Blind faith...

There's nothing worse than blind faith in anything, particularly 'ideology' but on a day-to-day level, technology, note how both words end with 'logy', never a good sign. I encounter the latter on a daily basis, normally when I've jumped off a train and found myself in a crowd of people edging ever closer to the automated ticket barriers. In the good old days there were ticket collectors, far better, and often I would encounter some real characters like the bloke on the barriers at Victoria station back in the late seventies, or possibly even the early eighties, I can't recall exactly. I was on my home after a hard day in the office and I asked him something like, "Is that the Carshalton train, platform 11?" His response was actually very funny, mainly because it was so unexpected. "I don't fucking know!" The humour was in the fact that he should have known, that was his job, to be helpful to 'customers', we were no longer passengers but customers, but that never rang true as there was no choice, we had to be on the train and British Rail was the only provider of the service. I used that phrase a lot, still do, but always in jest, and most people get it.

I have, of course, digressed. I was talking about blind faith and while I suppose you could say that I was putting all my faith in getting a proper answer from the man at the barrier and that, in a sense, I had blind faith in his ability to provide me with an answer, the real reason behind my sudden interest in 'blind faith' is that, last week, I was moving forward very slowly towards the barriers at Redhill station in Surrey and when I was just one person away from placing my ticket into the automated machine that would ultimately free me from the station, the man in front produced his smart phone and placed it on the clear glass protecting (I'm guessing) the scanner underneath it, but guess what? It wasn't working and the man in question was now holding everybody up with his blind faith in technology. In the end he had to give up and approach the one person supervising the situation who handed the man what looked like a normal ticket for him to place in the machine's aperture and gain his freedom. I just find people with blind faith in technology really irritating when it's plainly obvious that the analogue way of doing things works best. I hate going to restaurants where they have blind faith in technology for a reason: to save money on waiting staff. I was in Wagamama the other day just outside of Battersea Park Power Station (now a shopping mall) and the man who would ultimately lose his job to high tech was pointing out how I could order my meal and pay for it online by simply scanning the QR code on the table. I already knew that I wouldn't be doing that, but humoured him nonetheless with a smile and then ordered in the human way when prompted.

I remember once leaving the house unknowingly without my debit card and not realising until I needed it. I know how this situation arose: normally, if I break with routine, something will go wrong; in this case I'd either changed wallets or stopped putting my debit and credit cards in the wallet that carries my smart phone. Result? I've left the card in the house on the console table in the hall. For a short while my day was ruined. In fact, I thought at the time, I might as well have stayed in bed all day, but then I remembered that I had my debit card on my iphone, which ultimately saved the day. For a short while after that incident I too started using my phone to buy things until, very quickly, the novelty wore off and went back to using the real debit card, once I'd accustomed myself to having a wallet AND the wallet that now only contained my smart phone. The moral of the story? Never break with routine.

What's been happening, you may well ask, and I would have to say 'not much'. I've tried to keep up the cycling and I've started riding over to Sutton on a Sunday morning to see mum. On Saturdays I try to ride to Oxted. I've also been walking a fair bit. Last week I managed two walks home from Purley to where I live (around two miles) and the week prior (and possibly the week before that also) I was putting in seven miles a day if I walked to and from the station AND had a walk at lunch time. The extreme heat has put an end to the lunch time walks but the walk home from the station, largely in the shade, has been good as has the morning walk to the station in the relatively cool morning air. But let's make no mistake, it's been hot, very hot, 35 degrees hot and the nights have been long and uncomfortable. It's cooled a little bit. As I write this, it's almost 0600hrs on a Friday and the reason I'm here at such an ungodly hour is simple: I woke up around 0330hrs or 0400hrs, I can't remember exactly when, and found that as the light seeped into the room I was wide awake, so I jumped out of bed, made myself a cup of tea and some marmalade on toast and here I am in the living room, nobody else about.

