To the lakes!

I left the house this morning around 0809hrs, keeping a weather eye on my surroundings and looking out for patrolling police cars and royalists attempting to keep everybody indoors watching the funeral on TV, not that my television is working; it might well be we need a new one. There was little in the way of traffic on the roads and I didn't see a single cop car, let alone marauding royalists and Brexiteers sniffing out anybody with republican tendencies. But who was I kidding? Nobody was going to stop me from cycling, nobody was out to get me and nobody cares what I'm up to. I was, quite simply, in the clear. Today was a long one: a ride to the lakes in Chipstead, Kent. The plan was to meet Andy there at 0930 but there was no flask. Flasks are old money, pre-Covid cycling when we used to sit in fields, on benches, taking shelter from the rain at a covered bus stop. Not any more. There was no meeting point other than at our destination and if you need proof that things have changed in the world of No Visible Lycra just scroll back through the pages of this blog, pick a random year, a random month and you will see how things have changed. Now we meet at our destinations, be it Westerham, Tatsfield or the lakes at Chipstead village in Kent. In many ways, it's better the way it is now, it's simpler. We fix on a venue and we meet there and then we say goodbye until the next time. I think we both prefer it. But sometimes it's good to look back, as I did when we both stood on the small green opposite the pub with the lakes behind us, a lonely paddle boarder making their way across the big lake, presumably from Chevening Sailing Club. 

The Rockhopper on Clarks Lane, Monday 19th September 2022

We are less excitable about being out in all weathers, unlike in the old days. I recalled Twats of the Antarctic and other posts that saw us suffering in snow and rain and sleet and heavy winds, but who wants to risk injury? Not Andy. And who can blame him? Only months ago he almost had to undergo a hip replacement after coming off his bike thanks to black ice on the road. Best to use a turbo trainer as the nights get longer rather than risk another trip to the hospital and the pain of recovery. Andy and I used to boast of being all-weather riders, 12 months per year we were out there, wearing balaclavas and scarfs and heavy jackets, anything to keep the bad weather at bay as we rode out in the dark, past iced-up windscreens and frosted pathways, the grass verges frozen and ice-tipped as we rode towards Warlingham Green, which, to me, resembles a closed railway station. Similarly the Tatsfield Bus Stop, once our refuge from the ravages of winter, now little more than a piece of wood at the top of Approach Road that sometimes I see other riders using. I can't even refer to it anymore as 'our bus stop' because it isn't, and it never was, of course. Only the other day, sitting in the comfort of Sheree's Tearoom in Tatsfield village, I pointed out that the old wooden bus stop opposite the Ship pub, was also one of our 'homes', another of our shelters from the storm, but now we sit in the warmth of the cafe with tea served in china cups and possibly a slice of cake. In short, we prefer our comfort. Visiting the caff used to be a rare treat, something we savoured, but now it's routine, something we always do and let's face it we both like it; no, wait a minute, we love it! I can't think of anything better than visiting Costa at the end of an 11-mile ride to Westerham or a 10-mile ride to Oxted where I have the choice of Costa, Caffe Nero or Starbucks. And I know I've been going on and on about how great the weather has been, but it has, it's been wonderful. I checked today and ever since April I've been riding to places like Biggin Hill and Oxted on a Saturday morning and stopping for tea or coffee in the sunshine, relaxing in the open air. The sun has been shining all year and as the year has progressed the temperatures have increased. I've been riding to work, as you know, in the heat, and riding back, in the heat. Only now have things changed. There is a nip in the air, I'm wearing the gloves again and I'm putting on a hat under my helmet to keep warm... and it's only September. But listen, even now, mid-September, it's warm, but a little cooler in the early mornings.

