To Tatsfield Village...

 My last couple of rides have been more exhilarating than the many which have gone before; I don't know what it is, I feel lighter, I stand up on the pedals and swing the bike from side-to-side on the inclines, more so than I have been doing of late. I figure it might have something to do with losing a bit of weight or being on a slight downward spiral with my weight that has made me lighter and, therefore, more energetic and inclined, perhaps, to ride faster. Today was a great example of this new thing: earlier this morning I'd received a text from Andy asking me to get there on time as he had until 0930 before he had to ride to Sidcup in South East London to see his mum. These days, Andy rides everywhere, no journey is too far. I found myself thinking how he must be saving a fair bit of money through not driving or taking buses and trains. I should at least be riding three times a week, but I'm not, I'm back to riding twice a week, which needs to be upped, by at least one ride.

Library image of the village pond in Tatsfield...

But getting back to today's ride. I left the house around 0755hrs and reached Tatsfield Village by 0850, Sheree's wasn't even open and Andy nowhere to be seen. For me this was great: I'd beaten Andy to Sheree's and I was feeling good. The truth of the matter is that I've been laying off the bread, just two slices per day, no more. In the past I could easily consume six to eight, possibly even 10 slices per day with honey in the morning and possibly Marmite (or more honey or even marmalade) in the evenings. So I'm feeling good about myself and I'm reluctant to bring out the scales just in case I haven't lost any weight. That realisation would be disappointing, demoralising and depressing, the three Ds.

At Sheree's we sat outside in the early heat of the day, Andy with his soya latte and vegan almond croissant, me with nothing but a pot of tea and a small Biscoff-like biscuit. We talked about Andy's trip next year to Stonehenge and the Isle of Wight and again I found myself thinking how he sure gets around on two wheels. Nothing phases him. I started thinking of my own holidays and how, going back into the distant past, I used to go on two-week vacations and it would only cost around £1,800 quid, plus a bit of spending money. These days nobody goes away for a fortnight anymore and I found myself wondering why that would be, but not for long. These days it's just a week and it costs around three to four grand! Unless you go to an Air BnB villa but the costs still mount him, the good old days have well and truly left the building. Andy says you have to take into consideration inflation and he's right. I'll admit I never did consider it although of course it's part of the problem. I have trouble parting with such a huge sum of money for what ultimately becomes a few snaps on my iphone that eventually get deleted and then the memory fades and I'm left with nothing but a debt. Admittedly (as I've said many times) most people save for their holidays, put down a small deposit at the beginning of the year and that way the horror of parting with so much money is spread over a number of months. But not me. I suddenly go on holiday on a whim and have to pay the full tariff, no discounts. I start to feel miffed about this and sometimes forget about a holiday altogether although, having not had a vacation since 2019 when I went to the USA (not really a holiday it has to be said) I am now in dire need of one. I often look at passing fields from a train or even neatly manicured lawns as I pass them by on the bike and imagine myself on a deckchair just relaxing, reading, listening to the radio, anything but what I seem to be doing all the time: thinking about work or fretting about something or other. I need some downtime, especially at the moment with everything else that's being going on with mum (see previous posts).

Anyway, enough of that. I'm looking at taking a week off, very soon. Places like Spain and Greece have been bandied around and it looks as if finally we'll get away and I'll be able to sit by a pool somewhere chilling out. I'm planning on leaving the iphone at home to avoid the temptation of looking at my email, I want to be totally cut adrift from it all for one week, just soaking up a few rays, eating decent food (I always eat decent food) and just doing bugger all without spotting an unread WhatsApp message.

Whenever I watch a holiday ad on the TV it always seems alien to me, not something I do, a world inhabited by other people with little to do. 

It's been a very hot day today. The ride was early enough in the morning not to be unpleasant and when I reached home I chilled in the garden, drinking tea and just relaxing before a trip to a place called Ightham Mote where a cappuccino and a cookie was most welcomed followed by a tour of the house, which, even if I'm not the sort of person to enjoy trips around National Trust properties, was of great interest, being in a place that's been around since 1330AD and probably earlier. To be honest, though, I much prefer the cafes, the almond croissants, the carrot cake, the coffee and walnut cake, the Cornish pasties and so on, those and perhaps a walk around the grounds where I don't have to listen to some guide telling me about the life of one Frederik Von Hausen, a fictional character I invented who sums up the sort of people that used to own these impressive pieces of architecture that are dotted around the United Kingdom.

I'm now sitting indoors blogging. I'm kind of glad I'm doing this as I haven't been writing a great deal of late and I need to get back into it.

I didn't realise that Andy has a tattoo, which is mildly embarrassing as I started dissing people with tattoos only to discover that Andy had recently had one done in memory of his wife Marcia. I felt a bit of fool it has to be said. Some years ago now Andy and I used to have a joke about dissing the pope only to discover that he was standing right behind us. It was kind of like that, but Andy having a tattoo is a one-off, he's not planning a sleeve or any unsightly tattoos on his calves or chest, which is good to know. Basically, Andy's not the sort of person to have a tattoo, that's why I felt safe dissing people who do, but I was wrong and I'm sure he forgives me.

Non-stop rides and other stories...

Over the last few weeks I've started doing non-stop rides, meaning rides where I don't stop for a cup of tea or a bun (or both). Why I've started these 'new' rides, I don't know, probably out of a sense of not having much in the way of time on my hands, but still wanting to get out there and 'do a ride'.

Don't get me wrong. As the weather starts to improve - and it is starting to get more pleasant out there - I will be getting back to my usual routine; that of riding to, say, Oxted, and then sitting there nursing a green tea and an apricot croissant whilst sitting in the sunshine people watching and enjoying the pleasant summery mornings that tend to come our way when the clocks go forward.

I expect we'll be here tomorrow morning. Hopefully no rain!

There are, of course, many other signs that mean the same thing. One such marker is blossom on the trees. Long before the leaves appear on more conventional trees (is there such a thing as a conventional tree?) there are blossoms that bring out the Japanese in the locality who like to stand in front of my house (and others) and simply marvel and admire the blossom tree in my front garden. It isn't in bloom yet, but give it a few weeks and it will be, it's a bit of a late starter compared to other blossom trees in the area.

Seeing a tree in full blossom is a joyful experience. As I walk down West Hill towards the alleyway on my journey to Purley station (two miles) I always pass a white blossom tree in full bloom. I'm aware, by the way, that I'm using the word 'tree' and 'blossom' quite a lot and I will go through this post later to see how many I can delete.

