Last week 70 + miles, this week just over 60 miles...

It's Sunday morning, 1128hrs, 19 September, and outside it's bright and fairly warm as we approach the end of September (alright, there's still just over a week) and the autumn sneaks in, or, as I call it, NoVisibleLycra weather, meaning dull and overcast, the threat of rain, cloudy skies. I've just returned from a ride to Westerham where I met Andy and we enjoyed tea and a chat. Things have moved on somewhat since the days of sitting at the Tatsfield Bus Stop sipping tea from a flask and munching Belvitas. We now visit Costa Coffee where a large English Breakfast tea (in a paper cup) costs £2.10; but it means we don't have to carry stuff unnecessarily, which is a big weight off of my shoulders (quite literally) as I used to carry a huge flask full of hot water, four tea bags and a mug. Now I don't have to, but I still bring the rucksack with me. That said, we've been talking about crossbar bags. I have one that sits on top of the bar, but it gets in the way. I was thinking of buying one that hangs down from underneath the bar. Andy says I can get a slimmer one that fits on top. In all honesty it's not top-of-mind, not yet at any rate. In fact, not much is top-of-mind at present.

The bottom of Hesiers Hill, Saturday 18 September...

As avid readers will already know, I love the Sunday ride. It's good to meet outside (or inside) the Costa in Westerham and enjoy the chat about routes and hills and saddlebags and things that non-cyclists would probably regard as boring. A big topic of conversation is Andy's planned ride to Cornwall to see his sister. He was always going to ride there, but has now decided to ride back too. Why? Because booking the bike on to a return train looks like more trouble than it's worth. If it's anything like booking a seat on a train, it could prove disastrous, ie somebody else's bike in the spot he booked or simply no space left. So, instead of all the grief, Andy's going to ride home. He's allowing three to four days and his first stop on the return journey will be a Premier Inn in Exeter. That's about as far as his return journey planning has got, although it looks likely he'll rely upon Premier Inn, Travelodge and possibly even Days Inn as rest stops as he heads back from Bodmin to Caterham. I have to say that I'm excited for him.

Ledgers Road, 16 September, on the Washpond Weeble ride.

My weekly cycling routine is starting to bed in and it looks (at present at any rate) that I can ride around 72 miles per week on Sunday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I'm not going to entertain the idea of riding after a day at work, it's far too tiring and besides, I can bolster my walking (and possibly even swimming) on the days I don't ride. My new routine appears to be a ride to Westerham (like today), two Washpond Weebles on Thursday and Friday afternoons and then a ride to Westerham (or Knockholt, the Lakes, Dunton Green) on Saturday. The longer I ride on Saturday will determine the total weekly mileage, which has the potential to reach 80 miles. In fact, I need to look back on last October and November's rides to see what I managed and whether I can achieve the same distances this year.

On Beddlestead Lane, 18 September, being overtaken...

On my no cakes or biscuits journey, things have lapsed slightly. Last Sunday I weakened round at mum's, but I've managed not to eat any cakes whilst on the ride, ie no cinnamon brioche buns or toasted tea cakes in Costa, and I've stayed off the chocolate bars completely, although today I had one of those yoghurt-coated 'Natural' bars, which I fear are just as bad. What I have been doing a little too much is eating bread. Today, for example, I've had six slices, starting this morning with two slices of honey on toast for breakfast (around 0630hrs) and then two more on my return from the ride (I figure it's better than a bun or a toasted tea cake), and then, just a second ago (it's now 1708hrs so let's say around 1700) I had a Marmite sandwich, but remember this: I haven't had any lunch so I guess I'm "quids in". However, I'm due to go out to eat tonight so perhaps I should have exerted a little will power (which I don't have where food is concerned.

25 Sept's ride...

I enjoy my weekend rides more than anything, especially the Sunday ride, and it was good seeing Andy this morning. We're going to sort out a curry (with Dave and Geoff) although we're not sure where Dave is: he could be in South Wales, but we're not sure. I plan to call his mobile to find out. Avid readers of this blog will remember Dave, the guy with the Harley. Geoff, of course, is the illustrious illustrator and I'm sure he's been mentioned in the past. We all used to work together, but the importance of the curry (in Whyteleafe) is that, back in 2006 we went there for an evening meal, Andy and I started talking about cycling and decided that over the weekend we would meet and ride to Westerham. It was the start of regular cycling together and we're still at it today.

One week later...

It's now one week later (almost) and I can't say the week behind me has been that good cycling wise. I missed a ride on Thursday and that's why my end-of-week mileage is just over 60 miles, a good 10 under my respectable distance of 70 miles. Today (Saturday 25th September) I left the house at 0730hrs, the earliest I've been out in months, and headed for Westerham in the fog. I rode via Beddlestead Lane and Pilgrims Lane, passing the Velobarn and coasting downhill into town. All the faffing around on country lanes to avoid 269 traffic cost me time. The usual one-hour journey that I take on Sunday to meet Andy turned into one hour and 20 minutes, I arrived in Westerham at 0851 and ordered myself a large English breakfast tea to take out. I sat outside, people watching until 0915 and then headed home again, following the outward route and even riding up Hesiers and then turning left and heading for Washpond Lane, 24.48 miles. Not bad, but as I say, 10 miles under my respectable weekly distance of 70 miles so I'm not overly happy with the situation.

Did I mention my Taliban trousers?

One thing I find absolutely hilarious is people queuing for petrol in their cars. Sailing past the queues on the bike made me feel great, on top of the world, in fact, as I picked up on motorists arguing with one another as they waited in line. It was even funnier when I heard this builder type (huge red head and clearly very impatient) shouting at nobody in particular, just ranting with anger as he waited for the queue to move. And, of course, the queue didn't move. Brilliant! He probably voted Brexit, which made it even funnier. "Bloody Europeans, coming over here and taking all our jobs, driving fuckin' wages down, the cunts! I'm voting for Boris because I believe every word he says and why don't we give the £350 million we give to the EU to the NHS? Good thinking, Boris!" But he was forgetting - he didn't know - that Boris Johnson is an obese buffoon, habitual liar, adulterer and all-round nob cheese, you just have to look at him to see that, what with his master race hair cut, his ill-fitting suits, he's no Churchill, far from it, and now we're all paying for the bigotry of the Brexiteers; and Boris and Grant Shapps have gone to Europe, tails between legs, to see if they can arrange temporary visas for the European workers they told to fuck off. This is brilliant news all round! Here's hoping the Europeans tell us to fuck off!

The great thing about bicycles is that they don't need petrol, just manpower - and they keep you fit. While I can't go out in my car (the tank is virtually empty and I can't afford to be stuck in a petrol queue) I've already been to Westerham on a 24-mile plus ride, enjoyed a large English breakfast tea sitting outside of Costa Coffee and then I rode home. Who needs a car? Not me!

A few words about hills

Just a brief word or two about hills, mainly to say that most of the inclines on my routes - Titsey, Hesiers, Slines Oak Road, even White Lane - are doable, but it hasn't always been the case. Now, after many years of riding and getting fitter by the ride, Andy and I are able to handle all the aforementioned hills, they no long present us with that feeling of trepidation as they approach. Quite the opposite, in fact; I've now started to take them on, ride up Hesiers or Titsey without thinking and slowly but surely get to the top. On Saturday, as I reached the top of Hesiers, somebody said something like, "I bet you're glad that's over!" Or, "It's easier going the other way!" People like to put in a friendly comment, which is great. And I always agree with whatever they're saying and continue on my way. Sometimes, though, I feel like saying, "Actually, you know, it's not too bad," but I fear I might come across as arrogant, when all I'm saying is that I've reached a certain level of fitness and hills no longer frighten me. Well, not the hills that I know at any rate.

