Pre-BBR to beachy Head and BBR to Rushlake Green - Siberian Sussex Safari

The 'Cannonball' in all its alloy alure

No doubt you've heard weather forecasters and others spouting the old saying that 'when the wind is out of the east, tis neither good for man or beast'. Yesterday partly proved the adage true as the east wind was strong and cold; great for the run to Beachy Head, not so good for the return leg to Bexhill.

I tried not to think about the return leg, but focused instead on reaching the Peoples' Republic of Normans Bay on time. I prepared the night before: tyres inflated, chain oiled, 'racing' wheels in place, brakes checked, water bottles filled and (the final, vital flourish) a wipe over with a damp rag (Oooh Matron)! I set the alarm for 06:20, had a cooked breakfast and made tea. Fully kitted up, I rolled off the drive in good time to make the crossing before anyone else - I would wait for THEM this time. The following wind was marvellous, making for effortless riding and good speed. I passed Stuart Hodd coming toward me, head into the 'brutal easterly'. He still averaged nearly 30kph.

Waiting for me were Duncan and Ricky 'new boy' McCain. How did they do that? Moreover, why? It was perishing cold, just 1 degree above freezing, the wind whipping across the fields and burning exposed flesh. Mal C turned up and welcomed Rick to the club with a few ribald comments about blouses and assorted filth, but Rick seemed to take this in his stride. Good man Rick.

Friends united against a cold wind

Even though others have waited generously for me on past Saturdays, I was not keen to wait any longer; it was just too cold. Duncan was circling to keep warm and so we rolled off at 07:46. That's a whole minute of delay! Off we flew and I briefed Rick on the signals we use when riding as a group. Mal C told him that I used too many signals and too often, whereas he provides bugger all. I admit that I also like to out things of interest along the way, after all 'what is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?' Well, we don't have time to stand, but you can see plenty from a bike and that for me is one of the huge pleasures of riding, especially in beautiful Sussex. Do the locals know how good they've got it here?

We made good wind-assisted progress, with Rick hanging a little off the back. Perhaps he was a little unlucky to be with this strong pre-BBR crew, but he is clearly a fit rider who will get faster as he comes on more rides with the club - chapeau Rick! We hung together well, for the most part, starting our ascent of Beachy with a nice helping-hand from the Russian steppes. The sun came out and lit patches of the sea with pale gold light. It was a beautiful morning and I could imagine riding the route in warmer weather before too long.

The cannonball was trucking along nicely, flattening all in its path and mashing small animals between the rear wheel and the seat tube. When I ride with the 'tractor wheels' on, it rips stones out of the tarmac, a bit like a rally car on a forest track. Pedestrians turn to see what is coming as the tyres thrum on the road, small children cower behind their mother's' skirts, old ladies scream. To reassure them, I snarl and howl like a wolf (some of this paragraph might be made up).

Having negotiated the cross-wind on the Beachy top road, we assembled for the obligatory photos and got rolling Bexhill-ward as soon as we could. OMG... Not only was the wind cold, it was very strong, yanking our wheels to the left as if with invisible hands. It was blowing uncomfortably up my right nostril, chilling my sinuses and making my eyes water. Head down, plough on, make the T-junction and head down the zig-zags, with some shelter from the trees. But I was nervous - the road looked like it had frost on it, or was it salt? I didn't want to find out the hard way, so I eased off a little on the corners. Rounding the final turn at St Bedes Prep School, I was hit by the full force of the wind. I would normally tank down this stretch (literally, on the cannonball) at 50 kph, but averaged just 34 kph to the Grand Hotel.

Duncan's wind cheater was little help against the cold

We had picked up Tom N on the descent, making a group of five now as he rode his recently-restored Bianchi Bomber (a rare model exported only to South America). He had finally tracked down the 'main-thrust-bolt-thingy' that holds the frame together, asking the factory in Treviglio, Italy to search its dusty corners for the vital part. The bike did sound smooth and Tom seems pleased with the work done at Phoenix Cycles. In contrast, Mal C's bike sounded distinctly ratty, with all sorts of creaks and clicks. We had thought that it was Mal's marvellous mechanical knees, perhaps needing a spot of oil, but no - his doughty Boardman needs some TLC.

On we slogged into the grim wind, the ride increasingly becoming a feat of bloody-minded endurance. We were grateful for any respite that tall buildings, clumps of trees or passing vans could provide. The grind from Eastbourne to Pevensey was particularly unpleasant and the cold was finding its way into my gloves and overshoes. Still, only another 12 km to go... Head down, plough on - just think of the training effect. Or just think about a warm cafe, hot coffee and tasty cake, or wonder why I left a warm bed so early.

Malc and Duncan welcome newbie Ricky to the Pre BBR

Rick dropped off the back of our small group somewhere on the marshes. We weren't paying proper attention, so absorbed were we with our personal and collective battle with the wind. Tom and I pulled ahead from the others, watching the choppy sea on Herbrand Walk, making the calm lee of the flats at Cooden to wait for the others. No Rick in sight, so I sent the others on and went back, thankfully finding him a couple of hundred metres up the road. His left leg was knackered - seems he had also ridden the Friday Night Special with Steve C and others, before we had dragged him up Beachy just 12 hours later. I suggested he ride only with his right leg, but this didn't seem to help. We limped on to the traffic lights in town and I waved him off, now rather anxious that I wouldn't have time for coffee and sustenance, and also desperate for a wee.

Another good sized crowd of riders was assembling at Di Paulos and I think we had 18 or so ready to try their luck on the Rushlake Green variation. Service is always quick and good at Di Paulos, so I was soon at a table with double-shot americano and chocolate-dipped flapjack, as they had run out of fruit salad and rice cakes. What is a hungry man to do?

Riders new and old set off for the ride to Rushlake Green. Alec joined us for the first and proved a fit rider. Terry rides more strongly with each session, improving his pace and increasing his stamina as he gets back to full fitness. He and I swapped the lead with Tom and young Finlay as we rode up Peartree Lane and through Whydown - I probably had the best of it on the descents, whereas the others are stronger on the hills.

We reached the Hooe turn at which we reassemble as a group, pulling up in a long line. There is a side road just off the turn and, as Sod's Law would have it, every car from miles around chose that moment to turn down the lane, right through the middle of the group. Perhaps we should meet opposite, in the entrance to the closed fruit farm. One chap in particular drove up with trailer. He looked for all the world like Father Jack and about as happy. He nudged his car into the group, scowling, curled lip, manic eyes. We moved out of the way as quick as we could, but he really was not happy - he wouldn't make eye contact, smile, wave in acknowledgement or in anyway acknowledge our existence. That does get my goat.

Consciously or otherwise, Duncan chose this moment to lie down in the road, perhaps forgetting he was still clipped in. I prefer to think of it as a protest against charmless motorists. The driver's expression intensified - if looks could kill, or could be made into laser beams, his was a lethal stare. Duncan untangled himself from his bike and moved out of the way; again, not a flicker of recognition from the driver. I can only assume that he was having a particularly bad day, but I suspect that people like him tend to have a particularly bad and miserable life, because that's how the see things.

The descent from Ninfield to the Ashburnham Road turn was fantastic, with help from the wind and the mass of the bike pushing me along, averaging nearly 52kph on this section. Tom caught me on Boreham Hill, my long sprint not giving me enough of a lead to lose him. We were, he tells me, in a race, but this was news to me. Had I beat him up the hill, then of course I too would have been in a race, but I didn't so I wasn't. Frankly, it's childish to race everywhere and it's beneath me (I'll get you when you're not looking, Norris...).

Traffic seemed heavier than usual yesterday as we chopped our way towards Herstmonceux and the turn for Tilley Lane. This stretch can be a bit rough and wet, with stones and leaf mulch across the road, but the main obstacle was horses, horse trucks and trailers, horse riders and more horses. We rode with care and came up behind a young woman on a frisky grey mare. This horse was clearly unnerved by our appearance, the horse rearing, snorting and stamping, unhappy with the arrival of nearly 20 huffing, puffing lycra-types. I feared for the rider - she had no back protector on and horse-riders are common visitors to spinal injury units - but she calmed the horse and rode to one side. We inched past carefully and made our way up the sharp, steep and mucky incline in the woods here. At the top, more horses awaited us, so carefully we rode on, meeting a mess of range-rovers, trailers, horses and walkers on the stretch to Bodle Street Green.

