Non-stop rides and other stories...

Over the last few weeks I've started doing non-stop rides, meaning rides where I don't stop for a cup of tea or a bun (or both). Why I've started these 'new' rides, I don't know, probably out of a sense of not having much in the way of time on my hands, but still wanting to get out there and 'do a ride'.

Don't get me wrong. As the weather starts to improve - and it is starting to get more pleasant out there - I will be getting back to my usual routine; that of riding to, say, Oxted, and then sitting there nursing a green tea and an apricot croissant whilst sitting in the sunshine people watching and enjoying the pleasant summery mornings that tend to come our way when the clocks go forward.

I expect we'll be here tomorrow morning. Hopefully no rain!

There are, of course, many other signs that mean the same thing. One such marker is blossom on the trees. Long before the leaves appear on more conventional trees (is there such a thing as a conventional tree?) there are blossoms that bring out the Japanese in the locality who like to stand in front of my house (and others) and simply marvel and admire the blossom tree in my front garden. It isn't in bloom yet, but give it a few weeks and it will be, it's a bit of a late starter compared to other blossom trees in the area.

Seeing a tree in full blossom is a joyful experience. As I walk down West Hill towards the alleyway on my journey to Purley station (two miles) I always pass a white blossom tree in full bloom. I'm aware, by the way, that I'm using the word 'tree' and 'blossom' quite a lot and I will go through this post later to see how many I can delete.

From a cycling perspective, seeing all these signs, these precursors of summer time fills me with happiness as I'm not somebody who particularly likes the winter months. That said, when I awoke this morning, fully aware that later in the day I'd be outside mowing the lawn, I did start to feel a little down. Why? Because I don't want to mow the lawn. I hate mowing the lawn, getting the mower out of the garage, faffing around with the power lead and the circuit breaker and finally pressing the button and moving back and forth across my rather large lawn. In fact, it's not so much 'lawn' but 'lawns' - I've got three of them if you count the front garden. And let's not forget that the first cut of the year is the most challenging. I normally start at the highest setting and then step down to around setting three before I can genuinely say the lawn is done. But no, not today. Rain stopped play. Hailstones rained down upon me and I was forced to scamper around getting everything I'd taken out of the garage back in it.Secretly, I'm rather pleased that my lawn mowing was cut short, I just don't feel ready to mow lawns and the fact that it started raining proved me right. 

What I do like about winter - apart from fireplaces and watching movies and eating chocolates and all the cosy things I've been used to doing for years - is not having to do any gardening. Because I haven't had to mow the lawn since October 2023 I've spent my time visiting genteel places like Tunbridge Wells and sitting in cafes eating cake and drinking cappuccino. Bakewell tart, coffee & walnut cake, millionaires shortbread, you name it, I've enjoyed it at my leisure over most weekends since the mower was put back in the garage three months before Christmas. Well, now it's been woken up and it won't be hibernating for another seven months - not that I want to wish my life away. I've just got to get used to the fact that over the next seven months or 28 weeks, I'll be mowing the lawn at least every fortnight.

While lawn mowing is not my favourite pastime, it is good for me. My dad always told me that my garden was my gym and that I should get out there and keep fit in the process. Personally, I prefer to ride a bike into the sticks and find a coffee shop where I can sit and read a book for half an hour and then ride home again. Admittedly, it takes time and when I get back mid-morning the last thing I want to do is mow the lawn. However, that said, after a ride I always feel particularly energised and after a cup of tea I might well head on out there and get it done. Remember, it's only the first cut that takes an age, after that it's no more than an hour if I'm just doing the back garden. I prefer the back to the front lawn because out front there's talking to be done. Neighbours to pass the time of day with, passers-by always ready with an encouraging word or two and I don't like it. At least out back there's nobody to disturb me, I just get on with it and when the true summer arrives I can enjoy sitting on the patio with a huge mug of tea and possibly a cake from the supermarket while I admire my handy work.