Keeping it respectable...unlike Matt Hancock!

You know my rule, 70 miles or more per week and nothing less, that's the only way I can claim any kind of respectability out there in the cyclesphere, and this week I never thought I'd manage it. I was at work for three days and that put paid to any 'after work' riding. On Sunday just passed I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy, due to the possibility of rain and the fact that there's no cover in Westerham. Fine, but it reduced my mileage down from the usual 24 + plus miles to just 18.22 miles. I was on a loser, it seemed, but on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I rode the Beddlestead route (17.40 miles) and that bumped things up a little bit. Saturday morning I was set to make it around 80 miles, but foolishly in retrospect, I only repeated the Beddlestead run, giving me a weekly total of just over 70 miles (70.46 to be precise). I can live with that.

Col Du Skelly, a marker on Beddlestead Lane...

I started a new week today (Sunday 27 June) and rode to Westerham to meet Andy. I was thinking last night that we were going to be rained off, but no, it was fine. The weather was pleasant, fairly warm, a little cloudy and there was some fine drizzle but we avoided a soaking and now, at 1215hrs I'm back home and listening to Radiohead. Why? Because the BBC has been repeating Glastonbury and devoted a whole programme to the band's 1997 performance, which was little short of amazing. So now I'm listening to tracks from my favourite Radiohead album, The Bends, it's brilliant. I'm alone in the house, which means nobody is going to insist I turn it down or turn it off and yes, I'm typing a blogpost about my past week, which I've already explained. It's not possible to ride after work and unless I ride to work on the bike, which I've done in the past, cycling is off the agenda until a day I don't have to visit the office. Of course, theoretically, the Government is still saying stay at home if you can, but the company wants us in, in bubbles, and last week was my 'bubble' so in I went. To be fair, I welcome it. It's nice to see colleagues, visit the Pop Inn cafe for lunch and chew the fat with people I haven't seen for some time.

Looking up Beddlestead Lane...

It's Sunday, early afternoon, Matt Hancock has resigned his post as health secretary having been filmed grabbing the arse of his squeeze and, therefore, flagrantly flouting his own rules about social distancing. He's left his wife and, well, he's in a right mess. Boris Johnson, of course, was happy for him to stay in his post because, he, Johnson, has very, very low standards and is himself a dishonest arsehole who, like Hancock, and, indeed the rest of the party, should be removed from power. Look at the mess they've got the country in: Brexit, the highest COVID deaths in Europe and yet we voted for the cunts. Everybody is pissed off with Hancock and let's be fair they were pissed off before he was caught on camera snogging his bird. It's now a couple of days after the event and people are still seething, but their seething is tinged with glee as they know he's gone and is probably right this minute crying into his dinner. No longer in a position of power, it's only a matter of time before his mistress gets pissed off and decides to stay with her multi-millionaire husband, unless, of course, he kicks her out, although I hear she's left her husband, Hancock's left his wife and they're going to shack up together. How awful. She'll soon get fed up now he's no longer a member of the cabinet and just plain old Matt Hancock MP, an unimportant back bencher.

The Rockhopper at the top of Beddlestead Lane...

Andy and I were both running a little late. I arrived in Westerham around 0915 and spotted Andy sitting outside of Costa with a cup of black coffee and a slice of cake, his bike neatly parked next to him. I bought myself a large English Breakfast tea and a cinnamon brioche bun and then sat outside with Andy. We chatted about a number of things in between my bouts of heavy sneezing and itchy eyes. Hay fever. I get it every year.

I was heading in the Warlingham direction...

Andy's thinking about a 'dawn to dusk' bike ride to Cornwall to see his sister. It sounds like a great idea, getting up at the crack of dawn on the longest day of the year and riding until dusk. Andy reckons he could cover the 250-mile distance or get pretty close. I wouldn't mind having a stab at something like that. We talked about the Dunwich Dynamo, a night ride from Hackney to Dunwich in Suffolk, something else we'd both like to do, although there's the worry of how to get back home. Where's the nearest station, for example? But then I suggested renting a car or a van and we both agreed that would be the solution. Mind you, riding through the night could be hard and apparently it can get a little edgy when you reach Epping Forest, or so we've heard. It started to rain, but not heavily, so we remained seated and eventually it stopped and then it was time to head home, never a nice moment, the thought of the hill all the way to Botley and then, for me, the ride up the steep bit of Slines Oak Road.

Beddlestead Lane, not a million miles from the end.

Andy's on holiday next week so I'll have to motivate myself next Sunday, but at least this week I got off to a good start, a 22-mile ride. It's weird how the distances vary on Strava: today it was something like 22.95 miles, but the same ride has recorded as longer. I rely on Strava these days and, as Andy says, if it's not on Strava, it didn't happen.

Yours truly

It's official, by the way, Andy's become a vegan. He's riding daily, he's losing loads of weight, he's given up on eating animals and he's not finding it at all difficult. I mentioned that when I gave up drinking it was like flicking a switch and I no longer cared. I never really had any pangs, any craving for a beer, I just stopped and that was it; it's nearly been four years. We were having this conversation as we rode out of Westerham towards the hill, but we both know the hill starts as soon as we leave the northern Kent market town and that it's a right old slog all the way to the Botley Hill roundabout and then we follow The Ridge into Woldingham.

I'm amazed we both escaped a soaking. In fact it didn't rain all day and only started this evening (it's pissing down now).

75 miles last week, a respectable distance...

 I managed 75 miles or thereabouts last week. The weather picked up, which was nice, and because I'd taken the week off work I wasn't limited to rides after 1630hrs. Often times, riding late in the afternoon is wearisome and if I think too hard about the ride, like cycling up Church Hill or along Beddlestead Lane, then I start to feel tired and there's a very real chance that I simply won't go. It's great, of course, if I get out and reach that point of no return, because I know that I have to finish the ride, I can't shorten it and it means I can chalk up some miles on Strava. Now I know that sounds very Lycra monkey, I get that, but the great thing about Strava is that it records everything and earns me a bit of kudos in the process.

I stopped for tea along Beddlestead Lane.

Last week saw me riding along Beddlestead Lane then turning right at the end, riding towards Botley and than taking a left turn into The Ridge and following the road through Woldingham, up Slines Oak Road and home, a total of 17.39 miles, but it varied. The second ride was 17.41 miles and the third was 17.88 miles, although, on one of them, I did return home temporarily to check I'd locked the doors, which I had so it was pointless going back.

Towards the end of Beddlestead Lane

On one ride, the weather was so pleasant that I stopped around three quarters of the way along Beddlestead for a cup of tea. I'd brought a flask with me and sat on the side of the road. It was idyllic. There was almost total silence apart from the sound of the birds and then the occasional cyclist pedalling past and remarking on the weather. I had enough water and teabags for a second cup and I could have stayed longer, but decided to push on and finish the ride. I had intended to ride into Westerham, but didn't. I figured that around 17.5 miles was a good enough jaunt.

