Mum's last week and then two foggy rides to the bus stop...

I think this is a first: I didn't write about last week's ride... until today. A whole week elapsed and I never sat down and described last weekend's one ride. I got back from Budapest the Friday before last too tired to consider a ride on Saturday. Andy was going to ride to Smallfield but had a problem with his gears, a big problem. The gear level broke and he was stuck in top gear. His Kona is now in the shop being repaired so Andy arrived this morning on his racer. Anyway, let's not talk about today just yet, it's time to discuss last week's ride to mum's. There were two problems for Andy last week: first the gear lever issue, but then, on Sunday, the lock to his garage door was frozen so he couldn't get his bike out.

I had options: cycle to mum's, cycle to Westerham or the bus stop alone or meet Bon on Woodmansterne Green. I opted for riding to mum's and later discovered that Bon had gone to Brixham so it was the right decision.

Purley playing fields around 0730hrs last Sunday morning...very cold...

It was cold outside. Very cold. Remember that Andy's lock had frozen over and that's why I was riding to mum's. I was outside, opening up the garage door when he called to tell me the bad news and because I was outside, in the cold air, and ready to ride, there was little point in going back. I stayed out and decided that, give or take, riding to mum's was probably the least painful experience.

Cold streets, icy roads, frosted grass and grey skies

I rode through Croydon, or rather I skirted Croydon, heading down the Selsdon Road, up Hayling Park Road, around the playing fields at Purley, on to the A23 and through the industrial estate towards Stafford Road, Wallington, and then into Carshalton and mum's place.

The A23 early on Sunday morning last week, it was cold

We sat in the living room talking about this and that, mainly the garden and the fact that mum, who is in her 91st year, was out there chopping back the ivy that had taken over the fence on the right hand side of her house. It goes without saying that I ate some cake, just one slice, and a cup of tea. I think I made myself a second cup, but steered clear of a second slice of cake.

Tea and cake at mum's - making it all worthwhile...

I followed the outward route home, which is far quicker and less painful than riding through the smallholdings towards the Croydon Road, and then turning left and heading into Purley. Going that way means grappling with the south face of West Hill, never a pleasant experience, albeit short-lived.

That was last week's riding in a nutshell and yes, had I not had a late night on Friday, courtesy of easyJet, I'd have riden out on Saturday too, but shit happens.

Today's ride...
It was fairly warm out today, around 5 degrees, so no frost on car windscreens or anywhere else for that matter. I was running late - of course I was, I'm always faffing around at the last minute - but soon I was outside and ready to rock. Well, let's not put it like that. I set off at a steady pace having texted Andy to say I was running a little late but was on my way.

Once at the green we decided to head for the Tatsfield Bus Stop (the slow way). Not ideal, I thought, but perhaps Westerham was a bridge too far today. That said we really ought to try our best to get as many rides to Westerham in as possible. And we need to visit the caff again too, although last Sunday I was in there, at the Tudor Rose, eating a toasted tea cake and sipping tea from a dainty cup. They're losing it a bit in there; whenever the boss is out of town they let things slip and people start to get a little tetchy when they're not being served (I know I am). I don't blame them and last week there was a load of mother hens in there with babies. Huge women, young women, who certainly need not only a diet but some exercise too. As a friend of mine might have said, "Never mind the boat, check out the BMI." There they were with babies and bags and loads of baby stuff, taking up space and being very annoying and clucky. Everybody was being ignored - except them.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, we rode the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and as we neared the end of Beddlestead Lane we found ourselves in thick fog and it didn't fade out. After drinking tea and chatting we headed home, Andy riding along the Ridge and me hitting the 269, but staying on the off-road path for my own safety. I got home, had some more breakfast (I'd enjoyed porridge and fruit around 0600hrs so now it was scrambled eggs, tomatoes, onion, mushrooms and toast).

