Norfolk Nobbler, Westerham, Bon, mum, Bez's book and chilling for Easter...

Hard to remember when I last went on a ride, but I think it was Westerham and it seems like weeks and weeks ago. My fitness has been hampered by illness and by travel. On the latter, a flight cancellation put paid to a ride a few Saturdays ago to Oxted. In fact, I can't remember the last time I sat in Caffe Nero chilling ahead of massive climb up Titsey Hill on the return ride home. Then there was illness. But you know about that as I wrote about it in the last post on this blog. So what other excuses do I have? Oh yes, the weather. Rain stopped play too and if you put it all together - travel hassles, weather and illness - it adds up to no riding and very little in the way of fitness, bar a few walks of around three miles each while at work, but that kind of didn't count, although I suppose it does, so, yeah, it's been odd not riding. The trouble, of course, is that once you start slobbing, it becomes addictive and soon you start not wanting to go, preferring instead the warmth of the house, the glow of the laptop, the comfort of the Hot Cross Bun - make that two, alright, three in the space of 24 hours. Because, yes, with slobbishness there is food, normally rubbish food, like cakes and chocolate, they all go hand-in-hand and soon, while I berate myself constantly while lying in bed at night, promising that today - or tomorrow - there will be no more cakes, no more chocolate and no more cappuccino, the opposite is true and I find that rather than eat less rubbish, I eat more.

When I had a cold a few weeks back, I started to go to bed early. Too early. I used to wake up around midnight in the spare room, the house in darkness, everybody in bed, and me looking out of the window at the street light in Ellenbridge, wondering what time it was; and then finding out by looking at my iphone - it was midnight thirty. Should I brazen it out, lie in bed until I fall asleep? Or get up, trot downstairs, make a herbal tea or a Lemsip, perhaps watch some television? In the end I would reach a compromise and perhaps nip downstairs (as opposed to trotting) to get a glass of water and then return to the darkness and try to seek out the Land of Nod. I'd oversleep, rush breakfast in the early morning, make sandwiches and head off to work with a wodge of paper tissues in my coat pocket. It wasn't severe enough to be off work and it wasn't COVID and soon it was Saturday and I didn't feel up to riding the bike. Fair enough. 

Easter Sunday morning in Westerham

It's been a good two weeks since I shook off the cold, but I'm still finding it difficult to pluck up the motivation to exercise. I've done a couple of work-outs using a set of dumbells (50 reps) but not regularly. "Right, let's do this," I might say to myself, but then realise that two days have passed since the last time I picked up the weights. 

I am writing this on Good Friday. It's just gone 6pm (1800hrs) and there's a programme on TV about King Charles and his relationship with Prince Harry. It's pointless. We all know why they're at loggerheads and, to be frank, we don't care.

This morning I did go out on the bike and I did a work-out on the dumbells when I returned. I thought I'd try the Norfolk Nobbler, a round-the-block hilly jaunt that is around six miles. But it wasn't six miles, it was nine miles and I couldn't figure out why. It took me 51 minutes and it was a good work-out. I thought that I'd followed the route of old, but clearly I hadn't, I'd added a couple of miles and I couldn't figure out how. I think that when I last did it I just rode one circuit, no repetition. This time I went around the loop and back up Norfolk and around Ridge Langley a second time, something I distinctly remembered doing the last time, but for some reason I'd somehow added two miles. It's bugging me now as I write this: how come it was almost nine miles instead of almost six miles (something like 5.94 miles). I just don't get it. I always went around Ridge Langley twice and then down Arkwright towards the Upper Selsdon Road, left and then up West Hill, passing Barnfield, riding the length of the Ridgeway, left on Arkwright and then home via Elmfeld and Ellenbridge. So how come I was out for 51 minutes and not the usual 38 minutes? It's a mystery and tomorrow I'll check it out again, perhaps just riding one circuit and taking it from there. I suppose the good thing is I rode nearly nine miles and not nearly six, so I guess I did myself a small favour.

The weather was fantastic today and most of last week too, so perhaps (at last) things are starting to pick up. Last week I wanted to ride to work, but just couldn't motivate myself to do it. One day there was a frost on the ground so I gave that day a miss, but I reckon that things will start to get warmer and soon I'll be able to return to four rides a week (which is all I need to lose a bit of weight). Look, I'm not a fat arse, but I'd like to lose around a stone, perhaps a bit more. 

On Saturday I went over to see mum and meet up with Bon, who I haven't seen a great deal of lately because he's moved to darkest Sussex. Bon hasn't been on his bike for a couple of years because he's had other stuff to contend with, like moving home, so I suggested we meet up later in the year when the weather really improves and ride from his place to the beach for lunch at the Lobster Pot. I can get the train to Pulborough or drive down with the bike in the back (I think that'll be the best option).