The whole blind faith thing has been on my mind for a few days now, ever since I found myself in the queue at the barriers and was temporarily held up by the man who had put all his faith in his iphone. Actually, I remember another incident where blind faith in technology let me down. I was at a European airport, I think it was Helsinki, but it might have been anywhere in the world and it could have been further way, I can't remember. For some reason I had my boarding pass on my smart phone. Normally I have a paper boarding pass. I was at the gate with my smart phone ready to show the woman at the gate and guess what? My phone ran out of power. Typical, I thought, as she hastily produced a paper version for me.

My dad, God rest his soul, had blind faith in the government and this was probably because he spent his life in the civil service and at one point worked inside No.10. I never once heard him question the motives of the politicians he worked for or in any way show distrust of them and if he was alive today I'm sure that would still be the case.

I don't believe in blind faith in anything, least of all the government. There are, in fact, very few people you can really trust in this world and if you think otherwise then you're a fool.

Suburban ride to mum's – 13.5 miles

At 0641hrs it's grey and misty outside, but it's dry too, which is good news. It's also very still as I sit here in the conservatory, the halogen glow from the computer screen illuminating a small space around the desk. Outside, the birds are tweeting. How they manage to get to grips with computers I'll never know.

Today the plan is an urban ride to mum's as nobody else is going cycling this weekend and it's a good opportunity to see Bon and mum and enjoy one of mum's cosy breakfasts. Both Phil and Andy are otherwise engaged, leaving me to my own devices. An urban ride to mum's means no need to pack a huge thermos flask of water plus milk and teabags. My load will be lightened in other words. I'll leave on the hour, so about 15 minutes more of sitting here writing.

Yesterday it was announced that Scotland has voted no to independence, paving the way for the resignation of Scottish National Party leader Alex Salmond and enabling the British establishment to breathe a sigh of relief. Oddly, 45 per cent of Scots voted to break away from the UK with Glasgow and Dundee standing out as the most pro-independence regions of Scotland. I was expecting trouble on the streets – and there has been unrest in Glasgow – but I'm glad that the UK hasn't been broken up. I'm not a fan of nationalism of any sort. In my opinion nationalism is up there with religion as one of the major causes of unrest in the world. There's nothing worse than tribalism and that's what nationalism breeds – cue Scotsman with painted faces pretending to be Mel Gibson.

Halfway through breakfast at mum's this morning.

The French have been dropping bombs on ISIS positions in the Middle East and it seems to have gone quiet on the Ukraine front other than the country's president meeting Obama to ask for military assistance should his country be invaded by the Russians. Here in the UK a girl named Alice has gone missing and while nobody has dared mention that she might have been murdered, they've discovered that a Latvian convicted murderer might be involved as he passed the very spot where Alice was spotted on CCTV just 15 minutes after her, riding a mountain bike. The bike has been recovered by the police, but neither Alice nor the Latvian have been seen in three weeks. All very suspicious if you ask me, but one thing bugging most people, including yours truly, is why we have allowed a convicted Latvian murderer into the country.

Riding west towards Sutton
I left the house around 0710hrs, headed west along Barnfield Road, north along West Hill, and then west through Essenden Road. I turned right on to Carlton Road and rode towards Croydon following the Selsdon Road to the A23 Brighton Road, past Cycle King and up Warham Road. I rode through the council estate via Denning Avenue and on towards Five Ways (aka the Purley Way). Traffic was picking up as I rode along Stafford Road into Wallington heading for Boundary Road where I hung a right at the mini roundabout and then later turned left into Grosvenor Road. After making a right turn into Park Road, I skirted around the park and headed for Benyon Road where Jon called and I had to call him back to say I was approaching the lights at the Windsor Castle – no more than five minutes from mum's place.