And a herd of deer; five fallow deer I think, trapped in amongst all this traffic on the narrow lane, panicking and leaping into the hedges, getting tangled in the fences, leaping out again, panicking some more. Quite exhausting to watch, but also alarming. I didn't fancy getting hit by one, for sure. We edged forward with care until the last doe had found her way into the fields, before negotiating the next hurdle of a road more pothole than actual riding surface. Whatever next?

Not a lot really. The road winds on north westwards from Bodle Street Green to Rushlake Green, where we pause again to regroup, before heading south through Cowbeech to the turn for Herstmonceux. The main road then carries us back to Wartling Road and a trek across the marshes. The group stopped at Starbucks for refreshments, whilst Tom and I rode on to Eastbourne - he to have a cuppa and me to attend a family lunch. Not sure what the patrons of the Rodmill thought of me taking most of my lycra off in the car park, but who cares? I would happily have sat there in my Castelli top, but daughter no4 forbade me - oh, the shame of having a cycling parent!

Pleasant as the family interlude was, I now had to slog home again from Eastbourne into that damn wind, this time carrying a vegetable burrito and a large piece of cake in my stomach. 25 km later and I was back in time for a shower before the rugby - a perfect Saturday!

Safe riding, Neil

26/2 Friday Night Ride- Double First

One of the great things about the Friday night ride is that there seems to be a different mix of people every week. This week, as well as regulars such as myself, Nigel T and Andy T we were joined by Ivan (first Friday night ride for about a year), Duncan H on his first ever night ride and newcomer to HSLCC Ricky Mccairn.

Duncan had purchased a new light boasting an impressive 1100 lumens for his first piece of night  riding and was looking forward to a new cycling experience.

Ricky's first ever ride with the club.

Ricky has been riding high on our strava club rankings for some time. His current monthly average is an impressive 150 miles per week (despite all the grotty weather). He had finally progressed from our virtual club to the one in the physical world having contacted us during the week.

Myself Ivan and Ricky decided to make use of the early decent of Battery hill , so we set off three minutes before the others. Ricky had never descended Battery before and without the sub concious knowledge of the position of the various irregularities on the road , he was delayed somewhat by hitting a pothole. Luckily he managed to hang on so bike and rider arrived at the bottom unscathed.

As per custom, the early descenders slowed down to let the others catch up at the reserve. We were now heading into an icy North Easterly wind. Everyone was content to shelter from the cold wind by staying behind myself and Ivan  until we made it to the harbour road.

 Duncan was really getting into the night ride vibe, commenting on the stillness.Unfortunately his cogitation was temporarily suspended by an attack of cramp ,which required repeated stretching to hold it at bay. Ivan, Nigel and myself waited with him while the others began the Broad Oak drag.

As we started the drag we could feel the assistance of the North easterly wind. Nigel went into 'captain caveman' mode and shot passed us all in pursuit of Andy who was somewhere far ahead. Ivan and Duncan soon dropped me as well  but about halfway up I caught up with Ricky. We now rode together as a pair and despite feeling quite fit at the moment I couldn't drop Ricky so it seems we are a good training match.

Successful Stonestile Ascents for Duncan and Ricky.

Ricky had never ridden up Stonetsile before , so must have been a bit alarmed at the way we described it to him in excited reverential tones.

He need not have worried as his first time ascent was only a few seconds slower than mine, although we were both well down on Duncan who put in a great performance beating us by well over a minute.

Both first timers enjoyed their first Friday night ride so we hope to see them out with us again

Steve C

Wednesday Night Chain Gang - Excellent Group Riding

Colonel Parker arrives to inspect the troops.

Whilst slightly down on previous weeks, we still had 20 riders turn up for a cold, still and dry chain gang. I was waiting for the off, talking to Lord Buckland and Baron Buss when we were interrupted by a sprightly older lady, accompanied by a young man of far eastern appearance. What was this - did she want him to join the ride? No - she explained at some length that she lived opposite and had seen us collect and then disappear each Wednesday night. She wanted to know where we were going and where we finished up. Chris Parker, ever the gentleman, explained who we were and what we were doing.  She seemed impressed and I thought she might join us herself - I think she winked at Lord B before taking her young man home (he's here to tinkle her ivories - she likes a bit of Rachmaninov).


Having fostered better relations with South Korea, we did some cycling. I'll admit that I was getting twitchy about making the start time, given the interruption, but eight ultras rolled out at 19:27 in a tight and speedy group that included the stupendous Stuart Hodd (back in chain gang action after a couple of weeks away), Barney 'Turbo' Willard, Alex 'Smoking' Smith, Michael 'Maximum' Maxwell and George 'Social' Welfare. Lord B and I took out the rest, soon splitting into a group of four to six riders that rolled at a good pace along Behill front. His Lordship was on my right and I said to him:

"You can make the rotate signal, if you want Stewart."
"Thanks awfully, old fruit, but I think it would be better if you did it."
"No, no - you do it, go on m'lud, I've done it the last few weeks - have a go!"
"Well, no, I don't think so ducky (!), I might mess it up."
"No! How can you mess it up, gaffer? It's easy - just do it, me old china!"
"Well, if you insist, old sausage, I'll do my best."

He extended his right arm (good start) and then rotated his hand in a clockwise direction, the opposite direction to how we should rotate. So THAT'S how you can mess it up! I think we all got the gist though, and Nick S soon came down the outside, his newly 'repaired' rear wheel clicking and clacking as he went by. I reminded him that Lord Numpty and I had offered to fix it for free, but he ignored me. Huh!

We soon settled into a group of four, then a group of six: Terry, Steve 'Bouncy' Butcher, Nick 'Smiler' Sargent, me, Simon 'Swifty' Grogan and his Lordship (swaying slightly under the influence of a glass of champers balanced precariously on his handlebars). Behind us, a further group of six made good progress too, with strong efforts from Peter 'Baron' Buss (no, I have no explanation for this sudden elevation in status) and others. Our group rode very well together, communicating clearly and maintaining a good, even pace.

Bow down before the most honourable Baron Buss 

Near the start of the marshes, Terry shouted that he had a problem with his rear light and we should go on. Nick S gallantly said he would stay back with him so that he had some cover. In the event, Terry and Nick managed to stay with the group and, after a judicious smack to the light, illumination was restored and Terry could relax. Hurrah! I jokingly asked for lead out up Spooky, but then found myself on the front - damn! I gave it the beans as a couple of riders came past. Then, pushing out of the saddle, I nearly went A over T as the back wheel slipped on a wet patch. Nick thought I was a goner, but I stayed upright and hacked on after the others. We reassembled on the downward slope, staying away from the margins of the road as ice was a risk.

Interestingly, the council have put up 'slow' and 'skidding car' signs at either end of the stretch of road on which JV came to grief on last week. The worst section is in the middle of the road near the National Nature Reserve, where there is a strip of 20m or so that is slick tar - lethal when there is some moisture or frost on it. We avoided a repeat of last week's 'lying down' episode and continued rotating the front in a close formation, working well together right to the end.

We set off on the return leg after a short break to stare at the orange moon, just over full and waning. This week, I bridged the gap to the ultras and managed to hang on the back, dropping off a little on Spooky Hill, but just getting back on by the Star Inn. I tucked in behind Stuart Hodd and told him I was hanging on; he was doing the same and there was a rider or two behind me. Alex's bright pink silk overshoes flashed up and down as he sped to the front of the group, somewhat incongruous in a mass of black cycling tights, but setting off the fluoro green tops that a number of us wore.

We rode on strongly, Stuart repeating himself over and over to the riders in front that he was 'not coming through - GO!' I made it as far as the level crossing at Herbrand Walk, about as far as I ever get when riding with the ultras. But this week, I stayed on the back all along Herbrand, around the corner and part of the way up the slope. I hope you'll forgive this blatant episode of wheel-sucking, and at least at this point I got my comeuppance, as the ultras pulled away with ease. I WISH I had their power - I'm going to have to lose some weight (how long have I been saying that?).

I rode on and then Stewart B rode past. I put in an effort to get on his wheel, but he was on a mission and left me behind (despite suffering from a 'virus', he said - some dodgy foie gras, more likely). I couldn't catch him and I settled into a twosome with Simon G, each of us putting in a strong pull on the front, getting closer to Stewart, but never quite reaching him. Simon pushed that bit harder towards the end and took the honours - good riding!

