Another fantastic day so we head for the Tatsfield Bus Stop!

Monday 29 May: Yesterday the good weather continued late into the night. Around 2130hrs, feeling the effects of mild exposure to the sun, I took a stroll around the block to enjoy the welcoming cool evening air, but around 0200hrs there were some heavy storms. Now, at 0637hrs on Bank Holiday Monday morning, it is bright and still outside and it looks as if we'll get a decent ride.

We rode the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop on the assumption that there wouldn't be a dry seat anywhere else – apart from the village – and when we reached our destination we chilled and watched steam rise from an adjacent field. There was a wonderful freshness to everything and it felt good to be out in the early morning air and close to the cornfields.

Riding the slow way means Beddlestead Lane, a long, twisting snake of dark tarmac that winds its way between the fields and carries Lycra monkeys from one end to the other who always manage to surprise us when the pass.

Our bikes in the cornfield behind the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Bank Holiday Monday

There are two types of Lycra monkey: one is the well-spoken senior management variety, and the other is a kind of working class, Alf Tupper 'Tough of the Track' type with exposed calf muscle tattoos. To make it easier for you, think of Seb Coe and Steve Ovett.

Lycra monkeys wear 'cycling gear' and by that I mean 'sponsored' cycling shirts and, of course, Lycra shorts or leggings. It's not a good look and when you consider that these guys aren't sponsored by anybody, it makes it kind of pointless. They often ride in groups and tend to raise their voices, occasionally shouting "Car!" or "Gravel!" as they whizz past us.

I often wonder what they must think of me in my paint-stained, many-pocketed trousers and my equally paint-stained hoody, unshaven and wearing a dirty old pair of trainers. They probably think I'm a farm worker on my way to the strawberry field or on the run from Border Control. Who knows?

Something must be done about my sartorial elegance. I need to ditch the paint-stained clothing and tidy myself up a little bit. I don't mean go out and buy some Lycra, but I need to smarten up.

It was pleasing to see somebody on a racer who wasn't wearing Lycra. A man puffed his way up Clarks Lane from Westerham wearing an old tee-shirt and what looked like a pair of boxer shorts. Not an ounce of 'sponsorship' could be found on his clothing, which was refreshing to see.

Two cups of tea were consumed and two packets of BelVitas too – it's our staple diet on all rides – and soon it was time to pack up and head home. We headed for Botley Hill and then north along the 269 towards Warlingham, occasionally acknowledging fellow cyclists riding in the opposite direction.

To Tatsfield Bus Stop for tea and fruit cake...

"When the spirits are low. When the day appears dark. When work becomes monotonous. When hope hardly seems worth having. Just mount a bicycle and go out for spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking." Arthur Conan Doyle.

16-17 April 2017: It's the Easter holidays, time for chocolate eggs and roast dinners, except that, so far, I've had a roast dinner but no chocolate eggs. I'm happy with that because it means I'm not going over the top, which is good. My mum came over on Saturday for some pan-fried Loch Fyne salmon, new potatoes, carrots and kale; a bottle of wine was involved, but so was driving the car so I refrained from overdoing it.

Today, more Easter festivities, it being Easter Sunday, and I've just returned from a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way – and, thanks to mum's visit yesterday, I was armed with fruit cake, a big chunk for Andy and a couple of slices for both of us to eat with our tea,  a welcome change from the BelVita biscuits. It was heaven: the sun was out, the sky was blue and we were sitting at the bus stop with steaming hot mugs of tea and a large slice each of fruit cake, it's difficult to imagine anything better.

There's a story behind the cake, which I may have told before. It was supposed to be a wedding cake for one of my nieces, but mum dropped it – not on the floor, but on the countertop, and it developed a crack that rendered it unworthy for the planned nuptial nosh-up. Another cake has since been made for the celebrations. But the old cake was perfectly edible and was more than intact enough to be eaten by whoever else turns up at mum's place in search of comfort. Yesterday I drove over to mum's to pick her up and bring her here, to my house, and before we left she gave me a large chunk of the cake so I cut it in half this morning and gave one bit to Andy when we reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Tatsfield bus stop – alright, I know, I know...

