Fri Night Ride- Communication Breakdown

Having rested during the week I was well up for a Friday night ride as it seems were others . This gave  the club a solid turnout of eight riders.

The first time Dave B came with us a few weeks ago,  we had to give him a 10 minute head start, last week we gave him a five minute start, this week we decided to give him a three minute start. Hopefully he would arrive at Broad Oak about the same time as the front riders?

At the last possible moment Steve D appeared just as we were about to set off down
Battery Hill. It was a cold, fairly windy and moonless night. Paul is normally a nervous descender like myself but on this occasion he came flying past me and I soon became out of touch with the others. It was at this moment at the very bottom of the hill that my rear tyre rapidly deflated, damn!

After balancing my lights on some stones to help me see what I was doing, I was confident of being able to fix the puncture quickly relying on a CO2 cylinder rather than furious pumping to get the tyre inflated again. Feeling inside the tyre I immediately found the cause of the problem. A very fine needle like sliver of metal was sticking through the rubber and into the tube. I would have to dig this out before sticking the new tube in. Unfortunately there was nothing to get hold of to pull it out and it would not budge. This was going to take longer than I thought. I didn't want to hold up the others and as it was so near the start I decided to ring the others up and tell them not to wait, I would just ride on my own. I tried ringing Simon, Nigel and Paul but there was no answer, so I left a text message instead. I also tried to ring Steve but for some reason his name didn't come up on the phone. I was starting to get cold so turned my attention back to the tyre. I could not get enough grip to push the sliver through and out the tyre so in the end I just broke it off and used the flat side of the tyre lever to flatten it down, this wasn't ideal but would have to do. A couple of mins later and the tyre was inflated again and I could set off . It was at this point that Steve rung me to see where I was , I told him that i was happy to carry on my own but he insisted that as he and Nigel  were there waiting for me , so I may as well continue the ride with them.

Putting the hammer down I soon caught up with Steve and Nigel F.Rather than go through the reserve we thought it would be good idea to stick to the main road so that we would have more chance of reducing the gap to the others.Nigel F was the best of our little group and so myself and Steve stuck behind him all the way to rye and up to Broad-oak (thanks for the tow Nigel)

Big Improvement In Climbing From Dave!

Arriving at Broadoak we thought that either there would be no one there (perhaps they had read the text message?) or they would be there waiting. What we hadn't expected was the sight of Dave B all on his own wondering where everyone was. The patient Dave had been waiting about ten minutes and at first assumed that he must be flying to get there so much sooner than everyone else, lol. It was then that the penny dropped and we realised that the others must have waited for us at the reserve (the bit we avoided using the main road!), oh dear! More phone calls failed to achieve a response and we were getting colder. Eventually some lights appeared, the guys had arrived, as well as waiting for us they too had suffered a puncture! I think we all agreed that the problems we had were a mixture of lots of bad luck  and communication but thank goodness  we were all together now .

We were so paranoid about leaving some one behind that when Dave got dropped on The 'Doleham Cut Through', we immediately stopped and waited for him to get back in the group before heading onto Westfield.

Our ride along and up Stonestile  was interrupted by the flashing blue lights of an ambulance racing down the lane and Simon's chain falling off right at the base of the main climb

I think it is safe to say it was not a 'classic Friday night' but look on the bright side we all got back home safely, unlike whoever that urgent ambulance was for!

Wed Chain Gang - Part Deux (Part Trois)

Prologue

"Smoke gets in your eyes"

The Chain-gangers Gather !

I am afraid there was a bit of an incident between myself and 'newbie' Ian at the end of the return leg, when in a desperate attempt to pass me, he used my 'ass saver' mudguard to try and 'sling shot' himself ahead;  I had no choice but to retaliate by putting my right leg out to stop him.  Luckily no one was injured but we feared the action that Col C 'J' Parker may take had he witnessed it - which may have included being reported to the UCI.  As it turned out we needn't have worried.  Having got my breath back I looked around at the assembled group and could see no sign of Neil, but to be honest I wasn't really surprised.  Neil has omitted to mention in his blog the real reason there why there wasn't enough air in his tyre; so let me explain. Whilst awaiting the start I had been surprised to see Neil light a cigarette, as I'm know for certain he isn't a smoker, but I quickly realised the reason for this - he was mingling among his Supers offering to blow up their *rses.  They all politely refused immediately, I assume because they didn't want their expensive kit to smell of smoke, and had no wish to see Neil humiliated - apart from Nigel who seemed to take a while before also declining Neil's kind offer, but then he was only wearing cheap Aldi gear.  Neil seemed a little taken aback that they had refused his offer, but carried on with his usual routine of checking their tyre pressures.  Having discovered that Stuart's rear was about 10 psi down he reached into his jersey pocket and brought out a device I had never seen before - it was a pump with a presta adapter at each end which enabled him to take the air out of his own tyre and feed it directly into Stuart's!.  Stuart said to Neil: "It's o.k mate you can use my pump!", but so determined was Neil to display his complete devotion that he was happy to donate his own air and carried on pumping.  Anyway, I was now fully recovered and was attempting to have a chat with Paul who said: "HiPeteIsawwhat happenedbackthereIhopeyoudon'tgetintoany....", I said: "Slow down Paul, I can't hear what your saying".  It was then that the Colonel arrived wearing a pinky, coloured 'number', that kind of bulged at the back.

Chris Has A Moment Of Self Doubt!