I've not much to report thereafter. I took 'the Baron' back to Normans Bay, passing him over to a tetchy-looking matron - arms folded, brow furrowed, legs akimbo - quite alarming. I rode on, as is my habit, to the Pevensey roundabout, the cold intensifying and making smooth pedalling harder. The cold was chewing on my hands and feet, robbing me of feeling in my toes and fingertips. Overshoes are great, but if you ride for long enough in the cold, it will find a way in. I don't know how I ever rode without them, but I do remember finishing many winter rides on what felt like stumps - no feeling in my feet and very little in my hands. Madness!

As many of you have experienced, the temperature rises noticeably once you leave the marshes, and last night it felt almost warm as I rounded the corner onto Herbrand, and warmer still as I headed down Cooden Drive. Bliss! I prefer that to wet and windy. Fingers crossed it stays like this for the weekend...

Safe riding, Neil

Part Deux - Pre BBR & BBR Sat 20th Feb

 "Can anyone smell toast?"

14:12 Normans Bay (Relaxing with a nice cup of tea and the cake from Pevensey Bakery)

"May the fleas of a thousand camels colonise your an*s and may all your finger nails drop off so that you have no effective way to control the chronic itching, also, may this condition be passed on to all your offspring"

I took a sip of tea and considered my handwritten handiwork. 'Mmm not bad I thought, a bit harsh maybe?' I took a moment to imagine the scenario of a permanently itchy a*se with no relief.  Nah, he deserves it, and more.  Now all I had to do for the curse to work was set fire to it - the universe would do the rest.

07:45  Normans Bay Crossing

"Neil sent me a text, he said he's going to be a bit late, I think he might be making love", I announced to the rest of the group.

'The group'  consisted of Adam, Steve C - on his first ever pre BBR, Terry, also 'popping his cherry' - so to speak, and Kim. who said:

"I did one before with a bloke who was about 38-40, it was just the two of us"

Steve C, who is very analytical, being a physics teacher. grappled with this small piece of information.

"I know who you mean!, he said triumphantly, Paul Caulter!"

"Oh, yes, of course, well done", I said  

Just as we were about to leave we were joined by Ed Gomm.  He's the guy who claims to be a doctor, although when I 'threw down the gauntlet' and asked for some proof the first time he rode with us he left it lying in the dust and has still not produced any evidence of this claim.  It was good to see him and I like him anyway so maybe I'll just give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I'll give Neil 3 minutes more", said Steve

We were just about to leave when Neil came whizzing around the corner.

We did our normal 'T*sser/W*anker' exchange of pleasantries and set off into the wind of Sluice Lane.

Neil, who is always a strong rider did a lot of the leading, with some turns taken by myself, Adam and Terry.  I think the others were just finishing off their breakfast.

At the foot of the zig-zags 'The Breakfast Club' suddenly rushed past, I glanced at Steve C who was brushing a crumb of bread from the corner of his mouth with the back of his glove.  This situation was sustainable as far as Kim was concerned, but not as far as Ed and Steve go - I gave chase.  And so a Baron, a doctor and a physicist battled it out for supremacy on this Iconic climb.  It was 'touch and go', but I'm pleased to announce it was me who got to the top first.  The wind was howling and at one stage I thought I might be blown all the way back to Normans Bay.

After Steve had taken a few pictures we headed back down.  It was quite exhilarating with such a strong tailwind, and Neil , Adam and I were in the vanguard. It was somewhere near The Fort on Eastbourne seafront when a butcher in a small van pulled out in front of me, totally blocking my way and, with barely a glance in my direction, forced me to slam my brakes on..  Being that I'm from a South London council estate I've amassed quite a collection of rude words over the years; most of which came out of my mouth in a torrent of abuse as I glared at him in through the side window of his van.  He just stared ahead and didn't acknowledge me in any way - this just made it worse and so as he passed me I gave him a load more.  A very nice cyclist from Eastbourne Rovers and been witness to this and said words to the effect of:

"What a ****!"

"Do you you think he heard my response?", I asked

"Well I think he got the gist of it!", he replied sympathetically.

I wondered if being carved up by a butcher was irony?, I concluded that it wasn't really, as that is what butchers do (albeit, normally to dead animals and not cyclists); no I think it is more morony.  In any case I decided I would obtain the catharsis I required from a curse, and would let the matter drop, but with just one final thought, in fact it was an expression that was brought to my mind and one that was a favourite of a now deceased dear american friend of mine to describe such a person: 'no arms, no legs just an ars*hole'.

The Rovers cyclist accompanied me in my quest to catch up with Adam and Neil and even offered me his wheel.  I caught up with them and the my new friend bad me farewell at the nasty roundabout where Princes Road joins Seaside.  We sped on until the lights at Pevensey and then waited for the others.  Last to arrive was Terry, who was very apologetic:

"I'm sorry to keep everyone waiting; I think I need to work on my stamina!"

Terry had given a very good account of himself on the way out so an apology wasn't required.  The rest of the ride back to Di Paulos was very exhilarating as the tail wind was really strong.

Towards the end of Cooden Drive I made a break for it - I looked at Neil's tractor tyres and fancied my chances - he was up for it and we had a man-off - Kim had decided she wanted part of the fun also, and 'put the hammer down', unfortunately as she attempted to go past she was confronted by an oncoming bus and had no choice but to back down.

Ryan (from Dorking) is used to riding the 'Surrey Hills' , no wonder he was so fast!

Safely back at Di Paulos I was, as is usual lately, staggered by the high turnout.  There were again new faces; Joe, who is a friend of Duncan was there, and also, Ryan who is from a Dorking cycling cub and wanted to make a guest appearance.

I am quite paranoid about not being left behind these days so I was ready with the leading group.  We slowly became elongated and re-grouped at the normal points.  As anticipated Ryan turned out to be a strong rider and was one of the front runners throughout the ride.  I have noticed that Tom N is going well these days (particularly when bits aren't falling off his bike):

"I've been up the Beachy zig-zags eight times this week, he told me in Di Paulos, it's the 'in thing', and what with the TTs coming up I need to get my act together"

Shortly after, on one of the hills after the right turn into Tilley Lane, I found myself riding alongside Ed, and feeling a bit weary I siezed the moment:

"Got any drugs, Ed?" (joke)

"Only for my own personal use", he replied, sardonically (joke)

"Oh, that's a shame" (joke)

"Why what do you want; uppers, or downers?", he enquired (joke)

"Any that make this hill feel like fun", I replied (joke)

(the above was a jokey conversation and not a real request for illicit drugs, after all if Ed really is a doctor, as he claims, then his reputation could be in ruins.)

Olly joins another high turnout of riders for the BBR

For most of the ride Steve C was behind me or at best alongside me, but he is a bit like the pink rabbit in the duracell adverts of a few years ago, banging his drum at a steady beat but never seeming to totally run out of steam, thus, it should of been of no surprise to me that all of a sudden he sprinted past me to join the leading group and he stayed with them to the end (maybe toast is the secret ingredient.)

My favourite part of the ride, the same as last week was Wartling Hill, but this week instead of being in the lead I hung on to Neil's wheel for grim death:

"I can't give you anything", I said

"Don't worry, just hang on"

I must say (and I hope the Colonel is reading this) that Neil showed great leadership and concern for other members of the group, and at one point hung back to re-direct others who were in danger of missing the notorious left turn (don't know where that is exactly because of my 'geolexsia'.)

Back at The bakery we amassed outside; there was about twelve of us and we had grave doubts that we could all be accommodated.

One of the nice young ladies came outside and assured us that that could fit us all in if we waited for about ten minutes - which we happily agreed to.  Shortly afterwards another of the nice young ladies popped her head around the door and said to me:

"Shall I put a lemon doughnut and a cream slice aside for you?"

"Oh, yes, please", I said

I couldn't help but think this personal service set me aside from the rest of the group - a bit like being 'nodded through' to the front when queuing outside a night club because you know one of the bouncers. (it's the small things in life that make it all worthwhile.)

I sat on a table with Duncan, Joe and Derek that had a 'Reserved for 12:30" , so I knew this  arrangement wasn't going to last. Sure enough , just after we had given our orders the first nice young lady asked us if we would mind moving.

"I'll move if you give me another cup of tea for free", said Joe

She smiled at him, and helped us move to another table.  Not one to give up, Joe said:

"Do I get a free cup of tea then?"

"Oh, O.K then, no problem", she replied

"I think they call it 'blagging', Joe", I said

This only seemed to encouraged him because when she returned, shortly after she had given him his tea, with a breakfast that nobody claimed , Joe said:

"I'll have it if it's goings spare!"