From a cycling perspective, seeing all these signs, these precursors of summer time fills me with happiness as I'm not somebody who particularly likes the winter months. That said, when I awoke this morning, fully aware that later in the day I'd be outside mowing the lawn, I did start to feel a little down. Why? Because I don't want to mow the lawn. I hate mowing the lawn, getting the mower out of the garage, faffing around with the power lead and the circuit breaker and finally pressing the button and moving back and forth across my rather large lawn. In fact, it's not so much 'lawn' but 'lawns' - I've got three of them if you count the front garden. And let's not forget that the first cut of the year is the most challenging. I normally start at the highest setting and then step down to around setting three before I can genuinely say the lawn is done. But no, not today. Rain stopped play. Hailstones rained down upon me and I was forced to scamper around getting everything I'd taken out of the garage back in it.Secretly, I'm rather pleased that my lawn mowing was cut short, I just don't feel ready to mow lawns and the fact that it started raining proved me right. 

What I do like about winter - apart from fireplaces and watching movies and eating chocolates and all the cosy things I've been used to doing for years - is not having to do any gardening. Because I haven't had to mow the lawn since October 2023 I've spent my time visiting genteel places like Tunbridge Wells and sitting in cafes eating cake and drinking cappuccino. Bakewell tart, coffee & walnut cake, millionaires shortbread, you name it, I've enjoyed it at my leisure over most weekends since the mower was put back in the garage three months before Christmas. Well, now it's been woken up and it won't be hibernating for another seven months - not that I want to wish my life away. I've just got to get used to the fact that over the next seven months or 28 weeks, I'll be mowing the lawn at least every fortnight.

While lawn mowing is not my favourite pastime, it is good for me. My dad always told me that my garden was my gym and that I should get out there and keep fit in the process. Personally, I prefer to ride a bike into the sticks and find a coffee shop where I can sit and read a book for half an hour and then ride home again. Admittedly, it takes time and when I get back mid-morning the last thing I want to do is mow the lawn. However, that said, after a ride I always feel particularly energised and after a cup of tea I might well head on out there and get it done. Remember, it's only the first cut that takes an age, after that it's no more than an hour if I'm just doing the back garden. I prefer the back to the front lawn because out front there's talking to be done. Neighbours to pass the time of day with, passers-by always ready with an encouraging word or two and I don't like it. At least out back there's nobody to disturb me, I just get on with it and when the true summer arrives I can enjoy sitting on the patio with a huge mug of tea and possibly a cake from the supermarket while I admire my handy work.

When the rain did stop play the lawn was three quarters done and that means it'll be nagging at me for the next seven days unless I get out there tomorrow and finish it off. That's the plan, but first a ride, most likely to be Tatsfield Village and Sheree's Tearooms and then I guess I'll have to get down to it, although secretly I'll be praying for rain. Tomorrow's ride (if it happens) is around 16 miles. Today's ride was just over 14 miles. I had been considering riding into Oxted (a 20-mile ride) but somehow I couldn't face that uphill ride up Titsey Hill. I rode to Botley Hill, turned at the roundabout and was immediately hit by a cold northerly wind. It went right through me as I pedalled north and never let up until I turned right on to Beech Farm Road. I quite enjoy non-stop rides as they make me realise that, where cycling is concerned - and bearing in mind that I've been riding the bike virtually every weekend since 2006 - I'm fairly fit and could do something silly like cycle around the coast of the UK, like Mike Carter or Anna Hughes. They've both written excellent books about their respective adventures and both are good reads for different reasons. But I figure that if I can ride non-stop for, say, 20 miles, that means I could easily double up and do 40 miles a day (at first) and then, as I get fitter and fitter day-by-day I could hit the 70-mile/day rate. I often think about it: on the road before 0800hrs, 20 miles under my belt in around 60-90 minutes, a rest somewhere with a cup of tea and then onwards until lunch time and then perhaps another 20. I could probably ride 60 miles a day without too much grief. I don't know how long it would take me to circumnavigate the UK coastline (or whether I'd ever have the inclination or the time to do it) but it's one of those things I think about at night, in the dark, in the middle of the morning when all is quiet. I imagine myself wild camping somewhere and waking up as the sun comes out, making breakfast on a stove and then jumping on the bike.

Something else I find myself thinking about in the dead of night when all around me are fast asleep is camping, sleeping under the stars, stealth camping in a wood. I often try to identify places where I could hunker down without detection in a small tent; there are loads of places. Even today, while out on my non-stop ride, I kept passing places that would fit the bill nicely. I think that if I was homeless I wouldn't be sitting in a sleeping bag in a shop doorway, I'd be out in the fields. I'd try to keep fit by walking a lot and I'd probably walk into the town during the day but sleep at night in the woods, away from the nutters who hate the homeless.

It's 2037hrs, that's just gone 8.30pm if you don't understand the 24-hour clock. There's one of those royal documentaries on the box. I've just eaten breaded cod with stir-fry vegetables and a dash of sweet Thai chilli and I'll probably hit the sack later, armed with a digital radio and BBC Radio 3, Night Tracks, a programme that comes on around 2200hrs and ends at 2330hrs. It's great.

The cold weather has arrived...

The weather has taken a turn for the worse and I start to wonder if it's worth a bet on a white Christmas. It's never worth betting on a White Christmas. It's cold. Very cold. And I keep finding myself standing on cold railway station platforms with nowhere to go. And by that I mean nowhere to sit and read or drink tea while I wait for my train. It's the same everywhere. Network Rail seem to have a policy stating that waiting rooms are old hat and if they exist they must be unwelcoming and uncomfortable. Why can't railway stations be a bit more like in the movie Brief Encounter? I want a roaring log fire. To be fair, there are some that sport modern leather sofas (I'm thinking of Purley and Merstham and I'm sure there are others) but steer clear, well clear, of Redhill and East Croydon, they're awful and I'm guessing there's some evil thought behind it, like "make it uncomfortable for the bastards". And when it's cold, of course, the whole thing is a nightmare as I end up pacing up and down the platform, killing time in the cold and the dark.

Heavy fog close to Botley Hill recently

It's so cold out there that I can't be bothered to go into the garage and fix my rear wheel puncture (see previous post) even if I need to get out there and do it as tomorrow is Saturday and my weekly ride to Oxted beckons. That said, there's a electric 'coal effect' fireplace out there with a convector heater underneath. I might switch that on and get it done. My rear wheel is a bit dodgy. For the first time ever in my cycling career (not that I have a cycling career) the rear wheel has come away from the frame TWICE! Andy says it just needs to be tightened up properly (he's probably right) but I can't help but think it's more than that, ie it's faulty in some way, but I'll take Andy's more optimistic assessment of the situation.