He was looking a bit agitated so I assumed he was going to rebuke Ian and I for our unsportsmanlike behaviour.  As I said earlier, we needn't have worried, because once he got to us he just turned around and said: "Does my bum look big in this?."  We were somewhat taken by surprise and there was an embarrassing silence broken eventually by Ian who said: "I don't know you very well, Colonel, Sir, but you seem to have a good figure for a man of your age."  Chris seemed pleased with this and said: "No need for formality, call me Chris."  When Chris had turned his back to us I noticed trough the thin pink material there was a book of some kind in his jersey pocket which explained the bulge - I could just make out the word 'Pythagoras'.  It was then that I realised the rumours were true!.  You may remember from a previous blog that Chris, using an old brass telescope and tables of TT data,had exposed Hawkin as a fake.  He had proven beyond doubt that the universe wasn't expanding or contracting, but merely leaning a bit to the left. I now truly believe Chris was now going to do the same with Pythagoras's famous theorem, and this was confirmed when Chris wandered off towards his bike muttering: " .....the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the square on the other THREE sides!. ..that Greek bloke has got it all wrong!".  All this activity had got Paul even more excited and he was now communicating in short bursts of verbal machine gun fire: "rat a tat a tat....rat a tat a tat...rat a tat a tat....". Ian said: "Please make it stop!".  Stewart, Tom and I 'ran' for cover in the direction of Normans Bay.

earlier.....

Was nearly late for the start this week thanks to Stewart ('The Posh' Plumber') B's insistence in showing me his new 'toy' when I met up with him at The CBH.  "Isn't she a stunner!".  He was standing proudly alongside his new Bentley "Artisan". I entered a thought bubble: "So is that what they're calling the new 'van of the people' (I've seen their recent advertising campaigns and the cynical way they are targeting the 'nouveau riche' of the plumbing world ), well **** me, I've seen it all now!". Stewart continued: "I popped in for a 'snifter' at 'The Club' (by club Stewart means the new Cooden Beach Polo Club he's recently joined) and I bumped into that 'other' cycling plumber chappie - kind of took the wind out his sails I can tell you, he's recently gone for the new Aston 'Van quish', but it's hardly in the same league!; I mean those 'Gull Wings' are a little O.T.T.  He said he was thinking of setting up his own Polo team and was looking out for some nice ponies going cheap, I said to him they don't go 'cheap', they go 'whinney', 'whinney'; they also do that 'flapping' thing with their lips - he than demonstrated by blowing air out through his loose lips like a trumpet player- flapalapalapalapalapalapa and then collapsed into hysterical giggling!.  I waited for him to compose himself and then said: "That'll cost a **** load of money!". "Oh, rather!",he said, "I may have to start working 'apres-midi' (I wish I could find the accent to put over the 'e' on this keyboard)  - if you get my drift?. Oh, by-the-way I have to tell you a frightfully funny story - promise you won't tell anyone?". I nodded and winked to assure him of my confidentiality. "You'll never guess who I saw at 'The Club' yesterday?", "Go on!", I said. "Nigel of all people; he was collecting pony dung into two buckets held in a shoulder yoke - you know, like the milkmaids of old used?.  He was really struggling with it and his knees were buckling under the weight - I can now see why he has such over-developed calf muscles.  Apparently it is true when he says that he can't manage on  a computer contractors salary and is trying to make some extra cash.  He's stockpiling the dung in his basement and is waiting for the spring - reckons he'll make a proper 'killing'.- although apparently Lucy is none too chuffed.  "Anyway, how's the CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) going, are you making progress, old chap?".  "Well it's going O.K, but quite frankly, I don't see what the **** it's got to do with you!". At which point we both set-off for Bexhill sea front.


Part Trois

(This whole thing may make more sense if you have read last week's Part Deux (Part Deux)

'Mon dieu!" - I slapped my forehead as the awareness 'hit' me (you will note that I have shown great maturity by avoiding the obvious Del Boy 'Mange Tout' variation.)  Vicki was obviously about to confront me on an issue to do with cushions!!.  I surmised a possible conclusion to the statement/accusation: "You know what your problem is don't you?.........you know absolutely nothing about cushions".  The problem is we have so many cushions -  we have approximately twelve cushions on the two sofas in the lounge - in an assortment of sizes, fabrics and shapes.  There are cushions in Poppy's three dog beds (I  sh*t you not!.) Her 'master  bed', which is a luxury leather number, contains two cushions, her memory foam mattress bed (underneath our bed and embroidered with 'Princess Poppy') has two bone shaped cushions and her day lounger also has two cushions. Our bedroom has the 'special' ones!.  These have been designed by Vicki and have been hand sewn in purple and cream velvet - and quite frankly, they terrify the life out of me.  I have never mastered the stacking system at the foot of the bed prior to getting in bed, or the puffing-up routine when making the bed. The biggest problem, however, is the dressing of the sofas in the correct manner before retiring to bed. Even though I considered myself to be a model pupil on her recent half day workshop, I failed miserably last Monday evening when given the odious task of arranging them. I have always dreaded the phrase: "You sort the cushions out while I do the water" as we are retiring to bed. I knew I hadn't 'hit the spot' and the end one was definitely 2 degrees off; I chose to ignore it but it was subsequently brought up over breakfast. I had decided that I would make amends on Tuesday night, when after making excuses that I was going to watch the re-run of the Haisham - Polegate - Hailsham one day classic, I slipped down to the shed to get my tools. Two meter spirit level, brickies string line, large builders square; that'll do it. I also found my gaze resting on the pot of P.V.A glue - "I could stick the little ******* to the back of the sofa; that'll solve the problem for good!", Reluctantly, I had to concede that this would be a hollow victory and left the glue on the shelf. I settled down for the night and began the task. I had remembered from the workshop what Vicki had said: "A cushion should sit on it's points like a prima ballerina".  Well quite frankly after an hour the cushions were looking more like French and Saunders do the 'Sugar Plum Fairies".  The problem is that the sofas are leather and the cushions are a soft textile and just slide around.  They refuse to stay in position and flop forward and backwards like naughty, spineless children.  I laboured throughout the night until eventually things stated to take shape and I had those 'puppies' flying  wing tip to wing tip with less than a cigarette papers width between them - a formation that a Red Arrows squadron leader would surely see as audacious. Happy with my work, I just had time for a quick slurp of tea and I was off to the pit - "Take that cushion queen!" - I was now ready for any cushion related accusation headed in my direction.

