As the year draws to a close...

When I looked out on Sunday (last week) there was a persistent rain and it didn't look as if it was going to stop. In days gone by, an abort text would have been sent, but because our mindset on cycling has changed, it was still 100% game on. The plan was to go to Westerham, but we couldn't remember whether the Costa Coffee was open. There was only one way to find out: ride there and see for ourselves. Andy texted the plan: whoever gets there first, checks out the Costa and then, if it's closed, sets up shop in the small memorial gardens next to the Co-op. Well, I knew it wouldn't be me that got there first. For a start, I was faffing around doing something I haven't done for some time: making a flask of hot water, finding some teabags and some milk and basically preparing like I used to for a pre-pandemic ride. To be honest, I was hoping that I wouldn't be using the flask. I was looking forward to my large English breakfast tea, and being as it was Boxing Day, I was already considering a cake of some description. But then I remembered Sheree's Tea Rooms in Tatsfield Village. I knew it was open on Boxing day so all I had to do was text Andy and ask him to meet me there. But it wasn't that easy. Andy had already left his house and, like me, would not be looking at his phone until he reached his destination.

Seasonal decorations on the Nobbler...

After all the faffing about, I was finally out of the house and on the bike around 0815hrs, so that's a quarter hour behind my originally scheduled arrival time. It normally takes me around one hour door-to-door so now I'd be getting there around 0915.

The rain continued, but I was wearing my parka, hood up over my crash helmet, and it was good. So good that I didn't really notice the rain. I was, however, wearing a pair of green cords over my cycling shorts and sooner or later the rain would soak through. In fairness, it was a slow process. I stopped and took shelter momentarily when I reached Sanderstead Waitrose, a chance to see if Andy had responded to my earlier text about Tatsfield. He hadn't. Then I set off for Westerham, heading initially for Warlingham Green and then, of course, the 269 to Botley Hill and beyond. Halfway along the route Andy sent a text. He'd reached Westerham. I told him I'd get there by around 0930hrs and he said he'd be there, which was good. I had thought about going to Tatsfield village and a cup of tea and a Millionaire's Shortbread at Sheree's, but once I knew that Costa was open and that Andy would be there when I arrived, I 'put my feet down' and continued on my way to the Northern Kent market town of Westerham. The rain slowed a little and as I powered down Clarks Lane had almost stopped.

I felt good because I hadn't aborted the ride and, as with most things, riding in the rain isn't as bad as it seems. It was fine, although my trousers were getting damper and damper, but it was nothing a bit of warmth couldn't cure. Andy was already sitting at a table enjoying his coffee when I bowled through the door. We were two of around six people in the shop and that felt good. I wasn't THAT wet either, only my legs were experiencing a mild dampness and that slowly disappeared as I warmed up. There was no queue either so I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and a Bakewell tart and joined Andy at his table. We talked about a variety of topics: decent rear lights, cheap bikes, giving up cars altogether, living a more minimalist life and the commercialism of Christmas. 

Nativity scene in Arundel Avenue

Andy left around 1022hrs I and continued to slob around for another 10 minutes before heading for home. The rain had all but stopped and I followed the road towards the Velo Barn, taking a left on to Pilgrims Lane and then crossing Clarks Lane and continuing along the next section of Pilgrims, turning right on to Rectory Lane and then rejoining Clarks Lane. I rode into Woldingham along The Ridge and then down Slines Oak Road and up the other side towards the 269, taking the steep climb at the end of Sline's Oak in my stride. It was then a case of riding into Warlingham and around the green, through Hamsey and onwards to Sanderstead.

There was a fair amount of fog around too.

More Christmas lights in Arundel Avenue

Shorter daily rides have now become a regular habit. Today, as I write this, it is New Year's Eve, 0946hrs and I make no pretence of the fact that I'm slobbing around on the lap top, but rest assured that I will be out there later on, probably after dark, riding around amidst the Christmas lights of Norfolk and Arundel Avenues. I've mentioned these rides before, they're 5.94 milers and they take around 35 minutes. I think I would be faster if I went out earlier in the day. 

There's nothing better than riding after dark over the Christmas holidays as there are plenty of decorations on display as I ride my circuit and they all add a dreamlike quality to the ride that I don't get at any other time. That said, other seasons, like the summer and the autumn, have their own attractions and I love them all.

Happy New Year to all my readers!

Christmas Eve 2021 ramblings...

Last Sunday, 19 December 2021, I rode to Westerham to meet Andy in the Costa Coffee on the green. As you all know, this is a weekly event, the highlight of the cycling week. We meet, we eat, we chat and then we say farewell, until the next week, which just so happens to be Boxing Day. Today, as I write this, it is Christmas Eve morning, 0844hrs to be precise, and I'm sitting here, drinking tea and listening to BBC Radio Three, Dawn Over the Moscow River, by Mussorgsky. I now consider myself a regular listener and the great thing about listening to classical music in the morning is this: It's so chilled out. In fact, give me BBC Radio Three, Caffe Nero and a decent book and I'd be in heaven.

Outside, the weather is dull and grey and overcast. Rain is on the agenda later today so I'd better get out there and do my six-miler, my 'round the block' special, the Nobbler, single lap. Yesterday I modified it a little bit: I rode two loops, bringing the total to something like 8.5 miles instead of the usual 5.94 miles. I don't know why I modified it; probably because I was riding earlier in the day and felt more alive. Today I'll probably stick to the usual distance as there are things to do, people to see.

The fog started to clear on Clarks Lane, Sunday 19th Dec 2021.

The ride to Westerham last Sunday was thick fog from the moment I set foot outside the house. Fortunately, I had my lights, front and rear. I was amazed to discover that the fog was everywhere, but it thinned when I was travelling along Clarks Lane. At one point the fog was below me, in the valley. Cyclists were stopping to photograph the spectacle as I sailed down the hill and into the mesmerising fog itself. Andy was sitting inside the Costa. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea (my regular order). No cake, no Billionaire's shortbread. As always, cake is always around. I can't remember now, but prior to Sunday I must have eaten some cake, normally a slice of coffee and walnut cake, possibly in a National Trust property somewhere, Polesden Lacey if I recall correctly. Either way, I refrained from eating anything at the Costa in the full knowledge that there would be plenty of occasions in the coming days. It is, after all, the festive season, Christmas time no less, and that means mince pies, chocolates, cake and, of course, Christmas Pudding. I'll be getting my fair share over the next few days and that's a fact.

During the week I continued with my regular riding. I normally miss a day, meaning I ride six days a week and have one day off, not intentionally, just circumstantial. Yesterday, for example, was Thursday 23 December. I didn't ride on Wednesday night so the plan was to ride twice, like I did last week, once in the morning and once at night. But I only managed the one ride, meaning that if I don't ride twice today, my total rides this week will be six out of seven. I'm happy with that. It's been the case ever since I started regular (almost daily) rides.

The Nobbler, single lap is good. I've mentioned before it's roller coaster qualities, the ups and downs, the fast and slow. The first big climb is when I turn left out of Barnfield and on to West Hill. I ride up hill to The Ridgeway where I turn left, then right on to Hook Hill, which I follow to the triple junction with Arkwright and Briton Hill Road. The latter is a hill, all the way to Church Way where I turn left and head towards Morley and the turn opposite Madeleine House (a new and unwelcomed block of flats). Here I double back in a sense, back on Church Way until I turn left on to Norfolk Avenue and the next hill. At the top I bear left and roll down towards a left turn on to Arundel Avenue and then it's a downhill roll towards Ridge Langley. I pick up a fair bit of speed riding down Arundel Avenue and by the time I reach the Ridge Langley turn-off I have enough speed to push me around the loop ahead, eventually emerging on Arundel Avenue again, heading uphill and turning left onto, I think, Arundel Avenue. It's very confusing, but I soon turn right on to Norfolk Avenue again and ride uphill and then down until I'm back on Church Way and then heading towards the Selsdon Road along another section of Arkwright that isn't connected to the earlier stretch. This bit is fast and punctuated by sleeping policemen and parked cars, but soon I'm on the Selsdon Road, which is downhill all the way to West Hill, arguably the most daunting uphill ride as I pass Barnfield, continue towards The Ridgeway and then ride the length of it until I reach the earlier section of Arkright Road where I turn left and head towards Church Way. I turn left, race towards Morley, turn left, then right on to Elmfield, left on to Southcote, right on to Ellenbridge, then right and then I'm home.

