Improvers Spring Special Season Gets Underway

By tradition every Spring I organise some ‘Improvers Spring Specials’. These are for riders like myself who cannot manage a fast pace but still want the ‘fun’ of climbing/descending a very hilly route outside of our normal stamping grounds.

This year I thought we would start with one of our old favourites ‘The Mayfield Mayhem’. Although this is only 58 miles long, it has the second highest hill density in my collection at 106 feet per mile, which puts it in leg breaker territory.

On advertising this ride I pointed out that the ride would be cancelled for safety reasons if the weather forecast was poor, so all week I checked the forecast every day and on Friday the forecast looked OK, with just a bit of rain early on but dry thereafter. On Sunday morning I woke up to the unmissable sound of rain drops on my bedroom window and a text from Andy asking if the ride was still on. It was too late to cancel, so the answer was yes.

The rain wasn’t too bad once we were all assembled at Robertsbridge railway station. As well as myself there were the familiar faces of Malc D, Ivan, Derek, Steve D, Andy, Colin plus one of Colin’s mates Mike.  It intrigued me to compare what Mike and Andy were riding. Mike was riding a cheap second-hand alloy Giant defy (winter bike) while Andy was riding his immaculate very nice carbon framed Emonda including carbon wheels!

There is no easy warm up on this ride and we started climbing immediately after exiting the car park. Everything was going fine until we approached Snape wood. By now the rain had increased and everything felt dark and gloomy under the thick cloud cover. The lanes round this area are very twisty and the Garmins were getting confused. This was due to combination of not enough track points plus poor satellite signal leading to errors. To make matters worse Andy was using a brand new Garmin 820 and didn’t know how to turn off route recalculation. We kept literally going in circles plus Ivan and Steve got separated from the rest of us. Who knows what new rider Mike thought of us all. In the end we had to go old school, ignore the Garmins and trust Malc’s common sense instinct to get us back on route and find our missing friends.

Miraculously this worked, my Garmin showed we were back on route and after a few miles there was Steve and Ivan waiting for us. It was great to be all back together, but with only half the group having the route on their Garmins I wasn’t so sure we could manage to stay that way.

We will all pretty soggy by now but after a winter adapting to the cold, I felt warm enough. We were now moving into Ashdown forest and the climb up to Kings Standing. Colin wanted us to take a detour to the Kidd’s Hill climb to the top but I thought it best to stick to the longer smoother and more gradual climb past Coleman’s Hatch . This is one of my favourite climbs. It’s around 4.5 miles long and a bit of a grind, plenty of time for us to become very spread out. Last ones at the top were Malc and Derek. Derek said he didn’t realise how many hills there were and Malc said he felt cooked (too many miles during the week) they said they couldn’t go on and were going to catch a train back home.

Hours of cleaning await Andy!

The rest of us pressed on towards our planned café stop at Mayfield. This was only 13 miles but it seemed endless with another steep climb around every corner. The roads were absolutely filthy and full of wet loose gravel but at least there weren’t too many potholes. My rear brake blocks were getting dangerously thin and Andy’s carbon wheels were making alarming screeching sounds under the constant downhill breaking .Despite having good endurance from my winter riding  my leg muscles were in pain from all the unaccustomed climbing, this was becoming a real suffer fest but masochistically I was secretly enjoying the sense of adventure . Ivan however was not having a good time, he was wet and cold and said if there was a way out on a local train he would take it.

After a stop, myself and Andy got separated from the others but weren’t concerned as we knew everyone was headed for Mayfield. Approaching the town we saw a café and decided to pull in to see if there were there. Unfortunately Andy misjudged the curb and took a low speed crash. Fortunately rider and beloved Emonda emerged only a little scarred. There was no sign of the others and desperate for sustenance we took the Main road into Mayfield and the correct café. What a relief! Two lattes and a big slice of chocolate cake restored me to more or less normal. The rain had stopped and the sun was managing to partially break through the thinning cloud cover, even the Garmins were now happy.

The last ten miles were great fun with wider drier roads. Our only problem was that Ivan’s single speed chain decided to snap close to the end but Ivan managed to ride it like a scooter and arrived back only a few minutes after we did.

Despite the adversities there were smiles all round, hopefully this will set us up for the other forthcoming ‘Specials’ .

Steve C

A Weekend in Hell (Pete loses his bottle)

8:30am Friday morning and Duncan arrives spot on time in his Peugeot, a name evocative of Simpson, Merckx, LeMond, Millar, Yates, Roche… unfortunately the slightly battered silver estate didn’t quite live up to the romance of the bygone eras. After a brief stop in Pett and we were loaded, three amigos, three bikes, and with the aid of the Eurotunnel and possibly Sue’s better half we were at were at the Stab Velodrome just after lunchtime.
Roubaix is blessed with both an indoor and outdoor track something that no town with less that 100,000 residents can boast in the UK. The later named after Jean Stablinski winner of the Vuelta in 1958 but more famous for introducing La Trouée d’Arenberg to the Queen of classics in 1968.

Pete registered quickly having opted for the medium route, Duncan and I had a 15 minute wait as we were going the full distance and as would seem befitting had a longer queue. Having completed registration Pete was keen to leave immediately as he wanted to try out the cobbles before the event. But eager eyed Duncan spotted he’d changed his top and was now wearing a Paris Roubaix Challenge T-Shirt. After a brief exchange along the lines of ‘I texted you both, if you wanted a T-Shirt and you didn’t respond and now we’ll have to queue up again and I want to ride my bike….’. A mention of a crop top being more fitting than a T-Shirt for those doing the medium length route didn’t help the situation. 10 minutes later we all had matching T-Shirts, calm had been restored and were ready to head off.

Dropping our bags at the hotel, a quick change and we were ready for the a reconnaissance ride 10 miles out with the return leg via the last 5 sections of Pavé.

Sector 5 – Bourgheeles à Wannehain only 1.1km but 4* - the cobbled sections are given * ratings based on their quality (or should that be lack of quality) and length, 1 being the easiest and 5 the hardest. Hands burning, legs aching, and heart rate hitting the mid 160s we’d completed our first section of Pavé, but it seems are extensive adaptations (Pete double wrapped bar tape, Duncan 30mm tubeless tires, me 38mm tubeless tires – to be referred to as Tractor tires from this point on) hadn’t necessarily completely smoothed out the cobbles. 