Andy and our bikes at Chipstead lakes, Kent, 19th September

I rode the usual route to the lakes, along Pilgrims Lane all the way, turning right towards Chipstead Village and sailing into the village where, it transpired, I was first to arrive. I answered the call of nature behind a bush and when I stepped back on the stage of the green there was Andy. He too had followed Pilgrims Lane and was riding his mountain bike. Andy had bought a Thermos flask with enough water for a couple of cups of coffee. I bought some water with me, but opted for a cup of Andy's instant coffee, which did the job. We chatted about the instransigence of managers in business and how they have no idea of how to incentivise their staff to make money for the business. That and our reminiscing about old times and those extreme weather jaunts summed up our chat, we paid scant attention to the lake itself because there wasn't that much to see... and let's face it, we've seen it all before, although it's worth pointing out that for a very long time both of us have tended to visit the lakes alone, normally on a whim when either myself or Andy wasn't riding. I think the last time I was there was during the pandemic. I remember it well because when I reached the patch of green in front of the pub there was a honey monster soft toy on one of the benches and that might well have been the last time I was there. Andy's the same, sometimes he says he rode to the lakes alone. But there have been some great rides to the lakes, like back in April 2011 when we rode there with Andy's pal Richard and overdid the Nuptial Ale (in celebration of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton).

The lakes - it's been a long time since we've been here together

The lakes has always been one of those far-off destinations for a regular weekend ride, it's that extra five miles beyond Westerham and it's always been rare to visit purely because we've all got other things to do. But not today. Today is the day of the Queen's funeral, 19 September 2022 and with nothing on television but that event and a lot of people staying in to watch it, a ride to the lakes seemed like a good idea as no coffee shops would be open and that's why we needed the flask. Last night I saw one in Sainsbury's, or it might have been the night before, but it was £28! That's a lot of money to fork out for a small flask, and, as Andy rightly remarked, there's little point as these days we rarely do what we used to do, ie sit at the Tatsfield Bus Stop where there is no Costa or Starbucks and, therefore, the need for a flask of hot water and some tea bags is very real. 

Crossing over motorways on the return ride out of Chipstead

I never checked my watch so I have no idea of what time we left, but I got home around 1145hrs. We rode out of Chipstead village together but Andy then bade me farewell and sped up; soon he was out of sight. You must remember that Andy is now super fit in cycling terms, he rides long distances and takes them in his stride, he's lost a lot of weight and he's certainly faster than I am. I don't want to hold him back. Don't get me wrong. I'm much fitter too than I was during the pre-Covid days. Remember that back then we tended to ride once or twice a week and only three times when there was a bank holiday. Today I'm trying to put in four rides per week, two of them to Redhill where I work as the ride back is a real work-out. Andy has a trainer in his garage and can be found on it virtually every day (if the weather looks iffy) and then he cycles with Oxted CC on a Saturday morning and can cover as much as 80 miles depending on the route taken. So things have changed, but for the best I think, we're both fitter for a start, which is a good thing, and long may it continue.

Corn fields on Pilgrims Lane on the return ride

On the way home...

To Biggin Hill...

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

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

Sunningvale Avenue, Biggin Hill

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

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

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

Lockdown, Pt. 38: The Dunton Green Growler...

I took a ride in the wind on Friday evening, the trees were swaying back and forth and when I moved out of suburbia and into the sticks I was greeted by fragrant hedgerows and the smell of cow parsley and hawthorn bushes. Tall hedges protected me from the gusty winds while riding the country lanes, but as soon as I emerged on to the 269, having riden leisurely around Beech Farm Road, the wind hit hard. I was on my last mid-week ride and I must say that I'd had a good week of cycling. First, there was my ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard on Sunday to see Andy, that was early. I left the house around 0700hrs and reached the green around an hour later. It's a time to chill and chat and it's a most welcomed break from the monotony of everything. As I write this, it's Saturday evening and I'll be meeting Andy again tomorrow at the usual place, I can't wait.

Just one mile to go before Bojangles...

On Monday last week I pushed the boat out and rode the slow way to Westerham, a bit adventurous for a Monday night, but all-in, a 22-miler and I was pleased with that, but baffled about the distance. I was convinced riding the slow way to Westerham would pile on the miles but no, it was only half a mile longer than heading straight along the 269, but who wants to do that? Not me.