Right now I'm writing this while listening to Stewart Copeland talking, enthusing and being inspirational on the television. Last night I watched episode two and now I'm watching episode one, in fact, if I'm truthful I'm now watching episode two again as I'm watching on iplayer so episode one has ended and episode two has kicked in. I could watch Stewart Copeland all day, he's absolutely brilliant, so enthusiastic, you can read the positivity, the enthusiasm, the passion, in his face. He LOVES music and I love that. Please, more Stewart Copeland on the TV. Okay, so episode two is back on and I'm listening to it, but in truth I'm inspired enough to want to put Spotify on and listen to some of my own music, well, not music I've composed, but music I've stored on my iphone. "I'll be happy movin' when I wish to...". Now I've switched to Nantucket Sleighride by Mountain, what a great song. It starts off like a battleship edging out of the estuary into open sea and then meanders along, picking up pace...and then reminds me of Brian Waldren who in turn reminds of Yoda for some reason. Enough, perhaps a bit of heavy funk, like the Fat Back Band and Yum Yum (Gimme Some), yes, that'll do, but I'm restless, I keep flicking the tracks, now The Rimshots (an unfortunate name if ever there was one) but 7654321 (Blow Your Whistle) is brilliant, although again rather unsavoury-sounding. I used to own the single and probably still have it somewhere.

It's getting late, but it's Saturday and everybody is doing their own thing, which I like as it means I can sit here writing, listening to music like Funky Nassau - Part 1, brilliant. "Mini skirts, maxi skirts and afro hairdos" - sometimes music is so good it brings a tear to my eye, like now; I've got to pull myself together. Long Train Runnin' by the Doobie Brothers, that's good, but in all honesty, not right for my mood. Perhaps REM, Pop Song 89. "Should we talk about the weather? Should we talk about the government?"

The plan is to ride tomorrow so let's hope we're not stopped by inclement weather or punctures. I must check the bike later as I rode the off-road track this morning because of the fog. Got to do two rides this weekend!

Sunday's ride - to the Tatsfield Bus Stop!
And yes, we rode the slow way too. It was energising. I even mentioned to Andy that Beddlestead Lane wasn't that bad, because, in a way, it was magical: we had the fog, not as heavy as on Saturday and, in a way, beautiful. As we neared the end of the lane I could see the mobile phone mast, but only just, and the birds could be seen but only at close quarters, it was possible to watch them disappear into the mist. There was a mystical element to it all and when you ad that to the energising effect it all has, then it can only be good.

There was a break in routine. The flask had been replaced with two of those insulated mugs. In other words we both had our own cups and all we had to do was add a teabag.

We watched cyclists disappear and cars vanish and soon it was time for us to do the same. Once again, Andy hit The Ridge and I jumped on the 269's off-road track. It was peaceful, very little traffic and when the fog lifted I went back on the road.

I felt great so when I reached home it was time for a full English of sausages, eggs, toast and tomatoes. Later I hit 'shuffle' on Spotify and, basically, had another day of kind of slobbing around. It was great. And now it's Monday and I'm listening to Maybelline by Chuck Berry. Soon I'll be in the bathroom, getting ready for work and the week will commence.

New saddle fitted badly by Cycle King...

I can't say I'm happy with Cycle King in Croydon. This is, I have to say, unusual, as normally the service is very good, but not earlier this week. The reason I was paying a visit to the store was simple: I'd set about fixing on my new saddle, but messed up completely, sending bits of metal falling to the floor and then wondering how the hell to fix the new saddle on to the seat post. It wasn't going to happen, I knew that much, so I picked up all the bits, put them in 'Matt's Biscuit Tin' - a secret Santa present from work - and rolled down the road on the bike, which didn't have a saddle. For most of the short journey I stood up on the pedals, walking bits here and there, and eventually reached the store.

The guy behind the counter took the biscuit tin, I explained my dilemma and said I'd be back in around half an hour. I walked into central Croydon, took a brief look at the books in Waterstone's (to be honest, I needed a wazz and couldn't stand still for long) and then walked back towards South Croydon where Cycle King is based.

When I arrived at the store I found the bike resting against the wall and was, I has to be said, a little concerned. Normally, when I leave the bike with the repair guys, they give me a little slip of paper so that nobody else walks in and takes my bike. This time they didn't do that, the whole thing was done on trust, so it was odd to see my bike just resting against a wall. Literally anybody could have walked away with it. Closer inspection was even greater cause for concern. The saddle had been fitted at a strange 10 degree angle pointing downwards. Now, Cycle King in Croydon has a lot of bikes for sale and they're displayed in rows all around the place, it's a big store. None. I repeat. NONE!!!!! of the bikes have their saddles pointing downwards at an angle of about 10 degrees. None of them. So why mine? "Should it be pointing down like that?" It was a straightforward question from yours truly. The man who fixed it answered. "Yes, that's right," he said as I grabbed the bike and noticed that the saddle was also pointing slightly to the left and not exactly straight ahead in line with the crossbar. I loosened the seat post and straightened the saddle and then left the store. "Nice saddle," said the man, I thought a tad sarcastically.

