Slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – twice!

I was riding a mountain bike along a precarious trail with big drops on the left hand side. On the other side there were gypsies (no tramps, no thieves) chasing wild horses. Later, once I'd woken up and washed and shaved, I crossed a small pedestrian precinct where a man tried to hand me a small leaflet.

"Do you believe in the after life?" he asked.
"You never know," I said, not stopping.
"Then let's have a chat," he added.

I didn't stop, but I did consider handing him a business card that I had picked up in Newcastle last week in a ruse designed to make him think I was part of the Society for Psychical Research. I'm not and I didn't.

Last night I found myself on a plane to Los Angeles. The plane swooped low over the city, which looked deserted and unreal, and out to sea before circling and landing at the airport. It was raining and I was staying in an upmarket hotel. Out on the streets I was thirsty so I stopped for a soft drink and then found it was 0430hrs in the morning and I had been dreaming.

Andy's Blast at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

It had been a good weekend of cycling: two trips to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way. The weather has definitely changed. On Saturday as I made my way to the green to meet Andy I wished I'd wrapped up warmer. A scarf would have been a good idea. On Sunday I found something to keep my neck warm on Sunday's ride.

Saturday's ride along Beddlestead was very pleasant, not the normal slog, and it was similar on Sunday. We had considered the Cottage for Sunday's ride, via the slow way along Beddlestead Lane, but why almost reach the bus stop and not go there? So we did. As we rode along we discussed Phil's disappearance (we simply don't see him anymore).

"He's gone over to the dark side," said Andy.
"Never to return," I added.

If the truth be known, we all missed Phil's sausage sandwiches and found ourselves reminiscing about the summer of 2015 when he produced a perfect Bakewell tart. Happy days, we thought, as we stared at the long grass in need of a cut. Andy watched a mouse scuttle out and waddle his way under the seats in the bus shelter. Moments later he reappeared, went back into the long grass and then re-emerged and made his way across the road, narrowly avoiding being squashed by a passing car. He found his way to the opposite bank and disappeared.

Lycra monkeys passed in both directions, some heading down the hill towards Westerham, others riding towards Botley Hill.

Rays of sunshine on the slow way route...

Both days were characterised by blue skies and the temperatures gradually rose, but not to the levels of August. It's that time of year for deceptive weather, when it looks bright and warm, but is, in fact, scarves and jumpers weather. I need to kit myself out with new cycling gear. At the moment I'm wearing red leather Converse All Stars, skinny jeans and a grey hoody; I look like something from an inner London housing estate and it must stop.

The Specialized Rockhopper is performing well. I'm keeping it oiled and in good nick all round, but I have got a couple of scratches on the frame that need to be touched up. In fact I must remember to get the paint.

It's Monday at 0815hrs and the sun is shining bright in the garden behind me, but it's not that warm. When I woke up it was just 6 degrees and it's expected to rise to 13 degrees. Winter is on the way, it's 1 October and this month, according to Andy, British Summer Time comes to an end. Of course it does: the clocks go back later in the month, why was I so surprised about that? I remembered one October when there was scorching hot weather. We rode to the lakes that day on what was probably a last blast of summer sunshine. For more details of that great day, click here.

Gearing up for the ride home...