On Tuesday I created a new ride, the Washpond Weeble, not as far as a Washpond Womble, but still a reasonably respectable 12-mile hoof along Beech Farm Road and hanging a right into Washpond Lane, then right on to Ledgers Road, left on to Church Lane and all the way round towards Warlingham Sainsbury's before joining the Limpsfield Road and heading home. After that I had two days off (Wednesday and Thursday). Sometimes I just can't face it: the thought of taking the bike up Church Way makes me feel tired and in the end I don't go, but I said to myself that I must do at least a 20-miler on Friday to put on the mileage before the Saturday ride. So I combined a Churchyard Chuffer with a Beech Farm Bastard and a Washpond Womble and covered just over 20 miles, putting me in a good position to hit the 100-mile mark for the week. In the end I rode a total of 103 miles as I decided today to head for Dunton Green in northern Kent, a place I haven't cycled to since the pre-blog days if I'm not mistaken. There might have been one ride, sometime in 2010/2011 but that would have been it. I used to work in Dunton Green and the office is now a housing estate. The route to Dunton Green is roughly the same, well, it IS the same as the ride to the lakes, except that you don't turn right to ride over the motorway and into the village of Chipstead (where the lakes are located), you simply keep riding and when you reach a roundabout you turn right and follow the road into the village. Having clocked up 70 miles during the week I needed a decent 30 + miles to ensure I made the planned 100 miles. Riding to Dunton Green made it 103 miles in total for the week and yes, I'm feeling proud of myself. 103 miles! It's a lockdown first!

Bojangles, Dunton Green: great food, nice people, I will return soon

Pilgrims Lane today was amazing. Wonderful cornfields, a vineyard, it's the best road in the world on a summer's morning, hardly any cars, perfect. Soon I reached Sundridge Hill and turned right and the road became Sundridge Road and then Ovenden Road and soon I was passing the turn-off for Chipstead village on the right and Chevening Church on the left. As I said, I continued straight, followed the road into Dunton Green, a sleepy little place, and then stopped at an excellent little coffee shop called Bojangles. Like a lot of hospitality industry operators, Bojangles has been having a hard time of it, but the good news is it will soon be re-opening as a sit-down operation having been a takeaway-only for a considerable time. When I got there I ordered a New York Deli sandwich, a slice of cake and a cup of tea and then sat across the road where they've set up a few tables. It was very pleasant and I enjoyed the lot, but especially the cake. Soon, however, it was time to ride home and I reckon that psychologically the return journey is the most gruelling. I must admit that as I made my way towards Sundridge Road I was beginning to feel a little daunted by the 16 miles I needed to cover to get home. It was made a lot easier by Pilgrims Lane being a pleasant experience, but when I reached the hill towards Botley, which Andy and I normally call the Westerham hill, I was beginning to feel it just a little bit, but took it in my stride and once I'd passed the Tatsfield Bus Stop on my right I realised that I'd almost cracked it and was on the home straight, just a short ride along the 269 and I'd be in Sanderstead. I decided to turn right on Beech Farm Road and follow it to Washpond Lane, turn left and then follow the twisting country lane to Ledgers Road where I turned right and basically headed for Warlingham Sainsbury's and the ride back along the Limpsfield Road. I was feeling good knowing that the ride was fizzling out and that I'd soon be home.

What great service at Bojangles, my sandwich, tea and cake...

I got back to an empty house around 1445hrs and then went shopping; and when I got back home it was Hot Cross Bun time! Perfect. The sun was out so I put up the parasol and chilled in the back garden reading the Guardian's Weekend magazine, a rare treat for me these days, but Tim Dowling is as good as ever. There were occasional gusts of wind that shook the parasol, but other than that the weather was warm and pleasant and I enjoyed sitting there doing virtually nothing until my wife and daughter returned and I made a chicken risotto.

