No Visible Lycra

Who needs independence?

2012-01-22T09:40:00.000-08:00

No, it's not Dubai, it's Glasgow's Science Centre, superby shot by Keith Hunter.

Why do the Scots want independence when they've got the best of both worlds? I've just arrived on Glasgow Central station and I drew out some money from the cash point. And guess what? It looks nothing like English money! It's like being in a foreign country! I knew this, of course, having been here many times in the past, but isn't that the best thing about foreign countries - the different currency? Unless you go to Europe, of course, where everybody uses the Euro. How boring! I much preferred the days of the Deutsche Mark, the Franc and the Italian Lira...and who knows, the way things are going we might be going back to the old currencies. The Scots already have their own money that looks different from the bank notes you get in England so what are they moaning about? They've got the best of both worlds without having to try too hard: their own bank notes AND governance from Westminster. It's like working for a big company, getting all the benefits AND being allowed to work from your own office building. I know I wouldn't be resigning to set up my own business!

No cycling for Matt this weekend...

2012-01-22T08:51:00.000-08:00

Today, as I ironed my shirts in preparation for a business trip to Glasgow, I moaned silently to myself as I drew back the curtains and revealed a tremendous-looking day, just perfect for a ride! I checked with Andy later, as I stood on the concourse of Euston railway station awaiting the 1225pm train to Glasgow Central, and he too missed out, preferring instead to have a lie-in.

But then Andy did go cycling yesterday, when I bottled it after realising that I had just too much on my plate. We were supposed to have people round to look at a car we were selling, but they never turned up and then there was a bit of work to do. Still, Saturday was a bit on the windy side, although it would have been good. I'm definitely going out next weekend.

Andy did go out on Sunday and he's sent me his route so I'll print it up later on. Right now, as I write this, I'm somewhere between Carlisle and Glasgow Central. As I gaze out of the window on my left there are forests and wind farms; on my right, a road and more forests. Fir trees, evergreens. The sky is a mix of pleasant blue and dark grey clouds, but it's all good. Powdery grey skies and fir trees silouetted against them.

On my right hand side, more wind turbines have appeared and they're not moving an inch, nor are the ones on the left, so I'm guessing they're not very effective. The forests are getting thicker and now it's opened out, there's a river and grey hills on the left and a similar picture on the right.

I arrive into Glasgow at 5pm and I can't really say much about what I'm doing as it's hush hush.

It's five hours from Euston to Glasgow on a Sunday and it's flown past. I've been working, then eating lunch and then writing a letter to an old friend from my childhood. Hopefully, one day soon we'll have a chat on the phone and might even meet up. Who knows?

Somebody has left a copy of the Sunday Mirror on the table opposite. In fact, I've moved to the very table as I can't get power for my laptop on my side. That's something that happens quite a lot these days. A few times now I've gone to plug in my phone charger or lap top only to discover that there's no power. Now that's just poor service, something that seems to be more common these days than in the past.

It is, however, good to know that those who provide a poor service ultimately pay the price. Take British Gas for example. There's a story in the Sunday Mirror entitled GAS TURN-OFF: 200,000 quit British Gas...and profits FALL by 23%.

Well, that's good news! Voting with your feet is the best way. British Gas will, apparently, announce a 23 per cent fall in profits as 200,000 customers walk away. Since last summer, sInome 1,800 people per day have left in protest at 17.3 per cent price hikes - there we go again, poor service, but high prices. Just for the record, my ticket cost me £127! Why, then, has the power on my side of the train been switched off?

Customers are moving from the big power and energy suppliers to smaller operators, according to the Sunday Mirror. Why? Because large falls in the price of wholesale energy are not being passed on to the consumer. Instead, the fall in the the wholesale price is benefitting Sir Smetherington Gobshite, or somebody like that. Why? Well, it's greed, it can't be anything else. No doubt, there's somebody out there heading British Gas getting paid a huge and totally unjustified salary. Perhaps he's called Sir Smetherington Gobshite!

The Sunday Mirror article says that bills could be cut by £135 if wholesale savings were passed on. Having said that, British Gas is, sadly, still in profit, although profits have fallen from £742 million in 2010 to £566 million in 2011.

Wholesale gas prices have plunged by 31 per cent and electricity by 28 per cent - but British Gas only cut consumers' electricity bills by five per cent and didn't cut gas bills at all. This really is outrageous but, sadly, it's par for the course.

Unbelievably, a British Gas spokesman told the Sunday Mirror: "We work hard to give customers value for money." Sounds as if the spokesman is a Lib-Dem as they tend not to keep their promises.

Another story that I find astonishing but again par for the course in the UK is the ordeal of Sacha Williams-Rowe. She was stabbed by an abusive boyfriend and had already testified against him but the case collapsed when the judge fell ill. He then ordered a retrial and Williams-Rowe was expected to face another court ordeal.

Remember that Williams-Rowe had been seriously wounded by her abusive boyfriend and was in no fit state to attend court. She thought that the British legal system would be on her side, but oh no, don't forget, the legal system is ALWAYS on the side of the criminal and once again that has proved to be the case.

Williams-Rowe failed to appear in court to testify again and guess what? SHE was sent to jail! Meanwhile, the abusive boyfriend pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of unlawful wounding and was jailed for just 15 months – although he'll be out in six weeks!

Judge Lord Parmoor should be ashamed of himself. The abusive boyfriend, by the way, goes by the name of Mr Murda - he's a rap singer. I'll leave it there.

It's dark outside now and we're minutes away from Glasgow Central, better sign off.

Tatsfield Churchyard - too tired to go anywhere else

2012-01-18T14:06:00.000-08:00

Here's Andy's shot of the steps leading to the

Tatsfield Churchyard. Think Stairway to Heaven

General tiredness has forced me not to post for the past two weeks. I've been so busy, working full days during the week and then having two days off on Saturday and Sunday. The weekends have become like rocks to step on to escape a raging torrent of work. During the week I'm up at 6am, out of the house at 7.25am and on the 7.40am train. I change at East Croydon for the 7.49am Brighton train, getting off at Three Bridges and jumping on the early bus, the company bus, which arrives outside the station at 8.20am. By 8.30am I'm at my desk, I get one hour for lunch then work through to around 5.30pm, normally a bit longer, and then I walk for 30 minutes through the poorly-lit streets of Crawley, travelling from Broadfield and through Tilgate to Crawley railway station where I board a London Victoria train. I get off at East Croydon, take the subway to platform six and pick up the East Grinstead train. One stop later is Sanderstead and then I have a walk of around 10 to 15 minutes through the alleys and home. I repeat this process every day for five days.

Yesterday, 17 January 2012, I was out until 1am, but I still woke up around 6am and was back on the early bus again from Three Bridges. During my lunch break I walk, normally to the shops at Tilgate, then I turn around and walk back. Sometimes I walk to the shops at Broadfield or I hoof it down to Furnace Green and some shops near a pub called The Charcoal Burner. Then again I turn and walk back.

We found this seriously mutilated deer on the

roadside, prompting thoughts of wild cats on the

loose - what if a Komodo dragon has escaped from

the nearby Reptile Zoo, we wondered.

This routine tires me out and unless I got to bed early, which I don't on a Friday night, the cycling is in the balance. I consider the 'abort' text. On the weekend of the 14th and 15th of January, I went on the Saturday (14th) but didn't go on the Sunday - but that was because I had work to do. The week before I think Andy and I were out on the Sunday but not the Saturday. I can't remember, but we've managed one cycle per week and both the restful Tatsfield Churchyard.

This week I'm determined to get out there and do both Saturday and Sunday, but we'll see. I hope so, but perhaps going to Hunger's End is a bridge too far, I'm not sure.

Apart from work, not much has been happening. I've been thinking about dad, especially today as I've been invited to The Gunmakers Arms in Clerkenwell, a pub that symbolises so much family history. The Moggridges were once gunmakers and they lived in the EC1 area of London. They probably went to the pub and next week I'll be there again. I think the last time I was there I was with dad and, I think, mum. But that was a while back.

What else am I doing. Oh yes, I'm reading Dave Gorman, he's great. I Tweeted him the other day and he tweeted back. No, I'm not a regular Tweeter, I hardly ever Tweet. I must have been bored, although I am reading Gorman's book, Dave Gorman versus the Rest of the World. I think I've mentioned this before. I've read all but one of his books, his first book and one day I'll round to that too.

First ride of 2012...

2012-01-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

Andy and Matt, Monday 2 January 2012, the Tatsfield

Bus Stop, our first ride of the new year.

It's been pretty lazy over the festive season, but then it's always like that; I start watching late-night TV shows safe in the knowledge that I'm not getting up early to go on a ride. New Year's Day - no ride (Andy would be waking up at his mum's place, not his own, making a ride impossible - unless I went solo). I stayed in bed. Besides, it was another broken night - Max coming in late from a New Year party...and then his girlfriend coming back an hour or so later.

I was planning a last ride of 2011, but that was not to be either. To be honest, we need this lazyness to survive and so, last night, the night of Jan 1st 2012, I was in the 'let's get up late' mood. I texted Andy asking if a ride was on the agenda today (Jan 2nd 2012) and, not receiving an initial reply, thought there would be no ride. I stayed up late (1.20am) and watched Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure, a live version of the book I'd read some years ago - fantastic! I'd never seen the stand-up version. I hope that Gorman's America Unchained is screened next, possibly today, but I'm sure it won't be - and hopefully not tonight as it's work tomorrow and I'll need to be in bed early for a 6am start on Wednesday (Jan 3rd 2012).

Anyway, for some reason I wake up at just gone 6am today (2nd Jan) and I'm wondering if there's a ride as I hadn't heard back from Andy. Natalie, sleeping next to me, says that my phone beeped a second ago, but could I find it? No. Eventually, after hunting high and low, there it is in my trouser pocket and sure enough, a text message from Andy reading 'Yep'. I had to think fast: do I abort and go back to bed or go on the ride?

"How about 8am?" I texted back.
"Ok" was the reply.

So, not feeling particularly tired, I decided not to abort and here I am sitting at the computer screen writing this post. It'll have to be a short ride as I've only had about four hours in bed. I'm already contemplating going straight to bed on my return, but whether or not I'll have the chance, I don't know.

In fact, I'm feeling pretty tired as I write this sentence, although it's too late to abort now. I'll continue this post later, once back off the ride...

Geoffrey Althoff's front cover illustration.

...it's now 1044hrs, January 2nd 2012 and I'm back off the ride. We rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and did our usual: sat there flicking our teabags, drinking tea and eating cereal bars. Our chat revolved around a children's book, Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove, penned by yours truly and on the verge of publication. It's currently available on Kindle, but I'm about to upload an edited version.

Writing a novel is not easy. Well, it's 'easy' if you know what you're writing about, that's the hard bit, the idea, but then there's getting it down on paper, which is even harder and then, once you've written it, there's the editing - now that's really difficult.

I managed to bag the story, ie the basic written framework, in a month - 30 days to be precise - but it's taken another two years to get it right; and that involved writing another chapter to tie up some of the loose ends, which were left open-ended in what amounted to the first draft.

Only two people have read Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove, excluding me; they are Geoff Althoff, the illustrious illustrator, and Andy Smith, my NoVisibleLycra partner in crime. My daughter Serena has been read the story.

You can read more about Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove by clicking here. The story is available on Kindle, but a final edit will be on the Kindle site shortly, so if you're reading this on 2nd January 2012 and fancy uploading it, wait a few more days for the final version. The print version will be out soon, I hope! I've got one more error to fix and it's done.

Photos of today's ride to follow...

27th December - Tatsfield Churchyard

2011-12-30T00:56:00.000-08:00

Despite a broken night, I decided to push ahead with a ride and rose at 6am in preparation. To be honest, had my phone been charged, I might have sent the 'abort' text, but I'm glad it wasn't and that I didn't.

It was a pleasant day and we'd both had decent festive breaks. Andy was at home on Christmas Day and I went to the mother-in-law's followed by my mum's on Boxing Day. All very pleasant. Today, 30th December 2011, I've just returned (last night) from two excellent days in the New Forest with friends. We go every year and it's always a great break, lots of walking around the forest and, of course, a few beers and loads of food. Great stuff.

Andy's bike gets into the festive spirit.

I'm getting a little concerned that this Christmas seems to be sailing by miles too fast. Soon I'll be sitting at my desk, working. Still, live for today and all that.

On the 27th, we cycled to the Tatsfield churchyard, but couldn't find a Christmas tree that looked any good; the one on Tatsfield Green, which we cycled to after drinking our tea, had lights and stuff, but it wasn't switched on and looked a bit dull. We cycled home and Andy said he'd decorate the bike.

Today, 30th December, it's a nice day out there, but I woke up too late for a ride and perhaps a break is as good as rest. Tomorrow, 31 December, will be our last ride of the year - here's hoping it stays nice out there.

Two years ago.

Christmas Eve morning - let's talk about dogs...

2011-12-25T00:43:00.000-08:00

Tatsfield village on Christmas Eve morning, around 0815hrs. The Christmas tree on the green wasn't sparkling because the lights were off, but there was a fair amount of activity, mainly from people buying their early morning newspaper from Linda's store, one of those places that sells everything you need.

Dogs: cute, maybe, but they don't know the meaning of Andrex - even if
they feature in the advertisements.

There were a few people out walking their dogs. One man had three. At one point, as Andy and I sat down to enjoy our tea and cereal bar, it seemed as if all the dogs were barking at the same time. Sitting in the comfort of the covered bus stop, looking across to The Ship, Andy had something to say.

"I can't stand dogs," he said.
"I'm not sure," said I. "But I know what you mean."

Across the road a man emerged walking his dog. Right on cue, I thought.

"They're pack animals," Andy said.
"Man's best friend," I replied.
"I don't believe that; they just go where they're fed."
"Cats more so..."
"I hate cats too."
"I'd prefer a dog to a cat."
"Why own a dog? They're so much grief. Everything revolves around the dog. If you go out you have to ask yourself 'shall we bring the dog or leave it here?' and if you go on holiday, you've got to find somebody to look after it or put it in kennels. It's like having a baby for 15 years. People that own dogs need to feel wanted."

Andy had picked the right day to discuss dogs; there were loads of them: big ones, small ones, some in twos, some in threes, Tatsfield was a dog owners paradise.

"The thing I hate about dogs is the smell," I said. "A kind of doggy smell, a damp smell, that suddenly hits you, it wafts past. I remember once, when I visited a social club near Derby, that the man who owned the club offered me a lift to the station. He warned me that he keeps dogs and that the car was a bit of mess, but it wasn't the mess I was concerned about, it was the smell. For the whole journey I must have been pulling an awful face. All I wanted to do was pinch my nose."
"And every day you've got to take it out for a walk, whatever the weather, even when it's pouring down."
"Yes, and when you get back home, soaking wet, the dog shakes himself all over the carpet."
"And these days, you've got to pick up their turds too.
"That's the most off-putting bit."
"Yes, the feel of a hot, squashy turd through a plastic bag."
"Actually, the worst thing about dogs is that they don't wipe their arses."
"I've never thought of that before, but you're right, they don't."
"Imagine if you had to do it for them. Now there's a job I wouldn't relish."
"The dog wouldn't like it either."
"Think for a moment if humans acted like dogs. Imagine being at home, with nothing on. You answer the call of nature, you don't wipe your arse and then go and sit on the sofa. That's what it's like being a dog."
"Or doing that thing dogs do when they pull themselves along on their arses."
"Carpet surfing?"
"That's it."
"Our respective wives wouldn't be impressed."
"No, they wouldn't."
"That's a good point, though."
"What?"
"I've never thought of it before: that dog's never wipe their behinds."
"Well, they can't, we'd have to do it for them and that's far worse than picking up their turds through a plastic bag."
"What time is it?"
"Time to get going I think."

We mounted our bikes and left Tatsfield and it's barking dogs behind. We cycled past the desolate Reptile Zoo and were greeted by the sound of dogs, or was it wolves, crying and yelping. I wondered if a Komodo dragon was on the loose, but figured that a reptile zoo in Tatsfield would be limited to grass snakes and other less dangerous species.

Merry Christmas to all our readers!

Helen Pidd on the Batavus Lento Deluxe

2011-12-20T23:22:00.000-08:00

Writing in Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine (17 December) Helen Pidd explains how she can never understand anybody who takes the bus when the option of cycling is open to them. Well, how about when it's raining, Helen? But, she argues, when she moved to a foreign country (I'm guessing Germany and Berlin) she bought a cheap bike and discovered that 'riding a rubbish bike is no fun at all'.

The male version of the Batavus Lento is available in blue and black.

Well, of course. Having spent around £700 on my Kona Scrap, I must admit that I would never trade it in for a cheap ride from Halfords (not that all Halfords bikes are cheap, they used to sell Konas there too).

Getting back to Helen: she took delivery of a Batavus Lento (click here for more details of the company behind the bike) and she described it thus: 'it was like having sex with somebody who knows how to do it after years with a blundering novice; like tasting real pesto after a lifetime eating it out of a jar'.

My pesto always comes from a jar and as for sex with a blundering novice, well, hey, I need more practice I guess.

Describing the Batavus Lento, Pidd said that turning the pedals was effortless and that 'a light tap on the brakes brought me to a firm yet peaceful stop'. She said that the front light (front light?) was powered by a dynamo (now, that's what I need) and that it was so bright she had 'enormous fun deliberately dazzling friends while pretending to be Mulder or Scully with their industrial torches'.

Just for the record, Mulder and Scully used Maglites.

According to Helen, 'a cute little pump' was built into the Lento's rear rack and was never needed.

The Batavus is a Dutch brand and while it is what Helen calls 'a traditional sit-up-and-beg' bike, it's pretty speedy too, with seven gears offering an excellent range. She never needed to dip below two and found herself 'really flying' along Berlin's Karl-Marx-Allee.

And then she went and ruined the whole article: 'The fact that it [the Lento] looks a little ploddy may be a disadvantage to some, but being underestimated by men on racing bikes is one of my favourite things'.

Hmmm...men, racing bikes. We're not all Lycra monkeys (or Mamils). 'I love swooshing past while they're fiddling with their clip-on shoes at the traffic lights'.

But is Helen ever really satisfied? No. She admits herself that she started to nit-pick. She thought the Lento was still a 'hulk of a bike' despite its aluminium frame, that the rack at the back was too chunky and the back light was not powered by a dynamo and needed batteries. She disliked the girly white or pink colour options (men, there is a male version of this bike in black or blue).

The colour options and, indeed, all her criticisms of the Lento were mere 'toothpaste squeezing/seat-up' sort of issues and not grounds for divorce (or, in the case of a bike, taking it back to the shop).

In short, Helen found the Lento a joy to ride and far better than taking the bus (although she didn't mention anything about her options when it rains).

Tatsfield Village – Saturday 17th December 2011

2011-12-18T05:20:00.000-08:00

Cold weather. The car outside had a dusting of frost on the roof, Sanderstead pond had a similar cellophane film of ice as I cycled by and, in short, it was cold. Fortunately, I had my full balaclava on and many layers of clothing and I didn't feel too bad. To be frank, I was just glad to be up and out on the bike as the weather, while cold, was strangely pleasant.

Tatsfield Village Green on Sunday November 21st 2010.

At the green, Andy and I decided to head for Tatsfield village and en route we checked out the reptile zoo, which was closed. There was a sign saying that a café was open from 7am, but there was no sign of life so we headed for the bus stop in the village opposite the pub.

We sat outside, drank our tea, ate our cereal bar and chatted about jobs and stuff before heading home and vowing to cycle again the following day. My last words to Andy were something like 'same place, same time tomorrow?' but it wasn't to be; I went out to a 21st birthday celebration for my son, Max, got home later than I expected and there was no way that I was going to be up with the lark at 6am. Around 4.30am, Max and his pals returned from a night of revellry in London, causing me to wake up and further strengthening my resolve not to go cycling. I sent Andy the Abort! text and went back to bed, not surfacing properly until around 10am. Andy texted me saying he'd had a lie-in, which was good news as my lack of cycling recently has been bugging me.

I phoned Andy and we discussed next week: a Christmas Eve cycle is definitely on the cards as is boxing day ride to Woodmansterne Green to meet Jon and eat some cake. That's the plan. My aim is to get a whole row of early nights in next week, particularly on Friday.

Incidentally, I'll also be available for rides on 30 and 31 December, not forgetting a New Year's Day ride if anybody's up for it.

Thought for the day: if quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?

That time of year....or just plain laziness?

2011-12-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

The answer is probably a mix of the two. I didn't go cycling at all last week, but to be honest, I put it down to tiredness. At last I have a proper job, but it means getting up at the crack of dawn, which takes some getting used to; so it gets to the weekend, Andy's not going and I figure a lie-in will do me good – and it does! Add on a bit of poor weather, ie it's cold, and the end result is I don't go cycling.

Andy's weekend cycling route - I was in bed.

This is, of course, a sorry state of affairs that has to be rectified, but then again it is that time of year when the weather gets very cold – not that it's stopped us in the past – people start to go down with coughs and colds (fortunately, not yet) and a little thing called Christmas comes our way (the festive season has never stopped us, incidentally).

Andy did go last weekend, though, so I really can't use it as an excuse. In fact, he sent me a map of his route - just to make me feel that little bit more guilty! The truth of the matter was this: last Saturday, 10 December, was my birthday (I'm keeping quiet about my age) and I went round to a mate's house to celebrate as his wife and one-year-old daughter were both sharing my birth date. Coincidence or what? It's odd, as there's a girl in my office who shares the day too, it was Marco Pierre White's birthday on 11 December and my former colleague Sean's birthday on the 9th, not to forget an old pal, Andy Penfold, who also shares the 10th. All in all, then, birthday city!

Anyway, that was my excuse. This coming weekend, poor weather will be the only excuse and that excludes cold weather - only rain and heavy snow count as a reason for an abort text.

