Slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and then onwards – to Westerham...

Strange dreams last night, but nothing to do with the weekend's cycling. I was in a foreign country, possibly North Korea. Many people were swimming in a large bay, but there was something wrong with the water: it looked more like the chlorinated water found in a municipal swimming baths. It didn't matter, though, I jumped in and had a swim, it was fine and much needed. Then I found myself in what must have been a ruined or bombed-out building. There were children climbing down from a precarious piece of brickwork. Suddenly, all was gone and I was in my old bedroom at the family home in Sutton. Work colleagues were there, two of them, one male, one female. I was peering into my wardrobe where there was a lot of graffiti, and there was a feeling that somebody else had once occupied the bedroom, somebody who was a bit of a character, a lovable rogue even. It certainly wasn't me. The wall on which the graffiti was written was in a bad state: peeling wallpaper, and I was looking into the space, which, for some reason, had a small, lead-paned window and I began to wonder whether it could have been transformed into a small room. I turned to my colleagues and said I could do with some paint stripper and then, of course, I woke up. It was 0523hrs and daylight was seeping through the patterned curtains.

Westerham green, Sunday 10th June 2018

Having returned late from Poland on Friday night, I enjoyed a lie-in on Saturday morning, but was ready to rock on Sunday. Andy was tired and suggested the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. The slow way is ideal if we want to chat as we ride along, so off we went, turning left at the roundabout beyond Warlingham Sainsbury's, chatting about the global steel industry and Donald Trump. Trump features a lot in many people's conversations these days. In fact, as I write this (later than normal – I've got a bit of catching up to do) Trump has met with the North Korean leader, Kim Jong Un, in Singapore – history in the making.

Westerham green, Sunday 10th June 2018

When we reached the bus stop, we did what we always do: sit and chat while drinking tea and munching biscuits, although I didn't bother with the biscuits so Andy ate mine. I'm addicted to biscuits and I'm trying to kick the habit, but it's hard. It was 0917hrs when I looked at my watch. It was later than we thought so Andy said he'd be heading back via The Ridge, which is just short of Botley Hill. I decided to push on to Westerham alone and rode leisurely down the hill into Kent.

We had no more tea so I could have visited the Tudor Rose, but I didn't have a padlock for the bike so instead I sat on the green, watching classic cars roar past on the A25. There was a group of bikers to my right and they were all kitted out head to foot in leathers. At one stage a team photograph was suggested and they all marched over to Churchill's statue where a cyclist sitting on the grass agreed to take the shot. The bikers marched back to their bikes and roared off along the A25 heading east. I sat there for around 15 minutes and then hit the road, not looking forward to the slow climb up the hill.

The off-road track along the B269...

On the 269 I used the off-road path, which proved annoying as I was constantly ringing my bell to alert joggers or give way to oncoming cyclists, but soon I reached Warlingham Sainsbury's and rejoined the road, riding round the green and along the Limpsfield Road into Sanderstead and then free-wheeling down Church Way towards home.

The weather was amazing – another hot weekend – and I spent most of it in the garden tidying up the edges and drinking tea. Andy's not riding next week so it's down to me to motivate myself. I'll probably ride to mum's on Saturday and possibly Sunday too.

St. Leonard's Church and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Saturday was a wonderful day, but we didn't venture very far, and despite the fact that it was only yesterday – today being Sunday – for a minute I found myself trying to remember the reason for such a short ride. Well, I've remembered it. I was due to make a long drive to a place called Perch Hill near Burwash in East Sussex (long in the sense that I was knackered). Perch Hill is the name of a house, not a place. Perch Hill is in Brightling, which is a short drive from Burwash. If you like 'life style' stuff (like soaps and candles and books) and gardening – I wouldn't say I was a keen gardener, but Perch Hill is a nice place to go if you want some ideas, not that I want any ideas. It's very boring, but having agreed to go, I needed to be back off the ride early so we rode to St Leonard's Church, just Andy and I. Phil aborted, but then realised that his reason for aborting was next week, not this week.

Our bikes at St. Leonard's Church, Chelsham. Pix by Andy Smith.

So Andy and I rode to the church, entered the churchyard, found a bench and then ate biscuits and drank tea. After taking a few photographs we rode home, parting company at Warlingham Green and vowing to ride to Westerham in Kent for breakfast at the Tudor Rose café today (Sunday). The rest of my Saturday was characterised by feeling tired. I should never have driven to Burwash and beyond as I was knackered. A lot of things had conspired against me – cycling followed by a long drive, a stressful week at work. It was bad. Falling asleep at the wheel kind of bad and dangerous too. On the drive out I stopped at a McCafé for a cup of strong tea, which seemed to do the trick; but then on the way home it happened again. I could barely keep my eyes open, until, for some reason, we reached Tunbridge Wells, but either way, I was more awake from then onwards.

When I reached home, the weariness continued and I was glad to get to bed, having realised that Jonathan Ross wasn't going to be very entertaining – he's been superseded by Graham Norton, in my opinion, who seems to attract all the best guests and the best banter. Ross, in my opinion, should be put out to pasture.