I'd better get moving as I've got to get out there now, in the next 10 minutes, to do the above. Whether I get a ride in tomorrow is debatable. By rights I should do, even if it's a short one, a Nobbler, single lap. I've never been on the bike on Christmas Day before but let's see if I can change that. 

Mild weather, regular rides...

There's been cold weather and there's been mild. Of late, the latter. But I've managed to rise above it, thanks to my Parka, a balaclava and a beanie hat. I've finally kicked myself into gear with a daily exercise regime, in other words, regular cycling. I've worked out an almost six-mile, single lap route (5.94 miles) and it's a roller coaster of hills and dips, nicely balanced, and I now ensure that I go out every night, in the dark, lights flashing front and back. Andy was right, I do get a decent night's sleep as a result. I feel good too. Last night was a case in point, I slept through from 2300hrs to 0600hrs and probably could have gone to bed earlier if the truth be known. I had a relaxed dream and awoke to the sound of birdsong emanating from my iPhone and now, here I am, listening to Radio 3 and writing a much-delayed blogpost.

Return journey along Pilgrims Lane, Sunday 12 December.

The weekend rides have been kept up, although last Saturday I rode the Weeble rather than head for Westerham, which had been my plan. The reason was simple: lateness. I had dawdled and by the time I got outside in the fresh air it was gone 1000hrs and I didn't really want cycling to take up the entire day. In truth, I hadn't riden the Weeble for a while either, but it's of no consequence, the key is daily riding, keeping that heart rate up and generally feeling good about things. It's been awhile. My recent trip to the doctor, incidentally, turned out alright. I explained to him that when I relax my blood pressure eventually dips to an acceptable level. He even allayed my fears about a low pulse rate, accepting my diagnosis in a sense, that was based on the amount of cycling I've been doing (well over 3,000 miles in a year - hence that huge repair bill when I took my bike in for a service recently (see previous post).

Andy and I have been keeping up our Sunday meetings in Westerham, a kind of high point of the riding week. That said, the week before last I couldn't make it as I needed to be in London for a family meeting. We met in The Engineer pub in Camden, which seems to have taken a dive in quality terms and nowhere near what it used to be like 15-20 years ago when Michael Palin name-checked it during an interview I conducted with him 'back in the day'. We all had roast chicken, which was alright, but I've eaten better; and the service lacked something. We sat upstairs in the Brunel Room (geddit, The Engineer pub, engineering, Brunel?). Anyway, it wasn't that brilliant is what I'm saying. It was the first time I actually felt tempted to order a beer, a pint of Doom Bar no less, but I resisted (of course I did!) and settled for sparkling mineral water instead. It's rare that a temptation to drink arises and I'm always rather glad when I resist it, which isn't difficult. Occasionally I dream about drinking again and when I wake up I feel mildly anxious until I remember it was a dream, not reality.

Egg, mushroom, tomato for lunch

The local six-milers are good for one reason: they're just one lap, there's no repetition. If I get bored doing laps then the appeal of regular exercise will wane pretty quickly, so I'm keeping it simple and it's working. The route is familiar, but it's the knowledge that I'm always progressing forward and not thinking that I've got to do another lap; every revolution of the pedals takes me closer to the finish rather than just to the end of the first lap. Night riding is good too. It's dark around 4pm now so by the time I reach home I have to rely upon the street lights to illuminate the ride. The great thing about riding at night is that you can see the cars coming. Add to that my own lights and it's fairly safe. And when it's over I'm both relieved and elated. Relieved that I've done my daily exercise and elated also that I'm actually doing it and that I can relax, safe in the knowledge that I've riden another six-miler. The key thing is that it's becoming part of my routine, something that I have to do, but also, strangely, something that I enjoy doing. I'm familiar with the route and at this time of year my albeit brief ride is accompanied by Christmas lights. At roughly six miles per ride, by the end of the week I've covered almost 30 miles and I'm also trimming minutes off of my time, which started at something like 37 minutes and is now around the 33 minutes mark, I think I've even managed 32 minutes, I'll have to check on Strava. For some reason I don't feel the need to wear a crash helmet, although I did last night. The mild weather (which I'm told will be short-lived) has meant no balaclava.

I had my booster jab on Friday (my birthday) and fortunately no side effects, bar a very mild pain in the upper arm. While walking around M&S immediately afterwards, looking for a Christmas present for mum, a friend called and when I told him I'd just had my booster jab, he calmly informed me that he was an anti-vaxxer. I wish I'd quizzed him as to why, but I didn't, preferring instead to simply accept his position and leave it there; that said, I feel that anti-vaxxers somehow like to put across an air of being the enlightened ones, the people in the know who know best, and that left me momentarily feeling a little deflated because I thought back to my two Astra Zeneca jabs and, a few moments ago, my booster, and I wondered whether I was guilty of blindly following Government instructions without a thought for personal liberty and so forth. But it didn't last long. I'm glad I was vaccinated as the last thing I want is to die from COVID. I don't want to be one of those statistics they read out on the television. The problem with not being vaccinated is that, sooner or later, you won't be able to do anything. Rock concerts? No. Eating out? No. Staying in a hotel? No. Air travel? No. You'll be completely stuck. But I guess if you live in a fairly remote farmhouse in the middle of darkest Wales, well, as long as you live the life of a hermit, you won't be affected.

M&S soup and a roll for lunch during the week

It's Wednesday night, 15 December 2021, and I'm watching Michael Palin walk to Base Camp at the foot of Mount Everest. He moves on to Lhasa and then swims in a hot spring, making me realise, perhaps a little fretfully, that I need to start swimming again. How COVID-friendly are swimming pools? Tonight I missed my 6-mile ride, largely because my phone was out of power. Now that might sound really daft (and it is) but it all boils down to Strava and the notion that 'if it's not on Strava, it didn't happen'. So I didn't go out. And besides, it was getting late. I made the mistake of having dinner first and that kind of did it for me. I wish I'd remembered that my phone was out of power, but I didn't and while I was planning on going out around 2030hrs I discovered that I hadn't fitted the charger properly and my phone was still dead. At that point I gave up. Perhaps I'll go in the morning, although, for the past two weeks prior to today I've had one day off (from cycling) per week. I think last week I rode four of the five days and the week before possibly the same, or it might have been three out of the five days. Mustn't fret about it, just get out there tomorrow and do it.

Birthday present from Max...

Something I have been fretting about is eating rubbish. Crap in the shape of Quality Street chocolates, biscuits and cookies at work. The custom at work is that you buy the office 'stuff' when it's your birthday (normally chocolates and cakes). My problem is that I can't help myself and it's something I need to address. I managed to address my weakness for alcohol (by giving up completely) and now I really ought to consider doing the same with cakes and sweets. To be fair, with various lockdowns and three-days a week in the office (working two days at home) there hasn't been much in the way of celebrating colleagues' birthdays. So I guess it's been few and between, thankfully. But that doesn't stop me feeling a little guilty, especially when I missed a ride. I'm off now until the new year (again, thankfully) so I can focus on a bit more riding, although I think I'll maintain the daily night rides of the Nobbler, single lap. That's what it's called on Strava, 5.94 miles with a few ups and downs and then it's over, exercise done. I always feel good on my return. I'll be back on it tomorrow.

The mild weather is set to continue, right through to Sunday when Andy and I meet for a chinwag in Westerham, something we both look forward to. While I know that Christmas is only 10 days away, I know that I won't be over-indulging like I used to and for that I'm thankful. I'm going to spend my time off reading and riding, walking and chilling and while I'm not going to deny myself the odd cappuccino or the occasional slice of coffee & walnut cake, I will keep a weather eye on things. Here's hoping. 

Sometimes I lose the will to live...

Last Sunday we broke with tradition and rode to Tatsfield village instead of Westerham. In the old days, of course, riding to the village would have meant sitting in the cold bus shelter drinking tea from a flask and then riding home again, but now that we're leaving our respective houses later, we get there in time for the opening of Sheree's Tea Room. Last Sunday I was there first and secured a seat by the window. It was all very festive and cosy. I ordered a pot of tea and (foolishly) a millionaire's shortbread. And then Andy arrived. I could have sat there for the whole morning if the truth be known, but as the clock edged around to 1000hrs I knew it was time to head home. Andy and I parted company at The Ridge and I rode the 269, getting home around 1100hrs.

Cosy and festive window at Sheree's Tearooms last Sunday...