The photograph accompanying this post shows Andy's route last weekend.

Urban ride...

2011-12-04T11:23:00.001-08:00

Breakfast at mum's - easily the highlight of the day.

The weather was grey and dark, but there were signs of clearer skies and I fancied getting out on the bike. Last week had been a poor show, yesterday was a good day, but I stayed away from the Kona and today there was no excuse.

The pipe connecting the radiator to the engine blew last week, making us immobile for the weekend. Short trips became mammoth logistical nightmares and I figured the best way to see mum was to ride over there. It took me 35 minutes, possibly 40, but I got there; and what's wrong with the occasional urban ride?

I travelled down Barnfield to West Hill, hung a left on to the Upper Selsdon Road, heading towards Croydon, and then hung a left past the old Rail View pub (now The View) and on to the Brighton Road for all of 30 seconds before hanging right into Haling Park Road, riding a strenuous uphill route to the roundabout at Pampisford Road. Down past the vast expanses of playing field and round past Rockingham's garden centre and the ugly Hilton National towards the lights on the A23.

I turned right on to the A23 and then, about 500 yards later, swung left into a road that took me through an industrial estate, but brought me out on the Stafford Road beyond Fiveways. I rode towards Wallington, crossed the top of the high street and on to the mini roundabout at Boundary Road. Turning right, I headed towards the lights at the top of Ruskin Road where I turned left, passing Carshalton Park on my left and then finding myself at the Windsor Castle pub followed by a short burst of the Carshalton Road before turning right into Shorts Road, travelling the wrong way along a one-way street - but at this time in the morning, it mattered not.

At the end of Shorts Road, safely under the railway bridge, I'd arrived at Westmead Corner and it was only about 100 yards to Rossdale, where I turned left and cycled up the hill towards mum's.

A hearty breakfast awaited me: Shredded Wheat with hot milk and brown sugar, bread and marmalade and a boiled egg with fingers. Perfect! I washed down the lot with two huge mugs of tea, chewed the fat with mum for a bit and then headed for home again, getting back around 10.30am - just in time to get involved with a day of frustration - all based on just two words: jump leads.

Whenever the words 'jump' and 'leads' are put together, it means a day of shite lies ahead. There's nothing worse than getting them out of the boot, fixing them to the battery and then linking them to the battery of the car owned by the unfortunate other person who has to be involved to make them work - although later in the day, I went solo and jumped one of my cars with another. But let me explain that bit for you.

On Friday, my wife, driving back from the school with Serena, was shocked when the car seemed to explode. The pipe joining the radiator with the engine fell apart and the car was abandoned a couple of miles from the house. Today, after my cycle, we went over there with my brother-in-law, got the thing moving again and I drove it home, being careful not to overheat it.

Earlier in the day, my brother-in-law had connected his car to my dud one on the drive to charge the battery. This had been successful and I then drove the car to a nearby garage, filled the tank and drove home. Then (I hope this isn't boring you) after a spot of lunch we decided to drive over and see mum - except that we couldn't because the battery was totally dead. I then drove the fixed car on to the drive and jumped it with that, but it didn't work and now, as I write this, we have two crap cars outside, one on the road and one on the drive. What a nightmare!

One year ago...

No cycling this weekend....

2011-11-27T10:40:00.001-08:00

It's a shame, but it's true: no cycling this weekend. Saturday's no-show was understandable. I'd had a pretty heavy week, characterised by early starts, catching a train at 0740 every morning and then on Friday there was a party – and I didn't reach home until 0200.

Sunday, however, there was no excuse. After a good nine hours in bed, asleep, I should have been up with the lark, but I wasn't. To be honest, I was just too darn comfortable and in the end I slept on until nearly 9am. Am I a slob or what? You're right. I'm a slob. Or rather, I am this week.

I need to get it together next week. The biscuits must go, and the crisps, the sausage rolls, all of which I sampled last week. No more, that's it! Oh, and no cakes either! Or beer! So, there you have it. A poor show on my behalf, especially as I know that Andy's been off-roading down in Kent.

Two years ago.

In the news today, 27 November 2011:-

Gary Speed.

• Wales football manager Gary Speed has been found hanged at his home in Cheshire. Why he should have committed suicide is baffling as all of those who were with him hours before his death talked of his upbeat and positive outlook on life. Rumours that the Sun was about to run a big story on Speed were denied by the tabloid newspaper.

• The Arab League has imposed sanctions on Syria. Civil unrest in the country has resulted in the deaths of many civilians and international condemnation of the regime of Bashar al-Assad.

• Dominic Chilcott, British ambassador to Tehran, could be out of a job as the Iranians have threatened to expel him following sanctions imposed by Britain (and other nations).

Wiggle gets a wiggle on! But what about 'Mamils'?

2011-11-20T14:22:00.001-08:00

Andy will be pleased to note that his new catch phrase – actually, his only catchphrase – has a certain amount of topicality. There is, believe it or not, an online cycling retailer called Wiggle and the company is being courted by three private equity firms keen to get a piece of Wiggle.

Bridgepoint, the private equity house that owns sandwich chain Pret a Manger; Advent, owner of DFS, and the Swedish EQS are all expected to put in second bids this week and, apparently, there's an overseas bidder involved too.

Inner tubes and helmets are key products for Wiggle where sales jumped 55 per cent to £86 million - generating profits in excess of £10 million.

The success of Wiggle, however, is down to a new breed of male, known as 'mamils' – and that, sadly, stands for Middle-Aged Men in Lycra who, apparently, are choosing fast bikes over fast cars.

Wiggle is based in Portsmouth and was founded in 1999. It is currently majority-owned by private equity company Isis and is run by chairman Andy Bond (former boss of Asda and a cycling enthusiast).

As an alternative to selling, Wiggle is considering flotation.

But let's just go back to Mamils. It stands for Middle-Aged Men in Lycra.

Thank God we're not Mamils!

Source: The Sunday Times.

The Morbid Ride

2011-11-20T10:41:00.001-08:00

After my pioneering excursion on Friday (see previous post) Andy and I set off this morning (Sunday 20 November) for Coney Hall along the aforementioned route, past the wrecks of fairground equipment and the plastic bag full of urine hanging from a branch on the roadside.

Let there be light! And there was light! Andy finds a ray of sunshine

in a strangely depressing environment.

The ride itself was fine – nice and rural as we like it – but, to be honest, the destination left a lot to be desired. Not only was the recreation ground very exposed, it was also very, very cold and all the benches were wet. We were fine one minute, riding happily along Layhams Road, but suddenly, the temperature dropped. It was as if we'd riden into the freezer section of a supermarket.

First, we raced across the vast expanse of the Coney Hall recreation ground and then, realising there was little to do in the small high street, let alone sit down and drink our tea, we travelled a short way along the A2022 and then hung a left into Layhams Road. We found a church on the right, but it was, to be honest, a bit strange and a little depressing, especially when we found the grave of a 16-year-old boy, Jack Anthony Mander, who died way back in 1934. That was sad, but the churchyard itself was disorienting. It was on many levels, creating the impression that there were headstones all around us - in fact, there WERE headstones all around us; as well as above and below us, in front of us and behind us – and it was depressing.

We drank our tea standing up, looking at the headstone of Jack Anthony Mander, who died in March 1934, when my dad was five years old. I popped my head round the door of the church, where a band was rehearsing for a 10am service. I shook hands with the vicar and then went back outside to where Andy was waiting and we headed off, towards the A2022, and followed off-road paths towards Addington village (it's very posh, nothing like New Addington on the other side of the tram tracks).

From Addington Village we headed for Selsdon and parted company near the roundabout at the top of Sanderstead Hill.

Andy and I won't be cycling together again until December 4th, but something tells me we won't be heading for Coney Hall again and certainly not the churchyard off Layhams Road - too depressing.

Our route - taken from Andy's house in Caterham.

New ride discovered

2011-11-18T23:52:00.001-08:00

I was on the saddle for just short of three hours and I have questions. Why do people pee in clear plastic bags and leave them hanging on branches by the side of the road? There's no punchline, I just want to know why as I saw a few on my new ride. To be honest, I thought it was something out of the Blair Witch Project, you know, weird signs left in the woods, but, well, if you have the answer, let me know.

Fields on Skid Hill Lane.

In addition to questions, I have made a discovery too: I now know where travelling fairgrounds go when they're not on the outskirts of town or bang in the middle of a local park entertaining the townsfolk.

Yesterday (Friday 18th November) I set out alone and I was on a mission: to find another destination. I found one, with plenty of park benches (a place called Coney Hall) and there's a better place (Keston) but I didn't get there, although it's roughly the same distance away.

The route's roughly the same: meet at Warlingham Green, travel along the road to Botley Hill (B269) and turn left into Beech Farm Road. Then travel along Hesiers Road (not Hesiers Hill). Hesiers Road becomes Skid Hill Lane and then, at the junction with King Henry's Drive, cycle straight over and into Layhams Road. Both Skid Hill Lane and Layhams Road are good roads, although the latter is longer and both are rural. I cycled the length of Layhams Road, but ended up on the A2022 Addington Road - that was a disappointment as I knew that by turning left I would have riden back towards home. Turning right would have taken me into Bromley and going straight ahead (up Corkscrew Hill) would have taken me to West Wickham.

I turned back on myself as the Coney Hall Recreation Ground was rather pleasant - plenty of benches! I crossed the fields into Church Drive, turned left and found a parade of shops - including a bike shop - but the shops were just shops so I rode back along Church Drive, left into Queensway and then right into Birch Tree Avenue. This led to Layhams Road, I turned left and retraced my route towards Skid Hill Lane and back home, via those back roads past St Leonard's Church, emerging at Warlingham Sainsbury's.

Looking down on the bottom of Hesiers Hill and Beddlestead Lane from Skid Hill Lane.

Along Layhams Road were a lot of gypsies - and fairground equipment. This, I realised, was where fairground rides (and their operators) take a rest. George Irwin's fairground rides to be precise. Layhams has two roads - North Pole Lane and Nash Lane, both of which lead to Keston via Fox Lane and I reckon that Keston is where we should go, although the recreation ground at Coney Hall, while exposed, would be nice on a pleasant day.

Theoretically, there's a hell of a lot of off-road in the area. I found a 'footpath to Keston' off of Layhams Road (1.25 miles) but there's a vast expanse of land between Layhams and the busier A233 Westerham Road on Layhams' eastern side. It is possible, according to the map, to leave Keston on Fox Lane, turn right into Jackass Lane (no, not the same one) and then turning right into Blackness Lane and then following tracks a long way to Sheepbarn Lane, hanging a right and rejoining Layhams at the crossroads with King Henry's Drive and Skid Hill Lane.

The only problem is this: I was on the saddle for just short of three hours and without the customary NoVisibleLycra tea break. I left the house at 1020 and reached home at 1310. Translate this to our usual early morning times from the Green and that's 1010 back at the green - without stopping for tea!

I suggest we try a road ride to Keston and back first to test the time more than anything else.

A winter wonderland!

2011-11-16T13:46:00.001-08:00

Yours truly 'doing a Shackleton'.

These two pics were taken in April 2008, long before NoVisibleLycra.blogspot.com was conceived and, as I was saying to Andy last week, I don't think they've ever been published.

Why Andy was smiling I don't know.

In April 2008 it snowed. Onc minute there was no snow and we'd managed to cycle all the way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. But soon the snow came and we had to get home. At first, it seemed like fun, cycling in the snow, but our giggles turned to grimaces as the cold set in.

When I was at school, we used to call ugly people 'face ache'. As in, "Oi! Face ache!" But now, as we headed back along the B269 in the snow, our faces were genuinely aching. It wasn't pleasant and we were both glad to reach home.

Lest we forget...

2011-11-14T00:01:00.001-08:00

Lest we forget, November 2011

Remembrance Sunday. Village greens around the UK were preparing for a service and Warlingham Green was no exception. As I returned from a ride to Westerham, a crowd had gathered, loudspeakers were wired up and there was a general buzz of expectancy about the place as I rode clockwise around the green, exiting at the 1 o'clock position and heading down the Limpsfield Road towards home.

As far as ceremonies go, it was a good day. Not a cloud in the sky and, more importantly, no fog – until later in the evening when I drove up towards Botley Hill and got caught. Very heavy fog. On Sunday morning, however, there was nothing but clear skies as I stood up on the pedals to climb Church Way.

We'd been planning a trip to Westerham but, as Andy said, we'd need to 'put a wiggle on' - that's an Andy phrase, it means 'get a move-on'. I was running about five minutes or so late, due to mislaying my mobile phone, so getting a wiggle on was a good idea.

Westerham is a great place to be when the sun shines, but being as it was early and there was no cover, the seats were wet so we stood by the statue of Winston Churchill. I took a short walk over to St. Mary's Church to see if there was any covered seating. There was, but it was the entranceway to the church and we didn't fancy being looked down upon by churchgoers as we sipped our tea. Besides, there was no rain, the sun was shining, who needed covered seating? Not us!

As we were about to leave, I noticed something: a flat tyre. We fixed it there and then before heading for home. Andy was in a hurry and we were late so he sped off, but I took the hill at my own pace. Andy must have really shifted as he was nowhere to be seen as I reached the Surrey Hills sign at the top of the hill - where there are long views of Clarks Lane. When I reached Botley, God knows where Andy was, probably going up the hill from Wapses roundabout (on the other side of the A22).

I reached Sanderstead Church at 1030hrs and was back home by around 1040. The TV was on, Remembrance Sunday, the Cenotaph, and I caught David Cameron placing his wreath while perfecting his sincere and concerned face. He was probably thinking about how he could quicken the pace of his planned army redundancies – which affects injured servicemen. Remember: you step on a landmine and it's not just your limbs that go - it's your livelihood too.

Into the fog...

2011-11-12T22:32:00.001-08:00

View across Clarks Lane to White Lane, Saturday 12 November 2011 around 0830hrs.

Last night, around 11.30pm, I switched on the radio just in time for the weather forecast and found that Saturday's fog was more widespread than I thought. Up on Botley Hill, fog has always been a problem, even in the height of summer. I remember the days when Natalie, my wife, was my girlfriend, and we used to drive out towards Botley Hill en route to a pub in Brasted. Sometimes, we'd be driving along and suddenly hit a wall of fog, even when, elsewhere it was as clear as crystal.

On Saturday, cycling only to the Tatsfield Bus Stop due to family commitments, the fog was what my dad would have called a 'real pea souper'. At least I think that's how the expression goes. Anyway, it was thick and while I know that I never have lights, nor, it seems to other cyclists – and they were riding fast and in packs. Very dangerous. At least I kept off-road.

We sat at the bus stop, from where Andy took this post's photograph, and found that cars disappeared before our eyes in a matter of seconds. It was a bit of a risky situation and it didn't clear either. On the way back, we stayed off road for most of the journey, hugging the grass banks leading down to the Botley Hill pub and then keeping off road for the length of the B269. The fog didn't clear until I reached Warlingham Green.

In the news at the moment: England's footy team beat Spain 1-0 last night, Silvio Berlusconi has resigned as Italy's prime minister, business secretary Vince Cable says he has sympathy for the anti-capitalist protesters camped outside of St. Paul's Cathedral, and it is being suggested by opposition leader Ed Miliband, that the Eurozone crisis is good news for David Cameron. Why? Because he can use it as a smokescreen to hide his inaction on the economy.

Two years ago....

Into the woods

2011-11-09T10:50:00.000-08:00

A brief cycle into the woods today at just past 1pm; well, probably nearer to 1.30pm. Climbed to the top, like we did on Sunday and then hurtled back down again, taking a different route to Sunday. Probably out for around 40 minutes.

Baffling punctures and the woods

2011-11-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

On Saturday morning, I discovered that I had a slow puncture on my hands, although, when I went out into the garage and discovered the deflated front wheel, I started wondering about whether it was possible for the bike to have a spontaneous puncture, meaning that, perhaps in the early hours of Saturday morning, it just decided it was time to deflate. Who knows?

The route from Andy's house to the woods.

Anyway, I figured it was a slow one and that, when I arrived in the garage at just gone 7am on Sunday morning, it would still be half-inflated. But...it was flat and when I pumped it, it hissed. The slow puncture had speeded up as there was a hissing noise. I had a puncture to fix and I'd have to use my last 'Leech' (a heavy duty sticker for fixing punctures).

After calling Andy I whipped off the tyre, inflated the inner tube and expected to hear the same hissing, but no, it had gone and the tyre was seemingly fixed. There was no noise at all and I had to resort to the old bowl of water trick, but again, nothing. Was this, I wondered, a phantom puncture? In the end, I heard something and noticed tiny bubbles on the dampened inner tube. Leech attached, wheel back on bike, Andy arrived and we headed off on my suburban 'Woodland Trek', which involves suburban streets and then the woods, which, at this time of year, looked the business: leaves, golden, all over the place.

We cycled along, dodging dogs, and then took a steep incline to the top, cranking the bikes into low gears. I lost momentum and had to walk a few yards before getting back on the bike and making it to the top.

You can see my house from the top of the woods. Andy and I sat on a wooden bench and drank our tea and once again the conversation turned to camping out, although the problem with Croham Hurst (that's the name of the wood) is that I've often seen police helicopters hovering above it and the occasional bonfire late at night, meaning there must be a few undesirables up there at night. Still, it would be an adventure.

No sleep, thick fog and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

2011-11-06T00:03:00.000-07:00

The war memorial on Warlingham Green.

I keep waking up around 3am in the morning and then have a devil of a job getting back to sleep. On Saturday morning I was getting a little impatient - and decided to get up. It was around 4am. I stayed up, reading but had that nagging feeling that I should have been in bed. To be honest, I was fretting about a poor interview and had been, metaphorically, punching walls for most of Friday. It was one of those typical scenarios where you find yourself saying the first thing that comes into your head - and then realising how rubbish you were after leaving the interview. Anyway, water under the bridge. Move on. But, for some reason, I couldn't move on. The reason being that I'm good at what I do, but, through my own actions, I under-sell myself and lose out in the process. But, as I say, move on.

Andy's bike on the green.

So basically I'm loitering around the house early in the morning, wishing I could just go back to bed, but realising that going back would be pointless - and disastrous for cycling. So I stayed up, drank about three mugs of tea, had a couple slices of bread and marmalade and sat there reading. I couldn't be bothered to switch on the news channel because I knew it would be doom and gloom about the Eurozone countries or our own economic situation. The worst thing about the Eurozone is this: you just know they're going to fuck it up - the Germans, the French etc - as nobody seems to be able to take a decision. What will happen? Well, Greece's situation will definitely worsen, Italy will take us to the brink (if not over it) and the others (Ireland, Portugal, Belgium etc) will somehow get their acts together. That's my prediction, but either way, it all looks bad for Europe and I'm so glad we're not part of the Eurozone.

So, with that backdrop - and thick fog outside - I had another cup of tea and then prepared for the ride. I was tired. There was no way I was going far: the Tatsfield Bus Stop was going to be my limit, but I nearly didn't go at all. On reaching the garage, I had a flat front tyre, a very slow puncture, so after pumping it, I left for the Green and met Andy a little later than usual. As he waited around, he took these excellent shots, the ones accompanying this post.

We did cycle to the bus stop and met our old friend from a couple of weeks back. We don't know his name yet, but he's bought another bike, a Dawes Vantage, because he wants to keep the Galaxy in the warm during the cold and wet weather.

The three of us yabbered quite a lot and finally headed back around 0930hrs, reaching home at just gone ten. The ride had done me good - woken me up to be honest - and prepared me for the day ahead, which was pretty much average.

Time travel, Paddy Ashdown, a very steep hill...and buses

2011-10-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

Once, a very long time ago, well, probably in the late eighties, I found myself on a train with a colleague. We were on our way back to London from Salisbury having visited somebody, but I can't remember who; it was something to do with a competition, so it must have involved pubs. Either way, we were coming home, by train, and we were accompanied by a six-pack of Wadworth's 6X - at the time a beer that was largely only available in the West Country. These were pre-MMC Report days when nobody had dreamed up the concept of 'guest' ales.

Sadly, the fog had lifted and my pensive form was
revealed.

Anyway, we were on the train, in one of those compartments with the sliding doors, which you don't see anymore, sadly, and, to our surprise, the Rt. Hon. Paddy Ashdown MP (and then the leader of the Liberal Democrats) was sitting across from us reading some report or other. He was on the train already when we boarded at Salisbury and, for most of the journey, his head was buried in papers. He had a pair of those half-circle reading classes on - like bi-focals but without the top bit.

We, that is my colleague and I, were in a chatty frame of mind and I had come up with an idea: time travel. The premise was quite simple: that by using supersonic flight, it must be possible to travel back in time. I figured that it would be a good television stunt if somebody, on New Year's Eve, had a glass of Champagne to celebrate the New Year and then flew off to the next region of the world before it celebrated the new year. The deal was: you land, you have a glass of Champagne and then off you fly to the next destination. Simples!

The conversation was all about whether or not such a feat was possible, how many new years could be celebrated on the trip (before time caught up with you) and where you would finally end up. It was agreed, by my pal and I, that you'd have to start in the East and travel West and that you'd probably end up in the middle of the Pacific, somewhere near Hawaii, with that horrible sugary taste of Champagne in your mouth and a mild, but nagging headache.

What was funny about the train journey was Paddy Ashdown – just the fact that he was there. My pal and I were engaged in an animated conversation about time travel, punctuated as it was by the phisshing sound of cans of Wadworth's being opened - and we thought that Paddy was too engrossed in his paperwork to join in. And besides, we figured, two blokes with a six-pack of Wadworth's: who would want to engage them in conversation?

But the truth of the matter was that good old Paddy had been listening! And as we had resorted to the maps in the back of our diaries to work out where we'd end up in our fighter jet, Paddy joined in, disputed our calculations and then got back to his paperwork.

