Great weather and two rides – to Westerham and the Tatsfield Churchyard

Outside of Westerham on the ride home, Saturday 20 May 2017

When I opened my eyes I got a shock. It was light outside. I simply can't get used to the fact that summer has simply arrived unannounced. It seems like only yesterday that it was dark in the mornings and that slippers were needed as soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs. The sunlight was filtering through the curtains and I started to consider black-out drapes, like those found in Alaskan hotels during the summer months, making it possible to sleep in a place where there's only four hours of night time. I remember once sitting in the bar of the Anchorage Hilton at 2330hrs and it could have been 1100hrs instead.

It was Saturday morning, I remembered, and immediately recalled how last week at this exact time I was still three hours away from Heathrow Terminal Five in a jumbo jet, seat 32C, on a BA flight from Dallas Forth Worth.

Outside of Westerham on the way home, Saturday...

I hadn't been cycling for two weeks and was in desperate need of the exercise, so I jumped out of bed, changed into my riding gear (jodhpurs, red hunting jacket and knee-high, polished boots) and headed downstairs to make breakfast (two Weetabix, grapes, blueberries, banana and raspberries topped with some natural yoghurt. I also made myself a cup of tea – no sugar).

All week has been strained due to slowly fading jet lag, but I'm fine now and a decent ride on the bike is just what the doctor ordered.

I unpadlocked the bike and headed out along the usual route, meeting Andy at the green where we decided to ride to Westerham (a 22-mile round trip) where, we discovered, preparations were underway for a summer fair. A smallish group of people, including the local Rotary Club, were setting up display stands as Andy and I sipped tea and munched biscuits, our bikes resting against the park bench on which we were sitting.

Fortunately a horse arrived meaning no shots of gravestones. Pic: Andy Smith

We sat there until just before 0900hrs watching other people work and then mounted our bikes for the arduous journey up the hill. When we were back at the green we vowed to meet on Sunday, although we hadn't discussed the destination other than to say we might go to Westerham again (just like in the good old days) or even the trusty old Tatsfield churchyard, always a good sunny day destination.

On Saturday afternoon there was a bit of rain here and there, but nothing too depressing, and now, on Sunday morning at 0654hrs it is another bright day, just like yesterday. In fact it would be fair to say that this weekend has been the best in terms of the weather so far this year. I'm sure things will get even better as the summer progresses, but right now it's the best to date. In fact, today is the best day of all.

We met on the green at the usual time and decided to head for the Tatsfield Churchyard – the fast way. For some reason we couldn't face Beddlestead Lane. Andy was complaining of tiredness and there's little worse than the slow way to anywhere when you're feeling a little under the weather. We haven't been to the churchyard since 10 September last year (click here for more).

Last week Andy rode to the lakes...

When we arrived we talked about politics and the forthcoming election, we chatted about photography and social media and then set about taking photographs of a white horse grazing in an adjacent field before heading home again.

Ultimately the theme of our conversation was futility, which left us both feeling a little futile on the return journey. I was thinking about the sad inevitability of Theresa May being in Number 10 for the next five years and on top of that I was considering the world of social media and its futility, not to mention the futility of gardening, which I would be engaging in later in the day. The futility of gardening, however, is a little nonsensical, a bit like saying that shaving is futile. Yes, the grass grows back and so does the beard, but at least while you're keeping grass and stubble at bay there's a general tidiness about the situation. Unkempt grass and an unkempt beard don't exactly add up to anything positive and rather reflect neglect and apathy. A bit like my hair over the last week or two. After about eight weeks it gets a little straggly and I start to look like the Toecutter from the early Mad Max movies, but for some reason it takes me an age to get around to visiting the barber. I made it yesterday, however, and now I feel clean cut again and ready for what the world might throw at me.

Sunday's weather was bags better than Saturday's. For a start there was no rain, but there was also plenty of warm sunshine and it's still shining now at almost 7pm.

Our ride home retraced the outward route. We followed Clarks Lane towards Botley Hill and then turned right and rode straight down the 269 heading north towards Warlingham where we parted company. When I reached home I chilled for a bit, then had a shower and then went into the garden to mow the lawn. The original plan was to do both front and back, but a rogue sycamore tree had to be dealt with and after I'd cut it into pieces and placed it in the brown cart so kindly provided by the local council, my enthusiasm had waned.