Talk about riding five miles daily went out of the window as the new working week began. When I reached home on Monday night I was in no mood to get on the bike and it was the same for Tuesday and Wednesday. I did manage a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and I might well try to get one in today (Friday) but it's looking increasingly unlikely. 

Fake cakes at Sheree's Tearooms...

The weather is getting bad (or so say the TV weather people). If it does get colder then the balaclava will come out, and the scarf. Yesterday (Thursday) I rode the Weeble wearing a heavy jumper and my Parka. It was a good ride. Apparently today (Friday) offers "a really chilly start", not what I wanted to hear, but then I'm not planning on going out this morning. I have the day off so I'll go later on. Andy's not riding on Sunday so I'll have to motivate myself, which isn't a problem. I've been thinking about a ride to Redhill to have breakfast in the Pop Inn, let's see.

I'm beginning to wonder why I left it until later to hit the road. It's raining now and doesn't look as if it'll stop any time soon, so today might be called off. I'm beginning to lose track of my rides. Yesterday was a 12.38-mile ride starting at 1324hrs and ending 73 minutes later. Prior to that I had covered 16.26 miles to and from Tatsfield village on Sunday (on the road for 93 minutes in total) and then, the previous day, I did a longer ride into Westerham via Beddlestead Lane and back up Hesiers Hill (24.26 miles in two hours and 35 minutes). I did a Lunchtime Weeble (12.37 miles) on Friday 19 November and then it was the ride I mentioned in my last post when I gave up queuing and simply rode home from Westerham Costa without my regulation large English breakfast tea. In other words my mileage is seriously slacking.

Losing the will to live

I'm actually finding it difficult not to lose to will to live at the moment. This is largely due to work-related woes, and I feel a little on the edge as a result and constantly thinking how pointless everything appears to be at present. It's all work, work, work and no play. And at night I am reluctant to go to bed because I don't particularly like sleeping any more, ever since that inner ear infection back in October 2017 (28th), the day I decided to give up drinking. I've kept that up, which I'm pleased about, but the end result of the infection is that I cannot sleep on my right hand side, or rather I don't want to in case it all starts up again. Add to that a constantly blocked up ear, which I will get seen to shortly, and the whole idea of resting has become a nightmare. There's nothing worse than not being able to hear what's going on at night. I literally can't wait to wake up and as soon as I do I'm out of bed and downstairs eating breakfast if the clock reads 0500hrs or later. Anything before that and I have to grin and bear it, the only one awake, staring at the ceiling, fretting about something or someone until the hour is respectable enough for me to rise from bed and head downstairs for breakfast. 

Last Sunday's at Sheree's Tearooms

My only true pleasure at the moment comes from visiting a cosy coffee shop with a decent book and my lap top, like I did a few weeks back at a London branch of Caffe Nero. You simply can't beat it. 

To try and stop the edgy feelings and the stress I also look forward to just sitting in front of the television watching something decent (if I can find something). Normally nothing good is broadcast until 2100hrs and at the moment I'm watching the ultimate rubbish in the shape of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! which is absolute craperama, and even more so now that Richard Madeley has been removed from camp after being struck down by illness, caused, I believe, by diving head first into a load of rotten vegetables and fish guts, aged 65. They're back in the Welsh castle again this year due to COVID and now, of course, there's talk of another variant (Omicron) emanating from South Africa that can bypass all vaccines. I've been double-jabbed and I'm awaiting the booster, which I don't particularly want. 

Television

Getting back to what I like watching on television to soothe my edgy feelings, stuff like long-running crime dramas (Shetland) or programmes presented by Ben Fogle or even watching Shappi Korsandi (an Iranian comedian) walking alone through the countryside, something that takes me away from everything. Sadly, reality gatecrashes the party at 2200hrs when Huw Edwards appears, sombre look on face, to deliver a whole bunch of bad news to the country, normally something that involves us having to watch pictures of that prat of a Prime Minister Boris Johnson or Priti Patel leaving buildings or giving speeches or addressing the House. At this moment I channel hop, but rarely find anything worth watching, and soon I start to consider the awful reality of the situation: I've got to start thinking about locking up the house and heading upstairs to bed. Perhaps I should just sleep in a different part of the house to mix things up a bit. I keep thinking about bedding down in the conservatory in a sleeping bag for some reason, surrounding myself with pillows. That would make waking up in the middle of the night a bit more exciting. I could lie there with my radio for company, listening, perhaps, to BBC Radio Three or LBC, although the latter would probably make matters worse so let's stick with classical music. I've got a lot on my mind at present and I just wish I could find a desolate cottage on a windswept beach in Shetland or Orkney or the Isle of Harris where I could simply stare at the sea for a few days, that's what I need more than anything else.

Blood pressure

Then, to make matters worse, the doctor sends me some kind of document to download on my iphone (which proves impossible) so that I can send him a blood pressure reading. My blood pressure has always been 'borderline high' meaning not crazy or out of control but worth monitoring. So I have a monitor, which I think causes more stress than anything else. What normally happens is this: I visit the doctor for whatever reason and he takes my blood pressure, it's high, it always is when it's first taken, they call it 'white coat syndrome', and it won't come down a great deal if he presses the button on his machine a few moments later. He asks me to go away and do my own tests, which I do, and invariably the readings are much lower and it's all forgotten about. As a stressful day at work drew to a close last week the message came through and I somehow managed to send him a reading (152/89 - or something of that ilk). There was a note saying that when you first take a reading it will be high so I didn't send him the first two or three, which, according to the document, meant I needed to get myself off to A&E immediately (in itself stress-inducing). And so, the ball was in motion once again. On top of work and not being able to hear properly because my ears are blocked (and don't appear to be unblocking any time soon) all I need is to start fretting about blood pressure. But it's worse this time. My pulse, which, for years has been a constant 60, has dipped to 59, 55, 53, 51, even 50. Naturally, I make matters worse for myself by checking it out on the Internet. Brachycardia. This might be something to do with the amount of cycling I've been doing over the past 18 months, I don't know, but there it is. Andy says he gets it too and he's thought about visiting the doc, but hasn't yet. At around midnight I call a Bupa nurse (who, of course, is absolutely no help whatsover). I thought about dialling 111, but that would have been a mistake, they'd insist I wend my way to casualty and I would have been there all night... and nothing would have been resolved.

Tudor Rose Tearooms today

I have an appointment with the doc next Friday at 1000hrs and I'm already plotting (working on ways I can reduce my BP). Daily cycling is one thing, although this is also to stop me fretting at night times when I hit the sack and it was something Andy suggested when we met on Saturday (yesterday) at Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield Village. "Just a local five-miler, nothing more, don't attempt to start cycling to work as that will cause more stress when you fail to get it together, just five miles, nothing more, nothing less". So I'm going to do it. Incidentally, I weakened and ordered a slice of cake. See, there I go, fretting again.

Right now I'm just a ball of stress. I simply can't relax. I'm always thinking about work or I'm feeling wary about something and it all starts from the moment I open my eyes. Consciousness reminds me about the BP situation, about work and anything else that might cause anxiety, down to little things like "can you put X or Y in the loft?" or "should we put the electric fire back in the garage?" And if I'm sitting down, reading a paper or watching the TV I'm thinking "I wonder if my BP is dangerously high?" It's a continuing onslaught of worry and with the latter it's because I don't want to take blood pressure tablets, I don't want to be one of those people 'on medication'. Last night I had the monitor on all night and most of the readings were borderline high and some very high, but I managed to get one or two below the 140 marker, but nowhere near the optimum reading. I find myself getting conspiratorial about it: the docs just want to make money by getting me to take out a life-long prescription, that's all this is about. Apparently they get paid for every prescription they issue, no wonder there's a load of top-of-the-range Audi sedans in the surgery car park. I view doctors with suspicion like I do almost everybody these days. Very few people have my best interests at heart. And what really annoys me about the BP thing is this: I don't drink, I take regular exercise, I eat relatively well, I make a point of walking to Purley station every morning (well, most mornings) to keep up my steps. My only vice is the odd bit of cake, although I do need to lose about a stone in weight, and that's why I'm going to bust a gut to do that daily 5-miler during the week.