To Westerham!

The ride with Andy has been game on for some days now. I texted to say I'd definitely be there and so, at 0800hrs on Easter Sunday I headed off. It was touch and go that I'd actually do it because there was a family get-together at lunch time in Oxted and the table was booked for noon. I knew that if I left Westerham at 1000hrs I'd get back for around 1100hrs, giving me enough time to shower and be ready for the drive to Oxted. But, as often happens, it didn't work out that way. I finally got underway around 1025hrs meaning that I'd be home around 1130hrs and would have to rush to get ready. I considered simply riding from Westerham to Oxted (around 3 miles, possibly a little more) and then hanging around until noon and joining them in the restaurant, but that would have meant being unshaven and stinking of sweat, although I thought about it: I could nip into a chemist and buy some underarm deodorant and freshen up in the public toilets in the car park behind the high street. Had I brought some trunks with me (why would I bring swimming trunks on the ride?) then I could have enjoyed a brief swim and a shower in the Tandridge Leisure Pool and then things would have been find. I would then have to ride home, up Titsey, after a three-course meal, not that I couldn't handle it.

When I reached Westerham, Andy was already there, drinking coffee in the seat by the window. The weather was amazing. Sunshine and blue skies, daffodils in bloom, and I parked up outside next to Andy's Blast. I ordered an English breakfast tea, took a leak and then joined Andy. We talked about cycling holidays and the notion of cycling around the Canary Islands. This was something Andy would like to do, but it's more of a pipe dream than anything else. That didn't stop us discussing how it would materialise being as Andy's in to cycling he whole way, ie from the UK. So, a ride to Portsmouth, pick up a ferry to Santander and then cycle to Cadiz to pick up another boat to the Canaries. It wouldn't be cheap and we figured the whole trip would take around a month, but what a trip. I found the entire conversation uplifting and soon it was time to ride home, but I just knew I wasn't going to make it in time for the family lunch and started to wish it have been booked for 1230hrs instead of noon. But hold the bus, never say never. I put a spurt on, having left Westerham at around 1025hrs and managed to reach Botley Hill at just before 1100hrs. I called home and suggested that I could either head down to Westerham and wait for everybody there or ride home, knowing that I wouldn't get there much before 1130hrs. Why were they planning to leave at 1120hrs? The table was booked for noon, that would mean 40 minutes. It's only a 10-mile ride and the 269 is 'national speed limit applies' so I figured they could leave around 1140 and still be there on time. I decided to go for it and sped home along the 269 through Warlingham and beyond towards Sanderstead. I was pushing it and managed to reach home around 1130. It was a case of going straight into the shower, changing and then driving back in the direction I'd already come from and as a result I started to feel a little light-headed. Note to self: never rush things. When we reached the restaurant I decided the best course of action was to drink a lot of water and fortunately they plonked a huge bottle of the stuff next to me. I drank the whole bottle and then ensured there was another one ready, which there was. I started to feel better. That said, a brief word on rushing around on a bike: don't do it! Right at the end of the ride (apart from feeling a little light-headed, which itself wasn't good) I nearly came a cropper by riding in front of an oncoming car. I like to think that I was aware it was there, but perhaps I didn't, I can't remember. It wasn't as bad as think it was (at least I don't think it was) but I remember seeing the woman sitting in the passenger seat wondering what the hell I thought I was doing. She was right, I was wrong, but disaster wasn't so much averted, it was kind of just about avoided.

The bike has been performing well and I need to reward it by providing another new tyre, like the one on the rear, and one of those gel-based inner tubes. The tyre on the back I bought from Halford's and it wasn't pricey, just around £13. It's not a huge mountain bike tyre like the one on the front, but something more suitable for tarmac roads.

Well, it's Easter!

The lunch was perfect. I chose the 'roast of the day', which was pork, and it was perfect. I rounded it off with a tiramisu (yes, I know) and then we all drove back home. I spent the rest of the afternoon either sleeping, reading or watching Columbo on the television. I'm reading a book by Bez (Mark Berry, a former Happy Monday). Actually, I say 'former' but they're still going strong. It's a great book, very inspiring and it led to me watching Bez interviews on YouTube until 2300hrs. I hit the sack just before 2330 and then woke up around 0430hrs. I must have nodded off because when I next looked at the clock it was 0730hrs and I was alone in bed. I could hear breakfast television and decided I'd get up and have breakfast. It's now 1528 but I've been lazing around all day doing nothing and only now am I considering some kind of outdoor activity, like a walk.

We wandered around Oxted as the last rays of Easter sun shone upon us as we looked in to shop windows. Costa was open until 1700hrs. Everywhere else was closed so we went in and ordered a pot of tea and then simply sat there for around 20 minutes and chilled. And now it's almost 2030hrs and I'm still chilling.