The weather this bank holiday weekend has been interesting: dry and sunny, but there's always been a cold breeze to make wearing summery clothing, like shorts, a little premature, although that didn't stop Andy from donning his and then grinning and bearing it, although it wasn't that bad. I stuck with my winter attire minus the scarf and balaclava.

We rode the long way to the bus stop on Easter Sunday and chatted as we made our way along Beddlestead Lane. The time flew by and soon we were gliding along Clarks Lane towards the bus stop where the cake was unwrapped. It was, I hasten to add, top quality: a rich fruit cake, very dark, but moist. As we ate cake and sipped tea we looked back along Clarks Lane at groups of Lycra monkeys making their way towards us wearing those awful luminous shoes and the skin-tight, faux sponsored, Lycra, not a good look. Andy and I constantly question the Lycra monkey 'look' and wonder why, or rather what these people are thinking as they pull on their cycling clothes. Surely they don't peek in the mirror and think, "Whoa, steady, ladies, form an orderly queue." I've said it before and I'll say it again, my only question for Lycra monkeys would be simply, "Why?"

We rode back the fast way along the 269 and nothing was awry. At Warlingham green we agreed to meet again tomorrow – Bank Holiday Monday – although the weather forecast wasn't looking good and rain was on the cards. I awoke early on Monday and it was dark and gloomy outside. It had clearly rained overnight, but was drying fast, there being just a small puddle on next door's conservatory (or extension) roof when I peered out of my bedroom window just after 0600hrs. I checked the mobile for any potential abort texts from Andy, found none and then had breakfast (Weetabix with grapes, blueberries, banana and chunks of an orange, not forgetting tea).

By the time I left the house around 0710hrs the bank holiday Monday weather had brightened a little as I rode towards the green. Before we set off I bought a box of PG Tips teabags and a small bag of sugar and then we cycled towards Botley Hill with every intention of riding to Westerham, but changed our minds and stopped at the Tatsfield Bus Stop. The Lycra monkeys were out in force again wearing their silly outfits and clippy cloppy shoes. There was no cake today, just BelVitas and tea, but we weren't complaining.

Rockhopper at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Andy had risked the shorts again while I stayed safe with my usual scruffy attire: trousers with a lot of pockets, a paint-stained hoody and, of course, my rust-coloured jacket, which has seen better days, but there's plenty of life in the old dog yet. although I need to address the way I look as it's neither big nor clever to look like an unshaven vagabond of the western world.

The Tatsfield Bus Stop is a very relaxing place and we're both glad it's back. The only problem is getting too settled and not wanting to ride back home. It is, as Andy pointed out, the spiritual home of NoVisibleLycra. I suggested a plaque was needed.

As for the Arthur Conan Doyle quote above, there are many reasons for it; for a start it's the God's honest truth: if you're feeling down, pissed off with life, upset by the futility of things and letting people (and 'stuff') get on top of you, just jump on your bike, get out in the fresh air and put all negative and depressing thoughts behind you.

Another reason for the quote is Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike – every chapter carries a quote, like this one. It's a book I continue to rave about and one I have often taken off the shelf just to relive the 'ride' taken by Mike around the coastline of the UK. A week or two ago I was in Waterstone's in Redhill, looking at books in the travel writing section. I had a book in my hand, I can't remember the author or the title, but an elderly man approached me and told me it was brilliant and that I must read it. If I go back there, and I will, believe me, I'll remember it's title and author and I might well buy it and read it. After the man had dispensed his advice, I felt I couldn't leave it there; I reached for Carter's book and told the man that it was the best book I'd ever read (I wasn't exaggerating). He took it from me and went to the back of the shop, where there is a sofa, just like I had done when I first discovered Carter's masterpiece. I can only assume that he bought it and enjoyed it as much as I did.