Next up Carefour de l’Arbre 2.1km and the full 5* and often the point where the Pros make a break for the finish. Let’s just say ait was at the end of this sector we we’re greeted by Didi the Devil, and he didn’t seem at all out of place. So anybody got any tips – Apparently the hoods are to be avoided, the tops or the drops being more comfortable – well you wouldn’t want your hands in the place where you have most control over your bike when you’re bouncing around would you? Apart from that the only other tip was to power through – apparently the idea is to glide over the top, my experience was the major advantage this brings, is to get it over quicker. Using the now shared knowledge we successfully navigated the remaining cobbled sectors and headed straight to the bar. It was clear tomorrow would be a long day.

4am and Duncan and my alarms go off in stereo - time to get up and enjoy a savoury breakfast of sausage rolls and scotch eggs curtesy od M&S. In the hotel foyer there’s an assortment of cyclist all looking half asleep and nervous of what’s to come. Being someone who likes to prepare I’ve plotted a route to the coach pick-up point, a shopping centre so set off smugly. However, this is short lived as having arrived at the shopping centre it’s clear this isn’t the right  shopping centre and there isn’t a coach insight. Fortunately, there are lots of cyclist all heading in the same direction, so we tag along and at 5am we are greeted by 24 coaches and 8 lorries. Bikes are carefully loaded in the lories on 2 levels with a layer of cardboard placed between each bike, leaving riders to make their way to their allocated coach. Time to get some sleep - well it would be if our compatriot would stop texting to say how grate the scrambled eggs and bacon are he’s having for breakfast. Arriving in Busigny at about 7:30 it’s 8:20 before we’ve both got are bikes and I’ve made a trip to the portaloo to avoid a repeat of the 312 pre-start Dumoulin. 

Note: Whilst the Pros ride 257km from Compiègne the Long Sportive Route is a mere 172km but still manages to cram in all 29 cobbled sectors and their 53km of bone shaking madness.

A pact is made, it’s not closed roads and the cobbles are dangerous, so lets’ ride sensibly and enjoy the day – we set off to ‘Hoghway to Hell’ playing on the PA, spot a group ahead and immediately give chase. The group is hammering along at 25mph then turn north, get more benefit from the tailwind and the pace increases to 30mph – Yes we’re pacing ourselves well! In no time at all we arrive at the first section of Pavé. 

Let’s get this right, Hands on the flats gripping the bars as if they are a budgerigar – tight enough that it can’t fly away, but gentle enough not to crush it. Head for the crown of the road!? and press on hard. It works – it’s not exactly comfortable but it’s bearable and I’m skipping along at a fair old lick. The route is littered with bidons and already some have stopped to mend punctures. Oh no - slower rider in front so have to leave the crown to overtake, but here is where the tractor tires pay dividends, even off line with 38mm at 40psi you have grip (in the dry) and some cushioning. Bugger the chains off – where to stop can’t pull to the side people riding in the gutters, we’re on a slight downhill gradient so roll on until it’s safe to pull off on to the grass verge. Put the chain back on whilst Duncan passes then back on the bike and we’re off again.

At the end of the cobbles Duncan and I regroup and look for a new group to shelter in for the next road section. This pattern repeats itself for about 50km, but annoyingly must chain has come off twice more already. We stop at the feed station – I’d drunk one of my bidons on the coach and the other was now nearly empty, so whilst I refill, Duncan tucks into a waffle or two. The temperature is rising so having started in shorts, ss-shirt arm warmers and gilet, I’m now gilet less and working on tan lines on both legs and arms.

Apart from losing the chain it’s all going. well I ask Duncan if he’s had any issues with his and he admits to it come off the big ring a couple of times but being Di2 he’s been able to press button and magically ping it back on. My SRAM 1x11 set-up has a clutch in the rear derailleur and wide narrow teeth on the chain ring to keep the chain in place without a front derailleur – it seems SRAM (USA based) hadn’t reckoned on French cobbles when designing this set-up. However, the problem only seems to happen when on downhill sections when freewheeling so the answer would have to be to just keep pedalling.

We’re making good time averaging well over 18mph as we tick off one section off Pavé after another. The mines on the left indicate we are approaching the most famous sector of all ‘Trouée D’Arenberg’ but the level crossing barriers are down so we must wait for a train to pass before we can enter. Oh no what’s this we’re being cordoned on to the uneven tarmac path on the right instead of being allowed to ride the legendary cobbles. 200m later we’re directed on to the cobbles – Yippee!?. Being tree lined they’re damp and very slippery and yes there’s a rider on the ground in front. At this point the medium route which starts in Roubaix joins the long route so there are plenty of cobble virgins trying to pick their way slowly along the trench. The problem is this means we have to ride slowly as overtaking in Arenberg is even more treacherous than the other sectors, so we settle in for a bumpy journey through the forest. All to soon we are out the other side and back on proper tarmac and bathing in sunshine.

We keep the pace up and despite the cobbles, which by now have taken their toll and our bodies ache all over (never before have my ribs hurt on a bike ride) and we arrive and the final feed station. It’s only 30km from the finish but we both want a rest – Well I do, and Duncan agrees to join me. After feasting on more waffles we set off again and are soon on the familiar sectors from Friday’s reconnaissance ride, pushing on is no longer an option so it’s a rough a rickety journey on the cobbles that remain. After fighting with the traffic and being held at every sets of lights finally we make the turn into the Velodrome. I decide to head for the top of the banking and certainly more aided by gravity than sprinting power roll across the line just ahead of Duncan.

Pete is there to greet us having finished considerably earlier, he’s bemoaning the loss of bidon and his seat pack both casualties of the cobbles. Over a couple of beers he explains the best bit of his ride was the roads from Roubaix  out to Arenberg, as he’d set off with a fast group and had wheel sucked all the way to the Trench, Duncan and I agreed that the well earned beers were the best part of ours.

Sunday arrived with a slightly sore head and we drive back to Arenberg settle in in front of the big screen spend the day, lapping up the atmosphere, drinking beer (apart from our DD – Duncan), watch the Pros hit the cobbles at 50kph plus and head home.