I was relating this tale to Andy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Saturday (29th October). I had to cut our ride short because my mum was round at Natalie's mum's and I'd be driving her home to Sutton around 10.30am, so a short cycle - rather than Hunger's End - was on the cards and we chose the old faithful Tatsfield Bus Stop.

"Can he swing - from a web? No he can't, he's a pig." From the Simpsons

movie. If you haven't seen it, then it's just a spider's web on a road

sign.

We were, it has to be said, breathless. Instead of going straight to the bus stop along the usual route, we roared down Titsey (in the thick fog and no, I didn't have any lights) and then swung a left into White Lane. Last week, the old bloke we'd met (at the Tatsfield Bus Stop) had told us about White Lane and how, only recently, cyclists were conducting time trials. We decided to give it go; me with a huge, heavy, metal cylindrical flask full of water, a mug, tea bags, milk and assorted spanners in my rucksack. No, as we've said before, 'precious grams' mean nothing to us.

White Lane, let it be said, is a real pig of a hill and probably the worst one ever. Just when you think you've nailed it, you haven't, and it's really, really steep. Ever since I've had my bike fixed (remember the summer of no brakes?) I've managed only to use the top eight of my 16 gears, but on White Lane (travelling from Titsey Hill to Clarks Lane) I had to use the lower eight too. Worst thing of all, I stopped and then couldn't get started again. In other words, White Lane defeated me, which means I've got to try again some time soon.

We arrived on Clarks Lane, across the road from the bus stop, knackered. In the fog, you could just about make out the bus stop. Andy, I must add, made it without stopping. After a short while, we crossed the road and were sitting at our bus stop, cracking open the cereal bars and tea and settling down for a chinwag.

Andy's been reading Danny Wallace and I remarked that he and another writer, Dave Gorman, used to share a flat together and that, oddly, there were quite similar in terms of their literary output. By that I mean that they both tend to come up with whacky ideas, that normally involve world travel, and then they write about it. I haven't read any Danny Wallace, but I know that one of his books - in which he says 'yes' to everything- was made into a movie recently, starring Jim Carrey.

I told Andy about Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure and his America Unchained, both excellent reads, and the one about how he travels the world in search of people who share his name: Dave Gorman. I haven't read that one yet, but I will.

And then the subject moved on to ideas for our own book. The problem is that most things have been done already. Even my idea - travelling around the coast of the UK by bus alone - has sort of been done by Paul Theroux, dad of Louis, in his excellent book, The Kingdom by the Sea.

By the time we'd finished yabbing, the fog had cleared and Andy took the photographs accompanying this post. I found a spider's web attached to the road sign for Approach Road.

On Sunday morning, I received a text message from Andy.

"It's raining."

I looked out of the window. It wasn't raining, but I knew that it probably was raining in Caterham so I suggested, wait for it, a rain check of half an hour and then, if it's not pissing down, an 8am start at the Green.

"Agreed."

But being that it was now 8am and not 7am, we had to do another short ride and decided upon the Tatsfield Bus Stop again. However, as we drew nearer, I said let's go to the village instead and we did. This time I had some excellent fruit cake, made by mum, and we both tucked in. You can't beat tea and fruit cake.

A woman arrived in an old Volvo 740 Saloon. By old, I mean 1984 and it was in perfect condition. And that, summed up Sunday's ride. We resolved to go to Hunger's End next week, so if you're listening Jon, this week we'll be there - problems and hassles permitting.

In Tatsfield there's a Reptile Zoo and it has a caff, which is apparently open from 7am on both a Saturday and Sunday - we'll be trying that out too!

Two Years Ago – click here!

Cycling Destinations Rated - now updated

2011-10-24T01:25:00.000-07:00

Unbelievably, we missed out two key destinations - Chevening Church AND Longford Lake. They're both now rated (see link on right hand panel).

Chevening Church

2011-10-23T23:01:00.000-07:00

In the churchyard at Chevening enjoying the long shadows and the tea.

I never thought - and nor did Andy - that we'd be cycling along early on a Sunday morning discussing the X Factor... but we were! And the worst thing of all? We weren't discussing it ironically!

"I think Frankie Coccoza is definitely walking."
"Yeah, he was rubbish, even Gary Barlow admitted it."
"But they were having a right go at Misha B, weren't they?"
"Yeah, but I think that Kitty's mad, don't you?"
"Yeah. The gay bloke was good, though."
"Yeah. Don't think much of the bands."

And that little diversion took us half way up the B269 towards Botley Hill. We were on a long ride today and had met at the Green at 7am, not the usual 7.30am. This was not good for the soul. Why? Because normally, we get up at 6am, hang around the house for an hour drinking tea and checking emails and then leave, having at least woken up a bit. Meeting at 7am, however, means getting up, getting dressed immediately, trotting downstairs and making the tea and then zooming off on the bike. Admittedly, I had time to upload the blog post before this one (having written it the day before) but that was it - and it was pitch black outside, which meant riding on the path to the green as I only had a front light.

The long shadows of an early October morning caught in this shot by Andy.

We were headed for the lakes, the Longford Lakes at Chipstead in Kent - a good 32-mile round trip, but we didn't want to get home around 11am (it causes friction) so we left earlier.

"Talking about the X Factor means we're bona fide couch potatoes. You realise that, don't you?"
"Yes, I know; that and Strictly Come Dancing on the other side."

The two programmes are chalk and cheese - Waitrose and Tesco - but what to do on a Saturday night? And even that, of course, is a sad admission as there's plenty to do. Play a game! Read a book! But no, it's Strictly and then X Factor.

"I can't stand Frankie Coccoza."
"Coccoza by name..."
"Yeah, right..."

And by now we'd reached the Hill and were hurtling down Clark's Lane and past the legendary Tatsfield Bus Stop.

On Saturday, the 'old geezer' with the Dawes Galaxy had told us about a time trials on White Lane (a road that links Titsey Hill with Clarks Lane. Apparently, there's an organised event that involves cyclists seeing how fast they can cycle from the Titsey end of White Lane to the finish at Clarks Lane. The event attracts a big crowd. Now this had fired us a little and resolved that the next time we visited the bus stop, we'd go down Titsey Hill, hang a left into White Lane and then across Clarks Lane to break open the tea and cereal bars.

Chevening Church is covered in scaffolding and surrounded

by corrugated iron, so we took this shot before heading home.

Right now, we were in Pilgrims Lane, arguably the best road ever for cycling. The last time we were here was April when we all had a little too much of Harvey's commemorative Royal Wedding ale, the name of which escapes me. Andy rode into a hedge and now, at the very same spot and having taken my eye off the ball, so to speak, I almost did the very same thing, but instead cut Andy up before regaining control and heading down the last stretch towards Sundridge Lane.

We decided to go to Chevening Church instead of Longford Lake and it proved to be a good decision. Chevening House is the official country retreat of both Nick Clegg, deputy prime minister, and the foreign secretary, William Hague, but, as we unpacked our rucksacks and made ourselves comfortable in the churchyard at just gone 0830hrs, we couldn't for the life of us remember Hague's first name.

"Andrew, Brian, Christopher, David, Eric, Fred, Graham..."

I went through the alphabet, quietly to myself.

"....Peter, Robert, Stephen, Ulysses, William!"

Andy measures the ride from Caterham and back, which is 28.53 miles,

but I know that the same route from Sanderstead and back is roughly 32

miles.

"William. It's William Hague," I said, as Andy fiddled around with his camera and I sipped my tea.

We had visions of Hague and Clegg, lounging in novelty socks and polka dot boxers on opposing sofas, watching the X Factor amidst the baronial splendour of Chevening House and then extinguished the image by concentrating on the getting the right shot for the blog.

As Andy pointed out, we hadn't included Chevening Church in our list of destinations - something that would have to be rectified. After 30 minutes of taking photos, munching cereal bars and drinking tea, we prepared for the gruelling journey home - 16 miles or so of climbing. Well, actually, it's 16 miles in total, but I reckon a good half of it is uphill, but I managed to reach home at 10.30am so leaving early proved to be the right decision.

All pix taken by Andy Smith.

Tatsfield bus stop and a Dawes Galaxy...

2011-10-22T22:24:00.000-07:00

Now that's what I call a different angle on an old bus stop!

Back in Stressville. Didn't sleep too well either. Woke up around 3.30am and then drifted in and out of sleep. The radio sprung to life at 6am and I toyed with the idea of getting up. Time for a ride and I needed one, having not gone out last weekend. The plan was Hunger's End, but to be honest, I wasn't in the mood. Despondency is awful, but fortunately I got out there and headed for the Green where Andy was waiting.

Time was short so we decided to go to the bus stop instead, which proved a good move. We sat there, drinking tea, flicking teabags on to the grass and chatting about my children's novel, that I've just published on Kindle - here's hoping it'll make some money, but who am I kidding? It was always just something for my daughter, although my pal Geoff and I got carried away, produced an illustrative front cover, edited it, threw in an additional chapter and suddenly we're all expecting a Pulitzer prize.

Then, having sipped our teas, an old man arrived on a Dawes Galaxy, a brand new one he had bought on the internet for £800. A smart bike. A tourer. Twenty seven gears, mudguards, the works. Very sensible. He used to be a runner but his legs gave out and now he's back cycling again - he used to do it a while back with his nephew.

I'm guessing this guy is in his mid-to-late seventies - he has a brother who is 80 and lives in Cornwall and a running pal who is 81 and still visits the gym. He's just given up running and the two of them enjoy a long distance walk, like a nine-mile walk. What are they, supermen? Probably. It says a lot for cycling and general fitness.

We chewed the fat with the old guy for some time and I suddenly realised how anoraky we were all sounding, discussing tyres and gears and stuff. The old guy, we never got his name, commented that we must find it tough riding our bikes on the road. The tyres are huge and the bikes are designed for off-road riding. Yes, we said, we know. We like riding our Konas on the road and have no plans to change tack, although I must admit that the Dawes Galaxy did look very sensible and mildly desirable - not that I desire the sensible. The Galaxy had mudguards for a start, meaning no chance of a wet arse - unlike me on my Kona. But no, I'm sticking right where I am, cold arse be blowed! In fact, if anybody would care to blow my cold arse dry - using a hairdryer, perhaps, well, who needs mudguards?

We suggested to the man that he might like to join us and he said yes. We meet on the Green at 0730hrs normally, most weekends, we said, and we suspect that one day he'll be there, waiting, on his Dawes Galaxy. If he is there one day, it'll be the first time a stranger has joined us on a ride.

Our route.

He set off first, having told us where he was going: back along the 269 to Beech Farm Lane then round the lanes to Chelsham Church and back on to the Limpsfield Road at Warlingham Sainsbury's.

A few minutes later, Andy and I set off and said our customary goodbyes half way along the 269. I carried on towards Sanderstead and there I noticed a presence behind me, a shadow. A fellow cyclist! Well, it turned out to be the old guy. He'd caught me up, exchanged pleasantries and then he was off. There was no way I could catch him, no way at all, which kind of annoyed me. Why? Because I'm trying to work out whether it's me or the bike I ride or what? It seems that everybody is faster than me, they power past me and soon are gone and I can't figure it out. Okay, the old guy has a lighter and probably faster bike and he seems to be higher in the saddle, bearing down upon the handle bars, whereas I ride what amounts to a tractor, it's lower geared and very heavy. That might be it. Or, of course, it could be that I'm just terribly unfit, despite going out every weekend for the past six years on regular cycle rides ranging from 14 to 35 miles. Either way, it's a little annoying.

D-Day Cycle from London to Caens

2011-10-16T02:26:00.000-07:00

I told Andy in an email this morning that I'd be going out on a pioneering ride - but didn't. In fact, I haven't been cycling all weekend, although I'm planning a regular ride to the Botley all of next week, so that should make up for my slacking.

The reason I'm writing now is because Andy and I have been talking about doing something big next year and so far it's been decided that it will involve microbreweries, ie cycling from one to another throughout Kent and Sussex over a three-day period. Well, I'm not so sure about that now. Why? Because I've seen something else far more exciting.

This ad from Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine.

It takes place over four days from 13 to 17 June 2012 and involves cycling from London to Caen and taking in the key sites of the Normandy landings. The finishing line is at the historic Pegasus Bridge and the idea is to raise funds for clearing landmines and destroying weapons in conflict zones around the world. I don't think we have to clear landmines or destroy weapons en route - surely not!

There's a registration fee, sadly, but it sounds good.

For further details, call 0161-238 5447 or email events@maginternational.org

There is a website: http://www.maginternational.org/d-day

Helen Pidd's 'smug feeling of self-sufficiency'

2011-10-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

My pal Alan refers to my Kona as a 'butcher's bike'. I know what he means: it's a little cumbersome. For a start, there are huge tyres, then there's the hefty, box-like frame and, as Alan would say, all I need is the name of 'Dewhurst' on the side, instead of Kona, and I've got a butcher's bike. Although, butchers' bikes, as I recall, are basically normal bikes with a kind of heavy, integral rack on the front, designed to carry a huge basket full of raw meat. My bike doesn't even have mudguards (something I tend to pay for dearly as the winter months draw nearer).

Anyway, butchers' bikes aside, Helen Pidd was in last Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine - which I read in a café in Penge - writing about a bike called a Bullitt. The thing is, it doesn't really live up to the image conveyed in the name. The Bullitt is what Pidd calls a 'freight bike' and, it seems, Pidd has realised that her cycling obsession has gone too far. Whether Pidd sleeps with her bike, I don't know, but it's clear that she is obsessed and this is evidenced by her insistence on using a frieght bike - the Bullitt - as a means of moving house.

The Bullitt - I wouldn't fancy racing with it.

The bike was supplied to Pidd by a chap called Gizmo, who, like Pidd, lives in Berlin. Pidd found it great fun to ride and claims she'd seriously think about it for trips to the supermarket (if she was richer and had somewhere to store it).

Mind you, it costs £2,170 and you could buy a half-decent van for that, so Pidd, it has to be said, is definitely obsessed with pedal power and should, perhaps, lie down in a darkened room for an hour or so and then go hire a van, rather than mess around on a cumbersome freight bike, even if it is easier to ride than many of its rivals. Rivals? What's this? She's ridden other freight bikes? What's wrong with the woman?

Still, if you are obsessed with cycling - to the extent that you'd hire a bike instead of a van to move house - then you might like to take a look at the Bullitt. It can't be all bad if it gives Helen Pidd 'a smug feeling of self-sufficiency'.

Check out http://thebullittbike.co.uk

Saturday 8th October 2011...

2011-10-14T23:34:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we went out earlier than usual and met at the Green at 7am for a short ride to the bus stop. There was no tea as we'd run out of milk and, well, it wasn't the best of rides. You can't beat a cup of tea and it would be fair to say that we both missed our customary warm drink.

I stayed over at mum's on Saturday night and on Sunday morning, rain put an end to any thoughts of a ride - an abort text was sent.

October 1st and 2nd

2011-10-03T23:05:00.000-07:00

The phrase 'since records began' has been used by the weathermen whenever they discuss extreme weather. No doubt, this weekend's heat will bring the phrase out of the box again pretty soon. In short, it was hot and, to be fair to the weathermen, it had been forecasted during the week - we all knew it was coming our way.

As avid readers will know, our planned ride to Hunger's End would have been rather pleasant on Saturday, but I had things to do concerning motor transport and had to do without a ride on Saturday. Instead, I messed around at home and, with Natalie and Serena out most of the day, I had the place to myself. I mowed the lawn front and back, I cleaned the car and I had a cold beer and a ham sandwich in the garden - perfect!

The last time I experienced heat like this weekend, in October, was in 1981 while in Greece. Sunday was even hotter, they reckon 29 degrees, but it might have tipped 30. Fortunately, a ride was on the agenda and I left the house, laden with fruit cake, hot water and tea bags, to meet Andy for a ride. The plan was Westerham and we stuck to it.

I left the house in a tee-shirt and only experienced a mild coolness at the bottom of the hill as we crossed the Surrey/Kent border and headed for the bridge under the M25 - but even then it was mild.

Andy took this shot of Winston Churchill

and my crash helmet

There's nothing better than Churchill's birthplace on a decent summer's day - although that word 'summer' should, perhaps, be changed to 'autumn' because there were, make no mistake, leaves on the ground and there are only three months to Christmas. But the weather was hot, even if there was enough dew on the benches surrounding the green, and on Winston's statue, to force us to stand and drink our tea.

Unknown to me when I packed the fruit cake, Andy had stuffed a bag of chocolate brioche pastries into his rucksack as well as the cereal bars, making the plinth of Churchill's statue a little crowded: flask, mugs, fruit cake, pastries and cereal bars. We left the latter for next week and I declined a second pastry on the assumption that having it would have made the exercise of cycling pointless.

It was October 2nd 2011, there was a farmer's market setting up in the town centre, but not on the green, a few people wandered about here and there and various motorcycles cruised noisily along the A25 en route to somewhere. Andy and I discussed owning motorcycles and realised that they would take up all of our time and cause friction at home. Going out for an early morning ride and being back home around 10am was fine, but owning a motorcycle would lead to excursions lasting the whole day and they would definitely not go down well at home. Furthermore, I have no desire for a motorcycle. The thought of wearing leathers and a heavy helmet on a hot day is one thing, the other is the risk of losing a limb or, worst still, my life. Not for me, I'm afraid, although I wouldn't mind owning a Harley - just to polish it.

While we agreed that Hunger's End would have to wait until next week, circumstances later in the day dictated that I must postpone my visit to Vampire Tints in Penge for yet another week - meaning that the week after next is now more likely, unless, of course, it's raining. Let's hope it remains dry.

Tatsfield Churchyard and Westerham...

2011-09-26T13:54:00.000-07:00

A short one to Tatsfield Churchyard on Saturday (24th September) followed by a longer ride to Westerham on Sunday. The weather was fine on both days and there was mum's fruit cake to eat too, which was excellent (Andy and I are both fans).

The reason for the short run on Saturday was because I had commitments - well, one commitment: to organise a car for myself so that Natalie could have our car to ferry Serena to school and back (it's a nightmare on the bus). Anyway, the plan was to visit the car showrooms and to take on one of those hefty 'personal plans', but to be honest, my heart wasn't in it. I'm not that type of person. I don't fork out, or rather, commit to a huge loan for a car. Car's don't appeal, I've always had secondhand cars and I've always driven them into the ground - like now (I own a 1997 316i BMW and it's on it's last legs). And that's the whole point: sooner or later it's going to leave me stranded on the hard shoulder of the M25, M26 or M20. Except that, so far (and we're talking one month in of doing 400 miles per week) nothing untoward has happened.

My 1997 BMW 316i on the drive - now doing 400 miles

per week on three motorways.

The plan was to cycle to Hunger's End, but my commitments meant I could only afford a short ride - but then, when I returned, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to meet the smarmy car salesmen, we decided to buy Max's similarly spec'd BMW (a coupe version of ours and the same age). So, we didn't bother with car salesmen and we've saved ourselves the worry of commiting to such a large sum of money.

Secretly, however, I'd rather like a brand new car, but the voice of reason says no - not yet at any rate.

So, Tatsfield it was, followed on Sunday by a pleasant ride to Westerham, where all the benches were drenched with dew, forcing us to lean against the statue of Winston Churchill.

The thing is, while I fully expected to be able to visit Hunger's End this coming weekend - even down to chatting with Jon at lunchtime and running through what I planned to eat (scrambled egg on two slices of thick toast and a mug or two of tea) I reached home to discover that I have to be at the tint shop to have tinted windows restored to normal (a condition of the insurance).

So, guys, if you're listening - or rather reading - I can't go to Hunger's End this weekend either!

17th and 18th September 2011

2011-09-21T00:14:00.000-07:00

Jon at Woodmansterne Green.

I should have motivated myself to go cycling on Saturday, but it was damp and unpleasant-looking outside, Andy wasn't going and while I did consider Woodmansterne Green, I decided that I'd cycle round to mum's in the evening instead. Unfortunately, it was raining around 6pm on the Saturday so I drove over instead.

Waking up early at mum's, I drove home after the obligatory fairy cake and a cup of tea (no, I love them, that was a joke) I reached home and then cycled back to Woodmansterne where I met Jon for a welcomed chinwag, cup of tea, two of mum's fairy cakes and an over-ripe banana.

Woodmansterne is quite a work-out even if the ride there is a little boring and suburban. The weather was fine and all was well.

I cycled home and then spent the rest of the day in the car, taking Max to Euston. I don't know what was happening, but Parliament Square had been re-routed and we ended up going south of the river in order to go north again. Not good, but all's well that ends well.

It looks as if Hunger's End is seriously on the cards for this coming weekend. Andy texted me yesterday expressing his desire to go there, Jon has been hinting at a ride there too and, well, it would be good to visit the caff again - and hopefully the eccentric shaving man will be there.

Carshalton and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

2011-09-11T02:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it was a suburban cycle through the mean streets of Croydon, Wallington and Carshalton. Went over to see mum. It was a good 12-miler, but largely suburban streets. Last night I stayed over at mum's and awoke in the early morning and listened to the rain and wind outside. I must have nodded off because I came to around 0550hrs and could still hear the rain - or at least I thought I could. I fully expected an abort text from Andy but hadn't received one. I sent him one, saying something like, 'looking unlikely' and got a reply stating it wasn't raining over Caterham way. Then I looked out. What a beautiful day! Sure, it had been raining, the ground was wet and there were puddles, but the skies were clearing, a watery sun occasionally appeared behind smoky, fast-moving clouds and it was definitely time to hit the road.

Dog Shit Alley joins Shorts Road with West Street in Carshalton.

Start the day with a fairy cake, that's my motto. I had two of them and a large mug of tea before saying goodbye to mum and driving home to pick up the bike. We aimed for somewhere with cover and the Tatsfield Bus Stop seemed like a good idea.

