Summer heat and the return of the magic...

It's been unbearably hot. I've even seen a stag beetle, a sign of summer and schooldays if ever there was one. Except that summer kind of started early this year: in May, but now, in June, it's been extremely hot, up there in the mid-to-late thirties, there have been red warnings, we're all being advised not to travel unless it was absolutely necessary, making me wonder whether anybody travels just for the hell of it, to some random railway station, perhaps, for a quick coffee and then the return ride. No, most people are going somewhere to do something, nearly always work, but visiting relatives, friends, whatever, nobody travels for the hell of it.

A few days ago there was thunder and lightening and heat. I was lying on top of the bed when it started, early in the morning, it was still dark. The lightening flashed and the thunder crashed and I was reminded of people, or perhaps it was just one person, who told me that the longer the period between flash and crash the further away the storm was travelling, and sure enough, after a while, the storm blew over and was gone. Where it went I'll never know, perhaps over Sutton way where mum resides and I remembered how much she hated a storm when we were younger. I thought of her then, in the dead of night almost, the darkness still present, and wondered how she was coping.

As a child I always remember, on a stormy afternoon, back from school, looking at the front door and the crinkled glass window that gave little away as the late afternoon light faded. "The front door is jealous," I used to say to mum, having no idea what it could be jealous of or, indeed, whether a wooden door could even experience jealousy. It was a mad thought and still is. A jealous front door, it was up there in the scary stakes with the silhouette of the stairhead at night, when it turned into the Mug Dog, a cloaked dog-like figure that stood at the top of the stairs when we were supposed to be going to bed. Crazy, definitely. Childhood is strange, surreal almost and I never remember it being any other way; everything was in some way strange: the sea, the countryside, cows, flowerbeds, insects, agricultural machinery, nothing ever seemed real in the days when I didn't watch or listen to the news. It was a world of fairy tales and toy soldiers, hankerchief tents in the back garden, stories within stories and nothing anywhere near reality, not that I knew what reality was all about; in many ways I still don't although I'd say that's more wishful thinking than anything else.

The heat brings back memories of being young when every day of the school summer holidays was long and sun-baked. Long grass swirled in slow motion, trees swayed ominously at the edge of fields where sheep and cows stood motionless even as we passed them by in a train to the coast. If the cows were sitting down, said dad, then there might be rain; if they were standing up there would be sunshine. Invariably they stood up, rarely were they sitting down. Most of our summer holidays were bathed in sunshine and I recall early evening when the sun cooled and our toy soldiers were in their respective hotels (the bedside cabinets) and I was walking around barefoot in white trousers with a collared short-sleeved navy blue tee-shirt with a white anchor logo, looking out to sea, at low tide, long stretches of wet sand, the distant bark of dogs and my tingling, sun-burned body. Later I would sleep on top of the bed, my shirt sticking to my skin as I hoped the feeling would leave me by morning because my inflatable boat awaited me.

We all longed for a lightening storm by the sea but all we really saw was distant flashes on the horizon and not the waves whipped into a frenzy by the wind, nobody in peril on the sea, a hymn I still find frightening in some way. I would not wish to find myself or anybody else in peril on the sea. I would sleep with the windows open so I could hear the sea throughout the night. It was magical, and once you let the magic escape it rarely returns unless you find it, like I did, in a theme park in Holland, it hides in the most unlikely places. The Dream Flight. You either know it or you don't and I know. The magic is out there, in pockets, don't go looking for it because it will find you. I once found it, aged 12, on a milk round, in South Wallington of all places, and it's still there and I can find it today on my bike, the quiet, seemingly empty, large houses set back from the road, the hedgerows, the trees, swaying again, nobody around, and I can sail triumphantly through it and out the other side, reluctantly riding back into real world suburbia.

It's 2239 as I write this and it's still hot. 24 degrees and it won't dip lower than 20 degrees before morning and then it will rise into the thirties again. I'm sipping from a mug of tap water that never quite comes out of the tap cold in this sort of heat. I'm putting off going to bed because it's going to be unpleasant, at least until I fall asleep, which I will, eventually. I'm wearing shorts and a black teeshirt with 'Future Inside' written across the front. Future Inside! 

I was listening to an old prog rock album, Octopus, by Gentle Giant, a band I only remember from a track (not on Octopus) called Free Hand. The Astronome disco at the Croydon Greyhound used to blare it out before the bands came on stage and for some reason I remembered it, found it on Spotify and listened to it, then discovering another track, Remember Me with Kindness, which I found mesmerising and that led me to key into Google the question: What is regarded as the best Gentle Giant album ever. Octopus was the answer and Remember Me with Kindness was on it, so here I am, alone, in the dark, just the halogen glow of the computer screen and the 24 degree heat outside.

My wife often tells stories of her childhood growing up in India and how she and her family used to sleep on the roof in the extreme heat of summer and they would lie there looking at the moon and the stars. Once again, it's the return of the magic, just when you thought you'd lost it.

Riding to work, saving money and keeping fit...

I reckon the media's at it again, scaremongering. Matt Frei on LBC (under the circumstances, perhaps that should be Matt Fry) was talking up a lockdown with a former government chief scientific officer, who wouldn't be drawn either way, and the papers are full of it being over 40deg C. I haven't checked my iphone weather app for next week, but the last time I looked 40deg C wasn't on the cards, it was something like 36 degrees, if that, so don't believe the hype. There are even reports on the trains being disrupted due to overheated rails that might buckle. The train companies, or Network Rail, are advising people not to travel unless it's absolutely necessary, which is rather stupid as nobody's going to get on the train to Redhill, say, if they don't have to, but I'm guessing if you work there then you must catch the train (or the bus). Or, of course, you could do what I did three times last week and ride in, 25 miles per day plus a 21-mile ride to Westerham last Sunday morning, I was clearly on a roll and the weather was wonderful. I guess that the experts would say cycling is out of the question too, but I figure that early in the morning the sun isn't exactly at its hottest and when I ride home, normally close to 1800hrs, the hot weather is bound to have cooled off a little; in fact I might ride on Monday and Tuesday if there's the slightest hint of 'trouble on the trains', there's nothing worse than knowing it takes just one hour and 15 minutes to ride to work when you're standing on a hot platform with a load of sweaty commuters wondering if one of them has COVID. It is, therefore, highly likely that I will ride to work and in the process deny Southern Railway of my daily extortionate fare of £9.50.

Bike in Westerham last Sunday...