When the rain did stop play the lawn was three quarters done and that means it'll be nagging at me for the next seven days unless I get out there tomorrow and finish it off. That's the plan, but first a ride, most likely to be Tatsfield Village and Sheree's Tearooms and then I guess I'll have to get down to it, although secretly I'll be praying for rain. Tomorrow's ride (if it happens) is around 16 miles. Today's ride was just over 14 miles. I had been considering riding into Oxted (a 20-mile ride) but somehow I couldn't face that uphill ride up Titsey Hill. I rode to Botley Hill, turned at the roundabout and was immediately hit by a cold northerly wind. It went right through me as I pedalled north and never let up until I turned right on to Beech Farm Road. I quite enjoy non-stop rides as they make me realise that, where cycling is concerned - and bearing in mind that I've been riding the bike virtually every weekend since 2006 - I'm fairly fit and could do something silly like cycle around the coast of the UK, like Mike Carter or Anna Hughes. They've both written excellent books about their respective adventures and both are good reads for different reasons. But I figure that if I can ride non-stop for, say, 20 miles, that means I could easily double up and do 40 miles a day (at first) and then, as I get fitter and fitter day-by-day I could hit the 70-mile/day rate. I often think about it: on the road before 0800hrs, 20 miles under my belt in around 60-90 minutes, a rest somewhere with a cup of tea and then onwards until lunch time and then perhaps another 20. I could probably ride 60 miles a day without too much grief. I don't know how long it would take me to circumnavigate the UK coastline (or whether I'd ever have the inclination or the time to do it) but it's one of those things I think about at night, in the dark, in the middle of the morning when all is quiet. I imagine myself wild camping somewhere and waking up as the sun comes out, making breakfast on a stove and then jumping on the bike.

Something else I find myself thinking about in the dead of night when all around me are fast asleep is camping, sleeping under the stars, stealth camping in a wood. I often try to identify places where I could hunker down without detection in a small tent; there are loads of places. Even today, while out on my non-stop ride, I kept passing places that would fit the bill nicely. I think that if I was homeless I wouldn't be sitting in a sleeping bag in a shop doorway, I'd be out in the fields. I'd try to keep fit by walking a lot and I'd probably walk into the town during the day but sleep at night in the woods, away from the nutters who hate the homeless.

It's 2037hrs, that's just gone 8.30pm if you don't understand the 24-hour clock. There's one of those royal documentaries on the box (my wife loves them) but I hate them and that's why I'm here blogging. I've just eaten breaded cod with stir-fry vegetables and a dash of sweet Thai chilli. Women love the royals. In fact, most of the commentators are women, they love it. I can't stand it, but I do feel sorry for Kate, the Princess of Wales, she's not well and I wish her a speedy recovery, but I know one thing: the media will now be hounding her forever.

Last night I slept in the spare room. Not because of any rows or disagreements or anything. I went up earlier than everybody else, closed the door, drew the curtains back so I could see the evening skies and put on Radio 3. Then I allowed myself to drift off to sleep with classical music in the background. Believe me, it's really relaxing, especially if I catch Night Tracks, a programme that comes on around 10.30 to 11pm, I can't remember exactly, but the music is really weird and it gets weirder as the night progresses. I remember waking up in the early hours of this morning (Saturday) in a coal mine in Ostrava, Czech Republic, before I realised that I was still in the spare room and that it was the music, a recording of real coal miners in Ostrava, that I could hear. I space-walked to the bathroom and space-walked back and then later I awoke and there were blue skies outside. It was 0636 and time for breakfast. If you want to read more about me sleeping in my spare room, click here.

Leeches don't work on 'slime' innertubes...oh I wish I'd known that!

Not a great deal to say. Cycling has been weekly at best, once a week at worst and always Tatsfield Village. Nothing wrong with the destination, but the weather has been poor, on and off, for weeks. They're saying that it's the wettest February for years. I'm not sure whether the phrase "since records began" is appropriate, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Washpond Lane, Saturday 9th March 2024

Andy and I have been enjoying the sanctuary of Sheree's Tearooms, and the fact that Sheree actually exists makes it even better. We meet on Sundays mainly and enjoy a good old chinwag about something or other, it's a relaxing time when the troubles of the world can, by and large, be forgotten about, and believe me we've both had a few problems of late and they've taken their toll. My sister and Andy's wife have both passed and it's not been easy for either of us. I can't speak for Andy, obviously, but during the lead-up to Christmas, after my sister's passing in early December, I went through the mill a bit. I kind of calmed down by Christmas Day and, give or take, while the emotional side of things will take time, the physical symptoms, if that's what they were, have disappeared. I think (although I can never be sure) that I suffered from panic attacks. On the day of my sister's passing I should not have been driving, but I was and I felt terrible inside. It's hard to describe if I'm honest, but somehow or other I managed to fight through it. Cycling has helped a great deal and so did being at Sheree's drinking tea, munching a Biscoff biscuit and chatting with Andy. I know that Andy found Sheree's equally healing – and still does.

The Tatsfield rides were pretty straightforward, just a scoot along the 269 and then hanging a left at Approach Road, past the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop, which is now confined to the NoVisibleLycra history books as we tend to enjoy a café rather than a bench exposed to the elements. This, as I've mentioned before, was largely a result of lockdown, or rather the aftermath of the lockdown, and I think coffee shops are here to stay as we both feel that, in addition to the sanctuary offered at Sheree's, it's also a reward for getting out there and taking a ride.