Roubaix is just outside Lille about 1½ hours drive from Calais. If you’ve never seen the Pros race go the atmosphere and spectacle is amazing. If you want to ride the same roads your idles do – do the sportive – it’s a great event and one I’ll always rember.

Footnote: Unfortunately Belgian cyclist Michael Goolaerts of Veranda's Willems-Crela

fell on the second set of Cobbles during Sunday’s race and died later of a Cardiac arrest. Our thoughts go to his Teammates, friebds and family.

Patrick Piper

PART DEUX - BBR Sat 31st Mar

PART DEUX - BBR Sat 31st Mar 

'Or should it be called the BBBBR?' 
  
Thurs 30th Mar, 15:21 Queens Mary's Hospital - Sidcup 

'It's probably best that you accept them as part of you, because, unfortunately,  you're stuck with them now. Although your brain will adjust and you won't notice them'

The very lovely lady doctor  eye specialist was explaining my condition. It's known as PVD - Posterial Vitreous Displacement (not to be confused with PVA - which is a bonding agent much loved by plasterers.) It came on as I was up a ladder doing some refurbishment on a bathroom of a flat in Bexleyheath. At first I thought it was just a migraine with extra special effects: blobs and cobwebs, really wierd.

'Can I still go cycling?' I asked.

'Just carry on as usual', was the welcome response.

09:34 Di Paulos

'So, anyway, the upshot is,  I've got floater problems - and my eyes are not that great either!'

I was relaying to some of the assembled group, including Neil, Stewart and Tom,  my experience at Queen Mary hospital two days earlier, and couldn't resist the' crack'.

I could see no one was that impressed so I took a slurp of my coffee and looked around  to see if there was any sign of Nick.

We've bonded lately and he gives me a welcome push whenever he sees me struggling. Two weeks ago he gave me a shunt along the Herstmonceux road and having got me up to 20 mph I was able to maintain the momentum such that Terry struggled to keep up.

'Wow, what got into you? You never go that fast when you come out with me on a Tuesday!'

Alas, there was no sign of Nick, but I was pleased to see Patrick - who gave me a big smile.

I offered the usual: 'What was the tiff over this time?' reference to Peter Baker's (the other 'Fun Chum' - same events, same bike, same clothes, same breakfast, same mannerisms, similar hairstyle, etc. etc. ) absence.

`No we haven't fallen out, he doesn't like the wet weather`, he explained.

We were starting  to gather outside when I was pleasantly surprised to see Steve D.
Now that 'Sausagegate', has become just a distant memory, we get on famously.

'Hello, stranger, haven't seen you for ages?' I said

'Nah, done me collar bone, while I was skiing - some twat crashed into me!'

I'm not sure from what he said about the ensuing fracas that he came off the worst!

I was also pleasantly surprised to see Henning again. Hopefully he will become a regular - we can't have too many celebs in our little club. I didn't really notice him until I eased past him whilst tackling the 'South Cliff Slog ' - you know the Cat 4 climb at the start, just after the bend?

'Typical bank holiday weather', I said

'Yes, I believe so'

Well, I don't have much to brag about these days, and anyway I think he was conserving energy as he dropped me with ease on the Beast of Boreham Street.

Bearing in mind the excessive rain we've had lately, it was decided that turning left at the Pear Tree Lane junction would be a drier option than straight on.

We regrouped, as usual, at the junction of Straight Lane and Hooe Road and then pushed onto Boreham Street.

Towards the top Neil and Nigel breezed past me, whilst casually chatting (Very reminiscent of the racing jockey portrayed by Harry Enfield in the Fast Show. ) 

At the top we had the usual - 'Who's going short and who's going long discussion'.

My knees are still not great so I stuck to short. Accompanied by Sue, Henning and Andy C.

Patrick, Duncan  and a few of the others also did short, but shot off at a rapid pace, probably part of their training for Paris - Roubaix (although there aren't many cobbles on the BBR, the entrance to Chilley Farm is a bit gravely - best to exercise some caution. )

I sat at a table with Patrick, Duncan and Nigel who were reliving some of their past glories.

'So what do you think is the hardest event you have ever done then?'

I posed this question to all three of them.

'Without a doubt I would say Majorca 312', said Patrick.

'What about you, Duncan`, I said.

' Well, funnily enough, I would say, on balance, without stretching the point too far, and without prejudice, I would probably say, even though it has nothing to do with cycling, that it has to be The Welsh 3000s'

(for those who are unaware, it is a pointless exercise of walking up all the mountains in Wales that are above 3000 feet, I've also done it - and regretted it. Henning wasn't sitting at our table, but if he was he probably would have said, quite rightly  : 'And vy would anybody vish to do such a thing' )

Anyway, from what Duncan was saying, it seemed that  a lot of the issues were political; he was doing it with Derek and this was pre Smashy and Nicey days.

'And what about you, then, Nige?'

'Well, my worst event nearly caused me to break my collar bone!'

'Oh, was that the 312 also?', I said, all agog.

'Oh, no, not at all. I was in the Aldi sale last year, and me and this foul old woman both grabbed at a pair of jeggings that I was hoping to use as leggings. We had such a tug-of-war that I nearly pulled my arm out of its socket. Mind you I won -  although it did stretch the gusset a bit.  Actually, I'm wearing them today. What do you think?.
I looked under the table.

'And what exactly are you wearing on your feet?'

Oh, my dad gave me his old rugger boots, and I've cut them down for cycling. (see photo. )

'Rather nice aren't they?'

Apologies for severe lack of proper cycling content, but love it as much as I do, there is only so much that I can say about the BBR.
(it was suggested by someone, who shall remain nameless, that it should be called the BBBBR - B@ll@cks Banter and Bacon Butty ride.

Peter Buss

LEJOG – How to pack for 21st Century Cycle Touring ‘If it doesn’t fit in the bag you don’t need it’

This is a short piece on what to take or more importantly what not to take, a full write up will follow later:
First decide what type of tourer you are:
• tent or hard core bivvy bag camper
• plastic supported B&B, pub and hotel dweller
Apart from the amount of stuff you need to take this will also impact how much you smell.