Last week's rides were good. I rode Tuesday, Thursday and Friday and enjoyed them all, apart from the big hills on the way back, namely White Hill Lane and Tithepit Shaw Lane. That said, I crank the bike into its lowest gear and set about the task of uphill riding in the heat, because it has been warm. I noticed my forearms sweating as the climb continued and when I reached the top I felt elated that there was just one more hill to go and then I'd be almost home. It's great getting home, of course, pressing 'finish' on Strava, putting the bike in the garage and then chilling for the rest of the evening. On a couple of occasions I've gone to bed early (around 2000hrs). I lie on top of the bed in a spare room, fully clothed, and then find myself waking up in the middle of the night, everybody in bed and asleep and me considering cleaning my teeth and going back to sleep in my own bedroom. Not 'my own' bedroom in the sense that I'm the only one there, but the bedroom I share with my wife who is fast asleep when I arrive feeling slightly more awake than I did prior to visiting the bathroom to clean my teeth. It'll then take me a while to get to sleep but eventually that's what happens and then it's morning again and time for work once more. Give or take, this happened on three days last week and I'll admit that I do feel better for it. I take sandwiches with me and that means I spend nothing, except, perhaps, for a cup of tea in the Pop Inn, which is £1.50. The caff is getting expensive, they're putting up their prices so that 'going to the caff' is no longer the cheap option (compared, I suppose, with other caffs, like the M&S caff, which is never good value for money) or other venues, although the choice in Redhill is very limited. Give me an avocado sandwich any day, it's all I need. I've cut down considerably on what I eat, although I do currently have a weakness for toast and honey (two slices in the morning and two when I get back off the ride). But I figure that cycling 25 miles/day means I can eat my toast and honey without feeling too guilty about it. So I'll aim for riding Monday and Tuesday, Thursday and Friday next week, one ride more than last week. It's so easy riding to work: chuck a shirt and a pair of trousers into a rucksack along with a towel and all the stuff I'll need - ie glasses, iphone, phone charger - and then just go. I know roughly what time I'll arrive and the time I'll return as the only possible delay would be caused by a puncture and that would delay me approximately 20 minutes. That said I've got some new 'leeches' and they're not Leeches, so they might not be up for the job. The last thing I want is to be stranded somewhere between Redhill and Caterham (which is all out in the sticks and miles from a railway station).

Wild flowers on Clarks Lane on the return ride from Westerham last Sunday

These past two or three days it's been hot and in the morning very pleasant. In fact there's been nothing more pleasurable than riding from where I live to Redhill. Fine, there are a few dodgy bits, but not many, most of the ride is country lanes, but it's important not to take my eye off the ball, so to speak. On the outward ride the most dangerous spots are riding down Tithepit Shaw Lane and then White Hill Lane, the latter being extremely dangerous as it's a steep downhill and it's hard to keep control of the bike AND then signal a right turn. I might start riding along War Coppice Road and then Hexstalls Lane to avoid the steep drop and the effect it must be having on my brake pads. There is a way of avoiding Tithepit too, but it all adds up in terms of time. Still, better safe than sorry I guess. You have to be careful everywhere. Once in Merstham I was cut up as I approached a mini roundabout by a driver who cut in front of me as he turned left. On the return ride the main danger spot is riding down the lower half of Whyteleafe Hill. There are sleeping policeman in the middle of the road and all you need is an impatient driver getting too close and that's what happened to me last week. He got close enough, at speed, to make me feel wary of that stretch on the return ride; in the morning it's fine as it's uphill and, therefore, slower.

Clarks Lane looking towards Botley Hill last Sunday

A colleague at work has suggested high visibility clothing and he's right. I need a high-viz rucksack definitely as wearing, say, a high visibility top would be concealed by my current rucksack. The only time I don't need a rucksack is when I ride at the weekends and don't need to pack a shirt or a pair of trousers, but on those occasions (ie my ride to meet Andy in Westerham on Sundays) a high visibility top would be preferable. I guess I need both.

Railway crossing at the bottom of Whyteleafe Hill last week

The bike has performed relatively well, but the week before last I had a buckled wheel. I only noticed this because I noticed I had a puncture in the office car park prior to riding home and when I had fixed it and replaced the wheel I couldn't believe the wobble. A chappy in the bike shop in Redhill said place your finger next to the wheel, spin the wheel and if the rim touches your finger, you need a new wheel or you'll need to have the wheel and a couple of spokes fixed. As it turned out I needed a new wheel, there was a hole in the underside of it so I nipped in to Cycle King in Croydon with a view to buying a new wheel. But guess what? It's not in stock. It never is at Cycle King and the bloke there, a rather cocky individual, always suggests I go online, order what he tells me to order and then bring said item into the shop and he'll fix it. Easier said than done. He suggested Chain Reaction Cycles and I thought they'd be good because they're on Twitter and they appear to be fairly cyclist friendly, but now I'm having my doubts. The guy in Cycle King told me to key in '29 Er wheel with centre lock hub' or something like that; I made a note on my iphone and when I reached home I did just that expecting a whole load of products would spring up on the site and that I could choose from the selection, get the wheel delivered to my house and then take it Cycle King and they'd fix it. But it's never that easy, not with Cycle King at any rate. It should be but it isn't. For a start, when I keyed in what I was told to there were pages and pages of stuff about wheels and hubs, expensive wheels and hubs, but nothing at all to match my search criteria. I scrolled through half a dozen pages before realising I was not going to find what I wanted. On a later try three expensive mountain bikes sprung up, no wheels, nothing, just three expensive bikes. 

Riding over the motorway, not sure which one...

I realised that Chain Reaction Cycles were not going to be getting my business, not because I didn't want to give it to them, but simply because the item I keyed in simply wasn't there. It was a case of 'everything but' so I signed off. The guy at Cycle King said he would send me a link but as I suspected he never did, even now, over a week later, I haven't heard back from him. Fortunately, there was Balfe's in Sutton. It used to be Pearson's and it's a great bike shop, very very helpful. The guy said he didn't have the exact wheel but he could still make things work with what he had. I drove over to Sutton in the heat of a Saturday afternoon, having retrieved the wheel from Cycle King. The guy in Balfe's - I think it was Mike - took my old wheel, found a new one and told me what he was going to do, I said fine, go for it and went to wait it out in the Starbucks next door. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and a couple of ginger biscuits and sat there watching the good people of Sutton pass up and down the high street as I reminisced about my childhood town and the countless times I'd walked up and down the high street 'back in the day'. I tend to visit Sutton once a week but never the High Street. However, on this occasion I left the car in the B&Q car park, walked through Manor Park, where people were playing ball games and generally enjoying the good weather, and then down the high street to Balfe's where I handed over the wheel and, as I said, sat outside Starbuck's awaiting my new wheel. The rear wheel was the problem so the guy in the shop had to swap over the block from the old wheel to the new. When I went back in I asked if he thought I needed a new rear tyre. He said no, there was some wear left in the old one. I paid up, £111.98 and left the shop with my new wheel. I felt elated because I'd told Andy that it was highly likely I wouldn't be riding to Westerham in the morning, but now I knew I'd be there so I told him so via a text message.

I was heading for Caterham and White Hill Lane...

