Biting cold wind on the return ride down Beddlestead Lane...

I considered an 'abort' this morning – for all of a few seconds. Once I was out of bed and making the organic porridge (with blueberries, sliced banana and raspberries) I was feeling a little more positive about an early morning ride after being back at work for a week. But it didn't stop me from being sluggish and slow. I texted Andy to say I was running late (because I was running late) but once out and on the bike, cycling around the neighbourhood in the dark, I recovered my determination just in time for Church Way, an uphill slog along a wet and rain-soaked road. It had been raining overnight and as I made my way along the Limpsfield Road, which was surprisingly busy, I took in the last of the Christmas decorations that lined the road. This was, after all, the last of the 12 days of Christmas. Later today I would be dumping our Christmas tree in the back garden, stage one of the process that will see it leave the house for good – until next year. Andy and I worked out that there are 353 days to Christmas.

On the 12th day of Christmas, Andy needs to ditch the tinsel

We rode the predictable 'slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop' only because it's relatively close-by, is covered and has seats, protecting us from the elements. Today's biggest problem (apart from the constant threat of rain) was fog. As we inched our way towards Beddlestead Lane, past the huge, black puddles that lined most of the roads we rode along, a fog seemed to be rolling in. By the time we reached the junction with Clarks Lane it was fairly thick and it got thicker before thinning out, shortly before we packed our stuff away and prepared for the ride home.

While the outward ride was a little cold, it was nothing to the return journey. The temperature had dropped considerably; so much so that we decided to ride back the slow way, based on the premise that the cold wind would be less severe along Beddlestead Lane than it would be on the 269. It was probably the right thing to do, but I've not experienced such a cold blast of icy wind as I did this morning riding towards Hesiers Hill and preparing myself for the uphill climb, which isn't a walk in the park at the best of times. The cold wind was so unpleasant that I longed for the balaclava sitting at home in the hallway cupboard. It was so cold I had to slow right down until I reached the bottom of Hesiers Hill when the temperature rose a little.

Hesiers, as always, was a struggle, but a fairly short-lived one, and soon Andy and I found ourselves weaving our way around the narrow lanes heading towards Chelsham and the short ride from there to the green. "Same time tomorrow?" said I. "Yes," said Andy, and we both headed for our respective homes. For me the remainder of the ride was fairly pleasant. The temperature had risen, the rain held off and it wasn't long before I was in the warmth of the house, chilling, reading Bruce Dickinson's autobiography while listening to Where the Eagle Flies, an album by Traffic, followed by Carole King's Tapestry, all good stuff.