This and that...

At the Lookout Cafe, Biggin Hill, Kent

Last week I rode 60 miles, two 21-milers and 18 miles during the week, not bad going, I thought. The two longer rides were both to Biggin Hill, which is a funny old place. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's certainly the home of 'white van man' and there are plenty of England flags on lamposts, but that's not really it, there's something else and whatever it is, it depresses me, it always has. Riding up Sunningvale Road was tough, easily the steepest hill I've climbed. On the first take, I lost momentum because the gears weren't lined up properly. In other words I was in the wrong gear and had to dismount and start again. At one point the chain came off on the first ride, but I was a little more prepared on the second ride and managed to get all the way to the top even if I was half dead when I got there. I cycled across the road to the Lookout Cafe, which was right on the airport, almost on the tarmac. Next door there was a flying school and no, I didn't even think about it. 

The Lookout cafe is ok but again, it lacks something, there's no atmosphere, but the place itself is good, there's a decent menu, you can order toasted crumpets, for example, there are plenty of cakes too, but I'd advise you not to have the 'farmhouse fruit cake', its far too greasy and left a greasy residue on my plate. I ordered it on the first trip out and left half of it, but on the second trip I bought a London cheesecake and I love London cheesecakes. When I was a kid I referred to London cheesecakes as 'whisker cakes' because of the shredded icing on top. They remind me of being a kid and they are really good cakes, but I was glad, after eating it, that I had a good 10 miles of riding to do. You need something to burn the calories after eating a 'whisker cake'.

On my first trip to the Lookout, it was packed and I couldn't figure out why the people were there: were they going to have flying lessons, were they flying off somewhere, were they airplane spotting or, like me, were they just there for the cake and the tea? Without asking them, there was no way of knowing. 

Light aircraft behind barbed wire at Biggin Hill, Kent...

On the second trip, I met Andy. It was his idea that we visit the Lookout and I'm glad we did as the ride to Biggin Hill, especially coming up Sunningvale Road, made the trip a proper work-out even if Sunningdale was the most punishing hill I'd ever climbed, even more of an ordeal than White Hill Lane on the way home from Redhill to my house. I think if I go back at the weekend, which I might, there's a strong chance I'll go up Stock Hill (or is it Stocks Hill?) as, for some reason it's psychologically better for me; I get this way sometimes, it's a bit the ride to Godstone when we go through the golf course, there's a bit I simply don't like and I can't put my finger on why, it just depresses me in some way. While Stocks Hill is fine, Sunningvale isn't and there's no rhyme nor reason for it.

I like a decent cafe, mainly because I like to sit there reading a book and sipping a mug of tea. The pastry or the cake is a bridge too far and I always feel disappointed in myself if I weaken, which I often do, especially if I find myself in Coughlans in Oxted, all those delicious-looking cakes staring at me, it's hard not to order one. But that's because I'm weak, I can't leave them alone however much I try and believe me I try, but not hard enough. I tend not to eat cake in Sheree's in Tatsfield, where a cup of tea will suffice, but everywhere else I'm tempted.

I try not to eat cake but last week I enjoyed a carrot cake in Busy Beans in Redhill. At least it's a carrot cake that has real carrots in it, I don't think carrot cakes elsewhere are like that; and yet, oddly, it's the thought of a cake with carrots in it that puts me off carrot cake. There's a big difference between cakes and pastries and normally, if I'm sitting in Caffe Nero in Oxted, I order the apricot croissant, sometimes an almond croissant, but in all honesty, the best place for the latter is Coco & Nut in Sanderstead, it's the filling, it's to die for. In Coughlans I often opt for the Bakewell tart and elsewhere anything goes unless I'm in Costa where I'm tempted to eat their rather processed version of the Bakewell tart. For me, the biggest sin is the millionaire's shortbread. Whenever I have one I regret it in the same way that I regret ordering tiramisu for dessert in a restaurant. Where eating is concerned I tend to regret a lot. The other day I found myself in the village of Graffham in West Sussex, I'd driven out of nearby Petworth and found a general store. In I went and found that they offered food. I ordered a sausage sandwich, another mistake and even more so when they fill the thing with half a dozen sausages sliced in half long ways. I munched my way through layers of sliced sausage, enjoying every bit of it but also regretting it. I've kind of given up on being frugal with food and this has been going on since the pandemic, although I'm getting better. We tend to eat well and by that I don't mean we stuff our faces. The food in our house is light and healthy and my breakfasts are always on the money: porridge with cacao powder and milled flaxseeds, a few grapes and a segmented orange. If I'm going to let myself down it's at lunch time. Normally, if I take sandwiches (egg, or egg and avocado or turkey slices off the bone with mustard pickle) I might wander over to Busy Beans and order a tea and a slice of their aforementioned carrot cake. In fact, of late, they've added a coffee and walnut cake, which is pleasant. 