The following morning I went into the garage and fixed my new wheel on to the bike and then rode to Westerham to meet Andy at Costa. We sat chatting for around one hour before heading back home. Andy was with James and the two of them were part of the Moof IT cycling team, they had the branded vests, the lot. They were the sole members but I'm sure the numbers will improve and even if they don't it doesn't matter as Andy is not only part of NoVisibleLycra, but also Oxted CC.

Hell is a left turn...

It's hot today. Too hot to mow the lawn, which is scorched and scraggy after around three weeks of not being cut, probably longer. There are wild flowers and it's tempting to leave it as the grass hasn't grown a great deal because of the heat, but I've promised to cut it later when things cool down a little. Right now, in fact ever since I started writing this blogpost, I'm sitting in the shade under a tree, lap top on lap (where it's supposed to be). There are birds tweeting, blue skies and a few scattered clouds of the white cotton wool variety. I can hear the drone of a plane in the sky but I can't see it and I can just see the tops of the trees in the woods. A radio plays in the distance and everything is still, especially the clouds, which are motionless.

I didn't go riding today on account of my three rides during the week, but I will be in Westerham tomorrow morning, a week after the last meeting that nearly didn't happen, to meet Andy and enjoy an English breakfast tea in the sunshine.

Sunday morning

I left home at 0801hrs and headed for Westerham. It was warm out, very warm. In fact, right now, at 1808hrs it's still warm, something like 28 degrees. I decided to put sun block on and a long-sleeved fleece to protect the old forearms and then I was on my way, having also tanked up with cold water. I doubted I'd need it on the outward journey but perhaps on the way home, at the top of the hill coming out of Westerham and then at the top of Slines Oak Road as I was planning on avoiding most of the 269. I didn't want to be dealing with hot and bothered drivers.

The bike at work...

By the time I reached Westerham Andy was there, sitting at a table on the green. There was a bunch of Japanese motorcycles lined up outside the Costa, which made a pleasant change from the usual Harley Davidisons, there was even an old Virago, but mainly, it seemed, Yamahas. It was one of those days, there was plenty of vintage this and that floating around, mainly vintage cars: old Ford Escorts, MGBs, Ford Anglias, you name it, all heading for a field off the Limpsfield Road. 

It was a good ride and I was feeling tip top, which was probably a lot to do with being almost a stone lighter and fitter through the riding I'd been doing during the week. Andy later said that I was riding faster than usual, which was good to know. While on the green we sat and chatted, mainly about Andy's ride to Cornwall and, of course, the nasty accident that preceded it. Hats off to Andy for having the determination to succeed and keep with his original programme, that of riding to and from Cornwall to see his sister. 

Andy and I stayed together on the return ride until we cleared Rectory Lane. I went back via The Ridge and through Woldingham, taking the Slines Oak Road hill with ease and then gliding along the Limpsfield Road towards home. I got back around 1120hrs and then mowed the front lawn and trimmed the tree a little bit too, it all looks good now. For the past three weeks or so we've not had a mower, the wheel came off and it needed repairing. The hot weather has scorched the lawns front and back, they're brown and dry and there's little in the way of growth. I've chilled in the back garden, drinking the odd cup of green tea, eating baked beans on toast and then driving over to Wimbledon (and back). Didn't see mum this weekend, which was a shame, but I'll see her next week for sure. 

Casting a shadow in Whyteleafe...

Tomorrow it's supposed to be almost 40 degrees, so pretty hot. I will probably ride in early and then, if it's really bad I'll either leave the bike at work and take the bus or check the temperature and if it's alright I'll ride back, but let's cross those bridges as we encounter them.

I'm rather hoping that after Tuesday - when they say the heat will calm down a little (perhaps to what is now) - that the good weather will continue and I can ride to work a bit more. What  I don't want is rain and storms, well, perhaps for one day, but it's still early in the summer, we're in July for heaven's sake, so I'm expecting more sunshine, just not so severe as they're expecting tomorrow and Tuesday. Actually, I'm hoping that it's all media hype, but something says it's not and the last thing I want is heatstroke.

The media was right!

As it turned out the media was correct: it turned out to be a real scorcher and temperatures almost reached 40 degrees C; it was 38 degrees C in Suffolk and over here in my neck of the woods it was cool enough to ride into work but there was no way I was going ride home as it was sweltering hot. Instead, I got the bus home and managed, thanks to cycling in, not to spend a penny on public transport. Result!

 

(No) Visible Lycra...

Perhaps I should be changing the name of the blog, getting rid of that word 'No' and admitting that, for the past month, possibly longer, I've been wearing Lycra in the open air, in the broad daylight. You could even call me a Lycra Monkey, let's face it, and it all started, of course, when I bought a pair of Lycra cycling shorts, admittedly many months ago. Alright, the premise is simple: No Visible Lycra. That means I wear the stuff (to protect certain parts of my anatomy) but it's not visible to the human eye. Fine. Except that recently it's been very visible as I have decided not to wear the trousers that normally cover the offending item of clothing. Why has this happened? Well, the summer for a start. There's nothing worse than wearing heavy cargo trousers with loads of pockets over a pair of Lycra cycling shorts in the heat of the day. In fact, that's really the only reason if I'm honest. So, off with anything covering the shorts and suddenly I'm a Lycra monkey. It feels much better and if it rains I don't seem to get that wet because the rain isn't absorbed into the material as it is with the cargo trousers, which, incidentally, are now spattered in white paint from a fairly recent bout of decorating. Look, it's freer, it's lighter, it's better, but it does make me wonder about the title of my blog, which, of course, I won't be changing.

Westerham, outside Tudor Rose in the sunshine on 17 July

This post is a little late as we're nearing the end of this week's cycling and I've yet to put pen to paper on last week's, which was good, although not as good as this week. It's Friday 23 July as I write this and I've been riding daily for well over a week so I should be putting in over 100 miles this week, although that phrase 'well over' is probably an exaggeration. But let's look at last week's rides first. In a nutshell, I've got to ride three Washpond Weebles to make a decent week of riding and that's what I did: three Weebles and one 'Weeble and more' which was rather odd; I saw a sign for the Sustrans Route 21 (avid readers will remember how I took Route 21 from Redhill to Warlingham and ended up riding an off-road hell of sorts). Well, I assumed that the stretch of this route I was about to embark upon was the continuation from the bit from Redhill and sure enough it was. Route 21 ultimately ends up in Greenwich, but I wasn't going that far, although I thought I'd see where it went and follow it for a short while. It was mud and puddles all the way and, much to my disappointment, the road veered right and I ended up on Scotshall, a country lane that took me back on the original Weeble route, upping my mileage by just half a mile. In other words it was a complete waste of time. The weather throughout last week's rides was good: sunny, warm, bright and hot on different days and that makes all the difference as only the previous week there had been cloud and rain. In the end I managed around 84 miles (that's a rough calculation, but a respectable distance nonetheless).

Crumbling cake and not much tea...