Saddles shouldn't dip down like that, surely?

I rode home, but I wasn't happy. I knew something more needed to be done and that I'd have to do it. When Andy and I rode to Westerham yesterday he noticed it immediately and said I needed to make a simple adjustment. But there's no such thing as a simple adjustment in my world and I envisaged the plates and bolts securing the saddle falling apart and hiding from me in the garage. Andy assured me it was only a case of loosening the front and tightening the back so on Sunday's ride, Sunday being the 29th December, I brought the Alun keys with me and fixed it on the green, making sure I'd taken the above photograph to tweet on Twitter later. It's fine now.

We rode the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop where there was chat about luminous overshoes from Andy because he suffers from cold feet during the winter. I've found a simple cure: normal leather shoes. My Jeremy Corbyns are on their last legs and I'm now using them as walking shoes, gardening shoes and now cycling shoes and, by and large, my feet remain fairly warm.

The ride was painless, although I'm not a fan of Beddlestead Lane as you know. I think it's worse than the hill coming out of Westerham. After tea and teabag flicking (for a change, I put in a fairly decent performance) we headed for home, Andy branching off at The Ridge and me sailing down the 269, which wasn't that busy due to the Christmas holidays. Andy has no holiday left and is having to work all but the public holidays so we won't meet again until 2020 (weather permitting). I'm going to try to pluck up the enthusiasm to ride mid-week.

Punctures dog our ride to the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Saturday 13 April: This is a deceptive time of year. In fact, what time of year isn't deceptive? Well, I suppose, June, July and possibly August, but in every other month, there's no excuse for being 'caught out' in the rain. Prepare for the worst of anything and you might be pleasantly surprised. On some days last week, some might have argued that the weather was too hot to wear a certain type of coat, that it was getting close to the time when we won't need such heavy coats. Fair enough, it is 'getting close', but we're not there yet so beware.

Blossom on the tree, but it's still very cold

Why was I surprised to note that it was just 1 degree this morning when I was preparing to ride to Warlingham to meet Andy? It's April! It snowed in April in 2008 and Andy and I were caught out in it. Clearly, we didn't expect snow otherwise we wouldn't have been so surprised. I remember how we loved it for the first five minutes, but then, after a while, we began to feel cold and shivery and wished we were at home in the warm instead.

A little exposure to a bit of sunshine at the beginning of the year and we all start thinking it's mid-summer. It's not, it's April, we haven't had Easter yet! And there was me this morning, surprised and, I must add, a little indignant when my iphone calmly informed me that it was just 1 degree outside. I peered out of the window and noticed frosted windscreens and sparkling frost, but there were blue skies so why was it just 1 degree?

But I wasn't treading anywhere near 'abort' territory; it would have to be raining for that, I thought, as I pedalled towards Church Way. We decided upon the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Andy, I noticed, seemed a little subdued and in his own world. Earlier, he'd had a flat tyre and he suspected a puncture. As we wound our way around country lanes close to St. Leonard's church, he stopped to check it, but all seemed fine, although he knew, deep down, that it wasn't alright. He stopped again on Beddlestead Lane, having raced ahead of me; in fact, he stayed ahead of me for most of the ride, which was half to do with me being stuck in the middle cog at the front. I'm sure there's a more economical way of writing 'in the middle cog at the front' but right now, I can't think of it.

I managed to change up and raced along the road to catch up with Andy who was still having issues with his front tyre as he approached the bus stop. He got to work fixing the puncture and admitted he was tired, very tired. But after a couple of cups of tea and his Belvita biscuits, he felt a little better. I was making a lot of mess today. When it came to packing up, I emptied my cup on the concrete floor of the bus stop. Normally I drink all the tea first, but not today and things looked a little untidy as a result.

Making a mess on Warlingham Green around 0945hrs, Saturday 13 April

Eventually, we moved off. Andy said goodbye at The Ridge and I carried on along the 269, risking the 269, but sticking (foolishly, perhaps) to the off-road path. The risk is getting a puncture and while it's certainly possible not to get one, I noticed a wobble as I approached the green. The front tyre went flat in seconds, which might have meant that I rolled over a nasty thorn in the road, although it's also possible that one attached itself to my tyre on the off-road path and decided to bide its time before penetration. Either way, I had a puncture and it was going to be one of those bad ones.

