Wednesday Night Chain Gang - Well 'ard or Stoopid - you decide

Wednesday was a weather day, with something for everyone - sun, rain, sleet and hail in Bexhill; snow on the ridge; a bitter north-easterly wind that blew in viciously when it had something to deliver; and a pervading chilly dampness that made the cold that bit sharper. Yes, if you are a weather connoisseur, Wednesday was a wonderful day.

If you are a cyclist, or perhaps you work outdoors and get your hands wet, Wednesday was horrible. There are those, such as Nigel T and JV, that relish such days ('It's all part of it Neil, all part of the experience,' JV said to me once. Yes JV, and so is the drill at the dentist's - who would enjoy that?'). I had already been out twice during the day and been blown backwards or drenched for my trouble. I was really looking forward to the Chain Gang, not.

But then the 'Wednesday Magic' comes into play - the excitement of getting the bike and myself ready for a strong midweek ride. The cold and wet, at least to start with, are not much of a problem. The thought is truly worse than the deed, and I was pleased to get the fresh air in my lungs and the wind flowing over my body. Cutting through the traffic to the beach shelter on wet roads, I felt the layers of stress and the weight of petty work problems fall away. I'd spent the day sitting on my arse in front of a laptop, so this was a blessed relief from the numbing stillness of pecking a keyboard for a living.

Nine other riders riders obviously agreed with me that this was a fine night for a ride. Barney (Yellow Leader) and Alex (Pink Leader) were cowering from the cold, deep in the shelter. We should have a coal brazier on the go, but in lieu of external heat we rather reluctantly rolled out as one group in the hope that we could generate some heat of our own. Very kindly, Yellow and Pink Leader led us out and provided some shelter from the nasty wind. Peter Baker and I tucked in behind them, providing moral and tactical support as we rolled along Bexhill front.

"Barney, could you sit up a bit please, it's a bit drafty here."
"I say, Alex old bean, would you be a sweety and pedal a bit harder? There's a good fellow!"
"Why don't you chaps stretch a coat between you - that would provide us with a bit more cover."

Strangely, the more helpful suggestions we made, the quieter they got. I thought Peter was particularly helpful, making encouraging comments about Pink Leader's overshoes, which are (can you guess?) pink. I told Peter to shut up and be more respectful; he said something unrepeatable. And he an educated man.

Once on Cooden Drive, Pink Leader pulled around Yellow Leader and we began the rotation, sweeping along the road at a pace that allowed talking. As per usual, I found myself on the front as we made the tight right-hander at the Cooden Beach Hotel, cornering carefully on the slick tarmac, before turning even more tightly on to Herbrand Walk. The pace picked up as we hauled ourselves into the strengthening wind. Stones were scattered over the road; a car was parked with its lights on, half off the road, confusing the view ahead. On we pressed and gradually the group whittled down to six, then five, then four riders, before it was just me and the two Leaders.

I did one turn on the front and then waved them through, their superior power and speed taking them steadily away as I struggled up Spooky Hill into a headwind. From there on, it was a solo slog into that cutting north-westerly - ugh! Head down, plough on... again. Lights flicked back and forth behind me; I was being caught by some of the others. Vanity dictated that I make it to the roundabout before them, so I dug deep and increased my speed, hoping that those behind me were not working well together.

It worked for a bit and I managed to pull away, their lights receding for a couple of minutes. But then I was caught by the wind and I tired, my speed dropping off. Nick was the first to reach me, then Gareth and Peter Baker (strangely attired in a stripey burka). Gareth was in strong form and pulled away from all of us, apparently as a result of 'finding his legs'. We were all mightily relieved to hear this as a legless cyclist it not much use, although I think I prefer it when his legs are missing.

Just behind us a cycling drama of epic proportions was being played out. Peter Buss was in fine form last night, hauling the group across the marsh at great speed. He reminded me of a bison from the great plains of America - shaggy mane, hugely muscled front quarters and chest, tapering down through powerful thighs and surprisingly elegant ankles to his hooves. Anyway, he was the embodiment of power and strength last night - an adonis with herculean strength, an exotic mix of Hoy, Boardman and Wiggins unleashed on the Pevensey Marshes, a jar of horseradish sauce freshly opened. What chance did any of us have? Lambs to slaughter...

There was little delay in turning back to Bexhill, although Yellow and Pink Leader were somewhat reluctant to start, so we went without them. We knew it wouldn't be long before they caught us. I found myself out front with Nick, but no-one came through to take a turn on the front, not that we needed it as we had a nice following wind. I think then that Gareth shot off the front, no doubt having 'found his legs' again. 'Oi!' I shouted, 'wait up!' but he was pulling ahead, soon to be joined by Peter 'Burka' Baker. Nick, Simon G and I knuckled down to reel them back in and we were close to catching them at the foot of Spooky Hill. From nowhere, Yellow and Pink Leader turbo'd past us, arriving like the US cavalry. We cheered and whooped, encouraging them to run those pesky varmints into the dust. Yeehar!! They duly obliged, breaking Gareth and Peter's spirit, and we all poured past them like they were standing still, laughing harshly as we blew past them. Cruel, but fair, given their selfish riding.

Nick put in a spurt to reach the top of the hill in the wake of the Leaders, but soon regretted it. I pulled past him and then we formed a group with Simon G and Peter 'Bison' Buss, quickly forgiving 'Burka Boy' and Gareth 'The Legs' Purves. We rode well as a group, despite some dissent and plain speaking in the ranks, all the way to the lights. Some were keener than others to prove their virility or fertility or something else ending in 'ility'; I was content to survey the scene and glide to a stop with style and elan. Nick must've joined the group at some point, because there he was, coughing and sweating like an asthmatic horse, having sprinted towards the end.

As ever on a cold and / or wet night, no-one dilly-dallied. 'The Bison' and I rode back whence we had come to Normans Bay, I did my usual spin to the roundabout and rode back, glad to reach the comfort and warmth of home. Looks like winter has arrived, at least for a while. Roll on spring and some warmer weather!

Safe riding Neil

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

The 'Cannonball' in all its alloy alure

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

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

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

Friends united against a cold wind

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

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

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

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

Duncan's wind cheater was little help against the cold

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

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

Malc and Duncan welcome newbie Ricky to the Pre BBR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe riding, Neil

26/2 Friday Night Ride- Double First

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

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

Ricky's first ever ride with the club.

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

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

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

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

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

Successful Stonestile Ascents for Duncan and Ricky.

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

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

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

Steve C

Wednesday Night Chain Gang - Excellent Group Riding

Colonel Parker arrives to inspect the troops.

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


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

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

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

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

Bow down before the most honourable Baron Buss 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe riding, Neil

Part Deux - Pre BBR & BBR Sat 20th Feb

 "Can anyone smell toast?"

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

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

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

07:45  Normans Bay Crossing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What a ****!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got any drugs, Ed?" (joke)

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

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

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

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

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

Olly joins another high turnout of riders for the BBR

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

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

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

"Don't worry, just hang on"

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, please", I said

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At which point Duncan interjected, quite sternly.

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

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

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

"So are you 64 then?", he asked

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

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

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

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

Perfect!

Peter (Baron) Buss

MVP return – It’s not about the bike

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

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

The MVP are back in their spiritual home

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

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

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

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

A touch of cramp for Nick

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

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

Another impressive tunnel.

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

That night traditional Spanish curry.

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

Lunch in the sun.

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

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

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

Hasta la próxima vez



Peter Baker

BBR 20/2/16-The Puncture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sure enough we did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What another great ride.

Duncan H