Andy, quite understandably, is a little wary of the cold weather. I say 'understandably' because he's not like Phil who simply doesn't like the cold, Andy's wary because of what happened to him earlier in the year (he came off on black ice and broke his hip). Last week we met later than normal at Tatsfield Village, giving the weather time to heat up the tarmac so that all would be well (again, see previous post). Tatsfield is a good place to go as it's not too far away, but far enough to be a decent ride. In terms of degrees, Tatsfield is in the number two position in terms of shorter rides, the number one spot going to a ride to Botley Hill (roughly 14 miles). Tatsfield is around 16 miles and there's a decent cafe there too, unlike...well, actually, not unlike Botley Hill, which now has a tearoom at the Botley Hill Farmhouse. In fact, all of our rides are now adequately catered for by decent caffs and, as I was saying to Andy in Tatsfield last Sunday, we've certainly upped our game from the days when we used to sit out in the cold, sheltered by a wooden bus stop, sipping tea from a flask and munching on a couple of Belvita biscuits. It's quite weird thinking back to those days of shivering in the frost, rain and sleet, watching the rain sweep in or the fog shrouding the bare trees. Not any more! We much prefer our tea in a pot, on a tray and accompanied by a slice of cake. It means, of course, that we're now spending money, roughly a fiver for tea or coffee and an almond croissant. I used to put four teabags into a small tupperware container, fill up a flask with hot water and a smaller bottle with milk and then put the lot in a rucksack and head off in the cold to wherever we were heading. We'd meet at Warlingham Green and then ride off on the 269. Today we meet at the destination. Our old meeting place is still there, but we pass it by (or I do, Andy goes a different way). In all honesty, it's better. Far better than shivering in the cold wishing for the summer to return.

Looking out at my parked bike from Oxted's Caffe Nero

The key to success in the cold is to wrap up warm. Last Sunday I think I had four jumpers on. All I need to add is a balaclava and that's me sorted, as long as I'm wearing gloves. I wear a beanie hat under the helmet, plenty of layers, gloves and a balaclava (it'll be out this weekend, rest assured of that) and then I'm fine in the cold. Andy and I ride throughout the year and while I've stopped riding to work because of the dark and the need to be extra wary of bad drivers, I'm busy thinking of ways of keeping up the exercise I'm losing. It's looking as if I'll be swimming. Yesterday I checked out the local leisure centre in Redhill and the pool is empty at lunch times. I reckon I can get there, change, swim and change again within the hour if I simply swim 20 lengths of the 25-metre pool. It's just over a fiver a swim and my aim would be to swim twice a week. Let's see. The problem with swimming in the cold weather is finding the motivation to go. I used to swim a lot, ie three times a week: two half-milers and then a one-miler at the weekend. I always feel amazing after a swim so hopefully I'll pluck up that much-needed motivation and get on with keeping fit.

Oxted and Tatsfield...and I'm still munching the cakes!

Friday week ago – so that's not the Friday just gone (2nd December) but the Friday before (24 November) I rode to Tatsfield Village. I stopped off at Sheree's Tearoom and enjoyed a pot of tea and a Twix, sitting in an easy chair. The other tables were taken up by old ladies, although I'm sure they'd hate to be described in such a way. They weren't 'old old' ladies, this wasn't the territory of the blue rinse and the walking stick, but let's just say these were people who were most likely post-menopausal, comfortably off and enjoying themselves. Well-heeled pensioners talking about visiting garden centres and Christmas shopping. Because we're in festive territory now, it's almost Christmas and once again I'm amazed at how the time-travelling train is racing through stations like 'Guy Fawkes' Night', 'Mum's Birthday' and soon, of course, my birthday... and then it's Christmas. Time is flying again and soon it will be 2023. So I'm sitting in Sheree's having tea and a Twix. I had just completed around eight miles of the 16-mile ride and sitting there with tea and a chocolate bar was my idea of fun, even if I really ought to slow down on the sweets and cake front. That said, I'm always moaning about how much crap I'm eating, but I'm not doing anything about it. I will some day change my eating habits, but these things come in cycles (if you'll forgive the pun). I've just got to control myself, it's as simple as that. It was a good ride and I'm glad I did it as my cycling has been a little touch and go of late. Rain has stopped Andy and I from meeting in Westerham for the past three to four weeks. I've been riding on Saturdays to Oxted and, by and large, I've been riding twice a week, although sometimes that's fallen to just one ride. I've decided to start my cycling week on a Saturday from now onwards, meaning that I get two rides in immediately (if that makes sense) ie, Saturday and Sunday. In the past my cycling week has started on Sunday, meaning that, to get two rides in, I have to ride Sunday and then the following Saturday. Anyway, it's all clutching at straws. After my ride to Tatsfield I rode to Oxted on Saturday and did what I always do in Oxted: sit in Caffe Nero reading and drinking either tea of coffee.

Sheree's in Tatsfield, Friday 25 November 2022...

The following week (that's 3rd and 4th December) - last weekend in other words - I rode to Oxted on Saturday even if I had considered Malabar (it's a coffee shop in Riverhead). The plan was to get a 'big ride' under my hat, a 34-miler no less, but when push came to shove I opted for Oxted and a ride down White Lane. Actually, I forgot to mention that last week when I rode to Oxted I decided on the return ride to climb up White Lane. I started on Titsey Hill but then turned right into White Lane and off I went. I managed to reach the top without stopping and I felt quite good when I reached the top. On the Malabar front, the reality was that I couldn't face the long ride in the cold, because it was cold. And I figured it best to hole up in a coffee shop closer to home. I opted for the Costa as opposed to my usual choice (that of Caffe Nero) and the only reason was to try something different. I say 'different' but to be honest, I visit Costa most Sundays with Andy so it's not as if I'm unfamiliar with the brand. Furthermore, I have a Costa card so I thought I'd use it. I ordered a medium cappuccino and an almond croissant (despite promising myself that I wouldn't order any food). I sat there for some time, reading and chilling and then I reluctantly headed out into the cold weather. It was cold riding down the High Street and remained cold as I headed up Titsey Hill, resisting the temptation to ride up White Lane. A car drove too close, which annoyed me (it always does) and soon I found myself at Botley Hill.

Tea and Twix at Sheree's, 25 Nov...