This week I haven't been on the bike as much as last week. Sometimes I just don't feel motivated enough, it's weird. Last week I was up for it every night after work, Wednesday through Friday, and then the aforementioned Biggin Hill rides. I think it was the weather. There was spring sunshine and it put a spring in my step too. This week I did nothing. Tomorrow will be my first ride, probably Oxted or Westerham depending on how I'm feeling, or the non-stop ride, who knows? Not me. Not yet at any rate, it all depends on tomorrow.

Work has been a bit stressful of late, so I took a half day today and went into town, Battersea Power Station to be precise. I bought a pair of trainers and what a palaver it was too. Not today so much as I'd learned my lesson from the previous weekend, the weekend when my week totted up to 60 miles of riding. 

I hate buying clothes and shoes

I don't know about you, but I really don't like buying clothes, that's probably why I always end up walking out of the store with the wrong-sized trousers or shoes that should be bigger or smaller than what I bought. I always look a bit of a mess. Last week I drove to Bluewater to look for a decent pair of trainers. It all started three years ago when I purchased (from Clarks) a pair of ATL boots made with Gore Tex. They were great and, give or take, I wore them every day for around three years. Recently, I noticed that they were starting to wear through so I figured it was time to go looking for a new pair of shoes. What I really wanted was the same pair of ATLs that I was replacing, but Clarks no longer sold them and it was impossible to get them anywhere else. The key to the ATL's success was the soles, especially the upturned bit at the heel, but it was all academic, Clarks didn't sell them and nor did anybody else. So, I figured a decent pair of trainers would be the next best thing, something understated enough for use at work. But would a pair of trainers do the job? Would I be wearing them for the next three years, daily? I thought not, but I decided to take the gamble and give it a go; it was just a case of getting out there and buying the right pair. Fine, you might think. I know my size (size 44) so it should be a doddle. But no, it wasn't. For a start, when I tried on a size 44 it didn't fit. Why? That's my size! But no, I'd have to try on a half-size bigger. Fine, so I'm 10.5, not 10, when it comes to trainers. I found myself in a shop called Snow and Ice and, for the first time ever, I found the best salesperson... IN THE WORLD! She said she had my interests at heart. Yeah, right, but ultimately, I think she did. She scanned my feet and to my surprise I wasn't a size 10 (44), I was, according to the machine, a size 9! That simply can't be true. If I try on a size 44 and they're too small, I'm definitely not a size 9. In fact I know I'm not a 9 (43) because none of the shoes I have ever worn were size 9, my feet are too big for a size 9, end of. And now it looks as if I'm not a size 10 either, I'm a size 10.5, when it comes to trainers at any rate. My brain was frazzled by the end of the day, probably because of all that cycling, and I left Bluewater with nothing. All I knew was that if I wanted a pair of trainers I was a half-size up on my normal shoe size. I am now, a week later, the proud owner of a pair of Adidas trainers, they're black and they're Gore Tex but whether they last as long as those ATLs, well, I'm sceptical. But think about it for a minute. I have my feet scanned and they tell me I'm a size 9, not 10, which ain't true. I'll say no more. 