Buzzin' by Bez

I'm finding Bez's autobiography - Buzzin' - an inspiration. One chapter to go and I'm wishing there was more. The guy is simply amazing on so many levels, somebody I'd definitely have on the guest list of my dream dinner party. Not only a leading member of the band Happy Mondays, but a close pal of former Clash frontman Joe Strummer. I loved reading about Bez and Joe and pals sitting around Joe's camp fires and I'm glad to read that Bez has carried on the whole camp fire thing at his place in Herefordshire. Bez is a keen beekeeper and he likes the idea of free living outside of capitalist society, he believes in urban farms and growing his own food. While you could say he started off as a bit of a chancer and a blagger, he has become this amazing person who is always positive about life, a true inspiration. So I'm feeling fairly buoyed up by Bez and meeting Bon and the sun going down over Oxted and that great, uplifting conversation with Andy on Sunday morning, Sunday lunch with the extended family and all is good with the world.

New Year's Eve - to Woodmansterne Green!

Everything is damp and dripping. The roads are wet and I decided to ride to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. I packed a flask of hot water, four teabags and two mugs and left around 0740hrs, riding through Purley, along Foxley Lane and towards Carshalton's lavender fields where I turned left and rode up the hill towards the green.

Library image of Woodmansterne Green as my iphone lost power (again)

Bon was cycling down the road to meet me and turned when he spotted me. We set up camp on Jean Merrington's wooden bench that surrounds a tree, which was probably planted to commemorate her life, I don't know, but there are lots of benches on Woodmansterne Green devoted to the memories of local residents, like Joyce Lowther (1914 to 1994). It's all a bit depressing, especially when you add the dampness of the grass and the grey sheen of the skies.

We drank tea and chatted and talked about a possible ride on New Year's Day and then said our goodbyes. I cycled back the way I came, although I could have cycled into Coulsdon and then along the Brighton Road into Croydon. I stuck with the more familiar route that eventually took me back into Foxley Lane.

There's a kind of expectancy about New Year's Eve that I'm not comfortable with. Everything is still in anticipation of what? New Year, of course! Later there will be countdowns and then it will dawn on everybody that nothing has changed and they've got to go to work and make New Year resolutions to cut out this and to start exercising and it goes without saying that the capitalists will be exploiting the situation. Don't be fooled into starting up a gym membership, buy a push bike instead, far better value in my humble opinion.

I'm sitting in my conservatory looking out on the back garden. There's a pile of old branches on the lawn that need to be burnt or put away somewhere, but it won't be done today. It's a job that is staring me in the face and will continue to do so until I get out there and fix it. The futility of gardening springs to mind, but I'm not going there, not today.

I rode around 12 miles today and I'm planning a six-mile walk this evening, so I'm keeping things moving. If I did make a New Year resolution it would be to cut out biscuits and chocolates, but I think the best policy is to keep any promises to myself as once people know they pile on the pressure in both directions: there will be cake offered by some while others will goad me for not sticking to my guns. Information is power and it's best kept away from those who don't have your best interests at heart. Who does have your best interests at heart? Not many.

Woodmansterne Green to meet Bon...

People often ask me why I call my brother Jon, Bon. Well, there's no answer to the question, other than 'I don't know'. Seriously, I don't know, I just call him Bon. Next time I see him I will ask if he knows the answer. He'll probably say it's something to do with both words rhyming, Jon and Bon. It doesn't matter to be honest, I just call him Bon, a term of endearment, perhaps.

So it's Saturday and temperatures are going to soar to 24 degrees. In fact, to give you some idea how wonderful it's been today, I'm writing this in the garden, sitting under an umbrella and its 1841hrs, not far off 1900hrs. The sun is still out, the wind chime occasionally chimes and the trees sway slightly in a summer-like breeze. The main reason I'm sitting outside, however, is because I have a new lap top. It's an HP Chromebook and the battery life is ridiculously good. Normally I have to thread my charger through the kitchen window and use the extension lead in the garage, but I no longer have the old MacBook, it died. Or rather I still have it, but it simply doesn't work.

Library shot of Woodmansterne Green

Chromebooks only really work when there's a WiFi connection, but my WiFi is strong enough to work outside of the house, which means it's easy for me to sit outside in the garden blogging, as I am right now.

Andy aborted today's ride last weekend and I'm not going tomorrow (Sunday) but today I thought I'd ride over to see Bon on Woodmansterne Green, it's roughly 12 miles all in. I left the house later than usual (around 0800hrs) and rode the usual route, via Foxley Lane, where they are knocking down a lot of the big houses that line the road and replacing them with ugly (yes, ugly) flats.