At the moment I'm taking Fridays off to use up holiday I would otherwise lose. It means that I often wake up on Sunday thinking it's Monday when it isn't. Sunday, of course, is when I ride to Westerham to see Andy and, as I mentioned earlier, it's been three or four weeks since we met, thanks to driving rain. Andy's not keen on the cold and for good reason: he doesn't want to come off on black ice as the last time he came a cropper he broke his hip. As for me? Well, I don't like the rain. I hate it. So Sundays have been off the agenda completely. But this week there was no rain. None at all, so we headed not to Westerham but to Tatsfield and later than usual; we met at 0930 in Sheree's and I weakened when I saw the coffee and walnut cake. To be fair, Andy would have had a slice too, but when he asked if the cake was vegan (and was told it wasn't) he passed...and I sat there scoffing alone (and feeling guilty about it too). After a good old chat it was time to go home, Andy to Caterham and me to Sanderstead. But on the way back, when I reached Warlingham, I noticed a rear wobble and yes, you got it, I had a puncture. It was too cold to fix by the roadside so I knucked down for a five-mile walk, pushing the bike alongside me. So, a 12.5-mile ride and a five-mile walk, not bad going. The bike's now in the garage and needs to be fixed... and it will be before next week's rides.

The top of White Lane...a piece of cake!

And here's a real piece of cake, at Sheree's, 4th December 2022

At this point I had a rear wheel puncture and walked home

I love this, in Limpsfield Village before Titsey Hill beckons...

Westerham and Tatsfield with Andy...

Before I start this post, a brief explanation as to why I'm even writing this sentence. Basically, there's some kind of formatting issue which means that if I try to make the next paragraph the start of this post, it suddenly increases the font size and centres the paragraph and it looks awful. I've spent an age trying to work out how to get it right and the only way I can think of is to fill the space with text like this. Anyway, here's the post...

It is possible to draw an invisible line between the time prior to my recent trip to the USA and the time since I've returned. Before I left the UK, I had things kind of under control. For a start, I had found a routine of sorts that involved a ride to Oxted where I would chill out with a mug of tea or coffee and possibly a small chocolate bar. Such chilled out behaviour would take place in either a Starbucks in the middle of town or a Caffe Nero at the top of the High Street close to Pizza Express. I loved it. Once sat down at whatever establishment I had chose I would simply shut down for a while; I would sip tea, watch passers-by and generally relax. I might take a look in a charity shop afterwards and then I would prepare myself for the journey home, which would involve climbing Titsey Hill or Chalkpit Lane depending on how I felt, the latter being the steeper option.

 

Andy, Westerham, Saturday...

On my return from the USA, however, things changed. For a start I arrived home with an infected foot; it was bright red and swollen and, as a result, I was given antibiotics. I worked at home for a bit and I stayed off of the bike, although I still managed a ride to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy for his first ride since breaking his hip (see previous post). In all honesty, the foot was well enough to ride the bike, but the infection persisted and I was given another box of pills. I rarely take pills, not even an Aspirin for a hangover because I no longer suffer from them having given up drinking five years ago. But now I found myself taking one pill every four hours. I had to find a pen and paper and note down the times of each pill and I wasn't allowed to eat until one hour afterwards, which, in a way, disciplined me to slow down on eating generally, ie I couldn't simply stuff my face all day as I've always been prone to do; and this was good as it put me back in the frame of mind to starting dieting a little, lose a few pounds. I'm certainly below 13 stone and if possible, I plan to get down to 12 stone, although that ain't going to be easy.

It's funny how food sets out to ambush me... or perhaps that should be that bad food sets out to ambush me; take last Wednesday, for example. When I arrived home from work I found a huge spread of food including ham sandwiches and sausage rolls and as this seemed to be all there was for dinner, I tucked in and later regretted consuming both the ham sandwiches and the two sausage rolls as I normally avoided reformed meat and I certainly steer clear of sausage rolls. And let's face it, the whole 'meal' was the worst kind: white bread for a start and we all know how bad sausage rolls can be. Then there's visiting mum. I tend to resign myself to eating crap at mum's, normally a slice of fruit cake or, as is currently the case, a chocolate digestive or five and possibly even a KitKat, not forgetting the tea which, these days, has a distinctly weird taste to it; in fact, it has been said that mum bleaches everything (cups, plates and I often wonder whether the kettle gets roped in too). Outside of visiting mum and being ambushed, I can pretty much avoid it and I've stopped eating wrapped chocolate bars so things have kind of got off to a reasonable start.

An amazing 14.9g of sugar!!!

But things certainly haven't been the same since I returned from the USA. I'm still fairly stressed for a start, the pills keep me focused on taking them (the pills) and I'm off to Prague on yet another trip. I wish I could take the train and probably could, but it would have meant leaving earlier than I have to if I rely upon aviation. Train travel is by far the most civilised form of transport, but it's much more expensive than travelling by air, but that's another story.

This weekend I agreed to meet Andy in Westerham. I found him in the Costa, or rather outside in the fresh summer air, and we enjoyed chilling and chatting like we used to prior to Andy's unfortunate accident. He has, I hasten to add, completely recovered and is all set to ride to Cornwall in a couple of weeks from now.

On the ride home, just before I reached Botley Hill, I stopped. I was feeling a little faint and decided to call home for a lift back. In retrospect I shouldn't have bothered, but I thought (wrongly) that I had been over-exerting myself whilst taking antibiotics and shouldn't have been riding the bike - or this is what I was told when my lift arrived. Meanwhile, I'd walked the short distance to the Botley Hill Farmhouse where I sat down and ordered a pot of tea to revive me. The truth of the matter is that I felt mildly dizzy probably because I'd started putting drops of olive oil in my ears in an effort to clear the blockage caused by excessive ear wax, a constant problem for yours truly. I really ought to sort this out as it makes going to sleep at night an unpleasant experience; as soon I'm lying down I lose all hearing and it would take a herd of elephants to wake me and even then I probably wouldn't hear them. To cut a long story short I should have chilled with the tea and possibly a cake of some sort and then slowly completed the journey by bike. But I'd made the call and soon enough I was driving home with the bike (minus its front wheel, which was in the boot). Later I discovered that I could exercise whilst taking antibiotics, which meant I could carry on riding the bike. 