After one ride to Biggin Hill and a drive to and from Bluewater, not forgetting the wandering around trying to find a decent pair of trainers, I think I tired myself out if I'm honest with you; I felt so weary. The thing is, I can't do everything, I'm not Superman. I rode 60 miles on the bike, drove all the way to Bluewater shopping centre and then, when I got back I lifted sections of a rotten tree trunk into the back of the car and took them to the dump. I was knackered basically. This week my workload has been less and that makes me more likely to get out on the bike. The trick is to be motivated enough to go early and not to forget things and have to come back, that's always very annoying, but it happens to me a lot, mainly because I've always got loads of things on my mind. I often leave without my rucksack, which I need if I ride the Kona as it doesn't have a crossbar bag in which to carry a pump and puncture equipment. The problem, of course, is if I take the rucksack with pumps and puncture kit one week because I'm on the Kona, I then take the other bike out the following week and forget that I don't have a pump or puncture gear in the crossbar bag. Sometimes I go back for it; most days I do, but sometimes I don't realise until it's too late and I end up gambling. Yes, there's a good chance I won't get a puncture, but if I do and I'm miles away from home and nowhere near a railway station then I'll have to walk and believe me, it takes forever, pushing a bike 10 miles takes hours which in turn ruins/wastes the day. So I have to get my shit together or at least remember what's where and when: if the Kona's coming out to play I need to take the rucksack with all the gear in it; if it's not and I use the Rockhopper then I must ensure that the pump and other stuff is in the crossbar bag. I often put a beanie hat on and then forget to put on my crash helmut. Whenever this happens I return to get it unless I've gone too far before I realise and then I just carry on (it's rare that that happens).

It's nice going shopping during the week when there's nobody around, less people, no queuing for the toilet, the restaurants have vacant seats and so do the trains unless you leave it until rush hour. Because we were all too tired to cook I went out and bought a few things (pasta, a vegetable samosa and other stuff that would be needed during the week). I bought a tin of Nutella. I'm sure it's not that good for you but if I'm determined to take a sandwich to work (and save money) sometimes it's good to have something like Nutella hanging around as it's easy to spread and I'm good to go. The downside is that it's great and that means it's addictive and even now I'm thinking about a Nutella sandwich, but I think I can resist.

I'm obsessed with Pellegrino sparkling mineral water, I could drink it all day and all night. I normally have a glass first thing in the morning with my breakfast and then another when I get home from work. I've always liked sparkling water. I remember drinking a lot of Badoit back in the day and now that I don't drink alcohol, it's been over eight years, it's a drink I can enjoy both inside and outside the house. Incidentally, on the not drinking thing, I don't miss it, never have, not once, and I'll never ever go back to beer or wine or anything. It is a poison, remember, and poisons don't do anybody any good. I just don't need it anymore, that's the key thing. I gave up overnight back in October 2017 and I haven't touched a drop since. In that way I have great willpower, but when I think about it, I didn't need willpower, I just stopped and never went back. It's one of the best things I've ever done outside of marrying my wife and having a son and a daughter. I often wish I'd stopped earlier, I'd have probably been a better person, who knows? Was I such a bad person? No, I wasn't. A bit boisterous on occasion, made a fool of myself here and there, got a bit of reputation, but now it's all gone, the whole damn lot of it. No hangovers, not many late nights, and I suppose that makes me a more sensible person. 

It's almost 2100hrs, 9 o'clock in old money, and I'm going to be moving to the conservatory to read. I've got two books on the go at present: Charles Bukowski's Ham on Rye (what a brilliant book!) and Geddy Lee's My Effin Life, also an absolutely brilliant book. I'm really obsessed with Rush at the moment. I've been watching interviews on YouTube, I know all about them touring the UK next year (I'm guessing they'll be at Glastonbury and if they are, I'd be tempted to go). Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson are great people, I envy their friendship and I like the fact that they're not rock and roll casuaautiful Booklties. One of these days I'm planning a post dedicated to them. I really want to buy Geddy's  Big Beautiful Book of Bass, it's a coffee table book and I must get it soon. Geddy Lee is a collector, he collects bass guitars and baseballs and he is the lead vocalist and bassist for Rush and they're a great band, enriched by Geddy and Alex's friendship. I won't go on now, I want to write something a little more meaningful and that takes time. Right now I'm too tired and I need to be in the conservatory reading, it's a new routine. Normally I don't read that much at home, I leave it for train journeys, plane journeys and sitting in cafes (my favourite place to read and write). I'm going now, see you again soon I hope.

To Biggin Hill...

I left the house shortly after 0730hrs. Compared with yesterday, the weather was good. Outside it was bright and most importantly it was dry. But there had been rain, a considerable amount of it. Cycling down Lusted Hall Lane en route to my chosen destination there was a huge expanse of rain water spanning the road. I slowed down and rode through it very slowly, trying my best not to get wet.

