Thoughts on sleeping rough...

I seem to be obsessed with the notion of sleeping rough. Perhaps not obsessed, more intrigued. Or, if not intrigued, satisfied with the thought that if ever I found myself in the position so many find themselves in these days – especially in London where extortionate rent is turning back the clock to Dickensian times – I'd have a solution.

The solution in my mind is a tent. A two-man tent from Millets and, of course, a sleeping bag. I'd search around the green belt until I found a place that seemed safe and secluded and out of harm's way and set up camp there; I might even ask a friendly farmer whether he'd mind if I camped on his land or check out some of the all-year-round camp sites that exist in the United Kingdom. Either way, you wouldn't find me in a shop doorway or slumming it on one of the capital's night buses.

The bikes on the outskirts of Tatsfield. Pic: Andy Smith.

Andy says that the Circle Line is no longer a circle, meaning that you can't just sit there all night snoozing, not that I'd want to do that anyway. Sleeping under canvas in the woods seems far preferable to me.

The whole conversation came about because of the Old Ship at Tatsfield, which I noticed last week had been boarded up and is no longer inhabited, not by the former tenant, a Mrs Gandolf, at any rate. Last week I referred to her as Mrs Gandalf, my mistake, but the letter 'o' doesn't in any way lessen the excellence of her surname.

We, that is Andy and I, sat opposite the Old Ship after a pleasant ride via Beddlestead Lane and now, munching on Belvitas, we wondered again what would happen to the place. It would make a decent small hotel with half a dozen rooms and a restaurant downstairs.

I thought of a programme I had watched on 'catch up' last week about the homeless in Barking & Dagenham and I sat there looking at the empty pub and thinking about all those people sitting on night buses or sleeping in shop doorways; they would be crying out for a place like the Old Ship in Tatsfield, I thought. And that's when I started talking about how, if I was homeless, I'd buy a tent with my dole money and head for the woods.

Andy suggested that during the day – if he was homeless – he would spend the day in the library. I suggested Sutton Library, it's huge, on many floors, has power points, easy chairs, an entire floor devoted to music and a café downstairs. The fantasy had re-asserted itself. What about food? I suggested a stove. What about washing? Local authority leisure centres. Transportation? A bike, of course. I had it sussed.

As we cycled home I kept a weather eye out for places to camp should the need arise, not that it would, and there were plenty worthy of consideration. The key, I explained to Andy, was keeping hidden from view and not drawing attention to oneself. I'm guessing that if you're homeless you trust nobody.

The ride continued. We headed towards the green where we parted company and rode our separate ways.

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

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

Rockhopper 29 Sport, Tatsfield. Photo: Andy Smith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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