September 11th, that fateful day back in 2001. I was in Tamworth, visiting a chef called Matthew Shropshall and so was my photographer, Rob Wilkinson. A strange day, but there you have it.

Today, the weather was fine, but it wasn't long before I had a wet arse (thanks to the puddles) and was beginning to reconsider, as I do at this time of year, whether to fit some mudguards. Knowing me, I probably won't, I'll just put up with it, but we'll see – I don't like having a wet arse.

Today really marked a change in the weather. For the past six months, despite what people say, the weather's been brilliant. It's nice outside now – sunshine everywhere – but the last six months have been fantastic. If you don't believe me, just check back through the pages of this blog, look at the blue skies in the photographs and you'll see what I mean. I can't stand people who moan and wonder what happened to the summer, as if we haven't had one, we have!!!

A different angle on an old bus stop? New
routes are definitely needed.

But as I cycled with Andy towards Botley Hill, I noticed a difference in the weather. It was cooler for a start, it had been raining over night, there were big puddles everywhere, my arse was wet, I was considering mudguards, something had definitely changed.

During the summer months, an overcast day is depressing in the extreme, but the only bad day I recall this summer was when we did the Black Horse Ride in June. Outside of that, it's been great. In the summer, clouds are a bummer, but in the wintery months – or the lead-up to them – a cloudy day is welcomed as it brings to mind tea and cake in front of the fire. Well, we're not quite there yet, but, as I say, a change is out there and the risk of getting a soaking has increased. Soon, the gloves will go on – I thought about them this morning too.

At the Tatsfield Bus Stop we discussed cars and mileage, Peuguots versus BMW, big cars versus small, old cars versus new and we talked about discovering new routes because when I reached for the camera to take the traditional photograph for the weekly post – this post – we realised that we had exhausted every shot the Bus Stop could offer us. We need a new route – or a new destination – and I'll have to put my thinking cap on.

Jon suggested yesterday that we head out for Hunger's End next week and I suggested that Redhill hasn't been done for a while and there's a caff there open on Sunday. And what about Boxhill? A bit far, perhaps. Andy can't make next Saturday, but he's going on Sunday so possibly Redhill and then Hunger's End the following weekend. Who knows?

Tatsfield Churchyard

2011-09-06T12:06:00.000-07:00

A ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard on Saturday 3 September where Andy and I chatted about Andy's London to Paris ride - for full details see Andy's report below. Sunday I aborted due to general tiredness (well, alright, a late night AND little sleep).

Big Ben to the Eifel Tower - in Andy's own words...

2011-08-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

Andy after he cycled to Paris, bank holdiay
weekend, 2011.

Andy Smith writes: Matt (Dixon), Richard and myself first talked about riding fromLondon to Paris a year ago, but only recently did we start taking it seriously.

Richard found a route posted online from Dieppe, so it wasdecided that this would be our starting point in France for Paris. It wouldmean catching a ferry from Dieppe and arranging a view B&Bs. After that,all that remained was getting a day off work, booking the ferry and Eurostarand then just doing it.

Back in July, as a warm-up, we had a trip planned from Tringto the Cotswolds. This went well and boosted our confidence about tacklingLondon to Paris.

Even so it was with some trepidation that we made our way tothe start opposite the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben at seven in themorning. It was 26 August, the bank holiday weekend and the weather wasn’tlooking good. Still, we took some photographs.

It was overcast as we set off, but the grey cloud wasnothing compared to what came next.

We cycled through quiet pre-rush hour London streets andbeing as we were ‘counter-commuting’ there were no traffic problems. We wereheading south and made it to the. Rendezvous cafe on the A22 in Kenley by nine.As we munched our much-needed breakfast, it started to rain and this set thescene for the rest of the day. The rain got heavier and heavier as the day woreon. The A22 is not the place to cycle in heavy rain with lorries throwing hugeplumes of water all over us. Two hours in the pub at lunch time and still itwas raining hard, but, an hour or so from Newhaven, it started to brighten up –and then, as we arrived in Newhaven and were looking for our first B&B,Mattgot a puncture. Fortunately, there was a Halfords nearby.

The following morning we had an early start with a fullEnglish breakfast and then a short ride to the ferry where we queued up witharound a dozen other cyclists. Some had support vehicles with them, but wedidn’t.

It took four hours to reach France where there was no signof the bad weather from yesterday.

Our plan meant a ride of about a dozen miles before joininga cycle path converted from a railway track. This was brilliant. No traffic, nomap reading needed, and no hills. It was around thirty miles to our B&B.The cycle path still had the old stations along the way and yes, at times, Isecretly pretended to be a train. En route there were some impressive chateaus,which made for good photo opportunities and by early evening, we reached Forgesles Faux.

In the morning we enjoyedcroissants and coffee in the village square and prepared ourselves for whatwould be a much harder day. It was hotter for a start and while the countrysidewas pleasant enough, there were some pretty steep hills too. And being aSunday, there weren’t many shops open for food and drink. We kept going untilwe found a bar in a little village where we enjoyed a couple of glasses ofnature’s energy drink before speeding off to our next overnight stop at a hotelin Cergy.

Fortunately, there was a Chineserestaurant a walk away from the hotel where the phrase ‘Trois pour le buffets’il vous plait’ tripped off the tongue. In English, that’s ‘three for thebuffet, please’.

The next day we had morecroissants, coffee – and some cake - for breakfast and this set us up for thelast push to Paris.

After a few hours of riding on theroad we entered the first of the parks that would take us to within a mile ofthe Eiffel Tower. The weather was great, and once into the parks there was notraffic to worry about. Who would be the first to see the Eiffel Tower?

We entered the centre of Paris ona converted aqueduct, which proved to be one of the highlights of the trip.We’d already had a glimpse of the Eifel Tower earlier on, but as we crept intothe French capital it started to get really close. We cycled around theLongchamp Racecourse and out of the last park with only about one mile to go.

As we rounded the corner, therewas the Pont d’Lena bridge and the Eifel Tower on the other side of the Seine.

We had done it! London to Paris ona bike and under our own steam. What could be greener? Matt and myself calledhome and Richard was able to wave to his family who were halfway up the EifelTower – all that remained now was a ride across Paris to the Gare du Nord andthe Eurostar back to London.

Now, where are we going next year,I wonder?

To Carshalton for a stroll down memory lane...

2011-08-29T15:11:00.000-07:00

Jon and yours truly on Woodmansterne Green, Saturday August 27th 2011.

Sunday, 2137hrs: Andy's back in the UK after his ride to Paris and NVL will be reporting on his adventures just as soon as he tells us more about what happened. He set off on Saturday, spent the night in Newhaven, then took the ferry over the channel and rode all the way to Paris.

Round at mum's - this shot taken in the kitchen.

I cycled every day of the bank holiday, first going to mum's on Saturday, then to Woodmansterne Green on Sunday and today, Bank Holiday Monday, I rode through suburban streets to Grove Park in Carshalton. On all three occasions I met with Jon and we talked a lot about dad. Now that I have a full-time job again, I've had some time to reflect a little more on dad's passing away.

These steps in Grove Park I used to climb when I was very, very young. What
they were used for, I'll never know.

Each ride this weekend was roughly 12 miles, meaning I rode the best part of 36 miles. The best ride was today for some reason. I think it was because we were in Grove Park, doing all sorts of things, revisiting old childhood haunts, like the old mill, the riverbank where we went fishing with nets on the end of a strip of bamboo, the big lakes opposite the church where mum and dad got married. Jon recalled an occasion when the lake opposite the Greyhound Hotel was frozen over and how he and a mate walked on it.

The Mill Pond in Grove Park - it lets the rest of the park down.

Grove Park is very nicely landscaped, there's the River Wandle, that runs through the park and, well, it's a great place, but one bit of it let the rest of it down: the mill pond. While the park as a whole looks good, the mill pond is a complete disaster; it looks like something out of an eco-disaster movie. In short, people have used it as a rubbish dump. There's old tyres, discarded drinks bottles, you name it, it's in there and that's just not good.

Jon and I stood around looking at the mess, having enjoyed the rest of the park. We met an old woman with a dog who said she'd lived in the area for 17 years. She told us how the park authorities seem to let the offenders get away with murder: they torch motorcycles and generally make a mess, presumably in the dead of night.

The Old Mill in Grove Park. Rumour has it that a young boy
met with an accident here and died.

We cycled around the park and it brought back many memories. I was amazed to find the old changing room and the playing field where we used to play football during 'games' lessons, or PE as it was known. The pitch looks much smaller than I remember it, but then again, I was much smaller.

One of two large lakes close to Carshalton's High Street.

We larked around in the children's playground, which was deserted. Jon had a go on the aerial ropeway - and there's video evidence as you've probably already discovered. We drank our tea by the side of one of the big lakes where a strange man with a plastic bag full of bread fed the ducks. He was obviously trying to cultivate some kind of Birdman of Alcatraz thing, but later we realised he was a bit nutty and gave him a wide berth.

Dad's presence was quite strong all weekend. He was definitely in the park and round at mum's and, while there was a strong sense of sadness in the air, it was good to ride around the park and find spots that brought back fine memories of an excellent childhood.

Cycling generates £3bn for the UK economy...

2011-08-22T11:38:00.000-07:00

Photo: Press Association.

According to a report on the BBC News website, cycling generates nearly £3bn a year for the UK economy, according to a report by the London School of Economics. Click here for more...

A word on the rioting...

2011-08-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

A woman jumps for her life from a burning building in Surrey Street, Croydon

The main subject of conversation when we reached the Tatsfield Churchyard, our destination for both Saturday and Sunday, was split between the recent riots and the unfortunate use of the word 'like' in general discourse.

With the former, we initially discussed the harsh jail sentences meted out to the offenders and both agreed that they were necessary if such behaviour on our streets was not to happen again. Firm but fair? I guess so, under the circumstances. A situation where rioters were handed 70 hours of community service or given suspended jail terms would not have gone down well with an outraged general public.

As for the reasons behind the rioting, well, to politicise the whole affair was wrong, as both Ken Livingstone (a former London mayor) and Harriet Harman, a Labour MP tried to do in television interviews. Equally, to brush the whole thing off as purely criminal behaviour seemed wrong to me; there must have been a reason behind such widespread unrest and to dismiss it in such a manner, as Teresa May and David Cameron did, was side-stepping the fact that the country has serious social issues it needs to deal with pretty promptly.

And while we're on the subject of David Cameron, I wasn't impressed with his empty rhetoric on his return from Tuscany or the assumption that he'd returned early from his summer break to roll up his sleeves and sort things out. The truth of the matter was that he was too late, the damage had been done.

To argue, as some politicians have, that we live in a society motivated by greed, rang many bells with me. While I've never really been unemployed and on the dole, I've had a taste of what it's like to live with financial uncertainty over the past five months or so – and it's not pleasant. I only had five months of it, but at times it was enough to fuel resentment on my part of those gainfully employed. God knows how I would have felt after 10 months or longer, but it wouldn't have been good, that's a fact.

I found myself getting very frustrated and angry while watching television advertisements for holidays and automobiles – a new Polo for how much? £14,000? Who the hell can afford that? And the sight of 'happy couples' on holiday, eating out in some al fresco restaurant on the Med angered me too: why them? Why not me? Why should I be filled with uncertainty? What have I done wrong?

But let's not forget that most unemployed people don't resort to rioting and looting to achieve their goals. There's no justification for it and never will be.

Some people in the UK are 'long-term' unemployed. That must be hard to deal with as I'm sure the people concerned feel not only trapped, but second class citizens. The greed alluded to by some politicians and social commentators is everywhere – not just in advertisements that fuel our desire for expensive gadgets.

Shows such as The X Factor and Dragon's Den are motivated by greed. The X Factor is full of wannabes who don't want to work for success and recognition, but want it handed to them on a plate – not for them striving for a record deal, playing the club and pub circuit, being discovered and finally making it big; no, they want instant fame for fame's sake, they want to climb out of a limo at a film premiere, have papparazzi on their doorstep, but they don't want to work for it, they're not even interested in artistic achievement, purely the trappings of fame.

The appeal of The X Factor and, it has to be said, Dragon's Den is the pleasure people get out of watching others suffer. In The X Factor they want to see and hear the performers being slagged off by the judges, they want to witness the abuse of the judges by rogue contestants. With Dragon's Den they want to watch those pitching for financial backing sweat and hear the 'dragons' exclaim, "I'm out!" It's nothing to do with business and admiring the acumen and commercial know-how of the contestants.

One of the most telling song lyrics is Travie McCoy/Bruno Mars "I want to be a billionaire". My daughter sings it innocently, but whenever I hear it, I find myself thinking how desperate and shallow do you have to be to want to be a billionaire? One thing I've learned this year is that, while money is important, it's not the be all and end all.

It's with the above backdrop in mind that I turn my attention to the rioters and the looters - are they desperate people grabbing a flatscreen television or a few tee-shirts that they would otherwise be unable to afford? Or just plain criminals out on a nicking spree? I reckon the latter is true, by and large, but I also think that there's a lot of frustrated and angry people out there. Confidence in our major institutions have been severely damaged. The expenses scandal – remember that our 'squeaky clean' David Cameron put through a claim for having his wisteria pruned – then the phone hacking scandal kicked in and, of course, there was the resulting corruption within our police forces. Everybody's 'at it'.

Of late I've been listening to Who's Next by The Who, flicking between track one (Baba O'Riley) and track nine (We Won't be Fooled Again). The latter track, of course, sums it all up:-

We'll be fighting in the streets

With our children at our feet

And the morals that we worshipped will be gone

Those Clash lyrics from one of my previous posts fade into obscurity when compared to Townshend's words.

RAGBRAI - surely a must for No Visible Lycra!!!

2011-08-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

Just one scene from the 2010 RAGBRAI - for more, see the official website.

I'll always advise any reader of this blog to take a look at the side panel on the right and check out Greg Bowles' blog, Gravelo. It's a good read as Greg likes to get out on his bike, he takes some good pix and gets involved in some interesting rides.

Greg and I share a desire to sleep rough, but it looks as if Greg has beaten me to it as he sets out on the annual RAGBRAI – the Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. Now that sounds bloody brilliant to me: a seven-day ride across the state of Iowa, plenty of sleeping rough and a great deal of cycling thrown in for good measure. SEVEN DAYS ON THE ROAD!!!! Crossing an entire US state!!!!! I really can't think of anything more appealing.

If any NVL readers are interested in this, then check out the RAGBRAI site here. I love the bit about a tornado in camp or on the road. Why? Because here in blighty, we don't know the meaning of severe weather. If we get a soaking on the Black Horse Ride, we feel hard done by, but to find genuine warnings on the RAGBRAI site about tornadoes – fantastic!!!!

If there's a tornado while you're out on the road, the site advises that:-

Most injuries and deaths from a tornado are the result of being hit by flying debris. A tornado can force a blade of grass into a fence post, so obviously it can kill a person. Tornadic storms can produce more than one funnel, lots of lightning, rain and hail. In this storm, everyone should take immediate action and find shelter.
If there are no homes, caves, etc., lay down in a low spot on the ground not subject to flooding!

Knowing the way things are financially, we'll probably never ride the RAGBRAI, but here's hoping we do – and can ride some of it with Greg!

Communication breakdown, but all's well that ends well!

2011-08-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

Andy's Blast against Churchill's statue, Saturday 13 August 2011.

Best laid plans often go to waste. I had planned to go cycling on Saturday (August 13th) and was looking forward to a Westerham ride, but it was not to be; why? Because my iphone exploded on me. Well, alright, it didn't explode as such, but let's just say it wasn't working, meaning that I had lost radio contact with Andy. I didn't know his home number and couldn't remember his mobile number, so I was stuck.

Saturday morning. I discover a puncture, but first, prior to that, I was sitting downstairs in the conservatory looking out on a bleak landscape - grey clouds and spitting rain. Without having a mobile, of course, I had no way of knowing whether Andy had sent me a text aborting the ride. Was it pouring down in Caterham? I hadn't a clue. Then there was the puncture and the fact that, after my last mammoth puncture (detailed in a previous post) I had no leeches.

Time was pushing on and I resorted to email, sending Andy a note explaining my position, but he'd already left to meet me at the green.

As I always say in these situations, at least Andy got a ride – I didn't. I did fix my puncture (to the front tyre) and was ready for Sunday and a trip to Westerham. The weather was pleasant too. Andy sent me an email explaining how he'd gone from Warlingham Green to Westerham on Saturday in 32 minutes. Not bad going. And then back home to Caterham in under an hour. Pretty damn good.

Grandma Claire – aka my mum – makes exceedingly
good cakes. This shot taken by Andy Smith of one of my
mum's Christmas cakes.

I'd spent Saturday night round at mum's so it was a rush on Sunday to get over to Croydon and then out to meet Andy, but I made it and we headed out to Westerham again, which was great. We resolved to visit the place more often, so hopefully next week we'll be there, sipping tea, munching cereal bars – and possibly even some of my mum's cake (Andy's put in an order, and who can blame him? My mum does make exceedingly good cakes!).

Portentious lyrics from The Clash

2011-08-09T02:44:00.000-07:00

Reeves Corner - as it is known. The Croydon furniture retailer's

premises were destroyed by fire last night because of rioting that affected other

parts of London and other provincial cities, including Birmingham and Liverpool.

With all the rioting going on – some in Croydon, home of No Visible Lycra – I thought some lyrics from the very first Clash album would be worth bringing to readers' attention.

White Riot - The Clash

White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own
White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own

Black people gotta lot a problems
But they don't mind throwing a brick
White people go to school
Where they teach you how to be thick

An' everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
An' nobody wants
To go to jail!

White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own
White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own

All the power's in the hands
Of people rich enough to buy it
While we walk the street
Too chicken to even try it

Everybody's doing
Just what they're told to
Nobody wants
To go to jail!

White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own
White riot - I wanna riot
White riot - a riot of my own

Are you taking over
or are you taking orders?
Are you going backwards
Or are you going forwards?

London's Burning!

London's burning! London's burning!

All across the town, all across the night
Everybody's driving with full headlights
Black or white turn it on, face the new religion
Everybody's sitting 'round watching television!

London's burning with boredom now
London's burning dial 999

I'm up and down the Westway, in an' out the lights
What a great traffic system - it's so bright
I can't think of a better way to spend the night
Then speeding around underneath the yellow lights

London's burning with boredom now
London's burning dial 999

Now I'm in the subway and I'm looking for the flat
This one leads to this block, this one leads to that
The wind howls through the empty blocks looking for a home
I run through the empty stone because I'm all alone

London's burning with boredom now...
London's burning dial 999

Increase in cycling deaths in Britain

2011-08-08T05:52:00.000-07:00

There has been a rise in the number of cyclists killed or injured on Britain's roads, according to the latest figures from the Department for Transport.

Local ale, local wildlife and vintage cars...

2011-08-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

Three cycles, three days and each ride involved a longer ride than the one before. We started on Friday 5 August with a short one to Botley Hill, where we sat outside of the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub and enjoyed a pint of Progress bitter. It's a pleasant place, particularly on a sunny day, and is known for its live entertainment – mainly consisting of tribute acts. In other words, if you want to see Elvis or Freddie Mercury, go to the Botley Hill, but if you're cycling, just have the one pint. Andy and I considered two, but remembered how we overdid it a little at Longford Lake in May. Andy reminded me that he cycled into a hedge on the return journey and was badly sunburnt too.

Matt and Andy, Botley Hill Farmhouse, Friday August 5th – and that's not
Greene King beer in those glasses, it's Progress, from a microbrewer.

Having spent the night round at mum's on Friday, I awoke early on Saturday morning and drove the six-mile journey back home to prepare for Saturday's ride. The plan was to meet at 7am on the green, but there was no way that I'd make it so I sent Andy a text and we met at the usual time. We headed down to the Tatsfield Churchyard and had some company in the shape of a rather tame rabbit.

This rather tame rabbit joined us at the Tatsfield Churchyard.

On Sunday, the plan was to visit Westerham. We resolved to get our heads down on the outward cycle, get there as soon as possible and then return home at a decent hour, not that Westerham has ever been a long ride – it's 22 miles in total. The problem was me: I was late. I arrived at the Green at 0740hrs and by the time we'd had our usual chat about where to go, it was edging towards 0850. Normally under such circumstances, it would be the bus stop or the churchyard, or even Botley Hill, but we decided to get our heads down, not chat and just cycle all the way with the determination of, well, Lycra monkeys.

I can't remember what time we got there, but it was early and we enjoyed our tea and cereal bars sitting behind the statue of Churchill. The weather was excellent, as it had been all weekend, and after employing another 'heads down' cycle routine for the return trip, we reached home at just gone 10am. Once again, we resolved to make more frequent trips to Westerham.

An early arrival at the Good Companions pub in Hamsey – over 100 vintage
cars were expected at the pub's Vintage Car Rally, Sunday 7th August.

On the way back, I stopped off briefly at the Good Companions pub where there was a vintage car rally. The landlady, who was in the car park when I arrived – I think it was the landlady as she came over to me and promoted the event, telling me that later on there would be well over 100 cars. I would have gone back, but had family commitments later in the day.

All told, an excellent three days of cycling – characterised by good weather, decent rides and a pint at the Botley.

Why use one bench when you can use two?

2011-08-01T15:10:00.000-07:00

At the Tatsfield Churchyard – making maximum use of the facilities.

We hadn't had a disagreement, but there were two benches – three if you include our usual bench, which was covered in bird poo – so we made the very best use of the facilities.

In case you hadn't guessed, we were in the Tatsfield Churchyard – see previous post for this destination's rating.

Cycling Destinations rated

2011-08-01T00:33:00.000-07:00

We were sitting in the Tatsfield Churchyard yesterday (Sunday 31 July) discussing our cycling venues and decided we should rate them. So, here goes...