The serenity of Beddlestead Lane, total silence

At one stage during the week I realised I was on for a pretty good weekly mileage total, but as always things got in the way and I had to recalculate my distances. I figured that one more 17.5 miles or so would give me the magical 75 miles and that was it. I'd tasked myself with decorating a bedroom and it took three days from start to finish but put paid to a few rides. I never went out on Sunday (the start of my cycling week) and now I'm back at work and it's Wednesday. I must ride today, tomorrow and Friday if I'm to put in a respectable mileage at the end of the week. And you might well ask 'what is respectable?' and in my book it's 70 miles or over, anything less is a case of 'could do better'. Why 70? I don't know, but it seems about right, although my aim is to ride over 90 if possible, although I'll make do with around 80 miles if I have to; it all goes back to that 1630 ride and whether I feel up to it. It's great reaching home knowing I've done it, but it's hard to motivate myself to get out there and that's the key.

On The Ridge heading for Woldingham

One thing I did last week was fix the phone situation. I am now the proud owner of an iPhone XS and the battery is good enough to allow me to use Strava and take a few photographs, something the old blog has been lacking over the past few weeks. My old iphone 5S has been put out to grass and while the XS is slightly bigger, it's far, far better.

Looking across fields from The Ridge

Here's hoping I get out today, tomorrow and Friday and that my Saturday ride to Westerham gives me a respectable weekly distance.

A thorough drenching on Saturday and a puncture on Sunday

Tuesday 5th November: I thought there would be no riding at all this weekend due to poor weather. All week the forecasters had been saying that Saturday would be a wash-out, but when I checked the weather app on my iphone, the rain clouds of previous days had been replaced by a cloud without the blue rain underneath it, not until 0900hrs at any rate; that was when the rain was expected to fall, and, by and large, that's exactly what happened.

A pleasant and autumnal start to Saturday but later rain

Andy and I met on the green as usual and then headed off in the direction of Botley Hill along the 269. We'd decided to ride to the bus stop, the slow way, and while I felt sufficiently out of condition, having not enjoyed a long ride since 6 October, I soon found I was powering along Beddlestead Lane and was clearly not as unfit as I thought I was. We reached the bus stop and drank our tea while discussing Brexit and then it started to rain so we remained under the shelter of the bus stop until the rain stopped.

There was, I figured, a good chance that we'd escape a soaking. When Andy and I parted at The Ridge, I was thinking I could power along the 269 and get home before the rain starts up again, but no, it wasn't going to happen. A mild drizzle started and before I reached Slines Oak Road the rain was falling by the ton and I took refuge under a bus shelter opposite Sainsbury's, but not for long. I figured the rain was settling in for the long haul so I put on a brave face and headed for the green and, ultimately, Sanderstead. In the process, I was soaked, drenched, whatever other adjective you might care to use. but I was wet-through. The rain persisted and there was simply no point in taking shelter anywhere so I continued on my way, through the high street, down Church Way and when I reached home I had to peel my clothes off and hang them up to dry.

Fortunately, they were dry on Sunday morning and when I woke up at 0600hrs there was no rain, just a huge puddle on the roof of next door's extension. But when I headed outside to jump on the bike, having made the tea for the ride, I found my rear tyre was flat - again! I aborted and set about fixing the puncture a little later. It's ready to ride now, but there's no time as I've got a family event to attend and looking at the week ahead, it looks like more rain.

Christmas decorations spotted in Marks & Spencer, Sutton. Not long to go!

Feeling slightly depressed about the whole thing I left the bike in the garage and now I'm contemplating the week ahead and whether my early morning rides will be disrupted by the weather. Monday (yesterday) was fine and today (Tuesday) looks roughly the same, although rain is promised at lunch time. In other words, I will be going out shortly on a ride round the block. Unless, that is, I find a puncture. And the answer to that question is no, I didn't have a puncture, but I left the house late and decided to return and get to work on time. I'll go tomorrow morning, on time. I need to do at least three rides per week, so Monday, Wednesday and Friday is fine.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop – heavy fog meant the slow way there and back...

Another mild morning and we met at the green as usual. We headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop the slow way. Weatherwise everything was damp and wet and glistening and there was a fog looming, hanging in the trees, so we thought the slow way would be safer. There was a few Lycra monkeys on the road, and even more when we headed back along Beddlestead towards Hesiers Hill. This time, as I approached the climb I changed down and managed the gears properly. I stayed in a low gear for the second hill before things levelled out and we headed for the green where we parted.

There's always something musical that keeps me moving along. The other day it was a Christmas carol, the Sans Carol, but today it was Misty Mountain Hop by Led Zeppelin, I know not why. My in-built Walkman kept playing it over and over. "Walking in the park just the other day..."

We reached the green at 0930hrs and I got home 20 minutes later. A good ride.

Taking the slow way...

Saturday 22nd December, Tatsfield Bus Stop. Pic by Andy Smith

Saturday 22nd December: It's the day after the shortest day and darkness is on the menu. I leave the house at 0700hrs with my lights on and don't switch them off until I reach the bus stop. We opt for the slow way and it's far warmer than last week when black ice took Andy off his bike. He tells me that it was, after all, pretty painful, blood was drawn, he discovered on returning home and all week there was pain, but he's better now. We take it easy, riding down Hesiers Hill with our hands covering the brakes, slowing us down, it's not safe, but it's not icy either and I'm feeling energised all the way along Beddlestead. Little in the way of Lycra monkeys as we climb the hill, emerging on to Clarks Lane and hanging a left. We freewheel to the bus stop, park up and I serve tea. Andy hands out the BelVita biscuits, but I'm not that hungry, I've already eaten a hearty breakfast. I make do with just one. A bunch of monkeys ride past en route to Westerham as we continue to sip our tea and watch the cars travelling east and west. With Christmas just up the road, it's busier than normal, more cars on the road, plenty of bustle and it gets worse as the day progresses. Well, at least it's not raining. We ride back the slow way, very scenic, amazing how the landscape looks totally different when we turn the road inside out, ride backwards almost, rewind the tape so to speak. I wonder whether it's possible to free wheel all the way to Hesiers Hill, but then I forget to try and start pedalling. The hill is hard, harder because I get muddled with the gears, change up instead of down, lose momentum, end up stopping and find it difficult to get going. I'm on the move again, I don't stop until I reach the top and then we wind our way around the lanes, past St Leonard's church, then another hill, I mess up again, in the wrong gear, a constant problem, but I'll remember next time, perhaps tomorrow, except there is no tomorrow, it's rained off. I'm awake early, around 0430hrs, I lie there, right hand fretfully on forehead, thinking bad thoughts about the day ahead, it's going to be hectic one way or another and all I want to do is nothing, but that's not on the agenda, not today. I hear the rain falling and it doesn't stop. I finally get out of bed at 0600hrs, it's still coming down, I look at the puddle on next door's conservatory roof, stair rods, well, not quite, but it's relentless. "Looks like 'abort' as it's pissing down here," I write and send to Andy. "Yes, fingers crossed for tomorrow," he replies. Later on it is still raining and I am downstairs listening to Green by REM, the ride is off and I try to keep a tally on what day it is, soon I will lose it completely, that's the way it is with Christmas, I lose track of time. "What day is it?" A frequently asked question, but time to start reading Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland, a book that's been hard to find. I like Coupland. I read Generation X, it has a special quality, reminds me of the America I love. Right now I feel slobby. I haven't been on the ride, but today would have been cut short as there's stuff to do, people to give lifts to, jobs to be done, visits to be made and I've got a new coat that I'm excited about wearing, makes me feel like Kurt Russell in The Thing. I've always been a big baby and still am, I can't really grow up, that's my problem. Paddy Ashdown has died, aged 77, after a short illness and I am reminded of the time I met him, on a train, somewhere near Salisbury, a six-pack of Wadworth's 4X, time travel, he had a view, a good man for engaging in a crazy conversation, he didn't ignore us, he got involved, clearly a proper politician, a dying breed, literally in his case.