Earlier, I had been in two minds about where to go; should I ride to Oxted, Biggin Hill, Carshalton, Westerham or even Tatsfield Village for a cup of tea over at Sheree's. I had an errand. "Can you get some Fairy washing up liquid, the green one?" Not a problem. There's a Waitrose in Oxted and Biggin Hill and in all the other places there are other stores, like Sainsbury's Local, Tesco Express, Nisa Today, you name it. I could have gone anywhere, but of course I wasn't riding just to get washing up liquid. I was out because there was exercise to do and I didn't get out yesterday because of the poor weather. As I said to Andy on the text, it was a wash-out.

Biggin Hill where I turn left into Sunningdale...

Andy couldn't make it today so I didn't go to Westerham. I did consider riding there, but I wasn't too keen on the ride out, never have been. I don't know what it is, but there are some routes where I don't like certain bits of the journey. The one I hate the most is the ride through the golf course, normally en route to Godstone and just prior to riding down Ganger's Hill, now there's a ride we haven't done for a while. With Westerham the entire return journey isn't good. For a start, most of the first half of the ride is uphill and it also hangs on which way I leave town. If I head out on Clarks Lane (the way I come in) there's something, I'm not sure what, that depresses me or that makes me feel weary. Not to put too finer word on it, I fucking hate it.

That said, I suppose you could say that all these routes have their bad bits. Oxted has Titsey Hill, but for some reason it doesn't bother me. Biggin Hill has Ricketts Hill Road coming out and Stock Hill going in, but again, it's not a bother, it's certainly not in any way depressing. Tatsfield's alright and so is Carshalton, although on the latter, I hate the return trip. As urban rides go, the outward bound journey is best, probably because there's less traffic, but coming out of Carshalton there are options, ie go out towards Woodmansterne and then back along Croydon Lane or cut through Wallington and the Stafford Road. 

Looking down Stock Hill on the return ride...

So I'm riding along thinking I could head over to mum's if I hang a right on Slines Oak, head through Woldingham on to the A22 and then through Purley, Foxley Lane and down through the Beeches, past the Windsor Castle and hey presto! Mum's gaff.

In the end Biggin Hill won the day. I rode along the 269 towards Botley, hung a left at the roundabout and then a left into Approach Road and down Lusted Hall Lane. It's a short downhill coast to Biggin Hill, probably no more than 10 minutes and then I found myself on Sunningdale Road, which is flanked on either side with modern houses, sixties or seventies built properties all a bit too close together for my liking. Some are nice, some aren't, but for some strange reason I like Biggin Hill, even if it is a little depressing. I can't put my finger on it. The last time I was here the Spitfire Cafe was closed, today it was open but I wanted the familiarity of the Costa Coffee, and besides, I have a Costa Card and after so many purchases I get a free drink. Unfortunately, the card didn't work in their machine so my purchase counted for nothing. I sat outside with a pot of tea and a couple of ginger biscuits. There was a man with his daughter, both on mountain bikes, Forme mountain bikes. They sat there chatting, the girl on her mobile phone checking her exam results. I simply sat there looking at passing cars and then decided it was time to get that Fairy washing up liquid. Waitrose didn't open until 1000hrs so I popped into the Tesco Express and bought what I needed, then I unpadlocked the bike and embarked upon the ride home. Left at the lights, down Stock Hill, but not before taking a photo and then left into Sunningdale, up Ricketts Hill Lane and through Tatsfield Village. I hung a right out of Approach Road, on to Clarks Lane heading for the Botley Roundabout. I turned right and rode along the 269. I'm always cautious on the 269 because there are nutters on the road, but soon I was on the Limpsfield Road, which technically is still the 269 but a little more suburban. Past Sainsbury's, round Warlingham Green, Hamsey, Sanderstead high street, Church Way and home. I must have reached home around 1030hrs and then I lay down on the wicker chair in the garden room. I've never felt so rested and I think I must have nodded off. I drifted in and out of sleep loving every second of it because I felt great. I felt rested and deliciously tired and weary. It was nice and it was past lunch time when I got up and headed towards the municipal rubbish dump. I had some olive oil to dispose of, like a whole bag of it. When we got there I was directed to a tank with a yellow hatch that needed to be opened before I could dispense with the oil. Then I drove to mum's. We helped her out into the garden and sat there for half an hour or so chatting in the pleasant breeze, talking about plants and trees whilst sipping tea and munching on two bar KitKats. I might have had three of them. And then, as we drove back, we decided to eat out rather than cook something at home. Fine, we don't do it often so why not?