Pete, Duncan and I, all agreed we were the later i.e. we were going to travel light. Rack and Panniers (often a couple of kilos before you add your stuff) may have been the way to go in the 20th Century but modern materials mean an oversized seat pack weighing only a few hundred grams can accommodate all your needs, and is far more aero.
After some research, we selected a fully waterproof model from Apidura with a 14l capacity and duly ordered one each.

What to take:
• Leg warmers and Arm warmers – yes I know it’s summer, but believe me up north they don’t
• Rain jacket
• Evening wear:
o Charity T-Shirt all 3 of us.
o Shorts and 2 pairs of underwear - me, Pete took his infamous pyjama bottoms and went commando, and Duncan took long trousers
o Something warm – Wool sweater – Pete and I, Jacket Duncan
o Flip flops – Pete and I, Crocs sometimes worn with socks Duncan
• Second pair of bib shorts – not completely essential as it’s usually possible to wash and dry kit overnight, but not wanting to spend the day sitting in what feels like  a used nappy we all took a spare.
• Second pair of socks – wool work well as not only are the warm when wet, they tend to smell less
• Second top – Pete had a second jersey, I had a second base layer and Duncan a second Polo top for the evening
• Gilet – I took one, but never used it – it’s off the list for next time
• Chamois Cream
• Tooth brush and paste – Pete manged to get through 5 tooth brushes on the trip, but that’s another story!
• Razor – Duncan and I, Pete went fuzzy.
• Deodorant – Pete and Duncan – I have no sense of smell so skipped this.
• Phone charger
• USB battery and Garmin lead – Duncan and I
• Communal Items:
o Small lock and wire to secure the bikes – a deterrent rather than protection – Me
o Sudocrem – 1 dip each per application – Pete
o Di2 charger – Pete and Duncan wanted to be able to Top up their batteries
o Charm – On a particularly grim day Duncan managed to procure free coffee and chocolate cake for us all and still put a smile on the face of the lady who owned the café.
• Spares
o We each tool a tube and a CO2 cannister, multitool and tyre leavers – savings to be made by sharing their next time.
o Additionally I took – tyre boot, puncture repair kit and KMC missing link

My bag and contents weighted in at 3.1kg

Duncan bending the rules – ‘If it doesn’t fit in the bag you don’t need it’

And of course the final thing you need a couple of friends Or as Pete Buss refers to them – my retired gay parents

Please donate generously to the Challenging Behaviour Foundation:
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-web/fundraiser/showFundraiserPage.action?userUrl=bakerp765&faId=184026&isTeam=false

2017 Trip To Belgium

Part Deux - en Francais et Belgique

'Smashy' and  'Nicey' do Flanders'

Day One:

Normans Bay to Dunkirk

'Cheese!'

I opened my gate to find Tom poised with a Kodak Instamatic pointed straight at my face'

'Click'

'Gosh, I haven't seen one of those for a while!', I said.

'Well, I haven't got one of those 'snazzy' phones that the rest of you chaps have, that takes photos and all that stuff, so I bought this along - don't want to miss a thing!'

'What about making calls', I said.

'Oh,that's no problem, I keep  a few 10Ps in my pocket for emergencies.'

'Can't wait to see the finished picture', I said ,encouragingly

Malc has an unusual way of carrying his footwear

'Yes, I shall get my self down to Boots the minute I return', he replied.

With that we set off for Hastings to meet up with the others.

I was feeling good and enjoying the novelty of riding with panniers for the first time. (My Moda bike doesn't really like panniers; it has top bolts - but brakes prevent you using them - and no bottom eyelets.  Eric, of 'Zigi Cycles', did a brilliant job of circumventing the problem with different fixings. He is well worth considering for bike servicing/repairs; usually does small things while you wait, and his pricing is very fair.  He is located by the traffic lights where the Chain Gang ends.  I'm not related to him BTW.)

Pete shows off his new pannier set up 

Assembled at The Bridge Cafe were most of the faces from the French trip - with the exception of the Captain and Mal C - who were replaced by Derek and Duncan (more about these two later).  Additionally, we had 'newbies' Helena and Shirley.

I took a long, hard look at the shipping containers attached to either side of Shirley's rear wheel and thought:

 'There's bound to be a kitchen sink in there somewhere!'

The ride to Dover and the crossing went without incident - apart from the delay caused by Shirley being forced to queue with the lorries in the freight lane - and we were soon in Dunkirk.

Dunkirk 17:00 'ish

Steve had done a lot of planning and had worked out a beautiful ride alongside the dunes, and with the aid of a strong tailwind, we were motoring along it; a lovely seascape and to our left and a sprawling industrial cityscape to our right.

Another bar, another beer!

After a few miles we reached the end of the road and came across a bridge that was shut.  After a thorough investigation we could find no alternative way across.

What glorious weather

'Oh, le pont es brise!'

A helpful local explained, as best he could, that someone had broken the bridge a year ago and it hadn't been repaired.

'We'll just have to go back the way we came', said Steve

'Oh, double ****ocks', I thought

The return was into the headwind and with a swirling sandstorm blasting our faces.  Just to add to our woes we were now navigating without a route and had Ivan insisting that he needed to get to a particular shop to buy some illegal explosives for his garden.)

Ivan asks for help from a local:

'I need berms!'

'Pardon, monsieur?'

 'I need berms, I 'av moles and I need berms'

Whether it was his desperation, or his charm, I don't know, but he came back beaming'

'They've invited me back for some champagne!'

Despite pressure from the rest of the group he couldn't be dissuaded and set off in the opposite direction armed with a paper map.

' I reckon that's the last we'll see off him!' said Steve, looking worried.

We set off and at one point found ourselves on an unmade road - the original Talking Heads' 'Road to Nowhere'. Even with a bucket full of Garmins we were unable to locate the Hotel; and then Steve had a brain wave:

We're on a road to nowhere!

'Why don't we use Google Maps?', he said

Even with my phone in my back pocket I could clearly hear 'Doris' calling out instructions - brilliant!.  I led the group to the hotel and grabbed all the available kudos.

To call Dunkirk a 'sh*t hole' would be heaping praise on it, but the hotel was very good and suited all our needs.