At which point Duncan interjected, quite sternly.

"Look if you have it you're going to have to pay for it!"

Anyway it turned out that it was Duncan's after all.

Duncan and I got on the subject of retirement and I explained that I was sort of retiring but wasn't claiming my pension until next year.

"So are you 64 then?", he asked

"No, I'm 59!" (bloody cheek, I thought, he either needs to stop making comments like that or grow his finger nails.)

Breakfast over, Steve C, Mark and I had a slow ride back to Normans Bay along the Coast Road and I seized the chance to make known my concerns to Steve about there being two 'Lords' in the club - as everyone knows the other one is that washer changing whippersnapper 'Buckland'.

"This can't be right!", I said to Steve

"I know, he said, how about Baron Buss of The peoples Republic of Normans Bay?"

Perfect!

Peter (Baron) Buss

MVP return – It’s not about the bike

Eight bikey blokes – 3 nights in Mallorca – what could possibly go wrong?

We actually nothing – we had a great time. Everything went like clock work, got to Gatwick with plenty of time to spare – flight on time – met at airport – arrived at Peurto Pollenca – bought sensible food in supermarket. Had too much to drink first night – picked up our Pinarellos next day. Everybody on Marvels except Gary Lake (Dogma) and collection of some Di2s & others mechanicals.So this was to a scientific test of the Dogma. Official result is that is does not go as fast as the Marvel with mechanical shifting – there you go and that’s science!

The MVP are back in their spiritual home

The Mallorcan Velo Professional (MVP) CC had returned to its spiritual home. That night we gorged on lobster and Rioja, presided over by Grand Master of the MVP Duncan. We discussed what we would need to do if he wasn’t pulling his weight on the grand mastering front and, given it’s a life position, decided we would need to nudge him off one of the road edges and install next in line Simon. We retuned to the freezing apartment – whilst the day time temps were English summer the night were a trifle nippy. We then found the news about JV coming out in sympathy with his her in doors. We all agreed he should have obviously come with us & then Malc mentioned Karma and we all got a bit scared.

Day 1
Nice steady 15 mileish ride to Selva through the orange groves for a coffee in the local bar. Then a healthy climb up the Coll de Sa Batalla around 5miles of climb of over 1300 ft. We were passed by a pro team training and decided not to demoralise them by showing our heels and let them go. Simon, Nigel and Duncan were all in good shape. Nick was suffering with a cold, Patrick getting over a cold and overdosing on testosterone, Gary wishing he had got out more and then Malcolm and I the old reliable hipsters and that’s the way it stayed more or less. We arrived at the top of the infamous Sa Collabra. What were they on when they built that 6.2 miles descending 2,287 feet to to the beach, on a road designed by someone out of the head on acid. Collabra is Spanish for Cobra and it certainly felt like riding down the back of a cobra, as the road twisted and turned. We arrived in time for a lunch fuelling, with the thought of having to go back up. There was no other way – that was it straight down – then straight up. We all made it and some of had to regroup and wait a bit for ill people and people with expensive bikes. We then declared how much we admired each other and set off back to our apartment. 67 miles and 6,850 feet of climbing. What great day!

Evening meal distinctly Spanish affair and we planned the next day Patrick had plotted an adventurous route to Soller where we would have lunch and turn around and coming back the same way. Me being the adventurous sort wanted to go the alternative way back passing through unexplored territory but would unfortunately miss out on the infamous climb back up Puig Major with its 3000 odd feet of climbing. Lots of blouse talk ensued.

Day 2
Day broke to sunshine and nippy temps. Nigel wanted to push himself so set off on to Soller slolleritary (LoL at my joke). We all chugged and Simon flew. We had a fair bit of climbing before we arrived mid morning at at bar, which was of the Spanish version of de Paulos. The Spanish BBR crew were tucking into bread chorizo and Rioja. We decided not to go native and just have coffee and water top up. Went up to the bar and the waiter said ‘you know Chris Parker’ or was that when we were in New Romney – sorry get a bit confused.

A touch of cramp for Nick

Set off for Soller – Patrick decided to have a ‘testosterone-off ‘with a local Spanish club out on their club ride. Fortunately, they turned off for Sa Collabra and we could all chill again as we were on to Soller to find Nigel. Fantastic ride up through mountain lakes and eventually get to the tunnel at the top of Puig Major before the thrilling decent into Soller, where the sun was shining and Nigel was starting his carbonara. Half way through the meal Nick leapt into the air shouting ‘fudge fudge sorry cramp’ – clutching his hamstring. We leapt into action – and got out smartphones to take his picture.

We then split into two groups Nick, Gary and I put on kindly donated blouses and set off. We were nicely climbing out of Soller when Nigel turned up wearing the best blouse of all. We stopped at a handily placed tunnel and translated the signs into ‘no bikes through the tunnel’ the route helpfully sent us up the  Coll de Soller some 4.5 miles and 1,400 ft.

Another impressive tunnel.

This was a great hairpin climb with few cars as they mostly take the tunnel. The descent was amazing and we then set off through villages and towns through the minor roads before finding our local bar at Selva where we ordered, only to spy the others riding up the road, just as if we planned it. Malc left his helmet on the foor and a Chihuahua liked the look it it took one stiff and decided it wasn’t worth the cock of his leg. Some had coffee some had beers - coffeed ones sped home beers ones got home eventually.

That night traditional Spanish curry.

Day 3
Easy Day – Cap Formentor. This is an iconic ride -  good climb and descents winding roads, cliff edges and the sea turquoise at the bottom of the sheer drops. We did this the last time and certainly the ride deserves a repeat. Malc commented on the prefect surface for a road that goes to nowhere. We really took it easy and stopped at the light house for coffee. We had to wait for Patrick and Nick. Patrick arrived and explained that Nick had had an accident and gone under one of the barriers. We quickly ascertained they had staged a photoshoot in order to make JV feel better. What kind lads!
Back to Puerto Pollenca with a stop at the beautiful beach at Formentor. One climb before home and we all looked at a further climb that beckoned to a look out tower. It would have been rude not to so off we went. The road was more like that we were accustomed to at home. Patrick in a testosterone frenzy decided to climb the watch tower in his bare feet carrying his Garmin to get the extra elevation.

Lunch in the sun.

Fantastic lunch in the sun and a bit of a flat spin and that was it. Said good bye to the Pinarellos.

It is a scientific fact the Dogma is not as quick as the Marvel mechanical shift as proven by the MVP test team.

The MVP is now firmly established and the next trip probably Octoberish – watch this space.

Hasta la próxima vez



Peter Baker

BBR 20/2/16-The Puncture

Andy lives 200 yards from my house as the crow flies or 1 mile and 150-200 feet by road. He was going to come round to my house in Hastings at 8.55 but I had got up early and gone for a little spin/kit check down the seafront. It was perfect for my Gabba, great I thought all nice and streamlined today.

May as well go round to Andy’s. Rung the bell at 8.45 No answer. Hmm, that’s odd. Hmm, I am 10 minutes early maybe he has gone for a kit check, but his Mrs. should be in. Odd. Hmm, we were going to meet at my place, have I caught him on the hop? What to do? Just wait I s’pose, seems like a reliable guy, he’s sure to show, maybe they’ve popped down the shop for flapjacks/bananas. 5 minutes goes by. Door opens. Lovely Mrs is standing there. He’s in the bath she says. Blimey that’s cutting it a bit fine I say.

Go in. I shout up the stairs, come on Andy we need to get going. Comes down. Faffs around with shoe covers, on off. He says I spend half my life putting stuff on and off I say, what you mean like getting dressed and undressed? I’m thinking bloody hell let’s get going, I hate being late, there’s a double espresso with small hot water on the side waiting for me at Di Paolo’s.

Left or right Andy? I normally go along the seafront he says. Yeah but that’s all windy and we’ve got about 200 feet of height. Lets go right up the hill, stay sheltered then we can have a nice roll down Filsham. But Duncan, that’s a hill. Oh no it’s a hill I say in a Little Britain cry ee voice, you should have eaten your porridge. I’m at the junction first. I go right up the hill, Andy follows. Andy doesn’t seem to like hills, even though he’s pretty quick up Boreham. I think he needs to see one of those sports therapy people, like what Rocket Ronnie the snooker player. We cruise smoothly up, no problem, great.

Have a coffee in Di Paolo’s and introduce my mate Joe to one or two others. Joe is 69, lives 200 yards from Di Paolo’s and strong as an ox even though he pretends he isn’t. This ride is kicking off has 2016 riding.  I reassure him that he will be absolutely fine on the ride. Espresso hits the spot, everyone looks happy. Perfect.