It's a straight ride from Foxley Lane all the way to the lavender fields where I turn left, pass the gypsy encampment that's a permanent fixture (in the USA it would probably be known as a trailer park) and within a few minutes I'm on Woodmansterne Green. Bon rode down the road to meet me and then we both rode back to the green and our usual resting place by the big tree trunk that has been carved artistically into rough seating. Out came the tea and we sat there for a considerable time, enjoying the warm sun and discussing this and that, mainly family stuff, but also what we would do if we won the lottery and, of course, Felpham, our childhood holiday destination. It was almost 1000hrs when I checked the time and soon we were bidding each other farewell and heading off in different directions: me to Sanderstead and Bon to Epsom.

I followed my outward route home, but in reverse, riding along an off-road path and then joining the road just before the roundabout that takes me on to Foxley Lane. It's a pleasant ride, apart from having to climb the South Face of West Hill, but once I'd cranked the Rockhopper into a low gear, I sailed to the top and was soon heading downhill towards good old 'Barny'.

When I reached home (around 1030hrs) I sat in the garden and drank tea and then enjoyed a fish finger and mayonnaise sandwich on brown bread. Later, I drove over to mum's for fruit cake and tea in the garden, two bits, which I regret, and let's not forget the Fox's chocolate biscuits. It's got to stop. Seriously.

Anyway, right now it's still not 1900hrs - seven minutes to go - and I suppose I'd better go inside and think about dinner.

It's Easter Sunday tomorrow and I won't be riding, but I'll be back in the saddle on Bank Holiday Monday.

No cycling Saturday, but a ride to mum's on Sunday...

I aborted on Saturday due to a broken night of sorts, or rather a late night caused by various disturbances - or rather one in particular, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I was keen to ride on Sunday, although Andy had other ideas: a late night for him on Saturday prompted an abort text that I picked up the following morning. When an abort text is received, there are often mixed feelings. First, there's that thought of 'good, I'll chill out and not go out'. This is highly tempting, especially if I've made myself cosy, sitting at the table, blogging while listening to music. Then there's the complete opposite feeling, that of getting out there regardless, although this is often tempered by a sense of bewilderment in terms of wondering where to go: Botley, the Bus Stop, a longer ride to Westerham and so on. Often, bewilderment leads to no ride at all and a kind of resignation that it's best to simply take it easy and leave any form of cycling until the following week. But I knew what I was going to do, I was riding to mum's, or possibly Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. I emailed Bon to say let's meet on the green, but got no reply and decided to ride to mum's. It wasn't until I reached Wallington that he called me. Bon was also riding to mum's and I was only 10 minutes away so I said I'd see him there. I rode down to the mini roundabout on Boundary Road, up the hill, past Stanley Park school and into Carshalton Beeches, hanging a right on Crichton Road and riding down towards the Village Bakery where I turned right and sailed down the hill to the lights at the Windsor Castle, bumping on to the pavement as the lights turned red and continuing along the Carshalton Road until I reached the Alma Road turn-off. There are speed bumps on Alma, but they're more fun than irritating if you're riding a bike. I swung left on to Shorts and into Westmead Corner and then up the hill to mum's.

Blossom trees in bloom on Purley Playing Fields early Sunday morning

As always the house was in good order and mum was too, her recent hip replacement operation a complete success. I made myself a cup of tea and cut myself a slice of fruit cake and then headed to the living room and sat down. Mum and I chatted about this and that and then Bon arrived. The light conversation continued and was followed by a stroll in the garden where Bon had uprooted the last of the two conker trees at the top (and showed me a video of mum helping out, demonstrating her amazing recovery). I had another piece of cake and eventually Bon and I headed off together and rode all the way to the Croydon Road together along the off-road path that flanks the Oaks Park. I then continued off-road until I reached Foxley Lane in Purley, making my way through the backstreets and then tackling the South Face of West Hill, a short but strenuous climb that rounds off any ride to mum's or Woodmansterne. I was home by 10 o'clock and 12 miles better off than I would have been had I decided not to take a ride. Until next week...

A misty start - another view of Purley Playing Fields early Sunday morning

To Woodmansterne Green – for a jolly good soaking!

Andy texted me. He was tired and was taking the weekend off. He picked the right one. It rained most of Saturday and when I woke up on Sunday, I thought I was safe. Yes, there was a puddle on next door's conservatory roof (I say 'conservatory', it's more of an extension) but the puddle wasn't moving, there was no sign of any stair rods ruffling the calm, so I thought I'd take a chance. A trip to mum's was on the cards. Well, alright, there's a couple of boxes of chocolates round there and mum doesn't want to put on any weight. Cue yours truly, the human dustbin. Alright, I'd already been there on Friday, mum's 89th, and had more than my fair share, but you can never get enough of chocolates, can you? Especially if they're Belgian. To be fair, there was a choice of rides: go to mum's or simply ride to Woodmansterne Green. We opted for the latter.

