A few thoughts on the ride...

Riding the bike is becoming a little addictive. Today, I normally ride work but on this occasion I had a day off and if the truth be known, the best thing I could have done would have been to go out on an early morning ride, to Oxted. I should have jumped on the bike, hit the road and had a mug of tea in the Starbucks in the High Street, just me and Philip Roth's American Pastoral, which I am currently reading. But I didn't. I lolled around being lazy and it's all because I'm wound up with work and no holidays. I allow myself to get wound up, there's not enough down time. I have a lot of trouble unwinding, it takes a few days and when you're just taking the odd day off it simply doesn't work, unless I'd bitten the bullet and taken the bike out. That would have been the solution. The exercise would have done me good, not just physically but mentally too and I should know it because for the past few weeks I've been riding four times a week in the morning and in the evening and while the return ride certainly takes it out of me, that's half the point. I get home, I eat dinner, I then relax and fall asleep and it's that nice kind of tired you tend to get after exercise. Or is it exhaustion? Sometimes it feels that way. I'm often told that I'm overdoing it, or rather that I'm overdoing 'things' meaning I'm overdoing the cycling, but I don't think so. The cycling makes me feel good inside and the ride home is far better than taking the train, sitting there next to a lot of stressed people heading home from their respective workplaces. I'd much rather be out in the sticks, miles from the nearest railway station and on my own, just me and the bike against the world. Riding gives me the chance to think things through, sometimes I think through the wrong stuff and it gets fretful, but all I need really is the challenge of a major hill, like White Hill Lane, and then I find that I'm concentrating my mental faculties on just getting to the top of the hill. I feel great when I get there. On the return route there are plenty of hills and completing each one feels good. Not that there isn't something daunting about the ride home. I start to think about those hills long before I get on the bike. I think about them a little more as I ride towards them, through the Merstham council estate and out towards Warwick Wold Road where they start. In fact, it's probably best not to think too much about them and just pedal onwards, remembering that every yard, every inch even, takes me closer to home. The ride home is an ordeal, but only because of those hills, but the ordeal is part of the fun, part of the enjoyment, part of the challenge, although I never think as much at the time. After a day at work it's tiresome, but not overly so, it's good to be doing it rather than waiting on a hot platform for a train. That said, I've started (as I say in the previous post) riding in and then taking the bus home. I did this on those really hot days a few weeks back when it was inadvisable to ride home in such heat, especially attempting the hills. So I jumped on the 405. When the kids have all reached home safely, say around 5.30pm or a little later, the bus is empty and with a cool breeze coming in through the open windows, and a good book, it's a pleasant way to wile away around 40 minutes. Taking the bus home means taking the train the next day and then riding home, but it's one of those 'change is as good as a rest' things, sometimes it's nice to break it up and not make the whole thing a pain. I don't want to find myself not doing this because I get tired of it so to mix it up a bit is good, I still ride three times per week, I just split up one of the rides.

Riding a bike is quite an amazing thing and yet it's something nobody really thinks too deeply about. Riding a bike is riding a bike and that's it, you might think, but just the different route, the quieter route to wherever it is you're going is like finding a new world in which to exist, a world that might not be too far from the one you know and love but a new world nonetheless, a route you wouldn't otherwise take, houses you wouldn't normally see, wildlife you wouldn't have seen. A couple of rides back I followed a small brown mouse as he waddled his way along in a dirt track that ran parallel with the road, it was quite a funny sight if I'm honest and eventually he disappeared in the undergrowth, but it was good to see him. In fact, on the same stretch of road I saw a lonely goat herd in a hillside, which, as I said in the previous post, reminded me of the song from The Sound of Music. These are all things that don't happen on the train or the bus or the car, but they're all life-enriching, albeit on a small scale. I love that idea of new worlds, but that's what it is, new worlds, different routes, roads not normally travelled, houses not usually seen, it's great the way the bike cuts through this new territory and gives its passenger a different perspective on life. Suddenly there are different views, no longer the back gardens of houses close to the railway tracks, or that boring windscreen view you get whilst sitting in the passenger seat of a car looking at the rear of a bus or another car. My route at this present time is virtually car-free, there's nobody around in the morning and by leaving the office around a quarter to six in the evening, the sun still shining brightly, by the time I reach the sticks the cars have gone (almost). It's important to remember that there's always going to be a car coming out of nowhere so I never get too complacent, but by and large the ride in and out is quiet and I like that. 