Woodmansterne and the very long way to Tatsfield Village – and a huge hill!

It's definitely colder. When I stepped outside on Saturday morning at some time past 0730hrs there was a distinct nip in the air. I felt compelled to wear a hoodie. Once on the bike, en route to Woodmansterne Green, the cool air went through my clothing and, yes, I was cold. Summer, I figured, was on the way out and it looked as if the Bank Holiday weekend would be 'changeable' at best. Those carefree days of extreme heat and scorched lawns were gone, until next year, perhaps, but who knows?

Foxley Lane in Purley is all dug up. I think it has something to do with the water supply. How do I know this? I saw a workman in orange overalls with the word 'water' written on his back. Alright, he might have been a dyslexic Water Mitty, but I doubt it. Once clear of the road works, which spanned the entire road, I reached the roundabout, crossed it and headed towards the lavender fields at the southern most tip of Carshalton and when I got there I turned left and rode towards the green.

Bon turned up after about five minutes later and we both drank tea and chatted about this and that. I told him that I'd be going to Felpham later and we roamed around the green for a while before Bon borrowed my pump to inflate his rear tyre and we eventually went our separate ways.

I did go to Felpham and visited every holiday home my dad had rented going back to when I was about six. It was a walk of over five miles, on the beach, and there were four houses to visit. All but one – the Heron – was on the beach: Georgia, Merryweather and Seafront. The Heron was still called The Heron, which was good to see.

The weather was good on Saturday, but it started to rain a little bit around 5pm. It might have rained overnight, but if it did, it had stopped way before I woke up on Sunday morning. I was going to abort the ride as I was feeling tired, having done all that walking and driving the day before and not getting home until gone 2200hrs. But I didn't abort. I texted Andy that I'd be running late and reached the green just before 0800hrs.

Sunday 27 August 2018, Tatsfield village

Andy was thinking about breakfast at Flowers Farm, but as time had moved on, the notion of riding the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop raised its ugly head. I didn't fancy Beddlestead Lane; it's long and seemingly never-ending, but we both decided to do it and off we went, saving any chat until we reached the quiet lanes that lead towards Hesiers Hill.

Andy spoke of a jobsworth 'Parky' who wouldn't let him take photographs in a Hampstead park and as we approached an off-road track on the left hand side of Beddlestead Lane – a track that would morph into Norheads Lane – I said 'let's take it and head for Tatsfield Village'. We'd come the other way before (and found ourselves on Beddlestead Lane). It was a while back, but I remembered an extreme hill and it was definitely Norheads Lane. The difference, of course, was that this time we were travelling in the opposite direction.

Norheads Lane took us into Biggin Hill, a place full of souped up Fiestas with lowered suspension and tinted windows parked in steep driveways. I quite liked it. We rode around until we saw a sign for Tatsfield and eventually followed Lusted Hall Lane, a long and very steep hill, which took us – the very slow way – into Tatsfield Village where we headed for the bus stop opposite the Old Ship pub and broke out the tea and biscuits. I had a banana and for good reason. Yesterday evening in a pub in Petworth (The Angel Inn) I ordered a chocolate brulée. It was huge – too huge, almost inedible huge – so I ate half of it and still felt like I'd done myself big internal damage. While the chocolate was very tasty, it was the consistency of putty and as a result, I left the pub considerably heavier. So before I left home for the ride I packed a banana on the basis that it would do me good, unlike the biscuits.

It was soon time to leave. We headed out of Tatsfield village and towards the famous bus stop at the end of Approach Road followed by a right turn on to Clarks Lane towards Botley Hill. Andy and I parted at The Ridge and I rode along the 269 on the off-road track, front suspension adjusted for the uneven pathway.

The plan was to ride on Bank Holiday Monday and I regretted the 'abort' text as soon as I'd sent it, but sometimes there's pressure to stay behind, although not riding always makes me short-tempered and today I found myself teetering on a bad mood most of the time. We'd planned breakfast in Westerham at the Tudor Rose and we'd been looking forward to it, but no, it was not to be. Andy's not riding next Saturday so I'll probably meet Bon and ride to Woodmansterne Green. Perhaps breakfast in Westerham or Godstone next Sunday.

Wonderful weather, wonderful rides...

Last weekend the weather was perfect so we had two excellent rides, one to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (the slow way there and back); and another ride to Tandridge, a destination we haven't visited for many years.

On Saturday the slow way to the bus stop seemed like a good idea, and because the weather was fine, we ambled along at our own pace, stopping, like last week, to admire the red poppies in the field along Beddlestead Lane. Their colour and number were more intense than last week, prompting us, once again, to get off the bikes and try to take a decent photograph. We really needed to get into the field, but there's a ditch and then a load of thistles so we didn't bother. Instead, we got back on the bikes and chatted as we rode along, occasionally making room for noisy Lycra monkeys.

Instead of BelVita biscuits I enjoyed a banana. I'm trying to give up biscuits and believe me, it's harder than giving up smoking or drinking, but I didn't weaken and after a couple of peppermint teas (I fancied a change) we jumped on the bikes and headed home, going back the way we came and being forced to climb Hesiers Hill in the process. Andy's about to embark upon some kind of hill climb challenge, so the more hills, the better. Hesiers is quite an ordeal, but as long as you're in the right gear (a very low one) then it's simply a case of head down and get on with it.

Church in Tandridge, Surrey – perfect!

We got home at a reasonable hour and there was plenty of work to do in the garden, which is fine on a decent day. I mowed the lawn front and back and spent a lot of time sitting under the umbrella drinking tea – a perfect way to spend a Saturday.

On Sunday we could have quite easily repeated Saturday's ride, but sometimes the thought of Beddlestead Lane makes us yearn for something different. We talked about riding to Oxted, which would have involved the infamous Titsey Hill or going to Flowers Farm in Godstone or even Godstone itself, but I remembered that there was some kind of weekend concert going on at the farm – Godstonebury (geddit? Glastonbury? Godstonebury?) – so we headed instead for a place called Tandridge, which meant following the route for Godstone, down Gangers Lane, but branching off left and taking a steep downhill run (14%) until we crossed over the M25 and then found ourselves on the A25, turning right and then first left on to Jackass Lane.

Prior to reaching the A25, we rode along the winding country lanes, the birds twittering in the trees and the sound of our mountain bike tyres on the tarmac being the only noises breaking the silence of the early morning, a deer crossed the road right in front of us; it was one of those moments to cherish: a wild deer prancing gracefully across the road and into the woods on the other side. Andy managed to capture the moment on his Go-Pro camera, which was great.