To be continued in Part Deux (Part Quatre)......

Wednesday Chain Gang – Ranting and Riding

“Breath in, hold… hold… breath out slowly… and relax. And again, breath in, hold…”

  I did as I was told, unsure of where I was or why I was there. Bright sunshine streamed in through the window onto a clean white floor. A gentle breeze ruffled the curtains, carrying in the fresh, wakeful song of a blackbird. The doctor’s voice was soothing and kind. A nurse stroked my bruised and cut left hand as I exhaled and felt a wave of calm wash over me.

Good To See Dave B Is Coming Out More Regularly!

 “And relax. Now, do you feel ready to tell us what happened last night Mr Smith?” I nodded, suddenly feeling less happy as I would have to relive the events of the previous night, although that already felt a world away as I lay in the warm, firm bed. “Can I have a…” But no need to ask, the nurse to my right put the large cup of piping hot coffee in front of me. The smell of finest Guatemalan dark roast drifted to my nose; I smiled.

 “In your own time Neil. Can I call you Neil? Is that ok.” I nodded, took in a deep breath and cast my mind back to what should have been a perfect (twitch) chain gang…

 I spent some time on Wednesday afternoon again sorting out my puncture-prone front wheel. Inner tube out and tyre off, turned inside out and carefully examined for sharps but nothing there, it looked perfect. Tyre back on, inner tube replaced, pumped and kept under observation. Sorted, or so I thought, but the ride to the chain gang start felt bouncy and coarse. I looked down at both wheels and the tyres looked ok, so I put it down to having only one cycling short’s pad between me and the saddle instead of my ‘winter two’.

Some Of The 'Ultras' Arriving Early!

The warmer evenings are bringing big turnouts for the chain gang. I counted 29 riders at the start, ready to ride in very good conditions – a little bit of following east wind, dry roads and 8 degrees C. I’d had a quick chat with Joe Kingsman, then Peter B and John V. For some reason, I squeezed the front tyre and found it to be half inflated. Damn! John V said it was ok, so I decided to head off, especially as John had asked me if I was riding with the fast boys. Well, that laid down a challenge, so I had to respond.

I fell in alongside George Welfare and had a good chat the whole way along the prom. The front tyre was definitely spongy but it was manageable. I thought maybe I could sort it out at the roundabout. I got up and down South Cliff with the group and I felt strong. I was up for making a big effort and staying with the faster riders for as long as possible. Expectations and hopes were high, the omens, thus far, were good…

Wow! These Lights Are Bright!

The pace upped as we came onto Cooden Drive and I could feel the front bouncing perhaps a little more than earlier, but I put this down to increased effort. We came to the left kink before the Cooden Beach Hotel and the front was a little twitchy. I slowed and then banked to make the tight right turn. Whoa, I was straight onto the rim and nearly off! I straightened up mid-corner and headed for the back of a vintage white Rolls Royce. I twitched to the left and braked hard to stop just before hitting the curb. Dammit!

So, dear doctor, there should have been no drama, just change the inner tube and get back on the ride asap. As the other chain-gangers sped past, I quickly replaced the inner tube and screwed the pump onto the valve. The next bit is never much fun, so I attacked the pump with gusto to get it over with. Aargh! I pinched my left palm between the handle and the pump, taking out a chunk of flesh. Blood dripped onto the pavement. Oh Joy. I gritted my teeth and kept pumping, pausing to check the pressure. Hmm, seems to be going up rather slowly, better pump harder.

 After two minutes it was clear that the pump was not working – not a single puff of air had made it into the tyre. I tried to unscrew it, but somehow it was firmly jammed onto the valve. Oh for fuck’s sake! Right, keep calm Neil, think… Nope, no bright ideas. I tried screwing it back on and then back off again, several times, but all it did was turn on the valve. I tried and tried; with increasing desperation my already delayed chain gang ride dissolving into comedy chaos. Screw it up, screw it down – nothing. Fuck! Bloody thing, crappy pump, sodding valve bastard. GET OFF!!

Stuck solid. I’d have to ride home on the flat tyre, change wheels and come back out again. Yes, come back out again because there was NO WAY I was going to just go back indoors, say ‘hello darling’ and eat dinner, no way at all. But the pump was stuck to the wheel. Right, I’ll try just once more to remove it in a calm and adult fashion and if that does not work I will RIP IT OFF AND SMASH IT.

