The buggers! I worked hard to
take a turn at the front, then we turned south to Pevensey Bay and met the
full-force of the wind. Ugh! I was not ‘feeling it’ as they say, my legs were
lacking oomph and the wind was playing havoc with my willpower.
We struggled to the Hotel and turned right and west, so the
wind was more across us than against us. This made for a more comfortable ride
on the long stretch from Pevensey to Seaside, before we again turned south,
down Princes Drive, where the wind hits you straight from the sea. I got as low
as I could and mashed the pedals. ‘This-can’t-last-forever’ I said to myself
through gritted teeth.
We turned along the coast and made the foot of Dukes Drive
more easily, Charlie showing impressive strength to make off up the hill ahead
of me. The road has been completely re-laid, apart from one 10m stretch – no
idea why this has been left! Charlie stopped to look at it; I rode straight on,
therefore ‘winning’ the race to the top. Ha! Then the rain started in earnest,
heavy and persistent, lashed by the wind. Yuk. Well, at least the wind was with
us for the return leg to Di Paulos and we made good speed all the way back.
Good, but soggy.
There were other brave souls in the café, as well as Steve
Curtis. I quickly realised that we had another ‘wrong blouse’ situation on our
hands. Steve was wearing his favourite early-autumn blouse, suitable only for a
very light shower in mild weather (you know the one – it has blue and white
kittens on it, playing with bits of wool, and it drops off the left shoulder).
This was his excuse for turning around and going home. What example is this to
the younger and newer members of the club - skulking off home at the first sign
of some moisture in the air?
Well, perhaps discretion is the better part of valour. The
remaining half-dozen rode out into the rain and wind, hunched over, grimacing,
moaning, swearing, grunting – water spraying off our wheels and dripping off
our soaked clothes. Oh joy, what fun. Well, it was warm enough, as long as you
kept moving.
Ambitions were suitably trimmed. No Chilley Farm, but a
planned stop at Pevensey Bay café. Catsfield was reached fairly easily, then
down and up to Boreham Hill, pausing to check the mood of the group. Damp, was
the conclusion.
Not much else to say really.
Chris, Peter and I rode to the café, the first two stopping. The others
went their separate ways at Rickney Farm, scuttering home through swirling
drizzle and heavy drops from the trees. Mustn’t grumble really, we’ve had a
fantastic two months of generally dry and warm weather. Saturday was a really
Novemberish day, bracketed by a Friday and Sunday hung with glorious sunshine.
Fingers crossed that from now until March it rains only at night, if it must
rain at all!
Neil
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