This week started with a ride to Westerham to meet Andy and a respectable 22.85 miles in the sunshine. In fact, on the sunshine front, I have a pleasant sun tan on my legs and arms as a result. We sat outside the Costa, which I think offers far better value for money than the Tudor Rose cafe. Last Saturday (17 July) was the final day of my cycling week and I rode to Westerham via Beddlestead and through Woldingham. I decided to have tea in the Tudor Rose and ordered a slice of coffee and walnut cake. When the order arrived I won't deny it, I was disappointed. For a start, the cake was falling apart (I've experienced this before at the Tudor Rose) and the 'large tea' was not even a decent-sized mug. To make matters worse it cost me £6. At Costa I can get a large tea (and I mean a large tea in a huge paper carton with two tea bags) plus a cinnamon brioche bun for something like £4.28. I told Andy that the Costa provided better value for money and then continued to stuff my face.

On the cake front (and it has to be mentioned) last week I did rather overdo things, and not just cakes. Off the top of my head I think I enjoyed the following: a white chocolate Twix, a Wispa bar, a Twirl, a cappuccino mousse from Waitrose, possibly two of them, the aforementioned coffee and walnut cake and a couple of Millionaires shortbreads, something like that; so this week I put on the brakes. I've riden every day of the week and I've not touched a cake or a chocolate bar and let's get it on record that I have riden daily since 15 July, it's now 23 July and I will be going out today too, possibly this afternoon.

The Rockhopper on Washpond Lane...

This week, to date I've mainly stuck to the Weebles, but on Wednesday I did a straight ride to Botley Hill on the 269 around 1000hrs when the road seemed relatively quiet, although I did get one 'use the cycle lane!' from a Boris Johnson supporter and of course ignored him. That ride clocked up 13.42 miles but I won't do it again. Yesterday I was intending to do another Weeble but the road was closed, causing me to ride down Hesiers, up Beddlestead Lane, head west on Clarks Lane and then ride The Ridge into Woldingham and up Slines Oak Road (17.42 miles). So far this week I've riden 72.43 miles and I've got two rides to go, meaning that if I ride a Weeble today (12.30 miles or thereabouts) plus, say, a Westerham ride tomorrow, then my total will top 100 miles.

Vineyards along Pilgrims Lane...

All week it's been hot, very hot, often too hot to ride a bike, but the shade of the trees, the fragrant hedgerows and the warm breeze has made it all very pleasant and there's still two days of this week's cycling to go so I'm not complaining.

Fields on Beddlestead Lane...

Today I'm planning a Washpond Weeble, but being as the road is closed, meaning access to Washpond Lane is impossible, I'll have to ride down Hesiers Hill and repeat yesterday's ride, which isn't a hardship. In fact, it's greater mileage so it all adds to the final total, which I won't know until I've completed tomorrow's ride either to Westerham - where there's the temptation of cake - or to the Lakes where I'll need a flask of hot water, a mug and a couple of tea bags, although, if the latter, I'm going to have to leave the house earlier, possibly even at the old time of 0700hrs. I haven't left the house that early for some time.

Another scene from Beddlestead Lane earlier this week...

Friday afternoon, around 1630hrs, I headed out not really knowing where I was going. The rough plan was to ride the Washpond Weeble, but only if Beech Farm Road was no longer closed. The alternative was doing a Ledger's Loop, which I reckoned would be around 10 miles, but it might be less and knowing Strava I'd be disappointed to discover that, lo and behold, it was only, say, 9.34 miles (or something of that order). But still, I thought I'd go for it: I'd follow the route of the Weeble, but branch right on to Ledgers Road and then ride back along the 269 and home. As I rode along Ledgers I figured that if the road was still closed surely there would be a 'Road Closed' sign at the bottom of Washpond Lane, but there wasn't so I embarked upon a Reverse Weeble and sure enough the signs had been removed from Beech Farm Road, all was well and as of now, Saturday morning at 0834hrs, I've riden something like 85 miles with one ride left to go and that's now, any second now. But it's dark outside, rain is threatened and it looks like a November morning. The temperature is roughly 19 degrees so it's not that bad. I've got to get out there, I know that much, and I've only got around 30 minutes of slobbing around before I need to commit. It looks as if I'll go over 100 miles this week.

The Rockhopper on Beddlestead Lane...

And I did go over 100 miles, riding a record 110 miles thanks to a ride to Westerham. Yes, it was initially dull and grey and there was a persistent drizzle, but I persevered and by the time I was on Beddlestead Lane I was feeling good, thanks again to the fragrant hedgerows and the ferns lining each side of the road. I don't think I've ever seen ferns so tall. This is what I love about the summer months, the fact that nature is cascading everywhere, enclosing the country lanes and transforming them into peaceful havens of tranquility, almost another world shut off from the cacophony of modern life. All I could hear as I pedalled towards Clarks Lane and my left turn towards Westerham, was the chirping of birds and the rustle of other wildlife in the undergrowth, I didn't even see any other cyclists (along Beddlestead Lane).

Tea at the Tudor Rose

I rode along Pilgrims Lane, past the vineyards and the Velobarn (which was deserted) and into Westerham. To my dismay, Costa was closed so I was forced to visit the Tudor Rose. I didn't have any cake, they were looking a bit tired, and I suspect that the crumbly-looking coffee and walnut cake was the same one I ordered last week. A mug of tea sufficed. 

The ride home was fine. I retraced my inward ride but then followed The Ridge into Woldingham and home, cycling up the steep bit of Slines Oak Road with relative ease and then sailing along the Limpsfield Road towards home. The new cycling week starts tomorrow with a ride to Westerham to meet Andy... and if Costa's closed we'll need to find somewhere else for tea and possibly cake too, although the week without cake and sweets has done me some good and I'm not sure I fancy stuffing my face, I might just leave it.

Costa still closed, but the cake was fresh, not crumbly

Just a brief word about the Tudor Rose Tea Rooms' cakes: today they were fine and they looked recently replenished. Yesterday (Saturday) they were looking a bit tired and there was just one slice of coffee and walnut cake left, but today there was a whole cake so I ordered some and as you can see from the image above, it's not crumbly, it's perfect, although it still cost me just under £6.00 and I was forced to have a small pot of tea rather than a much more satisfactory paper cup. The photo above was taken this morning in a crowded restaurant. Fortunately, I managed to find a small table at the back and had to move my bike so that I could see it from where I was sitting. The service was a bit rubbish, I ordered a tea and a slice of coffee and walnut cake and heard the waitress make the mistake and then over-charge me: "So that's one tea, a slice of walnut cake and a coffee, that'll be £8.60." No, I said, that can't be right and she apologised but then, later, she took my order to the wrong table. The boss woman wasn't there so I'm guessing that was why things were a little off-kilter. I wish Costa would re-open, which is odd coming from me, somebody who likes the support the indie operators, but I'm afraid the Costa offers far better value for money, they're clearly not checking out their competition.