Blending the Conan Doyle quote and Carter's book, I can honestly say that if I'm feeling down or depressed, I often reach for One Man and His Bike and enjoy a randomly chosen section of the book to enjoy for a few minutes.

A cold ride to Tatsfield Village (the slow way)...

Another cold day. Arguably not as cold as yesterday, but cold nonetheless. I left the house at 0716hrs and reached the green at 0740hrs. Andy was there and he was sporting some complicated-looking, luminous gloves. Yesterday, Andy's hands had been adversely affected by the cold yesterday and he wanted to get some gloves that might solve the problem. After tweeting his local bike shop, Ross Cycles in Caterham, he ambled down there and was sold a pair of gloves with a kind of over-glove that freed up his index finger (presumably so he could still use the brakes); and they seemed to have solved Andy's problem with the cold weather. He said the ride from home to the green was much more bearable than on Saturday and later, as we rode purposefully along Beddlestead Lane, he sympathised with Phil's cold weather predicament, that of numbness and discomfort that ultimately means he doesn't ride when it's cold (and hence silly joke of cardboard box with Phil's name on it).

Snow as we approached Tatsfield Village...

Fortunately, it wasn't as cold as yesterday – but not far off – as we retraced our tyre tracks and followed once again the slow route to Tatsfield village via the challenging (at times) Beddlestead Lane. We both agreed that yesterday and today it was alright, mainly because we put our heads down and got on with it. The roads were just as icy as on Saturday so we exhibited caution as we progressed around the quiet country lanes, past St Leonard's church and on towards Hesier's Hill.

There was a burning, orange orb of a sun rising in the east and visible behind the bare trees and we considered trying to catch it on film, but lost it as we descended into the valley at the bottom of the hill. When we finally caught up with the sun it had lost its fieryness and was no longer worth capturing on film.

We haven't seen that many Lycra monkeys these past two days, certainly not on the outward ride. Today, we saw two on Beddlestead Lane, but no more, and it wasn't until we made our way home from the village that we started to see more of them, notably at the top of Beddlestead Lane.

The temperature had gone up considerably as we made our way towards Botley Hill and then home. For the first time I noticed that there was a hill going out of the village. I hadn't really thought about it before, but now I found myself remarking to Andy that the ride out of Tatsfield wasn't as smooth as the ride in, which was understandable considering the fact that from the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Approach Road it's virtually a freewheeling ride into the village. It should, therefore, go without saying that riding out of town would be an effort, but today was the first time I vocalised it.

At Botley Hill the sun was out and we pressed on past the pub and down towards Warlingham Sainsbury's. It was smooth going, although I exhibited caution as we reached the fast downhill stretch of the 269 as the roads were still fairly icy and I remembered my calamity back in October and Andy's recent fall along Beddlestead Lane.

Andy's off to Jamaica soon. Next week he won't be riding because he'll have suitcases to pack and this will mean a few 'urban rides' to mum's for tea and cake – or, better still, breakfast.

When we reached the green we said our goodbyes and soon I was gliding along the Limpsfield Road and through Sanderstead High Street, past the pond and into the churchyard prior to crossing the Addington Road and sailing nonchalantly down Church Way, over the speed bumps. Like yesterday I turned left on to Morley, right into Elmfield, left on to Southcote and then right into Ellenbridge. I reached home at roughly the same time and relaxed, temporarily, with a mug of tea and some baked beans on toast – part two of my breakfast, which started earlier this morning with a bowl of cold Weetabix, blueberries, raspberries and sliced banana.

Down and out at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

There are two 'slow ways' to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Two slow ways to the churchyard and the village and, if you like, two slow ways to anywhere. In the case of our regular cycling, there's a choice of turning left off of the 269 or right. Normally, we opt for the former and wind our way around the country lanes, down Hesiers Hill and then up Beddlestead Lane – a long, torturous incline – until we emerge on Clarks Lane.

Down and out at the Tatsfield Bus Stop? Not really. Just pretending to be asleep. We needed a different image.