We followed the road down to a small green and then turned left and found a church. I can't remember the name of the church, but we found a bench in the churchyard and out came the tea and biscuits. This time I weakened, but with a massive hill ahead of me on the return ride, they were sorely needed.

It was a real Daily Mail, Midsomer Murders sort of place with plenty of well-to-do and filthy rich old people coming out of the church and bidding us a good morning. The thought of the hill delayed our departure, but soon we were on our way, psyching ourselves for the climb to come. And while it wasn't easy, it wasn't difficult either and soon we found ourselves on the country lanes close to Marden Woods and heading towards the Ridge and then Woldingham. We parted at the top of Sline's Oak Road, Andy heading for Caterham, me riding down to Butlers Dene Road where I turned left and then right on to a short gravel track followed by a left back on to Sline's Oak Road. The last hill was the last few yards of Sline's Oak Road, the bit where it joins the 269, where I turned left and headed through Warlingham, along the Limpsfield Road and home.

I arrived home around 1020hrs, put the bike in the garage and got on with the day, which meant more sitting in the garden under the umbrella in the summer sunshine. It was too hot to do any gardening so I simply chilled out and enjoyed the rest of my weekend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another fantastic day so we head for the Tatsfield Bus Stop!

Monday 29 May: Yesterday the good weather continued late into the night. Around 2130hrs, feeling the effects of mild exposure to the sun, I took a stroll around the block to enjoy the welcoming cool evening air, but around 0200hrs there were some heavy storms. Now, at 0637hrs on Bank Holiday Monday morning, it is bright and still outside and it looks as if we'll get a decent ride.

We rode the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop on the assumption that there wouldn't be a dry seat anywhere else – apart from the village – and when we reached our destination we chilled and watched steam rise from an adjacent field. There was a wonderful freshness to everything and it felt good to be out in the early morning air and close to the cornfields.

Riding the slow way means Beddlestead Lane, a long, twisting snake of dark tarmac that winds its way between the fields and carries Lycra monkeys from one end to the other who always manage to surprise us when the pass.

Our bikes in the cornfield behind the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Bank Holiday Monday

There are two types of Lycra monkey: one is the well-spoken senior management variety, and the other is a kind of working class, Alf Tupper 'Tough of the Track' type with exposed calf muscle tattoos. To make it easier for you, think of Seb Coe and Steve Ovett.

Lycra monkeys wear 'cycling gear' and by that I mean 'sponsored' cycling shirts and, of course, Lycra shorts or leggings. It's not a good look and when you consider that these guys aren't sponsored by anybody, it makes it kind of pointless. They often ride in groups and tend to raise their voices, occasionally shouting "Car!" or "Gravel!" as they whizz past us.

I often wonder what they must think of me in my paint-stained, many-pocketed trousers and my equally paint-stained hoody, unshaven and wearing a dirty old pair of trainers. They probably think I'm a farm worker on my way to the strawberry field or on the run from Border Control. Who knows?

Something must be done about my sartorial elegance. I need to ditch the paint-stained clothing and tidy myself up a little bit. I don't mean go out and buy some Lycra, but I need to smarten up.

It was pleasing to see somebody on a racer who wasn't wearing Lycra. A man puffed his way up Clarks Lane from Westerham wearing an old tee-shirt and what looked like a pair of boxer shorts. Not an ounce of 'sponsorship' could be found on his clothing, which was refreshing to see.

Two cups of tea were consumed and two packets of BelVitas too – it's our staple diet on all rides – and soon it was time to pack up and head home. We headed for Botley Hill and then north along the 269 towards Warlingham, occasionally acknowledging fellow cyclists riding in the opposite direction.

To Tatsfield Bus Stop for tea and fruit cake...

"When the spirits are low. When the day appears dark. When work becomes monotonous. When hope hardly seems worth having. Just mount a bicycle and go out for spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking." Arthur Conan Doyle.

16-17 April 2017: It's the Easter holidays, time for chocolate eggs and roast dinners, except that, so far, I've had a roast dinner but no chocolate eggs. I'm happy with that because it means I'm not going over the top, which is good. My mum came over on Saturday for some pan-fried Loch Fyne salmon, new potatoes, carrots and kale; a bottle of wine was involved, but so was driving the car so I refrained from overdoing it.

Today, more Easter festivities, it being Easter Sunday, and I've just returned from a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way – and, thanks to mum's visit yesterday, I was armed with fruit cake, a big chunk for Andy and a couple of slices for both of us to eat with our tea,  a welcome change from the BelVita biscuits. It was heaven: the sun was out, the sky was blue and we were sitting at the bus stop with steaming hot mugs of tea and a large slice each of fruit cake, it's difficult to imagine anything better.

There's a story behind the cake, which I may have told before. It was supposed to be a wedding cake for one of my nieces, but mum dropped it – not on the floor, but on the countertop, and it developed a crack that rendered it unworthy for the planned nuptial nosh-up. Another cake has since been made for the celebrations. But the old cake was perfectly edible and was more than intact enough to be eaten by whoever else turns up at mum's place in search of comfort. Yesterday I drove over to mum's to pick her up and bring her here, to my house, and before we left she gave me a large chunk of the cake so I cut it in half this morning and gave one bit to Andy when we reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Tatsfield bus stop – alright, I know, I know...

The weather this bank holiday weekend has been interesting: dry and sunny, but there's always been a cold breeze to make wearing summery clothing, like shorts, a little premature, although that didn't stop Andy from donning his and then grinning and bearing it, although it wasn't that bad. I stuck with my winter attire minus the scarf and balaclava.

We rode the long way to the bus stop on Easter Sunday and chatted as we made our way along Beddlestead Lane. The time flew by and soon we were gliding along Clarks Lane towards the bus stop where the cake was unwrapped. It was, I hasten to add, top quality: a rich fruit cake, very dark, but moist. As we ate cake and sipped tea we looked back along Clarks Lane at groups of Lycra monkeys making their way towards us wearing those awful luminous shoes and the skin-tight, faux sponsored, Lycra, not a good look. Andy and I constantly question the Lycra monkey 'look' and wonder why, or rather what these people are thinking as they pull on their cycling clothes. Surely they don't peek in the mirror and think, "Whoa, steady, ladies, form an orderly queue." I've said it before and I'll say it again, my only question for Lycra monkeys would be simply, "Why?"

We rode back the fast way along the 269 and nothing was awry. At Warlingham green we agreed to meet again tomorrow – Bank Holiday Monday – although the weather forecast wasn't looking good and rain was on the cards. I awoke early on Monday and it was dark and gloomy outside. It had clearly rained overnight, but was drying fast, there being just a small puddle on next door's conservatory (or extension) roof when I peered out of my bedroom window just after 0600hrs. I checked the mobile for any potential abort texts from Andy, found none and then had breakfast (Weetabix with grapes, blueberries, banana and chunks of an orange, not forgetting tea).

By the time I left the house around 0710hrs the bank holiday Monday weather had brightened a little as I rode towards the green. Before we set off I bought a box of PG Tips teabags and a small bag of sugar and then we cycled towards Botley Hill with every intention of riding to Westerham, but changed our minds and stopped at the Tatsfield Bus Stop. The Lycra monkeys were out in force again wearing their silly outfits and clippy cloppy shoes. There was no cake today, just BelVitas and tea, but we weren't complaining.