Hot, sunny days create shadows and here's mine!

Scorcher of a Bank Holiday weekend...

Saturday we headed for Westerham, the fast way and when we got there we sat on the green, on tables provided by the pub, and drank tea. The ride down was fine, especially the final straight into the town as there was a lovely warm breeze. This, of course, was tee-shirt and shorts weather and it remained so all weekend. Even the ride back up the hill was fine, although my rear brake was playing up and I resolved to take the bike into the shop and get it fixed. It cost me £25 but it's working fine now. The guy in the shop told me that had I brought it in a week or two later I might have needed a new disc, but fortunately not. If you've read the last post, you'll know that I spent a lot of time gassing about the Westhill electric bike, the Ghost 2.0, but now, in the cold light of day, the need to buy one has died down considerably. I'd like one, especially for Beddlestead Lane and other annoying hills, but ultimately it's not necessary so I doubt I'll buy one, but they are great machines and I'd love to test drive one (and then change my mind!).

Crossing into Surrey from Kent on the hill out of Westerham

On Sunday, a trip to Petworth to see Dave, our old Harley buddy, was on the cards so Andy wasn't riding. I decided to do my suburban 35-minute ride, purely for the sake of fitness. As I write this I can honestly say that I've riden the bike for seven days straight and will continue this week. I've worked out a route around my local streets, thrown in a few hills and it's great. Cycling, don't forget, is very good for you and by doing a 35-minute ride every day of the week on top of my weekend cycling, I like to think I'm doing myself some good. Here are some of the health advantages of cycling, courtesy of Westhill Bikes (see previous post for more details):-

* Reduces weight.
* Improves control of blood pressure in patients with hypertension.
* Improves muscle strength, mobility and co-ordination.
* Lowers resting heart rate (this is definitely true as mine hovers around 55).
* Improves the ratio between HDL (good cholesterol) and LDL (bad cholesterol).
* Reduces the risk of stroke.
* Prevents heart disease.
* Provides a fitness level of someone 10 years younger.
* May ease childbirth.
* Reduces the risk of cancer.
* Reduces anxiety.
* Reduces diabetes.

On Bank Holiday Monday, the heat persisting,  we rode the slow way to the Tatsfield Churchyard and sat there chilling and chatting before heading back down the wooden steps to the road and the ride up the hill to Botley where we parted company.

Heading for the hill out of Westerham

It's now 1725hrs and it's still hot outside. The bike's in the garage and hopefully it'll be alright in the morning for yet another week of 35-minute rides around the block. Can't wait, but I've got a busy week ahead of me.

In Dusseldorf...in the sweltering heat

I arrived in Dusseldorf around 2000hrs and walked the short distance to my hotel, the Novum Madison. Check-in was reasonably straightforward, although I hadn't bought in to their breakfast offering. This I quickly rectified and was surprised to be given a key with the number of my room on a blue piece of plastic or Perspex or whatever it's made from.

Room 416, Novum Madison, Dusseldorf

Reaching the room proved a little confusing. In fact, even now, I'm not exactly sure what floor I'm on. I pressed the button in the lift for the fourth floor, assuming room 416 would be on the fourth floor, but it's confusing. Anyway, eventually, I got there and found a relatively basic room with pine furniture, a safe that doesn't open, probably because the previous guest left it that way. I was reminded of my recent trip to Pittsburgh and decided not to mention the safe to the guys on reception. Who knows where I'd end up later in the week?

The view from room 416, Novum Madison

I dropped off my bags and headed straight for my favourite restaurant, which is literally a five-minute walk away: Parma ham with melon (I know, very seventies, very droll, but I fancied it) a non-alcohol beer and pasta arrabiatta. They'd run out of non-alcohol beer, probably on account of the hot weather, so I ordered a bottle of mineral water instead and decided not to have dessert. The bill was only 30.10 Euros.

There's an entrance to my hotel across the road from the restaurant, very convenient, I thought, and when I reached the lifts I decided it would be less confusing to take the stairs and possibly less hassle too. The lift appears to be slow and it takes an age from when I press the button for my floor for the doors to close, that's another reason why I hopped out and took the stairs. Besides, the exercise will do me good, I thought, as I started the climb.

Much needed...

Back in the room, I flicked through the television channels, but found nothing in English, even The Big Bang Theory was dubbed over in German and it was weird to see Sheldon Cooper speaking a foreign language. It was around 2100hrs that I hit the sack. I'd left the window open because of the heat and listened to the city: the sound of passing cars, the distant conversation of anonymous individuals on the streets below, the rumblings of trams. I slept through until around 0400hrs and then lie there awake listening to the outside world. At one stage I got up and texted a colleague. "It's fucking hot". That was at 0427, before I decided to go back to bed. The birds started to tweet outside, but it was still dark. Soon it lightened up and now I sit here writing this at 0610hrs. Breakfast is served from 0630 so I'm going to take shower and head on down there.

The heat continued throughout the day. It was so hot that I had to return to my hotel room for another shower in the late afternoon and change my shirt, and then I headed back to the other side of town to continue my working day, which didn't end until gone 2100hrs. I took a taxi back to the hotel and had an enjoyable conversation with the driver. He was a photographer and a cab driver and had been doing the latter for some 20 years. He enjoyed his job and was currently working a five-day week because of a big convention in town, the one I was attending. He lived in Leeds for two years and knew the Yorkshire region well. I told him I loved Dusseldorf and would love to live in the city, which he took as a compliment. It is a great place, very friendly.

Also much needed...

I couldn't stay in the room for long, it was far too hot and there was no air-con. Fortunately, it's possible to open the windows, but I still had to get out and decided to go for a walk as the daylight faded. I found myself in a small supermarket, Rewe, and wandered around, checking out peppermint tea and bars of chocolate, but not really thinking about the hot night ahead. I left empty-handed and had to return to buy two huge bottles of Felsensteiner 'medium' mineral water. The 'medium' refers to the fizziness, which is subtle.

The area around the hotel is not the best, but then anywhere near a railway station is normally pretty grim. There were sex shops for all persuasions and table dancing joints and places of that ilk, not to forget a few shady characters sitting on benches alone or congregating in groups. But they didn't seem to bother anybody and more normal people mingled in the twilight, drinking or dining alfresco outside the occasional bar or cafe. Nothing appealed to me, apart from a bunch of bananas and the mint tea. I only bought the water, which I am now sipping in order to rehydrate. I've been drinking water all day long and I'll probably repeat the process tomorrow. I'm going to hit the sack, but you might hear from me again if getting to sleep in the heat proves problematic.

A change in the weather, so we head for the churchyard...

The worrying thing is the speed of time. It's flying by. I was talking to Bon about when mum went into the hospital for her hip op, back in February - January 31st to be precise - and it seems like only yesterday, but it's not, it was ages ago, the beginning of the year. And now, seemingly days later, she's out of hospital and, it would be fair to say, has made a complete recovery.