To go the 'other slow way' we turn right on to Slines Oak Road and follow the route we normally take to Godstone Green, a route far less travelled mainly because of gear problems that persist to this day (and still need fixing). In fact, the last time we rode through leafy Woldingham and the golf course was about a year ago. I remember it clearly because it was snowing and I took a load of photos. We stopped, if I recall, at the car park halfway along the Ridge. See Twats of the Antarctic.

So Andy suggested turning right off the 269 and we sailed down Slines Oak Road, hung a left and then a right across a patch of 'off road' track, which was full of mud and puddles, and through Woldingham, a place that's jam-packed with well-heeled people who are a little exposed during the winter months by the bare trees, which give passers-by – especially cyclists – a good view of huge gardens with massive houses and gatehouses and loads of space.

The weather was fine, although there were signs that there might have been overnight rain – wet roads here and there. It was certainly not cold, even if it was still 'gloves' weather. The gloves stay on until at least May.

Normally I find this particular ride hard going – normally when we reach the golf course I start moaning – but not today. I did remark to Andy as we turned left on to the Ridge that it was a tougher ride that the other slow way. He agreed and we continued along the Ridge, past some huge houses, including Al Fayed's mansion. Is he still living there? I don't know, possibly not, but just past his gaff there's a short incline and then it's pretty smooth all the way to the bus stop. By the way, when I said I normally moan as I go through the golf course, I don't mean that I really moan, in a whingeing, irritating manner; I merely mention that it's not my favourite part of the ride. I thought I'd mention that in case you all thought I was a pain in the arse. I'm not, although Andy might beg to differ.

So we were headed towards the bus stop and all was good with the world. The weather was holding out and it was soon time for tea and biscuits. There were Lycra Monkeys around, quite a lot them, shouting 'Gravel!' and 'Car!' whenever the fancy took them; and Andy and I were just sitting there chatting – about pensions. Yeah, you heard correctly. We were talking like Lycra monkeys.What is it with some of the monkeys? They've taken to wearing luminous over shoes and matching gloves. Why? Well it's quite obvious, innit? Visibility.

"Why don't they just buy some lights?" asked Andy as we headed towards Botley Hill.

To the Tatsfield Churchyard in the fog...

The mist was there from the outset. It was hanging around outside my front door and it followed me – or did I follow it? – all the way to Warlingham Green. It stayed with us – Andy and I – all the way to the Tatsfield Churchyard where we stopped for tea and biscuits.

Everything was, at best, damp, and at worst, wet. Water fell off the branches of trees overhanging the road and, as we passed Beech Farm, somewhere in the mist, shots rang out. Shotguns. Even in the mist grouse shooting was considered safe. I began to wonder how they would spot the birds and whether Andy and I were sitting ducks, but I'm still alive to tell the tale so I guess there wasn't a risk of being shot.

Andy and Matt, Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 13 March

"I wonder how we would've got on without mobile phones," I said, sitting on a bench in the churchyard and surveying the wet and misty landscape surrounding me.
"How do you mean?" asked Andy.
"If one of us got a puncture or was running late."
"We'd just to have wait," said Andy.
"Yes, assume there's been a problem, give it half an hour and then go on without whoever hadn't turned up."
"We'd have to agree a meeting point and time on the landline before setting out," said Andy. "Just like in the olden days before mobile phones."
"And if we were out and, say, Phil wanted to join us later, he'd have to visit all our known haunts until he found us. I wonder what the best plan of action would be?"
"Ride first to the bus stop, then into the village, then down to here and then Westerham," said Andy.
"Only to discover that we'd riden to St Leonard's Church instead," said I.

"It's definitely not camping weather," said Andy, looking at the wet grass and the dripping trees.
"Did you see that homeless programme on TV during the week? A bunch of celebrities, including Willie Thorne, sleeping rough for charity?"
"No," Andy replied.
"If I was homeless I'd definitely buy a tent and head for the woods. The city would be too dangerous. I'd go to Croham Woods and every morning I'd walk into Croydon and beg for money."

