To Westerham - the long way!

There was no way in hell we were going out yesterday. Rain was promised for most of Saturday and sure enough, when I woke up there was rain hammering down on the roof of next door's conservatory (or extension or whatever it is). So I resigned myself to no exercise and later stuffed my face with venison and cappuccino cake and a few cups of tea. As the day progressed the rain lessened and all was looking good for Sunday.

Venison with mushrooms, pears and potatoes

Andy sent a text suggesting we ride to Westerham, the slow way - a first for us! I rattled off a reply, something along the lines of 'yeah, great, let's do it', but then I started to regret it. I knew I was going to have a late one on Saturday night and began to worry and fret and wonder whether I'd be sending an abort text in the morning. But all was fine. I woke up around 0515 and simply lay there until the birds started chirping and then I got up, checked the phone and went downstairs feeling surprisingly fine. Special K. It's easier than making porridge so I chucked a ton of the stuff in a bowl, poured in a bit of milk, chopped up a banana, made some tea and chilled before it was time. Time to get up and head outside.

There were problems. I need a new flask or some kind of container (or containers) to hold the hot water to make the tea. But not today. I text Andy saying let's go the caff, but when we get there the caff is closed and so is Costa, so we end up in Deli Di Luca munching almond croissants and these weird pastries filled with chocolates and almonds.

On the way down we talked about the Corona virus and then I noticed an Italian was sitting behind me in the cafe. What was he doing there at such an ungodly hour? Had he sneaked into the country, had he avoided being tested, did he have the virus? I was more interested in my almond croissant and eavesdropping on a couple of Lycra monkeys, well-to-do Lycra monkeys, talking about fitness regimes, among other shit. The cafe was busy, probably because nowhere else was open, and we sat there chewing the fat, talking about joining cycling clubs. Soon it was time to go and while I usually don't feel overly motivated about tackling the hill, it was fine and so was the weather: blue skies, sunshine, warmth. I didn't need the balaclava.

Nowhere else was open, not even the Costa

When we reached Botley Hill we stopped. It was time to split, time to say farewell until next week. Andy headed off along The Ridge, I rode the 269 and it was great. The sun was out, it was warm, there wasn't too much traffic around and soon I found myself circumnavigating the green and heading along the Limpsfield Road and then crossing the Addington Road and free-rolling down Church Way, doing no-hands and then coming to my senses as a car drew up in a side road. I turned into Morley then Elmfield, left into Southcote, right on Ellenbridge, left on Barnfield.

Tea, almond croissants

And now it's gone 1pm and it's Bon's birthday today, he's 59. I just finished watching Bill Burr, the American comedian, he's extremely funny, and now it's time for a fish cake or fish fingers and there's no mayo and it doesn't really matter.  Here's to next week's ride.

What a great day! The cycling was energising and to top it all off I watched Season 3, Episode 13 of The Grand Tour - really, seriously, television simply doesn't get better than this. Please watch and enjoy! Good night.

Chicken crouton lollipop!

The sun can be deceptive if you live within the Arctic Circle. Fortunately, I don't live anywhere near it: far too cold, although I have spent some time in places like Alaska, Tromso in Northern Norway and Lulea in Northern Sweden. In both Tromso and Lulea I saw the Northern Lights and I probably saw them in Alaska too, but I can't remember.

By 'deceptive' I mean that the sun often shines brightly, creating an illusion of warmth when the reality is something totally different. I'm not for one minute suggesting that the weather on Saturday was anywhere near the Arctic conditions brought about by temperatures as low as minus 40 (yes, I went to Sweden once in a Marks & Spencer raincoat and it was minus 40). Very cold. Within a few minutes of being outside in the cold air my face started to freeze. But it wasn't that cold on Saturday morning. In fact it was only minus 1, but it was cold enough to stop me mounting the bike.

Bike at the bus stop on Sunday 7th Dec

Andy wasn't going on Saturday, but on Sunday I asked him whether he would have gone out and he said probably not. I left it for a while. I kept looking outside at the frost on the lawn. It was there all morning. After a while I lost momentum and resigned myself to simply not going. I convinced myself that it was miles too cold and it was too cold. Riding anywhere would have been unpleasant and I was planning another ride to mum's. But it didn't happen.

Sunday was a much better day. Positively balmy – the temperature was around 8 degrees, far better than minus 1. We met at the usual place at the usual time and decided to head for the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way. There was a small Christmas tree on the green. When we got to the bus stop we did what we always do: sit and chat while munching biscuits and sipping tea. All very pleasant. And then it was time to head back.

While the weather might have been warmer than Saturday, an almighty fog descended on the bus stop and the surrounding area. We'd clocked it as we rode the final 200 yards or so of Beddlestead Lane and it seemed as if it was settling in for the day. Thick fog often settles in these parts and it was showing no sign of abating when we were ready to leave. As usual I was having problems with my rear light (if it's not my rear light, it's my gears or the brakes). Well, not problems, just a lack of batteries. But the thought of riding in the fog with little in the way of lights prompted me to suggest we ride home the slow way. It proved to be a good idea as minutes into turning right into Beddlestead Lane the fog disappeared. We rolled towards Hesiers Hill and then endured the punishing climb to the top. The rest was plain sailing: past Sainsbury's and on towards Warlingham Green where we parted company.