I ripped it off, my left hand flying back to the handlebars, taking a chunk of flesh out of a knuckle. Blood dripped onto the pavement again, swear words rent the peace of the cooling night air. But the bike was now rideable, if a bit unstable. The tyre made a terrible noise for part of each revolution as it rubbed on the bottom of the brake calliper, but I didn’t care – I was punishing it, hopefully without running the rim. On I plodded at no more than 20 kph, attracting curious glances from other evening cyclists. ‘Yes, my bike is making a funny noise; yes, it looks funny; no, I don’t care – I WILL get home and come back out and then I will show you what’s funny, mush.’

Doctor, I think it was at this point that I started to lose it. I came to the turn for Westcourt Drive and was just wobbling around the corner when a large man with a poor grasp of English crossed the road, begging me to stop. ‘Oh what the hell is it?’ I wanted to yell, but somehow I managed to be polite. He was trying to find a care home but was on the wrong road. I told him what road he needed and how to get on it, but he seemed to be stuck in a loop of incomprehension. He pointed towards Bexhill front, so I said that was the wrong way – ‘either go this way and right, or that way and left, ok?’ Oh heavens, he couldn’t get it and went on and on, not listening to me. My patience, already worn as thin as a fag paper, wore out. I repeated my final offer on directions and rode off, swearing as I tried to avoid the potholes on this stretch of crappy road.

Why Are Cycle Pumps So Rubbish!

 Right, back on track! But no, what was this? I got to the other end of Westcourt Drive and a car flagged me down. A waft of strong, cheap perfume hit me from 10 paces – a young lady leant out of the driver’s window, wanting to know ‘what did that bloke want?’ I presumed she meant the guy who had stopped me. Do I have to explain and, frankly, why do you care? It was like I had a sign on my head that said ‘please stop me and waste my time with stupid questions’.

‘He’s looking for somewhere’ I bellowed through gritted teeth and rode on, reaching home five minutes later, throwing open the garage and turning on the light. Just as I whipped out the front wheel I was plunged into darkness. NOW WHAT! The door to the house opened and there stood my concerned wife, wondering why I was back early. She read my face and took a step back – I blurted out an explanation and scrabbled around for the spare wheel. Success! Quick pump and I was ready to go again. My kids gathered around to laugh at me, recognising all the signs of ‘cycling hysteria’ and keen to mock with giggles my evident lunacy.

But I didn’t care – the bike was sorted again and I could get back out there for what would now be a solo chain gang ride. The east wind was a bit stronger than earlier in the evening, helping me make good time to the roundabout, but providing increasing resistance to progress on the way back to Bexhill. It started to rain. Perfect.

I rode all the way ranting and cursing at cars and potholes and at the bike. Nothing felt right with it and I was getting more cross, not less. I was really annoyed to have missed the chain gang and I knew why. The fun of it is riding fast in a group, but I was riding a bit slower and on my own. It felt futile and empty. I was riding out of pure bloody-mindedness and not for pleasure, but I was determined to complete the chain gang circuit and also my usual extra route, come what may. I felt even crosser, knowing I was being stupidly stubborn.

I mashed the pedals and smashed my way along the roads, snarling at other cyclists, growling at cars and lorries, hating taxis, ranting and riding my way home, ever crosser, ever more annoyed, stuck in a downward spiral of rage and fury. At some point, I guess I must have arrived home, but I cannot remember when…

‘And that’s all doctor’. She smiled sweetly and a little uncertainly.

 ‘So, where am I and how did I get here?’ I asked, suddenly anxious to know what was going on and, very importantly, where my bike was.

 ‘You don’t remember?’ she said, but could see I did not. ‘You’re at the Peter Buss Home for the Bewildered; as bad a case of cycling psychosis as I we have seen, quite a case study…’ (she babbled on). ‘Do you remember the incident with the axe?’ Er, no. ‘Ah, that’s when you were brought in – we found you running naked through Bexhill with an axe and a bicycle pump, hacking at lamposts’. Oh, sorry… ‘We’ll need to keep you here for a bit, you know, make sure, well, that it’s safe to, er, let you out again’. Ah, I see. ‘Like you did for Peter?’

‘Yes’ she replied, ‘like we did for Peter, bless him. He’s such an inspiration, our star patient. So much anger, but now so serene’ she said breathlessly. I felt sick, but managed a weak smile.

‘Inspiration my arse’ I muttered.

A sudden sharp pain stabbed into my groin and the smell of burning hair replaced that of the coffee. I saw the wires that led to a switch in the doctor’s hand and then to a socket in the wall.

 ‘That’s not nice Neil, not nice at all – we can’t have that, can we? You need to show you’ve improved before you can go home, before you can have your bike back.’

‘Yes doctor’ I said meekly, my eyes watering, ‘I’ll be good.’

So, it’s not quite what I had planned this week, but life here is comfortable enough. After some rest, I’ll be better than new and back on the roads – calmer, quieter and ready to laugh in the face of pesky punctures and horrid headwinds. I mean, it’s supposed to be fun, right? Nothing to get het up about.

Neil S

8/3 Kent Invicta Audax - Where is Zed?

Brilliant Weather For A March Audax!

A few weeks ago I bailed out of the Mad Jack audax, leaving JV, Nick,  Nigel and Jon to complete the ride without me (in rain, and sleet!), for which I deservedly received two Big Girls Blouses'
I managed to lose one of them by riding high in the league table despite a week of almost constant rain but it would take one big audax to shake off the other one

Enter the North Kent Invicta Audax with 63 miles and 6,000 feet of climbing , it would pale beside the Mad jack but could hold its head up high having a hill density of 92 feet per mile which classifies it as a 'leg breaker'!