Sitting outside the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub.

Botley Hill - a generic term for the area surrounding the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub, but normally it means the roundabout a little further along the road.

Convenience: 10/10 – our shortest route can easily be rounded off in just over an hour.
Cover: 5/10 – little cover, but there is a shady car park with strong tree cover during the summer.
Distance: Roughly a 14-mile round trip.
Verdict: A good default cycle route but if it's raining there's nowhere to hide.

Andy and yours truly in Chevening Churchyard

Chevening Church - adjacent to Chevening House in Kent and one of our longer rides.

Convenience: 6/10 - one of our longer rides and on a par in distance terms with Longford Lake and Hunger's End (easily a 32-mile round trip.
Cover: 6/10 - standing room only by the covered gateway to the churchyard.
Distance: A 32-mile round trip.
Verdict: A pleasant place, but a long ride.

Godstone Green at the beginning of the summer.

Godstone Green – an occasional destination and we like it, but the problem is a huge hill on the return journey.

Convenience: 8/10 – if it wasn't for that hill, we'd probably go there more frequently as the route is scenic.
Cover: 8/10 – there is cover, but it's across the green and you have to stand up as there's no bench.
Distance: Not properly recorded
Verdict: A great place with a pleasant lake and a café if we need it.

Longford Lakes - definitely the most picturesque of our destinations, but a long ride.

Longford Lake.

Convenience: 6/10 - mainly because of the distance. Like Chevening Church and Hunger's End, its a long one.
Cover: 0/10 - very exposed and nowhere to hide from the weather, unless the pub is open.
Distance: a good 32-mile round trip.
Verdict: nice on a pleasant day as there's an excellent Harveys of Lewes pub.

Jon and Andy outside Hunger's End, Merstham.

Merstham – A Surrey village just outside of the M25 near Redhill. Fairly pleasant place and there's a railway station if we feel lazy.

Convenience: 7/10 – it's a long ride, which means returning home around 11am and this can cause friction and the return trip is hilly and can be tiresome.
Cover: 10/10 – plenty of cover if you're really stuck and there's always Hunger's End, the caff.
Distance: 32 to 34 miles in total.
Verdict: A caff, a railway station, a music shop and an eccentric man who shaves in public – in short a great place to be.

Andy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

The Tatsfield Bus Stop – On the outskirts of Tatsfield on the junction with Clarks Lane and Approach Road.

Convenience: 9/10 – just a little further than Botley Hill, but well worth it because of the bus stop.
Cover: 9/10 – a great bus stop. Unlike the Tatsfield Village bus stop, the side panels are solid wood, hence it scores one extra point.
Distance: 16-miles round trip.
Verdict: Arguably the best covered bus stop in the area. We've sheltered here from the snow and rain in the past.

Andy at the Tatsfield Churchyard.

Tatsfield Churchyard – a peaceful churchyard on the outskirts of Tatsfield village.

Convenience: 9/10 – a little further than Botley Hill, but a downhill cycle from Botley down Clarks Lane.
Cover: 5/10 – in the summer, the trees might help and there is a wooden and covered gateway, but generally, you're exposed.
Distance: 16.5-mile round trip.
Verdict: If it's not raining, a great place to be: it's peaceful and scenic and puts things in perspective.

The pond at Tatsfield Village.

Tatsfield Village – A pleasant village with green, pond and pub.

Convenience: 9/10 – not as far as Tatsfield Churchyard, but there's not much in it.
Cover: 8/10 – a wooden bus stop would provide excellent shelter from the rain AND there's a shop where we once bought teabags, having run out, so it's a great place in a crisis – in our world, no teabags is a crisis. The side panels of the bus stop, however, have been knocked out to provide 'windows'.
Distance: 16.5-mile round trip.
Verdict: A good destination, but there's always that danger of having to converse with chirpy locals passing the bus stop en route to the newsagents.

Vintage car on the green at Westerham.

Westerham – a Northern Kent village famed for being the home of Sir Winston Churchill. Hotels and coffee shops abound.

Convenience: 9/10 – for a long while in the early days it was our default ride. A good 22-miler there and back and pleasant in decent weather.
Cover: 6/10 – none really. Plenty of benches but they're all exposed and while there are shops and a hotel, the bikes would need to be left outside, unattended and unpadlocked.
Distance: 22-mile round trip.
Verdict: A great place that we need to visit more often.

Jon in the snow at Woodmansterne Green

Woodmansterne Green – a nice place once you get there, but a boring, suburban ride so not a regular haunt of ours.

Convenience: 9/10 – roughly 12 miles all told and it takes around 30 minutes to reach it through suburban streets.
Cover: 7/10 – no cover on the green but there is a church across the road and we've often sought refuge under the gateway in torrential rain.
Distance: 12-mile round trip.
Verdict: If it wasn't for the boring ride, it would be a great place to visit, but we like scenic, rural routes the best.

St Leonard's Church, Chelsham

2011-07-30T22:39:00.000-07:00

St Leonard's Church, Chelsham, Surrey. We stopped here for tea. Pic by Andy.

Saturday 30 July: Going 'the fast way' to anywhere is not the best of policies, so Andy and I hung a left into Ledgers Road and followed my route from last week, except that we stopped at St Leonard's Church – or Chelsham Church, depending on which sign you believe. It was odd for us to stop 30 minutes into a ride, but the church had appealed to me last week – I didn't stop because the main gate was padlocked and I hadn't seen the unlocked side gate – and I thought it would be worth investigating.

We did what we always do: sat in the churchyard sipping tea and munching cereal bars. Andy took this excellent shot of the church and then we headed off towards Hesiers Hill and the long climb up Beddlestead Lane. Many a Lycra monkey passed us but we didn't really care. At the top of Beddlestead we turned right, headed for Botley and then for home – 'the fast way' – down the Limpsfield Road (I won't say B269 as it sounds a bit nerdy).

Andy's clean bike

2011-07-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in a back garden in Caterham – a clean bike! It's Andy's Blast!

Andy prides himself in having a dirty bike, covered in mud, it's just Andy – and mine isn't exactly spotless, it has to be said; but I received the above photograph recently of Andy's Blast after a good scrub. Thought I might as well share it with the group. Bookmark this post as seeing Andy's bike this clean is rare – very rare.

Paranoia, steep hills and a fun dog show

2011-07-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

   Call me paranoid, but I swore the sheep on the right was conversing with the
   one on the left – and they were talking about yours truly. Others turned up and
   they all stared me out. I felt like an intruder and moved on.

Andy didn't go today so I was on my own, but there was no temptation to just lie in bed. I was up very early, something like 0540, and I had planned to leave early too, but one way or another, I left at 0700hrs.

The long climb up Beddlestead Lane.

The plan was go straight to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and not hang around, but instead I turned into Ledgers Road, rode the length of it and then turned right towards Hesiers Hill. At the bottom of the hill, I stopped for a while and checked out the sheep. They're curious animals, aren't they? As I parked the bike against a metal gate, I noticed how the sheep were all looking in my direction. After a while, others trotted over from the farther reaches of the field and I swear they were talking about me. Feeling a little uncomfortable and generally not wanted, I moved on.

My bike at the bottom of Hesiers Hill.

Beddlestead Lane is one long hill – full of Lycra monkeys – but I stopped a few times en route to take snaps of the surrounding cornfields. I thought the road would never end, and at one stage I started to worry about emerging on to the B269 at Beech House Lane. I vowed to myself that if I did, I'd turn right and ride straight home, but I didn't: I was on the Beddlestead Lane sure enough and when I reached the end, I turned left on to Clarks Lane for the short down hill roll towards the bus stop. I parked up, got out the tea and sat there contemplating life and stuff before heading back the fast way – up to Botley Hill and then down the B269 (past Beech House Lane) and back home.

A fun dog show at Knight's Garden Centre – better than one

that isn't fun.

On the way back I spied a sign: Fun Dog Show, August 13th. Does that mean that, generally speaking, dog shows aren't fun, I wondered? I've never been a fan of Crufts – especially after those revelations about the Kennel Club and dog breeding, so perhaps dog shows aren't any fun – unless the fun is derived from seeing who can breed the most outrageous-looking dog.

Tatsfield bus stop...with fruit cake and cereal bars

2011-07-23T06:27:00.000-07:00

Simon Cotter was right: there's nothing better than riding a recently repaired bicycle. Well, perhaps there are a few things that are better, but I know what he means. This morning, I was round at mum's again, but around 0630 I drove back to my place, made the tea and then headed out with a couple of slices of fruit cake, made and supplied by mum.

Lee Mack: Not Going Out.

They say that Mr Kipling makes exceedingly good cakes, but they're no way near as good as my mum's cakes. I've often thought that if ever I run a café, I'll develop a brand around my mum's cakes and sell them exclusively in my caff. Until that day, I'll just enjoy eating them myself. Andy likes them too.

The bike was running smoothly and when we reached the bus stop we chatted about current comedians indulging the revival of the sitcom: Lee Mack with Not Going Out; Jack Dee with Lead Balloon; Miranda Hart with Miranda; Hugh Dennis with the painfully middle class Outnumbered (Lead Balloon is painfully middle class too) and that rather sad effort from Simon Amstell, the great and best ever host of Never Mind the Buzzcocks.

Miranda Hart: Miranda.

Current comics are also embracing the chat show too: Chatty Man, Alan Carr; Rob Brydon's got his own show (piss poor this week, I thought, with Matt Lucas, who's funny in character but not so much in real life) and then there's Paul O'Grady and probably loads more that simply escape my mind.

Conversely, of course, you've chat show hosts who think they're comedians. The jury's out on whether Jonathan Ross is funny – he can be, but then, can't we all?

Discovered last night that the private investigator (Glenn Mulcaire) jailed over the current phone hacking scandal, lives in my home town – Sutton! Fame at last for the old place! Although it was also home to Harry Secombe.

The weather was fine today, although there was a little bit of rain first thing. Andy and I left it fifteen minutes and then it was blue skies and sunshine, so all was well on that front too.

Not much else to report today, except that no pictures were taken, but then again, how many times can you take a photograph of a wooden bus stop?

The bike is back!

2011-07-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

I had another long walk to the bike shop this afternoon, but the bike is back and it's fixed. It's great to be able to stop! There was a lot wrong with the bike, most of which I suspected: there were broken spokes – causing the wheel to seem buckled and the root cause of that major puncture recently. The gear changing mechanism adjacent to the bottom bracket needed replacing – Andy will recall how it recently jammed my rear wheel, which could have caused a nasty accident had it jammed going down Westerham Hill. As for that small crank, it was badly dented – God knows how that happened – but has been knocked back into shape. All in all, a good job, even if I was a little pissed off with both Evan's and Halford's for not having the Dot 4 hydraulic fluid – see previous post.

Hat's off to Carl, the bike mechanic at the Purley Way branch of Halford's. A true gent. And he kept me informed of progress from start to finish.

Those damaged spokes might have been caused by the Citadel lock that I clamp around the rear wheel – although Andy thinks not. When I locked up the bike tonight (having cycled home from Halford's and narrowly missed a soaking) I noticed how the circular part of the lock rested heavily on the spokes. Now I place the lock at the very bottom of the wheel so there's no pressure on the spokes. I'm probably wrong, but to hell with it.

Total cost of repairs: £71. Not bad. I thought for a moment that I'd been ripped off, but I hadn't. Everything Carl found wrong with the bike was something I had an inkling about already.

I was going to write something else, but I can't remember what.

Where the hell can I get Dot 4 hydraulic fluid for a bike? A bike shop, perhaps?

2011-07-21T00:59:00.000-07:00

Now I know how JR Hartley must have felt, trampsing around the country, peering into secondhand bookshops and asking for that elusive copy of Fly Fishing. I'm amazed that he didn't become a gun-toting maniac. But at least old JRH had the satisfaction of finding a copy of his long-lost book – thanks to Yellow Pages.

What really annoys me about everything at the moment is this: life is so unnecessarily irritating. You call somebody and you get a recorded message; you need to talk to somebody urgently and they're on holiday for two weeks and while these, of course, are all minor irritations in the scheme of things, they add up. Minor irritations accumulate and soon you start to realise that the country is suffering a major epidemic of general incompetence.

My Kona – causing headaches for bike repair shops.

How would you feel, for example, if you went to the dentist to have a tooth filled and was told that the dentist in question didn't have any amalgam and, furthermore, didn't know where to source it from either? You'd think: hold on, I go to have a tooth filled at a dentist and I expect them to have the right materials to finish the job; AND I'd expect them to know where to procure the materials should they run short. Filling teeth is 'what they do' for heaven's sake, innit.

Likewise bike shops. Avid readers will know that, for some time now, my bike has been minus a rear braking system. The pads have worn out. Naturally, I decided – eventually – to take the bike to the shop and get it fixed. First stop, Evans Cycles (where I bought the bike), but they're too busy. Fair enough, I'll go elsewhere.

To make matters worse, I had a puncture (see previous post on this). Earlier, I had inserted an old inner tube and that sufficed to get me into Croydon, after a bit of pumping, but by the time I'd reached Evans (in West Croydon) the tyre was flat and I didn't have a pump – or rather I did, but it was at home.

As I left Evans, I called Halfords and they said I should bring the bike over and they'd fix it: great! But with a flat tyre I had a fairly long walk ahead of me; not a problem, I needed the exercise.

So, off I went, bike trailing along making that unmistakable squidgy, rubbery sound, reminding me for the entire journey that I had a puncture.

At Halfords I was met by a really good bloke and what's more he was going to charge a lot less than Evan's had quoted me – so I left the bike with him. He'd agreed to hammer out the front inner cog, check the front brakes and so on. Job done, as they say.

But then, a day or two later, I received a call. My brakes – which are hydraulic – needed Dot 4 fluid, Halfords didn't have any and, what's more, they didn't know where to source it from. Pardon? A while back, Halfords used to stock Kona mountain bikes, including the Scrap, but they didn't possess the hydraulic fluid required to fix the brakes? No, that's right, they didn't. But they suggested that I go to Evans Cycles and buy some and then bring it to Halford's and they'd fix it. Why they couldn't do it, I don't know – surely that was their job!

Foolishly, of course, I said okay. I said i'd try. Surely they should have suggested that they would do this, but they didn't. Anyway, I reach Evans, another Kona stockist, and no, they don't have any either. I wondered how they would manage to fix my bike if they too didn't have the right product.

"Oh, we've got a lot of it upstairs, but in industrial-sized packs, not for sale," said the sales guy. "Have you tried Halford's?"

Halfway back to the car, I thought about turning round and asking the guy at Evan's whether I could have a small quantity of the fluid, but thought better of it: he'd probably charge me an extortionate price or, more likely, tell me no, I couldn't have it for some spurious reason, like the workshop was closed or something.

When I reached Halford's, I thought I'd check downstairs where all the car parts and accessories are sold, to see if the place stocked it all along and the guy upstairs in the bike repair shop simply didn't have a clue. They had Dot 4 hydraulic brake fluid for cars, but I was directed upstairs – to where my bike was awaiting fixing – and I knew that the guy would say he didn't have any bike fluid. I was right, but he suggested using the Dot 4 car fluid.

I guessed it would be okay, but the guy said he'd try a cycle shop in nearby Wallington and pay for it out of petty cash. In the end, that was how I left it, but as I left the shop I wondered why the hell I'd bothered going to Evans to source the fluid myself. Nothing had been achieved, but I walked away knowing that my bike would be fixed and that I could pick it up the following day.

Then, the following day, another phone call: some of the spokes on the rear wheel were broken – they were causing the wheel to appear buckled (I knew this) – and the gear changing mechanism adjacent to the bottom bracket simply wasn't working. I've told Carl, the bike mechanic, to go ahead and fix it and I should be picking it up today.

I must say, however, that Carl has been pretty good. He's kept me informed about progress, pointed out stuff that was wrong and he's been honest, which is all good, but I'm a bit flabbergasted about their lack of Dot 4 bike hydraulic brake fluid. Surely I'm not the only one with a bike that requires it?

No cycling this week

2011-07-16T00:02:00.000-07:00

They've been promising rain, but it looks as if it's been and gone, which is a bit disappointing as my bike's in the shop being repaired. I think I'm going to start learning more about fixing it myself. For some reason, I've forgotten how. When I was 13, my pal Alan and I used to take bikes apart, right down to a bare frame. We used to strip back the frames and re-spray them, the lot, but now, I steer clear of anything bar fixing a puncture, when, looking at it, it's not that difficult.

I've got a Haynes manual called The Bike Book, but that makes it all look much more straightforward than it is, but either way, I'm getting fed up with parting with cash, not that I'm always down there getting it repaired. It hasn't been in for a while, but the gears have gone and the brakes too, so it needs sorting out.

Anyway, that's all folks. See you next week.

Postscript: Andy did go cycling. He completed a 13-miler and it rained. Good work, fella!

Spooky!

2011-07-10T00:13:00.000-07:00

I don't know what it is, but there's something spooky about this image, taken on my iphone at the Tatsfield Village churchyard last week.

Meanwhile, in the Cotswolds...

2011-07-09T12:37:00.000-07:00

Cycling and beer – they just go together nicely.

Andy and his pals are enjoying ice cold Peroni and the pleasures of fresh, summer, country air! Here's two shots, one of their bikes outside a pub and the other of the ice cold lagers. Andy informs me that they all cycled 55 miles today. As I write this, they're probably down at some local inn enjoying more beer. Me, well, as Peter Gabriel once warbled, "Me? I'm just a lawnmower. You can tell me by the way I walk."

That looks like Andy's bike outside the pub!

Not a good day for cycling....

2011-07-09T12:07:00.000-07:00

I woke up at mum's. That was fine, although it was 6am, which meant I was up later than usual. Normally round at mum's you're awake and out of bed at around a quarter past five, the tea is downstairs and so are the foxes, waiting patiently for mum to throw them a few sausage rolls.

It was, of course, Saturday morning, but because Andy would be riding to the Cotswolds today, there was no great rush to get back home – but I still left at around 0630 and reached home around 7am. Note, by the way, the inconsistency of this post. I've used '6am', 'quarter past five' and 0630 – three different ways of writing the time. If this was a magazine article I'd have to make them all consistent, but it isn't, so I won't. Hold on a second while I nip into the kitchen to check on our dinner...

...you can't beat purple brocolli with fish and spuds. Anyway, where was I? Ah! Yes. I reached home around 7am and of course the house was empty. I was expecting Max to be asleep upstairs but there was nobody there. I made a cup of tea and had a bit of fruit cake and then I made a flask of hot water, chucked a couple of teabags in my yellow cup and prepared to ride out to the Tatsfield Bus Stop alone. I had it all figured out: tea, a large slice of cake and a bit of solitude, a break from the fretting about money and not having any.

In the garage, a flat tyre greeted me. I had it last week and it was very slow. I remember Andy and I pumping it up and Andy saying I'd be able to get home on it; he was right, I did, but now the bike's been in the garage all week and it's flat. I could tell by the creases in the tyre. Not a problem. I'll quickly pump it up and be on my way.

It was good to be cycling up Church Way, heading for the churchyard and then the Limpsfield Road. I sailed through Sanderstead High Street, but as I left the village behind me and passed Majestic Wine, the bike wobbled. The tyre was deflating rapidly and I didn't have the motivation to up-end the bike and fix it, which in a way was lucky.

That sign across the road reads, "Feed Your Faith and Your Worries Will Starve to Death.

I turned around and began the walk back through the high street towards a pleasant green with a large pond known as the Gruffy. That name always reminds me of some crusty old Major with a nicotine-stained white moustache, a Harris Tweed jacket, thick cords and a walking stick.

The Gruffy would be a great destination for a cycle, except for the fact that it's only 10 minutes from where I live, but with that flask full of hot water, those two tea bags AND that large slice of cake, I figured a rest was in order and parked up on a bench dedicated to the memory of Douglas Martin, a lifelong resident of Sanderstead (1903 to 1995). I wonder if he had a nicotine-stained moustache and a walking stick? Probably not.

Douglas Martin's bench. He was 92 when he died.

I was a bit miffed about the puncture as it wasn't that long ago when I last had one, on Warlingham Green, when Natalie drove up with the pump. And now, here I was again. I sat there for about 20 minutes, maybe longer, and then I walked down Church Way and home, which was still empty as Natalie and Serena were round at Natalie's mum's place. I knew this because I passed the house and saw them at the window. I waved, trying to explain the reason behind the fact that I was walking and not riding.

The view from Douglas Martin's bench.

And then the nightmare began. I got the bike home, turned it upside down and took off the rear wheel. So far, so good. In fact, it was all looking fine. I found the puncture, fixed it, put the inner tube back inside the tyre, put the wheel on the bike and started pumping. Suddenly, there was a loud hissing noise. Another puncture? Surely not? I must have over-pumped it or something. But no, it was hissing and going down fast.

I took out the inner tube, inflated it and then searched out the source of the hiss. It was another puncture – and quite a big one at that! It was like a very small tear, but I couldn't figure out how it had happened, so I checked out the tyre for stray thorns – there was nothing. I patched up the second puncture, put the wheel together, pumped it up – psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst! It happened again! I dismantled the wheel again and noticed that the patch over the puncture had a similar rip in it.

Desperate measures – I pile patch upon patch.

This time I checked the wheel for any sharp, protruding bits of metal – there was nothing there. After scraping off the patch and putting on a new one, I pumped up the tyre and – pssssssssssssssssssssssssssst! Not again! But yes, it had happened again. And it kept happening. In the end, after resorting to patching up the patches and still getting nowhere, I searched around for another inner tube and found one that appeared to be fine. I put it all together and there was no sign of any hissing. Fixed at last! But no! I left the bike in the garage, went shopping and on my return – the tyre was definitely flatter than when I'd left it.