Suddenly, the warmer weather has arrived, along with the blossom trees being in full bloom and Andy wearing shorts again on the ride. Even last week the weather was the complete opposite to what it was on Good Friday (yesterday). Last week it was minus one degree when I left the house. Yesterday, it was 23 degrees, sunny, summery, tee-shirt weather.

Andy and I met at the green and decided to head for the churchyard, a summer location if ever there was one. It's not the sort of place you'd visit if there was a chance of rain, put it that way. It's exposed, there's no shelter, so it's a summer location that always brings back pleasant memories. It's a place to chill out under blue skies where silence rules the roost and the smell of freshly-cut grass is never far away. Occasionally, from beyond the trees, you might hear the shouts of Lycra monkeys, but, by and large, you're on your own, concealed from view.

We sat there 'doing the usual' - drinking tea and munching biscuits, although I've given up the biscuits and made do with tea (decaff). The topic of conversation was the short-sightedness of managers, the arrogance of the businessman and the amounts of money bad managers are losing their bosses through all the usual shenanigans: short-changing their staff, shafting them, being petty and micro-managing. It goes on everywhere and it's all down to poor recruitment decisions from above.

The Tatsfield Churchyard...

I found myself reminiscing about a past job in which I spent an inordinate amount of time travelling the UK in search of the perfect pub meal (and often finding it). What a great job. Sitting on a train with a book, en route to some distant location where I had nothing else to do but pull up a chair and enjoy the cuisine of some of the UK's finest pub chefs - and then repeating the process the following day and the day after until it was time to go home.

It was soon time to hit the road, so we made our way out of the churchyard, down the steps and on to the road to begin the ride home. It's an uphill climb towards Botley Hill and, as always, I found myself in the wrong gear. Following last week's two punctures (see previous post) I almost considered taking the long way home or joining Andy and riding along The Ridge, the latter being the better option as Slines Oak Road is not as steep as Hesiers Hill, but time was of the essence so I decided to risk the 269. It wasn't too bad. I didn't want to use the off-road path for fear of a repeat of last week's disastrous morning, so I stuck to the road.

I reached home around 1020hrs and discovered that my lawnmower had given up and died. Smoke was visible, the blade wasn't turning, it was time to visit the mower store.

"It's either the capacitator or the motor," said a man in a red tee-shirt from behind the counter. He knew a lot about mowers. "If it's the capacitator it'll cost £30 to repair; if it's the motor you might as well buy a new mower," he added.

Something tells me I'll be buying a new mower later in the week. But the good news was that I didn't have to mow the lawn, although, in all honesty, it didn't really need it as I'd given it the first cut of summer last week. I think the good weather prompted me to get out in the garden and do something so why not mow the lawn again, get it in shape for the months ahead. But no, it was not to be and in a way I was relieved.

The trouble with early hot weather is you know it's not going to last and that, sooner or later, there will be rain, but hopefully not over the next few days. They're predicting another sunny one today (Saturday 20 April). It's currently 8 degrees outside, according to my iphone, which is predicting a high of 24 degrees. The plan is to meet Bon on Woodmansterne Green and possibly ride over to mum's for tea and cake. Let's see what the day has in store.

A word about the weather...

The English are obsessed with the weather. It's a fact. We always bring it up in conversation, as a kind of ice breaker; it's a bit like football talk, and by that I mean that it's not a real conversation, it's there simply to initiate interaction between two or more people.

When English people talk about good weather, 1976 is normally brought up. In essence, it was the last time we had a really amazing summer. Well, 1976 has a rival and it's called 2018. For the last three months there has been nothing but sunshine and there hasn't been any rain. I checked back on the blog and the last time it rained was in April. It gets better. It's not been just a bit of sunshine, it's been a full-on heatwave. Even last Friday, three months in, the papers talked about 'furnace Friday', although, ironically, 'furnace Friday' turned out to be the day the good weather broke up, there were rain storms forecasted.

As I write this it's 0732hrs on Sunday morning and rain and storms are promised. You might be thinking: Why is he writing his blog? Surely he should be out on his bike, heading towards the green to meet Andy. Well, I was in the process of doing that, but the skies were looking decidedly dodgy and then my mobile rang as I prepared to mount the bike. It was Andy saying that it had started raining over in Caterham. "It's spitting here," I said, looking skyward. We decided to call it a day.

"Next week?"
"Yeah, see you next week."

And I rolled the bike back into the garage and now here I sit, typing in the conservatory. Just a second ago I got up and made myself a slice of bread with Marmite – very tasty, but the weather seemed to have improved and I wondered whether Andy had texted me; he hadn't. So I'm back at the desk, Gilmore Girls is on the television and I'm wondering (just wondering) whether to call Bon and head for Woodmansterne or call Andy and say 'let's re-group on this' although rain and stormy weather is forecasted so it's highly likely that any move to head anywhere will result in a soaking – and if there's one thing we like to avoid, it's a soaking.

Last weekend I meet Bon at Woodmansterne Green, twice, Saturday and Sunday, and, as always, we mooched around and chatted about this and that. I'd brought a flask of hot water and some teabags and we sat in the sunshine enjoying the good weather until it was time to head home.

Andy took this shot at the bottom of Hesiers Hill before we headed up the hill

Yesterday, Andy and I met at the Green and headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop where we too enjoyed tea and BelVita biscuits while chatting about nothing in particular.

Our bikes prior to riding up Hesiers Hill. Note the parched fields...

The weather has changed. A cool breeze has replaced the extreme heat. It was still a really nice day yesterday. We'd ridden to the bus stop the slow way and we retraced our steps back along Beddlestead Lane towards Hesiers Hill on the way home. We rode up the hill and for the first time in ages I found I was using my gears properly. I'd changed down into the lowest possible gear as I rode along Beddlestead, which meant that I didn't faff around at the foot of the hill and rode up with relative ease, stopping at the top and chatting briefly with Andy before we both followed the country lanes round to Warlingham. We parted at the green. Andy rode to Caterham and I followed the Limpsfield Road to Sanderstead, sailing down Church Way, hanging a right on Morley, a left on Southcote and a right on Ellenbridge.

Parched fields at the bottom of Hesiers Hill

The good weather hasn't left the building, that's the important thing. It's going to hot up during the week and will reach 29 degrees C mid-week. But we've had temperatures in the high 30s. It is, quite simply, a rival to 1976 and might possibly beat it, but not if today is anything to go by; it's cold outside, and blustery too.

Not that anybody takes any notice...

We're riding again next week unless I pluck up the courage to go out later, which I might. Things have brightened up... or perhaps they haven't. I was in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs, and it was dull and raining so I've come back to the computer to say so. In fact, I can hear the rain on the conservatory roof. We'd have been soaked through and cold had we gone out, so I'm really glad we stayed in.