The conversation moved on to Lycra Monkeys. We'd seen a few on the outward ride, as always, and now we were engaged in our usual chat about the discourse of the Lycra Monkey, which, for some reason, we thought, revolved around the subject of pension plans and other 'senior management' topics. The dialogue had started as we rode along the 269 discussing the price of cycling stuff. Andy talked about a bike that cost £8,000 and we moaned about the exploitative nature of the 'sport'. I put the word 'sport' in inverted commas purely because I don't think Andy and I consider what we do a 'sport'. We've said on many occasions that we ride out early in the morning to drink tea and eat biscuits. We're not concerned about 'precious grams' and, as avid readers will know, we don't wear Lycra.

We moved on to talk about farting – as you do – and how the very act is a measure of a new relationship moving on to the next level. When you start a relationship with somebody, farting in front of them is taboo, but when it does take place, it means that things have become a little more serious. A hypothetical chunk of dialogue between two women followed when Andy engaged himself in the following conversation:

"How's things?"
"Yeah not bad; 'things' are getting a little more serious between us."
"How d'you mean?"
"Well, he farted."
"Ooh!"

And with raucous laughter disturbing the misty silence of the churchyard, we wheeled our bikes past the headstones and down the stairs and then cycled up the hill towards Botley Hill Farm and beyond. As we passed Beech Farm the shots rang out again. Perhaps they were aiming for us, I thought, but we survived and as we rode on to Warlingham Green we noticed that the fog had all but disappeared. Pulling up outside the Co-op we discussed next week's ride. Andy wouldn't be going on Saturday.  "So enjoy your ride," he said with a smile and the expected sarcasm that always accompanies the remark.
"Unless Phil goes, I'll probably cycle over to mum's," I said, and with that we rode off in different directions.

Remembrance Sunday and a ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop with Andy...

Sunday was a far better day than Saturday (see previous post). There was no rain, but as Andy and I approached Botley Hill en route to the Tatsfield bus stop, there was fog, and while it looked rather spooky at times, it wasn't, and when we parked up the bikes and brought out the chocolate BelVita biscuits it was virtually non-existent.

Earlier, as I pedalled up Church Way – feeling a little weary it has to be said – I noticed something for the first time that's probably been there for years. In the churchyard at the top of the hill there was a flag pole flying the Union Jack. It's no big deal, I know, but there you have it; I don't recall ever seeing it before. And then, of course, it all clicked into place – it was Remembrance Sunday. Perhaps it flies every year at this time and I've simply never noticed it.

Bare trees at the green mean winter is on its way...

I pushed on towards Warlingham and when I reached the green I spied bare trees, but no sign of Andy. While winter had arrived, it was still very mild and after yesterday's rain, my gloves were still soaked through when I went to put them on this morning. Fortunately, the air was warm enough for me to leave them behind.

Checking my iphone I found a text from Andy. He'd picked up a puncture at Whyteleafe – broken glass on the road – but he was on his way and arrived around 0745hrs.

The ride to the bus stop was uneventful and when we got there we chilled out with tea and the aforementioned chocolate BelVita biscuits. They're like CoCo Pops in biscuit form – wonderful. And if, like me, you manage to drop half a biscuit in your tea, then you'll know that, in a sense, you get the feeling you're drinking chocolate-flavoured tea. Well, not quite, but let's move on.

We chatted about 'old times' and our early pre-blog rides to Westerham when we seemed to arrive there when it was still dark. This had a lot to do with meeting at 0700hrs at the top of Slines Oak Road, which is a good 15 minutes or so further on from the green. We spoke about walking to Oxted with flat tyres in the days prior to fixing punctures by the roadside (what were we thinking?) and we wondered why we no longer have the time to enjoy longer rides.

Home from home – the Tatsfield bus stop

We reminisced about a ride in April 2011 when we rode out later in the day with Andy's pal Richard and enjoyed a few pints of Harvey's Nuptial Ale (brewed to celebrate the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton). Although I hasten to add that WE weren't celebrating the Royal Wedding. We were celebrating the fact that we were in the Bricklayers Arms, opposite Longford Lake in Kent, enjoying the beer and the good weather. Click here for the full story!