Sunday's ride to Westerham

It's Sunday morning and the sun is shining, but it's not warm outside. Far from it! Time to hit the road and get some exercise, in the shape of a 22 miles plus ride to and from Westerham. I'll probably have a large English Breakfast tea when I get there and then ride home again. The weather was bright and sunny and cold as I headed off in my Parka, heavy jumper, beany hat under helmet, and gloves. I rode the slow way along Beddlestead Lane and then down Clarks Lane, a left on to Pilgrims, turning right at the Velobarn and then riding up the hill to the Costa. There was quite a few cyclists in there and a long queue so, reluctantly, I moved along the green a little to the Tudor Rose Tearooms where I enjoyed a pot of tea and a rock cake, which was absolutely perfect. For a short while I was chilled out, deep in thought, sipping tea and munching on that rock cake. Wonderful. But soon the journey home beckoned and I found myself standing on the green, buttoning up the Parka, putting on the crash helmet and gloves, pressing 'resume' on Strava and then heading off, retracing the inward route. I decided to ride through Woldingham and up Slines Oak Road and then made my way along the Limpsfield Road towards home. 

Thoughts on this and that...

It's hard trying to get back into the swing of cycling, especially now that the weather is closing in. We're in November, heading towards the middle of the month, but the weather seems pretty mild. Last Saturday I rode to Westerham and sat outside munching on a billionaire's shortbread. Yes, you heard me, a billionaire's shortbread. It was fantastic, so good that I didn't want it to end, but I started to realise that I'd been falling back into my old ways: no exercise for a start (or not much) and then the food. The snacks. The white chocolate cookie, the chocolate brioche rolls, the Wispa Gold, the stale cinnamon brioche bun from Costa the week before last and that's just the sweet stuff. I bought some ham as I thought I'd be making my own sandwiches for work, but in the end I couldn't face the ordeal of eating a sweaty homemade sandwich when I could simply walk to the caff and enjoy something a little more substantial. But I digress, the billionaire's shortbread: it was worth every penny and even now, five days later, I'm still thinking about it. During the week I raved about it to colleagues, under the mistaken impression that only I knew what a billionaire's shortbread was. I was mistaken, which made me wonder why I hadn't enjoyed one before. A few days prior to my Saturday ride to Westerham (I think it was Wednesday) there was trouble on the trains. Somebody had jumped in front of a train close to East Croydon station. The emergency services were dealing with it. For me it meant 'no trains'. I wandered away from the station in the dark and made my way to the Costa Coffee opposite the bank for a large English breakfast tea and a millionaire's shortbread. Fortunately, I had a decent book on the go: Dave Grohl's excellent memoir, which I have since finished. I sat in the Costa reading it and then moseyed on back to the station and jumped on a train. The problem had been sorted out.

Night sets in early

It starts to get dark around 4.30pm. I started thinking about riding the bike into work and while the morning ride would be fine, for a while at least, the return journey would be a race against time. It takes around one hour and 15 minutes to ride to work and roughly the same going the other way, so I'd be home around 5.15 and would probably be riding in the dark for roughly half of the ride. I can't say the idea appealed to me and I don't remember doing much in the way of night riding last year, apart from the odd Norfolk Nobbler, talking of which, I did one today, a 7.30-mile ride. It's always a bit of a work-out riding the Nobbler, thanks to the hills, but I always feel good when I get home. I went out around 1345hrs and the ride was around 40 minutes in duration. A good way of bumping up the weekly mileage is to ride short distances, like the Nobbler, and while fairly easy on a Thursday and Friday (when I'm working from home) it's a little more difficult on a work day. Would I be motivated enough to ride at 0600hrs before eating any breakfast? Well, I wouldn't get any time for my Alpen and fruit as when I get home it'll be time for walking to the station to catch my morning train. I should really stick to Washpond Weebles on Thursday and Friday lunch time, but today's exercise was to determine the mileage of a Norfolk Nobbler with a view to riding one every day. Big thoughts! But I know only too well that when I wake up in the morning the last thing I want to do is get on the bike without drinking tea, munching toast and eating my Alpen and fresh fruits. It's just not going to happen. Actually, I really must get my act together; what with the aforementioned chocolate bars, cookies and billionaire's shortbreads, I must seriously slap myself into shape. For most of October I avoided the cakes and while I've only just started to weaken, I must stop it. That stale cinnamon brioche bun from Westerham Costa last week put me off, making me wonder at the time why I even bothered. Perhaps I should have taken it back.

More mid-week Washpond Weebles are needed

It's Friday and if there's any justice in the world I should be looking at a Washpond Weeble at lunch time. Right now, as I write this, it's breakfast time and today I admit I went over the top: in addition to my bowl of Alpen and porridge oats topped with blueberries, grapes, raspberries and sliced banana, I enjoyed two slices of toast with honey AND a couple of fried eggs on two pieces of toast. I'm thinking about another cup of tea as I write this.

Rain stops play

Friday brought rain and in the end I didn't go out so it all rested on Saturday, but instead of my usual ride to Westerham, I rode a 9.72-mile 'special edition' Norfolk Nobbler, a local ride extraordinaire (basically three loops of the Norfolk Avenue/Arundel Avenue/Ridgeway route). Last Sunday I started my week as usual with a ride to the Northern Kent market town, which is my long-winded way of avoiding using 'Westerham' twice in the same paragraph, but now, of course, I've done just that. So my weekly total was around 38 miles (one 21-miler, one 7.20-miler and a 9.72-miler, you do the math).

Billionaire's shortbread in Costa Coffee

I love coffee shops

Coffee shops have taken the place of pubs in my world. While, in the dim and distant past, a pint and a cigarette used to be my idea of relaxation (it never ended well) I now prefer sitting in Caffe Nero or Costa with a large cappuccino or an English breakfast tea. Alcohol never did me any favours, quite the opposite, and now, four years after giving it up, I found myself in Caterham, home of Ross Cycles, sitting in a Caffe Nero (I think it's the best brand around) reading a new book, Willy Vlautin's The Night Always Comes, his sixth novel (I've read them all). A couple of weeks ago, when I walked from Ross Cycles to Caterham railway station after dropping off my bike for its silver service (click here and here for more details) I stopped off at the Caffe Nero for a large cappuccino and a slice of cake. It was chilled and cosy. Yesterday I found myself alone in the house and decided to jump on a train to Caterham and head back there, book in tow. Again, I ordered a large cappuccino and this time a millionaire's shortbread. There's a tinsel Christmas tree at the front of the store, making it that little bit more cosy. I loved it and I sat there reading until I'd finished my coffee and cake. I found myself on the 1450hrs train back to Purley Oaks from where I walked home.

Sunday: the start of my cycling week

And now it's Sunday morning, almost 0700hrs. I've been up since 0600hrs and managed to listen to Radio Four's Something Understood (I'm guessing the subject was commemoration). I've since switched to the World Service and I'm guessing the news is about to be broadcast. Time to hear more about what is essentially a climb-down on climate change now that COP 26 has come to an end. I'm about to listen to Weekend with Celia Hatton. Coal is being phased down, not phased out, thanks to India, but who can blame them? We've had our industrial revolution, let them have theirs. I just hope that industry worldwide continues with its plans to reduce emissions. I know for a fact that the global steel industry is doing more than its bit to reduce emissions.

But enough of all this. There's around 30 minutes before I need to ride to Westerham to meet Andy and start my cycling week. Hopefully I'll be able to put in some decent mileage this coming week.

Notes from the ride...

The ride in itself was absolutely fine. I rode the standard route along the 269 and down Clarks Lane and when I arrived Andy was inside the Costa drinking a large Americano. He was halfway through a toasted tea cake. There was a long queue and everybody was ordering complicated drinks so I decided to wait it out and chat with Andy before getting up and ordering my English breakfast tea. But the queue never quietened down and in the end Andy left and I had a dilemma on my hands: queue up again or just ride home. I started to queue again, but immediately got annoyed with the whole situation and decided to ride home. I considered the Tudor Tea Rooms, but what was the point? I rode towards the Velo Barn, turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane and then crossed Clarks Lane and followed Pilgrims Lane to Rectory Lane where I turned right and joined Clarks Lane again but a little further up the hill. Loads of stuff was going through my mind. Do I take The Ridge into Woldingham? Do I take Beddlestead Lane and Hesiers Hill? Do I take Beech Farm Road and Washpond Lane? Nothing appealed and I felt I wasn't quite ready or motivated enough to tackle any big hill. This has plenty to do with being overworked. Instead I rode the 269 and reached home around a quarter to eleven (1045hrs). We slobbed for a while, had burgers for lunch and then headed out for a drive to Ightham Mote where I (foolishly) ordered a large cappuccino and a gooey mince pie. I can't say I really enjoyed either of them and vowed there and then to stop cake, biscuits, bread and cappuccinos. On the bread front, no more than three slices a day. Dinner was a light pasta dish with a tasty tomato-based source, home-made, the perfect end to the weekend. Tilly Ramsay survived another dance-off in Strictly.