Woodmansterne Green...

I had my usual breakfast: multi-seed porridge with grapes, blueberries and banana and a mug of decaffeinated tea and then I got dressed, made the tea and headed out to the garage. Outside it was wet, the leaves were on the ground, some wet like soggy cornflakes and others clung to the branches of the trees. The sky was a deep grey and it looked threatening, but there was no rain. The iphone said cloudy, but no rain, so I headed off, taking Barnfield to the junction with West Hill, heading up and then down the hill and stopping at at the bottom where I turned right on to the 269 and rode about 200 yards before turning left, following the road past Purley Oaks railway station and weaving around until I found the Purley Downs Road. I headed in the direction of Purley but crossed the A23 and rode towards Pampisford Road as the rain started, but nothing heavy. In fact, it was fairly warm, around 6-7 deg C, so it kind of didn't really matter. I'm glad I was out and not stewing at home, put it that way. Normally in these conditions I send an abort text, but there's good reason for that: the reason is simple, it's because I don't want to risk being caught out in the rain. That said, it was fine and I made my way along Pampisford and then on to Foxley Lane where they're knocking down a lot of the large houses that have been there for years to make way for flats, huge blocks of them in various stages of development.

I rode past the garden centre where there was a huge inflatable Father Christmas towering over the mini roundabout and pushed on towards the lavender fields where I turned right and powered – yes, powered – along the road that leads to Woodmansterne Green. When I got there I found Bon sheltered under the gateway to the church, a place where he, Andy and yours truly sheltered way back in 2010. It wasn't raining on my arrival so I beckoned him on to the green where we set up camp under a huge oak tree. We chatted about this and that, mainly Brexit, and then parted company around 0900hrs. That was when it started to rain again. I headed back towards the fields and the cold air hit my face. By the time I reached the bottom, the rain was in full swing. So much for cleaning the bike last weekend, it would soon be muddy again, I thought, as I went off-road and the rain started to pour down. Somewhere just before reaching the mini roundabout overlooked by the huge inflatable Father Christmas, I rejoined the road and soon found myself on Foxley Lane again, looking at the various construction sites: luxury homes, retirement homes, they were all here (or about to be).

Back on Pampisford Road and the rain still fell hard. I was soaked through. Fortunately I was wearing a Peter Storm padded anorak, which kept me relatively warm. It was only from the waist down that I was wet. My jeans were soaked through, but it wasn't really that cold so I wasn't in expletive territory. I remember once cycling along the A23 heading for Purley from Coulsdon and it was not only raining but cold. I think I swore all the way home just to maintain some kind of sanity. Today, it wasn't like that. I just plugged away, knowing there was nothing else for it other than to get home and take off my wet clothes. Soon I was on the Purley Downs Road again, hanging a left into Norman Road, passing Purley Oaks railway station, taking a right turn on to the 269 and then braving the south face of West Hill, which, as always, I managed with ease.

At just before 1000hrs I was back home, the bike was in the garage and I was keying the front door. Soon I was in the warmth of the house, shoes off, Peter Storm anorak off and wet jeans off too. I found a clean (and dry) pair and then made a Marmite sandwich while I watched the Andrew Marr Show. Tony Blair was on and he was making a lot of sense. He wants a second referendum and for good reason: he believes that the deal on the table, known as 'Chequers,' isn't a good deal because it doesn't satisfy those who voted to leave the European Union or, for that matter, the likes of the remainers. Blair says there should be one more referendum so that people can make the right decision based on the facts (and not the lies that led up to the last referendum). He said that if the leavers get their way a second time, he will accept the vote and get on with it. But there are all sorts of reasons for not having a second referendum, the main one being that we're going away from 'democracy' and that could prove fatal for the nation. It's certainly going to be an interesting few days, but one thing's for sure, Parliament won't be saying yes to Theresa May's agreement, which has, incidentally, been passed by the European Commission today – it's a done deal in other words, and May believes it's the best for the country. But many think it's nothing of the sort and will vote accordingly in what is being called 'the meaninful vote'.

To Woodmansterne Green and Westerham – powered by euphoric music...

The good weather continues and I find myself with a song in my head. Elvis Costello's I can't stand up for falling down. It's brilliant, like most of his stuff, and it's powering me along the street. Don't get me wrong, I'm not singing it out loud, that would never do, but it's in my head, giving me that euphoric feeling, which in turn propels me along the road a little faster than otherwise. It's motivational. A bit like when I hear Wake Up Boo by the Boo Radleys – although there's something sad about that song, I just don't know what. Perhaps it's something to do with this lyric:-

But you can't blame me

Not for the death of summer

But you're gonna say what you wanna say

You have to put the death in everything

Or perhaps not. Perhaps it's more to do with the extreme (in my opinion) euphoria of the song and perhaps extreme euphoria is close (in my mind) to being tearfully depressing – or tears of joy. I don't know what I'm talking about, so ignore me.