Tea at Sheree's on Sunday morning

The next ride was supposed to be Westerham, but I figured it might be best to take things a little easy. I texted Andy and suggested Tatsfield Village, setting off around 0800hrs. When I got there I found Andy inside drinking coffee. I ordered a tea and (perhaps foolishly) a small packet of oatmeal biscuits to dunk in the tea. We sat and chatted about all sorts of things, one subject being 'joy'. Joy in the sense of not having any since I gave up drinking, joy in the sense of losing out on 'the good things in life' just because I discovered last week that a can of Pellegrino Limonata (a drink I enjoyed over ice in Pittsburgh) contains 14.9g of sugar. I went back to the office and told one of my colleagues, stating that I won't be having any more of them and she suggested that I'm cutting off all elements of joy from my life. She has a point. I recently tweeted that fun had left the building since I stopped drinking, but added that so have the hangovers and humiliations. Enjoying a drink, said Andy as we sat in the cosy environment of Sheree's Tearoom, was a media construct, we're all supposed to enjoy drinking but, as my doctor said, alcohol is a poison and I could easily do without that large glass of Merlot in my favourite Italian restaurant in Dusseldorf, I didn't need to drink to enjoy myself and that's the point: nobody needs alcohol to enjoy themselves so don't be hoodwinked by the media and the drinks company advertisements on the television. I'll never start drinking again, I said, because the defeat of starting again would be too huge to cope with and in all honesty it's not even that: I've gone five years, I no longer need it and that makes me realise that I never needed it, I was told I needed it, I was coerced into it by advertising, by peer group pressure, it was expected of me, it was what people do, what blokes to to enjoy themselves, and the myth lasted years until five years ago I finally stopped for no other reason than an inner ear infection. I feel better, put it that way, and for that reason alone I won't be going back, I don't need to, I've broken the invisible barrier and come out the other side unscathed.

Mist along The Ridge on Sunday

The weather in Tatsfield was wonderful and had been all the way there; it wasn't sunny and warm, far from it, it was relatively cold compared with Friday's ride to Westerham, there was a fine rain, everything was green and misty and in some many ways it was perfect cycling weather. Andy reminded me before I left to bring lights and he was right. As I rode the 269 towards Botley Hill a mist descended and it didn't pass until I was in Tatsfield.

Fallen tree blocks the way home...

Andy and I chatted our way through a second cup of tea and another coffee (not forgetting another packet of oatmeal biscuits for me - not so much an ambush but a deliberate decision based purely on the fact that I was enjoying our conversation so much that I simply desired biscuits and a second pot of tea). I was driven, perhaps, by the joy of the moment.

I emerged victorious on the other side...

I rode home along The Ridge and through Woldingham, riding downhill on Slines Oak Road. A motorist flagged me down and told me that a tree had fallen across the road. "I doubt that even a bike will get through it," he said, but I figured I ought to check things out for myself. On reaching the tree I initially thought that he and another motorist who said the same thing were right, but I found a way through, which took me around five to 10 minutes. I emerged unscathed and victorious on the other side and continued the ride home. The mist had all but vanished and it wasn't long before I was home and working out when I needed to take my next pill.

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.

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.

New Year ramblings...

I completed my week on Saturday 2nd January with the Slines Oak Sloth in the grey and cloudy weather. The roads were a bit wet but that was about it. In total another 15.34 miles bringing my weekly mileage to roughly 57 miles, possibly more as I haven't added up the fractions.

On Sunday 3rd January I rode to meet Andy at the Tatsfield Village bus stop where we chatted about a range of subjects, the main one being Andy's assertion that tourism was pointless. Perhaps not pointless but I think what he was getting at was foreign holidays and simply sitting around doing nothing for a week, which I always thought was the point, but I know what he means. Andy says time passes quickly when you're sitting around doing nothing. Now, I'm not sure about that. I always find that a busy schedule makes the time pass faster than if I'm doing nothing and don't forget that a watched kettle never boils, so there you have it. But Andy has point: how many people visit London, I wonder, and think that seeing Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament is all there is to the UK capital? Or who goes to Paris just to see the Eifel Tower?

It was foggy and I thought a little cold so I wore the balaclava and several layers of clothing as well as my face covering thingy, not sure what you call them, possibly a 'snood', but who knows? Either way it made life a little more comfortable on the bike. 

Riding to the Tatsfield Village via Woldingham clocks up 18.23 miles. As you can see from the shot below, the roads were wet and because of the fog the air was damp. At one point I encountered sleety rain, or possibly even snow, on the 269, but nothing came of it.

On Clarks Lane, just past the Botley Hill roundabout...3 January

It's now Monday 4th January and I'm back at work, which was a bit of a wrench if I'm honest. I finished just gone 1630hrs and now I'm sitting at the dining room table blogging. I really hope to be able to get more miles in this week, but as it's dark by 1600hrs then I might need to look at early morning rides that get me back before I start work at 0800hrs. We'll see how that goes. Perhaps a couple of early Norfolk Nobbler Double Loops (10 miles). It would be good to get the mileage up to over 60 miles this week.

Tuesday 5th January and it's cold and rainy outside. It's now 1841hrs and I'm sitting in the sun lounge blogging. I wanted to go for a walk, but it would be too unpleasant. Ben Fogle's back on Channel Five tonight with a new series of New Lives in the Wild. Can't wait. Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but Ben Fogle is one of the best things on television. After that I'll probably watch another 'scary' movie. None of them have been scary yet, just a little bit naff if the truth be known.

It would be remiss of me not to mention the lockdown. Yes, for the third time since March last year we're back in lockdown. For how long nobody really knows, but we've got the vaccines on the way so hopefully it won't be too long. I'm gunning for Easter. Everybody's getting tired of it now, I know that I am.

So, a week of no cycling. But the weather was poor. It was cold and rainy and not really conducive to enjoyable cycling. My cycling week ended on Saturday 9th January and all I managed was around 40 miles, probably just 39. Today (Sunday 10th January) I rode to meet Andy at the Tatsfield Village Bus Stop. He wasn't there. But he did try to contact me. Unfortunately, my phone (once again) had run out of power so I sat alone drinking tea and giving Andy until 1000hrs before heading back home. He never turned up. Later, when I'd charged my phone at home, I opened up the messages and there it was: Andy had aborted, but only because he couldn't get into his garage. An iced up lock prevented him from attending the Sunday morning meeting of NoVisibleLycra. There's always next week.

The weather was cold over the weekend. Yesterday when I rode out around 1000hrs it was just 1 degree as I headed towards my destination: Westerham. I rode there via Pilgrims Lane, past the VeloBarn and then into the town centre. I didn't have a mask or any money so I couldn't stop for a cappuccino and some cake at the Costa on the green. Instead, I rode through the high street and then turned right and headed for the hill that would take me out of town and on the road to Botley Hill. There was thick fog most of the way and on Sunday it was just the same. It was also very lovely. The trees were frosted white and were shedding showers of ice, glass-like shards shaken from the bare branches as the sun tried to poke its head through the swirling, steamy grey clouds. Sunday I rode back from the village via The Ridge and that means my mileage was 18.23. If I could do four Slines Oak Sloths this coming week it would be good, but let's see what the weather has in store.