I knew that Diego and Malc C were going but on arrival we were delighted to find Jon S and Peter Baker there as well.

Waiting For The 9:30 Depart!

This was an unusual style of audax as you could sign up on the day , the route was a single 31 mile route of two laps (one anticlockwise and one clockwise), and strangest of all none of the riders were allowed to leave the area, everyone was set off at 9:30 in one big group. I thought this was an excellent idea as straight away we would find ourselves in the 'thick of it'.

It never ceases to amaze me how easily riders can get separated from each other. Within one minute of setting off we discovered that Malc wasn't with us? was he behind or in front ? We rode at a slow pace to give him time to catch up but then decided he must be ahead of us rather than behind, sure enough five minutes later we found him waiting for us at the side of the road. Having ridden at a slower pace we were outside of the main bunch but being hardy HSLCC riders, were confident we could catch up with the main field.

We were following a gpx from last years course on my garmin. The weather was wonderful with dry roads and sunshine. This is the first time I have used my colour screen Garmin Touring  in bright light  and found it difficult to see the route, I had to turn the back-light almost up to maximum to see the pink line but knew this would drain the battery. I found myself pinning for my old simple garmin 205 with its black line on a grey background that could be easily seen in strong sunlight with no need for a back light.

Ascending our first little hill there was a fork in the road, about a third of the audaxers went down it but the others ignored the turn. The garmin indicated we should take the turn, so why were so many riders ignoring it? We decided to be good little sheep and follow the main  herd up the hill but the incessant warnings from the garmin convinced us to turn back and take the turn, only for us to change our minds and race back up the hill again, lol. Trying to catch up with the main bulk of audaxers we pressed harder on the pedals. Our little group became a little spread out with Diego and Jon only just visible in the distance. Another warning from the Garmin informed me we were off course, we should now take a turn on the left! A friendly rider from Faversham was also convinced it was the turning on the left. There was no way to tell Diego and Jon who were now out of sight, so we took the turn, hoping to meet up with them at some point on the trail.

Our Garmin problems were now pretty much over and the three of us (myself, Malc and Pete) were able to settle into a nice steady rhythm. None of us were interested in answering the annoying audax questions such as  'whats is the colour on the door of the house by the large oak tree' etc, but we would get our cards stamped at the checkpoints just to let the organisation know we were OK .

Six miles into the route we had to descend the notorious 'Yorks Hill' The road was in a  bad state with gravel and mud, plus there were lots of other riders (from another cycle event) struggling up it so it was bit hairy and I had to continuously press on the brakes all the way down. I knew next time we were here we would struggling up not flying down it.

We had to stop when Pete had his first puncture .As we were sorting it out an old guy wearing an ancient cycle top with a large Z on the back , riding a strange upright bike came past. We said 'hello' to which the reply was just a  grunt and a disdainful look that made it clear he wanted to ignore us. Puncture fixed we soon caught up with Z and sprinted past him to show him how superior we and our bikes were .

The route was wonderful with such varied roads and undulating hills. The road past Igtham and its Tudor mansion deserves special praise as it headed North towards the downs. Before long we were on a long fast decent towards the start. Unfortunately Pete picked up another puncture. This gave the poker faced Z the opportunity to ride past us again . There were lots of riders on the other side of the road, these were riders who had set off on the second lap of the course (the clockwise one)

Reaching HQ at the scout hut we gulped down several cups of tea and half a dozen biscuits trying hard not to look in Z's direction who was also there supping tea through his stringy beard. I checked my garmin and was disappointed to see power down to just 44% which left me little choice but to switch off the back-light even though this would make it difficult to see the line.

Peter declared that he felt unusually tired considering we had only just ridden 30 miles. We put this down to the fact hat he had unwisely gone out on a particularly fast Friday night ride. I felt fine but in the back of my mind was the thought that we were only half way and that  in the last 6 miles we would have to get up York's hill.

Taking a right out of the HQ we had to start climbing up towards Otford Mount. This was a brutally long steep hill that I would say was equivalent to three Stonestiles back to back. Malc really struggled up this climb and myself and Pete were concerned at how he would cope with the rest of the clockwise loop. We needn't have worried though because despite struggling, Malc kept on plodding away and apart from this first hill was never too far behind us.

Don't Worry Malc Only 3000 more feet of climbing!

Much to our surprise we seemed to be making better progress on this second loop. The leg muscles were well fuelled and nicely warmed up. I felt really good and was loving every moment of riding my dependable Caad 8 .Despite  the decent pace we were surprised when our fumbling around looking for audax cards at the next checkpoint gave the mysterious Z a chance to catch up with us again. Malc went out of his way to say hello to him but was just met with a blanc stare . The checkpoint was followed by my favourite type of climb, an endless drag and a moderate gradient, a chance to finally get rid of Z?

Unfortunately Z caught up with us yet again while Pete suffered his third and final puncture. The sun had now clouded over and the temperature was beginning to drop , it was time to put the tights back on and to switch on the front lights.