Now it's definitely looking as if I won't be cycling anywhere tomorrow. To add insult to injury, one of my rear brake pads fell out and can I get it back in again? Of course not – the brakes are now totally non-existent at the rear – and I mean that: totally gone, as if the bike didn't have a rear brake. The only good thing is that I managed to clean the bike up a bit. I fear a trip to the cycle shop is on the cards, certainly before next week when Andy gets back.

Christmas cake, churchyards and Winston Churchill

2011-07-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 2nd we headed towards Westerham in Kent as the weather was fine and I needed a long ride. Cycling is good, it blows away the cobwebs, albeit temporarily, and it's good to be on an open road and in the fresh air.

Me taking a look at the Corsair's dashboard.

We follow our usual route out of Warlingham, the last real sign of civilisation being the huge Sainsbury's supermarket on the outskirts of town. Then it's fields on either side all the way into Westerham, a small Northern Kent market town where civilisation rears its ugly head again.

It was Andy's birthday so I'd brought along some of my mum's excellent Christmas cake – which was sitting in a cake tin ready for Christmas 2011, but I just couldn't wait. That's something else about despair – it makes you long for stuff that makes you happy, like Christmas cake; and besides, there was no way that the cake was going to sit there for the next six months or so without being eaten.

The white Corsair and the Ford Cortina Mark Two parked up in Westerham.

I cut off one huge slice and placed it neatly in a Tupperware container along with a knife to slice it later and when we reached the green at Westerham, we sat behind the statue of Churchill and got stuck in – my mum really does make the best cakes in the world. If ever I started a café I'd develop a brand name and sell them.

Cake eaten, we sat around chatting about this and that before heading off home again. There were two old Fords parked up on the green – a Mark Two and a Corsair, so we dawdled around a bit longer as I suggested to Andy that they would make a good photograph.

Tea and a slice of cake - lovely!!!

It had been a pleasant ride and the following day we headed to the Tatsfield Churchyard, with more cake. This time I bought Andy a large chunk to take home.

Jon called as we sat among the headstones. He was heading towards mum's house from Woodmansterne Green. I told him to tell mum that we were enjoying her cake – that would cheer her up.

Next week, Andy's off to cycle from Bedfordshire to the Cotswolds and back. He's throwing in an overnight stay. Sadly, due to my jobless situation, I won't be joining him, but next week I'll probably head towards Woodmansterne Green and I might nip down to see mum too. Although, having said that, I'm overnighting it at mum's on Friday night, so perhaps not.

David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries...

2011-07-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries are definitely worth a read. The Talking Heads frontman is more than just a pretty face. It's good to discover that Byrne regards the bicycle as his principal means of transportation and that he feels both energised and liberated when he goes for a ride.

I spied the book for sale on my local railway station and as soon as my train – the late-running 1639 to London Victoria – was edging its way out of Sanderstead, on its way to East Croydon, I was busy reading the introduction.

David Byrne – read more about him by clicking this picture caption.

For Byrne, riding a bike is like 'navigating the collective neural pathways of some vast global mind.'

"It really is a trip inside the collective psyche of a compacted group of people. A Fantastic Voyage, but without the cheesy special effects."

The book charts Byrne's rides through a number of big cities around the world, including London, and while I'm writing this small review based on reading just 32 pages, you can rest assured that you will hear more from Mr Byrne's book as I progress through it.

I'm already inspired to take a few urban rides, perhaps through the mean streets of Croydon.

Spectator causes Tour de France pile-up

2011-07-04T01:19:00.000-07:00

Alberto Contador is out of contention for the opening stage of the Tour de France, thanks to a spectator.

Cycling advice from Shane Sutton...

2011-07-03T23:44:00.000-07:00

I was reading in the Guardian's Weekend magazine (2 July 2011) about a top cyclist, Shane Sutton, head coach at the Beijing Olympics and the current head coach of Team Sky. At present, he's working with Bradley Wiggins, a professional cyclist, born in Belgium, and a triple Olympic Gold medallist.

Shane Sutton: "I keep in reasonable shape with three two-hour rides a week."

According to Sutton, any cycling is good for you – and this is the bit where I winced – 'as long as you have a good set of brakes and a good range of gears'. Well, that puts me out of the picture! For now at any rate.

Sutton argues that good gears and brakes are crucial and that it doesn't matter so much about the rest of the bike.

Like NoVisibleLycra, Sutton believes that because cycling is an outdoor activity, it's not as boring as the gym, but then he makes his first mistake (in my opinion). He says that the first thing to do is find a local cycling club. Well, no, the first thing to do is buy a bike and then you just go out on it. Who needs a club? Set up your own.

He's right about cycling being a social thing. I used to cycle alone before Andy and I started heading out to Westerham together at the weekends. Conversing with a fellow rider is far better than cycling on your own. Sutton's bang on when it comes to choosing a bike that isn't too big for you; make sure you can touch the ground with your feet.

"People often cycle in too big a gear." I think he means 'high', but how many times have I said to Andy, "I'm in the wrong gear"? Lower gears work your cardio, says Sutton, which makes my low-geared Kona Scrap dirt jumper ideal – even if, in other respects, it's rubbish for riding the sort of routes that No Visible Lycra takes, although we do go off-road occasionally and then, of course, they come into their own.

Sutton keeps in reasonable shape by riding out for two hours at a time, three times a week, although, being an Olympic class rider, I'm sure that his two-hour stint takes him to the south coast and back without breaking a sweat. Still, if I go out once more during the week – to Botley Hill – then I'll be getting as much cycling as Sutton.

Sutton advises, "be sure to stretch glutes and hamstrings when you get off or you'll end up with a very sore arse." Well, I cycle regularly and because of that I tend not to get a sore arse anymore.

A new path to a new world...

2011-06-26T23:27:00.000-07:00

Andy and I posing for a self-timed shot at the bottom of the path.

A new world? What are you on? Yes, I know, it's only a bridleway and it's just down the road from a huge supermarket and we're not a million miles from London. I know. And it's not a case of 'little things please little minds, although I guess it could be in that ballpark somewhere along the line, especially at the moment, what with me being jobless and up against it. No, the reason for such elation, such over-the-top attitude, is that we found a new route, a new place to drink our tea and it turns out to be a haven of solitude, the sort of place you'd never find in a car – only on a bike.

The bikes against a pointlessly located gate similar to the one we'd just clambered over.

We were on our way to the Tatsfield Village with its predictable surroundings: the pub, the covered bus stop, the silent pond, the houses, the shop, that weird sculpture and, of course, the people in their 4x4s, driving a few yards to get a newspaper. But then, as we rode up the beginnings of the rural part of the B269, I suggested we turn left into Ledgers Road and go to the spot at the bottom of Hesiers Hill instead.

Me showing Andy how it's done – flicking a teabag.
For some reason, it's a sport I'm particularly good at.

But we never got there; halfway along the road, I spied a shaded track and we decided to investigate. The path descended fast and the bikes picked up speed, but neither of us expected ramps – speed bumps – but there they were, crafted out of mud and invisible until we hit them. Fortunately we managed to slow down enough before making contact with the first one and from then onwards we were cautious, and rightly so. There were more and in many ways, slowing down was good as the shaded path with it's uprooted trees and fields on either side was quite pleasant.

My crash helmet on a post.

At the bottom, there was one of those wooden contraptions to climb over, with the bikes, but on the other side, the countryside opened up and I found myself thinking how fantastic it all was – all I could hear was the birds tweeting, the bees buzzing and nothing else. Peace. I started thinking about coming here again, during the week, perhaps, with a can or two of Stella, a few sandwiches and a newspaper. What a spot! To be honest, both of us realised that, without commitments, we could happily spend the day here just lounging about, reading, drinking, whatever, the solitude was amazing and I get the feeling that not a lot of people come this way.

I won't even explain what this is, as it's self-explanatory, don't you think?

We considered following the path upwards over a hill and probably, ultimately, into Tatsfield or out on to the Beddlestead Lane. For some reason, I got a little confused. I knew that the road at the top of the path was Ledgers Road, but I kept thinking it was Beddlestead Lane and would lead us down to the spot at the bottom of Hesiers Hill. I was wrong. Eventually we climbed back along the path, on foot and pushing the bikes (it was steep and those speed humps would have been a real pain going up hill) until we reached the top. We turned right and travelled along to what I thought would be the bottom of Hesiers. It turned out to be the top and then I realised how close-by we were to civilisation.

Summer skies and rolling hills – all you need is a bike and a flask of tea.

It was a short ride, but an inspiring one and we'll definitely be returning to what is arguably the best destination of them all – but only in the good weather.

All photos by Andy Smith.

Round at mum's...

2011-06-25T23:04:00.000-07:00

Sunday 26 June: Just got back from mum's having spent the night there; always very relaxing as mum has turned Number 29 into a kind of heaven on earth. It's like being on another planet where all the bad things of life have been disposed of and only the good things remain. It's like a good dream, one of those psychedelic visions after too much cheese late at night, there's lots of rich colours and, I don't know, it's how I imagine the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to be; it's like some kind of oasis hidden in suburbia, a secret garden open to the lucky few.

Mum and dad created a heaven on earth at home; it's like a good dream.

That's what's weird about suburbia: you just don't know what's behind those non-descript front doors.

I was awake at 0510. Mum gets up very early and feeds the foxes. If you look out from an upstairs window and peer down into the garden you can see them curled up on the lawn, about four of them, waiting for mum to throw out some sausage rolls, bought especially for them. The foxes hang around for some time, just in case more food comes their way. Mum sits in the armchair by the patio doors, sipping tea and listening to Radio Four on her digital Roberts radio, one of those retro affairs.

That round conifer has gone now, but everything else remains the same.

The house, the garden, it's all a bit Brambly Hedge or Beatrix Potter, it's the stuff of a good children's story, one of those cosy, illustrated books you might have found in your stocking on Christmas morning.

I enjoyed two cups of tea, one brought to my room at just gone 5am and then another just before 6am. Then I drove home, through the quiet, empty, suburban streets. Nobody was around, apart from a few people either returning home after a late night or on their way to work. On the Carshalton Road, waiting for a bus, I spied a huge woman who, for some reason, reminded me of an enormous skittle, the last one standing, perhaps.

Now it's 0655 and I'd better get the tea started and head off on the ride. Yesterday we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, not sure where we're off to today.

To the Tatsfield churchyard...

2011-06-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

Taking it easy at the churchyard in Tatsfield

We took a shortish ride to the churchyard in Tatsfield earlier today, keeping an eye on the weather. The forecast had been for rain and I was surprised to wake up and find sunshine and blue skies. It stayed that way, sort of, but there were blustery periods when the sun went behind the clouds – the skies weren't completely blue.

We sat on a bench, sipping our tea, eating our cereal bars and chatting about the Dunwich Dynamo ride and the Black Horse Ride, which we did last week (see earlier post).

On the way out of the churchyard, something went wrong with my bike. Okay, we all know it needs a major service as the gears are faulty, the rear brake is non-existent and the rear wheel appears to be buckled.

As I was about to mount the bike for the ride home, the rear wheel seized up completely and it turned out that the gear mechanism had slipped and wedged itself in the rear tyre, making it freeze up. We tipped the bike over and Andy fixed it, but then noticed that the smaller cog on the front crank was seriously dented.

The dent was baffling as we don't treat our bikes badly and rarely ride off-road, but I can't think of any occasion when the Scrap took a hard knock. But somewhere along the line it had taken a whacking - no wonder I can't use the lower eight gears!

I will get the bike fixed just as soon as I get a job. Until then I'll have to just make do.

Andy and I parted half way along the B269 and I went home to mow the lawn; it looks really good. Then I went to Sainsbury's with Serena, came back, had lunch, went for a walk around the block – that's entertainment when you've got no money – and then I remembered that I had a club to judge at 6.30pm – just when I thought I could relax and enjoy my Saturday. But then I discovered that it wasn't today so I relaxed for a while, watching the excellent Kung Fu Panda.

Weatherwise, outside now (1808) it's sunny. Earlier there had been heavy rain and thunder, but Serena and I missed the lot as we were in Sainsbury's.

Later, around 8pm, we went to a small gathering at one of Natalie's 'baby friends' from when Max was born – Laura. Stayed there until 11pm and then drove home.

News just in...

2011-06-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

Naked cyclists. PHOTO: Metro

Click on stories below for more information:-

• Liverpool is joining in the UK's biggest cycling celebrations, with a week of events planned to coincide with Bike Week, which runs until June 26.

• London's Naked Bike Ride – pictures!

• Ealing businessman cycles 1,000 miles in nine days!

Women wearing skirts on bikes – Guardian article

2011-06-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

Girls, keep up the good work!

There's an article in the Guardian about the dangers for motorists posed by women who wear short skirts on bicycles. Well, I have to say that I don't have a problem with it myself, especially if I'm following behind in a car, like whoever took the shot accompanying this post.

For more details on the Guardian article, just click here.

The Black Horse Ride 2011 – it rained!

2011-06-12T23:03:00.000-07:00

9am, June 12 2011 – meeting on the A23.

Call it what you will: Sod's Law or Murphy's Law; either way it amounts to the same thing – that life just doesn't add up. For months we'd had the best weather imaginable, just check back on past posts for cloudless skies and bright sunshine, but on the day of the Black Horse Ride 2011 (12 June 2011) the heavens opened. It rained ALL day. It was raining before we set off, during the ride, on the ride home and then probably throughout the night. Looking outside now, at 0704, it looks as if it's just stopped.

Andy and I were alone this year. Nick was on holiday and Jon wasn't doing it, leaving the founder members of No Visible Lycra to ride their third Black Horse event together. We started in 2008, which was a sunny ride; then in 2009 it poured down (and was really unpleasant), last year was fine and this year was a wash-out.

Our bikes in the Black Horse pub garden – note how early we are!

We met at 9am outside the converted Exchange Bar pub, which is now an Indian restaurant, on the A23 and then cycled for 20 minutes to the Black Horse pub where we were miles too early. They were setting up the raffle stand and we were the only cyclists there so we registered and then just hung about until something happened. The tea was first, followed by the bacon butties (we had three each) and then there was more hanging about looking at grey skies and slowly realising that it was going to be a repeat of the 2009 ride.

Fortunately, I'd decided to bring my waterproofs – I nearly didn't – but the trousers were already in my rucksack and Natalie suggested I wear the top too. Phew! It could have been so much worse.

Free beer and food – arguably the best part of the entire day!

My brakes were still playing up so the ride's mechanic adjusted them, but they're still the same and they make a lot of screeching whenever I pull up. Effectively, then, I just had a front brake and eight (rather than 16) gears. With bad weather I was taking my life into my own hands a bit, but being a seasoned rider, I figured I could handle it.

We set off at 11am on a shorter, 36-mile route, which pleased us all considering the weather. The waterproofs negated the rain and even the fact that I had no mudguards – and was spitting rain all over the place – was irrelevant. I stayed dry throughout the ride and Andy and I didn't stop (apart from occasionally checking the route). In fact, while most of the route was fine, there were a couple of places where the signage was non-existent, leaving riders grouped together at T-junctions, consulting maps and wondering whether to turn left or right.

Enjoying a pint of Young's bitter

On one occasion, Andy and I had turned right into Punchbowl Lane but missed Tilehurst Lane on the right because there was no sign indicating that we had to turn into it; instead we hurtled down Punchbowl Lane and eventually hit the A25, which was not very far from the pub. I admit that I did consider just turning right and heading for the Black Horse, but thank the Lord for Andy who, fortunately, always does the right thing. To be honest, though, I wouldn't have gone through with it as I prefer to do the right thing too and, besides, I wanted my free burger and pint of Young's. Had the weather been nicer, we would have enjoyed another pint, I'm sure.

We ended up walking the bikes back up Punchbowl Lane in search of the elusive Tilehurst Lane and, on finding it, sped off towards the pub, reaching it at around 1430hrs. We crossed the line together, collected our vouchers and headed for the bar. I've said it before and I'll say it now, a pint of Young's Ordinary Bitter after a long ride is probably better than most things. I got the beers in and Andy went for the burgers and hotdogs and for about half an hour we sat there, waterproofs still on (because it was still dribbling down).

Burger and onions, hotdog with onions and mustard and a pint of Young's Ordinary bitter. Seriously, you can't get better. But then, of course, it was time to go home and the dilemma of should I get the train or cycle home raised its head. If the latter, then I'd have riden the best part of 60 miles. Andy was definitely cycling back and I thought that I might as well join him, even if he was turning off the A23 to head for Caterham and had a much shorter ride.

It was, to put it mildly, a horrible ride home. Having waved goodbye to Andy, I set off along the busy A23 in the rain, which was getting heavier. It was the most unpleasant ride and by the time I reached home I had that shiny look about me, which said 'drenched'.

It was 1655hrs when I pulled open the garage door, rested the bike against the garage wall, took off my crash helmet and padlocked the bike. When I entered the house, my daughter Serena made things good: not only did she make me a cup of tea, she pressed a pair of pyjamas for me to wear and made me comfortable in front of the TV. I spent a happy half hour or so playing on her Nintendo Wii as there's a flight simulator on it and I love it. What can be better? You come home soaking wet, tired and weary and you're given hot tea, biscuits and a blanket. Top banana, as they say.

Helen Pidd mounts an electric bike...

2011-06-11T22:54:00.000-07:00

Helen Pidd has reviewed the Giant Twist Esprit Power W, an electric bike, in this week's Guardian Weekend magazine and I think she feels a little like I do towards them: ie, that they're not something you want to make a habit of; and she's right, of course.

Electric bikes are a bit like electronic cigarettes or coal-effect gas fires or non-alcohol beer, there's something artificial about them. Bikes have pedals for a reason in the same way that cigarettes contain tobacco for a reason and beer is alcoholic for a reason – take away the key ingredient and bang goes the whole concept.

Never trust a bike with a stand: The Giant Twist Esprit Power W.
Photo: The Guardian.co.uk

As I write this, for example, I'm only an hour or so away from riding in this summer's Black Horse Ride at Reigate. This year, it's 35 miles and not the usual 50 for some reason; it starts later too, but somehow the achievement would be hollow if I completed the route on the Giant Twist Espirit Power, what Pidd calls an e-bike.

That 'e' worries me, it's like e-books. I hope that I never own a Kindle for similar reasons because in the same way that a Kindle isn't a book, then the Giant Twist Espirit Power isn't a bike either.

In short, electric bikes are cheating, like tee-shirts that look like dinner jackets, dummy burglar alarms and Astro Turf. I'm not saying they shouldn't be allowed, but they defeat the object.

As Pidd quite rightly points out, "...if I had one, I fear I would get too lazy ever to pedal properly again."

Click here for the full article.

Westerham revival...

2011-06-07T23:31:00.000-07:00

Wednesday 8 June: When we first set out on our bikes back in the late summer of 2006 after that famous curry in Whyteleafe, Andy and I rode to Westerham in Kent. It was our default cycle for many months before one of us decided to suggest that other routes might be worth trying. Okay, we had our short ride to Botley Hill where we stood by the roundabout sipping tea, but that was really it.

Matt (left) and Andy at Churchill's statue, Westerham, Kent, June 4th 2011.

We did eventually get round to new routes – the Tatsfield bus stop, Tatsfield Village, occassional rides over Biggin Hill way, Godstone Green, Merstham, Redhill and Boxhill – and, in a sense, we totally ignored Westerham. Yes, we rode down there occasionally, but invariably we found that Tatsfield became a regular haunt, be it the newly discovered churchyard, the bus stop or the village.

Westerham, of course, has always been an ideal ride, not only because there was always some kind of buzz going on when we arrived – teashops opening, fetes being erected, people milling about, shops open – but because the distance itself (and the ride in general) was good. It's a good 22-mile round trip and the hill coming out of Westerham (in the early days) was always a little daunting. In fact, I remember the days when I used to warn Andy about the hill as we approached it. Today, of course, there's no need.

Last weekend we went to Westerham on the Saturday and as we rode down there, we discussed how the hill coming back was now nothing in terms of effort compared with the old days. In fact, Westerham is an easy ride these days and takes me only 55 minutes to get there from my house (although I distinctly remember doing it once in 52 minutes). That aside, our fitness levels have, of course, improved, although getting there in under an hour is still quite surprising for some reason.

We leave Warlingham Green around 0730hrs and 45 minutes later, we're in Westerham. Only last weekend, as the church clock – I'm assuming it's a church clock, but it might be just a clock, albeit a large and noisy one – chimed a quarter past eight, I was mildly surprised that we'd reached this quaint Kent town, home of the great Winston Churchill, at such a healthy time. Andy checked his watch and confirmed that it was only a quarter past eight, time to chill and relax, drink tea and munch cereal bars.

We now sit on the green behind Churchill's statue and, as a recent post on the subject has already mentioned, we've watched as stall holders set up shop for a rotary club fete and we've looked on as a mother and child scoot around Sir Winston on a couple of those stainless steel scooters. This weekend we watched a traffic warden as he took photographs of illegally parked cars. He must be the most hated man in the village, Andy remarked, as the uniformed man with cropped hair emptied one of the parking meters and then threatened to place a parking ticket on a Mini, until it's owner scuttled over and drove off, having been lectured by the warden.

Our bikes resting halfway along The Ridge, Sunday 5th June 2011.

The plan was to visit Westerham on Sunday too, but I was getting a bit of pressure from my daughter Serena (12) to come home early and cook her sausages for breakfast. So, when I arrived at the Green, I suggested to Andy that we go to Tatsfield or somewhere closer to home. We decided to cycle along The Ridge, from Botley Hill, to a small car park half way along the road where there are amazing views of (ahem) the M25. Actually, the view of the entire surrounding area is good: Oxted can be seen clearly as well as the surrounding countryside.