Sometimes things happen out of the blue and I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but the other week, near the Whyteleafe Tavern, I stopped to fix the chain back on the bike only to discover that the rear wheel had come loose. It was a new rear wheel and I reckon I simply hadn't tightened it enough. I managed to cover both hands in thick dirt from the chain but eventually I managed to put everything back together and head off towards the last hill of the ride, Tithepit Shaw Lane. I tend to bring water with me and I have a couple of cups of it before tackling the hills. I don't know, but I reckon it helps in some way, unless its psychological. Something else weird - and very dangerous - occurred as I made a left turn into Park Avenue off of Stanstead Road. Over the past couple of trips I'd been slowing down a little to take the sharp and blind turn and being as there were no cars around (and to gain greater visibility of what was around the corner) I'd edge out into the middle of the road and then into Park Avenue without the need to brake or slow right down. Fine, you might think, but it's important to realise that hazards materialise out of the blue. On one occasion as I lined things up for a smooth left turn without needing to use the brakes, a woman in a motorised wheelchair on the wrong side of the road and right at the end of it (she could have been hit by a car turning into the road and wouldn't have been able to avoid it) appeared out of nowhere. What she was doing on the wrong side of the road and about to turn right on to the main road I don't know, but there was no problem, I managed to avoid her because I wasn't travelling that fast and it wasn't even a case of having to avoid her, more that I saw her (thanks to moving into the middle of the road) and took minor evasive action, which meant drifting to the right slightly and then back left and following the road down and round to the old church on the corner of Manor Avenue. Park Road sort of becomes Manor Avenue, the road bends right, it's a nice piece of road, pleasant houses, and only a short distance from the start of Whyteleafe hill except that this time, unlike on the outward journey, I'm riding downhill, which is fast and again there's a strong need to keep my wits about me as the road is full of sleeping policemen, the sort that cars can drive over, and a few left turns from where cars can emerge.

Chilling...

As the ride nears its end I feel elated. Elated that I've tackled the big hills and that all that remains is Sanderstead High Street and another downhill, this time Church Way, the first, or rather the second, climb on the outward journey. The sleeping policemen on Church Way stretch from one side of the road to the other so I tend to stand up as I ride over them. Cycling down Church Way is quite fast and again you have to watch yourself as there's a blind corner where parked cars conceal cars that might be coming up the road and then there's a left turn, Briton Hill Road, where cars suddenly appear. So the hazards never stop, they're always there, right to the end. I love Ellenbridge on the return as I can pedal hard and get up a fair speed before having to slow for the right turn that eventually takes me home. And the first thing I do when I get home? I make myself a couple of slices of toast and honey (it's my new thing, two slices for breakfast and two when I get back from the ride).

As I didn't ride today I'll be riding tomorrow, to Oxted, where I'll probably stop for tea. I'm planning on taking Philip Roth with me and will likely spend half an hour reading before riding home and tackling Titsey Hill. Believe me, it's nothing. It's long, yes, but it's not a problem ride. I'd rather ride up Titsey than White Hill Lane any day. Until then, I wish you all a good night.

Strikebuster! I ride to work and back!

It's not often that I miss a week or two on the blog, but as desperate readers must be thinking, where IS he? Well, I'm here. I haven't gone away. In fact, the week before last, due to the train strike, I managed to ride into work from Tuesday to Friday, roughly 25 miles per day... and the weather was absolutely perfect, arguably too hot, especially on the the hilly return ride. Normally, riding to work is a bit of a pain and can be fairly stressful when you consider that the threat of puncture always looms large and it's the last thing I want when I'm riding in; on the return journey it's a little less threatening but probably worse as I'm tired from a day at work and looking forward to getting home to relax. But fortunately, no punctures, in fact, nothing was wrong with the bike at all so I was, if you like, blessed with good fortune.

The bike in an empty car park ready for the ride home...

The weekend prior to the train strike I didn't cycle anywhere because I was going away for a night, down to darkest East Sussex. I didn't ride on the Saturday morning to Oxted and then, because I woke up in a hotel on Sunday morning, no riding on Sunday either. But then I more than made up for it the following Tuesday (day one of the train strike) when I rode to Redhill through Whyteleafe, Caterham and Chaldon. The ride in, as I've said before, was a piece of cake, mainly because most of it is downhill, but not until I've cleared Whyteleafe Hill, which is not too bad, it's just long and dragged out. But once at the top and once having turned right just beyond a small park, the rest of the ride is plain sailing along Stansted Road, into Chaldon and then down White Hill Lane, turning right on to Springbottom Lane and then left and straight on, over the motorway and into Merstham. In fact, riding down White Hill Lane is arguably the most dangerous part of the ride because the downhill is fast and there are a few twists and turns and then I have to slow the bike down and make a right turn.