5 minutes in I am bowling along Cooden Drive with 20 (?) riders looking forward to a good BBR. I am in high spirits riding with Joe and Andy, giving Joe one or two tips as he isn’t used to structured group riding. Looks down. Hmm, bit odd. I changed religion the other week and went from 23 to 25mm tyres. They do seem more comfy, my boys who have been banging on about it for ages were right. Hmmm. They look really really wide. Hmmm, they look crinkly but it all feels smooth. F*** . I’ve got a puncture!

“Stopping, stopping, I’ve got a puncture” I pull up gently and go on the grass verge. Andy, Joe and Man from Yorkshire (Paul B axter)have pulled up. Good I’ve got some help. Whip off the front wheel. Eh up, ‘ave you got kit then? Carry on, do I look like a rider who doesn’t have kit? Check inside the tyre, that went flat really quick. Can’t see anything. Eh up, is that a 23 or 25? Carry on. Good its all going well, this will be quick. Putting wheel back into fork with Joe holding the bars. Eh up is those 105’s brakes then? Them’s really good, can I fit them on mah bike. Carry on. Mini pump has never seen so much action. Want to catch up others asap! Must get some canisters like Patrick P carries. Good that’ll do. Unscrew connector. Puff! Oh crap the poxy valve’s come unscrewed. Try to finger tighten it. No good. Mental note, small pliers are handy. Oh well I always carry two. Chuck the other one in. Proceed. Bloody hell these bladed spokes are sharp. Me fingers cut and there’s blood on the rim. Eh up, is them 23’s or twenty farves?..............

Off we go. Me, Andy, Joe and Man from Yorkshire. Glad I spotted that puncture before going round sharp right hander at the hotel, otherwise I would have been having an early bath.

Let’s try and catch them up I say. We go quicker than normal. Down Whydown Hill I’m doing about 30 and some idiot in  a car’s up my rear trying to overtake. I’m having none of that, its too narrow and bendy. I go right in the middle of the road and hold my line, it doesn’t bother me. The fact that One Brain Cell Man is tooting means he has seen me. Jog on. Goes past me on the uphill after the tricky bottom left hander.I gave him a friendly wave good bye palm side towards, much more polite than the middle finger one feels.

The author is so pleased to be be back with Baron Buss

Pretty good run up Boreham Hill. Judge it better this week and hit my max bpm about two thirds of the way up. Stop for the others at the Garage. Regroup. Andy says we aren’t going to catch them, let’s go straight on at Tilley Lane and right at Herstmonceux, we’ll bump into them coming down.

Sure enough we did.

I catch up Neil. I say shall we catch up those others up front, I’ll give you a tow if you want. I haven’t got the legs he says. Off I go. I catch the others. To my slight disappoint we regroup at the Lamb. Bloody hell I just want to carry on, I’m somewhat on it today.

Joe and Derek prove you can still ride strong in your sixties

Off we go again. I go a bit slow behind Joe as he is my guest. Hmm, not much of this ride left. I want to go. I go. I catch up Theo and Kim. I try to give Theo a tow to catch the front group up. He seems a bit tired. Oh well I’m going to catch the others. Off I go. I catch them easier than I thought in the strong cross wind. I am in my tuck position, the planking seems to have paid off, I can hold this all the way to the cafe if I need to. Ahead are Pete B, Neil, Andy C and a couple more (?). Hmmm, this seems a bit slow, I’m going on the front to lend a hand. I go on the front. Neil is on my wheel. I hold my bpm at 140bpm. Neil is very good at communicating. He calls out I can’t hold that. I drop to 135 bpm. Steady he says. Perfect, this is great and I’m on the front feeling strong. We ride like that for a mile. Hmmm, still full of beans.  Pevensey garage is only about 500 yards. Sod it I’m going to put my all into this last bit, it’s good training.  Off I go. Boom, really happy with my speed and hold it. Pull into garage, tongue hanging out. Great, I have salvaged a lot from this ride after the stupid inner tube saga on Cooden Drive.

Thanks to the kindness of the  cafe staff we were not  denied our tea and breakfasts.

Pevensey Bay Café was busy, but the nice girls got us in at a reserved table, we should be out by 12.30. They really can’t do enough for you. It’s such a refreshing change from most places that you go in. Café is really really busy. Hmm, we’re going to overrun. Lady comes over and asks very nicely if we wouldn’t mind moving over to the other table. Sure says Joe with a glint in his eye, and adds, if I get a free cuppa. He is a wag. The lady takes the joke. Lovely breakfast, lovely chat with Derek, Lord Buss and Joe. My weekends are so much better since I started riding with the club.

I am off to see my Dad in Eastbourne, so I wave goodbye to all and battle it out against a full on strong wind. “Slow and steady wins the race” just gotta tough it out.

What another great ride.

Duncan H

20/2 Pre Bacon Butty Virgins

Feeling guilty after a very low mileage week, I realised the only way I could hit my 100 mile a week target would be to join others for the Pre BBR from Norman's bay at 7:45.

I calculated that I would have to set off from Hastings at 6;45 so the bedside alarm was set for 6;00. this should have given me plenty of time but after the usual faff rituals, I hit the road at 6;50. Reaching the sea front I was confronted with a reasonably strong headwind which slowed my progress forcing me to push on more strongly than I would have liked. Instead of riding my beloved CAAD 8 I was on my awkwardly sized Giant defy. After two years of changing the position of just about every part that moves I had finally taken the step of changing the handlebars to compact ones, would this finally produce the required reach?

My timing was spot on as I arrived at 7:40 but was surprised to be the only one there. This gave me time to loosen the seat post bolts to slide the set back a little to make up for the shorter reach on the handlebars. 

Very soon Kim, Adam  and the recently invested Baron Buss (of the 'People's Republic Of Normans Bay') appeared. We were then joined by Terry and Ed who like me were  pre BBR virgins. Unusually ,the always Punctual Neil was running late but the Baron instructed us to wait (no doubt he will give his squire a good flogging later!)

As a Pre BBR virgin I felt no guilt staying near the back of the bunch, allowing Baron Buss and Neil to do most of the work into the headwind with only the out of form Adam (recent 5 week holiday in New Zealand) prepared to have a go at the front.

I always find the long drag along the seafront to the foot of Beachy much harder than the climb itself so it was a relief to reach the foot hills where Kate, Neil and Adam showed their superior climbing skills, breaking away from the rest of us. 

Myself, Ed, Baron Buss and Terry were a very even match on the climb with no-one able to completely drop the others. I made it to the top of the main climb first but struggled with the change of gradient encountered by the awkward left turn leading to the car park. This allowed Baron Buss and Ed to get there first.

We were greeted by the familiar figure of the Bianchi Bomber (who had ridden straight over from his home in Eastbourne)  shouting greetings to us into the very blustery wind scouring the top of the exposed summit. 

Very blustery conditions greeted us on the summit of Beachy!

No-one wanted to hang about in the cold wind for long, so after the obligatory photo we began our descent. We would now enjoy some 15 miles of tail wind back to bexhill. 

The zig zag decent of Beachy was great fun  but near the bottom I spotted the Bianchi Bomber at the side of the road. Thinking it was mechanical I pulled over to lend assistance but all that had happened was the lid of Tom's water bottle and flown off. The others were now too far ahead for me to catch up to and before long the Bomber had come past me , skilfully negotiating the traffic that was already building up along the seafront. 

The others were waiting at Pevenesy Bay but by now the lure of fresh coffee at Di Paulos was urging me on and I swept left towards the by pass roundabout only to suffer a front wheel pinch puncture caused by a small but deep pothole. I didn't want the others to miss their coffees at the cafe so waved them on but the Bianchi Bomber insisted on staying with me and seemed fascinated by my use of a C02 cyclinder to get me up and running in double quick time .

Reaching Di paulos we admired the impressive collection of bikes propped up outside . This was particularly impressive as many of the regulars were out in Majorca. 

I must say I really enjoyed by first ever pre BBR which together with the BBR gave me a satisfyingly long ride of 78 miles. I was also pleased with the replacement handlebars on the Giant Defy, I finally seem to have the correct balance of reach with only the harshness of the frame spoiling the ride (hopefully solved by switching to 28mm tyres next week)

Many thanks to Pete and Neil  for organising the Pre BBR and encourganing others to ride it. I will definitely be here again.