Sprinting past Z we knew that only one major obstacle remained-'Yorks hill'. As we reached its lower slopes we all fell silent knowing the inevitable pain that lay  ahead .  I could see riders further up the hill dismounting but was cheered up by the sight of a friendly middle aged husband and wife team (we had chatted to them earlier) on their tandem riding up the slope. If they could do it so could we! Unfortunately the tandem soon ground to an abrupt halt when some dead leaves got caught up in the rear dérailleur and being close behind I nearly fell having to make a sudden lateral movement around the stricken vessel . Malc then voluntary dismounted leaving just me and Pete to struggle up the final and steepest part of the climb .We just barely managed to keep the pedals turning round and arrived with our hearts pumping so fast it felt like they were in our throats.Looking around I half expected to see Z right behind us but there was no sign, finally  the ancient Z had been defeated!

From here the last six miles were tremendous fun as we rapidly lost all that hard gained altitude and dropped down to HQ

At HQ, Diego and Jon had kindly waited for us, so we all able to swop accounts of the day.

This is one of the best audaxes I have ever done (and hard enough for me to have shed that blouse!) and as long as the roads are dry I can thoroughly recommend you try it next year, just watch out for Z!

Steve C

H&StL CC Bacon Butty Run tries Agony Hill and Lime Cross Nursery Cafe for a change‏

I arrived in Di Paulo's just before 09:30 to find two bikes outside and Colin from Tenn Outdoors with a friend trying to patch his inner tube over coffee. The first three of us in the cafe were all wearing items of Tenn Outdoors kit, so Colin was pleased. Tenn have a warehouse and distribution unit at Castleham, where they are based. They met with reps from East Sussex clubs last year and the consensus was that their kit was good quality and very reasonably priced. They do not have a retail outlet in Hastings but if interested in their kit and discounts for club members contact Chris Parker. I must find the race cape I bought at their Eastbourne Festival stand last year, and restock with overshoes, shorts and longs. See http://www.tenn-outdoors.co.uk/

As some arrived a bit late for coffee someone commented that the start was seldom prompt at ten. I got up and went out in to the damp outdoors for ten, but most were well set chatting and ignored me! It must have been 10:10 before the very same person that commented on the late starts rolled out last and then faffed around for a while with some of the group half way to Little Common, avoiding the strong head wind with stinging light rain on the sea front, before the stragglers got going. Those off first had waited at the crossroads, where the chain gang takes a left (coming the other way) when doing circuits, for the stragglers so we had a change and went right under the railway bridge. The road surface seems to have deteriorated quite a bit this last month so beware of this section if the Wednesday chain gang switches to use the circuit again one evening.

After Whydown as we were on the run in to the finish line of the Ninfiled TT a motorist was momentarily held up, lowered his passenger window as he drove past, and hurled an abusive "b***** cyclists" at us. We must not to react to such common abuse so I cheerily shouted back "b***** cyclists ".   I do see plenty of idiots on bikes in London and elsewhere, and careless / “blind” / dangerous vehicle drivers.  As he went past the front group he repeated his mantra, but great restraint was shown as everyone rode on. (***)

We forked right at the Blacksmiths Arms in Ninfield and took the lane across to the North Trade Road by the entrance to Ashburnham House. Many were not familiar with the descent and sharp left turn at the bottom before climbing back up. A good job warnings had been shouted for everyone to take it easy on the wet and gravelly lane as there were some close shaves with a car coming the other way on the blind corner at the bottom.

 There were already some primroses out on the banks of Agony Hill. No doubt there will be more for me to admire as I take my time up the "hill prime" in the East Sussex Hard Riders TT on Sunday 15 March.

A Soggy Regrouping At Three Cups!

At the Three Cups Pub left turn we had one final regrouping before we set off for Lime Cross Nursery Cafe. Even though it was warm in the cafe most of us were a bit cold in our damp clothing as we waited for some really tasty cakes to go with good quality coffee that our Saturday morning coffee snobs would approve of. As we chatted someone suddenly asked where Ivan was. He had clearly been told where we were going to, on the outskirts of Herstmonceux. Steve got on the phone and found he had already arrived at Sidley! Ivan has not quite been himself after hitting the deck hard last week when he suffered a major mechanical failure with his front forks snapping.

Chris P Enjoyed The Lime Cross Stopover!

After the cafe stop the agreement was for riders to go at their own pace and split up on the way back. Some opted for the direct road back to Sidley, with the climb of Standard Hill, and some the ride from Wartling into the head wind on the flat before getting a taily on the run back along Norman's Bay. Conditions were not pleasant so it was every rider for themselves as we set off and gradually separated in to small groups and solos.

Steve C and Malc D were the only ones willing to go to the standard for a couple of beers post BBR where they sat shaking and shivering int their wet attire trying unsuccessfully to get some warmth from the fireplace.


 (***)  The motorist hurling abuse at us was in fact a club member exchanging “pleasantries” with us since he had missed the ride in favour of setting off to watch Charlton play in the afternoon.



If on the receiving end of abuse it is often best to ignore it or make light of it, sometimes it is out and out aggressive so it is best not to antagonise any anti cyclist driving a ton or more of metal. It is not unknown for motorists to wait and then deliberately drive at cyclists that have abused them back, or even stop and start reversing at speed towards the cyclists.

And of course some of it is mocking abuse from someone we know trying to wind us up for fun, as it was this time! Charlton beat Huddersfield 3-0 so someone must had a happy day spending the morning winding up cyclists for fun and afternoon watching his team win!