To Westerham for tea and toast, and a solo ride to mum's

The word 'moreish' is often used to disguise greed, as if the notion that something is 'moreish' somehow excuses one from admitting that he or she is simply a pig. You know what I mean, you stuff your face with a bag of non-salted cashew nuts and when somebody mentions that you've 'scoffed the lot' your rather lame excuse is simply that they were 'quite moreish'. As if the person accusing you of being a pig is going to say, "Ah! Moreish are they? Well in that case I take back what I said."

But let's face it, unsalted cashew nuts ARE moreish. Once a packet is opened they have to be scoffed. Likewise sultanas or raisins, purchased for the purpose of making a cake, are soon consumed and at the risk of no cake being made. It's a sorry state of affairs, especially for somebody like me who finds quite a lot of things 'moreish'. Beer and wine being a prime example.

The breakfast table was set when I arrived...

I must point out that, as I write this, I am sitting in my back garden on a newly weeded patio. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, I can hear the distant sound of a light aircraft making its way somewhere and there's a wind chime chiming away in the light breeze. In short, it's absolutely wonderful. I am sitting under a large green umbrella, there's a towel swaying silently in the breeze on a rotary drier, birds are tweeting and, as I look out on to the lawn, I spy what looks like the discarded antlers of a reindeer but is, in fact, a branch from a tree that needed pruning and now needs to be cut into tiny pieces ready for disposal. I look at it with other ambitions. I'm thinking that I might have a bonfire later, in the twilight, with a beer. I want to enjoy the full primeval wonder of the flame, fanned by the breeze as the sun goes down. I even have thoughts of one day, lighting up a wood fire and pitching a small tent at the top of the garden where I might even spend the night, under the stars, as they say, with, no doubt, other members of my family looking out after dark, from the warmth of the house, and wondering whether I might have taken leave of my senses. Perhaps they would be right, but then I often think about sleeping in the wild. Yesterday, while driving through Ashdown Forest on the other side of East Grinstead, I felt a strange yearning to be under canvas and, as avid readers of this blog will know, it's a subject that has come up before on many a ride. I would dearly love to combine the two, cycling and sleeping under canvas, but as yet a suitable situation has yet to arise. One day, perhaps.

The reason I bring up cashew nuts and, indeed, beer, is that I've just enjoyed both. I remembered that there were cashew nuts in the larder and so helped myself to a couple of handfuls and I had just finished a bottle of Golden Summer Ale, I think that's what it was called, from the Hepworth Brewery in Horsham, West Sussex. Both – the nuts and the beer – are moreish and that, perhaps, is a good reason why I only have one bottle of the aforementioned beer in the house. Had there been two I would, no doubt, be drinking it right now; and if there were three, well, it wouldn't be long before I tucked into that too, putting paid to any idea of finishing off the garden chores and, indeed, anything else other people might have had in mind for my otherwise relaxing Sunday afternoon.

It is unbelievably peaceful out here in the garden. Earlier I threaded the lap top's charger through the kitchen window, enabling me to engage in a bit of alfresco blogging and I have to say that it's the way to go. The wind chime continues to chime, the breeze occasionally blows and the skies are even bluer than they were a few minutes ago. That towel still sways on the rotary drier and, lo and behold, the sound of an aeroplane brings back memories of my childhood when, on a similar day to this, I might have been sitting in a paddling pool with my brother and sister, back at home in Carshalton, feeling, perhaps, a little cold in the breeze and getting mildly disheartened when the sun disappears behind a cloud and all I could hear was the sad sound of a crying airliner, invisible to the naked eye, making its descent towards Heathrow. There was something strangely depressing about the sun being extinguished and the sound of a jet engine, almost moaning, as the plane prepared for its final approach.

Amazing weather
The weather this weekend has been truly amazing. I was going to say 'like a summer's day' but in all honesty, it IS a summer's day. It's early May and, for the first time in many a month it was odd to see Phil in a tee-shirt and shorts and wearing no gloves. Yesterday we rode to Westerham with Steve, but before we set off I quickly fixed that bulge in my front tyre, which, Phil informed me, had something to do with catching the inner tube in the valve. Once fixed we headed towards the Limpsfield Road and then, on Church Way, Steve's rear wheel of his Boardman mountain bike, seized up and he had to return to get another bike. Phil and I pressed on towards Westerham wondering how far we would get before Steve caught up with us. Steve, it must be said, is fit and a keen road racer. We joked that he'd catch us at the top of Church Way, but in the end we were sitting comfortably outside of the Tudor Rose café sipping tea and munching toast before he arrived. We sat and chatted for a while about keeping fit and about bikes and Andy and I's long lost idea about setting up our own cycle café and shop and soon it was time to head for home.

Nobody likes the hill out of Westerham, but, as always, it was a case of heads down and get on with it – and that we did. Soon we had reached Botley Hill where Steve decided it was time for him to power home without us, leaving Phil and yours truly on the Limpsfield Road, quite content to make our way home at a steadier pace. The weather was fantastic. There and back we were graced with the presence of a warm breeze, blue skies and sunshine and it wasn't long before we were sailing down Church Way having enjoyed an excellent ride. I reached home at 1019hrs.

The great thing about riding to Westerham, as opposed to the Tatsfield Bus Stop (our default ride for many months) is that we feel as if we've had a decent ride and that's because it's a decent distance – a 22-mile round trip. I think we should aim to ride to Westerham on at least one day of the weekend. To be fair, there have been two successive Westerham jaunts (this week and last week) so we're getting back into our stride.

A Sunday morning ride to mum's
This morning I decided to ride to mum's and left the house around 0730hrs having enjoyed Weetabix, blueberries and sliced banana plus a cup of tea before departing. Once again the weather was amazing, better than yesterday if the truth be known. There was the blue sky and the sunshine and a mild breeze as I wound my way down West Hill, turned left into Essenden, right on to Carlton Avenue and then down Jarvis Road, past my pal Martin's house, up Hayling Park Road and across the mini-roundabout towards Purley Playing Fields. Today, the fields seemed to be endless and green and peppered with goalposts minus the nets. They stretched off into the distance like a giant game of croquet. Dotted here and there was a handful of early morning dog walkers. I rode towards the A23 and the grey, squat Hilton National Hotel and then I turned right and left and found myself on what became the Stafford Road.

Mum and yours truly in mum's garden, Sunday 8th May 2016

There's little traffic on the outward journey to mum's on a Sunday morning, but it gets a little heavier on the return trip. I could have riden to Botley Hill or the Bus Stop, but it's no fun on my own so I pedalled over to Carshalton with a view to a second breakfast consisting of boiled egg, orange segments and a couple of slices of bread and butter, not forgetting the tea and the chat. I'd hoped to see Bon there, but mum said he'd probably gone for a drive. The fact that he didn't respond to my text messages backed this up so I chilled for a while, went out into the garden with mum and reminisced about the olden days.