Sign for Route 21... no, not today!

Once into Merstham it's pretty much plain sailing through the village and then along Frenchies Road into Redhill. When I arrive at work I can shower in the office and then, refreshed, walk up the two flights of stairs to the office feeling energised and ready for the working day. The best bit about riding to the office (when the weather is good) is that I get excited about the ride home. It's great knowing that all I have to do is walk downstairs, unpadlock the bike, jump on and ride home. I can even let the folks at home know the exact time that I will return (barring hassles like a puncture) as it takes roughly one hour and 15 minutes to get home, give or take. The problem with the return ride is the hills. I encounter them just outside of Merstham on the Warwick Wold Road leading up to the bridge across the motorway and they continue from there. The first big one is White Hill Lane: dangerous riding down and bloody hard work cycling the other way. Oddly it's little more than around five minutes of pain and then it's over. Suddenly I'm approaching the Harrow pub in Chaldon and all is well. As the week progressed I got better and better at climbing up White Hill Lane, although on one day I decided to seek out Hexstalls Lane, a gravelly road that bypasses the hill and deposits me right at the top on War Coppice Road which leads down to the Harrow pub. But all that gravel worries me: what if I get a puncture? As I said earlier, it's the last thing I need on the ride home, even if the sun is shining.

Cycling over the motorway, with more hills to come...

On the Friday of the week of riding to the office I only rode in. I left the bike in the office over the weekend due to a calamity that needed immediate attention but then rode the bike home the following Monday and, much to my amazement – after another weekend of not riding the bike – I sailed up White Hill Lane. It was odd as I saw another cyclist a few yards ahead of me on a racing bike. I watched as he stood up and pedalled his way to the top and so decided that I would adopt the same practice. I found it worked well and realised that I'd conquered the hill and that it would never be a major problem for me again. I put this down to two things: one was all those rides to Oxted and the ride back up Titsey Hill; these rides would have put me in a good position for the pain of White Hill Lane. Two, the fact that I'd been riding on four consecutive days to Redhill and back meant that I was accustomed to the hill by the end of the week so when I tackled it on the Monday, having not cycled in to Redhill (which must have helped) I took the whole thing in my stride.

Reaching the top of White Hill Lane

White Hill Lane, however, is not the only nasty incline on the return ride, there's also Tithepit Shaw Lane. On the Monday evening I decided to stand up for as along as I could and change down as the hill reached its steepest point; this proved a great success and once over I felt the relief of knowing there were no more hills and that I would be home within around 10-15 minutes. 

On one of the days, I think it was the first Tuesday, the day of the strike, when I reached home I felt tremendously energised. So energised in fact that I set about making myself a homemade pasta and sauce (basically fusilli with chopped tomato, red pepper and onion. I ate the lot.

Ever since returning from Prague, where I started drinking green tea, I started to watch my diet a little bit and soon I was down to 12st 7lbs. I had weighed around 13 stone and wasn't happy so it was good to jump on the scales and find myself half a stone lighter, which I put down to not eating more than two to three slices of bread per day and trying my best not to eat between meals. By and large I've laid off the cakes too, although over the weekend just past I did eat a few chocolate digestives (at my mum's) and some digestives and a slice of chocolate cake (at my mother-in-law's). Not ideal, but then last night I didn't eat a big meal. Today (it's Monday and I was going to ride in, but will probably ride tomorrow morning depending on how I feel) I had Alpen and fresh fruit with yoghurt for breakfast, no toast, and mug of green tea. I made myself a tuna and mayo sandwich, just the one and that's all I've eaten today so far (it's now just gone 5pm and I'm about to go home, albeit on the train. I would like to get my weight down to around 12st, just over perhaps, but that would be enough.

Queen's Park in Caterham, I think that's what it's called...

On Sunday I rode to Westerham to meet Andy who told me all about his ride to and from Cornwall. We sat on the green sipping tea for around one hour talking about the ride and I must say the whole thing was inspiring. I'm pleased for Andy as he broke his hip, you might recall, earlier in the year, but was determined to ride to Cornwall and he did, so respect is due, top man and all that. I would like to have a crack at a longer ride, perhaps a trip to the south coast, but I'm not going to commit to anything as I have enough travelling to do in my job as it is. Avid readers will know that over the past month of so I've been first to Pittsburgh in the USA and then to Prague in the Czech Republic. There's a trip to Sweden and Finland coming up so I don't want to be away for longer than I have to, but a one-day ride to Felpham would work, I'll just have to see if an opportunity arises.