Bon and I met at 0730hrs on the green at Woodmansterne, a great meeting place, especially when the sun is shining. We did our usual: chatted about this and that, drank a couple of mugs of tea and then headed home.

Bon, it must be said, is looking good and it's got plenty to do with the fact that he's doing a lot of gardening – all that fresh air and exercise (he's cycling from one garden to the next so it's a double whammy on the fitness front).

Woodmansterne Green, Saturday 8th September 2019

The roadworks in Foxley Lane have completely disappeared and as I rode towards the mini roundabout close to the lavender fields, Bon was coming the other way. We both turned left and headed towards the green, parking up by the felled tree, which has been there since the hurricane of 1987 and started to drink tea and chat. It was pleasant, as it always is, and we probably stayed longer than planned. Bon had to get back to walk the dogs and was wary of Saturday football matches as his dog, Bruno, has been known to chase the ball and disrupt the games. "Who owns that fucking dog?" is a phrase Bon is familiar with, which made me laugh.

We eventually parted and I headed back, initially off-road until I reached the mini roundabout at the top of Foxley Lane, always a bit busy, but I got across safely, rode the length of Foxley, sailed past Cycle Republic, hung a right and then rode straight across the Brighton Road, along a few of Purley's back streets and then up Purley Downs Road, hanging a left into Norman Road, past Purley Oaks railway station, then past Sanderstead station and eventually up the strenuous south face of West Hill.

Andy on the edge of a cornfield, Sunday 9th September

That Elvis Costello track belted out of my brain on Sunday morning as I rode along the Limpsfield Road to Warlingham Green where Andy and I decided Westerham was on the cards. "Let's get our heads down, no talking, and just get there," I said, and off we went, the fast way. It was an exhilarating ride for both of us and I pushed as hard as I could with the sound of Elvis Costello ringing out from my in-built Walkman, all the way, reaching the green at around 0815hrs. We had tea and Belvitas, talked about many things, including the pre-blog days and around 0900hrs we decided it was time to head home.

For a euphoric song, Elvis Costello's I can't stand up for falling down has depressing lyrics, but to me it's more motivational than the Boo Radleys.

I'm the living result

I'm a man who's been hurt a little too much

And I've tasted the bitterness of my own tears

Sadness is all my lonely heart can feel

I can't stand up for falling down

I can't stand up for falling down

Simple though love is

Still it confused me

Why I'm not loved the way I should be

Now I've lived with heartaches

And I've roomed with fear

I've dealt with despair

And I've wrestled with tears

The ride out of Westerham is always a bit daunting, but the weather was good so it really didn't matter. Well, it did matter as the ride to Botley is all up hill, but we stopped when I spied a corn field – as if that would change anything – and took the photographs accompanying this post.

The cornfield, Sunday 9th September 2019...

Andy and I parted company at The Ridge, vowing to be back in the saddle next weekend. I took the off-road path along the 269 and reached home at around 1015hrs.

All-in-all, a great weekend and perfect weather too.

To Woodmansterne Green (twice) to see Bon...

Saturday 16th September: I haven't been on the bike for a couple of weeks, but I distinctly remember Andy saying of his ride last Saturday that there was a definite bite to the air. We're entering that great but deceptive period of bright blue skies and sunshine but unexpectedly cold (or cool) weather. This morning I felt it myself. Initially I thought I'd just wear a tee-shirt as it was bound to be warm, but my decision to wear the scruffy-looking blue hoody, the one with the paint stain, proved to be right. It was a little chilly and the cold air went straight through me as I headed south on West Hill and turned right on to the B269 heading towards Purley. Close to Sanderstead railway station I hung a left and weaved my way over to the Purley Downs and up towards Pampisford Road

Woodmansterne Green, always a pleasant place to be (in decent weather)

It was later than usual (just gone 0730hrs) and the plan was to ride through Purley, along Foxley Lane and onwards to Woodmansterne Green where I would met Bon. He had just arrived as I pedalled the last 50 yards or so to the Green and once parked up, out came the tea, but no BelVita biscuits. I should have bought some from the newsagent's, but didn't want to use a credit or debit card for a packet of Digestives. Tea alone was fine.

As always our conversation was wide and varied and tinged with good humour, and at one stage we got on to the subject of humiliation and news that a man had been fined for taking photographs up women's skirts using his mobile phone. I said to Bon that if that was me I'd probably move to a crofter's cottage in a remote part of Scotland and never darken anybody's doorstep ever again and he felt the same way.