Day 2:

Dunkirk to Ghent

Happiness is an Ivan with mole bombs!

These flat canal paths are highly rated by Shirley !

For some reason the first part of the route was missing on our Garmins but we found it without too much bother and stopped for our first coffee break.  At this point Steve realised, with horror, that he had left his mobile at the hotel. After much confusion we managed to ring the hotel but nobody would answer so we had to send them an email asking if they can look after it until we return; later we got a reply saying they had it, Steve was very relieved.

Within Belgium the route is all on traffic-free cycle lanes which are superb and very flat.  We were all very impressed with how incredibly neat everything is in Belgium - maybe a bit too neat - Stepford wives was one suggestion.  Most of the gardens are open plan and it is as if there is a competition for who has the neatest, and all the houses are unique and, almost without exception, of brick construction.

Duncan exiting the bat cave!

Much of the route is on the canals leading into Ghent.  These are massively wide with speed boats going up and down and some even towing water skiers.  The sun was beating down and the moral in the group was mega high.

En route we pass some massive bunkers guarding the canals and stop at one which has been turned into home for bats.

The route was generated automatically by a Belgium web site and it never faltered.  There were many twists and turns, and one section went through a large forest which was magnificent - Ivan seized the opportunity for some off-roading.

We stopped at a small safe which did superb spaghetti and met a cyclist who said he was taking his wife to the Garden of England: Kent. - hope he isn't too disappointed!

On arrival at our hotel in Ghent we were pleasantly surprised to find a food festival, with food from all parts of the world.

Helena rediscovers her touring legs!

Everybody did there own thing; Mal C and I opted for a 'Weed Burger', but were upset to find that even an hour later we weren't 'stoned'.  Helena decided she wanted a 3 course meal and 'topped off' with a waffle the size of an upturned traffic cone!



 Ghent 21:00 'ish

'Tonight you're mine completely...' - Steve

'You give your love so sweetly....' - me

''Can I believe the magic of your sighs - doo be dooby doo....' Steve and me.

'Shut the **** up!' - Mal C

'I think we should find a karaoke bar', said Steve.

'What's the point - you can't ****ing sing!, said Mal C

Steve was very p*ssed, but very happy, Mal C and I were a bit p*ssed, but all of us realised that 'enough is enough' - there was some cycling to do tomorrow and shuffled off to bed at a sensible time.

Ghent 23:30 'ish

There was a knock on mine and Mal's door:

' Have you seen Ivan?' said a concerned Tom

'No', said Mal C

'I better go and find him then!'

Day 3:

Ghent 07:30 'ish

' Apparently, they didn't get into 3:00!, said Mal C, at breakfast

Shortly afterwards, Ivan appeared; looking surprisingly O.K, but no sign of Tom.

'I better ring him then!'

Derek discovers the joy of cycle touring

Mal C was quite surprised when Tom answered his room phone, and even more surprised when he appeared 5 minutes later, looking ,it has to be said,like sh*t.

'Ivan crashed into our room at 03:10 and fell on the floor - totally wasted!', said Steve.

The day was even hotter than yesterday and we followed some superb cycle paths towards Ypres.

'The Belgiums pronounce it Leper , you know?', said an ill-informed Steve.

He had been using this pronunciation since the start, until he realised that the 'L' on the direction sign was an 'I' Still to be fair, none of us knew any better.

I tried to get more info. from Tom about the previous night.

'I found him in a jazz bar - but it definitely wasn't a Gay Bar!', he said

'So what was Ivan doing then?' I asked

'Oh, he was dancing with a man and really enjoying himself - I think he even took part in a dancing competition'

Later I had confirmation from Ivan that this was true.

'This bloke and I were dancing and he said to me I'm not gay, you know', said Ivan

'So what did you say', I asked

'I said, 'I'm not gay either, mate!''

After some time we found a decent looking restaurant in the town square of Roeslare; ignoring the generally accepted advice of 'avoid touristy looking places in town squares' we checked out the prices and decided it would be 'chips all round'.  This didn't give us much of a saving as the bottled water was 9 Euros - and we'd ordered 3 bottles.

' That's 27 quid just on water!' said Derek

As the day progressed Tom seemed to be rallying round, but Ivan was in decline and also Mal C was starting to suffer.

Canadian cemetery outside Ypres

Approaching Ypres we start to come across war cemeteries, including a Canadian one. Duncan's grandfather died around here so he, very possibly, lies there somewhere?. The approach to Ypres was through the heart of the western front and I think we all felt a strong sense of the past; the guns may have been silent for a hundred years, but this area will forever be haunted by it's horrific past.


We arrived at the get magnificent centre of Ypres.  We were short on time as we had to continue on to Ballieu to check into our luxurious accomodaton at the F1, but  we took a brief look at the town hall and Menin gate.

I had seen enough to want to come back again and this is currently being considered by Steve as a trip for next year.

Outside restaurants were too pricey for us but we found a burger bar down a side street with tables out the back. The burgers wre huge and very tasty but Ivan couldn't eat his and leaves it sitting on the table getting cold.

Suddenly.....

'THRRUUURRRPPPP..........SPLOOOSH!!!'

Mal C had started some serious pyrotechnics.

Just then a couple of German tourists arrived.

'I zinc we sit at zis table?, the man said

'GUUURRRCCCHHHAAA.......SPLAAAAT!!!

'I zinc maybe zere are better ones around!' the woman replied as she led her partner swiftly back out again.

'Mal C was leaning over his creation with one hand supporting him on a wall.

'Sorry about that chaps', he said

Beneath him sat the perfect 'pavement pizza' - crusty topped with a thin but slightly soggy base.

'I don't do sick' said Helena.

Who then courageously got up and sloshed away Mal's offerings into the drain using bowls of water supplied by the restaurant.

We continue our journey to Baillieu .

What a novelty: we saw a hill in the distance which turned out to be the legendary Kemmelberg. Tom couldn't resist the challenge and rode to the top - complete with panniers -  What a legend!



We arrive at Ballieu and check in to our cheapest hotel - the dreaded F1!!.  I have just been reading a Tim Moore book called 'You are awful, but  do like you' where he outlines his experience of F1s in the U.K:

'The shower was ankle deep in van driver pubes....' - classic!