The last hill of the ride... and it ain't a walk in the park!

Riding Sustrans Route 21

Last night's ride home from work was interesting. I've been wracking my brains as to how to avoid White Hill Lane, a huge, steep hill on the return journey and it's always a trade-off. It can be avoided if I take lesser but still arduous climbs, but it also means more traffic elsewhere or a dangerous roundabout to circumnavigate. So, I'm on my way home last night, resigned to the fact that hills are coming and I see a sign for Route 21, a Sustrans route and it's heading to where I'm going. Why not? I decided to bite the bullet and give it a try.

Gravel pathways, surrounded on either side by trees and bushes, stretches of trails with sand dune sand sending the bike's rear wheel all over the place, gravel tracks causing the tyres to slip and slide and rooted pathways through dense woods, up hills and down, making life on the saddle very challenging. There were short stretches of country lane - and I mean short - because before I knew it I was back off-road and wondering when it was all going to end. At one point I found myself in the middle of a wooded area with paths to the left and right and one straight ahead of me. Instinctively, almost, I opted for the latter and miraculously I managed to stay on Route 21 throughout. There were places where there were no signs and I had to gamble, but every time I gambled correctly and sooner or later another Route 21 sign would appear. At one stage I met a couple of walkers and they assured me I was on the right track. I called Andy and he later confirmed that I was heading in the right direction. Tupwood Lane. I remembered that name from reading a map book a few days ago, it looked as if I was heading into Caterham, but even when I reached the suburbs, which I assumed were lurking somewhere, the route suddenly plunged me into the deepest countryside again (or so it seemed). Towards the end of the ride (and wow, what a ride!) I found myself within the grounds of the very grand Woldingham School, which was alive with school sports. A road that dissected the school grounds went on forever, but eventually I emerged close to a golf club on the outskirts of Warlingham and turned left, following the road towards Slines Oak Road, an old and familiar friend. At this stage in the ride I noticed another cyclist who, I'm guessing, was more familiar with Route 21 than I was. When we reached the golf club he veered off left and headed for the hills. I followed him, but when I saw the hill ahead of me and realised that the gravel path would mean dismounting, I turned back and stuck to the road, eventually climbing Slines Oak, as I had done over the weekend, and riding along the 269 towards home.

My journey time had been doubled and the mileage had increased from the expected 24.67 miles to just over 31 miles. Not bad, and in a way I'm glad that I got some extra miles under my belt, but I doubt I'll be riding home that way again, it was far too much of an ordeal for a ride home from work. My aim had been to avoid White Hill Lane and Tithepit Shaw Lane, but at what cost? The White Hill Lane route is a short, sharp shock, three punishing hills in total and a ride time of just over an hour. Yes, it's hard, very hard (on the return journey); so hard that I find it very daunting as I ride along Springbottom Lane anticipating the climb ahead of me. But once it's over, it's plain sailing and it never takes more than one hour and 10 minutes. I reach home invigorated and ready to stuff my face with anything that's available. Last night, I was amazed to get home at all - I was reminded of The Footpath to Dunton Green - and still stuffed my face like there was no tomorrow, but the journey time had doubled and I must have walked through the door around one hour after I would have returned had I braved the hills. So a lesson has been learnt: the hills home are bad, but they're doable (should that word be hyphenated?) and for that reason alone I shouldn't seek out longer, more complicated routes, like Sustrans Route 21. That said, I was amazed that I could get home from Redhill all the way virtually off-road. Even now as I write this thinking back to being in the middle of the woods, reliant only on a small sign with the words 'Route 21' written on it, I'm thinking how incredible it was to be 'out there' like that, no roads, no cars, no people. Incredible how these routes exist and that, by and large, they work. Perhaps not ideal for the commute home, but for a weekend ride? Perfect. I must tell Andy.

To Westerham!

As always we met at the green and it wasn't long before we were on our way to Westerham, 'heads down' along the 269, Andy carrying that tennis racquet I lent him a week or two ago. I'd already realised that, once again, the weather was deceptive and that it was much colder out there than I thought. I wasn't wearing the old rust-coloured jacket, now ripped to shreds and old-looking, so initially I was cold and thinking to myself 'go back and put something else on'. But I persevered on the basis that the exercise of cycling would warm me up and sure enough, it did. I found myself powering along the road on the Rockhopper, loving every minute of the fact that this new bike of mine (I say 'new' but it's six months old – and no punctures!) was a great performer. It was a theme that stuck with me throughout the ride, the fact that coming back up Westerham Hill wasn't an issue. Alright, it's a chore, but a 'do-able' chore. Not that I ever failed to come up the hill (I never once got off the bike) but it's all about having the right bike for the job. For me the Rockhopper fits the bill.