I've been rather lucky on the puncture front of late. The reason might well have a lot to do with fitting one of those green slime inner tubes on my rear wheel. Weeks, months even, went by without a puncture and I began to feel invincible until, the week before last, I was riding along the 269's off-road path and suddenly the familiar wheel wobble meant just one thing: a puncture. Throw in some coldish weather and some rain and the fact that I had no idea about how slime inner tubes worked (leeches don't adhere to them, Andy told me later) and you have what I regarded as the perfect cycling disaster. Well, not so much disaster, just annoying. There I stood by the side of the 269, rear wheel resting against a gate, holding an inner tube, trying to find the puncture and getting ready to use a leech. Why didn't they stick, I wondered, as I worked through an entire pack of 'scabs' or whatever they were called. It seems that Leeches (the proper ones) have disappeared not only from bike shops but also from the internet and we're left with inferior products (what's new?) But let's get back to me standing in the rain, surrounded by discarded 'leeches' wondering what to do next. I'd told Andy that I was liable to be here for ages (and I was). It took a while to get the tyre on and off and then get it back on AFTER I remembered that my inner tube was supposedly designed to fix its own punctures. I noticed the green spot where the puncture was located and without any leeches to plug the hole I decided to put everything back together again, pump up the tyre and then hope it would get me home. It did! The drizzly rain didn't let up and by the time I got home I was unpleasantly damp, having not brought my cumbersome cape along for the ride. I put the bike into the garage and then, the following morning, I noticed that the rear tyre was still pumped up the following morning. To be honest with you, the puncture event happened on the Saturday and I think (although I can't be 100% sure) that on Sunday there was more rain and the whole idea of a ride to Tatsfield was simply aborted. It was the following Sunday that I met Andy at Sheree's and he told me how leeches don't work on slime inner tubes. Well, I know now. Like I also know that I'll avoid the off-road path if I can. The problem there was that I was labouring under a false sense of security. The rule, as we all know, is that the off-road path along the side of the 269 is puncture city, but for some reason I rode it a good half dozen times and never got a flat. I put this down to the new (ish) rear tyre as I figured the front tyre wasn't as vulnerable as the rear, but then it happened. Anyway, let's not go on about it anymore. It happened, the slime inner tube worked and all is back to normal. As I rode home on that drizzly day, however, I must say that I allowed myself to get a little angry about the whole episode. I tend to let small things get me down, which is silly and completely pointless, but I figured that the best way to change the direction of my emotions was to stop at the Esso garage and give the bike a much-needed jet clean, although it was my soul that needed jet cleaning. The bike had been covered in mud for some weeks and it was great to blast it all off and then ride home with a tyre that was still holding out.

I can't remember how things turned out after that; I carried on working during the week and cycling at the weekend and the rain and poor weather continued too. Today has been weird, although what is today? I can't even remember when I wrote this post, it was certainly around a week ago – up to this point – probably longer. Overnight there was a lot of wind and rain and then during the day the rain competed with the sun; one minute it was raining, the next minute there was sunshine. I decided to walk rather than cycle. Late in the afternoon I embarked upon a three-miler and I managed to escape the rain. I stopped halfway at a Costa in Sanderstead High Street for a green tea and, yes, a Bakewell tart and then I walked back. And now I'm sitting here writing this blogpost with the shit show that is the BRIT awards on in the background (so the BRIT awards will give you (and me) an idea of what day it was, not as long ago as I thought).

Hopefully the rain will have stopped once and for all tomorrow and I'll be able to get out on the bike and head for Tatsfield village or Biggin Hill or Westerham or wherever. I doubt I'll go to Biggin Hill as there's something depressing about it, especially the Costa Coffee there, which is a little dull. I don't know what it is, but some places don't work for me and Biggin Hill is one of them. It's fine on a hot summer's day but not when the weather's bad. There's always Oxted but right this minute I can't handle a ride up Titsey Hill.

It was a week later when I decided, on a Saturday, to ride the non-stop 'Botley Bastard', a trip up the 269 and then into Woldingham and home – around 15 miles; the following week I rode the Washpond Weeble (see photo of sheep above) – 12 miles – and now it's Thursday and the weekend lies ahead of me. I'm now thinking about Oxted or, perhaps, another non-stop ride, another Weeble perhaps or another Botley Bastard. I'm guessing Andy and I will be meeting on Sunday at Tatsfield.