I went out with Duncan and Derek to find a local bar as the 3 of us all agreed we had to escape for a while. What sustained me through this testing time was the knowledge that it was payback time for Tom - who had had 2 nights of luxurious single room occupation - was now sharing with Steve and Ivan!

Ivan had still not recovered and was reporting that he was thrown up bile containing bits of his stomach lining! - charming!

Steve had concocted a cunning plane to recover his lost phone.  This required that he, me and Duncan set off on an advanced party to go via the Hotel and then meet up with the others at the port, and with the aid of 'Doris', this plan did work quite well.

It happens without warning, and it can happen to any of us, but it it wonderful to behold.  The last time I witnessed it was in the cafe at Pevensey when it struck the 'Fun Chums'.  It starts with mimicking each others gestures, progresses to finishing each others sentences and is sealed through eating and drinking the same things: that special bonding they call 'man love'!.  This time it was Derek and Duncan and was probably as a consequence of bunking up together for 3 nights.

I lent across their table on the lounge of the ferry.

'Sorry to interrupt, but I've decided to christen you 'Smashy and Nicey'. now who is who?'

'I'll be Nicey then', said Derek who seemed to be half accepting of this.

'No, actually, I think Duncan should be 'Nicey', I said

'Oh, O.K then' he said.

Duncan seemed quite pleased to be 'Nicey'.

Smashey and Nicey

Leaving the Ferry highlighted, yet again,my geolexsia as I led a group of the others towards the wrong end of the boat to collect our bikes. We were forced to make a u-turn and squeeze our way through a mass of juggernauts.  I was getting seriously worried as I knew we would be invisible to the drivers who could set off at any time.

Once disembarked we waited patiently for Shirley to appear from the freight section before regrouping for the final leg back to the car park.  This in itself is no mean feat as it involves a very steep climb and we were all impressed with the speed in which Shirley appeared at th
e top having kept her promise to dismount and push!

Safely back in Blightly, we all agreed it had been a great trip; It was a great mix of people and we had a lot of fun and I look forward very much to the next time.

Well Done Steve!!

Peter Buss (with a lot of help from Steve)

Mallorca 312

There are very few medals/jerseys that are given out for just doing an event that are valued for more than the second it takes to place it around your neck and then quickly remove it. The medal & jersey awarded for Mallorca 312 is the exception. This is a Gran Fondo, 312km in length with 5,050 m of climbing (in old money 193 miles and 16,568 ft). A bit like three and a bit hard JV Sunday rides back to back with no stop for a fry up. To make it more interesting there is a time cut off of 14 hours after which you are classified a DNF. Riders in green spotted jerseys ride at the back like the Ringwraiths form Lord of the Rings to consume weary riders. There are three distances 125, 225 and 312m. So of course, when you see a rider wearing the distinctive top, the compulsory question is, which distance did you do’? If the answer is 312 beware this person has issues. Over 6,000 riders set off with only 1,700 doing the full distance. I am proud to say this number included riders from HSLCC, Nigel Tamplin, Simon Grogan, Patrick Piper, Duncan Feathers, Sue Landy, James Bennett and your truly.

Nigel was on his third attempt and the understated pride he took in wearing the jersey from his previous attempts should have been warning enough for us lesser mortals to beware. In spite of this, a band of fools gathered. The 312 dominated the winters rides with regular 100 mile + rides scheduled, inevitably this involved no stops, brief stops & Nigel killing us.
Nigel and his partner Lucy organised a Villa for us all on the outskirts of Playa d’Muro. The band of fools collected there with the full complement achieved on the Thursday before the event. The Friday involved putting bikes together and riding enough to wake the legs up with minimal intensity. Early to bed, although little sleep. Waking between 4am – 5am, breakfast and the few miles ride in the freezing dark to the start. The masses of riders were stretched out down the road and we managed to squeeze into a spot and shivered with the masses. The time dragged up until the point that Nigel realised he had left his helmet in the villa. Just as the huge wave of riders Lucy appeared in the nick of time and Nigel suitably attired we set off.

The rest of the tale is a number of individual journeys & I can only truly account my own. I must admit that prior to the 10 days before the event I was stoical and not at all anxious, however the onset of a sore throat changed that and I then pursued any witchcraft to ward off the inevitable debilitating cold, to the point of being just ok enough on the day of the event. I set off with Patrick and Duncan, a sensible start trying to get any drafting advantage from the large groups. Duncan needed the first of many pees (it’s his age you know), this was mid climb so Patrick and I agreed he would catch us up. Patrick sped on and then it was every man for himself. The climbs through the Tramuntana mountains I felt good and was enjoying riding at my own pace. Gentleman James & his butler George passed and bid me good morning and floated up the 15% climb effortlessly, all I can do was an incoherent ‘I am knackered you Lordship’. Later I bumped into a rider we had ridden with the previous year in Italy and we rode together happily regaling tales of Duncan snoring. There were various feed stops and we pulled over just past 100 km to chaos and mothers pride and Nutella sandwiches and tins of coke and unlabelled drink stuff. I obviously did not tale enough fluids on and after about 120 km started to cramp which continued for the rest of the ride. My Italian friend was doing the 225km route and was like a little devil in my ear, tempting me to finish. Just before the junction where the routes divided I let out a cry ‘get behind me Satan’ and sprinted beyond the fork in the road. There I looked behind at the group of riders that I was with to see them all turning off leaving me on my own. I plodded on trying to manage the cramps being passed by everybody and his mate when I stopped at a feedstop, just about to depart I saw the smiley face of Duncan who then stayed with me for the remainder to the ride his own time to keep my spirits up – what a guy.

We pressed on and the last feed stop was in the town of Arta where a big-time carnival was in place. Duncan & I pulled in and had to dismount to get through the checkpoint where we were met by free beer. We later learned that Sue pulled in here thinking that she had finished. So after a couple of pints she started to question when she would get her medal, only to be told by the locals ‘when you have finished the event love’. She apparently bullied some other riders who had given up and wanted to be left there to die to carry on. She eventually caught the green spotted jerseyed ringwraiths up and politely asked if she could overtake them before her triumphant return to Playa d’Muro.

