The perfect day

Chalk and cheese is the only way to compare Saturday and Sunday. Take a look at the previous post and you'll be able to read about the fog. It was thick. Very thick. Not just patches, it was everywhere. From the moment I set foot outside the door. There was also a calmness about yesterday. As I rode along Ellenbridge Road, en route to the top of Church Way, there was no wind. Everything was still and all that could be heard was the birds. The crows. Or rather one crow sitting on a branch in one of the trees. And let's not forget the mist that hung in the trees. There was no let up.

This morning – Sunday morning – there was a vast improvement in the weather. The skies were blue, the sun was out and it remained that way all day. I nearly didn't make it. I'd woken up at 3am and can't remember when I eventually got back to sleep. Unknown to me, however, I'd turned down the volume on the radio alarm clock so when it went off at 6am I slept on, waking suddenly at 0657 – three minutes to seven. In a blind panic I pulled on the nearest pair of trousers I could find, grabbed a teeshirt, socks and trainers and went downstairs to check if Phil was waiting on the doorstep – he wasn't.

I put the kettle on, resigning myself to missing my usual leisurely mug of tea and a slice of toast. Soon enough Phil arrived. I made the 'give me five minutes' sign and got on with making the tea and then I was outside, opening the garage door and unpadlocking the bike. We rode to the green to meet Andy and then headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Yes, I know, it's getting boring. If it's not the bus stop it's the churchyard or the village. We've become very unadventurous, but for some reason it suits us fine.

Today was, however, the perfect day. For a start, Phil had made his legendary sausage sandwiches. He'd bought some extra water and some more teabags so we could all enjoy a second mug of tea, and Andy had bought the Belvitas. But it wasn't just the food that made things perfect. Yes, the weather was good, but it was more than that; the conversation, the chat, the camaraderie, it was all spot on this morning. We mentioned the England rugby team's disappointing performance – the first time in the history of the Rugby World Cup that the host has gone out during the qualifying rounds. Stuart Lancaster is considering his position, although the governing body has said 'no knee-jerk reactions'.

Then we discussed rugby and footy. If I had to make a choice it would be football. Surprisingly Andy opted for rugby. We all agreed that cricket was good as it was a sport that simply went on and on and on and in between the runs you could enjoy a picnic, a few beers, anything you wanted. I mentioned an old mate of mine whose father was a novelist who lived in Spain. Once or twice a year the dad came over to the UK to watch the cricket and would take his son along. They used to spend the entire day drinking beer.

We moved on to discuss the lack of 'rogues' and cheeky chappies in sport. No more John McEnroe or Nastase, no more Jimmy Connors, no more Boris Becker (he's looking a bit rough these days, Phil remarked) no more Botham or Tufnell and no more fat blokes like Mike Gatting. For some reason Paddy Ashdown was brought up and then the conversation turned to people who had made capital out of being 'bad boys' – meaning their bad behaviour hadn't done them any harm. 'Paddy Pantsdown', Bill Clinton and his Monika Lewinsky episode sprang to mind.

I brought up my encounter with Mr Ashdown on a train coming back from Salisbury, mildly intoxicated, with my pal Louie. It's been mentioned before on this blog so I summarised. We – Louie and I – had been drinking Wadworth's 6X having presented a pub with an espresso machine. As our train pulled into the station I spotted Paddy. We joined him and started discussing time travel and how it must be possible to travel back in time if you started in the eastern hemisphere and flew in a supersonic jet of some kind. How many times would we be able to celebrate the new year before running out of time? We contemplated various scenarios, unaware that Mr Ashdown had been listening to every word we were saying. We figured we'd end up in the middle of the Pacific somewhere and then Paddy interrupted us, giving us his interpretation of the scenario we had been describing. It was one of those classic moments, which I'm sure Mr Ashdown has forgotten. Click here for Mr Ashdown's first mention on this blog.

The reason we'd been talking about time travel was because Phil wanted answers. Something about clocks and planes and a discrepancy in time. We couldn't help, but the sausage sarnies, the tea, the biscuits, the chat and the weather made it a great morning at the old bus stop. We revisited the idea of (somehow) getting a decent-sized table to the bus stop so we could enjoy a plated meal one morning, accompanied by a glass of wine or two or Buck's Fizz – something resembling a Jack Vettriano painting. It would only be possible if one of our other halves drove to the bus stop in a hired van and deposited the table and the food, but somehow we didn't see it happening any day soon.

Andy parted company halfway along the 269 and Phil and I continued on the road towards Warlingham and beyond. It had not only been a great ride, but also a great conversation and brilliant weather – nobody had any complaints, put it that way.

Time travel, Paddy Ashdown, a very steep hill...and buses

Once, a very long time ago, well, probably in the late eighties, I found myself on a train with a colleague. We were on our way back to London from Salisbury having visited somebody, but I can't remember who; it was something to do with a competition, so it must have involved pubs. Either way, we were coming home, by train, and we were accompanied by a six-pack of Wadworth's 6X - at  the time a beer that was largely only available in the West Country. These were pre-MMC Report days when nobody had dreamed up the concept of 'guest' ales.

