Keeping it respectable...unlike Matt Hancock!

You know my rule, 70 miles or more per week and nothing less, that's the only way I can claim any kind of respectability out there in the cyclesphere, and this week I never thought I'd manage it. I was at work for three days and that put paid to any 'after work' riding. On Sunday just passed I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy, due to the possibility of rain and the fact that there's no cover in Westerham. Fine, but it reduced my mileage down from the usual 24 + plus miles to just 18.22 miles. I was on a loser, it seemed, but on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I rode the Beddlestead route (17.40 miles) and that bumped things up a little bit. Saturday morning I was set to make it around 80 miles, but foolishly in retrospect, I only repeated the Beddlestead run, giving me a weekly total of just over 70 miles (70.46 to be precise). I can live with that.

Col Du Skelly, a marker on Beddlestead Lane...

I started a new week today (Sunday 27 June) and rode to Westerham to meet Andy. I was thinking last night that we were going to be rained off, but no, it was fine. The weather was pleasant, fairly warm, a little cloudy and there was some fine drizzle but we avoided a soaking and now, at 1215hrs I'm back home and listening to Radiohead. Why? Because the BBC has been repeating Glastonbury and devoted a whole programme to the band's 1997 performance, which was little short of amazing. So now I'm listening to tracks from my favourite Radiohead album, The Bends, it's brilliant. I'm alone in the house, which means nobody is going to insist I turn it down or turn it off and yes, I'm typing a blogpost about my past week, which I've already explained. It's not possible to ride after work and unless I ride to work on the bike, which I've done in the past, cycling is off the agenda until a day I don't have to visit the office. Of course, theoretically, the Government is still saying stay at home if you can, but the company wants us in, in bubbles, and last week was my 'bubble' so in I went. To be fair, I welcome it. It's nice to see colleagues, visit the Pop Inn cafe for lunch and chew the fat with people I haven't seen for some time.

Looking up Beddlestead Lane...

It's Sunday, early afternoon, Matt Hancock has resigned his post as health secretary having been filmed grabbing the arse of his squeeze and, therefore, flagrantly flouting his own rules about social distancing. He's left his wife and, well, he's in a right mess. Boris Johnson, of course, was happy for him to stay in his post because, he, Johnson, has very, very low standards and is himself a dishonest arsehole who, like Hancock, and, indeed the rest of the party, should be removed from power. Look at the mess they've got the country in: Brexit, the highest COVID deaths in Europe and yet we voted for the cunts. Everybody is pissed off with Hancock and let's be fair they were pissed off before he was caught on camera snogging his bird. It's now a couple of days after the event and people are still seething, but their seething is tinged with glee as they know he's gone and is probably right this minute crying into his dinner. No longer in a position of power, it's only a matter of time before his mistress gets pissed off and decides to stay with her multi-millionaire husband, unless, of course, he kicks her out, although I hear she's left her husband, Hancock's left his wife and they're going to shack up together. How awful. She'll soon get fed up now he's no longer a member of the cabinet and just plain old Matt Hancock MP, an unimportant back bencher.

The Rockhopper at the top of Beddlestead Lane...

Andy and I were both running a little late. I arrived in Westerham around 0915 and spotted Andy sitting outside of Costa with a cup of black coffee and a slice of cake, his bike neatly parked next to him. I bought myself a large English Breakfast tea and a cinnamon brioche bun and then sat outside with Andy. We chatted about a number of things in between my bouts of heavy sneezing and itchy eyes. Hay fever. I get it every year.

I was heading in the Warlingham direction...

Andy's thinking about a 'dawn to dusk' bike ride to Cornwall to see his sister. It sounds like a great idea, getting up at the crack of dawn on the longest day of the year and riding until dusk. Andy reckons he could cover the 250-mile distance or get pretty close. I wouldn't mind having a stab at something like that. We talked about the Dunwich Dynamo, a night ride from Hackney to Dunwich in Suffolk, something else we'd both like to do, although there's the worry of how to get back home. Where's the nearest station, for example? But then I suggested renting a car or a van and we both agreed that would be the solution. Mind you, riding through the night could be hard and apparently it can get a little edgy when you reach Epping Forest, or so we've heard. It started to rain, but not heavily, so we remained seated and eventually it stopped and then it was time to head home, never a nice moment, the thought of the hill all the way to Botley and then, for me, the ride up the steep bit of Slines Oak Road.