All retuned and to a man a woman vowing never again. Although as the say in Mallorca ‘Nunca digas nunca’.

Special thanks from all of us go to Lucy who organised Nigel and us with calm, kindness and bemusement. Final results below plus here  is a link to a podcast  from Miles Davidson of BigfootCC
Miles Davidson's Podcast Write Up

Peter Baker

Final results

PART DEUX - En Francais 'Dipping a toe into the Canal Du Midi - and nearly putting my back out! '

PART DEUX - En Francais

'Dipping a toe into the Canal Du Midi - and nearly putting my back out! '

(Does include some cycling related content (eventually), but I won't be offended if you just wish to skip to Day Nine)

Clairac : Day Two  - Friday 3rd Feb - 19:38

' So why didn't you just use the jack from the hire car then? ',  said an exasperated Vicki.

' Dunno really, probably because I'm a bit of a t@ss@r?  '

John Deere tribulations!

I had been explaining - indeed bragging - about the Egyptianesque system of levers, involving a plank and rocks,  that I had used to lift the front of the John Deere so that I could remove the front wheel.  I had been mowing in the wet and the tractor had slid slidewards dislodging the tyre from its rim. The problem with the lever system was letting go of the plank - which I resolved,  eventually - by replacing my body weight with another large rock. At the time I thought this was quite cunning and resourceful (not now, obviously).
Having removed the wheel I borrowed another one from the trailer, which even though they are different sizes, allowed  me to limp back to the safety of the garage. I broke my track pump in an attempt to reinflate the tyre, (having got it back on the rim) , and so had no choice but to take the wheel down to see 'Happy' - this is the unkind nickname I have given to the guy who works in Gamm Vert.
These stores are ubiquitous in this region , but they are very Chameleon-like ; in large, well-to-do areas they are quite posh garden centres, but they have a smaller version know as Gamm Vert 'Village' - or, as I like to call them Gamm Vert 'Sheep Shagger', and our one fits into the latter category.  It is only a few hundred metres away and I am a regular visitor. They sell mostly things that would be essential items for farming folk: castration clippers and arm grease. Anyway,   Happy was obliging and pumped my tyre up for me without any pretence of small-talk - not easy for me at the best of times,  in any case . He looks like the kind of person who should have a permanent drip on the end of his nose and it always amazes me that he doesn't.

I rushed home with my wheel, eager to get it installed and return  to the task in hand.  I made quick work of mowing the rest of the garden and was just steering my beloved toy back into the  garage when fate dealt me another cruel blow : on the final approach to the garage  the rear tyre punctured!

'Oh, @@@@ mine, I don't believe this!',  I protested.

In my opinion there is nothing more pleasing to the eye than the fat, fully pumped,  bulbous rear tyre of  a John Deere - It just oozes sexiness. Of course the flip side of this is that nothing looked more  pathetic than the  flaccid lump of rubber now spread over my garage floor. I quickly 'stepped up to plate' and went back out into the garden to retrieve my 'tackle'.  However,  It is one thing jacking up the front, but a different matter trying to jack up the rear!.  I did 'give it a go' ; just long enough to bu@@er up my back!.

I quasimodoed my way into the house and resolved to leave it 'till the morning, having decided that I would seek advice from a superior being.

Tonniens: Day Three  - 10:31

It will come as no surprise,  to those who don't already know,  that the French word for tyre is pneu. - This caused me some apprehension as I walked into the pneu repair shop with my John Deere wheel and flaccid pneu under the crook of my  arm.  I offered it up to the French man behind the counter who immediately grasped my requirement.

Whilst it was being repaired I seized the moment:

'Comment s'appelle -  'per new' or, omitting the 'p'  I exhaled air from my nostrils,  or, juste 'ffffffnew?'

' It eez pneu!',  he replied.

Somehow he managed to seamlessly  combine the sound  of the 'p' and the 'n'  into a different sound altogether. This just compounded the concerns I have had since being in France that I'll never really be able to speak French, correctly , even if I reached the age of 200.

In turn I had managed to give him a problem: he wasn't able to charge me for the work because a John Deere tyre doesn't fit into his automated system. He had asked me for registration number,  vin number etc, but once I explained that the wheel wasn't from a car but from a garden tractor he   looked crestfallen :

'Ah, it eez from  a  schon deere tracteur? '

' Oui '

At this point his colleague returned with the repaired tyre and he good naturedly shooed me away with his hand.  I dropped a 10  Euro note on the counter and left, a happy man.


 Clairac: Day One   - 14:24

Things didn't go smoothly, to say the least, upon my arrival at the house.

I turned the key and entered,.  I had expected  to feel a comforting warmth ; bearing in mind that we had left the heating on , but was,  instead,  met by an icy 'blast'.  It didn't take long, however, to ascertain the problem: the oil tank was empty!.

Having returned from my investigations in the garage  I was aware of a stench coming from the kitchen.

'Oh, sacre bleu! '

The fridge was warm and the contents of the freezer defrosted. I gauged from the hairiness of the contents that this had occurred some time ago, also there was a putrid seepage underneath the fridge.

I seized the freezer draw,  swept the contents into the bin and placed under the tap :

'Oh, double b@ll@cks! - no water!! '

This situation was now getting out of control and I needed guidance from a superior being.  I grabbed the phone :

' Oh, no! '

The broadband and phone were dead.

I now had a ' perfect storm' of sh@t.

I grabbed the mobile and phoned home.

'Try to stay calm, sweetie. Go and see Jean-Michelle, see if he can help'

Vicki did her best to reassure me, but I was beyond placation.

'Zere werz a man, from zer watter kermponee, 'e werz outside your 'ouse, assking me kwestions about zee 'ome owner.' Zay 'av it lergged to zee previerss owner - Phileepe Marbel.

When we took over the property we registered it with Veolia (who, bizarrely, take our rubbish away in England), but they insisted on taking a reading from us. Bearing in mind that we had no idea where the meter was, other than the information we were given from the Estate Agent that it was at the top of the garden, this was impossible.  I had undertaken a couple of expeditions last year, but couldn't penetrate the undergrowth at the top of the garden, and so had given up.  To be honest, I never did have much faith in Vicki's theory that we were getting free water via the farmer next door's supply. Our chickens had well and truly come home to roost.