When I got there, breakfast was almost ready: boiled egg and fingers; cereal; and soft bread rolls washed down with a cup of tea and followed by some fresh orange segments. We chatted about this and that – family stuff mainly – and then watched (on my iphone) a brief excerpt from an old children's programme from our childhood. The Singing Ringing Tree was released in 1957 (although we didn't start watching it until the mid-to-late 60s. It still holds a certain magic for us (it's also a little weird, but that was always its appeal). If you want to watch a bit of it, key 'Singing Ringing Tree' into Google or, better still, YouTube.

Yours truly and Jon ready to ride home from mum's

After bidding farewell to mum, Jon and I headed down Rossdale together, but went our separate ways at the bottom: Jon turned left on to the Westmead Road and rode towards Sutton. I headed right into Westmead Corner, turned right again into Shorts Road and then right again into Alma Road. At the T-junction with the Carshalton Road I turned left, rode past the BP Garage and turned right into Oxford Road. I was riding towards Carshalton Beeches High Street which morphs into Banstead Road and then Banstead Road South further up, turning left into Staplehurst and right on to Park Hill. From here onwards it gets a bit more rural with the Oaks Park on the right and a couple of smallholdings and fields on the left. After about a mile I turned right on to the Croydon Road and basically kept on going straight into Purley before winding my way along suburban back streets towards the Purley Downs Road, where, after a short climb, I turned left into Norman Road, past Purley Oaks railway station and then on to the lower end of the B269 – yes, the road to Botley Hill. After a couple of hundred yards I turned left into West Hill, the southerly end, which is very steep, but I managed it despite only having eight gears at my disposal (I couldn't change down for some reason). Lastly, I hung a right into Barnfield Road and was home by just gone 0930hrs.

I managed to burn 356 calories over 21.75km. In total I was on the saddle for roughly 90 minutes and my average speed was 14.7km per hour (roughly 9 miles per hour) but I wasn't pushing it. It was good to just mosey along at my own pace.

Day eight: to Carshalton to see mum (approximately 12 miles).

Jon in Carshalton Park, 21st April 2014.

It's not yet 0700hrs but already the skies are blue and all is still. I'm about to embark upon my ninth consecutive day of riding and, if I'm honest, I'm in two minds as to where to go: Westerham has crossed my mind, the idea being I really push the boat out on what could, theoretically, be my last consecutive ride for a while. I'm going back to work tomorrow, but that doesn't mean I can't ride any more daily rides, it just means I'm likely to break the current cycle of back-to-back rides...unless, perhaps, I get up early and ride the 10-miler to Ledgers Road and back (which should take an hour tops). Even if I do it once it means I've riden for 10 consecutive days, a nice round number.

I've sent a text to Jon to see if he fancies a ride over to mum's, but I've had no answer, which means a lonely ride somewhere else and there's a few jobs to be done around the house today so a Westerham ride might be out of the question considering it's now 0718hrs. It's looking likely to be the Tatsfields – either the bus stop, the village or the churchyard, although I've visited them all last week and that leaves Botley Hill, a short, predictable ride that I took twice last week. Woodmansterne Green would be good, but it's a bit suburban in terms of the ride over there, not sure. So, here I am, thinking, poring over the possibilities, something I won't have time to do tomorrow morning.

The river in Carshalton Park – normally it's dry, but not this year!

I called Jon, he called back and then I headed off towards Purley, Foxley Lane and, of course, mum's house. Jon met me along Foxley Lane as I was running a little late. I'd left the house at 0750hrs and after Jon and I linked up we headed into Wallington, branching off around the streets of South Wallington – Brambledown, Boundary Road and then into Carshalton Park to take a look at the water levels after the flooding earlier in the year. Normally the river beds are dry but today there were still full of water, but the levels had receded a bit. We crossed Ruskin Road and weaved our way down to Carshalton High Street, turning left and riding along to the ponds where we turned right into North Street and then left into Honeywood Lodge, through Festival Walk and right on to West Street towards Colston Avenue, Westmead Corner and into mum's road.

The Kona in Carshalton Park this morning.