It's not just the weather, of course. Now I'm back at work my cycling windows are getting smaller. It's dark around 1600hrs, meaning lunch time and first thing in the morning are the only other options. The last thing I want to do is go out first thing in the morning as I need a bit of chill time prior to starting work around 0800hrs. By lunch time I'm in need of a break, so it looks as if cycling is reverting back to two rides per week, at the weekends, but only during this period of darkness and bad weather. Hopefully, as the weather improves, I'll be pushing the envelope again...unless COVID restrictions mean I can't ride out to places like Tatsfield village or Westerham. I think I'll take the risk on that front.

Great week of cycling and fairly decent weather too...

I took last week off, which is a bit strange when you're working from home; it's a bit like going to the office for a holiday. Well, not really. I've grown accustomed to my work and home environment being one and the same thing and it's easy to adapt and separate the two. The first thing is just don't do any work; that's easy enough, you simply keep your desktop computer off, go nowhere near it, and don't answer your mobile phone either. 

Coffee and cake at Velo Barn...

Ultimately, therefore, I had a great week. I cycled a lot (unlike this week) and ultimately I rode around 94 miles, just over, closer to 95. This was achieved not by riding long distances like I did in the summer, but by riding short 10-milers every day. I managed to ride over 50 miles between Monday and Friday and when I added up all the fractions of a mile, the grand total on Friday night was an incredible 71.71 miles. Bon and I had talked about a ride to Redhill on Saturday, but in the end I rode to the Velo Barn for a cappuccino and a slice of coffee and walnut cake. The perfect way, you might say, to round off a week of cappuccinos and cakes. Let me see now, I had a large cappuccino and a slice of coffee and walnut cake in the Sevenoaks M&S cafe just prior to lockdown; I visited Knole on two occasions and had the exact same order, then there was a slice of cake standing on mum's doorstep and, then, of course, there was the Velo Barn on Saturday. I'm missing one more occasion, but I can't for the life of me remember what I did as we never ventured far from the house, Sevenoaks being the furthest journey. It doesn't matter. Either way I had a lot of cake and a lot of cappuccino, but fortunately, I did a lot of cycling so I think I'm in the clear where the health police are concerned.

The weather was fairly good too, a bit blowy on a couple of the local 10-milers, but generally fine and no rain. The ride to Velo Barn was, as always, wonderful. I left the house around 0800hrs, got there just after 0900hrs and sat outside eating my cake and sipping my cappuccino, surrounded by Lycra Monkeys.

Sunday, of course, was the start of my cycling week and, as usual, I rode to the Tatsfield Village bus stop to see Andy and Phil. No sausage sarnies or cakes this week, which was just as well when I consider my week of over indulgence. It was, as always, just over 18 miles as I rode back along The Ridge to avoid the 269, parting with Andy at the top of Slines Oak Road in Woldingham.

Nice weather at Velo Barn and loads of Lycra Monkeys too

It would be remiss of me not to mention the US elections and the fact that Trump lost. It goes without saying that he thinks he won and that the whole thing was rigged by the Democrats. Personally, I think he should quietly and not be such a bad sport, but he's a bad loser and it looks as if he'll be going on and on about it for years to come. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not somebody who hates the Republican party, I'm not a socialist by any stretch of the imagination. Had the Republican guy been Mitt Romney or even Bush I wouldn't have been THAT bothered who won the contest, but it was Donald Trump and as most people know, if they've been watching, he's been a complete arse with his wall separating Mexico from the USA, with his Muslim travel ban and God knows what else, he's just a complete arsehole and nobody, apart from toothless Americans with guns and a prepper mentality seem to like him. Mind you, we have our 'Trump' here in the UK going by the name of Boris Johnson. He's not been in power for a year yet, which is a pity as it means we have four more years to run before we can get somebody decent in Number 10. Now, I know people say that Starmer's a good egg, and he might be, but the party he's in charge of has taken a right drubbing from the Corbyn years and there's a lot of stuff that needs to be resolved before I vote for him. 

Tatsfield Village on Sunday morning, note Phil on his bike

The virus continues and we're all under a kind of lockdown until 2nd December, but then what?

Cycling this week has been a no-no so far, but I'm aiming to get out tomorrow morning BEFORE work to put that right and then, hopefully, ride Thursday and Friday, giving me a total for the week of around 49 miles. Then, if I ride to Westerham again and repeat last Saturday's ride (or even head for Botley Hill) then I might put in a fairly respectable weekly mileage. We'll see.

The beavers are splitting and the pub's boarded up...

It was my first ride since, well, you know, the crash, and I'll admit to being extra wary on the roads. So much so that while dawdling around (on the wrong side of the road) near St. Leonard's church, I almost came face-to-face with the front end of a Lycra monkey's bicycle. Fortunately, we both saw the potential calamity and I switched back to the left side of the road, reprimanding myself for allowing such an incident to raise its ugly head.

Rockhopper 29 Sport, Tatsfield. Photo: Andy Smith.

After that I kept to the left hand side of the road, went down Hesiers Hill with my brakes depressed and generally kept an eye out for anything untoward. It's amazing how dangerous cycling really is; and how important it is to keep alert at all times, something, I'll admit, I never really bothered about. But that's me all over, drifting through life without any real cares about anything, hoping instead (and believing) that all is well with the world and what could possibly happen? Well, a lot can happen and when you're riding along on two wheels, it's extremely important to remain vigilant. I'll admit it cramped my style a little bit. I like a chat and a bit of messing around and when I had the old Scrap on the road I tended to ride it as if I was on a North London housing estate, humping it up pavements, taking wide, sweeping turns...but let's not go there.

Except we did go there. We decided to ride to the Tatsfield Village, scene of my downfall, and as we approached I shuddered as I remembered. I thought it best not to indulge in the infamous sweeping turn, especially on my new Rockhopper Sport 29, a brand spanking new mountain bike, far more sturdy than the old Crosstrail and, let's be frank, far more my cup of tea.

The Rockhopper Sport 29
The new Rockhopper – a straight exchange for the Crosstrail – has 27 gears, just the sort of range I need. It has wide bars and chunky tyres and the Specialized name emblazoned on the frame in a flaming, twirling red. The wide bars are good. Hell, the whole bike is good. It made easy work of Beddlestead Lane and I felt far more comfortable than I did on the Crosstrail.