A few words about the Specialized Rockhopper. It's now roughly six months old and while I'm tempting fate by saying I've yet to have a puncture, it's the truth. The bike's been performing well, but recently there's been a strange noise in top gear, not dissimilar to the noise made by a handful of small plastic bearings being shaken gently in a tin can. It's not affecting the performance of the bike so I'm not too bothered about it.

To Tatsfield village...

I really needed a ride. I hadn't been on the bike for a week and I was beginning to feel it. There hadn't been much in the way of walking either as I was miles too busy and what's more, I was in Stuttgart. Riding on Saturday, therefore, was out of the question. Andy had aborted and Phil hadn't sent me a text so I was glad for the rest; I got up around 0700hrs and made some tea.

While I could have taken a ride to mum's – I normally do when Andy aborts and Phil's either not going or riding with Steve – I decided to take things a little easier, but today (Sunday) I had to get out there, so I pulled on the balaclava (and all the usual items of scruffy cycling clothing) and headed for the garage.

It was good to get back on the bike. I was running a few minutes late and when I got to Warlingham Green, Andy was waiting.

We aimed for the Tatsfield village, the slow way, and after bearing left at the mini roundabout just past Sainsbury's, we wove our way around the narrow country lanes towards Hesiers Hill and Beddlestead Lane.

A right riveting read – Andy's books

It wasn't cold, but I was wearing the balaclava, purely for comfort. It was a bright day, there was no frost, nothing that would constitute 'bad weather', although the roads were damp and there were puddles here and there; clearly, it had been raining overnight.

As we progressed along Beddlestead Lane, I found that the old Rockhopper was doing a grand job. Earlier, I'd cranked it up to top gear and everything was smooth-running, all the way to Clarks Lane where we turned left and then left again into Approach Road where we spied a crashed mini cab that had clearly hit a tree and come to rest on a grass verge opposite – or had been moved there; I'm guessing the latter. Andy pointed to bits of radiator grill around the base of the tree trunk and we were both puzzled as to how the car had managed to hit the tree in the first place.

We pressed on towards the village and, as always, I was reminded of my accident (on 1st October). Needless to say, my approach was more considered and I glided slowly to a stop and parked my bike against the inner wall of the covered wooden bus stop. Out came the tea and biscuits and then Andy produced two excellent hard-backed books of his photography – his cycling photography. Needless to say I was impressed and we talked about how he had produced the books using the website Blurb. I'd like to do something similar for my blog, although it's so huge (almost 10 years of what amounts to a cycling diary and loads of other stuff too) it won't be cheap.

Taxi!

We rode off and headed home, passing the crashed minicab and then turning right on to Clarks Lane riding in the direction of Botley Hill. The 269 presented itself and soon we were back at Warlingham Green planning next weekend's ride.

As the clocks go back...

If time is a winged chariot soaring through outer space, then I was ahead of it on Sunday morning. Despite the fact that, for most people, the clocks going back mean an extra hour in bed, it wasn't to be for me as I woke up ahead of the game. The clock glowing brightly on my bedside table was living in the future and the only reliable piece of time-telling equipment was my iphone, which was downstairs on the console table awaiting its chance to shout out that it was six o'clock and time to get up. But I was way ahead of the game. I turned and looked at the bedside clock and it was something like four o'clock in the morning, which meant it was really an hour earlier, although downstairs in iphone land all was well. I had hoped that I might wake up nearer to 'six am' only to remember that it was really only five am, but no. It was annoying because once awake, it's impossible to get back to sleep. Or rather it's not impossible, I just tend to nod back off about a minute before it's time to get up. And sure enough, the iphone, like that monkey in Toy Story 3, starting making a noise downstairs.

"There's a job for you in the fire escape trade! Come up to town!"

"What's that?"
"Don't worry, it's the iphone. Time to go for a ride."
"What time is it?"
"Well, it's really six o'clock, but it's also seven o'clock."
"What's the real time?"
"Six."
"But it's really seven."
"No, it's six, but yesterday, at this very moment, it was seven o'clock."
"The clocks have gone back."
"Yes."

