Beddlestead Lane, the bus stop and the churchyard...

Early morning and there's a bite in the air that means summer is on the way out, but it hasn't gone completely and it's not going quietly. In fact, generally speaking, the weather is perfect for this time of year. I'm wearing a hoody over a tee-shirt (the one that says 'I bring nothing to the table') and by the time I return I kind of wish I hadn't bothered with the hoody. It's still warm out there is what I'm saying and we're moving into late September.

Yesterday and today (Sunday) are roughly on a par weatherwise. It's pleasantly warm with a bit of sunshine here and there and blue skies later in the day. Saturday I was running late because I couldn't find any decent footwear. I had two sub-standard pairs of trainers, purchased from Sports Direct, one of which now sported holes in both heels. The other pair I threw out, so it was a case of 'do I wear my work shoes on the ride or is there an alternative?' Fortunately, I found my red leather Converse All-Stars at the back of the wardrobe – I rarely wear them – and set about the tiresome task of lacing them up. The end result was a text to Andy saying let's meet at 0745hrs.

Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 16th September 2018. Pic by Andy Smith

The plan, if I recall from last week, was to head to Westerham for breakfast, but time was moving on, so the slow way to the bus stop was the chosen route, which gave us a chance to chat as we rode along Beddlestead Lane. Normally we see plenty of Lycra Monkeys on Beddlestead, but we didn't see any on this occasion and we only saw one car. Later, when we reached the Tatsfield bus stop – our chosen destination – a few more came along, one having cycled up White Lane and the rest just coming from Botley Hill en route towards Westerham or vice versa. We sat there drinking tea and eating our biscuits with little to say other than to remark on how overgrown things were looking. The grass in front of the bus stop was long and in need of a cut and the grass banks of Clarks Lane were equally dishevelled from where we were sitting and in dire need of a trim.

Before we headed home I inflated my tyres – for the first time in two years. The bike is almost two years old now and not only have I not blown up the tyres since I bought it, I haven't had a puncture either. Last week I noticed a bit of a wobble when I turned left and then right coming down Elmfield Way and into Southcote Road and Andy said they definitely needed pumping up. I gave both front and back around 50-60 blasts of the pump and the bike rode well on the return trip as a result. Andy parted company at the Ridge, although we had considered riding back down Beddlestead Lane and up Hesiers Hill. In many ways I regret not doing this, but it was easier to take the off-road path along the 269. I reached home around 0945hrs and made a mental note to clean the bike and buy some touch-up paint off Ebay.

"Are they leather All-Stars, man?" Why, yes they are!!!

On Sunday morning I was keen to be on time after yesterday's faff trying to find suitable footwear. I'll have to get some trainers in the week and a decent pair of cycling trousers, but for today's ride it would have to be the leather All-Stars and jeans again, not forgetting the Jack Wills hoodie. I left the house around 0700hrs and headed up Church Way towards the Limpsfield Road with a mind full of stupid scenarios whirling around in my head. The first occurred when I spotted a supermarket delivery van driver in the doorway of a house on Ellenbridge. As I passed he saw me and I saw him and I started to imagine that he might have been some kind of a criminal. Perhaps he had just committed a murder and was worried that I might go to the police with his description. I pedalled away and imagined a scene at night where he took chase and we ended up in some nearby woods. Naturally I would have travelled deeper in to the woods on the bike, although I envisioned dumping the bike and making my getaway on foot, crunching my way over leaves and twigs, looking back to see the van with its headlights on full beam illuminating the woods, and the menacing silhouette of the 'murderer' seeing if he could spot me.

My next stupid scenario involved pretending to be Russian in order to escape from a gang of nutters intent on stealing my bike. I put on a meercat accent and threatened my assailants with novichok. Oddly, it worked and I lived to ride another day. By now I had reached Hamsey high street, which, as always, looks a little bit run-down and soon I was on the home straight towards the green. Andy wasn't there, but soon he arrived and we headed off.

Warlingham Green, Sunday 16th September

"How was your day?"
"The usual," said Andy.

I explained how I had done some shopping and then went over to mum's for tea and cake – well, four slices in the end and yes, it's got to stop. Really, it's got to stop.

We decided upon the Tatsfield Churchyard – the fast way – and rode along the 269 towards Botley Hill, turning left at the roundabout and riding down Clarks Lane, past the Tatsfield bus stop on our left and then slowing, turning left and hauling ourselves and our bikes up the mossy wooden steps to the churchyard where there appear to be more graves every time we pay a visit.

As we drank our tea and dunked our BelVita biscuits (well, I did, I don't know about Andy) we discussed the lack of time and the lack of leisure in our lives. "It's money," I said. "If we had more money we could do stuff, but we don't." Andy remarked that he just exists and how the weekend is over too quickly and then it's back to work. By and large I feel the same way. A change in lifestyle is needed, but how? In Andy's case, perhaps he could become a wedding photographer and spend his days leisurely processing images on his lap top in between jobs. "You'd miss a few weekend rides," I said, but then the fantasy brought me in, as some kind of writer, sitting at home looking out on rolling hills and contemplating my next book. "We'd have to ride during the week," said Andy as I poured our second and last cup of tea. "But we'd be our own bosses so it wouldn't matter."