By Sunday morning I'd forgotten all about our plan to go to the Tudor Rose for breakfast. I woke up at 0600hrs and listened to the news, none of which I can remember. Then I got up, dressed and went downstairs for Shredded Wheat, tea and toast. I made the tea for the ride, as usual, and it wasn't until Andy later reminded me about the caff that I remembered, but by then it was too late and besides, I really wasn't up to Westerham. We decided upon the Tatsfield Bus Stop and headed off, but while I had brought the tea, Andy hadn't packed the biscuits. It didn't matter. When we reached our destination we engaged in more chat and our usual game involving flicking tea bags off the back of a teaspoon – I managed to fling mine the furthest, well, the first one at any rate. The second fell short. Andy put in a similarly unimpressive performance.

Earlier, as we approached the bus stop, a thick fog had descended over Botley Hill. It had been raining overnight too so everything was damp and there were many roadside puddles. And yes, I got a wet arse too. The Lycra monkeys were out in force, some alone, murmuring psychotically to themselves about their pension plans, while others rode in large groups, occasionally shouting "Gravel!" or "Car!" at the slightest sign of either. I suggested to Andy that if a Lycra monkey spotted an auctioneer on the road ahead, he'd probably shout "gavel!"

We chatted about bicycles and how expensive they were getting and how even our bikes were far too good for what we do. It was a tired conversation that we'd had many times before and we both agreed that despite the fact that our bikes were too good for what we do, we liked them and wouldn't consider replacing them – not yet at any rate. My bike still needs a service, it still needs a front brake and it still needs a gear service.

Tea finished we mounted our bikes and headed for home. The thick fog had lifted as we reached Botley Hill so we sailed down the 269 bidding 'good morning' to passing monkeys. At Warlingham Green we parted company, vowing to meet up again next weekend AND to visit the Tudor Rose café for breakfast. "Send me a text to remind me," I said.

I reached home at just gone 0930hrs, but fortunately there were no plans to go driving anywhere, apart from John Lewis at Home on the Purley Way. I love that shop, but I can't afford to buy anything, which gets a little frustrating. I sat on sofas I couldn't afford, messed around on desk chairs with wheels, like a little kid, and rummaged around the 'gifts for men' area – torches, telescopes, multi-purpose tools and stainless steel and enamel mugs, sadly with the words "I'd rather be in my garden" written on the side. I'd rather be on my bike – or in my garden in the sunshine, drinking a cool beer, but the weather ain't hot enough yet.

Andy's Kona Blast. Pix by Andy Smith.

For lunch a cheese salad sandwich – one of my specialities – was followed by a walk around the block (roughly 45 minutes) and then I drove over to mum's alone in the late afternoon listening to the Stone Roses on the outward journey and REM on the way back. I need more music in my life.

Sunday 6 June – Andy gets TWO punctures!

Last night when I went to bed, I heard distant thunder and assumed, based on weather reports, that a huge electric storm was coming our way and that Sunday would be a wash-out, but when I jumped out of bed around 0600hrs, while a few puddles suggested that it had been raining, the weather was fantastic and it looked as if we would be getting a cycle in today, thank heavens.


I reached Warlingham Green at just gone 0730hrs and there was no sign of Andy. Then I checked my phone and found a text. He'd had a puncture and was fixing it so I called Jon to see if he was going to drive over this way and do a cycle with us: no, he wasn't. As I checked out YouTube for Julian Cope videos, Andy arrived, puncture fixed.

We decided to go to Godstone Green the quick way and set off on our journey, discussing the recent shooting in Cumbria (loner cab driver Derrick Bird went on the rampage and killed 12 people). Then, as we reached the off-road bit on Southfields Road by the golf course (North Downs Golf Club) there was a familiar sound: pssssssssssssssssssssssssssst! Andy had another puncture!

Our puncture record of late has been pretty good. The last one was mine while on the Black Horse Ride last month. Why we've had so few punctures is anyone's guess. In the old days, when I first bought the Scrap I was getting loads of punctures and I put it down to the tyres on the bike (Tioga). I changed them to Maxxis Holy Rollers and all was relatively fine. The old Tioga tyres went on to my son Max's Specialized Hard Rock and then, for some reason, he took the back tyre off and replaced it with the originals that came with the bike. The Tioga was lying around the garage doing nothing – until Andy asked if he could have it for his Kona Blast. Why not? I drove round with the tyre, he fitted it and now he's had two punctures within the hour. I reckon it's the Tioga tyre and only time will tell if Andy gets loads of punctures. I've advised him to get some Holy Rollers.

A second puncture, of course, slowed us down so we abandoned plans to reach Godstone Green and headed for the Tatsfield bus stop instead. There was a lot of mist around, at times quite dense, but then that's what it's like round these parts; you can be driving along on a clear day and suddenly find yourself engulfed in fog.

The fog was thick at the bus stop but it began to clear and soon normal visibility was restored. I'd run out of teabags so I had to bring a couple of Earl Greys, which were fine. We munched on our cereal bars, chatted about this and that and then headed for home. Andy went back along The Ridge and I opted for the B269, staying 'off-road' and risking a puncture, but not actually getting one.

Once again, Blogger has let me down. It's temperamental, one minute it allows me to write captions and then (like now) it doesn't. so, from the top, the pix are the Tatsfield Bus Stop, then Andy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop and lastly, a shot looking towards Westerham from the bus stop – thick fog!