Bluebells close to the 269

On the outward ride along the 269 we noticed a blanket of bluebells in the woods. Andy stopped to take the shot accompanying this post (right) and I continued towards Botley Hill, wondering when Andy would catch me up, surely before I reached the pub, I thought, but no, it wasn't until I was riding down Clarks Lane, passing the Tatsfield churchyard, that he rejoined me.

We pedalled fast into Westerham, past the sign welcoming us to Kent, the 'garden of England', and soon found ourselves sitting at our usual wooden table on the green opposite the Grasshopper and behind the statue of General Wolfe, eating BelVita chocolate chip biscuits and drinking tea.

The worse thing about cycling to Westerham is the ride back, but these days, as I said earlier, it's not that bad, thanks to the new bike, but was it ever that bad? No, of course not, it's just an effort, like all hills. It's psychological. The problem with the climb out of Westerham is simple: it's long and drawn out and continues all the way to Botley Hill, but if you prepare yourself for it, engage in conversation en route, it's soon over and that great sense of relief kicks in. Hills are there to be conquered and I'm often amazed, when I go out for short rides around the block with people or, like recently, chatting about cycling in the area, that they all say, "Ooh, not round here, it's too hilly." But that's the point, surely? Cycling, in many ways, is all about hills, even if based purely on the notion of what goes up must come down. Hills are not to be avoided, they're to be tackled. Half the fun of cycling, in my opinion, is cranking the bike down into a low gear and going for it, staying in the saddle (and on the bike) being the ultimate goal. And yes, it helps having the right sort of bike. But that said, when I was a kid I used to ride a single-geared bike and when the hills got bad I'd get off and walk up the hill, so what's the beef with these people who don't like hills?

I reached home at 1003hrs, the sun was shining and the rest of the day lay ahead of me. I padlocked the bike in the garage and got on with my day.

Easter weekend cycling – hilly route to Merstham (never again)...

I'd worked out a route looking at a street map. The sole aim was to find a route to Redhill from Sanderstead that avoided the A23. But street maps don't say anything about hills and there were plenty. So many, in fact, on the early, suburban part of the ride, that, before reaching a place in Coulsdon called Farthing Common, a kind of deserted plateau rising above deep valleys on either side, we were already knackered.

My sentiments exactly...

Andy was knackered and pissed off because he'd riden all the way from Caterham to meet me outside the main entrance to Purley Station only to discover that the route he was about to embark upon took him back to within five or ten minutes' ride from his house.

But let's get back to those hills. The road names should have given them away: Foxley Hill, just off the A22 Godstone Road, then Higher Drive, Hartley Hill and Rutherford Rise. 'Hill' and 'Rise' and 'Higher' should have sparked off warning signals, but they hadn't and by the time we reached Farthing Common, well, we both felt as if we'd over-exerted things a little bit. From there it was fairly straightforward: the Farthing Down bit became Ditches Lane then Church Lane followed by Hilltop Lane and then, as if by magic, we found ourselves at Rockshaw Lane, the road that leads down to Merstham. My plan had been to continue down Hilltop Lane which would have become Warwick Wold Road and then turn right after crossing over the M25 on to the Bletchingly Road and then up School Hill into the centre of Merstham – but we decided to take the road we trusted and within 10 or 15 minutes were standing outside Hunger's End – which was closed.

We wandered down to the Quality Café, which, everytime I pass it is normally closed and shuttered. Not today. It was open so in we went. Andy ordered a bacon roll and tea and I chose an omelette, chips and beans. We both had a couple of mugs of tea and sat there reading the Sun and the Daily Star, marvelling at how fit that model, Elle MacPherson, once known as 'the body' was looking aged 50. She's had kids too, but wow, is she fit.

Andy with bacon roll in Merstham's Quality Café

We were, it had to be said, tired and those earlier hills had played havoc with my general state of well-being. I was fine, but had I been able to sit in the Quality Café all day, I would have done so; but I had to get home and I seriously considered the train. However, all that stodgy food needed to be burned off so I resolved to cycle home along the very busy A23. Andy branched off at Shepherd's Hill.

I was knackered by the time I reached home and my right knee was giving me some pain too, nothing major, and once I'd rested a bit I was fine.

We're going to cycle to Tatsfield Churchyard tomorrow – a nice short one.