It was soon time to go. We wheeled the bikes out of the churchyard and headed for Clarks Lane. The ride is uphill all the way to Botley as we were joining the hill that starts back in Westerham. Andy said goodbye at the Ridge and I used the off-road path flanking the 269 – it's safer, but there's always a jogger with headphones who can't hear me coming so I have to slow down. Not today – or rather not until I'd almost completed the journey. There was a jogger coming towards me and she stopped to let me pass her, but further along there was a jogger ahead of me, she had headphones on and I figured I'd be behind her for ages so I rode on to the road, close to Slines Oak, and headed into Warlingham.

Sunday league footy has started so there are always loads of parked cars close to the playing fields on my left as I ride home. I always give parked cars plenty of room just in case some dozey old bag opens the door and sends me flying – so far I've been lucky. All was well and soon I passed through Hamsey High Street and then Sanderstead. The traffic had picked up a little bit as I crossed the Addington Road and sailed down Church Way towards home. It had been a good weekend of cycling and now there's next week to look forward to.

To Woodmansterne Green and Westerham – powered by euphoric music...

The good weather continues and I find myself with a song in my head. Elvis Costello's I can't stand up for falling down. It's brilliant, like most of his stuff, and it's powering me along the street. Don't get me wrong, I'm not singing it out loud, that would never do, but it's in my head, giving me that euphoric feeling, which in turn propels me along the road a little faster than otherwise. It's motivational. A bit like when I hear Wake Up Boo by the Boo Radleys – although there's something sad about that song, I just don't know what. Perhaps it's something to do with this lyric:-

But you can't blame me

Not for the death of summer

But you're gonna say what you wanna say

You have to put the death in everything

Or perhaps not. Perhaps it's more to do with the extreme (in my opinion) euphoria of the song and perhaps extreme euphoria is close (in my mind) to being tearfully depressing – or tears of joy. I don't know what I'm talking about, so ignore me.

Bon and I met at 0730hrs on the green at Woodmansterne, a great meeting place, especially when the sun is shining. We did our usual: chatted about this and that, drank a couple of mugs of tea and then headed home.

Bon, it must be said, is looking good and it's got plenty to do with the fact that he's doing a lot of gardening – all that fresh air and exercise (he's cycling from one garden to the next so it's a double whammy on the fitness front).

Woodmansterne Green, Saturday 8th September 2019

The roadworks in Foxley Lane have completely disappeared and as I rode towards the mini roundabout close to the lavender fields, Bon was coming the other way. We both turned left and headed towards the green, parking up by the felled tree, which has been there since the hurricane of 1987 and started to drink tea and chat. It was pleasant, as it always is, and we probably stayed longer than planned. Bon had to get back to walk the dogs and was wary of Saturday football matches as his dog, Bruno, has been known to chase the ball and disrupt the games. "Who owns that fucking dog?" is a phrase Bon is familiar with, which made me laugh.

We eventually parted and I headed back, initially off-road until I reached the mini roundabout at the top of Foxley Lane, always a bit busy, but I got across safely, rode the length of Foxley, sailed past Cycle Republic, hung a right and then rode straight across the Brighton Road, along a few of Purley's back streets and then up Purley Downs Road, hanging a left into Norman Road, past Purley Oaks railway station, then past Sanderstead station and eventually up the strenuous south face of West Hill.

Andy on the edge of a cornfield, Sunday 9th September

That Elvis Costello track belted out of my brain on Sunday morning as I rode along the Limpsfield Road to Warlingham Green where Andy and I decided Westerham was on the cards. "Let's get our heads down, no talking, and just get there," I said, and off we went, the fast way. It was an exhilarating ride for both of us and I pushed as hard as I could with the sound of Elvis Costello ringing out from my in-built Walkman, all the way, reaching the green at around 0815hrs. We had tea and Belvitas, talked about many things, including the pre-blog days and around 0900hrs we decided it was time to head home.

For a euphoric song, Elvis Costello's I can't stand up for falling down has depressing lyrics, but to me it's more motivational than the Boo Radleys.

I'm the living result

I'm a man who's been hurt a little too much

And I've tasted the bitterness of my own tears

Sadness is all my lonely heart can feel

I can't stand up for falling down

I can't stand up for falling down

Simple though love is

Still it confused me

Why I'm not loved the way I should be

Now I've lived with heartaches

And I've roomed with fear

I've dealt with despair

And I've wrestled with tears

The ride out of Westerham is always a bit daunting, but the weather was good so it really didn't matter. Well, it did matter as the ride to Botley is all up hill, but we stopped when I spied a corn field – as if that would change anything – and took the photographs accompanying this post.

The cornfield, Sunday 9th September 2019...

Andy and I parted company at The Ridge, vowing to be back in the saddle next weekend. I took the off-road path along the 269 and reached home at around 1015hrs.