Why is it that when the clocks go back everyone gets up to 'experience' the thrill of being up at a time when, only 24 hours earlier, it was an hour later than the present? Outside nothing looked any different,   except it was a little darker. It doesn't make any sense but, suddenly, downstairs was blessed with three people rather than just me pottering around silently in the kitchen. The silence was disturbed by Desperate Housewives and I eventually headed for the garage around ten past seven o'clock.

The gears were still playing up, but what was I expecting? That they would cure themselves? That the bike would somehow 'get better'? A trip to the bike shop still beckons in other words.

I sent Andy a text. "Running 10 minutes late" and then made my way towards the green. It was a pleasant day. Not too cold, but dark and grey and looking like rain, although, fortunately, we were spared a soaking.

I should have riden out yesterday, but I had to drive over to Balham (in South London) early in the morning, which was mildly annoying – not that Andy went out and with Phil away on holiday it was only me. Still, it gave me a chance to listen to Radio Four in the car, which was good and for some reason I hadn't put two and two together where the broadcaster and journalist Jay Rayner was concerned: he's Claire Rayner's son. I remember meeting his father, who was a really good artist, but I can't remember the circumstances behind the meeting. I might also have met Claire Rayner too, but I can't remember.

The lake was on the agenda, but...
The plan was to head for the lake and had I not left later and had there not been things to do I would have gone there. It's odd how all three of us – Andy, Phil and myself – have all been to the lake alone but not as a 'team', not since May 2013 (if my memory serves me correctly) when Phil and I rode there. Instead we rode to Westerham and as we roared along the 269 ('puttered' would be a more apt description) a vintage Ferrari was coming the other way. It was green. Rare, says Andy, but I don't give a stuff about cars. They are, for me, and much to Andy's horror, purely a means of getting from A to B. "After a few rides it would be just a dashboard and a windscreen, like any other car, the wipers going back and forth in the rain," I said, dismissively, and Andy threatened to turn around a cycle home.

We rode to Botley and on the B2024 (Clarks Lane) heading for Westerham. It was typical NoVisibleLycra weather – dark skies, the threat of rain, but it was relatively warm. Perfect cycling conditions, we both agreed as we rode into the town centre.

As we sat and drank tea, we also munched biscuits and discussed the case for not making a living out of photography. Well, not so much dismissing it entirely but agreeing that, these days, thanks to digital technology, most people think they're professional photographers and this kind of limits the market for those who take photographs for a living. In editorial circles, the digital revolution means that journalists now double as photographers (and the quality dips considerably as a result), leaving advertising as the only real outlet for the professional photographer. I'm not a photographer, but I know one of the very best, Robert Wilkinson; Andy, on the other hand, would love to make a career out of what is now a hobby. And who can blame him? But, as we both said, it's a tough nut to crack, especially if you're just starting out.

Mounting the bikes we headed out of Westerham and prepared ourselves for Westerham Hill and that long climb towards the Botley Hill Farmhouse. We've run out of ideas on the photography front (hence the shot above of a fire escape in northern England) and decided that new destinations were needed to make our blog images less predictable (shots of the bikes, shots of Churchill's or General Wolfe's statue, shots of us sitting at the bench drinking tea – all very predictable). We discussed the lake, but then realised we'd exhausted it in photography terms and besides, it's just that little bit too far for a Saturday or Sunday morning. That said, we haven't been to Hunger's End for a while or Redhill (and there's plenty of photographic opportunities in Redhill, I can tell you!

The irony of it all!
To take our minds off the hill, we discussed irony. A good example of something that is ironic is Nigel Farage being an MEP,  a Member of the European Parliament. Why? Because Nigel Farage is anti-Europe and wants the UK to come out of Europe – he's causing the Tories a lot of problems at the moment on matters concerning immigration. It's ironic, therefore, that he is an MEP and also quite ridiculous when you consider that if Nigel Farage's UKIP achieves its ultimate objective, Mr Farage will be out of a job!