Ricketts Hill Road takes me back to Tatsfield Village

It's now 2239hrs. I'm watching the second of two movies, both on Prime. The first was Red with Brian Cox, a good movie; and then The World We Knew, a crime movie, quite atmospheric. I'll probably go to bed in a minute as the camomile tea is kicking in. I didn't ride yesterday, but I got one in today, just over 21 miles, not bad.

I escaped the rain

At first I dawdled. I wanted to leave at 0800hrs, or did I? I'd already looked outside and the scene that greeted me was one that said it was going to rain, even if the iphone weather app said no rain until around 1600hrs. I decided to put my faith in the phone, it had been right before and I was sure it wouldn't let me down. But where to go? A short ride was mooted, a Washpond Weeble, no tea, no stopping, just constant ride in the gloom. No, surely not, there has to be more to life than a non-stop ride to nowhere. Oxted was always on the cards, but the two people I'd hoped might be there both butted out. Not a problem. 

Costa Biggin Hill...very pleasant

When I'm riding alone or not meeting anybody it means just one thing: greater freedom. I could leave the house when I wanted to and that helped in a way. I set off with no fixed idea as to where my final destination would be, but I had started thinking about Biggin Hill. Now there's a place I hadn't been to for a long while. I had fleeting memories of the place, the modern houses that were seemingly stacked on top of one another, the Spitfire Cafe, Stocks Hill, Ozzie's Cafe where they only accept cash or are closed...so that's where I decided to go. Tatsfield and Biggin Hill are virtually joined at the hip. One second you're in Biggin Hill and then there's a sign that says 'Tatsfield'. 

On the outward route I rode along the 269 and headed for Tatsfield Village, the temptation there being Sheree's Tearoom, but it's poor value for money even if the surroundings on a decent day can be quite pleasant, what with the pond and that whole village green thing going on. But I bypassed it, heading down Lusted Hall Lane, which was far more twisty than I remembered - and a little precarious when cars are around, but soon I was there, in Biggin Hill, riding through the burbs, trying to get my bearings and soon I found Ozzie's, having forgotten they only accepted cash. I never carry cash and I wasn't going to start now. Imagine that, drawing out money from a cashpoint, say a tenner, and then just spending a couple of quid on a cup of tea and having eight quid of loose change in my pocket. 

My bike outside Costa in Westerham last Sunday...

Cash is dead money, it's already been debited from the bank account, it has to be spent when, of course, it never had to be before it was drawn. I know, silly argument, but it's the way I think, so I circled back on myself and headed up the arduous Stocks Hill, right to the top and then a right turn and a slalom on the pavement to avoid pedestrians. I was looking for the Costa. I knew it was there and I knew it was at the far end of the High Street. I passed the Spitfire Cafe and it was closed, which was good as the cup of tea you get in there is a small mug. I wanted the large Costa English Breakfast in a takeaway mug, because you get more in the takeaway cup than you do in the pot and the tea stays warmer for longer. I did consider a Millionaire's Shortbread but it was £2.50, just like the tea. In fact, it might have been £2.60 and I didn't feel that was particularly good value for money either, so just a tea. 

Andy's New forks...love them!

I sat outside underneath the gloomy skies, which got gloomier as time passed and soon a fine drizzle began to fall and it might as well have been October, not July. Suddenly everything was extremely depressing. I was sitting under an awning so I wasn't getting wet. I just sat there watching the rain fall and thinking about the inevitable ride back. The vibe was bad, there was nothing to look forward to other than a soaking, or that's what I was thinking. My bike was padlocked a little way from the Costa but I could still see it. A few women went past with dogs, well one woman. There was a couple sitting close by with a small dog and they eventually upped and left and then a thick set man with a bushy beard sat on an adjacent table drinking coffee. Not sure what he ordered but I think it was an espresso. When the woman with the dog walked by he asked if it was okay to stroke the dog, she said yes, but don't be upset if he doesn't want you to stroke him. Fair enough, and the dog seemed a little indifferent to the man. A man with a tattoo on his upper right arm walked by with his daughter and soon it was time for me to consider the ride back. 