Chris parker

Wed Chain Gang - Part Deux (Part Deux)

(This whole thing may make more sense if you have read last week's Part Deux)

Prologue

Was great to see Luigi (of Di Marco fame) out on his first 'Catwalk', sorry, meant to say Chain Gang!.  Don't you just hate the Italians for their inherent styling?. It's not Luigi's fault, of course, but we now have an additional problem: not only do we have to categorise people according to speed, we now have to group them in terms of style.  So we now have the usual 3 groups for speed: 'Supers', 'Wannabees', and 'Fasts' (yes, Smiffy, I'm sticking to the current nomenclature, so 'jog on' if you don't like it) and for style we have just the two groups 'Sartorial Gods' (containing Luigi)  and 'Bike Tramps' (the rest of us.)  I've always admired Bianchi bikes , but have always considered the colour ways a real 'bitch' (if you're the kind of cyclist who worries about creating a co-ordinated look) , Luigi solve the problem effortlessly - dress the same as your bike; like the pro's do - job done!. I did give Tom some assistance in this regard by gifting him a pair of Bianchi coloured socks, but - quite sensibly - he has decided to concentrate on upgrading his bike first. I had the pleasure of bringing home the 'Lantern Rouge' with Luigi it gave us a chance to have a bit of a chat; I really like him and I hope he continues to join us in the future.  Not much to report on the outward leg other than the delay we had while Neil handed out orange segments to his 'Supers'. Stewart B was a little peeved at this and retaliated by reaching into his jersey and bringing out some sachets; passing one to me he said: "Care for a grouse gel?, Mamma has our cook prepare them for me specially, frightfully good aren't they?. I keep a few in my lunchbox; I find they keep one going after one has spent a hard day plumbing.  I don't know why The Supers are so beastly to Neil, he only wants to ride up front with them once. Really!, is too much to ask after all that he does for them?."

Paul Introduces Fellow 'Spinner' Ian Webster To The Chain-gang!

Part Deux

(This whole thing may make more sense if you have read last week's Part Deux)

Anyone remember the Wurzels?

The question hung like a hot air balloon in the still, sunset air of the Serengeti; "You know what your problem is don't you......?.

In 'Part un' I had considered, and then rejected, some possibilities as to what was about to come.  I had decided that if I could preempt the question/accusation I would be in a stronger position to deal with it.  It was time to delve - 'Once more unto the breach dear friends' - into my current list of undiscovered, unresolved and unforgiven misdemeanors.  I quickly dismissed 'The Incident' of a few years ago on the grounds that she had promised never to mention it again once I had agreed to keep all root vegetables under lock and key, and that Vicki should be the only key-holder (the radiologist had also agreed to destroy all the X-rays.)  Nah, it has to be something more recent.  I know I had been annoying her in bed the other night  - no, nothing like that!.  Having devoured the latest copy of 'Bikes etc.'; in one sitting, I was reduced to picking up my copy of '1339 Facts To Make Your Jaw Drop', which had been lingering in the bed side cabinet since Christmas.

Me: "Well, xxxx me, I never knew that!"
Vicki : "What is it darling?"
Me: "Did you know that the last speaker of the Amazonian Ature language was a parrot!"
Vicki: "No, strangely enough, I was unaware of that"

Me:  "That's, amazing! - a raw carrot is still alive when you eat it!"
Vicki: "Look do you mind?, I'm trying to finish this article."

Me: "Sorry"

Me: "Blimey O'Reilly - In 1999, the president of Niger was Major Wanke!" (pronounced Wanky - I can't find the accent on my keyboard to put over the 'e' )" This quite, naturally, is followed by much hysterical giggling and then wiping the tears away from my watery eyes with the corner of a folded up tissue.

No response from Vicki as turns the light off and rolls over.

Another possibility could be directly related to cycling. I have, for a while now, been sneaking in a few extra miles by extending my ride home.  Anyone who follows me on Strava will note that 'Commute' is often followed by a '+'.  This denotes that I have not taken the direct route back from Bexhill to Normans Bay, but have been rather circumlocutory , in that I have gone via Pevensey Bay.  This 'bags' me an extra 24 - 30 miles a week.  I hadn't mentioned this to Vicki as she would consider it a bit self-indulgent - especially on a Friday when we often do housework during the afternoon (Oh, goody! - although, to be fair, I was crushed at the prospect of missing the 'Cushion Management', half-day workshop, that Vicki was very kindly laying on just for me instead of the regular housework)   It was on one such Friday that I had to declare: 'the game's up!".

The problem with the Coast Road, as some of the eagle-eyed Bacon Butty brigade may have noticed, is that it resembles the Somme in the amount of potholes it contains; and if that isn't bad enough, it's riddled with speed bumps.  I find it is best to 'Bunny-hop' over the bumps, which I often accompany with singing to keep my moral up.


"... when the breeze blows cross the farm shed - HOP - you can smell the cow shed too" - HOP HOP
"...it's so cosy in the kitchen - HOP -  with the smell of rabbit stew" - HOP HOP.....


It was then that I heard the unmistakable rumbling of Vicki's trusted 'Boxster' - creeping up behind me.  The crossing at Normans Bay was unmanned and shut for the day (thank god for the automation we now have!) and so Vicki was also forced to take the long way home.  She  pulled along side me, leaned over the passenger seat, pushed her 'shades' onto her head and made the classic two finger gesture ( no not that one!) she pointed two splayed fingers at her own eyes and then pointed one finger at me.  She mouthed something to me as she eased past.  It took me a while to work out what she had said, but then 'the penny dropped' - I'm watching you sunshine!".  I shrugged my shoulders and thought to myself:  'Don't worry I can soon smooth that over when I get home"

"....I am a Cider Drinker, I drinks it all of the day - HOP - Ohh, arrh ooh arrh ay - HOP - ooh, arrh ooh arrh ay - HOP- HOP- HOP......