While the garden has changed considerably since we all lived at home, the surrounding trees and the general environment have remained the same and that's what brings back those memories of dad sitting in the garden with his Tolly Cobbold and the Sunday Times, back in the day when the term 'the right wing press' held little significance. In those days, reading the Sunday Times was a sign of intelligence and astuteness, while reading the Daily Mail was something only women did – the latter is probably still true.

I think the reason why the summer months bring home those times of childhood is because the warm weather takes us out of the house and into the garden and that's where the happy memories lurk: the swimming pool, the hose fights, the cups of tea in the garden, mum's homemade lemonade, dad and with his beer and cigarettes – the smell of tobacco smoke in the air, dad in his blue shorts and white bush hat, and burning old newspapers with magnifying glasses. And let's not forget the trains at the top of the garden, hidden from view during the summer months, but exposed in the winter.

As I cycled up Rossdale I noticed how nothing had really changed. The road was still a golden colour, just like mum's hair, although it was patched up here and there with stretches of black tarmac (the road, not mum's hair). The houses looked the same too, because they were the same. Mum and the Browns, however, are the only original residents, the ones who were there when I was a kid. John Brown, who used to play tennis with dad and run the odd London marathon, turns 70 this week. I know this only because I spied an envelope with his name on it in the kitchen and mum told me it was his birthday.

We sat outside in the garden for about 20 minutes or so and while it was just gone 0900hrs, it was already warm. In all honesty I could have sat there for longer, but I was conscious of the impending ride home, so I made my farewells and headed home, following my outward route, but slightly more warily due to the build-up of traffic.

I can't remember what time I reached home, but it was probably around 1030hrs and I had the rest of the day ahead of me. The sun continued to shine, the wind chime played on in a light breeze and I sat in the shade nursing that beer I mentioned earlier before deciding to write this post in the open air.

It's now just gone 1800hrs, the sun is still shining, the wind chime is still tinkling in the breeze and as the sun heads west the shade races across the lawn. Those towels are still swaying gently on the rotary drier and the skies are still blue. It's warm too and time to consider dinner so I'll sign off until the next time.

To the Tatsfield Churchyard...

Botley... on the road. We'll be here next weekend enjoying tea and cake

No Phil this weekend and none of us ventured out on Saturday due to other commitments, but Andy and I were at the green on Sunday morning (7th June) and we decided to ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard.

Looking down the steps from the Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 7th June

On the way back – after tea and chocolate chip BelVita biscuits – we discovered that the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub was under new management – the same people who run the White Bear in nearby Fickleshole. They've introduced 'Botley on the Road', a grey mobile catering van that's going to be around most weekends serving tea, coffee and snacks. There's even two wooden tables and chairs so we can sit there and enjoy it. The plan is to ride to the Churchyard next week but not stop. Instead, we'll cycle back to the Botley for tea and possibly cake in the open air, weather permitting.

Andy brought the racer to the churchyard...

The Botley is also hiring out bicycles – not a bad idea as pub goers can ride out from the pub along some interesting country lanes; they can ride to Westerham or Tatsfield Village and back or they can ride to Godstone Green or even make a wide circle into Woldingham, back up Slines Oak and right on to the 269 heading towards the pub. The permutations are endless – St Leonard's Church, Hesiers Hill, even Biggin Hill.

Bikes for hire at the Botley...

While it was sun and blue skies on Saturday there was also a cool breeze. On Sunday there was no breeze at all, in fact, I got a decent tan through spending most of the day in the garden doing my Sir Lawncelot bit. I also cleaned the car inside and out and then sat at the very top of the garden in the early evening, concealed from view by shrubs, and enjoyed a bottle of Banks's Bitter – you can't beat a bottle of Black Country beer in my view. In fact, you can't beat a bottle of beer, full stop.

Good weather's been promised for the entire week so this morning (Monday) I waltzed off to work without my black raincoat only to discover that it clouded over at lunchtime and was chilly as I walked home (briskly) this evening, trying to keep myself warm. I've got the day off tomorrow, so hopefully it'll be warmer than today...although I doubt if I'll have time for a ride.

Our bikes at the Tatsfield Churchyard... Sunday 7th June

October 1st and 2nd

The phrase 'since records began' has been used by the weathermen whenever they discuss extreme weather. No doubt, this weekend's heat will bring the phrase out of the box again pretty soon. In short, it was hot and, to be fair to the weathermen, it had been forecasted during the week - we all knew it was coming our way.

As avid readers will know, our planned ride to Hunger's End would have been rather pleasant on Saturday, but I had things to do concerning motor transport and had to do without a ride on Saturday. Instead, I messed around at home as I had the place to myself. I mowed the lawn front and back, I cleaned the car and I had a cold beer and a ham sandwich in the garden - perfect!

The last time I experienced heat like this weekend, in October, was in 1981 while in Greece. Sunday was even hotter, they reckon 29 degrees, but it might have tipped 30. Fortunately, a ride was on the agenda and I left the house, laden with fruit cake, hot water and tea bags, to meet Andy for a ride. The plan was Westerham and we stuck to it.

I left the house in a tee-shirt and only experienced a mild coolness at the bottom of the hill as we crossed the Surrey/Kent border and headed for the bridge under the M25 - but even then it was mild.

Andy took this shot of Winston Churchill 

and my crash helmet

There's nothing better than Churchill's birthplace on a decent summer's day - although that word 'summer' should, perhaps, be changed to 'autumn' because there were, make no mistake, leaves on the ground and there are only three months to Christmas. But the weather was hot, even if there was enough dew on the benches surrounding the green, and on Winston's statue, to force us to stand and drink our tea.

Unknown to me when I packed the fruit cake, Andy had stuffed a bag of chocolate brioche pastries into his rucksack as well as the cereal bars, making the plinth of Churchill's statue a little crowded: flask, mugs, fruit cake, pastries and cereal bars. We left the latter for next week and I declined a second pastry on the assumption that having it would have made the exercise of cycling pointless.

It was October 2nd 2011, there was a farmer's market setting up in the town centre, but not on the green, a few people wandered about here and there and various motorcycles cruised noisily along the A25 en route to somewhere. Andy and I discussed owning motorcycles and realised that they would take up all of our time and cause friction at home. Going out for an early morning ride and being back home around 10am was fine, but owning a motorcycle would lead to excursions lasting the whole day and they would definitely not go down well at home. Furthermore, I have no desire for a motorcycle. The thought of wearing leathers and a heavy helmet on a hot day is one thing, the other is the risk of losing a limb or, worst still, my life. Not for me, I'm afraid, although I wouldn't mind owning a Harley - just to polish it.

While we agreed that Hunger's End would have to wait until next week, circumstances later in the day dictated that I must postpone my visit to Vampire Tints in Penge for yet another week - meaning that the week after next is now more likely, unless, of course, it's raining. Let's hope it remains dry.