Bicycle servicing and a growing throwaway culture...

I took the train to Caterham on Saturday morning (30 October 2021). There was rain. As I walked up the hill in the general direction of Ross Cycles the hood on my parka was up and then down and then up again, but when I reached the summit and rounded the corner at the top of Whyteleafe Hill it was little more than the odd spit as I took in my surroundings. Everything looks down at heel and miserable when it rains; cars with dirty hub caps pull out of side roads, an obese man mops the floor of his takeaway and soon I turn left with only a rough idea of where I am going. I could have taken the bus, but the thought of sitting there behind a steamed up window, wearing a mask and passing by the gloomy shop fronts and empty playing fields made my heart sink. As the journey continued, I spotted a red double decker bus crawling along and felt relieved that I'd taken the train, even if I had to wait around for 20 minutes in a bright and deserted waiting room on Purley station. When the train turned up I had a carriage to myself.

Even when I reached the top of the hill, there was still a long way to go, it's a good half hour walk. I turned right and found myself on the home straight. It wasn't long before I was just yards from my destination. Am I happy? On one level, yes. I'm getting my bike back. But on another level no, I'm pretty cheesed off. This morning I received a text saying my bike was ready to pick up and that a receipt had been sent to me via email. I had already spent £90 on a silver service and was expecting to pay a little more for new parts, but what I wasn't ready for was the price at the bottom of the aforementioned receipt: £201! All the parts had worn out, including the bottom bracket. I started to wonder why I had bothered with a silver service. Had I opted for the bronze the bottom bracket would not have been touched. There was certainly no evidence that it needed to be fixed, nothing appeared to be loose. Everything else I expected: new cassette, new chain and front crank, new brake pads, but it still felt a little disappointing parting with the cash. 

"You might as well buy a new bike!"

The thought that "I might as well buy a new bike" crossed my mind as I remembered trying to get my Kona serviced back in 2016. There I was, standing in Ross Cycles, I'd spent the best part of £300 and with that money, once again, I could have bought a cheaper bike with block brakes, perhaps, and yes, cheaper parts, but nevertheless a new bike. 

Perhaps the owner of this bike needs to buy a new one

My own bike wasn't far off being 'basic' in terms of its components (unlike my Kona Scrap, which languishes in my garage with two flat tyres). My current machine is a Specialized Rockhopper, but it doesn't have top-of-the-range components and that, says Ross, is one reason why the final repair bill was so high: the cheaper parts wore out quicker than more expensive parts. Really? Well, I guess that higher spec brakes and gears would offer greater longevity, but let's not ignore the amount of cycling I've undertaken over the past year since I last had a service: easily over 3,000 miles, around 80 to 100 miles a week, I was certainly pushing the envelope, and when so much cycling is being done I should have expected that the brakes and the gears and the cassette and chain were going to wear a little, but this doesn't move away from that price. £291 in total. And that figure is enough for me to nip down to Halfords and buy a new bike. In fact, I checked out Halfords' website and I could have bought a new bike for far less than that, £175 to be precise, but let's stick with a bike for the price of the service; there were a couple of them that appealed and while, obviously, I haven't gone that route, the fact that I could have done riles me slightly. It riles me because I know that this time next year, if I keep up the cycling, it's liable to happen again and I can't think of any way out of it. It means, of course, that if I assume every annual service I have is likely to reach the £300 mark – or thereabouts – then, in a few years from now I'll have around half a dozen unserviced bikes in my garage and just one that works (a new bike). There is, of course, something ridiculous about the whole situation, but let's make no mistake, a scenario now exists where I might as well change my bike every October for a new model rather than getting my current bike serviced, and the worst thing is this: the bar is set very low when you consider that, for around £180, I can nip down to Halfords and buy a new one. Now, people might say that block brakes are terrible compared to hydraulic ones, and they are, I know, but this isn't an argument about blocks versus discs. 

Where am I going wrong?

I'm trying to work out where I'm going wrong. I've considered treating my bike like I treat my teeth (a check-up every six months) but that, theoretically, would halve the bill to around £150 twice a year and still mean I'm spending the best part of £300 on getting it serviced and even then, let's not forget the Slant, a bike I spotted in Halfords a couple of years ago for just £99 new. Assuming that's still around, then just a minor service might result in the utterance of the great phrase: "You might as well buy a new bike, sir! Have you considered the Slant?" At this rate I could open my own bike shop in a few years and my stock would be a dozen or so unserviced bikes. If I went on a cycling mechanic course I could fix them myself and sell them on ebay. 

So where am I going wrong? Am I (or was I) riding too much? Is there anything I can do to reduce an annual servicing bill of almost £300? Should I have taken the bike to the shop solely to fix the brakes and not bothered with a silver service, which gave the bike shop the opportunity to 'look under the bonnet' and find loads of other things that needed doing? 

Other sports would cost more

But then I look at it in the cold light of day: Cycling doesn't cost me much in the general scheme of things. I'd be paying a darn sight more annually if I went swimming three times a week or if I joined a gym. A measly £290 for a service once a year and new parts thrown in is nothing, even if it does mean that theoretically I could buy a new bike with the money spent. Perhaps new bikes are too cheap. But then I think of all the Ammacos and Carreras I see parked up all over the place, outside snooker halls, pubs, railway stations and supermarkets, and I look at them and wonder whether the rider would do what I did and ask for a silver service at a bike shop. Where would they go if told 'you might as well buy a new bike'? The point is that if the brake blocks wear down they'd get them replaced, probably for under £20, and as for replacing the cassette and the front crank, well, they wouldn't.

Taking the bike to the shop is getting very much like visiting the dentist or, perhaps, talking to the hygienist. They're always berating me for this or that, not cleaning my teeth probably, not using the brush in the right way, which I always think is a bit of a farce as even if I did do it properly they'd find something else that I wasn't doing right and it's the same now with bike shops. "You ought to clean the chain more often." And who's to say that's bad advice?

I am smarting at the cost of my service, I am, it's true and yes, I could have bought a new bike with the money. Alright, perhaps a slightly lower spec, but even that isn't the point as, either way, I'd be forking out the money, new bike or newly serviced bike. 

A lot of mileage

I don't feel as if I've been ripped off. I believe the shop was right and that the parts had worn beyond repair and needed replacement. The shop had said that if my bike had higher spec parts they might not have needed replacement, meaning that the cheaper the bike you buy, the quicker the parts wear down. Conversely, however, a higher spec bike would cost more to replace the parts. It's swings and roundabouts, and while I keep obsessing about brake blocks versus discs, that is not the issue here. When I look at my itemised bill, for example, all they did was change the pads for £15. I had covered, easily, 3,000 miles over the year since last October, probably a little more as I'm currently around 1,690 miles based on when I started recording my distances back in late April of this year, and that's not accounting for the six months prior, going back from April 2021 to October 2020. I could be nearer to 3,500 miles or even more.

However, it's all water under the bridge as the money has been spent, a virtually new bike now resides in my garage, it feels great to ride and I'm happy with it, but for almost £300 and that phrase "you might as well buy a new bike" looming large in the back of my mind, I'm ambivalent about the whole episode and will think twice when I next feel that my bike needs to be serviced. From now on it goes in for individual jobs: brake pads, gears and so on. There's really no need for anybody to 'look under the bonnet', it's a bike for heaven's sake.

Baffled, disappointed, confused, disillusioned

Ultimately, I'm left baffled, disappointed, mildly confused and disillusioned either because bikes are so cheap they can be thrown away rather than serviced, or that servicing itself is so expensive. Bikes are bikes, they last forever unless, perhaps, they collide with a car and end up with a bent frame. For me, the frustration lies in the fact that I have a good bike in my garage that I didn't get serviced because I was told 'you might as well buy a new bike'. I'm sure the guys at Cycle King a couple of weeks ago were teeing up the phrase as they told me what might be wrong with my bike. 'You might need an entire new brake'. I fully expected the guys at Evans Cycles to suggest it to me too, had I handed over the bike for one of their silver services.