Oh dear, 'Old Father Time' is poking me with the blunt end of his sickle (mind what you're doing with that thing, you;ll take someones eye out!)........

To be continued next week in PART DEUX (part trois).

Peter Buss

Wednesday Chain Gang – Bianchi Knights

I had my usual rush to get to the start of the chain gang.  I checked tyre pressures – rear nicely firm, front squishy. Puncture not fixed after all then. Spare wheel hanging on the garage wall was grabbed and stuffed into the forks. A quick pump to get it up to pressure and I’m ready to roll, but late leaving. Lesson: the more time you think you’ve got, the more likely you are to be late.

What a great turn out – nearly 30 riders were at the start on what was a cold but largely still evening with clean, dry roads to ride on.  A start with two groups was agreed, with the ultras leading off neatly, and the rest of us following Peter Buss (new peloton captain) at a good pace.  Go Peter!

Matt Davies Rides Officially For The First Time!

 There were a number of new and fairly new riders in the following pack, my favourite being the chap (Steve-Matt Davies) who had ridden with us once before, by accident. I don’t know the details but I imagine some poor fella out for a quite evening ride suddenly surrounded by a boisterous and shouty bunch of Hasting’s finest cyclists, being swept along at frightening pace and being told to ‘rotate’, ‘ease-off’ and ‘call last man!’ It has taken him some months to recover, but he rode with us officially for the first time last night. Welcome!

 With a larger group of riders, the gang was understandably a bit untidier than usual, but we made good progress along Bexhill’s ample frontage. We passed some sort of kick boxing fitness class by the Metropole Lawns – scary. The loose group I was riding with was jut hanging onto the tail of the ultras, up and down South Cliff, along Cooden Drive and then with a widening gap along Herbrand Walk.

 ‘No heroics tonight then Neil?’ Tom N had asked.  It didn’t feel like it – either I was slower or the ultras were faster. Strava has the answer. Last week, riding with the ultras, I did the outward leg of the chain gang route in 19 minutes and 43 seconds.  Last night, not really riding with the ultras and struggling more, or so it felt, I rode the outward leg in 19 minutes and, er, 43 seconds – an identical time, but it felt quite a bit slower. The time for the stupendous Stuart Hodd on the same segment last week was 18 minutes and 12 seconds; this week 18 minutes and 38 seconds. So, this in-depth analysis shows me that I am a slower rider than Stuart (no surprise there) and also that I am amazingly consistent in my slower riding.  That’s got to be a skill, hasn’t it?

 Moving on… I found myself in a good group of familiar and newer riders on the marsh section of the route, making good progress. The newbies (Luigi Di Paolo and Ian Webster) rode really well, breaking strongly down the outside of the group and leading at the front (with a bit too much pace, but that will come with practice). We had a longish wait for all the riders to arrive, before setting off in a bit more of a mess, frankly, with too much three-abreast riding going on as riders tried to make the front group. Should we also make the return in groups separated by a gap?

The Bianchi Bomber Now Has A Young Rival
Welcome To First Time Rider Luigi !

 Things sorted themselves out fairly swiftly and I enjoyed a strong ride back in a group of seven riders that did a good job of rotating, including reeling in Malcolm at one point after he broke off the front. We were overtaken on the Herbrand level crossing by a ‘gentleman’ in a white van, who presumably is not bothered by the risk of wiping out a bunch of middle-aged and young men, or of smacking into a barrier. Good move mate.

We rode on in good form, all the way to the lights, holding discipline for nearly the whole distance. I was suddenly aware of my nemesis, Simon G, pulling away from me on his blue steel steed. I took a moment to register and then I was after him. Got to beat him to the lights but precious little road in which to do so! I thrashed the pedals and eased past, Simon either unaware or not trying. I think that makes the score 2-2, or maybe 3-2 to Simon, but no-one’s counting really, are they (ahem).

The Original Bianchi Bomber Is Back!

 So, continuing my data analysis theme (wake up at the back), I thought I’d had a harder ride back this week than last. It might have felt harder but it was slower – 25 minutes and 3 seconds this week, versus 23 minutes and 59 seconds last week. My ride last week with the ultras had helped me ride a whole minute quicker (conditions were pretty much the same both weeks).

 Tom told me about his bike refit on the way back to Normans Bay (we have to make sure Peter B gets home, suffering as he does from severe ‘geolexia’ (like dyslexia but affecting your sense of direction). New wheels, cassette, Veloce chainset and chain (new derailleurs Tom?) and a clean have transformed the ‘Bianchi Bomber’ into a quiet, sleek speed machine. Tom also reported that he had fitted ‘new batteries’ – electrical assistance for his legs or an electric motor hidden on the bike, I suppose. Is that legal? Either way, it’s good to see his prime ride back on the chain gang and to see Tom tearing up the road again. His was not the only 'Bella Bianchi' out with the chain gang last night. A young man from Di Paolo's joined us, riding a carbon fibre Bianchi of newer vintage than Tom's. I think he enjoyed himself and I hope we see him riding with us again soon.

Ok, this is the last paragraph as Stewart B complained to me that last week’s entry was too long. ‘Long but entertaining, Stewart, surely?’ ‘No Neil, just long.’ Right, have it your way mush. I was going to wax lyrical about the bright moonlit roads, the silvery light on the sea and the cold, clean air, but I’ll not bother now. Huh! See you next week – ride safely.

Neil