Jenny and her fiancé Alex were there having breakfast (they'd stayed overnight). We had a mug of tea and a chat and then, around 0900hrs, we left. At the bottom of mum's road, Jon turned left and I turned right and headed up Shorts Road, then Alma and then turned left on to the Carshalton Road before doing a right up Oxford Road, riding through Carshalton Beeches High Street and up Banstead Road South to Staplehurst Road where I hung a left, sailed down the hill and up the other side and then turned right, heading towards Croydon Lane. This part of the ride is very pleasant as it runs between smallholdings on one side and the periphery of the Oaks Park on the other.

At Croydon Lane I turned left and rode into Purley, back into the Foxley Lane and then across to Pampisford Road before turning right, crossing the Brighton Road and weaving my way through side streets towards the Sanderstead Road and West Hill, where my gears messed up a bit, although I never dismounted. From West Hill, having rode up the 'steep side', I freewheeled into Barnfield and was home at roughly 0955hrs.

Mum on the doorstep bidding Jon and I farewell...

Another wonderful day – a million times better than yesterday and roughly on a par with the whole of the last week (sunshine and blue skies).

Since the Sunday before last, I have cycled a total of 143 miles on consecutive days.

Carshalton and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Yesterday it was a suburban cycle through the mean streets of Croydon, Wallington and Carshalton. Went over to see mum. It was a good 12-miler, but largely suburban streets. Last night I stayed over at mum's and awoke in the early morning and listened to the rain and wind outside. I must have nodded off because I came to around 0550hrs and could still hear the rain - or at least I thought I could. I fully expected an abort text from Andy but hadn't received one. I sent him one, saying something like, 'looking unlikely' and got a reply stating it wasn't raining over Caterham way. Then I looked out. What a beautiful day! Sure, it had been raining, the ground was wet and there were puddles, but the skies were clearing, a watery sun occasionally appeared behind smoky, fast-moving clouds and it was definitely time to hit the road.

Dog Shit Alley joins Shorts Road with West Street in Carshalton.

Start the day with a fairy cake, that's my motto. I had two of them and a large mug of tea before saying goodbye to mum and driving home to pick up the bike. We aimed for somewhere with cover and the Tatsfield Bus Stop seemed like a good idea.

September 11th, that fateful day back in 2001. I was in Tamworth, visiting a chef called Matthew Shropshall and so was my photographer, Rob Wilkinson. A strange day, but there you have it.

Today, the weather was fine, but it wasn't long before I had a wet arse (thanks to the puddles) and was beginning to reconsider, as I do at this time of year, whether to fit some mudguards. Knowing me, I probably won't, I'll just put up with it, but we'll see – I don't like having a wet arse.

Today really marked a change in the weather. For the past six months, despite what people say, the weather's been brilliant. It's nice outside now – sunshine everywhere – but the last six months have been fantastic. If you don't believe me, just check back through the pages of this blog, look at the blue skies in the photographs and you'll see what I mean. I can't stand people who moan and wonder what happened to the summer, as if we haven't had one, we have!!!

A different angle on an old bus stop? New
routes are definitely needed. 

But as I cycled with Andy towards Botley Hill, I noticed a difference in the weather. It was cooler for a start, it had been raining over night, there were big puddles everywhere, my arse was wet, I was considering mudguards, something had definitely changed.

During the summer months, an overcast day is depressing in the extreme, but the only bad day I recall this summer was when we did the Black Horse Ride in June. Outside of that, it's been great. In the summer, clouds are a bummer, but in the wintery months – or the lead-up to them – a cloudy day is welcomed as it brings to mind tea and cake in front of the fire. Well, we're not quite there yet, but, as I say, a change is out there and the risk of getting a soaking has increased. Soon, the gloves will go on – I thought about them this morning too.