Rockhopper at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Andy had risked the shorts again while I stayed safe with my usual scruffy attire: trousers with a lot of pockets, a paint-stained hoody and, of course, my rust-coloured jacket, which has seen better days, but there's plenty of life in the old dog yet. although I need to address the way I look as it's neither big nor clever to look like an unshaven vagabond of the western world.

The Tatsfield Bus Stop is a very relaxing place and we're both glad it's back. The only problem is getting too settled and not wanting to ride back home. It is, as Andy pointed out, the spiritual home of NoVisibleLycra. I suggested a plaque was needed.

As for the Arthur Conan Doyle quote above, there are many reasons for it; for a start it's the God's honest truth: if you're feeling down, pissed off with life, upset by the futility of things and letting people (and 'stuff') get on top of you, just jump on your bike, get out in the fresh air and put all negative and depressing thoughts behind you.

Another reason for the quote is Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike – every chapter carries a quote, like this one. It's a book I continue to rave about and one I have often taken off the shelf just to relive the 'ride' taken by Mike around the coastline of the UK. A week or two ago I was in Waterstone's in Redhill, looking at books in the travel writing section. I had a book in my hand, I can't remember the author or the title, but an elderly man approached me and told me it was brilliant and that I must read it. If I go back there, and I will, believe me, I'll remember it's title and author and I might well buy it and read it. After the man had dispensed his advice, I felt I couldn't leave it there; I reached for Carter's book and told the man that it was the best book I'd ever read (I wasn't exaggerating). He took it from me and went to the back of the shop, where there is a sofa, just like I had done when I first discovered Carter's masterpiece. I can only assume that he bought it and enjoyed it as much as I did.

Blending the Conan Doyle quote and Carter's book, I can honestly say that if I'm feeling down or depressed, I often reach for One Man and His Bike and enjoy a randomly chosen section of the book to enjoy for a few minutes.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop! Yes, it's back!!!

On Wednesday the week before last (the day of the terrorist atrocity in Westminster, London) I was driving towards Westerham in Kent and found myself passing the old Tatsfield Bus Stop. Hold on, the council have finally put seats in! Yes, after some considerable time, Tandridge Council has got its act together and fixed the famous (in our minds) Tatsfield Bus Stop, one of our great cycling destinations. I related this information to Andy via text and it was only a matter of time before checked it out; in fact it was this morning.

The great Tatsfield Bus Stop now has seats again! Hurrah for Tandridge Council

The weather: Well tomorrow is supposed to be good, but today was characterised by rain showers and grey skies, although I didn't get any rain until I was riding down Church Lane having completed the ride. I'd left the house at just gone 0700hrs as usual, headed the usual route (Ellenbridge, Southcote, Elmfield, Morley, Church Way and then the Limpsfield Road all the way to the green. Andy arrived minutes later and we headed for NoVisibleLycra's traditional destination – the Tatsfield Bus Stop!

Avid readers might recall that a car (or something) hit the wooden bus shelter some time ago, easily a year, although I'll have to check for sure. Week after week, month after month, whenever we rode past, normally on our way to the bus shelter in Tatsfield Village (opposite the Olde Ship) or en route to Westerham, although we rarely visit the old Northern Kent market town these days, there was no seating. They'd cleared away the debris from the crash and fixed up the shelter, but they'd clearly forgotten about the seats – or so we thought. Since the crash we had both resigned ourselves to the fact that we'd never be enjoying our tea and biscuits at our old faithful bus shelter again, but hold the bus, there are now seats and what fantastic seats they are too. Made of sturdy, varnished wood with arm rests dividing what would otherwise be a straightforward bench into around five or six individual seats (I'll count next time we're there) the wood is a perfect resting place for all our tea and biscuits shit. There's nothing precarious, our tea cups can be placed on the surface of the seating without fear of toppling over – it's all good news.

And guess what? That great sport of seeing how far we can flick our used teabags off a teaspoon is back too (it should be an Olympic sport) AND we can watch the occasional idiots lose control of their cars when they rev up the engine as they attempt a right turn at speed on Approach Road. Once a guy with a Beamer lost complete control and ended up on the other side of the road facing in the opposite direction to his original plan. How we laughed!

We had decided to ride the slow way along Beddlestead Lane – always a chore – but it gave us a chance to talk about this and that without worrying about traffic, which can be quite dangerous on the 269 even early in the morning.

Last week Andy rode to Godstone Green on the racer...

On the return journey we rode the conventional way: up to Botley Hill and then down the 269 to the green where we parted company. Andy's not riding next week, I don't think. He's certainly not going tomorrow, leaving me to either ride alone OR take the urban ride to Carshalton to visit mum, although I've just been over there in the car listening to one of the best albums in the world, Generation Terrorists by the Manic Street Preachers. My favourite track? Condemned to Rock and Roll. Sheer brilliance.

Yes, it's me, Botley Hill, April 2008...

Weather report...
What is amazing is the way things have brightened up so quickly of late. It seems like only yesterday when I used to walk home in the dark, but yesterday (Friday) it was broad daylight as I trudged the half-hour walk along Hayling Park Road and up Jarvis to reach my house. Furthermore, the blossoms are out on the trees, including the one in my front garden. This a good sign because it means that summer is coming and we won't have to wear scarves and balaclavas and layer upon layer of clothing and have lights that work, not that mine ever do work properly. Normally either the batteries are flat or, well, that's about it, the batteries are flat, but now we don't need them at all. Ok, look, it's 1926hrs right now as I write this and it's still light outside. Wonderful! Soon it'll be tee-shirts and shorts weather, but hey, let's not forget this: it once snowed in April, back in 2008, and we were caught out in it. I still remember my face freezing up. Talk about face ache! But things are good, my California lilac is in full bloom, which is amazing, there are blossom trees lining the road, there's one in my front garden, and all is well with the world. I'll leave it there.

To Tatsfield Village via Beddlestead Lane...

Sometimes I wake up and wonder what the hell I'm doing getting out of bed at an ungodly hour and making breakfast. Fine during the week when there's work to be done, but at the weekend? I should be lying in, getting up around 0800hrs, if not later, having a leisurely breakfast and then slobbing for the rest of the day. Well, where's the fun in that?

This morning, though, I felt a little weary, but it was sleepiness, nothing else, and by the time I'd put the kettle on I was feeling good and looking forward to the ride.

Outside it was wet. Peering out of the window prior to padding downstairs to the kitchen I noticed that there was a large puddle on next door's conservatory roof. The skies were grey and there was a fair-to-middling chance that it would rain. Andy later told me that it did rain over in Caterham, but he pressed ahead and sure enough he was on the green waiting for me when I arrived later than expected. I won't bore you with the details.

Mist heading our way along Beddlestead Lane. Pic: Andy Smith

I aborted on Saturday and I wished I hadn't. The plan had been to ride to Godstone Farm Shop, where they make a decent cup of tea and offer a fine range of home-made cakes. We have steered clear of this place for one good reason: the steep hill on the return journey. It used to be a problem because there was always something wrong with my old bike's gears. But now that I've got a new bike it doesn't matter. There's something great about eating cake after riding a bike, but then again, there's something about drinking beer after riding a bike too or eating an unhealthy breakfast.

There were puddles everywhere as we rode towards the mini roundabout beyond Warlingham Sainsbury's. We turned left and followed the country lanes towards Hesiers Hill and then endured the slow burn of Beddlestead Lane, occasionally overtaken by well-spoken Lycra monkeys.