The rain continued but it was fine, very fine, like one of those sprays you might use on delicate flowers. I unpadlocked the bike and headed off back down the high street, gliding down Stocks Hill, bearing left and finding my way to something like Ricketts Hill or Ricketts Road, which was a long and arduous hill but not anyway near as hefty as going back up Lusted Hall Lane. I always seem to meet women when I'm climbing hills on the bike and they always have something to say, like "Not far to go, you're almost there!" And I always respond in kind and then carry on up to the top. She was right, there wasn't far to go, but I always get into my stride on hills, I knuckle down if you like and just move forward without thinking. I'd gotten used to the rain and it was so light that I didn't really get soaked at all. In fact, the rain stopped and I reached home intact.

Near Rectory Lane on the return ride from Westerham recently

The rain all but stopped by the time I reached Tatsfield Village green and followed Approach Road out towards Clarks Lane where I turned right and headed for Botley Hill. Then it was just a straightforward jaunt along the 269, through Warlingham, into Sanderstead and home. The bike's been performing really well of late, especially the gears which have been changing up and down with ease. During the week I did two Norfolk Nobblers. I've been feeling so tired and weary and have been finding it hard to get my act together and ride the bike. It might be something to do with not eating a decent hot meal at lunch time. I've been living on sandwiches and to be honest it's been fine but I've noticed that I've been getting increasingly weary. 

Saving money by taking the bus home, not the train...

I've taken to getting the bus home and just buying a single ticket for the inward journey to work. This way I save £25 a week, although I've been spending the extra on tea and toast and mineral water, but it's still good. The bus means I have almost a two-mile walk from the bus stop to home and this is fairly pleasant, but when I get home the last thing I want to do is get on the bike... or rather that was the case on Tuesday when I did the first ride. As soon as I turned on to West Hill and an immediate incline I almost turned back, I was THAT tired, but I persevered and put in a time of around 38 minutes. Put it this way, I was glad when I reached home and logged the ride on Strava. But then, two days later, on Thursday, after having a hot meal at lunch time (chicken bap, apple pie and custard and two mugs of strong tea) I rolled with it and shaved around four to five minutes off my time. 

Having a hot meal at lunch time is good

The Nobbler is harder than you might think, it's like a roller coaster and if I put the effort in to it I really feel it is doing me some good. I've also been using a trim wheel that has been sitting in the garage for years, but I've brought it back into the house and have been doing around 25 reps or whatever it is they're called. It's supposed to be good for the core and the abs and stuff, but let's see.Right now it's Saturday night, it's 1936hrs and once again I'm watching the Editors at Glastonbury on the television (iplayer). They're such a good band. I'm now watching Alt-J, never listened to them before, but they sound very promising. Actually, I'm not sure they're my cup of tea, in fact I'm going to turn them off, I don't like the cut of their jib. I've switched to Pale Waves, an indie rock band from Manchester with a female singer, but they're not that good so I'm back watching the Editors again.

 

Back to Biggin Hill

Polesteeple Hill, Stock Hill, Ricketts Hill Lane, Hillcrest and, of course, Biggin Hill. The common denominator? It's the word 'hill' of course and Biggin Hill is loaded with them. I decided to make a return visit following last week's ride and this time I wanted to find the main high street and the Spitfire Cafe. Last week I simply rode there and back, but I figured it would be good to hang around for a while. Stop one, of course, was Ozzi's Cafe.

I rode the fast way to Tatsfield and then, on a whim, decided to ride along Lusted Hall Lane, a road I remembered riding up with Andy a few years ago. I recall a very steep hill and was glad that on this occasion I was riding down, not up. Lusted Hall Lane starts with terraced council houses peppered with satellite dishes. It twists and turns into the countryside and soon there are fields on either side of the road. The road dips and turns and within minutes I found myself facing a wooden sign that welcomed me to Biggin Hill. I turned left into Sunningvale Avenue and rode towards the roundabout where, on the far side, I would find Ozzi's. The sun was shining and I felt on top of the world. It was great to be back in Biggin Hill on such an amazing day. When I reached Ozzi's, however, the fact that only cash was acceptable ruled it out for me as I only carry plastic these days. I headed up the very steep and long Stock Hill (easily strong competition for Titsey Hill) and when I reached the top I turned left and then right and found myself on what must have been Biggin Hill's high street. There was a social club, a Tesco Express, a Waitrose and a Costa Coffee, but there was also the Spitfire Cafe. 