The weather was fantastic. The cold had been replaced by a pleasant 11 degrees and so, later in the day, I drove en famille to Wakehurst Place, a lovely house and gardens, owned by the National Trust, near (ahem) Crawley in West Sussex. The Christmas tree was up, there was an artist painting something floral in another part of the house, there was soup and bread in the Bakery restaurant, tea and hot chocolate too, paper lanterns and wind chimes on bare branches in the grounds, swaying in the breeze, and the usual scented candles and soaps in the shop. There was even a Father Christmas! I don't believe anymore, by the way.

We drove home in the fast fading light and ahead of us was a few hours of rubbish television in the shape of Strictly Come Dancing, the X Factor and then I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here (won by Carl 'Foggy' Foggarty, motorcycle ace). Jake Quickenden from the X Factor was second and Melanie Sykes, the 90s Boddington's model, third. All good fun. In Strictly Come Dancing, however, foul play was at work. Head judge Len Goodman, who seemingly had it in for Pixie Lott on the Saturday Show, cast the deciding vote in favour of Simon Webbe, a far inferior dancer in my opinion – and many other people's opinions too. Very suspicious if you ask me considering that Pixie Lott was by far the better dancer and had been from the word go. Even Simon Webbe was surprised to find he was still in the show. Still, that's the way the cookie crumbles and I wasn't planning on losing any sleep over it. Having said that, I woke up at 0400hrs this morning (Monday 8th December) and couldn't really get back to sleep, but I'm sure it was nothing to do with Strictly Come Dancing.

Chicken crouton lollipop? "Er... not for me, thanks."

Here's to next weekend's ride. Oh, and if you're wondering what a chicken crouton lollipop is, it's a food product available from Iceland that was advertised by Peter Andre before and after the ad breaks during I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here.

Not sure if I like the look of them if the truth be known. For me, eating a chicken crouton lollipop would be similar to a bushtucker trial. There's something inherently unappealing about them – or is it just me?

Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way there (and back)

The weather forecasters had been promising rain so much that Phil decided an abort text before it even rained, ie the night before the ride, would be a smart move (no need to get up in the early hours, bleary-eyed, to send out the obligatory abort text).

Too good to eat...Phil's corned beef pie ready for the ride 

I know that feeling. In fact, I was quite glad because it meant that I was free to lounge about and possibly go for a ride – weather permitting – at a slightly later hour. As it turned out, the weather was fantastic, I woke up very early (something like 0500hrs) and was downstairs eating my Shredded Wheat at an ungodly hour. The weather was so good that I figured I'd better text Phil to tell him I was going for a ride (remember, he'd aborted the night before). But, as luck would have it, he was thinking the same way and suggested we meet around 0630hrs. I looked at my watch, it was around 0600hrs – or thereabouts – so I had a good half an hour to sort out the tea.

I couldn't understand the weather. It was blue skies and sunshine (perfect riding weather) but, as we progressed, certainly by the time we reached the bottom of Hesiers Hill and were on our way along Beddlestead Lane towards Clarks Lane, the clouds had gathered. But still, a soaking was no way near imminent – there were blue skies.

When we reached the Tatsfield Bus Stop we did the usual: drank tea and ate biscuits and then we got into a conversation about lawlessness, which was good fun. Dawes Galaxy appeared. Dawes Galaxy is a man from Selsdon. We don't know his name so he goes by the name of his bike, a Dawes Galaxy. He was going to the Oval to watch the cricket in the afternoon, raising the subject of potential rain, but he didn't seem too bothered. In fact, it was odd seeing Dawes Galaxy riding his Dawes Galaxy, a bike he keeps locked up during the winter months.

We watched as Dawes Galaxy rode away, towards Botley, along Clarks Lane, and then we too headed for home, taking a right into Beddlestead Lane and basically repeating the outward ride, which was pleasant in the early sunshine, even if, on two occasions, I had the bike in the wrong gear for going up Hesiers and then as I approached a smaller hill. Both times I had to ride back to the bottom of the hill and click the Kona into the right gear. On one occasion the gears froze, but miraculously unfroze themselves – I need to oil it more often.

As avid readers will be only too aware, corned beef pie has been an important part of the conversation of late. Well, now Phil has truly excelled himself (see photo above). Not only has he already received a 'respect is due' for his sausage sandwiches in the past (the last one made with home-made bread) this time he's gone and baked a corned beef pie, a slice of which I will be sampling tomorrow morning. We've discussed bringing wine – I hope he doesn't – but then we start to look like fit alcoholics out for an early morning ride. Believe me, it's a long way from the truth.

On the weather front, we managed to get home without any sign of a soaking, although within 15 minutes or so of being home, I looked out of the window and, sure enough, it was raining.