I was going to look into cycling mechanics courses, and then somebody told me they learnt to fix their bike by watching YouTube videos. Now that's a good idea!

Further reading...

For further reading on this story, check out What's wrong with bike shops?

What's wrong with bike shops?

Autumn leaves, in hordes, tumbled along the road towards me; it was as if I was up high looking down on crowds of people fleeing some kind of disaster or tidal wave. They were being pushed along by a gusty wind and followed on from a night of persistent rain that left huge, black puddles, including one especially large one in my local railway station's car park. I was on my way to work and as I walked along the road towards a much later train than normal, I found myself fretting about my lack of cycling. Things had tailed off considerably. Last Sunday was my one and only ride this week. The week before it was a similar story, just one ride and now, looking ahead at the coming week, it's looking pretty shaky. Today I ride to Sutton. It's around six miles and will give me a weekly total of something like 28 miles. Even when I was putting in decent mileage (around 71 miles) it was a step down from the 80+ miles I had been covering, and of late that had dropped to 60+ plus miles as I juggled work with riding. Up until recently, a routine of sorts had fallen into place: Monday to Wednesday at work, a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and Friday and a longer ride on Saturday culminating in a pleasant half hour people watching from the warmth of a Costa Coffee in Westerham. However, over the past fortnight that routine has flown out of the window, thanks in large part to the hassles associated with not having a central heating boiler. That little problem has since been fixed.

Cycle King Croydon: I smell a rat

You may ask why I am visiting Sutton on my bike on a Friday morning. Well, for a start, I have the day off. In fact, I have every Friday off until virtually the end of the year, and also Mondays. I'll be on three-day weeks from next week, which, I suppose, is all good news for cycling. But I digress, why am I riding to Sutton? I am riding to Evans Cycles where my bike is booked in for a £60 service. They say I'll have it back within 48 hours. I've warned them that the rear braking system needs some attention, there's a nasty scraping noise whenever I pull up the brake and I'm told that the shoes are worn down and I might have damaged the disc. "You might even need a new brake!" exclaimed the manager of Cycle King in Croydon, immediately arousing my suspicion last Sunday when I rode down there to ask them to fit new brake shoes, thinking that was the sole cause of my problems. But of course I wasn't going to get away with it that easily. He even said I'd have to go online and buy the discs myself as they were having supply issues with Shimano. I smelt a rat and initially considered Ross Cycles in Caterham, but then found there was an Evans Cycles store in Sutton. Ross had done a brilliant job servicing my bike last year so I thought I'd repeat the process, but my bike is now dangerous to ride (as I discovered when I rode down Slines Oak Road last Sunday morning). In essence it doesn't stop. Sutton is a flatter journey, no huge hills, like the one heading down towards Whyteleafe from Warlingham School otherwise known as Tithepit Shaw Lane. So I booked an appointment for 1030hrs this morning. I'm told they'll take up to 48 hours to return the bike to me (depending on parts) and I'm betting they're going to say they haven't got this or that - probably those Shimano discs, who knows? In other words, I'll be another week without much in the way of riding and I'm going to have to grin and bear it.

Evans Cycles, Sutton: no qualified mechanics?

I rode around 12 miles to Sutton and back, unrecorded by Strava as my phone was out of power. It was cold out, I wasn't wearing any gloves, but I did have thick cords over my cycling shorts and a fairly heavy fleece over a tee-shirt. Once I'd got going I warmed up. There were a few hills, notably Hayling Park Road, but nothing I couldn't deal with, and I had to endure fairly busy, heavy traffic there and back. I arrived at Evans Cycles around 10 minutes later than scheduled, but they hadn't noticed and business seemed fairly slow, making me wonder how long the shop would exist as there were plenty of bikes of all shapes and sizes and I was the only customer. I explained my problem to somebody I assumed was the manager, a nice chap who was willing to be of assistance and offer helpful information. The bike had been booked in for a £60 bronze service and I'd made remarks online that the brakes needed sorting out, probably new pads and also a new disc, but it all depended on what they suggested. The first problem was a lack of properly trained bike mechanics, which meant that all I could have was a bronze service, which was what I had asked for, but the guy checked the brakes and suggested that with the potential problems that lurked with my rear brake I'd be better off having a silver service in another store (either Wimbledon or Clapham where they have trained mechanics) as they would do all that was needed in terms of fixing other stuff (he said I'd definitely need a new chain and block) and then sorting the brakes out on top. I still don't quite understand this. I wanted the brakes fixed and a bronze service, but, he suggested a silver service by qualified mechanics but in another store. Why? Because for the £60 I'd get all the work done (gears etc) and then the brakes would be extra on top, whereas a bronze service only really skims the surface and I'd end up paying more because with the silver service the chain and block would be done as part of the deal and then any issues with the brakes would be extra. He estimated over £100 in total. My brain was now working overtime. Surely, if they gave me a new chain and block as part of a silver service I would still have to pay for the parts? So why couldn't the same thing be done with the bronze service? It probably could, I'm guessing, but the Sutton store didn't have 'proper' mechanics, whereas Clapham and Wimbledon outlets do and they'd be capable of carrying out the silver service, fixing the block and the brakes... I still don't get it, but he wasn't trying to rip me off, he was, in fact, turning business away and telling me to take it to another store, get the whole lot seen to by trained mechanics and not messed around with by enthusiastic amateurs. But what if I'd just come in off the street and asked for new brake pads? What then? Surely his rank amateurs could fit new brake shoes, something I would have done at home had I known how to. So I cycled all the way home again, a 12-mile round trip, braving the intense traffic and getting home a few minutes before noon. Now what?

Well, Clapham would be easy in terms of getting the bike to the store, it's a train ride from Sanderstead and then a short ride on the bike, past Arding & Hobbs and through Clapham High Street. I'd find it. Or, I could ride it to Caterham and Ross Cycles where I know for a fact that my bike's needs would be understood. Oddly, I'm tempted to go for Evans Cycles in Clapham, in fact, I'm about to check both options out again online. Had my bike been accepted by Evans in Sutton today, of course, I would have kissed goodbye to riding the bike this weekend.

Book an assessment, not a service

I have revisited the Evans website with a view to booking a silver service in the Clapham store, but I'm worried. The site says I can book an appointment and the store will tell me what sort of service they recommend for the bike. That's not the same as requesting a silver service and then accepting that the brakes will be fixed and all will be well. What if they suggest I have a Gold service and I don't want to spend the money? I would have to walk away.

Bike shops are beginning to annoy me as I believe, for example, that a Gold service will likely set me back the best part of £200, which is not far off half the price I paid for the bike new, which, no doubt, will prompt the suggestion, "you might as well buy a new bike!" which I fell for the last time when I tried to get my old Kona Scrap serviced. "You might as well buy a new bike!" I still have my Kona in the garage, unserviced from over four years ago when I was told that a new bike would be the best option. I made a point of not buying a new bike from the two shops who suggested it (Cycle King and the now defunct Cycle Republic).

Walking away with an unfixed bike

Why is it that I can no longer walk into a bike shop and say that my rear brake needs fixing without a load of cryptic clap trap that leaves me confused and not knowing what to do? These days I tend to walk away from bike shops with an unfixed bike rather than a fixed one. So far, over the past week, I have done just that: I walked away from Cycle King in Croydon and today from Evans in Sutton.

To me it is crystal clear that my rear brake isn't working (it's hard to stop!) and needs to be fixed. It certainly needs new brake pads so why can't they simply fix it?

Sticking with an independent bike shop

I have decided to stick with the bike shop that did such a good job on my bike last year, Ross Cycles of Caterham. Why I thought I'd try Evans Cycles and Cycle King, I don't know. The very thought of another cryptic conversation with Evans Cycles, this time in Clapham, and walking away (for a third time in under a week) with an unfixed bike was just too much to bear. I'm dropping the bike off tomorrow morning and we'll see what takes place.

Tomorrow has arrived and the ride to Caterham was fine, just under six miles and no major hills to contend with. I arrived around 1030hrs and handed over my bike to Ross Cycles. He took it in and told me it would be ready by Tuesday. Fine. That's what I want to hear. None of the rubbish spouted by the likes of Cycle King, Evans Cycles and the others. Yes, Ross will call me to say it's going to cost X or Y, I'm expecting that, but at least I've not walked away with an unfit bike, it's been taken in for repair, I have metaphorically 'handed over the keys' and I know roughly when it's going to be ready for collection. Thank you, Ross Cycles of Caterham.