There were plenty of Lycra monkeys on the road. I'd never seen so many and put it down to the mild weather. Long streams of them rode south on the 269 as we headed home and might have been part of an organised ride. There were bright purple signs nailed to poles along the road indicating two alternatives for riders: left for 'fun' and right for 'all other routes' – or words to that effect.

We parted company half way along the 269 as usual and vowed to ride again next week. Ahead of me another day of lolling around doing very little, followed by a drive to Lindfield where a Remembrance Day event was taking place.

To Westerham...

I woke up early and was out of bed by 0530hrs. Great weather. Sunshine and blue skies even at such an ungodly hour. Tea and Shredded Wheat before 0600hrs and then I had to inflate my front tyre. By 0615hrs I was in the garage pumping the tyre, hoping it wouldn't go down. It stayed up, but I reckon by this time next week it'll be down again. To be honest, it's a mystery, as when I checked it a few weeks back, despite the fact that it was flat, I couldn't find a puncture and this is getting boring so I'll say no more about it.

Andy in shorts, Phil in Lycra and yours truly with the ASBO specials and
the number four crop  We're leaning against a statue of Winston Churchill.

Phil and I set off at 0630hrs, in the wrong gear, and had to circle around the street until we found the right ones. There was nobody about, which was nice, as we headed up Ellenbridge, into Southcote and then up Elmfield, hanging left into Morley and right on to Church Way. All was quiet at Sanderstead pond as we slipped quietly on to the Limpsfield Road, next stop Warlingham Green.

No sign of Andy when we reached the Green, but no messages received either, and soon he arrived and we decided to head for Westerham. It was a good ride with nothing extraordinary to report.

When we reached Westerham we discussed fanatics, people who won't accept that there's another perspective on something and who believe that their way alone is the right way, even if it's the wrong way. Fanatics are basically crazy people and there are plenty of different types of fanatic around. We hear a lot these days about religious and political fanatics, but they come in all shapes and sizes. Some are what I call 'right on' fanatics who let their own warped and misguided views of life restrict them in so many ways. To be honest, each to their own, as long as they don't expect everybody else to adhere to their way of life. This was one of the topics we discussed as we drank tea and munched biscuits.

The sunny weather brought out plenty of other cyclists. In fact, back at Botley, on the outward journey, a couple of Lycra monkeys referred to Andy and Phil as tortoises (they probably meant all three of us, but I never heard what they said). We had a little laugh about that as it wasn't meant malicously (and was probably true, although we had slowed down for a roundabout) but being as Phil was wearing his Lycra shorts and Andy had on his flourescent yellow top, they were both almost Lycra monkeys themselves. I was the only one who adhered to the rules of the club, our unofficial club – No Visible Lycra. I wasn't wearing any Lycra, just my Tesco ASBO trousers and a hooded top – straight outta the housing estate. And now that I've got a cropped head of hair under my crash helmet I was, in many ways, looking even worse than I did the other week when I rode out on my daughter's bike.

We had plenty to chat about when we reached Westerham and, if I'm honest, I didn't really want to get back on the bike. As I said to Phil and Andy, if I had a newspaper and possibly some alcohol and some food and a radio, I could have sat around on the green all day, like a mildy eccentric tramp, forever putting off that ride up the hill, that punishing incline that lasts all the way to Botley. But we had to be going and soon we were riding out of town.

Andy said goodbye half way along the 269 and Phil and I continued towards Sanderstead, passing an old man on a bench when we reached Sanderstead pond who was out early enjoying the morning sunshine with his wife. According to Phil the old boy let one go as we passed but again, like the tortoise comment earlier, I heard nothing. We had a chuckle about the old geezer as we sped down Church Way towards home. Next week we're planning two consecutive rides to Westerham based on the fact that we haven't been cycling a great deal of late.

I spent most of the rest of the day sitting in the garden reading and drinking tea. Life doesn't get much better.