I got to work. First I turned the bike upside down, then I released the front wheel and then I set about getting the inner tube out. All pretty straightforward. But the thorn was enormous and very sharp, as I discovered when I ran my hand along the inner surface of the tyre. It was impossible to tweezer it out so I snapped it and tried to render the remaining piece of thorn harmless by blunting it with the aforementioned tweezers. It wasn't looking good. Add to this the fact that the wheel was playing up too: a small spring had fallen out and I was having difficulty getting it back on the front forks. I couldn't figure out what was wrong and in the end, I figured the best thing to do was put everything back together again, unfixed, and walk the bike home. Four miles. In all honesty, it didn't bother me. I'm a walker, I could handle it.

Having reached the green around 0940hrs, I left around 1015hrs and got home at 1146hrs. To be honest, I can't remember what time I left or how long I faffed around on the green trying to fix the puncture. The whole episode stressed me out a fair bit, and worst of all, the problem wasn't fixed. It would bug me all afternoon until, with the sun now shining, at around 1600hrs, I got to grips with it.

There were, in fact, two punctures, but now they're both fixed. I reckon I could have a flat tyre in the morning and if I do I'm going to Cycle King because it might well be that my attempt and blunting the thorn stuck in the tyre was unsuccessful. I didn't know there was a second puncture at first. I thought that the thorn, stuck in the tyre, was causing the original puncture to open up again, but no, there was another hole in the inner tube and no evidence left on the tyre to suggest it was another thorn. Of course, it could have been the same thorn, the original needle sharp bastard that punctured the inner tube just yards from the green, but I won't find that out until the morning.

All very annoying. And what an awful day! The weather was bad. My ride along the 269 was piercing cold and there were hailstones, on and off, throughout the ride. Just prior to that puncture, I was looking forward to getting home and out of the cold, but the puncture put paid to my cosy plans and set me up for the rest of the day. Thinking back to the way Andy seemed to be feeling earlier, I was now feeling the same. Here's to a ride tomorrow.

Sunday 14th April: As we passed St. Leonard's Church, the bells rang out. It was 0800hrs. The last chime coincided with the start of a humungous hailstorm that got worse and worse as we wound our way around the country lanes leading to Hesiers Hill and, of course, Beddlestead Lane. The hailstones were small and snow-like and the landscape around us, combined with the cold air, made everything seem very wintry.

When we reached the bus top, the temperature was minus 1 degree. That's MINUS one degree as I stood in the oilseed rape field behind the bus stop taking stock of my surroundings and answering the call of nature.

We drank tea. Andy munched his Belvitas and soon, things brightened up but didn't warm up. Andy was heading home via The Ridge and I was heading for the 269, except that this time I wouldn't be on the off-road path. The thought of another puncture like yesterday put me off, but in all honesty, I might have to consider going back 'the slow way' even if it does mean going up Hesiers Hill. The 269 is dangerous whichever you look at it, and if the off-road path means punctures, which it invariably does, then I'd better get used to the hill.

It was very cold. My face was numb and, like yesterday, I wanted to get home quickly. 

Slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – twice!

I was riding a mountain bike along a precarious trail with big drops on the left hand side. On the other side there were gypsies (no tramps, no thieves) chasing wild horses. Later, once I'd woken up and washed and shaved, I crossed a small pedestrian precinct where a man tried to hand me a small leaflet.

"Do you believe in the after life?" he asked.
"You never know," I said, not stopping.
"Then let's have a chat," he added.

I didn't stop, but I did consider handing him a business card that I had picked up in Newcastle last week in a ruse designed to make him think I was part of the Society for Psychical Research. I'm not and I didn't.

Last night I found myself on a plane to Los Angeles. The plane swooped low over the city, which looked deserted and unreal, and out to sea before circling and landing at the airport. It was raining and I was staying in an upmarket hotel. Out on the streets I was thirsty so I stopped for a soft drink and then found it was 0430hrs in the morning and I had been dreaming.

Andy's Blast at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

It had been a good weekend of cycling: two trips to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the slow way. The weather has definitely changed. On Saturday as I made my way to the green to meet Andy I wished I'd wrapped up warmer. A scarf would have been a good idea. On Sunday I found something to keep my neck warm on Sunday's ride.

Saturday's ride along Beddlestead was very pleasant, not the normal slog, and it was similar on Sunday. We had considered the Cottage for Sunday's ride, via the slow way along Beddlestead Lane, but why almost reach the bus stop and not go there? So we did. As we rode along we discussed Phil's disappearance (we simply don't see him anymore).