I picked up the new bike last Saturday from Evans in Gatwick. I'd spent the entire day in and around the airport, having taken the train there fairly early in the morning. I dropped off the Crosstrail, chose a replacement bike – the Rockhopper – and then ambled back along the A23 to the Costa Coffee in the South Terminal's arrivals area. I bought a copy of last Saturday's Guardian, a cup of tea and a chocolate chip cookie and revelled in the joy of the moment: an airport, a coffee shop, a newspaper and, of course, a cup of tea and a cookie. But like most things, it was short-lived – and there was no flying involved. Cookies go and come, but earth abides, I thought, remembering George R. Stewart's book.

When the cookie was spent and the tea cup empty I checked out the magazines at WH Smith and read an article about Slade's bassist, Jim Lea. He joined Slade before it was called Slade and was a bassist through and through, having played the violin from a very young age. I've always harboured bass guitarist ambitions, mainly because I played the violin while at school and figured the four strings of the bass guitar (EADG) would be relatively easy for me to pick up. But like a lot of things, I'll never get around to it.

Soon it was time to walk back to Evans, pick up the Rockhopper, ride it back to the airport, jump on a train and ride home from the station. Rain stopped any riding on Sunday and today was the first time on the new bike. When I met Andy at the green he thought I'd put some transfers on the old Crosstrail, but I explained all as we headed towards Tatsfield Village, the slow way.

Splitting beavers and boarded up pubs...
Earlier this month, Andy told me how Beaver Water World had been evicted from its premises in Tatsfield. This week, we discovered that the Old Ship was 'to let'. I was amazed to discover that one of the pub's former leaseholders was a Mrs Gandalf. What would happen to the pub? Would new tenants (or lessees) take it over? Will it be transformed into a Morrison's or a Tesco Express? Let's hope not.

We ate our biscuits and drank our tea and discussed Gordon Brown and pensions and working into our old age in a DIY store or a supermarket. "We'll need places like Tesco Express," said Andy, as I rinsed out my cup and disposed of the teabags in the waste bin.

We rode home the slow way along Beddlestead Lane, determined to avoid the thick fog at Botley Hill that would no doubt force us off road along the 269. Fine, but it meant riding up Hesiers Hill. Fortunately, the Rockhopper's 27 gears served me well and soon I reached the top where Andy was waiting. My left knee pains slightly on uphill runs, so I'm afraid I was a little slow, but I didn't dismount, and that's crucial. We weaved our way around the narrow country lanes towards Warlingham, retracing our route past St. Leonard's Church, and then picked up the Limpsfield Road to the green where we parted company. I headed towards Sanderstead, Andy towards Caterham.

As I rode down Church Way I had a go at 'no hands', but then thought better of it. I also thought twice about taking the left and right turn from Elmfield into Southcote and then Ellenbridge at speed. Instead I rode at a gentle pace and arrived home in one piece.

Bus stop and churchyard – and brilliant weather on both days

St. Mary's Tatsfield, Sunday morning

We didn't cycle far this weekend, but the weather was good on both days as we rode first to the bus stop (on Saturday) and then to the churchyard (in double quick time) on Sunday. It took us about 25 minutes to reach the churchyard from Warlingham Green, which was pretty good going. Andy had said something like 'heads down until the churchyard?' and that was it; we kept up a fairly good pace all the way and stuck close together.

The churchyard was very peaceful, apart from the hiss of the motorway about a mile away. The skies were blue, it was warm – a much better day than I had expected – and we sat on our bench and chilled, munching BelVita biscuits, sipping tea and talking about nothing in particular. There was nobody else about, we didn't even see the usual church people who turn up and potter about.

When it was time to leave the churchyard, I knew I had to get a decent shot for the blog, but I didn't want the usual stuff so I wandered over to the church itself and took the images that accompany this post.

The ride home was very pleasant. It was warm, the skies were blue and the sun was out. We rode up Clarks Lane, travelling west towards Botley Hill and then headed north on the 269 towards Warlingham. Andy branched off halfway and said he wouldn't be riding next Saturday (cue an urban ride to mum's perhaps). He'd see me again on Sunday. We'd talked about the lake, we'd talked about a later ride and a beer in the pub – and one day we'd do it, but probably not next week.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before on this blog, but I've been reading Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. It's a good book, but it's a big one (1,168 pages to be precise) and it's taken me around eight months to finish it, but I can now report (as I shrug a sigh of relief!) that it's finished and I'm now enjoying Long Way Down by Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman, which is absolutely brilliant. Mind you, I enjoyed the challenge presented by Rand's masterpiece and will be looking for similar literary obstacle courses over the next few weeks.

Looking south to Oxted from the Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday morning

When I reached home after the ride I put the bike in the garage and then set about mowing the front and back lawns. After that it was time for an excellent home-made tomato and basil soup and then a drive to Shere, a cake and a cup of tea and then a wonderful walk in the surrounding countryside. I sat in the garden on my return, the lawn a velvety texture and the skies still blue, but wasps disturbed the peace as I sat and read Long Way Down, accompanied by a bottle-conditioned ale. Wonderful. It's now just gone 7pm and the skies are still blue and the temperature warm. Countryfile is starting and it's time for dinner – salmon. After dinner I might sit outside again as I think the wasps have gone.

Until next week, enjoy your lives everybody.

Good weather, Belvita biscuits and Phil's sausage sarnies – a top weekend's cycling

The first good thing about this weekend was the weather; at last a break in the cold and frosty starts. Saturday had been bigged up all week by the TV weather bods and lo and behold they were right – it was a positively balmy 8 degrees Centigrade, the sun was shining and the skies were blue and what's more, it wasn't just confined to Saturday. While the forecasters had warned that Sunday would not be as good as Saturday, they were wrong. Big time! On both days the weather was simply amazing.

It was so good that we should have bitten the bullet and paid a visit to Westerham, but we went to the Tatsfield Churchyard – me, Andy and, wait for it, Phil. It was really good to see him again, especially as he brought his legendary sausage sarnies with him, made with home-made bread. Amazing. What with Andy's Belvita biscuits and my flask of tea, it meant that we were to enjoy a feast when we reached the churchyard.

Phil (centre) back on the ride... along with the sarnies!

As for Phil, he's alright. It's been a while, but Phil detests the cold weather so he's stayed away from the bike and what's more the bike in question (his dad's old Raleigh) is in serious need of replacement. So, Phil's back and he's already gained the first 'respect is due' commendation of 2015 – for once again proving to be NVL's catering manager. Alright, I bring the tea, Andy's in charge of the Belvita biscuits and Phil? Well, he's more the executive chef, the guy behind the famous Bakewell tarts and cakes of last summer and, of course, the sausage sandwiches, all of which never disappoint.