At the Tatsfield Bus Stop we discussed cars and mileage, Peuguots versus BMW, big cars versus small, old cars versus new and we talked about discovering new routes because when I reached for the camera to take the traditional photograph for the weekly post – this post – we realised that we had exhausted every shot the Bus Stop could offer us. We need a new route – or a new destination – and I'll have to put my thinking cap on.

Jon suggested yesterday that we head out for Hunger's End next week and I suggested that Redhill hasn't been done for a while and there's a caff there open on Sunday. And what about Boxhill? A bit far, perhaps. Andy can't make next Saturday, but he's going on Sunday so possibly Redhill and then Hunger's End the following weekend. Who knows?

To Carshalton for a stroll down memory lane...

Jon and yours truly on Woodmansterne Green, Saturday August 27th 2011.

Sunday, 2137hrs: Andy's back in the UK after his ride to Paris and NVL will be reporting on his adventures just as soon as he tells us more about what happened. He set off on Saturday, spent the night in Newhaven, then took the ferry over the channel and rode all the way to Paris.

Round at mum's - this shot taken in the kitchen.

I cycled every day of the bank holiday, first going to mum's on Saturday, then to Woodmansterne Green on Sunday and today, Bank Holiday Monday, I rode through suburban streets to Grove Park in Carshalton. On all three occasions I met with Jon and we talked a lot about dad. Now that I have a full-time job again, I've had some time to reflect a little more on dad's passing away.

These steps in Grove Park I used to climb when I was very, very young. What
they were used for, I'll never know.

Each ride this weekend was roughly 12 miles, meaning I rode the best part of 36 miles. The best ride was today for some reason. I think it was because we were in Grove Park, doing all sorts of things, revisiting old childhood haunts, like the old mill, the riverbank where we went fishing with nets on the end of a strip of bamboo, the big lakes opposite the church where mum and dad got married. Jon recalled an occasion when the lake opposite the Greyhound Hotel was frozen over and how he and a mate walked on it.

The Mill Pond in Grove Park - it lets the rest of the park down.

Grove Park is very nicely landscaped, there's the River Wandle, that runs through the park and, well, it's a great place, but one bit of it let the rest of it down: the mill pond. While the park as a whole looks good, the mill pond is a complete disaster; it looks like something out of an eco-disaster movie. In short, people have used it as a rubbish dump. There's old tyres, discarded drinks bottles, you name it, it's in there and that's just not good.

Jon and I stood around looking at the mess, having enjoyed the rest of the park. We met an old woman with a dog who said she'd lived in the area for 17 years. She told us how the park authorities seem to let the offenders get away with murder: they torch motorcycles and generally make a mess, presumably in the dead of night.

The Old Mill in Grove Park. Rumour has it that a young boy
met with an accident here and died.

We cycled around the park and it brought back many memories. I was amazed to find the old changing room and the playing field where we used to play football during 'games' lessons, or PE as it was known. The pitch looks much smaller than I remember it, but then again, I was much smaller.

One of two large lakes close to Carshalton's High Street.

We larked around in the children's playground, which was deserted. Jon had a go on the aerial ropeway - and there's video evidence as you've probably already discovered. We drank our tea by the side of one of the big lakes where a strange man with a plastic bag full of bread fed the ducks. He was obviously trying to cultivate some kind of Birdman of Alcatraz thing, but later we realised he was a bit nutty and gave him a wide berth.

Dad's presence was quite strong all weekend. He was definitely in the park and round at mum's and, while there was a strong sense of sadness in the air, it was good to ride around the park and find spots that brought back fine memories of an excellent childhood.

The River Wandle as it flows through Grove Park, Carshalton

The River Wandle as it flows through Carshalton.

The River Wandle as it weaves through Grove Park in Carshalton. It brings back happy memories of fishing with a net on a bamboo stick and playing with our Star model yachts, made in Birkenhead, but probably not any more. I've still got one in my attic.