Halfway along we watched as the mist rolled in from Clarks Lane. It looked so good we stopped and Andy took the photograph that accompanies this blog post. We kept moving, reaching the T-junction with Clarks Lane, turning left and heading towards the Tatsfield Bus Stop, which still lacks seating.

We turned left on to Approach Road and rolled into the village where we broke out the tea and biscuits and discussed various things, such as a £15,000 electric bike from Audi that doesn't need a padlock. I can't remember the details, but Andy said something about refrigerated lorries and how , GPS would be undetectable should a bike thief decide to use one to nick the bike.

The subject of fake news came up too. My view is that a free press is part of a Western democracy, it's part of the system, like an independent judiciary and the House of Lords. So why does Donald Trump want to diss the system? Why does he want everybody thinking that the media is lying and that only he is telling the truth? And why is everybody so fucking gullible? One of the best pieces of stand-up comedy I've ever heard is Frankie Boyle's "It's the fucking banks!" sketch. Inspired.

He starts off saying that when he was a kid he used to watch Columbo and that all episodes followed the same format: the murderer was revealed at the beginning, before the pre-credits, and then the rest of the programme was about how Columbo reveals how and why the murderer committed the crime. Boyle watched the programme with his nan and despite the fact that the murderer had been revealed at the beginning, she still says, "I think she did it." A frustrated Boyle would then say, "No, nan, it wasn't her, it was HIM!!!! You saw who committed the crime at the beginning!"

For Boyle, the current situation in the UK – where everything is blamed on immigration – is similar to an episode of Columbo except that the 'murderer' is the banks. The current state we're all in is nothing to do with immigrants, it was the FUCKING BANKS!!!! The FUCKING BANKS!!! Why can't anybody see that? Is the entire population of the UK just like Boyle's nan watching an episode of Columbo?

We discussed the arrogance of Tony Blair and debated whether or not he was a war criminal and then mounted our bikes and headed for home.

The snow drops were out and the daffodils are on the way. The mornings are getting lighter and soon the clocks go forward, but neither Andy nor I have forgotten that it once snowed in April.

We rode North on the 269 – the fog having lifted – and from certain vantage points we were offered a fleeting glimpse of London from West the East. In the West the shimmering whiteness of Saint Helier Hospital bathed in sunlight and then, panning east, the Shard and then Canary Wharf. It was soon obscured by trees as we descended from the hill and found ourselves back in Warlingham at the mini roundabout next to Sainsbury's.

We parted on the Green. I'd be riding alone next Saturday and I'm wondering where to go. An 'urban ride' to mum's? Possibly. A solo run to Redhill? Could be! But we'll see what the weather has in store.

A cold ride to Tatsfield Village (the slow way)...

Another cold day. Arguably not as cold as yesterday, but cold nonetheless. I left the house at 0716hrs and reached the green at 0740hrs. Andy was there and he was sporting some complicated-looking, luminous gloves. Yesterday, Andy's hands had been adversely affected by the cold yesterday and he wanted to get some gloves that might solve the problem. After tweeting his local bike shop, Ross Cycles in Caterham, he ambled down there and was sold a pair of gloves with a kind of over-glove that freed up his index finger (presumably so he could still use the brakes); and they seemed to have solved Andy's problem with the cold weather. He said the ride from home to the green was much more bearable than on Saturday and later, as we rode purposefully along Beddlestead Lane, he sympathised with Phil's cold weather predicament, that of numbness and discomfort that ultimately means he doesn't ride when it's cold (and hence silly joke of cardboard box with Phil's name on it).

Snow as we approached Tatsfield Village...

Fortunately, it wasn't as cold as yesterday – but not far off – as we retraced our tyre tracks and followed once again the slow route to Tatsfield village via the challenging (at times) Beddlestead Lane. We both agreed that yesterday and today it was alright, mainly because we put our heads down and got on with it. The roads were just as icy as on Saturday so we exhibited caution as we progressed around the quiet country lanes, past St Leonard's church and on towards Hesier's Hill.

There was a burning, orange orb of a sun rising in the east and visible behind the bare trees and we considered trying to catch it on film, but lost it as we descended into the valley at the bottom of the hill. When we finally caught up with the sun it had lost its fieryness and was no longer worth capturing on film.

We haven't seen that many Lycra monkeys these past two days, certainly not on the outward ride. Today, we saw two on Beddlestead Lane, but no more, and it wasn't until we made our way home from the village that we started to see more of them, notably at the top of Beddlestead Lane.

The temperature had gone up considerably as we made our way towards Botley Hill and then home. For the first time I noticed that there was a hill going out of the village. I hadn't really thought about it before, but now I found myself remarking to Andy that the ride out of Tatsfield wasn't as smooth as the ride in, which was understandable considering the fact that from the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Approach Road it's virtually a freewheeling ride into the village. It should, therefore, go without saying that riding out of town would be an effort, but today was the first time I vocalised it.

At Botley Hill the sun was out and we pressed on past the pub and down towards Warlingham Sainsbury's. It was smooth going, although I exhibited caution as we reached the fast downhill stretch of the 269 as the roads were still fairly icy and I remembered my calamity back in October and Andy's recent fall along Beddlestead Lane.

Andy's off to Jamaica soon. Next week he won't be riding because he'll have suitcases to pack and this will mean a few 'urban rides' to mum's for tea and cake – or, better still, breakfast.

When we reached the green we said our goodbyes and soon I was gliding along the Limpsfield Road and through Sanderstead High Street, past the pond and into the churchyard prior to crossing the Addington Road and sailing nonchalantly down Church Way, over the speed bumps. Like yesterday I turned left on to Morley, right into Elmfield, left on to Southcote and then right into Ellenbridge. I reached home at roughly the same time and relaxed, temporarily, with a mug of tea and some baked beans on toast – part two of my breakfast, which started earlier this morning with a bowl of cold Weetabix, blueberries, raspberries and sliced banana.

The beavers are splitting and the pub's boarded up...

It was my first ride since, well, you know, the crash, and I'll admit to being extra wary on the roads. So much so that while dawdling around (on the wrong side of the road) near St. Leonard's church, I almost came face-to-face with the front end of a Lycra monkey's bicycle. Fortunately, we both saw the potential calamity and I switched back to the left side of the road, reprimanding myself for allowing such an incident to raise its ugly head.

Rockhopper 29 Sport, Tatsfield. Photo: Andy Smith.

After that I kept to the left hand side of the road, went down Hesiers Hill with my brakes depressed and generally kept an eye out for anything untoward. It's amazing how dangerous cycling really is; and how important it is to keep alert at all times, something, I'll admit, I never really bothered about. But that's me all over, drifting through life without any real cares about anything, hoping instead (and believing) that all is well with the world and what could possibly happen? Well, a lot can happen and when you're riding along on two wheels, it's extremely important to remain vigilant. I'll admit it cramped my style a little bit. I like a chat and a bit of messing around and when I had the old Scrap on the road I tended to ride it as if I was on a North London housing estate, humping it up pavements, taking wide, sweeping turns...but let's not go there.

Except we did go there. We decided to ride to the Tatsfield Village, scene of my downfall, and as we approached I shuddered as I remembered. I thought it best not to indulge in the infamous sweeping turn, especially on my new Rockhopper Sport 29, a brand spanking new mountain bike, far more sturdy than the old Crosstrail and, let's be frank, far more my cup of tea.