When we reached the churchyard we parked up the bikes, I made the tea, the bikkies came out and Phil revealed the sausage sandwiches. Andy and I had to share as I forgot to inform Phil that Andy would be on the ride. He'd originally planned for riding only on Sunday, but changed his mind late in the day and, if the truth be known, I didn't want to simply presume that Phil would be making the sausage sarnies, so I didn't say anything like, "make it three rounds, Phil, as Andy's coming". How presumptuous would that have been? As a consequence he made just two rounds so I shared with Andy, although, to be truthful, bearing in mind my new rules surrounding the eating of too much bread and 'junky food' I was quite happy to let Andy have the lot, but relented when I saw the wonderful home-made bread and sniffed the aroma that flew out from the silver foil once the aforementioned sarnies were unwrapped.

We chewed the fat as usual – not that there was much fat in the sausage sarnies – and it was good to have Phil back on the team.

One of Andy's new gold wheels

Sunday and it was more of the same. We met on the green as usual and then debated where to go. Westerham was mentioned, but we aimed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop (the slow way) which, as always, proved to be a bit of slog. The worst bit is Beddlestead Lane to Clarks Lane because the former is such a slow and tiresome hill and it seems to go on forever. After flying down Hesiers Hill it's not long before the speed slows and riders find themselves putting in the effort along the first uphill stretch, which ends when they encounter two cottages on the left hand side of the road. Then there's a smallish glade which, during the summer months is like a tunnel of greenery, but in the winter is characterised by bare branches that let in the daylight. The next milestone is a mobile phone mast and then, fairly soon after, Clarks Lane. We turn left and sail towards our destination – the wooden bus stop we talk so much about.

Unbelievably, Phil had done it again – this time he unveiled THREE rounds of his famous sausage sarnies and then Andy produced chocolate Belvitas. I poured out the tea. Wonderful. We sat there doing what we usually do: see who could flick their teabag the furthest using Andy's teaspooon, the goal being to hit the road from the bench in the bus shelter. Andy's managed it, but alas, both Phil and I need some practice.

Tea consumed, biscuits munched and sausage sarnies scoffed it was time to get back on the bikes and head towards the green, this time along the B269. We parted company with Andy at Warlingham and then continued on along the Limpsfield Road, through Hamsey and then Sanderstead High Street, down Church Way and home.

What a brilliant weekend of riding. Alright, we didn't go that far – just two rides of approximately 16 miles each (32 miles or thereabouts in total) – but what with Phil back on the team, sausage sandwiches, Belvita biscuits and, of course, a decent cup of tea, we had to ask ourselves: what could be better? Not much! And the good weather is set to continue for a few more days and hopefully it'll last until next Saturday when we'll be back on the bikes and heading out towards, well, towards the Tatsfield Bus Stop probably, although we have said we'll aim for Westerham. Let's wait and see.

Tatsfield in the fog and then Westerham in the sunshine...

Two early starts this weekend. We met at 7am on the Green on both Saturday and Sunday, heading out for the Tatsfield Bus Stop on a foggy Saturday morning and then to Westerham on a bright and sunny Sunday.

It's odd going up Beddlestead Lane in the fog; it's a long road and at least when it's clear you can work out when Clarks Lane is coming up. In the fog you rely upon the noise of cars.

Yours truly, Westerham, Sunday 9th March 2014.

Andy, Phil and I sat at the bus stop watching cars disappear into the fog and eventually mounted our bikes headed home. Andy had his racer again and turned left down The Ridge instead of riding to the Green (the off-road track halfway down the 269 is out of bounds for anything but a mountain bike) and Phil and I continued down the 269, the fog not really clearing until we approached the green.

Sunday was just Andy and I and we decided to head out for Westerham, somewhere we haven't been for a while, certainly not this year. I'd woken up at 0400hrs and hadn't really been back to sleep. At various stages I considered an 'abort' text, but once I'd gotten up and made myself a cup of tea I felt alright. 

A new routine for me is getting the car out of the garage. Fine during the week, but at weekends I can't get the bike out without taking the car out first. It's no big deal, but just another obstacle and I'd rather keep the car in the garage than leave it on the drive. Basically I'm turning into my dad, which is a good thing; he always put his car in the garage and now so do I.

So the car came out on the drive, followed by the bike and off I went towards the Green and then to Westerham. We decided to keep our heads down and not dawdle about and this proved worthwhile as we reached Churchill's statue (and General Wolfe's) at 0750hrs. The sun was shining and it was, quite simply, the first decent day of the year. There were blossoms on the trees, clear blue skies, daffodils, you name it, so we broke out the tea and the cereal bars and revelled in the greatness of the day.

Around 0820hrs we mounted the bikes and rode out of town, wondering when exactly we had last been in Westerham (I was guessing October time in 2013) and we both agreed that early starts are still the best as we get out early and we get back early and we get to ride for 22 miles. In the old days we used to get our heads down, ride to Westerham, buy a cream bun from the Co-op and then, after eating it, we'd jump back on the bikes and ride home. These days we're making mountains out of molehills. First, we've been leaving later, which means getting back later. Getting back later means we shorten the ride distance rather than leave the house earlier and as a result of this we only ride to what I'll now refer to as 'The Tatsfields' – in other words, the bus stop, the village or the churchyard. Yes, it's been getting boring. Alright, the slow way is pleasant but our mileage has been steadily going down because we haven't been meeting on the green at 7am.

So, we're going to try to get back to the good old Westerham days, the good old 44-mile weekends. Let's see how it goes.

We were back at Warlingham Green at 0902hrs and by 0920 I was padlocking the bike and locking the garage door. In total we rode just under 40 miles and hopefully next week, or soon, we'll be putting in the full 44 miles. Next week is going to be Saturday only due to commitments on all sides.

It was good to see Phil back on the rides; we haven't seen him for about a month.

Andy took this weekend's shot and the cropping is tremendous: just look at that cropping, it's perfect. Not a waste bin in sight, although I'm beginning to hate seeing photos of myself, this one included. That cropped hair cut looks a bit dodgy and as for those Tesco tracksuit bottoms, I've never liked them. Perhaps I'll keep on the other side of the lense until the hair grows out a bit and the tracksuit bottoms are in the wash.

The last time we were in Westerham was 8th September 2013. Click here for more.