This cake was absolutely perfect. I will return to Bojangles, Dunton Green

Right now, the light is fading, the wind has dropped and everything is still and cool. It's nights like these that I'd like to be camping out under the stars, but would I really do it, alone, in the back garden? I doubt it, not when there's a perfectly decent bed to sleep in. Or sleep on? Both perhaps.

I'm reading a great novel at the moment by Benjamin Myers called The Offing, it's the perfect book for an English summer. What to read after that I don't know, although there's a book by Sarah Moss that I might try.

Sanderstead to Dunton Green and back is 32.5 miles and the ride has been christened The Dunton Green Growler.

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.

New Year's Day 2016

A late night and a few drinks put paid to any thoughts of a ride on New Year's Day 2016. Instead, the programme was basically lolling about doing virtually nothing other than stealing odd moments to read or browse the internet, in between eating. Not that I ate a great deal: breakfast consisted of lemon and ginger tea and a slice of toast and then lunch was mushrooms on toast.

In the afternoon I took the family for a drive and after cruising through Edenbridge on a dark, rainy afternoon, we found ourselves in Sevenoaks and inside a rather cosy Costa Coffee drinking tea and eating a variety of confections. I chose a white chocolate finger. Now, there's something to savour. A white chocolate finger. Perfect! It's up their with Petit Filous desserts and BelVita milk and cereal biscuits. In fact, if the truth be known, it trumps the lot of them.

A typical scene on New Year's Day – this is Sevenoaks

Being in Sevenoaks in the late afternoon was perfect for some reason. It was dark, most of the shops were closed, but the Christmas decorations still illuminated the small precinct and there were a few people, not many, milling around peering into shop windows and then moving on, just like us. This, in many ways, is a typical New Year's Day. Nothing open. Darkness setting in around 4pm. Christmas lights squeezing out their last few days of meaning anything to anybody and a strange anticipation hanging in the air, the calm before the storm of whatever 2016 will bring. Going back to work loomed large and so did that desperate feeling of not wanting the peace and relaxation to end.

We dived into Laura Ashley and spent miles too long in the furniture department looking at sofas and tables and anything else the 'home' section had to offer. There's something cosy about furniture shops when it's dark outside and there's hardly anybody around.

Saturday 2nd January 2016

I really thought a ride was on the cards and for this reason I was up around 0600hrs and kind of raring to go, although, to be honest, I didn't really fancy going out. I was tired. The holidays were now over officially – today is just like any other Saturday – and a lie-in would have done me the power of good. But it was not to be so I sat at the dining room table, lap top out, checking the blog, checking the BBC news website and generally browsing stuff until I heard a text arrive. It was from Andy. "Raining here," it said, meaning that in Caterham it was raining. Normally, if it's raining in Caterham it soon rains here too, but when I peered out there was little but wind.

I sent back a text: "Which doesn't bode well. Abort? Or wait and see? I think it's going to rain so likely an abort. Not sure. Dry here now."

But Andy didn't have time to postpone the ride. "Too busy today," he texted. "Fingers crossed for tomorrow."

Well, that was it. No ride. So I texted an 'abort' message to Phil and sighed with relief  – although now I was up I figured I should go out for a ride, possibly to mum's or Botley, something short. But when I looked out it was raining and I had a legitimate excuse not to go.

Here's hoping there will be a ride tomorrow.

14 & 15 November – alright, we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop again!

A friend of mine recently told me that I wouldn't be cycling over the weekend of 14 & 15 November. There was a storm coming. In fact, the storm in question had a name – Abigail – and it was, apparently, scheduled to ruin mine and Andy's regular weekend ride into the wilds of Northern Kent.

When I woke up I peered out of the window, expecting to see the trees rocking violently from side-to-side in the blustery weather, but there was nothing. The trees were still, like statues. The only sign of potential bad weather was a general bleakness that normally means rain, but so far it looked fairly dry. There was certainly nothing to worry about and no need to send an 'abort' text.