There are two wooden benches on some nettly, brambly grassland and that was where we were headed on Sunday morning. It was a straightfoward ride and all the way there I was thinking about changing my mind and heading to Westerham instead; but I knew that Serena wanted me to cook her sausages and I figured that next week I would be on the Black Horse Ride so I'd better play the game a bit.

As it turned out, when I reached home at 0930 (a good 45 minutes ahead of when I would have returned from Westerham) the house was empty and it transpired that Natalie and Serena had gone to Retta's house for breakfast, probably on the assumption that I'd go to Westerham. So, I made my own breakfast (porridge, bread and honey, tea) and when they returned at just gone 10am Serena remarked that they hadn't eaten the sausages yet (they were still in the fridge) so I grilled them and all was fine with the world.

I say 'all was fine with the world', but it's not really. I'm still technically out of work and in need of a job and the recent death of my father hangs heavily in the air. Cycling, however, helps tremendously. I always look forward to meeting Andy at the Green on the weekend and now it's doubly important as it takes my mind off stuff. In so many ways, I don't know what I'd do without our regular weekend rides.

We're both looking forward to the Black Horse Ride next weekend (Sunday 12 June). It's a shorter distance than previous years (35 miles instead of 50) but that's okay with us; and it's a later start too (11am instead of 10am) meaning a later start. Hopefully, there will still be the free pint of Young's at the end and the free burger from the barbecue in the pub garden (that's the best part of the whole day) although this year will be interesting as the route's been changed.

Whether David (our mate with the yellow Harley) will turn out as a marshall, something he's done for the past few years, I don't know, but only time will tell.

The weather's been very good for some time now. Today (Wednesday 8th June as I write this post) it's bright at just gone 8am; yesterday was a bright, sunny day and Monday was rainy, but, as dad would have said, "it's good for the garden." Last weekend was great weatherwise. We've not had a soaking for a while and and long may it continue. Here's praying that decent weather is in place for Sunday's Black Horse Ride as I don't think Andy and I could stomach a repeat performance of the 2009 ride.

Both photos on this post were taken by NVL's resident photographer, Andy Smith.

Westerham in the fog

2011-05-30T23:29:00.000-07:00

Our bikes resting against Churchill's statue on the green at Westerham. Andy
took this shot.

Sunday 30 May 2011: No rain, but grey skies and a thick fog on the higher reaches of the B269 and Clarks Lane. There was a dampness in the air, but the fog cleared as we made our descent into Westerham, where it tried to rain, but didn't.

The last time we were here, it was bright sunshine as the Rotary Club erected stands on the green for its fete, but today the green was empty, bar a mother and child on a couple of those stainless steel scooters.

We parked our bikes against the statue of Churchill and sipped our tea while gazing across the green at a mansion house with standard lamps in it's downstairs windows and table lamps in all the rest. We figured the house would cost upwards of £1.5 million on the open market – out of our price range!

The idea of opening our own bike shop surfaced again, not that we'll ever do it. We looked at shopfronts in Westerham and decided that we didn't want a store with access via steps – bad news if you've got a bike shop. I mooted the idea of a bike shop and caff combined, like the place in Seattle I wrote about a few posts ago.

As we headed out of Westerham, the fog still clung to the surrounding hills, but the roads were clear until we reached Botley Hill. I decided to risk a puncture and cycle off-road on the basis that a flat tyre I could handle, a road accident I couldn't; remember, my bike has no rear brakes and a loose (ish) nut on the front wheel (something I'd forgotten about earlier as I hurtled down the hill into Westerham).

Andy and I parted company half way along the B269 and, as I continued towards Warlingham, the fog lifted so I hit the road again.

Woodmansterne Green with Jon – it's been a while!

2011-05-29T05:31:00.000-07:00

Jon and Matt, Woodmansterne Green, Saturday 28 May 2011.

When we reached Woodmansterne and were both standing there, sipping tea, we both felt as if it wasn't that long ago since we had last stood there; I said I'd check the blog for confirmation, but it's true, it hasn't been THAT long since Jon and I were here. [It was March when we were last here, the time when I cycled and Jon arrived by car!].

Andy isn't cycling until tomorrow (Bank Holiday Monday) and I won't be going Sunday as I'm staying round at mum's on Saturday night.

The subject of our conversation yesterday (Saturday 28 May 2011) was dad – what else? We're keeping a watch on mum and by that I mean we're taking it in turns to spend the night with her at the house. Natalie did the same for her mum. So, Saturday night it was Natalie, Serena and yours truly; tonight it's Jon and I think my sister's round there tomorrow.

Mum's bearing up and so are we, but that's not to say it's any easier. Going round to mum's is odd because there's no dad. His presence is sorely missed, but we all know that mum, while putting on a brave face, is missing that presence most of all. Who can blame her? They've been together for the best part of 60 years and now he's gone.

Tomorrow, Andy and I will be heading out somewhere beyond Botley Hill. The destination has not been decided upon yet and there are so many choices: Westerham; Godstone Green; Tatsfield Village; the Churchyard; the Tatsfield Bus Stop...we'll wait until tomorrow at the Green to make the decision. Which reminds me – I've been talking about finding a new route and I must get down to sorting something out.

Eulogy for a Great Dad...

2011-05-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

Thursday May 26 2011 was the day of my dad's funeral. Here is my eulogy to a great father.

Funerals can be gloomy occasions, but the word ‘gloomy’ is not an adjective I would use to describe the man whose life we are celebrating and whose passing we mourn today. Dad was full of positive energy and optimism for life. He possessed an immense enthusiasm for everything and, while he probably wouldn’t admit to it himself, he was a true perfectionist.

Dad with a Moggridge piano, March 2010.

Even his initials spell out the nature of the man: Gerald Eldred Moggridge can be shortened to GEM and for all of us, dad was a real gem of a husband, a father, a grandfather and, of course, a great grandfather.

Mum will tell you what a great husband dad has been; they were married for 56 years, had three great kids, including me, and there was never a cross word – well, one or two, perhaps. Dad loved being at home with mum and was fortunate to enjoy 22 happy years of retirement, tending to their amazing and inspiring garden and researching and writing a history of the Moggridge family – available in all good bookshops soon.

As a father, dad was second to none. He probably wasn’t that good with dollies and teddies – that’s why Criss was forced to squeeze one of her dolls into Action Man fatigues – but our early years were characterised by cap guns, forts, train sets and toy soldiers and the biggest kid of all was dad. He taught us how to make log cabins out of sticks and blow them up with bangers and he was definitely behind the legendary Battle of Kiln Castle, which I’ll explain later to anyone who wants to listen.

Our childhoods were defined by two key events: summer holidays on the South Coast at Middleton-on-Sea and Felpham where dad played King Canute in a sandcastle; and, of course, Christmas time. Dad made both occasions truly magical – so much so that we’d be walking around the block, counting the days to our summer holiday, months before boarding the train to Bognor; and we probably believed in Father Christmas for longer than most kids – thanks to a bell and a ball of string.

Dad rigged up a bell outside of our bedroom window. It was attached to a ball of string, which he threw into the garden and then back through the bathroom window. On Christmas Eve, we would be tucked up in bed and dad would stand by the door clasping and pulling the string, ringing the bell outside the window. For years, we were believers – until I found the bell.

Dad also shone outside of the home. He enjoyed a highly successful career in the Government Information Service where he worked in Number 10 Downing Street alongside two great British Prime Ministers – Harold Wilson and Ted Heath – as well as one legendary Prime Minister-in-waiting, Margaret Thatcher (when she was Minister for Education). He set up the press office at the Lord Chancellor’s Department and was a regional director of the COI, in charge of co-ordinating media activity surrounding Royal Visits. He worked with the late and equally legendary Princess Diana and other members of the Royal Family.

Dad has met some of the world’s greats, including former American president Richard Nixon, in Bermuda with Ted Heath, and the diplomat’s diplomat, Henry Kissinger.

Which brings me to dad’s other enduring qualities – his strong moral code and his ethical approach to life. Dad was a fair man with a strong sense of right from wrong. Over the years, he provided us all with what I can only describe as expert guidance on how to live our lives – standing here today, I can confirm that he did a brilliant job and we will all miss him.

Top cyclist killed by garage door...

2011-05-24T01:23:00.000-07:00

...proof that you can't be too careful. Click here for more.

Sunday's ride – 22 May

2011-05-23T22:55:00.000-07:00

At 6am there was rain and it rattled on my conservatory roof until gone 7am, prompting the possibility of an abort text to Andy. In the end, however, we opted for the 'wait and see' approach and decided to meet at 8am on the Green as the weather had improved immensely.

After our encounter with a morbidly obese man, we headed

across the road to a track Andy uses as a shortcut sometimes

on this way home.

Going out later meant cutting the ride short. We cycled to Botley Hill, turned round at the roundabout and stopped halfway along the B269 for our tea. Unfortunately, the place we'd chosen for a break was occupied by a morbidly obese gentleman with a creased faced dog of some sort. The man had a white stool, which amazingly supported his weight, but when we arrived, the dog decided to go mad. The fat guy held on to the leash but was pulled off of his stool.

Andy looked at me as if to say, "let's go", later telling me that there was no way we could pick him up. We crossed the road and rested at the top of a downward track that Andy uses as a shortcut on many of our return trips. Moments later we saw the fat man, back in his car and heading towards either Westerham or Oxted.

After taking the shot accompanying this post, we parted. Andy's not riding on Saturday or Sunday of next week, so we'll meet on the Monday (a bank holiday).

This week, dad's funeral takes place. It's on Thursday 26 May.

Photographic evidence for the record

2011-05-21T23:07:00.000-07:00

My bike on Warlingham Green at roughly 1020hrs on Saturday 21 May

Andy ready to leave Westerham.

You only buy a 911 if you can't afford a Kona Scrap.

We're always trying to remember the last time one of us got a puncture. Well, here's the evidence of mine. It was Saturday May 21st and just gone 10am when I reached the green, took off the wheel and took out the inner tube – only to discover I had no pump. Oops! Fortunately, Natalie saved me a long walk by arriving with said pump.

To Westerham – and I get a puncture

2011-05-21T22:43:00.000-07:00

We're always saying how rare it is these days to get a puncture and how we can't remember the last time one of us suffered this awful fate. Well, it was me on Saturday 21 May. The weather was amazing again and we decided to head for Westerham, a destination neglected for some time. It was a good ride, with some interesting low cloud hanging over the Oxted area but overall sunshine.

You'll have to click on this image to see the low cloud in the foreground.*

This vintage car was made in 1929, the year my dad was born.*

At Westerham, the Rotary Club were having some kind of fete on the green and I commented that England really can be summed up by one phrase: old ladies making cakes. There was a stand devoted to the cause along with plenty of others and Andy and I watched as the fete was being set up, drinking tea and taking in the sunshine.

While the good weather continued for the return journey and Andy and I parted halfway along the B269, as I approached Warlingham Green, the bike began to wobble. I had a puncture! Shit! Haven't had one of those for ages, I thought, as I dismounted near Warlingham Sainsbury's and began the shortish walk to the green where I planned to fix it.

There was, however, a big problem: no pump. So I called Natalie and, around 40 minutes later, she arrived, Serena and mum also in the car, and handed me the pump (it had fallen out of my rucksack, but I hadn't realised.

By 1055hrs I was on the way home.

* Photos courtesy of Andy.

Weirdness and wonderful weather

2011-05-20T22:50:00.000-07:00

May 21st: Two rare things happened to me over the past 24 hours. One, I saw my first Kona Scrap, ie the first one, in six years, that wasn't mine but was identical. For a minute, I thought somebody had stolen my bike, but no, it still had the original saddle and Tioga tyres. It was parked outside a betting shop in Wallington near to Five Ways.

The second odd thing was this morning: I woke up, for the first time in ages, not knowing what day it was. My brain clicked after a second or two that it was Saturday and, fortunately, it was 0540hrs so I jumped out of bed and made some tea. It might have been those two cans of Stella, but what is more likely is that I don't have a routine at present – that's what I hate about freelance journalism and being self-employed: the days merge a bit as the normal working day structure fades. Horrible, horrible, horrible!

Another wonderful day outside. I saw a stag beetle last week, something that's rare enough in the heat of summer, but in May it's just amazing. The hot weather has been a constant now for at least two months and it's great – especially for cycling as it means we don't get soaked, although, if I recall, didn't we have a bit of rain a week or two back?

Outside, at 0644hrs, there's not a cloud in the sky and all is still, no wind, no moving branches, nothing, just stillness.

If you're wondering why I put the date in at the beginning of some of my posts, it's because Blogger's clock is different from the real world. Not all the time, but early in the morning it sometimes gets it wrong. If you're reading this it's because it got it wrong, if you can't read this, well, I was wrong.

More thoughts on dad...

2011-05-20T00:14:00.000-07:00

It's coming round to a week since dad died and, as you might expect, all the funeral preparations are being made: flowers, eulogy (which I'll be reciting) the wake and so on. I've been trying to put on a brave face and not showing my true emotions, just like dad would have done, but I do have my private moments of grief, normally reserved for when I'm driving or riding the bike.

One part of mum and dad's wondeful garden

The feeling is odd and I know that there are a lot of people out there, including my wife Natalie, who have already been there. I'm not, as dad would have said, unique. One of my memories of dad was listening to him explain things to me when I was a child, things that were run-of-the-mill and normally in response to an equally run-of-the-mill question, like, "Dad, why is it that when I come out of the swimming baths my ears pop?" And he would explain that I'm not unique, everyone experiences something like that and, of course, I'd immediately feel at ease knowing that it was not something peculiar to me. There were many moments like that and dad was always there to ensure we were not troubled by them.

Right now, though, I'm putting on a brave face but still experiencing feelings of emptiness and depression. I wonder where he is and again, like when Natalie's father died back in September 2009, I look at everyday objects with the realisation that they lack meaning for dad. I think about his intellect, his views on history and politics, his sense of humour, his eye drops, basic stuff like that, and I think about how they have all lost meaning and relevance.

Back at 29 Rossdale, where they both lived, mum now resides there alone and there's definitely a sense of somebody missing. Dad has left the building, so to speak, but I always have a strange sense of his presence or, indeed, his imminent return; which, of course, is not to be.

While I try not to think about it and keep my true feelings away from my family – again, just like dad did when his mother and father died – it's nagging away at me.

I've had a couple of occasions where I've thought, "I know, I'll give dad a call on that problem," only to realise that I can't anymore and that, from now on, I'm on my own and will have to live or die on my own decisions about life and work and stuff.

Dad, as I said in the previous post, had a strong moral code and an immense sense of what was right and wrong. I wish I possessed similar qualities. I'll always remember, as a spotty teenager, owning a growing collection of soft porn mags, purchased with a strong sense of embarassment at the local newsagent. Once, as my collection became visible to other family members, by virtue of its size, dad sidled up to me and murmured, "Don't you think it's (ahem) a little unhealthy?" I considered his remark and then briskly set about dismantling my porn mag sofa – alright, I'm exagerrating, it was the equivalent of a small footstool.

That remark has stuck with me for years, and so have others, and of course he was right, as I've said before. Dad was always right in some respect or other and now I guess we'll all have to rely upon our own moral compasses to set us straight – not that I'm planning on building another porn mag sofa.

During the week, Jon and I spent the night at the family home, sleeping in our old room. Mum had made us dinner and we'd sat chatting about old times. I think mum enjoyed our company and we plan to go back and do it again soon. Last night our sister Clarissa (we call her Criss) spent the night and was probably up with the lark and drinking tea by the patio door, looking out on mum's truly amazing garden.

What's really amazing is that they have regular visits from a handful of foxes and they feed them with sausage rolls and bits of bread. When I came downstairs at 0530hrs and drew back the curtains, there on the lawn was a small audience of foxes awaiting their breakfast, which was duly provided by mum.

The garden was their pride and joy and I know that dad wanted to go home to it as soon as possible. His constant request while in hospital last week was "I want to go home". We all knew why; it's such a serene place to be. Sadly, he never returned, but we're planning to scatter his ashes in the garden.

Dad has inspired me to start tidying up my own garden and as soon as I get some cash I'll buy a few shrubs. I've had a couple of bonfires, something else dad loved, and I'm planning two more over the weekend to get rid of the last clump of old branches pruned from the trees.

One thing I'm really looking forward to is cycling. It really is therapeutic (is that spelt correctly?) as it takes my mind off of things. I might even ride out to Botley Hill later today.

Sadly, dad passed away

2011-05-16T01:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday 15 May: At the age of 81 and after a very short illness, dad passed away yesterday at just gone 4pm. He wasn't in any pain and mum and Jon were there. My sister and I missed his passing by minutes, but all of us, including five of his seven grandchildren and other members of the family had surrounded his bedside (at St Helier Hospital in Carshalton) for the past week.

Dad with a Moggridge piano, March 2010.

It's hard to put into words exactly what we all felt about dad as I guess most people regard their own fathers as the very best. My dad was inspirational in so many ways. His enthusiasm, his moral code, his knowledge of right from wrong, made him stand out in the crowd. He gave me the best childhood ever, one that remains with me today, he's offered me the very best of life advice over the years and he's been a good friend, never one to bear a grudge, and always there to offer a solution to any problem.

Dad is the reason for so much in my life, including cycling. It was listening to dad's stories about how he and his pal Geoff used to cycle to the coast from Wandsworth to Worthing in the 1940s that inspired me to ride a bike. In fact, dad bought me my first bike and whenever I'm out on the road today, dad's always there somewhere.

There's a great book by Alan Sillitoe, entitled Down from the Hill, that in some way captures a mood that I associate with dad and cycling. Sillitoe was roughly the same age as dad and I think they both served in Malaya in the late forties. In fact, I think they've had contact with one another, by letter, although I can't recall the reason why: something to do with one of the books Sillitoe had written in his later years.

Dad loved writing too, of course, and has penned a comprehensive history of the Moggridge family dating back to the 1600s. My aim now is to get it in print for him, something that I know he would appreciate.

Fortunately – and thanks to Jon and our cousin Philip – Dad got to see a couple of Moggridge pianos. The photograph accompanying this post is of dad last March (2010) standing next to one of the pianos, both of which had been shipped over from the USA after an extensive search on the internet. Jon has one and Philip has the other.

Dad had a tremendous sense of humour, he loved life, he loved sport and he loved politics. An important part of his career in the civil service was when he found himself working in the Number 10 Downing Street press office under Joe Haines and alongside Harold Wilson and Ted Heath in the 1970s. I remember, as a child, when he accompanied Heath to Bermuda to meet Richard Nixon. He said he'd wave to us if he appeared on the television news – a promise, I recall, that he kept.

He went on to set up a press office for the Lord Chancellor of the time, Lord Hailsham and then was appointed regional director of the COI and put in charge of co-ordinating press activity surrounding royal visits.

Dad gave us all the very best of times. To this day we still visit Felpham on the West Sussex coast and remember those holidays in rented houses on the beach: Seafront, Merryweather and later Georgia, but not forgetting The Heron on Ancton Lodge Lane in Middleton-on-Sea – all of which are still there today.

Christmas time was always made special by dad. He went out of his way to make it an exciting and magical time and even rigged up a bell outside our bedroom window, attached to string, that he would pull once we were tucked up in bed.

I could write all day about dad's greatness, but I'll sign off on the fact that he lived a long and happy life, made all the happier by our mum who, right to the end, was there for him, providing words of comfort in his moments of need, words I'm sure he heard loud and clear and will remember in whatever world he now inhabits.

God rest his soul.

She's at it again! Helen Pidd on the Apollo Haze Women's Hybrid

2011-05-15T02:21:00.000-07:00

Helen Pidd's article in the 14 May edition of the Guardian's Weekend.

I really like it when the Guardian's Weekend magazine invites journalist and writer Helen Pidd to contribute something on cycling. In this week's issue she's road testing the Apollo Haze Women's Hybrid – and isn't very complimentary about it.

In three words, she describes it as 'cheap and nasty' and goes on to recommend the Specialized Sirrus, which costs an additional £200 and, of course, bolsters the theory that in this world, you get what you pay for.

Helen lives in Berlin, as we learned from her previous review of the Velorbis Victoria Balloon, which was given the thumbs up. The Apollo, however, was on a loser from the word go. For a start, it cost only £139.99, not that Pidd had ruled it out of court because of price. She was road testing the bike in London and decided to take it up Swains Lane in Highgate, only to discover that the lowest of the bike's 18 gears wasn't working. This she put down to the way it had been assembled by Halfords staff.

"The Apollo is usually sold flatpacked, ready for customers to assemble at home (a disaster waiting to happen). Mine was allegedly set up by a professional," wrote Pidd, explaining how most independent bike shops will tell you that 'it's impossible to make a decent bike for under £300', adding that the Apollo proves the point.

Pidd describes the Apollo as 'ugly' and wonders 'how many grown women would really choose a metallic lilac number with tacky flowers transferred on to the frame?' She's right, of course, but claims that when she took the Apollo off-road, it coped well, adding that not all the components are rubbish ('the rear mech is Shimano') and there was a women-specific gel saddle.

Neither the gears nor the saddle, however, were enough to make up for the bike's malfunctioning gear and 'hideous appearance'.

Pidd recommends that if you can't afford a brand new bike for around £300, opt for a secondhand one. Now that is sensible advice. There are a load of very cheap bikes around, but the 'get what you pay for philosophy' is all too real. Best to buy secondhand. In fact, only a month or two ago, I found a Specialized Hardrock mountain bike in one of those new-fangled pawnshops (this one in Croydon) for a mere £90!

When I consider that my son has a Hardrock that needs more than £90 worth of work, he'd be better off buying another one if its only £90!

Tatsfield Village for tea and a cream bun

2011-05-15T01:57:00.000-07:00

It was one of those 'was it even worth going?' moments when Andy pulled out two iced Belgian buns, but to hell with it, they were lovely, especially with a cup of warm Twinings English Breakfast tea – far better than the PG Tips we'd been drinking over the past few weeks.