Before cycling became the weekend sporting activity, Bon and I used to swim on Saturday and Sunday mornings at Cheam swimming baths on the Malden Road, often known as the Malden Road pool. It was an old-fashioned pool with separate male and female changing, a 9ft deep end and we had to swim 27 lengths for half a mile and 54 for the mile. We'd be in the water around 0800hrs and out before the clock hit 0830hrs and then after a Mars Bar and a cup of vending machine tea in a paper cup we'd make our way to the car park where we would chew the fat about this and that before heading home.

Swimming is a great sport as it makes you feel so good afterwards. I used to enjoy the hot shower and that lovely clean feeling I'd feel all day. We swam twice a week, sometimes three, and often we'd throw in a one-miler just to test ourselves. I should really start it up again, but in all honesty cycling has taken over big time and I'd have to fit it in later in the day or during the week. There's something about a swimming pool.

We spoke about jobs and pensions and old times back at the family home and then, after drinking two cups of tea each we decided it was time to head home.

My route was straightforward following an off-road track a short distance and then the path to the mini roundabout at the top of Wallington, across into Foxley Lane, along Pampisford and then cutting through the side streets and emerging close to Sanderstead railway station. My last climb was the south face of West Hill, but it's much easier than it sounds if you get your head down and concentrate on the tarmac in front you.

Sunday
Sunday 17th September: It was dull and overcast this morning and much colder than yesterday. I followed the same route to the same place and met the same person, Bon. There was a charity cycle ride to Brighton that passed by Woodmansterne Green before dipping down towards the Midday Sun and the horror of How Lane (I know, I've done it). Judging by the numbers on the front of the bikes I saw, there were at least 5,000 plus riders.

London to Brighton cyclists heading for How Lane (the horror! the horror!)

Bon and I drank tea (Lipton's Yellow Label) and chatted about a range of subjects, just like yesterday, and then we headed home, me in one direction, Bon in the other. I reached home around 1000hrs having tackled the south face of West Hill.

The bike needs a clean and an oiling. It's nearly been one whole year without a puncture or needing to pump up the tyres.

To Warlingham Green and then Woodmansterne Green...

I aborted on Saturday as I felt a little weary, but on Sunday, after a good night's sleep (that camomile tea must have done the trick) I was up with the lark and ready to rock. Tea made I headed outside, jumped on the bike and rode to Warlingham Green where Andy would be waiting for me, but when I reached my destination there was no sign of him. Not a problem, it was only just gone 0730hrs so I parked the bike and took a photograph of it, expecting Andy to arrive any second, just like he normally does, unless, of course, he's aborted, but ... I checked my phone. He had aborted, late last night, but for some reason I hadn't looked at my phone. Normally, it's the first thing I check, but not today.

Still, I was up and I was out of the house so I had to go somewhere and there was plenty of choice: Westerham, the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the Tatsfield Village, Godstone Green, Redhill, the list was endless. The world was my oyster. I could call Bon and meet him on Woodmansterne Green. Remember that I had a huge flask of hot water, a mug and four teabags in my rucksack – no such thing as 'precious grams' in NoVisibleLycra World – and that couldn't go to waste. I called Bon and he said he'd see me there in 30 minutes. Well, let's say 45 minutes.

Bike on Warlingham Green around 0730hrs this morning...

I rode past Warlingham School, down Tithepit Shaw Lane and into Whyteleafe then hung a right on to the A23 and headed towards Purley Cross, into Foxley Lane and straight ahead, turning left at the lavender fields on the outskirts of Carshalton and soon found myself approaching Woodmansterne Green. Bon had cycled down to meet me and we rode a few yards together back to the carved out old tree where we set up camp. I'd texted Bon and told him to bring a cup with him, but his idea of a cup was the top from a small flask, which was no bigger than a thimble, so in the end he did without. I was beginning to realise how Andy and I had become a team in the foodservice department: I provided the tea and Andy the BelVita biscuits – and the spoon, both of which were now noticeable by their absence.

"Normally the tea bag bobs around on the surface and it's easy to fish out," I said, feeling the full force of the spoon's absence.
"Sod's law," said Bon, as we both waited in vain for the teabag in my blue mug to surface. It remained on the bottom.
"Might as well just leave it in there," I said and started drinking.

We chatted about this and that, – and for much longer than normal – so I didn't reach home until around 1030hrs.

The weather was fantastic and it got better as the day progressed. There was sunshine, there were blue skies and I sat in the garden reading from a collection of short true stories in a compilation called The Moth. The trouble with sitting in the garden is that things get a little fretful. It's impossible to truly relax because there are jobs that need doing – weeding mainly – but it niggles and makes me restless. I made an egg and mayonnaise sandwich and a cup of tea and tried to chill out and then I drove over to mum's for tea and cake in a garden that needs very little doing to it (mum is and always has been, a keen gardener and she puts me to shame).