We then set about distinguishing irony from 'contradictory' and from 'hypocrisy' and it all got a little heavy as we heaved our way up the hill, passing the steps leading to the Tatsfield Churchyard and pressing on past the Tatsfield Bus Stop to the Botley Hill roundabout. Was it hypocritcal of Nigel Farage to be an MEP? Or was there some kind of contradiction involved? Was it a paradox or purely ridiculous? We never really came to any conclusion, but it helped pass the time as we climbed the hill and soon we were riding along the 269 heading North. It was a clear day and from across vast expanses of fields and suburbia, in the distance, but clearly visible, we could see the entire panorama of Central London stretching from West to East and embracing the City of London and Docklands.

Andy left half way along the 269, heading for Wapses Roundabout and another climb, this time into Caterham on the Hill. I carried on towards Warlingham Green, but stopped off briefly to answer the call of nature near the pond at the top of Slines Oak Road. There's a new bike shop opened opposite Warlingham Sainsbury's, selling top-end mountain bikes with obscure brand names I've never heard of before; something tells me this is real pro's shop.

I reached home at just past 10 o'clock and got on with the rest of my Sunday – a pleasant trip to Forest Row for tea and cake and then a browse around what we call 'The Elephant Shop' at Sheffield Park, 10 miles north of Lewes.

Rainy, blustery weather returns (or did it ever go away?)

Up around 0515hrs and out of bed around 0529hrs. The plan was to meet at the Sline's Oak pond around 0700hrs, but things went a bit awry. Why? Silly hassles like my Tesco Tearaway track suit bottoms were not dry, meaning I had to rely upon the iphone torch to dig out a pair of old cords instead. I was delayed around 10 minutes, but then, on getting outside, I felt rain and sent Andy a text. He said let's see what it's like at 0730hrs, but I was already out and while the temptation to go back in for another cup of tea was strong, I carried on along the Ellenbridge Way as the spitting rain gently gave way to just a blustery greyness. The winds were strong along the Limpsfield Road, holding the old Kona back a little bit.

Andy's new racer (left) at the Tatsfield Village bus stop, Sunday 23rd Feb.

Photo taken by an amateur (yours truly) on an iphone.

I arrived at the Sline's Oak pond at 0722hrs – just in time to see Andy coming up the hill on his new racing bike, a 16-gear Carrera that he's breaking in; it looks good, but Andy's saying it's tougher on hills and he's got to get used to it. I must point out that Andy is trying his best not to be a Lycra Monkey. He didn't start talking about pension plans or his golf club membership and he didn't challenge me to a game of squash OR discuss the brilliance of Genesis and Phil Collins. He didn't even talk about the Sierra Cosworth.

The plan was Westerham but the weather was dictating otherwise: fast-moving grey cloud, the wind and the ever present risk of rain led us towards Tatsfield Village where there was cover, should we need it.

The same shot, taken by Andy on a proper camera (digital)

Fortunately it wasn't cold. In fact it was fairly warm, but there was rain, but only as we neared home. My bike's lack of mudguards led to a muddy, wet arse (as always) but generally speaking it was a good ride.

In the village, under the cover of the bus stop, we discussed photography as Andy was on a course during the week in Cobham. We talked about how, these days, photographers generally are losing out to enthusiastic (and no so enthusiastic) amateurs with digital cameras who think they're David Bailey. It's a serious problem for professional photographers, like my mate Rob Wilkinson (click here for his website) who finds that where editorial is concerned, publishers – for some time now – have not been willing to pay for photography. A lot of his work has been advertising and PR and I remember the days when he and I would travel to press events only to see journalists now doubling as 'photographers' with cheap, brushed aluminium digital cameras, taking photos without looking through the viewfinder: that was back in the early noughties. Since then it's got much worse. I've seen journalists and, wait for it, amateur bloggers (trying to replace bona fide journalists from respected publications) at press events with their iphones or more cumbersome ipads, taking photographs of food (surely the reserve of the professional).

The other problem, of course, is the web and the fact that high resolution images are not needed any more. So everything has been dumbed down, and quality is no longer a key requirement. These are tough times for photographers as there are so many people out there who think they're as good as a professional and are either prepared to work for nothing or a very low fee compared to what a professional will charge.

For more on this subject read this article by yours truly. Click here.

Anyway, enough already.