'I zinc zat I can 'elp you, I zinc I no vere is zee watter meter'

I jumped into his van and we sped along the road up to the back of the garden.

' eet iz 'ere, I zinc.

I watched in trepidation as he trampled the undergrowth with his boot and searched with his torch.

' C'est bon! - I 'av found eet'

He lifted the lid and turned the lever; immediately the reassuring sound of water pressure could be heared.

'Back-of-the-net!'

We raced back to the house and turned on the kitchen tap.

Diddly squat,  jack sh@t, rien, not  a s@dding drop.

'I zinc zat, peraps, it weel tak time fer zee watter to kerm  zroo.

I wanted to believe him and tried to keep faith, but in my heart of hearts I knew I was in for  an extended dry period.

After about 10 minutes, J-M admitted defeat.

'O. K,  I weel telephone  zem zen.

After about an hour of hanging on in silence,  eventually,  he got a response from the emergency number who informed him that I should phone in the morning on a different number and stress the hardship of the situation,  and hopefully someone should call around to reconnect me - but he added a chilling postscript 'It may not be for a few days'.

I thanked J-M for all his efforts, informed Vicki of the situation and went to bed with a heavy heart.

The morning brought no respite as I lay in bed feeling like a  squatter in my own home and contemplating life in 'floater' city .

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

'That'll be the oil', I thought, 'at least I'll be warm'

'I'll show you where the oil tank is ',  I said to the friendly delivery driver.

It was then that I spotted,  over his shoulder, the Veolia signage on his van!

'I am 'ere to turn on zee  watter'

'Oh, merci,  merci! '

My immediate reaction was to kiss him, but I managed to control my urge.

' Monsieur, you merst go to zee office wiv your bonk accunt details '

'Certes!

Clairac and local environment  : Days - Two - Ten

Having got the water back on everything else quickly fell into place ( it will even be a pleasure to reimburse Veolia with the 600 Euros we owe them, well  not quite.).  The fridge problem was resolved when I plugged it into a different socket and Orange delivered a new router

 As the house warmed up and the fridge cooled down my spirits soared.  The weather was improving and I even took coffee on the terrace on a few occasions.

Before leaving England I had developed problems with the muscles on the inside of my knees; which those in the know inform me is the IT band?  It hurts when I try to do anything other than flat, slow cycling and when coupled with my recent John Deere related lower back problems I hadn't really been in the mood for it.

I had taken a book on yoga with me and had been practicing daily. It felt quite good to focus on something other than cycling for a change and I felt the change might do me some good.  I have also been using weights,  and the foam roller recommended by Darren T's physio (Darren has been having similar problems and I am seeing Gavin when I get back home); although, I fail to see how anything that hurts so much can be doing me any good!

Day Nine - Time for some cycling.

Apart from a quick trip to Tonniens and back (14 miles) I hadn't been on my bike at all, but today the guilt was 'kicking in'.

I am planning to undertake a mini adventure in September with my friend John Davis. We are planning to travel the length of the Canal du Midi and back - 300 miles (although to stay sane it might be preferable to come back via a different route.)

Canal du Midi

Although generally known as the Canal du Midi it is in two parts: the first part is The Canal de Garrrone and the second part which connects Toulouse to the Mediterranean is the Canal du Midi proper. Collectively they are known as The Canal de Deux Mers.

It was started in 1667 and completed in 1686 - possibly the biggest feat of engineering in the 17th century. It was originally named Canal Royal en Languedoc and renamed by French Revolutionaries in 1789.
(thanks Wiki)

Today I thought I might undertake a recce,  although bearing in mind it's only a few miles away,  I'm surprised I haven't been there before (we did look at a house in Mas D'ajenais, when we were house hunting, which overlooked the canal with the Garonne beyond. Spectacular views and a magnificent 9 bedroom medieval house, but having fallen  in love with it originally, we suddenly thought : 'nah,  it's too big' )

I left home in the sunshine with spirits high, but after about a mile I thought: ' I can't hack this' -  everything hurt.  Being the trooper I am though,  I thought: ' I'll give it another 10 mins, see how it goes.

This was a good decision, because slowly I started to ' fire on all cylinders ' and was  even enjoying myself.

I passed through Aguillon and  St Ledger and at Damazan there is a sign for it.  I was feeling quite smug that I had found it - simple enough for most people  but quite an achievement for me.

What struck me was the simplistic, ordered  beauty of it : water  - path - trees.  This scene hasn't changed for 250 years ; the only change  being the lack of horses on the bank (and maybe the trees have been added along the bank for aesthetic purposes - athough they do look like quite ancient Plane trees)

When I uploaded a photo on Strava I got some favourable feedback, including a comment from Neil that it reminded him of the opening sequence from 'The World at War'.  I do know what he means, but can't say why because although I remember the program I don't remember the opening sequence. South of the Lot was Vichy territory (north of it was a Resistance stronghold) and I'm sure there was no shortage of jackboots marching along it (probably not being very P. C, still.. .)

I only went from Damazan to Mas D'ajenais, but it was a very enjoyable 'taster' and a quite Zen-like experience  .  I only encountered one young couple with a child and a dog, other than that I was totally alone. I'm sure in season it would be a lot busier, but equally, there would be a lot to see off the track as more things would be open.  Another thing that struck me was the quality of the path itself. A bit harsh and bumpy  where tree roots are trying to surface, but in splendid condition - one just knows that a similar path in 'blighty' would be pot-holed (I would be delighted to be contradicted if anyone has experience of cycling along our tow-paths .) It was, also, interesting to note that parts of the canal are almost dry with water being held within locks upstream - maybe there isn't enough water to fill the whole system?

I left the path at Mas D'ajenais and joined the Voie Vert back to just outside Tonniens.

I only did 35 miles, but was pleased that it seemed to improvee my back and my knees felt fine (although I didn't really put them under pressure.)

I am finishing this whilst strolling along the beach at Normans Bay with Poppy, and apart from my body falling apart, life is pretty damn good. See you soon on BBR?

Cheers Peter (Baron) Buss