All-in-all, a great weekend and perfect weather too.

Strange dreams...

People say you dream just before you wake up, but it always seems as if the dream has been going on throughout the night. I would say we'll never know, but we do because the boffins in white coats have been conducting tests.

Anyway, last night (or first thing this morning before I woke up) I had a strange dream and as with all strange dreams (well, not all of them) I remember it. Or bits of it. I'm sure there was more, but all I can remember are two elements of it. First was a hotel room bed, white sheets. In fact it was, I think, two hotel room beds pushed together: a double and a single. For some reason there were room keys relating not to the room, but the beds – or rather the spaces the beds made up – were numbered, but not visibly, there weren't any numbers on the beds. I had a key for the single bed – or perhaps it wasn't a single bed, it might have been one big bed that could accommodate three people. I had key 102. Then, the other two bed spaces required keys 111 and 112. That was one element of the dream. I vaguely recall a very brief outdoor scene, possibly outside the hotel, the grounds. An overcast day, very dark, but daylight. Lawns and damp, mossy concrete.

The second part of the dream was even stranger. Again, a bed, this time a double, and, as with the beds pushed together, white sheets. But next to the bed, right next to bed's left hand side (if you were standing at the foot of the bed) there were two white Formica cubicles, the sort of thing you might find in an office bathroom. The cubicles were worryingly narrow, one more so than the other. Potential occupants would need to enter sideways and if you were really fat you'd stand no chance. Inside the narrowest cubicle furthest away from the bed was a woman with a baby, this much I knew, but she wasn't happy and I was concerned about her. At times, the silence from the cubicle worried me.

To the cottage!

I went to bed late on Friday night. God knows why. I was just sitting there, nodding off, watching the television. I should have hit the sack earlier, but sometimes I don't, I drag things out and soon the clock announces midnight and I feel I ought to crawl upstairs to bed having checked all the doors are locked and, if necessary, putting the dishwasher on (that way I know I'll have an easy time of it in the morning and I won't have to wash anything up). There's nothing worse than coming downstairs to dirty plates and pots and pans.

Outside the cottage, Sunday 2nd September 2019. Pic by Andy Smith

A late night means a late start and I woke up at 0730hrs thinking about calling Bon and meeting at Woodmansterne Green, but I was still tired and the very thought of riding the bike made me shudder. I kept imagining bits of the route and thinking how awful it would be struggling all the way to Woodmansterne and then having to come back.

As always, of course, my decision not to go turns to one of regret as the sun starts to shine and I slowly emerge from my sleepiness, but invariably it's too late to go, the moment has been lost and I have to resign myself to simply not cycling, while ensuring in my own head that I do go the following day – Sunday.

Andy had a late night on Saturday and sent through a text saying meet at 0800hrs, half an hour later than usual. I agree, but on the proviso that it's a short one. I suggest the 'cottage', a direct ride there and back, and Andy agrees. The following morning we met at the green and headed off along the Limpsfield Road towards the 269, although, technically speaking, the Limpsfield Road is the 269.

Room with a view: looking out from 'the cottage'...

It's a fairly short ride to the cottage: we ride halfway along the 269 and then go off-road along a gravel track flanked on either side by fields. We turn left and have a short but exhilarating ride downhill and then left towards the wooden shack we call the cottage. Once there we unload our rucksacks. Andy brings out the BelVita biscuits and I plonk a heavy Stanley flask, milk and teabags on the wooden table.

Stunning woodland views from 'the cottage'...

We sat there for around half an hour, probably a bit longer, but around 0900hrs we're ready to leave and the initial bit of the return ride is pretty exhausting. It's uphill on gravel and requires the lowest possible gears, although it's advisable not to stand up on the pedals (as I did) and risk rear wheel spin. Neither of us dismounted, which was good, and soon we found ourselves back on the 269 and ready for the ride to Warlingham Green. We got back there just before 0930hrs, said goodbye until next week and went our separate ways. I got home around 0945hrs and later headed out to towards Petworth in West Sussex, but not on the bike.

Next week we really must ride on both days. Last week (the bank holiday weekend) I managed two rides (to Woodmansterne and then the very long way to Tatsfield Village). Andy didn't ride on the Saturday, but rode with me on Sunday and probably went out alone on the Monday. This week we both had just one ride, so next week we're thinking Westerham for Saturday and haven't thought any further on where we might go on Sunday.

Andy's Kona at the cottage, Sunday 2nd September 2019. Pic by Andy Smith

The great thing about our recent exploration of off-road tracks is this: they've yielded new rides. The cottage, for example, is a new ride, it can be short (like Sunday) or longer if we go via Washpond Road and the stile without purpose. It's also a great place to shelter from the rain. Sunday's ride was excellent and, all in, took just 1 hour and 45 minutes to complete. The other week we found an excellent field, a little further than the Tatsfield bus stop – again, a new route if there's been no rain as there's nowhere to sit other than on the ground.

Weatherwise, things have been good. Sunday was a beautiful day and so was Saturday and now, as I write this on Monday evening, the sun is shining outside