Fog, footy and failing brakes...

The rain had gone by Sunday morning when I headed for Westerham to meet Andy last Sunday. The ride was pleasant, but when I reached my destination Andy was preparing to leave. I checked my watch, I wasn't that late, but he said he needed to be on his way, he had a lot to do, so we didn't get to chat. Instead, I sat alone inside the Costa doing exactly what I did the previous morning: day dreaming, people watching, listening to the chilled out music. As always, I could have sat there all day, reading the Sunday papers, perhaps, but eventually I departed, riding back the way I came when I discovered that, once again, Strava wasn't playing ball. This time it said that I'd only covered just over 16 miles when the reality was something like 22 miles. Very annoying. I rode back the way I came, and rode up Hesiers Hill (again) - it's easy!

Prior to climbing Hesiers Hill...

I think the problem with Strava on this occasion might (and I stress the word 'might') have been my fault. I stopped at the bottom of Hesiers Hill, prior to making the climb, and took a couple of photographs. There's a chance that when I used the phone's camera app that I stopped Strava and, because I did so unwittingly, I never pressed 'resume'. Hey Ho.

I can't hack a ride after being at work

As always, work prevented me cycling between Monday and Wednesday. By the time I reach home, riding the bike is the last thing on my mind; I'm thinking about what there is to eat and what's on television. Invariably I find myself watching the 6 o'clock news or The One Show (a fucking awful programme full of bland presenters who don't present any kind of threat to any woke people out there). There's nothing worse than political correctness and what it can do to those who try to live by it.

I should have taken the bike out on Thursday, but I didn't so I was left with Friday and it was touch and go. Eventually, however, I decided to ride the Washpond Weeble, just a straight 12.5 miles. I figured it was not worth worrying or fretting about it. The last couple of weeks had seen my mileage plummet by 10 miles to 60-odd miles, or just over, but now I was dipping further. Last week I only managed 54.81 miles, the week before it was 64 miles. But why worry? I resigned myself to lethargy and set off on Saturday morning to meet Andy in Tatsfield Village (roughly an 18-mile ride as I rode home via Woldingham). Meeting Andy on a Saturday was a break with tradition and this was because Andy had signed up for the White Lane hill challenge. White Lane joins Titsey Hill with Clarks Lane and it's a really steep climb. Both Andy and I have done it on many occasions and it's so steep that the front end of the bike becomes weightless and if you lose momentum, it's game over. We met on Saturday because Andy had done all the preparation he needed to do and was avoiding most hills until the big day (which was Sunday). 

Fog gives way to sun

I left the house on Saturday morning around 0800hrs in thickish fog. It was fairly cold too, but I figured I'd warm up as I went along. The fog persisted, but when I reached the beginning of the B269 I spotted rays of sunlight penetrating the murky greyness. It cleared by the time I reached Botley Hill and as I sailed along Approach Road into the village the weather was fantastic. I found Andy sitting outside Sheree's Tearoom (our agreed meeting place) and the whole thing was idyllic: sunshine, misty skies and warmth. I ordered a tea and we sat there enjoying the serenity of the situation, stroking an old dog called Sophie. After chatting about Andy's continuing veganism and other subjects, it was time to mount the bikes and head home. My bike, incidentally, is in need of a service. At the very least the front brake needs seeing to as it's scrapping and squeaking and I'm worried that a shoe has either worn down so much that it's scraping against the disc or that a shoe has fallen out completely. I could probably get away with just fixing the front brakes, but it's tempting to have a service, like last year, which has seen me through to now, a whole year basically of maintenance-free riding, thanks to Ross Cycles of Caterham. So my latest dilemma is just that: Do I nip down to Cycle King and get the front brake fixed OR take it over to Ross and have a service? Dilemmas, dilemmas! Either way something needs doing and Andy suggests fixing the front brake and giving the bike a clean. It definitely needs a clean, and fixing the brake will cost less than a service. Let's see.

Andy outside Sheree's Tearooms on Saturday morning

Saturday was a fairly uneventful day, but I did receive a text from Andy. He'd come off his bike, shortly after we parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road in Woldingham. Travelling around 20 mph he went through damp leaves on the road and came off, bending the bike's gear system and hurting his hip. The White Lane hill challenge was off, for Andy at any rate, but it meant our Sunday meeting in Westerham was back on so we agreed to meet at 0900hrs at Costa Coffee.

'Footy' - a subject we know little about

When Sunday morning arrived I enjoyed my usual breakfast (Alpen, porridge oats, grapes, bananas and tea) and then, around 0800hrs set off for the northern Kent market town. I rode straight along the 269, turned left at the Botley Hill roundabout and then sailed down Clarks Lane, the bike squeaking and scraping as it went along, all very annoying. As I approached Westerham I started to wonder whether Andy would be inside or outside, bearing in mind that it wasn't that warm. I found him outside talking to a man who resembed Doc from Back to the Future. The man wore a leather jacket and there were a few badges, one for the Sex Pistols, and other bands, but when I arrived they were talking football, not that Andy knows a great deal about the beautiful game and nor do I. Various names were mentioned: Jimmy Greaves, Peter Osgood ('he's dead now too', said I pretending I owned a huge encyclopaedic knowledge of footy when in reality I know fuck all. Fortunately I do know a bit about bands and the Sex Pistols so I steered the conversation towards Jah Wobble and Sid Vicious and soon discovered that our new friend used to be a drummer in a band called Lunchbox, but clearly he'd hit upon hard times. He's been living in rented accommodation in Westerham for the past 11 years, working as a taxi driver and having other odd jobs here and there, playing the odd gig but only getting a single clap at the end of a set. But he was a nice guy, a friendly man with his heart in the right place. He'd quit drinking about three months ago and I feared that he'd been advised to do so by his doctor. There were a few 'drinking stories', like the time when he entered a pub in Sevenoaks and a man took offence at his likeness to Doc from Back to the Future and started a fight. End result? Our new pal was banned from the pub, or something like that. Later, as Andy and I rode away, having discussed who his favourite drummer was (a toss up between Ginger Baker from Cream and Jimmy Hendrix's drummer Mitch something or other) we both agreed that he was a nice guy whose heart was definitely in the right place. As we headed up the hill, animated by our encounter with the man whose name we didn't know, I forgot that I was in top gear and that was probably why Andy and I were keeping together all the way up the hill, although Andy said he was taking things easy on his hip after yesterday's accident with the damp leaves.

Costa Coffee in Westerham

Some people have tough lives, far tougher than mine, I thought as I climbed towards Botley Hill. Our new friend, who doubtless we'll see again, possibly even next Sunday morning, lives in rented accommodation somewhere in Westerham, he was a taxi driver, ferrying the likes of Judi Dench to the Rendezvous restaurant in town, but I'm guessing that right now he's not doing a great deal, just about making ends meet I'd imagine. He looked a little down on his luck and I sincerely hope he stays off the booze. 

Andy and I parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road. When I reached home, Strava said I'd covered over 22 miles, which was good going for the first day of my cycling week. I told Andy I might try and ride to work on Tuesday and that got me quietly fretting about how many miles I would put in this week. Again, it's not worth worrying about and now, here I sit, writing the blog, nobody else in the house. I'm about to start making lunch.

Stopping bad habits

Despite missing my Thursday ride, it was a good week one way or the other. I must have walked around eight miles between Monday and Wednesday, from the house to the station, and I've continued (give or take) with my no cakes policy. That said, today I had a bread and butter pudding for dessert at lunch time, a smallish chunk of fruit cake round at mum's this afternoon and, about 10 minutes ago, bananas and custard. I don't know, I've stopped chocolate bars, despite one Wispa Gold last week, and I haven't bought a cinnamon brioche bun or a toasted tea cake or a millionaire's shortbread at Costa for over a month, I make do (quite comfortably) with a large English Breakfast tea in a tall paper mug. Mum's fruit cake, incidentally, is outside of the cake ban; I don't know why. Well, for a start, I haven't had a slice for a few weeks (no petrol in the car) so today's slice was acceptable, but I will keep it all on the down-low. There will, from this moment, be a desserts ban in the house, no more bread and butter puddings from Charlie Bigham, no more Bramley apple pie and custard and, let's face it, I've been off the biscuits for ages. Well, okay, those Rich Tea biscuits yesterday could have been avoided, but I'm fretting again, so I'll stop right now. 

My week on (and off) the bike...