The sign that says you're in Biggin Hill!

I padlocked the bike on some nearby railings and went inside. I ordered a large mug of tea (which wasn't that large at all) plus scrambled egg on a slice of toast and then sat down and took in my surroundings: there was a lot of framed photography of airmen adorning the walls; this place was a kind of shrine to World War 2 heroics and the clientele were all old enough to have been there in person. I won't go on too much about the cafe as that's something I'll do on another blog of mine, which you can find by clicking here although I will say that the food was fine. I checked the menu and there was plenty of home-made dishes and other stuff, including apple pie and custard (the mark of any self-respecting caff in my opinion). But it wasn't that cheap. You could spend a pretty penny in the Spitfire, I thought, as I finished up and prepared for the ride home.

The Spitfire Cafe is a must for any hungry cyclist.

After unpadlocking the bike I rode down to the Biggin Hill Library and Swimming Pool and I was hoping they wouldn't tell me I needed to book a swim using an app. They didn't, so I might return one day soon for a swim with my daughter. I rode up to the junction, turned right then right again on to Stock Hill and covered the brakes on the descent towards Ozzi's Cafe. Cash only, I thought dismissively as I turned left at the roundabout and headed up Sunningvale towards the start of Ricketts Hill Lane. Yes, another hill, but not as severe as returning to Tatsfield via Lusted Hall Lane. Later I turned right on to Ship Lane and rode into what you could call the 'down town', not that there's much to see bar the Old Ship pub, Sheree's Tearoom and a posh restaurant. I didn't stop, I'd seen it all before, many times. At the end of Approach Road I turned right and headed for Botley Hill then it was just a straight run along the 269. 

Chilling at the Spitfire Cafe...

I got home around 1022hrs and psyched myself up for a bit of lawn mowing. In the end I went beyond the call of duty and decided to drop the setting down to 2 on the Mountfield and give the main lawn a second once-over (after last week's initial cut). In all honesty, when I looked at it the following morning (Sunday - Mother's Day) there was room for improvement, but I had things to do, like going into London for a Mother's Day lunch at the Eagle in Farringdon. As we wandered around Exmouth Market and Clerkenwell, prior to eating, I realised that if I had to live in London it would be here on one of the quiet and narrow side streets. But I doubt I'll ever have the money for that. I jumped on the 1428 train from Farringdon to East Croydon, leaving those I was with to check out the Barbican while I engaged in a second Mother's Day escapade, this time round at mum's. I picked up the car at the station and drove home to pick up some flowers purchased earlier and then jumped back into the car and drove over to Sutton (my home town) for a slice of fruit cake and a mug of tea. I could have done without the cake as I'd just enjoyed a large dessert (plum, apple and Calvados trifle) following my pork belly main course. Is there no end to my piggery? In short, no, and now, of course, I have a pork belly of my own.

It's almost 1900hrs and Columbo, starring Antony Andrews and, of course, Peter Falk, is on television. The sun is shining outside (all morning it was cloudy and there was the odd spit of rain). I reckon Anthony Andrews is the murderer. In fact, I think I've seen it before and yes, he is the killer. 

Last week Ozzi's Cafe was closed, but not this week...

Cycling-wise not a good week. Compared with my 70 + miles last week, I only managed something like 42 miles over two rides. I was unable to ride on Thursday, which had been the plan, and that had a knock-on effect on Friday. I dawdled when I should have just got out there. Instead I had a full English at a local caff and then drove into Sevenoaks and wandered around aimlessly. Should I fret about this? No, I shouldn't, but I always do for some reason. I did manage three 2.5-mile walks on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The two rides on Thursday and Friday would have been the icing on the cake, but they were not to be. Still, there's always next week.

To Biggin Hill...