Steve C

Wednesday Chain Gang - Fast, Wet, Cold, Fun, Puncture, Fracture

Perhaps it was an omen - my ride up and down Galley Hill on the way to the start had an 'oh s***' moment as a runner appeared from nowhere, near-invisible in the dark. Day-glo green does not work in the dark chum, wear something reflective! Anyhow, disaster was averted and I was pleased to share with him some friendly advice on how to avoid being hit by speeding cyclists. Had I had more time, I would have taken the runner to meet Steve 'Gadget' Ferguson and see his flashing arm bands, stitched into the sleeves of his new floral-print cycling blouse. Yes, Steve C has finally passed on the mantle of 'Big Girl's Blouse' to Steve F, the latter no longer up for a second round of the chain gang or any slightly damp riding.

JV's proviz confuses the camera but cannot protect him from a very unfortunate tumble

The beach shelter and road around it filled steadily with riders from 7:10 onwards: having a chat, comparing notes, fiddling with saddle heights, sharing banter - the usual good-humoured exchanges that brighten our working week. In all, 25 or so riders assembled in time for the 7:27 start, with the 'ultras' pulling away first. The rest of us followed not long after they rounded the first bend, keen to make the Herbrand level crossing before the barriers dropped.

Stewart 'Lord' Buckland and I set off at the front against a stiff crosswind, buffeted from all sides as it bounced of the tall buildings on Bexhill front and swirled around the De La Warr. I fell in with John V and we talked about running injuries, my recent running career cruelly cut short before Olympic selection by a nasty achilles injury. We agreed that cycling is far less damaging to the body. But how cruel is fate, dear reader!

Once on the drag along the 'prom', we began riding through and off as a group of four: JV, me, Lord B and Terry. Another group was hanging off us, 10m or so back, as we turned left onto South Cliff and slowed as we worked our way uphill. This gave three of them a chance to catch us and we continued working together along Cooden Drive as the rain began, although it is fair to say that there remained a more experienced group within the group that rode more smoothly. Getting the pace right when on the front is the thing that many of us struggle with, either too fast or slow, rarely just right. Perhaps the riders behind should be less shy about telling the lead rider to slow down or speed up!

On we rode, with a high level of communication between riders with well-matched abilities, willing to hold back or push on as required. The most experienced in the group were willing also to give the less experienced of us tips and lead by example. It was great to take the front and not have to half-kill myself to do it, nor feel like I was reining myself in - a really satisfying ride.

We were a group of seven or so riders by the time we reached Spooky Hill. Alas, I found my legs lacking as the group powered up the slope, dropping first me and then Conrad before the crest. I dug deep, hoping to catch them on the descent, but of course they also sped up, maintaining the gap as we went right and then sharp left around the marsh bends. I caught Conrad on the nature reserve stretch and knew then that I had the legs to get back to the group, so I got my head down and pushed on, focusing on the road ahead.

At this point, I saw a bike lying on its side, the rider just getting up. JV was 'off', slipping on the wet and slightly frosty area of smooth tar in the middle of the road, knocking his levers offline but, more worryingly, nursing a sore wrist. We checked him and then the bike, warned approaching riders of the hazard, pulled straight those bits that were out of line, and watched John head back to Bexhill (with Conrad, I think) to wait for us at the lights. He looked fine, once over the initial shock of riding along and then suddenly finding himself lying in the road. He tells me that he's going for an x-ray this morning as the hand and wrist are rather swollen - hopefully all is well (see PS below).

Now, at this point, accounts differ. I rode on to Pevensey, so I cannot say for sure what happened. Lord B alleges that JV asked for mouth to mouth resuscitation; JV says that Lord B asked him for a kiss, as he found his freshly-shaved chops too tempting to resist, perhaps confusing JV with 'Betsy' the chamber maid or Robert, his favourite sheep. If I have to side with anyone, it will be JV - these landed gentry types are a funny bunch. We are not like your serving wenches Stewart, here for your every whim! Perhaps JV was trying to escape when he slipped - who knows, the details are sketchy.

We set off for Bexhill after some confusion at the roundabout over how many riders remained to arrive. The ultras took it a little easier than usual on the way back, given the uncertainty now planted in all our minds by JV's unplanned 'rest' in the road. The usual pattern returned of a group riding just off the back of the ultras, before they use their extra power on the hills to put more distance between us. The strava 'flybys' facility shows this very clearly, and also the sharp rise in speed as the ultras approach the end of the ride.

Gadget now takes over as wearer of the 'Big Girl's Blouse'

Stewart and I fell in together on the return leg, taking longish turns on the front, rather than constantly swapping the lead. We arrived back at the lights maybe a minute behind Barney, Michael, Alex and the others to find JV looking fine and dandy. All was well, apart from a sore wrist, he said. Perhaps stung by his earlier rejection, Lord B swiftly headed home, leaving me to escort Peter Buss back to the nursing home. It was my turn to mishear him this week: he said he is retiring - I heard 'I am retarded', with which I promptly agreed. Oh dear, confusion reigns. Where is matron when you need her?

I pushed on through the wind to the roundabout, taking care on an increasingly cold road - the grass turning silver with frost and the sleet stinging my face. Just as I noticed what looked like snow settling on the shingle on Herbrand Walk, I felt the back wheel go over a stone. Pop, FWIST, FWIST, Fwist, fwist, fwiss, fiss, fssss. Flat tyre and quickly too, very close to the place I got a flat tyre when last I rode with Steve 'Girl's Blouse' Ferguson (GB to his mates). Would I stop, fix it and freeze, or plough home on the flat? I ploughed on, not keen to get frostbitten fingers and bloody knuckles wrestling with the tyre in a strengthening and freezing wind. Home I rumbled, pausing at Cooden to check for damage.

I checked the tyre this morning for what I was sure would be a large cut in the tread, but found nothing. Two punctures in a Continental Four Seasons tyre is unusual, so maybe Peter B is right to say that cheap tyres are more durable.

Safe riding, Neil

PS JV reports a fractured scaphoid - that's the bone at the base of the thumb, often damaged when someone falls and with an outstretched hand. Eight weeks in plaster... Here's wishing you a swift and full recovery John.

Part Deux - BBR Saturday 13th Feb "Lycra and Lace"

11:58 - Pevensey Bakery

"And what can I get for you?", said the nice young lady to Peter B

"I'd like a small breakfast, with a poached egg and a cup of coffee, please"

"O.K, certainly, she turned her attentions to Patrick.  And what can I get for you?"

"I'd like a small breakfast, with a poached egg and a cup of coffee, please"

I studied them both carefully, yes, no doubt about it they have become chums. The way they finished each others sentences, the mirroring of body language.  You could say they have become a couple of 'Fun Chums'; meeting up mid-week for extra training sessions, generally having fun together.

 Earlier in the ride Peter had said to me:

"Patrick has got a new jacket, he said it's really waterproof and I'm going to get one too"

"Yes, it looks really nice", I replied

"I've got the same rear light as Patrick, and then added with a grin, didn't pay as much as he did though"

I assume they had decided to have the same rear lights so that that can spot each other from behind in a peloton - must give them some comfort that.

There's nothing wrong with having a 'Fun Chum' I like to think that some of the readers of this blog would consider themselves to be my 'Fun Chum'.

We had arrived in The Bakery like drowned rats; dripping and shivering, but with self-satisfied looks on our faces - we had been challenged and we had prevailed.

09:55 - Di Paulos

I pulled up outside, horrified to see a stack of bikes!.  We had some friends for dinner on Friday night and I had had my share of 'Yellow Tail' red wine.  On the way over I had coped with the evil easterly wind and torrential rain satisfied in the  certain knowledge that nobody would be mad enough to venture out in this, and so I had imagined a cappuccino with a 'double shot', an exchange of pleasantries with Luigi and Giovanni and back home for a egg and bacon sarnie with our house guests - how wrong was I!.  To make matters worse as I entered everybody got up to leave; it was later than I thought.  I immediately panicked at the the prospect of setting off in this deluge without a least a cup of coffee inside me.  I noticed that Tom hadn't quite finished drinking his.

"Give me some of that coffee Tom", I demanded.

"What share a man's coffee? - you can't do that!"

"Oh, just give me some, please"

In order to ensure I didn't get too much he took a big gulp and burned the back of his throat. 'Serves him right, for being greedy', I thought.  He then passed me his cup and I took a couple of big swigs.  I had no wish to replicate last weeks' debacle, when I got left behind, so I ensured I left with the first riders.  The rain was absolutely awful and totally unforgiving, but we set off in quite high spirits.  Having not done a Pre BBR I felt quite strong.