The River Wandle will always bring back happy childhood memories for me; Dad used to take us fishing for sticklebacks with our bamboo fishing nets and I remember sailing many a model boat here too. Just down from where this shot was taken there is a gushing waterfall and an old mill where it is rumoured that a small boy, died; but that story is as old as the hills, although probably true. The mill used to have – probably still does, I haven't looked for ages – a mill pond covered in a green algae of sorts. Looking at it gave the illusion of solid ground, it was that still, but throw a stone into it and the 'plop' told the truth – it's water! Just down from the old mill used to be a mortuary. It was used during the war and closed down shortly afterwards, but that didn't stop Graham Knowles and I from venturing inside when we discovered it was fairly easy to gain access. I had a large remote control Tiger Tank at the time (what a great toy!), which we sent in first, like one of those remote control robots used in bomb disposal and about the same size. I cannot recall if I had the bottle to go inside the mortuary, but others did and found old shrouds and coffin lids and some dried-up blood on the old slabs. Not nice. My dad called the council and got it closed down. Today there are new houses in its place – now there's got to be a plot for a story there, a brand new house, haunted, but why? And then someone digs up the history of the mortuary – spooky!

Over to Carshalton, supposedly to fix Jon's puncture

Top shot: a milk float similar to this one accompanied 'Dynamic Norman' and myself on a milkround in the Woodcote area of South Wallington.

Larger photo shows All Saint's Church in Carshalton taken from the Grove Park and looking across one of two lakes; the other one is to the right of this picture and is separated by a road bridge, over which that rather ugly bus (the 157, which, apparently, the singer Matt Monroe used to drive, according to my mum). The two lakes aren't actually separate at all as the water flows under the road bridge making it really just one big lake. The water, incidentally all forms part of the River Wandle, which joins the River Thames at Wandsworth.

Mild rain yesterday, unlike today's torrential downpour, which has led to an 'abort' text to Andy. The plan was to head out to the Tatsfield bus stop, but the rain is still hammering down on to my conservatory roof as I sit here in the halogen glow of the computer writing this blog.

Andy wasn't cycling yesterday (Saturday 27 February) so Jon and I decided to cycle to mum and dad's and fix his puncture. When we got there, having met halfway along the road towards Woodmansterne Green (I was running a little late) we headed down through South Wallington in the heavy Saturday morning traffic towards Carshalton but then decided to veer left and follow the quieter roads where, many years ago, I used to do a milkround with a man known as 'Dynamic Norman', probably because there was nothing dynamic about him. He was, I recall, a film buff, but that was all I knew about him, apart from the fact that he had a son who he took the movies at the weekends. These were the days when it was always summer. I can't remember doing the round in the rain ever.

There are some nice 'gaff's' at the top of Wallington and riding down Boundary Road towards the mini roundabout at the end, memories of my time working for the Express Dairy from their depot in Shorts Road came flooding back. I'll always remember how mum used to ask me if I was going to be doing my round that morning to which I would always reply, 'might, I dunno'. It became a family joke.

We rode through Ruskin Park, otherwise known as the 'dip park' because of these huge craters where I remember cycling as a kid. Jon and I considered going down the dips again and stopped to prepare ourselves, but I knew (and so did Jon) that coming up the other side would be an effort so we didn't bother. Instead we pushed on: across the Ruskin Road, down past Carshalton Library, along West Street past the Racehorse pub and then past Dog Shit Alley and up Colston Avenue, past Audrey's (which is closing down) and then up Rossdale to mum and dad's.

Dad was on his way out for a haircut down at Scissors in the village but we stayed and had Shredded Wheat and and a mug of tea before heading our separate ways: Jon to Epsom and me to Croydon, via Wallington in the traffic.

Woke up this morning (Sunday 28 February) and realised I hadn't yet bought Jon a birthday card for tomorrow. Oops! Better stop writing this blog and do something more constructive. It's still pissing down outside, has been since I was rudely awoken by the alarm on my mobile phone. It's now 0731hrs and it looks as if cycling is going to be the last thing on the agenda today.