"He's gone over to the dark side," said Andy.
"Never to return," I added.

If the truth be known, we all missed Phil's sausage sandwiches and found ourselves reminiscing about the summer of 2015 when he produced a perfect Bakewell tart. Happy days, we thought, as we stared at the long grass in need of a cut. Andy watched a mouse scuttle out and waddle his way under the seats in the bus shelter. Moments later he reappeared, went back into the long grass and then re-emerged and made his way across the road, narrowly avoiding being squashed by a passing car. He found his way to the opposite bank and disappeared.

Lycra monkeys passed in both directions, some heading down the hill towards Westerham, others riding towards Botley Hill.

Rays of sunshine on the slow way route...

Both days were characterised by blue skies and the temperatures gradually rose, but not to the levels of August. It's that time of year for deceptive weather, when it looks bright and warm, but is, in fact, scarves and jumpers weather. I need to kit myself out with new cycling gear. At the moment I'm wearing red leather Converse All Stars, skinny jeans and a grey hoody; I look like something from an inner London housing estate and it must stop.

The Specialized Rockhopper is performing well. I'm keeping it oiled and in good nick all round, but I have got a couple of scratches on the frame that need to be touched up. In fact I must remember to get the paint.

It's Monday at 0815hrs and the sun is shining bright in the garden behind me, but it's not that warm. When I woke up it was just 6 degrees and it's expected to rise to 13 degrees. Winter is on the way, it's 1 October and this month, according to Andy, British Summer Time comes to an end. Of course it does: the clocks go back later in the month, why was I so surprised about that? I remembered one October when there was scorching hot weather. We rode to the lakes that day on what was probably a last blast of summer sunshine. For more details of that great day, click here.

Gearing up for the ride home...

The weather is amazing...

The weather is hot. Very hot. This is summer like it ought to be and, let's be fair, we've been having many amazing weekends of late, just check out the blue skies and sunshine on previous posts.

Andy wasn't riding on Saturday so I headed to Woodmansterne Green to meet Bon. While even Bon said it had been a long time, I'm not sure that it has, but will have to scroll back and find out the last time we were here.

Rockhopper at Woodmansterne Green, Saturday 23 June

I left the house around 0700hrs and headed towards Purley following the same route I take to work in the morning: past Purley Oaks railway station along Norman Road, hanging a right on the Purley Downs Road, under the railway line, crossing the A23 heading towards Pampisford Road, hanging a left, down Foxley Lane, past the smallholdings and then turning left at the roundabout close to the lavender fields.

Bon was there when I arrived and we chatted about our usual subjects: the south coast (Felpham in particular). Incidentally, I took Friday off and drove down there in the heat and later enjoyed a walk along the beachfront – yes, folks, it was a really good weekend. Our other pet subject was Brexit. We're both remainers. My big problem with Brexit is the 'Brexiteers' themselves – or rather the stereotypical 'Brexiteer' (either an old woman with a blue rinse and a copy of the Daily Mail or a shaven-headed tradesman of some sort who, at this moment, probably has England flags on his white van to complement his tattoos and an empty can of Stella in the glove compartment; not that vans have glove compartments – or rather they do, but they're not for gloves).

For me, the chief reason for Brexit was immigration. The aforementioned people wanted to 'take back control' of our borders', which meant just that: "keeping the darkies out". Farage lied about the Turks and spoke of immigrant numbers the size of the population of Newcastle waiting to get in and how they must be stopped. It was all lies and scaremongering, but Farage, Bozo Johnson and Orville (Michael Gove) managed to con these very people into voting leave, which they did, and now we're only a few months from leaving and seemingly the cuntry is being run by faux politicians – stereotypes like Jacob Rees-Mogg and complete idiots like Liam Fox. If we had the vote again, knowing what we know now, we'd never leave, especially now that we know there is no 'special relationship' with the USA and that we'll be isolated from the world. It might take a few years, but there will be job losses. Just remember this: we're not great and we never were; if it wasn't for the Americans we'd all be speaking German.

But there is another view: that a lot of elites were making heaps of money at the expense of the masses and that Brexit was simply the masses getting their own back. I like this perspective and can understand it, so in many ways, while I'm not torn between the leave and remain argument (I genuinely think Brexit is a bad move) there is a part of me that enjoys the populist uprising, I'm even warming to Donald Trump, especially since his historic meeting with Kim Jong un, the leader of North Korea.