Tom's expression says it all- 'lovely' weather!

The main challenge on this route is Boreham Hill,  not a real 'killer' I know, but sort of draining.  I crept up behind Steve C and  made a childish remark:

"Are you in your grannies ring?"

Steve being that much more mature than me didn't give more than a polite chuckle as a response.

We stuck together quite well, re-grouping as required.  Patrick was a bit off form today and so I found myself riding a long stretch with him and having a bit of a 'catch-up'.  I reminded him of the days when he had difficulty keeping up with me, but I think he's forgotten that.  He's putting in the mileage these days and reaping the rewards - as is his 'Fun Chum' - I might add.  Talking of whom; Peter B is still reluctant to accept my comment last week about being better looking than him and said:

 "It's now in the hands off my lawyers, although most of them are still tied up in sorting out the ramifications of 'Sausagegate" (newer members would obviously be unaware of 'Sausagegate', but I am sure someone would be happy to enlighten them.)

I tried to explain to Peter that the truth always hurts.

Is peter B telling us the weather is going to get even worse?

Still the rain came down with not a seconds respite.  We all got colder, wetter and hungrier as the ride progressed and I could only think of getting to the bakery for some 'lardage'.  For the greater part of the ride I had been hovering behind the leading group, of mostly Duncan, Peter B and Patrick, and sort of in the middle, but  Wartling Hill represented the 'home straight' as far as I was concerned and I felt strong and proud to be leading the group as we reached the roundabout at Pevensey.  Peter B made a sensible suggestion that perhaps we should give the Westham loop a 'swerve' and go straight to the Bakery.

Leaving the Bakery we decided to go the shortest way back via Coast Road and Normans Bay; I must admit to feeling a bit smug that I was almost home, but waiting at the lights at the end of the one way system my smugness turned to pity when I looked at Steve C and Patrick , in particular, they looked bloody cold!  And this feeling must having been seriously compounded for Patrick who suffered a slow puncture on the way home, with his frozen fingers there was no way he was going to be able to fix it.  Fortunately Peter had his car parked on bexhill seafront and there was just enough air left inside the tube to make it before total deflation.Steve had been riding behind Patrick all the way home and was in the 'I know I can make it' zone and now ploughed on alone back to Hastings old town, with a short detour to the Glyne Gap toilets where use was made of the hand drier to revive some degree of circulation into fingers that were turning increasingly numb.

.This ride has changed my opinion of Steve; I no longer see him as a 'blouse wearer', but the 'hard man' of the club.  In fact he said he was going to burn all his blouses except his favourite floral 'number' as he said he loves to relax in it at weekends and that the lacy material feels very sensual against his skin.

Peter (Lord) Buss

12/2 HSLCC Fri Night Ride - Phantom Ultras

Events have recently conspired against me to prevent me riding the Friday night ride. Last night everything was perfect: no rain, quite light winds and no big ride at the weekend to save my old legs for.

How does Sargent G keep himself so impressively slim?

The two most regular Friday nighters, Dan and Sargent G turned up at the Fairlight lodge as did Nigel F  who we haven't seen much of this winter season. Nigel was out on his best carbon Verenti bike having purchased some new Campagnolo Zonda wheels. These were the same wheels that Chris C recommended at Christmas. Apparently they are strong and yet light and give just about the best bang for buck of any wheelset!

Also joining us was Duncan F. Duncan had had cycled all the way over from Cooden in a desperate attempt to improve his fitness before the imminent Majorca trip next week.

I set off four minutes before everyone else, enabling me  to make a more casual solo descent of Battery Hill. Just as I was pulling away three more riders appeared but it was so dark I couldn't see their faces however I knew one of them must be Stuart as he shouted a friendly hello just as I pushed myself off.

Reaching Winchelsea there was no sign of the others catching me up so I pressed on in quiet solitude arriving at the Nature reserve gates. Here I decided to wait  and turned around expecting to catch sight of lights in the distance. After a minute of waiting I stated to chill down so decided to keep riding gently through the reserve.

Halfway across the reserve my bike started to cast a shadow as some lights were now appearing some way behind me. A few minutes later I was overtaken by a formation of ultras in a 2x2 block formation. They glided past me in total silence and soon passed away like phantoms in the night.

Dan enjoyed the Friday night ride but Duncan's cold took its toll

One of the ultras turned out to be Dan who had  pulled up and waited for me . We were soon joined by Sargent Simon and  Duncan but where was Nigel? We were correctly given instructions to wait until Nigel had caught back up. The Friday night is a social ride with plenty of opportunities to stretch ones legs on the broad Oak drag and the Stonestile ascent.

Once were were all back together there was an unspoken agreement that we would ride the broad oak drag as a peloton. I usually get dropped on this drag so it was quite a novelty for me to ride in the company of others, and with people around me the drag felt a lot less daunting than normal.

Reaching the top of the drag I wasn't surprised to see the phantom ultras had disappeared, they must have got cold waiting for us?

Stonestile lane is now open to cyclists so there was no longer the excuse of riding the longer but easier main road up to the ridge. Not having done the Friday night ride for a while my climbing legs were a bit out of condition and this was one of my slowest ever ascents, so it was surprising that I overtook Duncan . This confirms his fears about not be in ideal Majorca condition, made worse by the start of a cold . Don't worry Duncan, you still have  a few days to get into shape!!!

Steve C

Wednesday Chain Gang - Rapid Mid-week Riding

Great conditions and a great turnout again this week: a cool, dry and near windless evening enjoyed by at least 25 riders of all abilities. The ultras rolled off as a group of six or seven, leaving the rest of us to make a mass start a few minutes later. Shirley Y had already given herself a ten minute start, but would be overtaken by the ultras before she reached Pevensey. A number of riders made a rare appearance, including Chris P, who has not done many chain gang rides this season.

Stewart B and I took the front of the second group, quickly getting up to speed and starting to rotate as soon as the road widens on Bexhill front. I offered his Lordship the honour of making 'the sign', but he kindly let me do it - two weeks in a row, happy days! Having 'stirred the porridge', I felt a glow of satisfaction as riders moved down the outside. We had a fast and efficient group of eight or nine riders that rode well together for the whole outward leg, including Simon G, Dan S and Stuart D. To the disapproval of Lord B, I put a sprint in on the final stretch, expecting him to follow, but oncoming traffic deterred him. Stuart D went past me on his day-glow Specialized Dura Ace thing, proving once again that small is nippy.

Turning around at Pevensey, we had just a short wait before the third group arrived and we began the return leg. Like last week, I found myself at the back of the ultras and shouted forward that I was hanging on, not coming through. The most superb Stuart H shouted back that he was hanging on too, but before long he went down the outside and I followed him, finding myself at the front as we went up the west slope of Spooky Hill, dammit.

I dug deep and gave my all to get in front of Stuart, then watched as the faster, stronger ultras whipped by, led by Barney 'The Greyhound' Willard, giving his turbo a small burst. My lungs were burning and there was no way I could catch the last wheel, the group riding a tantalising 20 or so metres ahead of me. But it might as well have been a mile - I could not bridge the gap as we swept down the hill and on past the Star Inn. I kept up the pace as well as I could and was joined on Herbrand Walk by Lord Buckland, Simon G and John S. We rode well as a group - evenly matched and prepared to cooperate to the end (almost).

The sea water that has flooded the road since Monday's storm Imogen had finally drained, leaving a scattering of small stones, overlaid with rice-crispy road grit, spread that afternoon by the council in anticipation of a freezing night. At that point, as we rotated along first Herbrand and then Cooden, the temperature was still a few degrees above freezing. Lord B and Simon G went past me near the lights and eased off, but I kept rolling through, again earning the disapproval of his Lordship. Seems I'm doing that a lot lately; reminds me of being at school where I was constantly in trouble. Old habits die hard, perhaps.

We made more than enough heat through our efforts to stay warm, each of us riding strongly on what proved to be a fast night. I managed my third fastest ever chain gang, and riding the cannonball too. As I remarked to Stuart H, not riding into a strong wind really helps me and, perhaps apart from the strongest riders, it helps most others too. You never make up the time lost riding into the wind when you ride with it.