Bon and yours truly, Woodmansterne Green...

It's still hot now, at 1813hrs, and I might sit outside again and this time try not to be so fretful about the jobs that need doing. Earlier I thought about weeding a bed, but there's no point unless there's something to put in place of the weeds. If there's nothing then the weeds will simply grow back in a week or two (the futility of gardening, no less!) Still, mustn't grumble, the sun's out, the skies are blue, all is well and I managed to get a lengthy ride in – probably around 17 miles.

Next weekend it might well be Woodmansterne Green again as it's a great place in good weather and it's ideal for just chilling out, watching the odd passing jogger or old bloke going to buy a paper. There's the occasional caggle of Lycra Monkeys passing by and there's nothing better than sitting on the aforementioned carved-out tree sipping tea. Mind you with Andy not there until next Sunday I'll have to remember the spoon and some biscuits. Can't go cycling without biscuits.

To Woodmansterne Green with Jon (and then round to mum's)

One thing that has characterised the weather of late has been a cold breeze or rather a general coldness masked by blue skies and sunshine. Yesterday there was little in the way of sun, but it was fairly bright and, as Jon remarked as we made our way from Woodmansterne to mum's, a little on the cold side.

Felpham beach will soon be Jon's back garden

We had met earlier on Woodmansterne Green – now there's a place I hadn't been to for a long while – and spent an enjoyable time just chatting about various things, in particular Jon's impending move to Felpham, pronounced 'Fellfam', a small town on the south coast nestled between Bognor and Littlehampton, but much closer to the former. As avid readers of this blog will know, Felpham was where we spent our summer holidays in various houses on the beach. We loved those holidays and often spoke about how nice it would be to live there, close to the sea, and now Jon is living the dream; he's moving out of Epsom, where he currently resides and moving 60-odd miles to the south coast. I mentioned that he could develop a few decent rides, like Felpham to Arundel, and we spoke of other, longer journeys, like Felpham to Pulborough or Arundel or simply into the South Downs. Needless to say that Jon will be doing just that in a few weeks from now.

Woodmansterne Green is a great place and a fine destination for cycling. For yours truly it involves riding into Purley and following the leafy Foxley Lane towards the top of Wallington and beyond and turning left at the lavender fields close to the Oaks park. From there it's about 10 minutes and soon the green appears. It's dotted with big, mature trees and plenty of grass, there are tennis courts and surrounding fields, a decent village pub and a newsagent and there are plenty of places to sit down. The green was once a regular Boxing Day ride destination and there are many occasions, documented here on NoVisibleLycra, when Jon, Andy and yours truly would meet here to discuss this and that and sip tea and cereal bars (BelVita biscuits came later).

Mum, 86, and her two sons: me on the left, Bon on the right, in the garden

Today Jon and I discussed his new house close to the sea – I say 'close' and I mean close, there's a road in front of the house, then another house and then the sea; you can see it from the upstairs windows, he told me.

We spent a fair bit of time on the green before jumping on the bikes and heading for mum's. Jon's bike is in dire need of an oiling. It creaked its way towards a considerably lengthy piece of off-road track, which we both followed into Carshalton Beeches and then down Park Hill towards the Windsor Castle pub, passing on the way the Village Bakery where Jon and mum often enjoy lunch. At the lights there's a left turn and then, opposite the garage, a right turn, but with the traffic heavy we both dismounted and then jumped back on once safely across the Carshalton Road.

Mum knew we were coming and already had two mugs, with milk and teabags ready, on the counter top. We both opted for a slice of the wedding cake I mentioned a couple of posts back and then sat in the 'lounge' (as we always call it) chatting to mum about this and that, one of the topics of conversation being the amount of cars in the road and how the family in the house across the street have five cars to their name – one each for the mum and dad, one each for the two sons and one for the girlfriend of one of the sons, who also lives there. They can get three on the drive, which has been concreted over, and two are parked, along with many others, on the road itself. Back in 'our day', of course, had there been so many cars we would never have been able to play football like we used to as there would too big a risk of damaging parked cars. It's a shame in many ways that people allow cars to rule their lives.

Cake eaten, tea finished, we donned our helmets and bade farewell to mum. Instead of parting company at the bottom of the road, where traditionally Jon turns left and I turn right, we both turned right and retraced our route to Carshalton Beeches, going off-road again and parting at the crossroads by the lavender fields, which pretty soon will be in full bloom. Jon continued off-road and so did I but going in opposite directions. I rode along the Foxley Lane and through the back streets of Purley, which eventually became Sanderstead, my last exertion being the ascent of West Hill's south face. I reached home at 1033hrs, later than usual, but it was good to see Bon and, of course, mum.