It's Thursday afternoon, 30 September, almost 1400hrs, and there's a blustery wind blowing up outside. The skies are grey and the temperature has dropped, not considerably, but enough to make people start talking about winter. I'm hoping that in around two hours I'll be out on the bike, riding the Washpond Weeble, a 12.5 mile ride. With a bit of luck I'll be out on Friday too and then, if the rain holds off, a ride to Westerham will round off my week on Saturday. There is talk of rain at the weekend, but I'm hoping that 'abort' texts will be off the agenda. On Sunday, as long as it's not horrendous conditions, I'll probably pack a towel and get out there. In essence, I'm hoping for a respectable 70 miles this week, unlike last week's rides, which totalled just over 60 miles.

Westerham Costa, 2nd October 2021

So far this week I've put in over 22 miles on a ride to Westerham to meet Andy on Sunday. We did what we always do: sit outside and chill for half an hour or so before heading home. I rode up Titsey Hill again and then home via Washpond Lane, a kind of Westerham Weeble if you will. The outward ride was straight up the 269. On Sundays it's fine as there's not much in the way of traffic.

Damp cycling shorts

But let's get back to Thursday 30 September and my afternoon ride. It never happened. The rain started and my cycling shorts had been put in the wash and were wet, cold and damp, so I stayed in the house, glad in a way that I hadn't been caught out as there's a chill in the air now and things are starting to look unpleasant, unlike in the summer when, I recall, I rode to Knockholt and it tipped down. I remember standing outside the general stores in the centre of the village eating a Snickers bar in the rain and then cycling along Main Road towards Sundridge Lane and then Pilgrims.

It's now Friday morning, just gone 0700hrs and a day of work looms, but hopefully, either at lunch time or this afternoon, I'll be riding the Weeble. In all honesty, I have to ride today and then head for Westerham tomorrow to equal last week's piss poor performance of just over 60 miles. Let's see what transpires.

What transpired was a pleasant ride through the country lanes towards Washpond Lane, but instead of turning right and following the usual route I rode the length of Beech Farm Road until I reached the 269 where I turned left and headed for Botley Hill. I rounded the roundabout and then hung a left on to The Ridge, which took me into Woldingham, down Slines Oak Road and then up the steep hill at the end, which found me back on the 269 and heading home, a total of 17.43 miles.

The weatherman says it will rain

It's now Saturday morning and I awoke thinking there would be rain hammering down on next door's flat roof extension, but no, there's nothing. In fact, it looks like a very pleasant morning as the clock races towards 0800hrs. The big question is this: do I risk going out? Do I risk riding to Westerham? Do I put in a quick Weeble? Or do I sit here, let the rain come and forget about it? It's a tough choice, but in the end I decided to head for Westerham, bugger the rain, not that there was any, well, not until I was safely ensconced in Costa Coffee sipping a large paper mug of English breakfast tea. It had started to drizzle as I rode past the garage just prior to arriving in central Westerham, although that word 'central' sounds wrong as Westerham isn't very big, it's just a sleepy high street and nothing much on either side. But it started to rain and it didn't bother me because it wasn't cold. I sat in my favourite seat looking out at the high street and the chemist across the road offering free flu jabs while you wait. Not for me. I know too many people who had a flu jab and then felt terrible for days afterwards, probably because they had the flu, so what's the point in that? I've been double-jabbed for Covid.

Cosy in Costa in Westerham...

Eventually I decided it was time to head home, but I noticed that something was wrong with Strava. It hadn't recorded my outward journey and it was all to do with something that happened yesterday when I was planning on cycling to Waitrose to do a spot of shopping. At present we don't have a car, or rather we can't use the car because there's no petrol in the tank. There's no petrol in the tank because there aren't enough HGV drivers to deliver it to the petrol stations and this, by and large, is to do with Brexit and a lack of drivers, most of whom have buggered off back to Europe where, of course, the conditions for lorry drivers are far superior than in the UK. That cunt of a Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, knew that problems were brewing back in June, but like with the pandemic, he dithered and as a result there are huge queues for petrol where most of the noise from the general public, no doubt, comes from those Brexiteers who thought the UK was something greater than the reality. We didn't get a trade deal with the USA (and rightly so). Just one look at Johnson and Biden must have thought (like most people would): 'what a fucking cunt!'. I mean, look at the man if you need evidence, he's an absolute wanker of the highest order and he and his merry bunch of arseholes (Priti Patel, Dominic Raab, Michael Gove and others) are in charge of the country. Anyway, no petrol. I know for a fact that if I attempt to drive to the gas station the car will conk out before I get there, meaning that the only option is to take a jerry can and walk to the gas station, walk back, fill up the tank and then queue for petrol like everybody else. But bearing in mind that the UK is full of ignorant nutters, the sort of people who believed that slogan on the bus that Johnson was pedalling to everybody, there will be lots of moaning and shouting when I arrive with a jerry can. First, if you're on foot, you can't very well queue in the road behind a car, so I would have to just walk past the irate drivers and, well, who wants the aggravation. My plan is to let it calm down, which will take a few days and then try and sort things out.

Chilling in Costa Coffee

Where was I? Oh yes, in Westerham drinking tea. I sat there for all of 20 to 25 minutes and just day dreamed, watching passers-by and listening to the chilled out music that Costa Coffee pipes through the place. The women behind the counter don't know the names of the artists because apparently the music is piped from some central location, presumably to all outlets, but all I can say is this: it's chilled. I kept thinking about one day cycling here with my laptop and spending time online, blogging, perhaps, eavesdropping on conversations, drinking tea and possible munching on a cookie or a cake. Talking of cakes, theoretically I could have enjoyed one today as my challenge was to keep off the cakes for the month of September and today it was Saturday 2 October. But I resisted, mainly because I didn't want to break the spell and get back to chocolate bars and cinnamon brioche buns, not to mention millionaire's shortbread. So the tea was fine and when it was finished I left the Costa and took a brief look inside a charity shop that had opened (or reopened) across the street. It was the usual scene: old clothes probably removed from the houses of dead people, odd bits of clutter and even old shoes. There was a pair of walking shoes, or trainers, my size, going for £7.50 and for a minute I seriously thought about buying them. Dead man's shoes, or not as the case may be, but then I thought, I'm not THAT desperate, surely? I'm not that desperate so I walked out empty-handed, mounted the bike and headed home. 

It rained all the way home

Because Strava hadn't recorded my outward ride, I set it to record the return journey and vowed to repeat the outward ride so that I could simply double up the distance and get the exact distance travelled. It turned out to be 12.08 miles from Westerham's Costa Coffee to my house, so that's 24.16 miles in total, not bad, certainly more than last week's mileage. It rained all the way back but it wasn't cold and if I'm honest I quite enjoyed it. The return route meant riding up the hill, turning left on to Pilgrims just past the Velobarn and then heading up the hill towards Botley, but not quite going that far. I had to turn right on to Beddlestead, sail down the length of it and then crank down the gears as Hesiers Hill approached. Hesiers isn't a problem, I rode up it without losing a breath and when I reached the top I followed Church Lane and eventually found myself at Warlingham Sainsbury's where I turned right, rode into Warlingham and then along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead. Cars were still queuing for petrol as I passed the Shell garage next to Waitrose.

It was good to reach home and it was even better knowing that my original intention (of not going cycling because of the rain) had been completed reversed. Not only did I go out and ride over 24 miles, I beat my mileage from the previous week and it felt good. That said, my planned Weeble on Thursday never materialised, so last week, like the week before, I only rode out three times (Sunday, Friday and Saturday). The reason I didn't ride on Thursday was because my cycling shorts had been put in the wash and were wet when I went to put them on. In a way I was relieved, but in other ways it was a shame as the weather was relatively okay. It rained, if I recall, around 1730hrs so there's a chance I would have been caught out, but that wasn't top of mind at the time. I just didn't go, which was annoying. Still, I redeemed myself this morning and that's good enough for me. Tomorrow it's Westerham to meet Andy and the start of yet another cycling week.

Lots of walking

One last word about other forms of exercise. I didn't ride the bike Monday through Wednesday because of work, but on Tuesday and Wednesday I did a lot of walking, on average around four miles per day. I might have said this before, but walking is far more knackering than cycling. When I come back off a ride I feel energised and ready for anything. I'll happily make the dinner and wash up, for example. But after a walk I'm dead to the world, as weary as hell and in need of a sit down, a lie down, even. Either way it's all good exercise.