Steve F again cried-off from doing a second helping of the chain gang (nails needed painting and he was trying on some of Steve C's blouses), so I rode back along Cooden with Lord B and Peter 'where am I' Buss, discussing again the BBR debacle that saw Peter abandoned by Colonel Parker at Di Paulos, for which I was framed. Nice try Chris! Anyway, from what I can gather, Peter had a good solo ride and joined the group again at the cafe, so no harm done. Given his less than pleasant odour, he was probably better off riding alone. It was a one off - he usually smells quite nice.

Peter was stuck in top gear. This would normally indicate a broken gear cable, but it appeared to be taut. He appealed for us to ride slowly. So, with enormous effort, I patiently waited for him on condition that he turn on his hearing aid. There followed a loud buzzing and clicking sound, similar to that you get when plugging an electric guitar into a powerful amp. His ears started to glow orange and there was a background hum (no, not an unpleasant smell again). I knew we were now wired for sound, but tested it by shouting at him. Contact! Peter swerved as the shock of the shout pierced his eardrums, Lord B catching his handlebars and saving him from a dose of gravel rash. 'NO NEED TO SHOUT!' he bellowed, hurting his ears again.

I saw that he was also in the big front ring and whispered that he change down to the small ring. Ah, that's better! Having handed custody of Lord B to his butler, we had a good chat across the marshes to Normans Bay, where further examination of the cable showed that is was indeed broken. It's a simple enough repair, if a bit fiddly, and I think also that Peter will need to change the outers as well, as they have all sorts of kinks and creases in them. Two years of commuting in all weathers have taken their toll.

My solo ride to Pevensey and back was noticeably colder than the earlier and faster ride. Cold air collects in the hollows and between the reeds; the warmer air is felt at the top of Spooky Hill and also once you turn onto Herbrand Walk. Entering town feels like going to Spain compared to the frosty air of the marsh.

The same job that awaits me on my Giant TCR - new gear, brake cables and outers are on their way. I think the bottom bracket also needs changing as there is play in the crank arms, but that's a job for the bike shop as it's a press fit (I'd prefer a screw-in bottom bracket so that I could maintain this myself). I'll take the derailleurs off when I do the cables and check for excessive wear. The headset on modern bikes seem to be a weak area, so I'll whip out the forks and check that they are running in clean grease and not rusty water. The gear and brake levers are wonky and new bar tape is needed - a more practical black colour to replace the 'nice when new, knackered after one ride' white bar tape that came with the bike.

That just leaves the blistered paint on the seat tube to sort out. Ideally, I would strip the paint off the frame and polish up the aluminium, but that looks like too much work. I'll find some way of making it look better or just live with it. I hope to have the bike ready for the Hardriders TT on Sunday 20th March. If not, I'll bash round the course on the capable cannonball! Hope to see you there.

Safe riding, Neil

Part Deux - Pre BBR and Solo BBR

"Neil Smith gets the sh*tty end of the stick"
(warning: contains juvenile content)

09:21 Eastbourne Road

"Well I reckon it's definitely sh*t", said Steve F, not very helpfully "how did you manage that then?"

Man hug on Beachy!

I'd been for a wee outside the toilets at the top of Beachy (due to the fact that were shut), I had set off at a pace after Neil and Pete B and was 'steaming' down Beachy when I became aware that I wasn't clipped in. I lifted my foot and, with horror, saw the big lump of poo that was wedged in my cleat.  I carried on with my descent but for obvious reasons couldn't fully relax in to it.  I waited until we were through Eastbourne before pulling over.

"There must be a bit of stick around somewhere", said Steve, more helpfully.

We scoured the terrain to no avail.  I rummaged around my jacket and pulled out my house key.

"Ah, nah, come on mate, you can't use that"

I realised I was getting desperate and put it away.   We set off again after Neil and Pete and found them waiting for us at the Pevensey lights.

"Where've you been", asked Neil, as I tailed him along Wallsend Road.

"I've got sh*t in my cleat", I said

Suspecting that he didn't believe me. I repeated myself:

"I've got sh*t in my cleat, I'm not joking!"

"I believe you!, what do you want me to do about it?", he said in his useful, slightly 'huffy' irritated manner.

"We'll have to pull over"

We waited until we had negotiated the Pevensey roundabout and stopped by a puddle at the start of Sluice Lane.  I found a stick and set to work.  Having dislodged the bulk of it onto the end of the stick I chased after Neil with it.

"Ah, get off!, get off!"

This made me very happy.  I set about rinsing my shoe and cleat in the puddle, but as everyone knows this is never really going to work that effectively.  The term 'sticks like sh*t' is very true and there is even a glue available in builders merchants with this trade name. I took a that'll do approach and we headed back to Di Paulos with the wind behind us.  Maybe because of loosing the excess baggage I felt strong, and Pete and me managed to hang onto Neil's wheel all the way; with Steve F making a valiant effort but falling away along Herbrand.

Back at D Paulos we hopped off the bikes and in the process of removing one of my gloves I pulled the lining out , I thought: 'I'll sort that out in a minute.' We ordered coffee, and Neil and Steve F also bought some massive chunks of fruit cake. Once seated I commented to Neil that he was going really well today and he explained that he left his water bottles behind and so was benefiting from the weight reduction; I'm amazed at the lengths some cyclists will go to improve their Strava times - even risking dehydration - silly boy, in my opinion.  

About 10 minutes before we were due to commence the start of the BBR I realised I needed to 'go somewhere', but noticed that due to the length of his absence the Colonel had got there first.  After he got back to the table I though I ought to leave it a few minutes before risking 'going in'.  The other cyclists  were getting up from the tables and I said to the Colonel:

"Could you give me a few minutes?"

"Yes, no problem", he replied

I came out and wasn't aware of any permanent damage.  I gathered up my helmet and gloves and rushed outside to find most of the others were leaving.  The Colonel waited across the road and observed me 'fathing' with my gloves - I had forgotten to fix the problem with the lining at leisure and was now panicking. It took me a good five minutes to get my hand back in the glove by which time the Colonel had left. I chased after the group but they weren't even in distant view; "Still never mind, I'm sure they'll wait for me at that left turn after Herbrand'' I thought to myself.  The wind was a real 'cow son' and I felt quite demoralised battling with it on my own; it felt like I was being dragged back by a big elastic band attached to my saddle.  Sometimes when I'm struggling I like to count the rotations in either 3, 5 or 7 beats - I find this helps to stay focused.  I arrived at the first of our regrouping points to find no one was there. 'Oh, well, I'm sure they'll be waiting for me at the end of the lane that joins the Ninfield Road.  I carried on with my counting:"One, two, three, four, FIVE, one, two three, four , FIVE....",  I turned the last corner full of high hopes - still no one there!.  "Never mind, I'm sure they'll definitely be waiting for me at the top of Boreham Hill."  I struggled up the hill straining to catch sight of someone (I did past the newbie at the roundabout by the petrol garage (sorry name escapes me)) who said :

"Don't wait for me - I'm new and I'm taking a shorter route."

"O.K, cheers, good luck", I replied

Cresting the hill I had to face the inevitable: "The rotters haven't waited or me oh, dash it (or thoughts to that effect.)  I pushed on but made a decision to ignore the Tilley Lane sign; mostly I thought I might make up for lost time, but also at the back of my mind I was thinking that I might get lost - I know what I'm like!

To maintain focus and keep my morale up I continued counting rotations, but switched from keeping the beat with numbers to a different mantra: B*ll-ocks-to-them-ALL,B*ll-ocks-to-them-ALL- this fitted the five beats perfectly and kept my spirits up.  I headed for the haven of the Pevensey bakery via Hailsham, Hankham and Westham.  Whichever direction I went in I seemed to be facing a headwind, until I reached the Eastbourne Road ( for the second time today.)

Back at the Bakery I felt like I felt like I was back in the womb, such a relief to not have to face the departure lounge at Starbucks International again.  I ordered a 'Early Bird' and waited to see who arrived; in fact there was only four: The Colonel, Terry, Darren and newbie Eddie.  I explained my situation to the Colonel who was aggrieved that Neil hadn't waited for me as he was at the front and that he thought I was making a phone call; more worryingly he thought I was the other Peter B!

In conclusion I don't blame anyone for not waiting for me; it's a well known fact that Neil is a bit of a t*sser so I don't have high expectations of him; perhaps the Colonel needs to invest in some new specs - after all everyone knows I'm better looking and younger looking than the other Peter B, but mostly I blame myself for being a bit of a tw*t; I should have just stuck my gloves in my pocket, joined the others and sorted them out later.

Peter Buss