The Rockhopper Sport 29
The new Rockhopper – a straight exchange for the Crosstrail – has 27 gears, just the sort of range I need. It has wide bars and chunky tyres and the Specialized name emblazoned on the frame in a flaming, twirling red. The wide bars are good. Hell, the whole bike is good. It made easy work of Beddlestead Lane and I felt far more comfortable than I did on the Crosstrail.

I picked up the new bike last Saturday from Evans in Gatwick. I'd spent the entire day in and around the airport, having taken the train there fairly early in the morning. I dropped off the Crosstrail, chose a replacement bike – the Rockhopper – and then ambled back along the A23 to the Costa Coffee in the South Terminal's arrivals area. I bought a copy of last Saturday's Guardian, a cup of tea and a chocolate chip cookie and revelled in the joy of the moment: an airport, a coffee shop, a newspaper and, of course, a cup of tea and a cookie. But like most things, it was short-lived – and there was no flying involved. Cookies go and come, but earth abides, I thought, remembering George R. Stewart's book.

When the cookie was spent and the tea cup empty I checked out the magazines at WH Smith and read an article about Slade's bassist, Jim Lea. He joined Slade before it was called Slade and was a bassist through and through, having played the violin from a very young age. I've always harboured bass guitarist ambitions, mainly because I played the violin while at school and figured the four strings of the bass guitar (EADG) would be relatively easy for me to pick up. But like a lot of things, I'll never get around to it.

Soon it was time to walk back to Evans, pick up the Rockhopper, ride it back to the airport, jump on a train and ride home from the station. Rain stopped any riding on Sunday and today was the first time on the new bike. When I met Andy at the green he thought I'd put some transfers on the old Crosstrail, but I explained all as we headed towards Tatsfield Village, the slow way.

Splitting beavers and boarded up pubs...
Earlier this month, Andy told me how Beaver Water World had been evicted from its premises in Tatsfield. This week, we discovered that the Old Ship was 'to let'. I was amazed to discover that one of the pub's former leaseholders was a Mrs Gandalf. What would happen to the pub? Would new tenants (or lessees) take it over? Will it be transformed into a Morrison's or a Tesco Express? Let's hope not.

We ate our biscuits and drank our tea and discussed Gordon Brown and pensions and working into our old age in a DIY store or a supermarket. "We'll need places like Tesco Express," said Andy, as I rinsed out my cup and disposed of the teabags in the waste bin.

We rode home the slow way along Beddlestead Lane, determined to avoid the thick fog at Botley Hill that would no doubt force us off road along the 269. Fine, but it meant riding up Hesiers Hill. Fortunately, the Rockhopper's 27 gears served me well and soon I reached the top where Andy was waiting. My left knee pains slightly on uphill runs, so I'm afraid I was a little slow, but I didn't dismount, and that's crucial. We weaved our way around the narrow country lanes towards Warlingham, retracing our route past St. Leonard's Church, and then picked up the Limpsfield Road to the green where we parted company. I headed towards Sanderstead, Andy towards Caterham.

As I rode down Church Way I had a go at 'no hands', but then thought better of it. I also thought twice about taking the left and right turn from Elmfield into Southcote and then Ellenbridge at speed. Instead I rode at a gentle pace and arrived home in one piece.

To the Tatsfield Churchyard...

While Saturday's weather was dull and overcast – and very depressing – Sunday was the complete opposite.

During the summer months I tend to wake up early as the sun pierces through the curtains and I find myself ready to rock around 0500hrs. This is both good and bad news. Good because if I get up around that time I have a long period 'downstairs' doing things like writing this blog, drinking tea and munching on toast; bad because sometimes it's good to get the extra hour's sleep.

In all honesty (as I'm writing this on Monday morning at 0654hrs, having eaten breakfast of strawberries, raspberries and blackberries with natural yoghurt, Shredded Wheat with hot milk and a mug of tea) I can't remember what I decided to do yesterday morning. In fact, I do remember. I woke up around 0600hrs, caught the news in a semi-conscious state and then the beginning of Something Understood (I've said it before and I'll say it again, they, Radio Four, should do another programme entitled Something Misunderstood). In other words, it was a 'normal' routine. I jumped out of bed around 0610hrs, made my way gingerly downstairs – don't forget we have no carpet on the stairs and there are exposed Gripperods – and made some tea, toast, Shredded Wheat and fruit, just like this morning in fact. Or similar.

Deer on Beddlestead Lane, Sunday morning...

On Saturday morning I had woken up to find two abort texts from Andy and Phil. Andy said he was knackered; Phil was off to buy wedding rings in London. I opted to ride over to mum's through Purley and Wallington, leaving at the normal time and later enjoying tea and fruit cake while chatting about the normal stuff we chat about. I also fixed two lamps (mum had put 3-amp fuses in the plugs when she needed 13-amp – not that I'm Mr Handy, it was just commonsense). I left around 1015hrs with a bottle of chilled London Pride.

So it was Sunday and I left the house roughly on time, pumped up my rear tyre – it wasn't flat, but I felt it could do with a bit more air – and headed up Ellenbridge, across Southcote and then up Elmfield Way before turning left on Morley and right on to Church Way.

I reached the green at just gone 0730hrs and Andy was waiting. We decided to head for the Churchyard. It was, after all, 'churchyard weather' (dry and sunny). As we reached the Warlingham 'mini roundabout', close to Knight's Garden Centre, I suggested we rode the 'slow way' so we did a quick circuit of the aforementioned roundabout and then rode towards the Bull and round to the right, riding kind of parallel to the 269 and avoiding the fast cars. The quieter 'slow way' is characterised by narrow country lanes hemmed in by hedges at this time of year. It means we can talk and worry less about traffic.

There is, of course, the punishing Beddlestead Lane, a slow and winding incline towards Clark's Lane that always seems to take ages and, invariably, is populated by Lycra Monkeys as it was today – not many Lycra Monkeys, but a few. To the right of the lane is a huge cornfield that shone in the sun. There was a lonely deer and its offspring making their way towards the road, although I doubt they would have crossed it. Not that it was busy. Andy dismounted and took the shot (above) accompanying this post and then we soldiered on, past the 'totem pole' – a dead tree – and the mobile phone mast and on to Clark's Lane where we turned left, rode past the Tatsfield Bus Stop (still in a state of disrepair) and on towards the churchyard where we sat on our bench, drank tea and munched on chocolate BelVita biscuits. The weather was perfect and we both admitted we could have sat there for much longer than we did, chatting, as we were, about photography and bikes and stuff. Andy would like to take it up photography professionally, but is only too aware how the advent of digital cameras has led most companies that used to need photographers to rely upon their own staff members 'taking a few shots'.

The ride back along Clark's Lane was pleasant enough and soon we reached the 269 and rode towards Warlingham where we parted company.

The sunny weather continued throughout the day and so did my hay fever. By the time Top Gear graced our television screen I was so blocked up I was forced to see if I could find some Olbas oil. I only tried the local Co-op and returned empty-handed and had to make do with a tissue. Horrible. And so was Top Gear, it's just not the same without Clarkson, May and Hammond. I feel as if they're all pretending to have fun rather than genuinely enjoying what they're doing. As for Eddie Jordan...