Part of me suggested to my other self that it might be best not to go riding today. Stay in, get the garden finished and then make Sunday lunch. But there were stronger forces at work suggesting the complete opposite. Why not get out on the bike now, early, and then come back and do the garden and the Sunday roast. It made sense so I headed off with little idea as to where I was going. If I'm really honest, I was getting bored with Westerham and simply didn't fancy another large English breakfast tea or a coffee. It was all too familiar down there and I needed a change more than anything else. So, as the journey got under way along Ellenbridge, Morley and Church Way the voices in my head started up again (and no, I'm not schizophrenic, just mulling through my options quietly to myself). What about Oxted? The plus point was obvious, Caffe Nero, but the negatives were fairly strong and by that I mean the ride up Titsey Hill on the return journey. Had I brought along a flask of tea and some milk I might have made the Tatsfield Churchyard my destination as the weather was pleasant enough, and then, of course, there was always the Velo Barn, but that would mean climbing up the same old hill that I tackle shortly after leaving Westerham. Godstone Green? No, no, no, that hill on the return ride would kill me and besides the temptation to eat cake would be too strong to resist. Then I thought about Sheree's Tea room in Tatsfield Village, that would be pleasant and I think that was my decision in the end. I rode down Clarks Lane and instead of turning left on to Approach Road and riding into the village I carried on and made the next left turn further down, keeping the churchyard on my left as I weaved around the lanes heading for Sheree's. Soon I found myself on Old Lane and saw a sign to Biggin Hill. Why not? So off I went and soon I was in Biggin Hill.

Biggin Hill is a funny old place, full of a diverse selection of modern houses stacked up steeply behind one another. There never seems to be anybody around, apart from one or two people wandering here and there. On a Sunday there doesn't appear to be anything open either. I found a McColl's newsagent on a row of otherwise closed retailers, including Ozzie's Cafe which had the shutters pulled down. There was little to do so I retraced my steps along Sunningvale Avenue and then up Ricketts Hill Lane and soon I found myself bearing right and heading for the centre of Tatsfield Village. But I wasn't planning on stopping at Sheree's. I sailed past and then wound my way along Approach Road, turning right when I reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop and headed towards Botley Hill. I wasn't even tempted to follow the road into Woldingham and chose instead to roar along the 269 on which there was little going on. Sunday is a good day for the 269. This was a non-stop ride. I needed to stop spending money on cappuccino and cake and now was as good a time as any to make a stand. It wasn't long before I found myself at Warlingham Green, then the Limpsfield Road, Church Way and, of course, home. I reached the house at bang on 1100hrs and when I got in there was a chance to make up an avocado sandwich and a mug of tea. I don't know what's going to happen today. There was talk of a pub lunch, but that's now off the cards, so I guess I'll be making a Sunday roast later. It's my speciality.

Sunningvale Avenue, Biggin Hill

A few words on Biggin Hill, the destination of this morning's ride. Biggin Hill is known for its war time aviation heroics and heroes and is, of course, still an airport today. There's the famous Biggin Hill Air Show in the summer and that's really all there is to know, but riding around the town as I was this morning I realised there was more to Biggin Hill than meets the eye; it has a certain air of immortality about it, an element of timelessness, which I love, an air of Saturday afternoon, early evening perhaps, a bare light bulb burning in an upstairs room that is being decorated, the smell of emulsion, Final Score on the television, football matches drawing to a close, some late kick-offs, Saturday night television, the prospect of a lazy Sunday ahead, snow on the ground, muffled sound, Christmas trees... or even sunshine and the heat of the summer. I don't know what it is, but it seems like a happy place, plenty of different styles of houses, but all fairly modern-looking. Oddly, when I was there this morning it appeared to be a ghost town, there was nobody around, but it was fairly early as I sailed down Ricketts Lane, noting to myself that I'd be riding uphill later on, although it wasn't that bad, certainly no way near as severe as Lusted Hall Lane, another road that would have taken me back into Tatsfield. It was a shame that Ozzy's Cafe was shuttered. Had it been open I might have nipped in for a mug of tea and a slice of toast. It probably would have been open had I paid a visit yesterday, but instead I was in Westerham, in the Costa, enjoying a regular cappuccino. I'll definitely pay a return visit, perhaps search around the town a bit, see what I can find. There might be another parade of shops with a tearoom instead of just a convenience store and a closed cafe.

The distance to Biggin Hill (the way I rode there) was around a 21-mile round trip, so it was the same as Westerham. I'm glad about that because I was pootling around this morning hoping that I could make up some reasonable distance for the sake of my 70-mile respectability at the end of my cycling week. Let's see. A lot depends on the other rides later in the week.

Okay, I'm going to sign off. Columbo's on and you can't beat a bit of Columbo on a Sunday evening, or any evening for that matter.