The beach at Felpham, West Sussex coast, Friday 22 June

Something else that was getting our goats was hypocrisy. It's everywhere, but never more pronounced in issues surrounding sexuality. Have you noticed how gay people are allowed to make risque remarks in public, but if a normal heterosexual did the same, he or she would be lambasted for doing so. Take gay celebs who present awards shows. Have you noticed how they are free to allude, quite blatantly, to their lewd thoughts about certain people (right down to what they would like to do to them) but if a heterosexual person made a similar comment, let's say "Whoa! Look at the arse on that!" or "He can stoke my mantelpiece whenever he likes" the media would be outraged. At the moment, there's a series of programmes on the BBC about women and it's been called Snatches. Snatch is a rude word for female genitalia, like cock, nob, veiny Mars Bar and so forth, but imagine again the uproar if a programme about men was entitled Bollocks, Cock, Veiny Mars Bars or even Cock and Ball Stories. Again, there would uproar. Why is it that black people are allowed to use the N word, but white people aren't. There are, of course, many examples of hypocrisy. Like why am I pretending I'm bothered when I simply don't give a shit?

Bon and I sat on the wooden bench that was once a tree sipping tea in the heat and soon it was time to head home, Bon to Epsom, me to Sanderstead. I followed the outward route home, taking in some off-road tracks en route and reached home around 1015hrs having riden up western face of West Hill – a piece of piss.

After an early night and a good eight hours sleep I rose around 0600hrs and prepared to meet Andy on the Green. Things went wrong. I couldn't find this, I couldn't find that, but eventually I got my act together, texted Andy that I'd be a little late (my phone had also been out of power and needed to be charged before I could send the text) and jumped on the bike. I felt good about the bike because last week I jet-cleaned it and now it is spotless.

We headed the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, a route we were getting used to, which meant we were getting fitter as a result. As avid readers will know, the slow way is much more strenuous than 'the fast way' along the 269. It's safer too. But there is a payback: Beddlestead Lane, which is one long incline all the way from the bottom of Hesiers Hill to the junction with Clarks Lane. It's hard, but not if you've had eight hours sleep, like I had. There's payback on the return ride too (we've been riding back along Beddlestead Lane too, which is fine because it's all downhill – until you reach Hesiers Hill, which is a true slog, but we never get off the bikes and now, having tackled it a fair bit of late, we're getting fitter as a result and it's becoming easier.

As always, there are nutters around. Yesterday, a Lycra nutter coming down Hesiers on the wrong side of the road nearly hit Andy who was riding in the opposite direction. I couldn't believe the idiocy of this bloke. Watch out for nutters and fly tippers, I thought, remembering a pile of rubbish that had been unceremoniously dumped along Beddlestead.

We parted on the Green and both agreed that the ride had been excellent; and then we went our separate ways. Andy sped off in the direction of Caterham and I headed towards Sanderstead along the Limpsfield Road. As I passed the pond on the so-called Gruffy I was amazed at the size of the reed beds and the other greenery that had taken over the pond. I sailed down Church Way, preparing myself for every sleeping policeman en route. I turned on Morley, turned right on Elmfield, left on Southcote, right on Ellenbridge and right on Barnfield. A sunny day lay ahead of me and I simply couldn't wait.

After the 'Beast' we head east – to the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

No through road – Hesiers Hill

I might have mentioned what the media has been calling the 'beast from the east'. Well, after a week of biting cold weather, it's finally gone. The biting cold weather and the snow is known collectively as 'the beast from the east'. All of last week there were cold winds and a dusting of snow everywhere; in some places there was a lot of snow, but down here in Greater London, it was only a sprinkling. Every morning I walked 20 minutes to the station (and then 20 minutes back in the evening). Trains were running fine too and my life was barely disrupted. It was cold enough to wear the balaclava to work, much to the amusement of my colleagues.

Elsewhere in the country people weren't so lucky. There were pictures in the papers and on the television of drifting snow and blizzard conditions both 'up north' and down in the South West of the country, not forgetting Kent, which is always badly hit. The weather came from Siberia, so we're told, and there have been fatalities, but I can honestly say that my experience of 'the beast' has been pretty good.