Iced Belgian buns – lovely!

On arrival, our bus stop was dry and sunny and that put us immediately in the mood to help a troubled motorist by pushing her broken down car to the kerbside where later it was examined by a portly man in trainers (who definitely needed the exercise). When Andy brought out the buns, to complement his cereal bars, and I poured the tea, well, we would have been forgiven for thinking we'd died and gone to heaven.

Today, the main conversation was about prices and how everything is unnecessarily expensive. Tea at just under £2 a cup is ridiculous when you consider how much it costs to make and then there's double glazing and that moment when the salesman brings out his calculator and claims that it'll cost you something ridiculous, like, say, £15,000 but that if you sign on the dotted line you can have it for...sound of fingers on calculator keys...£2,000. How, you wonder, could something go down in price by £13,000? Answer: because it was never worth £15,000 in the first place. I'm exagerrating, but not by much. We live in a country where being ripped off is just part of the average day for most people – two quid to go one stop on a bus, £1.75 + for a cup of tea, a pack of five razors for over a tenner when it's cheaper to buy a new razor, it goes on and on.

In the end, of course, people think: sod that, I won't bother and then the Government moans about the economy being depressed because consumers ain't consumers. I wonder why? The worst thing, of course, is that the goods on offer are often pretty shoddy and not worth the money in the first place, but we all know that, don't we?

Mind you, those Belgian buns were worth every penny – and so was the Twinings English Breakfast tea.

Short one to Botley Hill

2011-05-14T22:50:00.000-07:00

Andy's Kona Blast. Shot by Andy

Due to my father's worsening condition I met Andy at the Green and we cycled to Botley Hill. Dad's still in hospital and, sadly, the prognosis is poor.

We sat on the grass outside the pub and then cycled home.

The Dunwich Dynamo

2011-05-13T22:47:00.000-07:00

Dunwich Dynamo riders reach the beach

Andy sent me a link for a ride of 120 miles. It starts in the evening and ends in the morning and runs from Hackney through to the Suffolk coast at Dunwich, braving the urban hell that is Epping Forest and, of course, the darkness of night. Riders are advised to bring lights and batteries – so if we do it, I'll have to get my act together.

It sounds like a bridge too far unless we've slept during the day as I'd imagine the fatigue would be high octane considering the distance and the fact that your body will tell you to get 50 winks, but apparently it's a great feeling arriving at Dunwich in the early hours having already watched the sunrise en route – and you're even advised to take a dip.

I have to admit that it is tempting, especially as I've discovered the next one is in July, meaning it should be pretty warm. However, I think we'd have to get some practice in for 120 miles, ie a run to Bognor Regis AND back! A tall order? Possibly.

Here are two links worth checking out. One is an article penned by a rider on the Dunwich Dynamo (great name, by the way) and the other is details of the ride itself.

The worst thing about it, I guess, is the fact that it's not organised. By that I mean there are no marshals and it really is every man for himself. There's also been a fatality and a few close shaves.

Click here for ride details.

Click here for the article about the ride.

How very dare they!

2011-05-12T01:26:00.000-07:00

Lonely Planet has the audacity to brand Surrey as uninspiring and dull. Nothing could be further from the truth in NoVisibleLycra's opinion.

Click here for more.

This is the last one, we promise! (Well, perhaps one more).

2011-05-09T02:27:00.000-07:00

I won't even make a witty remark.

One way cycle to see dad...

2011-05-08T23:39:00.000-07:00

Despite the miserable start to the day weatherwise, I cycled over to see dad around 4pm; it's around six miles through a mainly urban landscape. Make that suburban. Dad was still roughly the same as he has been for the past fortnight, with no real improvement in sight. The big problem was his lack of sleep and, more importantly, his inability to take in liquids. In other words, he was getting seriously dehydrated.

When I got there around 4pm, both mum and dad were of the opinion that they simply couldn't wait until mid-May to get things moving. They suggested to me that we go to the A&E. I called NHS Direct for some advice and in the end Jon drove over and we took him up to the hospital. They checked him out, confirmed he was dehydrated and, frankly, in a bit of mess, and decided he ought to stay in.

What amazes all of us is that his GP was quite happy to leave him stewing at home, getting steadily worse with no real end in sight. Still, he's in a good place and he's being looked after and that's the main thing.

I reached home around 1045 and watched TV for 15 minutes or so and then went to bed.

I'll probably go back over there for the bike later today.

Another nice day!

2011-05-08T00:47:00.000-07:00

Sunday 8 May: It's 0844hrs and the rain has gone, the sun is out and the sky is blue, but we've lost momentum on a ride today, although I'll probably cycle over to dad's later on to check on his state of health. It's really good out there and I bet Andy's thinking the same thing – a quick ride to Botley Hill or the Tatsfield Bus Stop; but things have moved on, I've promised Serena a trip to Croydon (window shopping only as we're broke and out of work) but it's something to do.

The car can't be used because it lacks an MOT and needs work done, but that'll be sorted by tomorrow. As for now, well, we can only think of what might have been, but the weather out there is perfect.

A carbon copy of yesterday morning...but an 'abort' text is likely

2011-05-07T22:54:00.000-07:00

Sunday 8 May: I woke up later this morning; not because the alarm didn't go off (I hadn't set it) but just because I lay there in bed, looking out on what was a bright morning. I hadn't drawn the curtains the night before and the sunlight woke me up without any prompting from the iPhone, which was downstairs charging in the kitchen.

Yesterday I cycled over to dad's and found his state of health unchanged from the day before. Dad was in bed, his stomach still bloated, legs still swollen and his voice still weak. I'd taken him to the doctor last Thursday and, to be honest, they weren't taking things as seriously as they should have been: instead of insisting on immediate tests, he's had to wait until later this month and yesterday, dad told me he was having trouble drinking liquid – not good when you consider we all need liquids to survive.

I called NHS Direct and chatted to a nurse, explaining dad's symptoms using the iPhone's speaker facility. She sent a doctor round and he kind of confirmed what we knew all along – that there was something (a growth, a cyst, something) and whatever it was, it was the cause of the problem. He suggested that dad re-connects with his GP (who he'd seen on Thursday last week) and, I'd imagine, insist on getting things moving a little quicker. So, tomorrow (Monday) hopefully the ball will start moving a little faster.

Meanwhile we all wait. I had difficulty getting to sleep last night as a result. This sort of thing plays on my mind as I consider dad's age – he'll be 82 in September – and I know it's playing on Jon's and Cris' minds too, not to mention dad's. I'm optimistic that whatever it is can be cured but dad's looking very grey and I know we're all worrying about it.

Outside, the weather is similar to yesterday: outbursts of rain. I've sent Andy a text saying let's see what it's like at 7am – that's 15 minutes from now, time for another cup of tea. Normally, when it rains here, it hits Caterham a few minutes later – or vice versa – so I'd imagine that right now, Andy is gazing out of his window at the rain.

Somehow the rain looks more set-in than yesterday, so I guess it's going to be an 'abort' text very shortly. As I write, it's heavy and grey and I've just discovered that I didn't come anywhere near on the National Lottery – not even a tenner. That's life, I guess, as dad would say.

...and then we went out!

2011-05-07T02:52:00.000-07:00

Saturday 7 May: The rain shower was brief and to the point and suddenly, after a major downpour, it stopped and the world became a brighter place. It was as if somebody had turned up the brightness control on the television. The skies went from grey to blue and all that was left of the rain was a few puddles – not good for me as I don't have any mudguards. Still, the weather was inspiring enough for me to text Andy and suggest a fast one to Botley Hill, which ended up as being a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (when there's rain about, you ride out to places where there's cover).

The ride was fine, but I was managing to get a uncomfortable rear end, thanks to the puddles and by the time we reached the bus stop, my arse was like a sponge – now there's an image you don't want to dwell on for too long.

Andy had another idea for our multiple personality photographs, although he did say it was getting a little boring and that bar one other idea that we can't put into practice yet (it requires a ramp and an open space) there will be no more.

We sat and chewed the fat and watched the rain start up again, hoping that it would stop before we made our way home. It did stop, but again, the wetness on the roads managed to soak yours truly and once again I started thinking about mudguards and making my bike a little more sensible.

As I climbed Church Way to meet Andy, my mobile dinged. I had a text from Andy saying okay to meeting at 0815hrs at the Green. Stopping in the road, I engaged one of the residents in conversation. We chatted about bikes and how 'in his day' he used to build his own bikes. Me too, I told him. He liked the Scrap and was intrigued (as most people are) by the Spongy Wonder saddle. "It's there to protect your bits," I told him, and we moved on to the subject of supermodel Kate Moss who I thought used to live in Church Way. It turns out that her aunty lives here still and that Moss never did, but resided instead somewhere in the Purley Oaks region.

That's about it. Outside now the weather has brightened up, but there won't be much in the way of gardening until things dry out a little bit.

My dad is still poorly. I took him to the doctor on Thursday and he's now booked in for an MRi scan, endoscopy and a blood test. They did the latter at home and the MRi is set for 19 May. I hope he's going to pull through as I've never seen him look so grey and old. Mind you, he is grey and old, he's 82 in September.

Checked on mum just a second ago and she said that, despite taking the sleeping pills, he still didn't get a good night's sleep, which is not good. He's in bed as I write this and I'll try to get over there either today or tomorrow, although it looks as if I'll have to cycle the six miles (not far, but it's the traffic that's bad). Our car needs an MOT (that's Ministry of Transport test) and cars without MOTs are generally not insured either, or the insurance is voided if you drive without an MOT. So we're going to be a little stranded this weekend, which is a nuisance.

Avoided a soaking this morning...

2011-05-06T23:21:00.000-07:00

Saturday 7 May: Sitting in the conservatory early on a Saturday morning is part of my routine. Ever since we've been cycling, I've sat here, on the computer, checking emails, sipping tea and generally enjoying an hour or so of chilling and waking myself up slowly.

Over the past few weeks, the weather here in the UK has been fantastic and, if you check out recent posts, you'll see the evidence: blue skies, sunshine – simply amazing.

Today, however, things are different. When I first looked out of the window, it looked promising, but grey clouds were gathering and then there was a spit or two of rain. After a short while it got heavier and now, as I write this, it's coming down in buckets.

I sent a text to Andy when it was just spitting and we thought we'd go for Botley Hill, but then it got heavier, so I sent another text and we aborted. The heavy rain has reached Andy as I then received a text saying he was glad we'd aborted the ride.

Looking out there now, it's pretty unpleasant, but the fact that we avoided a soaking is paramount as I couldn't face it after the recent bout of sunshine. Hopefully, we'll go tomorrow – weather permitting.

How the mighty have fallen!

2011-05-05T04:19:00.000-07:00

Sign of the times.

Austerity measures stretch to road signs too. Check out the photograph at the top of the blog, the road sign. Now, check out the photograph above. They're one and the same, except that, after the sign fell over some months ago – and remained uprooted and on display for all to see for weeks – it was eventually fixed. The result is disappointing as the iconic sign is a shadow of its former self – but it's good to see that the Reptile Zoo and Beaver Water World are still going strong. You can just see the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop on the top left of the shot.

To Botley Hill Farmhouse – and back in double-quick time!

2011-05-03T01:21:00.000-07:00

Yours truly with a mug of tea outside the Botley Hill Farmhouse, Monday 2 May 2011.
That poster ought to be taken down.

It looks as if both Andy and I felt a little guilty about being out all day on Saturday and ignoring our respective families, so we decided to cut it short on Monday 2 May and cycle to Botley Hill, drink our tea quickly and return home.

Having suffered considerably from the sun on our Saturday excursion, Andy arrived at Warlingham Green looking a bit like a buttered chicken ready for the oven – he was covered in Factor 50 sunblock! Not a bad move, though, as the sun was already hot as the good weather here continues apace. I, being the foolish one, had no sunblock AND a short-sleeved tee-shirt, but being darker than Andy, I don't suffer as much.

So, off we toddled to Botley Hill. The original plan had been the Tatsfield Bus Stop, but we decided to make it a short one and get back home.

Andy took this self-timered shot of us at Longford Lake. Note high strength
beers in hand!

We both agreed that drinking three pints of Harvey's Royal Nuptial Ale was probably a mistake, bearing in mind that we had to cycle home from Longford Lake, and resolved only to drink low-strength beer (and a maximum of two pints) the next time we find ourselves outside of a pub with the bikes.

Book Review: The Bicycle Book. By Bella Bathhurst. Harper Press; 306 pages; £16.99

2011-05-01T23:26:00.000-07:00

Bella Bathhurst

A few months back I confused this book with one by Helen Pidd, the girl with the Velorbis Victoria Balloon (a bike I'd love to own), but now I've spotted a review of Bathhurst's book in The Economist.

I didn't know that there were more than a billion bicycles in the world, which is over twice the number of cars or that the bike has 'regularly proven to be the fastest form of urban transport, reaching its destination more quickly than cars, buses, tubes or pedestrians'. Something, perhaps, for London Mayor Boris Johnson to bear in mind.

Bathhurst, says The Economist, made her name writing about lighthouses built by the ancestors of Robert Louis Stevenson and her new book – on bicycles – 'affirms her as an elegant chronicler of quirky subjects'.

BBC Four recently screened a programme based on her book about the Lighthouse Stevensons, which was excellent and she writes for the Guardian too.

When I get some money – I'm virtually unemployed at present – I'm definitely going to buy this book as it is claimed to appeal to cycling nuts as well as those who simply possess a bike that is sitting in the garage doing nothing. I'm somewhere in the middle, although I guess with this blog you all think I'm a cycling nut. I suppose I am on some level, but I'd call myself a weekend cyclist. I wonder if Bella Bathhurst rides a bike?

Don't worry, Bathurst's book is not devoted to the environmental debate. Instead it offers other stuff, interesting facts like Evans Cycles selling four times as many bikes as usual on the day of the London tube bombings. Did you know that bicycle couriers started life in 1874 or that, up until 2004, the Swiss army had three regiments of cyclists working in security, border control and dispatch?

Then there's the story of Zetta Hills who cycled across the English Channel with her bike mounted on two planks. What about Vinod Punmiya, the Indian businessman who raced against a train, the Decan Queen, between Pune and Mumbai (140km). And who can forget cycling legend Graeme Obree, known as the Flying Scotsman, who cycled to beat depression and broke the hour record – apparently the ultimate time trial – twice.

Obree's philosophy of life boiled down to being about 'you and the bike' – and that, as any cyclist will know, is what it's all about.

A long one to Longford Lake...and the footpath to Dunton Green!

2011-05-01T13:21:00.000-07:00

Andy, yours truly and Richard, Saturday 30 April 2011.

Andy and I have been cycling for almost five years now; that's five years of virtually every weekend since August 2006, making our way out to our favourite destinations. In all that time, we've often promised ourselves a later run and a drink or two in a decent pub at the end of the journey. The venue for such an adventure had always been Longford Lake in Chipstead, Kent, and the day finally came yesterday (Sunday 1 May 2011).

Our pal Richard drove up to Andy's from Maidstone in Kent and we met, at 10am, on Warlingham Green. The weather has been amazing over the past few weeks – some say the hottest April on record – and May Day was no exception to the rule. I had dispensed with my rust-coloured jacket (it's much warmer outside at 10am than it is at 7am) and Andy had his shorts back on (and so did Richard).

We set off on time for Longford Lake, but the plan was to attempt the once notorious 'Footpath to Dunton Green', a dirt track skirting the lake and eventually leading to Dunton Green (check out the link at the end of this post for further details).

The run was simple: we headed along the Limpsfield Road towards Botley Hill Farm, then turned left on to Clarks Lane towards Westerham and passing the Tatsfield Bus Stop. We cut through 'the off-road bit' near the golf course in Tatsfield, emerging on a main road and hanging a right, down towards Pilgrims Lane, following our usual route through to Chipstead Village.

But then we went 'off road', following the narrow dirt track around the lake, which eventually opened out into fields and onwards to Dunton Green. Then it was a case of following the road round and back towards Chevening, hanging a left towards Chipstead, riding over the motorway – and straight to the pub, the excellent Bricklayers Arms, which sells beer from Harvey's of Lewes.

40 miles of cycling, three pints of Harvey's and it's time for a well-deserved kip!

The weather being absolutely wonderful, like the perfect summer day, we sat outside on the grass, the lake in front of us, watching the sailing dinghies. Andy and I ordered a couple of pints of Harvey's Royal Wedding beer, which was called something like Royal Nuptial Ale, and Richard chose a pint of 1664. We sat outside chatting about this and that, forgetting about the hot sun and the fact that the Nuptial Ale, unknown to us, was 6 per cent abv, quite strong for a real ale.

Okay, put it this way, Harvey's Royal Nuptial Ale is absolutely amazing. So amazing that we ordered another two each – and a few plates of excellent chips too (they were so good we didn't bother putting ketchup on them). Anyway, add the beer, the sun and the chips together and you get three sunburnt cyclists who then had to cycle the best part of 20 miles home. We'd reached the pub and worked out, using Andy and Richard's cycling apps, that we'd cycled 18 miles, which meant we'd be cycling a similar distance home – only now we'd enjoyed three pints of strong ale.

Halfway along the Pilgrim's Lane and Andy disappeared into a hedge. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt, but when he reached home, the sun having worked its magic, Andy was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He sent me a text aborting our Sunday (2 May) cycle and, to be honest, I was considering a similar text. My arms were pretty burnt and I was knackered. To make matters worse, my daughter was giving me a hard time for being away from home for most of the day, so a Sunday without a cycle seemed like a good idea, and besides, I needed a rest.

As I write, my forearms are still a deep red colour and my face ain't far off either, but I'm not in pain. Andy, on the other hand, is in pain and I'd put that down to Andy being fair and me being dark. Don't get me wrong, I can suffer badly from the sun, but only if I sit down on a lounger and try for a tan or wander around in swimming trunks on the beaches of Spain or Italy. To be honest, now that the sun has been proved dangerous, I keep well out of it; I've never liked sunbathing. My dad used to try and get me to sit in the hot sun when I was in my teens. He used to sit out there in the back garden baking in the hot sun under the mistaken impression that it was doing him some good: it wasn't.

But putting sunburn aside, what a great day on the bikes! I think we should have ordered weaker beer, like Harvey's Sussex Ale, but we didn't. I know it's possible to be drunk in charge of a pushbike, but I'm not sure if you get banned for it; had we been stopped by the police I think we'd have been done. Fortunately, the quiet country lanes of Kent kept us hidden from most of society and we rarely came across a car, not until we were back on Clarks Lane and heading towards the Botley Hill.

Andy and Richard said goodbye at Warlingham Green and I reached home at some time gone 4pm. It had been a long day and it hadn't escaped the notice of my daughter. I was knackered and we had planned to go out for something to eat – as I had £50 coming my way. We didn't go out in the end and had a roast chicken sandwich and fish fingers instead (Serena had the fish fingers).

If I manage to get myself a job, I'll probably try and join Andy and Richard on their planned cycling trip from London to Paris. Mind you, it's three nights away from home, so before I go I'll have to organise a holiday for the family.

Nearly Christmas?

2011-04-30T00:18:00.000-07:00

Turkey on the B269 near the Botley Hill Farmhouse.

The master at work...

2011-04-30T00:14:00.000-07:00

Andy at the Tatsfield Churchyard last weekend, taking a shot of my bike.

Tatsfield Churchyard – alright, it's becoming a bit of a habit

2011-04-30T00:08:00.000-07:00

Friday 29 April, the day of the Royal Wedding, and Andy and I set off in the early morning sunshine for the Tatsfield Churchyard. It's going to be a busy weekend, and another long one. Today, Saturday 30 April, we're leaving later, that's why I'm here now, at 0753hrs, writing a blogpost. I'm leaving here at 0930hrs and we're heading over to Longford Lake with Andy's mate, Richard, who I last saw on the 2010 Black Horse Ride. The meeting point, as always, is Warlingham Green but we're meeting there at 1000hrs, two and a half hours later than usual, which is nice as I've managed to have breakfast and a more leisurely start.

Right now, Serena is watching Tracy Beaker on the television, Max is upstairs asleep and Natalie is in the kitchen tidying things up. Outside, the weather is fantastic: bright sunshine again, like yesterday. While I'd resolved not to watch any of the Royal Wedding, I ended up watching it twice, first live and then later on in the evening. I liked the Aston Martin Volante they drove off in, nice motor! If I'm honest, I rather enjoyed the wedding, but don't tell anybody.

Okay, back to Tatsfield Churchyard. I'm a little concerned as a lot of our photographs now feature headstones and, while it's peaceful and we like it, being surrounded by dead people is a bit odd as it brings home our mortality and makes us realise that life is short – all the more reason, perhaps, to enjoy our cycling, as we both do.

Yours truly at the Tatsfield Churchyard, Friday April 26th 2011.

So, today we're off to Longford Lake and we'll probably have a beer at the Bricklayers Arms, a pub that serves Harvey's, a nice pint of beer, brewed in Lewes in West Sussex. More on today later on. Oh, and here's a shot of me, taken by Andy, wandering around the churchyard. I say a shot of me, it's a shot of mulitple me, but there you have it. We've got another idea for this photographic technique, but to say anymore would spoil it.

Hot near the Bot (that's the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub)

2011-04-27T09:31:00.000-07:00

My bike leaning against the bus stop you can see in the pic below.

Looking towards Tatsfield from the B269 near Botley Hill.

The weather has been amazing over the past couple of weeks. Today I thought I'd ride out alone to Botley Hill on a non-stop there-and-back run, bar a brief time off the bike to take the two shots above. Very pleasant and a nice breeze on the journey back along the B269.

Sunrise over Caterham

2011-04-25T23:23:00.000-07:00

The view from Andy's house yesterday at around 6am.