Beddlestead Lane, not a million miles from the end.

Andy's on holiday next week so I'll have to motivate myself next Sunday, but at least this week I got off to a good start, a 22-mile ride. It's weird how the distances vary on Strava: today it was something like 22.95 miles, but the same ride has recorded as longer. I rely on Strava these days and, as Andy says, if it's not on Strava, it didn't happen.

Yours truly

It's official, by the way, Andy's become a vegan. He's riding daily, he's losing loads of weight, he's given up on eating animals and he's not finding it at all difficult. I mentioned that when I gave up drinking it was like flicking a switch and I no longer cared. I never really had any pangs, any craving for a beer, I just stopped and that was it; it's nearly been four years. We were having this conversation as we rode out of Westerham towards the hill, but we both know the hill starts as soon as we leave the northern Kent market town and that it's a right old slog all the way to the Botley Hill roundabout and then we follow The Ridge into Woldingham.

I'm amazed we both escaped a soaking. In fact it didn't rain all day and only started this evening (it's pissing down now).

Night riding...

The week started well with a ride to Tatsfield village to meet Andy. We did what we always do: sat and chatted, this time about fitness. Andy's lost a lot of weight through cycling daily (and doing 80 press-ups per day) and I have to say that I haven't been so consistent, although I'm keeping it up generally, riding about three times per week, but not going out if it's raining. I mean, who wants to get wet? It's good to get a neat little 18.03 miles in at the start of the week as it lessens the burden midweek, and fortunately, the weather has improved considerably. 

Tatsfield Churchyard at dusk...

During the week I managed three rides, two local 10-milers and then a slightly mad dash to Tatsfield village on Friday night. I left the house around 1645hrs and headed off, the slow way, not really thinking about what I was going to do; the first option was the Washpond Womble, then I thought about a Sline's Oak Sloth, but that would have meant riding along the 269 at dusk, which would have been a little dangerous. So I was heading around the lanes towards St Leonard's church and decided to head the slow way towards Tatsfield village. The original plan had been to turn left on Clarks Lane and keep going until I reached the churchyard and then I was going to head through the village, come out on Approach Road and then head home via Woldingham. Instead, I turned left on Clarks Lane and then left on to Approach Road and did it in reverse and, when I reached the churchyard it was dusk and the gravestones were silhouetted against a red sky so I stopped to take a photograph, forgetting that my awful iphone is a one trick pony and if, while Strava is ticking away I decide to take a photograph, well, the phone packs up, which it did and never even recorded the ride. Par for the course with an iphone (or my one at any rate). As I rode back along Clarks Lane towards Botley Hill the aforementioned red sky, already low in the sky, sunk behind the horizon and it night time. I still had to ride along The Ridge towards Woldingham and I noticed how dark it was with just my one headlight, which barely illuminated the tarmac in front of me. I started to wonder about potholes. If there were any, I wasn't going to see them in time, but the worst part of night riding along narrow country lanes was when a car passed me, first illuminating everything, but then plunging me into darkness, and each time my eyes had to re-acclimatise and I was basically riding blind. If was better when a car approched from behind as it would light up the road ahead and then provide guidance, until it disappeared completely, with its rear lights.

Cycling at dusk, however, was magical. Earlier, as I made my way along Beddlestead Lane, there was a wonderful, earthy smell in the still air and a silence that made me feel really good. It's hard to put a finger on it, but there was nothing, no noise, that evocative country smell, the empty fields, the hedgerows and the tweeting of the birds; and, of course, I started to imagine myself cycling along looking for a place to camp wild for the night. I looked into empty fields and considered spots that looked secluded enough to keep me out of harm's way. As the light faded I realised that had I been sleeping rough that night, it would be around now that I'd be looking to pitch my tent and settle down for the night before the darkness made it impossible.