By Friday evening the temperatures began to warm up a little. It's been minus one, minus two around here but today (Sunday) it's now eight degrees. We didn't go out yesterday because it was still pretty bad, both in terms of the snow and ice on the ground and the temperatures, but today it's warmed up considerably and the roads are clear – clear enough for a ride, so I met Andy at the green and off we went to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (the slow way). When we reached the top of Hesiers Hill we were greeted with piles and piles of snow. The road was thick snow and so were the embankments so we diverted and rode west along Beech Road towards the 269 and then headed south towards Botley Hill. While the road was clear, the off-road path was nothing but piled-up snow, drifted snow, you name it, there was no way that anybody could use it let alone ride on it.

Snowed up – the off-road path on the 269

The bus stop was fine, nothing to report. We sat there drinking tea and munching biscuits occasionally greeting the odd Lycra monkey that passed by. It was nice to be out and about. Most of the week it's been too cold to venture out even for a walk.

The roads were wet with melting snow and as we rode back there was a stretch of tarmac where puddles on either side of the 269 joined in the middle. Andy was ahead of me and at one point a black 4x4 roared past straight down the middle in a reckless manner. Andy narrowly escaped a soaking.

We parted at the green, but vowed to be back next week for more cycling – weather permitting. The ride along the Limpsfield Road was fine. When I reached Sanderstead Pond it was still iced over and there seagulls walking on it and a few noisy ducks on the adjacent green. I sailed down Church Way 'no hands' and was soon home.

The 269's off-road path was truly out of bounds...

Looking down Beddlestead Lane from Clarks Lane...

Slow way to (ahem) the Tatsfield Bus Stop

In the winter months we're always riding to the bus stop and you know why, it's sheltered from the wind and rain. I didn't ride on Saturday, having arrived home around midnight on Friday. If you've read the previous post you will already know that I was in Lisbon.

Yours truly arriving at the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop...

So, it's Sunday morning and, as always, I could do with a lie-in, but I'm also well aware that I need a ride too. I'm dressed and ready to hit the cold morning air having eaten porridge with blueberries and banana and drank a cup of decaffeinated Yorkshire tea. Perfect.

Outside it is dark and cold and I didn't have the balaclava, more's the pity, but I set off for the green and soon I got there. Andy was there and, well, you know where we were headed. We went the slow way, which was more scenic and much safer than the alternative.

"I love the smell of woodsmoke," I said as we passed a huge pile of smoking wood chips.
"Wonder why they do that?" Andy asked.
"There must be a reason," I said and we continued on our way, none the wiser.

We wound our way around the quiet, narrow country lanes, down Hesiers Hill and up Beddlestead Lane and then sat at the bus stop watching the passing Lycra monkeys.

Tea drank, biscuits eaten we packed up and headed home, the fast way, and parted company on the green and another fairly lazy day lay ahead.

Biting cold wind on the return ride down Beddlestead Lane...

I considered an 'abort' this morning – for all of a few seconds. Once I was out of bed and making the organic porridge (with blueberries, sliced banana and raspberries) I was feeling a little more positive about an early morning ride after being back at work for a week. But it didn't stop me from being sluggish and slow. I texted Andy to say I was running late (because I was running late) but once out and on the bike, cycling around the neighbourhood in the dark, I recovered my determination just in time for Church Way, an uphill slog along a wet and rain-soaked road. It had been raining overnight and as I made my way along the Limpsfield Road, which was surprisingly busy, I took in the last of the Christmas decorations that lined the road. This was, after all, the last of the 12 days of Christmas. Later today I would be dumping our Christmas tree in the back garden, stage one of the process that will see it leave the house for good – until next year. Andy and I worked out that there are 353 days to Christmas.

On the 12th day of Christmas, Andy needs to ditch the tinsel

We rode the predictable 'slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop' only because it's relatively close-by, is covered and has seats, protecting us from the elements. Today's biggest problem (apart from the constant threat of rain) was fog. As we inched our way towards Beddlestead Lane, past the huge, black puddles that lined most of the roads we rode along, a fog seemed to be rolling in. By the time we reached the junction with Clarks Lane it was fairly thick and it got thicker before thinning out, shortly before we packed our stuff away and prepared for the ride home.

While the outward ride was a little cold, it was nothing to the return journey. The temperature had dropped considerably; so much so that we decided to ride back the slow way, based on the premise that the cold wind would be less severe along Beddlestead Lane than it would be on the 269. It was probably the right thing to do, but I've not experienced such a cold blast of icy wind as I did this morning riding towards Hesiers Hill and preparing myself for the uphill climb, which isn't a walk in the park at the best of times. The cold wind was so unpleasant that I longed for the balaclava sitting at home in the hallway cupboard. It was so cold I had to slow right down until I reached the bottom of Hesiers Hill when the temperature rose a little.