Add straw and punch a few air holes

In fact, talking of 'abort' texts, I hadn't received any either, although I seriously doubted whether Phil would be waiting on the doorstep at 0700hrs. He'd gone down with a sore throat and hadn't been on the ride for a week or two. Having said that, the weather's getting colder and that means Phil is on the verge of hibernation, just like Freda, the Blue Peter tortoise. When I was a kid I used to watch Blue Peter every week during the period when John Noakes, Peter Purves and Valerie Singleton were the hosts.

Freda was the Blue Peter tortoise – one of many on-air pets – and every year, when it was time for her to hibernate, Noakes, Purves and Singleton made a right old song and dance about it. They produced a cardboard box with holes punched into it and the name 'Freda' written on the side in black marker pen. Freda would be placed in the box and covered in straw and that would be it until the weather warmed up.

Phil is, in effect, the Blue Peter tortoise. Once the weather gets a little chilly – 'a bit parky' – Phil hibernates. He climbs into a cardboard box with holes punched into its sides and we don't see him until the spring time.

We rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and did what we always do – eat biscuits, drink tea and chat about this and that while watching the world (and Lycra monkeys) pass us by.

While we'd managed to avoid a soaking on the outward journey, we weren't so lucky on the return ride. We almost made it home dry, but shortly after waving goodbye to Andy having promised to be on the green again the following morning, the heavens opened. The only good thing was the mild weather, which took the edge off of things.

The rumour for Sunday was pleasant weather and sure enough, no rain and continuing mild temperatures. This must be one of the mildest Novembers on record. But it's early days yet. I remember back in November 2010 when the cold weather really set in (click here for details).

We rode again to the Tatsfield Bus Stop having originally considered a ride to Westerham. All the way along I was thinking about Beaumont's The Man Who Cycled the World and the way that he sometimes camped the night in some of the most remote parts of the world. The normal procedure was to wait until the coast was clear and then dive off the road in search of somewhere private to pitch the tent. I must admit that I'd be a little wary of what is known as 'wild camping' (which I think is illegal in the UK). The thought of somebody stumbling across my tent in the dead of night would mean sleepless nights for yours truly, but Beaumont took it in his stride and made me realise that, as long as you're concealed from view and nobody knows you're there, then all should be fine. Beaumont proved as much and, as I cycled along the 269, I started to wonder who might be camping off the road, behind a tree or a bush, out of harm's way and, more importantly, out of sight.

For a lot of the earlier stages of the ride, Beaumont seemed to live off of cous cous, but as the adventure continued he resorted to motels where he could get a decent night's sleep and something reasonable to eat.

We gave up on the idea of riding to Westerham – too much in the way of chores to do back home – and settled for the bus stop. Out came the tea and biscuits and we both sat there enjoying the moment: the fresh early morning air, the peace and quiet and, of course, something decent to eat and drink.

Yours truly's bike at the bus stop...

Getting up and preparing ourselves for the ride home is never pleasant. The bus stop is such a relaxing place and I could have done with more tea and biscuits and, perhaps, the Sunday papers. But no, it was time to go home. We rode up towards Botley Hill roundabout where we turned right and headed north along the 269 towards Warlingham Green. Halfway along Andy branched off and rode down towards Woldingham and beyond the to Wapses Roundabout where he must have prepared to ride up the hill towards Caterham-on-the-Hill (the clue's in the name).

The weather remained mild for the rest of the day and I spent an hour or two in the garden chopping up wood.

Colder weather is on the way, or so they say, but it's not going to stop us riding. We'll be back in the saddle again next weekend, unless it's raining, of course.

The Bricklayers Arms, Chipstead, Kent

The Bricklayers Arms, Chipstead, Kent, right opposite the lake.

Here's the Bricklayers Arms, a Harvey's of Lewes pub, which means incredibly good cask ale and some decent food too, not forgetting pleasant views of Longford Lake. Chipstead in Kent is a nice little village and worthy of a visit if you live in the region.

For more information about the Bricklayers Arms, click here.