A full moon as the light begins to fade en route to Tatsfield

 
I sailed through Tatsfield and followed the road around to the churchyard and, as you know, the phone packed up when I reached the churchyard. After Woldingham it was Slines Oak Road and that steep hill at the end of it. Riding down Slines Oak Road from Woldingham was a little dodgy. Night had fallen, there were no street lights, the road was fairly narrow and there were plenty of concealed driveways to make a cyclist's life a nightmare. The cars coming the other way temporarily blinded me and as a result I had to slow right down to avoid a potential accident. I started to worry about punctures too. What if, I wondered. The thought of fixing a puncture in the dark focused my mind and fortunately nothing untoward happened, but I imagined trying to see properly in the dark and dealing with a rear wheel puncture. No, I thought, if it happened I'd phone for a lift and fix it later, but it didn't happen and when I was back on the 269 and then the Limpsfield Road all was well. I rode around Warlingham Green and headed for home, noting that wearing the parka limited my ability to turn and see what traffic was behind me. Add the darkness and, well, you can see that nothing is clear cut when you're riding in the dark. My rear vision problem was largely caused by the threat of losing balance when turning my head around to see what was coming behind, but take daylight away it becomes a little more problematic, so to turn right at the curry house and head towards to church meant stopping the bike and then waiting for the many blinding headlights to cease or at least present a gap that would enable me to cross. Once in the side roads it was fine and I rode towards and then down Church Way, a fast downhill but little in the way of traffic. I reached home just before 1900hrs and had been on the road for around two hours, so an easy 20 miles. 

On Saturday I rode to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. It's a route I hadn't taken for many months and I know why: It's not exactly very scenic and on the ride along Foxley Lane the amount of flats being erected depressed me, but we met and chatted and wandered around and then I headed home. Unfortunately, as I pedalled along the Croydon Road towards Purley I noticed that my gears wouldn't change, it was something to do with the lever on the handlebars, which clicked up and down, but nothing happened. Stupidly, I didn't think (initially) to change down to the lowest front crank using the lever on the left hand side of the bars. This I eventually did, making the hills a lot easier. Now, of course, I have to arrange a visit to the bike shop, which is more trouble than it's worth these days. Phones ring and ring and nobody answers and, of course, the excuse is ready made: COVID. Fortunately, I can ride it so today's ride to see Andy is still on the cards.

Woodmansterne was just 10.78 miles, not my usual 20-plus miles, but I still tipped 70 miles this week, which was the most I've achieved in a long while, the average falling around 50 miles, so I'm happy, sitting here on a Sunday morning, having woken up early and had breakfast around 0545hrs. Now it's 0744hrs, time to make the tea and head off to Tatsfield village to meet Andy.

Three weeks out of the saddle...

The last time I took the bike out of the garage it was still April. I haven't been on it for three weeks and I've started to notice things. I feel sluggish and fat basically. I've had a week in the USA where I've tried to eat sensibly, but sometimes 'looking after myself' goes out of the window and is replaced by chocolate chip cookies and fizzy drinks, French fries and cheese and if you take into consideration that I've lapsed a bit on the walking sessions at lunch time, then you might have some idea of the way I'm feeling.

My bike taking it easy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Saturday 26 May 2019*

Not going cycling for three weeks isn't good on any level and when it comes to getting up at the crack of dawn (well, 0600hrs) then it's even harder. I had the alarm set for 0630hrs, which was a mistake as it didn't give me any time to chill out and slowly wake up while making my porridge. So I went without, which is rare for me, and instead had cold Weetabix sprinkled with a dash of sugar. It wasn't the most appetising of breakfasts, I can tell you, especially as I hadn't really put enough milk in the bowl, leaving the second biscuit dry and crumbly. "Roughage, that's what you need," as my dad might have chipped in had he been standing there.

I got out around 0710hrs, unpadlocked the bike and headed off in the direction of Warlingham Green. Andy was there and we decided to ride to the bus stop via Slines Oak Road and the golf course, turning left instead of right when we reached the road. We cycled past what might still be Al Fayed's house, although I have a feeling he's moved on. Past the road that dips down into Oxted and onwards towards the mini roundabout at the top of Titsey Hill. We sailed down Clarks Lane in the direction of Westerham and swung into the bus stop, and then out came the tea, the best part of the ride.

The grass in front of the bus stop had become overgrown, but that didn't stop us from flinging our teabags off a spoon and into the long grass. It's a game we play every week. "Teabags are biodegradable, so it's okay to discard them irresponsibly." Yeah, right, Matthew, that's why you always see huge piles of banana skins and teabags littering the country. Andy's better at it than I am (flinging tea bags) but today I think I did well having slung my two teabags almost into the road, which is the Holy Grail in this game. I haven't the foggiest idea what the locals think of us.

Tea finished we headed off, vowing to visit the Tatsfield Churchyard for Sunday's ride and possibly Westerham for bank holiday Monday. It all depends on the weather.