Hesiers, as always, was a struggle, but a fairly short-lived one, and soon Andy and I found ourselves weaving our way around the narrow lanes heading towards Chelsham and the short ride from there to the green. "Same time tomorrow?" said I. "Yes," said Andy, and we both headed for our respective homes. For me the remainder of the ride was fairly pleasant. The temperature had risen, the rain held off and it wasn't long before I was in the warmth of the house, chilling, reading Bruce Dickinson's autobiography while listening to Where the Eagle Flies, an album by Traffic, followed by Carole King's Tapestry, all good stuff.

Sunday 28th December – taking the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop

The cold weather is beginning to set in. As I write this on Monday 29th December 2014 it's around minus three degrees outside (or rather it was minus three degrees). Right now (at just gone 1000hrs) the sun is shining, there is still a frost on the lawn, but I'm guessing it's a few degrees above freezing.

Saturday's ride was aborted because of heavy winds but we were out on Sunday and once again I was wearing my ridiculous-looking flappy hat and balaclava combo – very warm, but I'd be the first to admit that I looked pretty odd.

I met Andy at the usual place and we decided to ride the long way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. While it's quite a work-out when compared with the faster way (along the 269) it's safer (no traffic) and far more sociable (it's easier to talk and ride two abreast due to the lack of cars).

Andy's racer, Chipstead Lake, Christmas morning 2014.

Beddlestead Lane is not easy. It's a slow climb and it can be tiresome. There are various markers along the way that enable us to chart our progress and soon enough we found ourselves on Clarks Lane. Beddlestead Lane has its ups and downs. It passes through woods and skirts fields and there are a couple of houses along the way, not to mention flocks of sheep watching our every movement. My paranoia towards sheep is well-documented on this blog.

We saw only one Lycra monkey en route to the bus stop and Andy commented that while he was out on Christmas Day morning (he rode alone to Chipstead Lake and gets a major 'respect is due' for his efforts) he saw a few brave Lycra monkeys and decided, as it was Christmas, to offer his season's greetings – a kind of Christmas truce. I ventured that he should have suggested a game of football in homage to the famous World War l Christmas Truce.

As for the Tatsfield Bus Stop, it was still just that: the same old bus stop. It never changes. It's a lump of wood that shelters us (and others) from inclement weather. Today, however, it was, as always, just the same old same old. Well, not quite. For some inexplicable reason, somebody had screwed a gold-coloured clothes hook into the wood. It doesn't say much for the bus service as it probably means there's enough time to take off your coat, make yourself comfortable and endure a long wait.

If I was a tramp I wouldn't sleep rough at the Tatsfield Bus Stop – it's too exposed, but it does have one redeeming factor: it's off the ground (or rather its integral bench is off the ground). In this cold weather the last thing you want if you're sleeping rough is direct contact with the ground. Why we discuss sleeping rough and being tramps whenever we're sitting at the Tatsfield Bus Stop I'll never know, but we do. Personally, I'd sleep in the small woods at the top of White Lane, in a small tent, concealed from view, although at this time of year, with bare branches and fallen leaves, it's difficult to remain hidden.

Why the clothes hook?

Perhaps that clothes hook means that somebody has made the bus stop their home. Who knows? I'll keep you informed if I see anything else there, like a sofa or a coffee table or a 'home sweet home' sign nailed to the wall and mounted in a quaint wooden frame. When Andy rode along Pilgrim's Lane towards the lake on Christmas morning he encountered an entire bathroom suite dumped in the middle of the road and, as we rode up Beddlestead Lane earlier, we encountered another example of 'fly tipping'. Somebody had left a load of domestic rubbish by the side of the road: a bedside cabinet, a vacuum cleaner – what a mess.

After two cups of tea and some Belvita biscuits we headed home. Andy branched off halfway and I continued north along the 269. I reached home around 11am and later drove to Felbridge to see Dave and his rescued dog Sasha – a Staffordshire Bull Terrier with a sad face and clearly in desperate need of a permanent home. It wasn't a 'dangerous dog', thankfully, and I quite liked her. I stayed for tea and biscuits and left after dark, reaching home around 1900hrs – home in time for part two of Top Gear's Patagonian adventure.