I was going to ride back with Andy, but thought I'd get back quick and get on with the day so I rode down the 269 and half way along - well, probably not even half way, more like a quarter of the way - I jumped on to the off-road path, which meant I was risking a puncture. That would scupper me, though, and I really didn't want to fix a puncture as that would mean a visit to Halfords to buy some leeches. In fact, I'm hoping I can avoid a puncture this weekend as I've got no means of repairing it. Let's not even go there.

I reached home before 0945hrs and got on with the rest of my day.

* Pic by Andy Smith.

To Flowers Farm...

Sometimes, the smallest of mistakes can be catastrophic. Well, not catastrophic, but when I realised I'd left my keys in the office, it dawned on me that to get the bike out of the garage I would have to go through the back door instead of the front and use my emergency padlock key, the one I keep in a matchbox. Alright, it wasn't the end of the world, but it was mildly annoying – and made even more so when I discovered there was no milk.

Fortunately, the plan was to ride to Godstone and visit the teashop at Flowers Farm. It would mean tea and cake and, as it turned out, a real log fire. You can't get much better than that, unless a beach is involved, but we would be many miles from the sea.

Cake and a woodburner – pic by Andy Smith

We haven't been to Godstone in a long while and that's because there's a big hill on the return journey. It's so steep that if the gears on our bikes were playing up – and they often were – it was not worth the hassle.

Avid readers will know that my old Kona Scrap was always minus a gear or two and that there was never an occasion when they were all working smoothly. But now that I have a new bike with 27 gears we both felt that a trip to Flowers Farm was long overdue.

The weathermen on TV had promised rain on Sunday but the weather this morning was fine. In fact, the whole day was good. Cloudy, but not cold, so when I headed up the Limpsfield Road towards the green, I felt good and the idea of a ride to Flowers Farm, with the promise of tea and cake at the end of it, filled me with what can only be described as good vibes.

As we rode towards Slines Oak Road, we noticed the fog rolling in, a bit like in the John Carpenter movie. We thought that by heading west towards Godstone we would avoid it, but it stayed with us for most of the journey there and back.

It was weird having to tackle two off-road sections. Ever since I'd taken possession of the Rockhopper I'd managed to keep it spotless clean, but now I found myself riding through mud and puddles, albeit only for a few yards. We then rode through the leafy streets of Woldingham, past the big houses on left and right and on towards the second off-road bit through the golf course. The fog was so thick we could only just make out the trees.

Riding down Gangers Hill without lights – mine without batteries, Andy's simply not switched on – was treacherous enough, but we took it easy and eventually rode over the M25 and then the A22 towards the A25 where we rode the last few yards on the path and parked up at Flowers Farm.

How can I explain to you the greatness of Flowers Farm? A farm shop, a micro pub and, of course, the tea room, not forgetting the wood-burning stove. Andy did the honours – tea for two and two enormous triangular slices of an iced sponge cake with cherries. We took a seat in front of the fire and awaited delivery of the goods. They soon arrived and we sat there enjoying every moment. I found myself mesmerised by the flames of the fire, it's better than television, put it that way, but we still found time to discuss the pointlessness of social media and the uphill slog involved of getting anywhere near to a 'dream' job.

Soon it was time to head home. We'd been sitting there for around 40 minutes simply enjoying the solitude, the warmth of the fire, the conversation and the fact that we weren't on the bikes; but now we had the big hill to confront and as we headed towards it I cranked the bike down to its lowest gear and got on with it. Hills, however daunting, are best tackled by simply getting your head down and going for it. The fog was still making its presence known all around us; I've never known it to be so persistent, but soon we reached the top of the hill and found ourselves back in Woldingham with the golf course to our left and some posh houses on our right. When we reached the top end of Sline's Oak Road we said our goodbyes, promising to be out again tomorrow unless the rain dictated otherwise.

I road the length of Slines Oak Road and managed to handle reasonably well the steep section leading to the 269. I headed towards Warlingham alone. My ride was now flat all the way home and it wasn't long before I found myself free-wheeling down Church Way. But when I reached home I felt oddly guilty about the muddy state of the bike, my new bike, so I took it into the back garden, filled a plastic bowl with warm water and set about getting the mud off the frame. Then I oiled the chain and put the bike back in the garage.

Here's hoping we'll get a ride in tomorrow, but I don't want to lull myself into a false sense of charcuterie, alright, alright, 'security', I was just trying to be funny.