Sadly, the fog had lifted and my pensive form was
revealed.

Anyway, we were on the train, in one of those compartments with the sliding doors, which you don't see anymore, sadly, and, to our surprise, the Rt. Hon. Paddy Ashdown MP (and then the leader of the Liberal Democrats) was sitting across from us reading some report or other. He was on the train already when we boarded at Salisbury and, for most of the journey, his head was buried in papers. He had a pair of those half-circle reading classes on - like bi-focals but without the top bit.

We, that is my colleague and I, were in a chatty frame of mind and I had come up with an idea: time travel. The premise was quite simple: that by using supersonic flight, it must be possible to travel back in time. I figured that it would be a good television stunt if somebody, on New Year's Eve, had a glass of Champagne to celebrate the New Year and then flew off to the next region of the world before it celebrated the new year. The deal was: you land, you have a glass of Champagne and then off you fly to the next destination. Simples!

The conversation was all about whether or not such a feat was possible, how many new years could be celebrated on the trip (before time caught up with you) and where you would finally end up. It was agreed, by my pal and I, that you'd have to start in the East and travel West and that you'd probably end up in the middle of the Pacific, somewhere near Hawaii, with that horrible sugary taste of Champagne in your mouth and a mild, but nagging headache.

What was funny about the train journey was Paddy Ashdown – just the fact that he was there. My pal and I were engaged in an animated conversation about time travel, punctuated as it was by the phisshing sound of cans of Wadworth's being opened - and we thought that Paddy was too engrossed in his paperwork to join in. And besides, we figured, two blokes with a six-pack of Wadworth's: who would want to engage them in conversation?

But the truth of the matter was that good old Paddy had been listening! And as we had resorted to the maps in the back of our diaries to work out where we'd end up in our fighter jet, Paddy joined in, disputed our calculations and then got back to his paperwork.

I was relating this tale to Andy at the Tatsfield Bus Stop on Saturday (29th October). I had to cut our ride short because my mum was coming round and I'd be driving her home to Sutton around 10.30am, so a short cycle - rather than Hunger's End - was on the cards and we chose the old faithful Tatsfield Bus Stop.

"Can he swing - from a web? No he can't, he's a pig." From the Simpsons 

movie. If you haven't seen it, then it's just a spider's web on a road

sign.

We were, it has to be said, breathless. Instead of going straight to the bus stop along the usual route, we roared down Titsey (in the thick fog and no, I didn't have any lights) and then swung a left into White Lane. Last week, the old bloke we'd met (at the Tatsfield Bus Stop) had told us about White Lane and how, only recently, cyclists were conducting time trials. We decided to give it go; me with a huge, heavy, metal cylindrical flask full of water, a mug, tea bags, milk and assorted spanners in my rucksack. No, as we've said before, 'precious grams' mean nothing to us.

White Lane, let it be said, is a real pig of a hill and probably the worst one ever. Just when you think you've nailed it, you haven't, and it's really, really steep. Ever since I've had my bike fixed (remember the summer of no brakes?) I've managed only to use the top eight of my 16 gears, but on White Lane (travelling from Titsey Hill to Clarks Lane) I had to use the lower eight too. Worst thing of all, I stopped and then couldn't get started again. In other words, White Lane defeated me, which means I've got to try again some time soon.

We arrived on Clarks Lane, across the road from the bus stop, knackered. In the fog, you could just about make out the bus stop. Andy, I must add, made it without stopping. After a short while, we crossed the road and were sitting at our bus stop, cracking open the cereal bars and tea and settling down for a chinwag.

Andy's been reading Danny Wallace and I remarked that he and another writer, Dave Gorman, used to share a flat together and that, oddly, there were quite similar in terms of their literary output. By that I mean that they both tend to come up with whacky ideas, that normally involve world travel, and then they write about it. I haven't read any Danny Wallace, but I know that one of his books - in which he says 'yes' to everything- was made into a movie recently, starring Jim Carrey.

I told Andy about Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure and his America Unchained, both excellent reads, and the one about how he travels the world in search of people who share his name: Dave Gorman. I haven't read that one yet, but I will.

And then the subject moved on to ideas for our own book. The problem is that most things have been done already. Even my idea - travelling around the coast of the UK by bus alone - has sort of been done by Paul Theroux, dad of Louis, in his excellent book, The Kingdom by the Sea.

By the time we'd finished yabbing, the fog had cleared and Andy took the photographs accompanying this post. I found a spider's web attached to the road sign for Approach Road.

On Sunday morning, I received a text message from Andy.

"It's raining."

I looked out of the window. It wasn't raining, but I knew that it probably was raining in Caterham so I suggested, wait for it, a rain check of half an hour and then, if it's not pissing down, an 8am start at the Green.

"Agreed."

But being that it was now 8am and not 7am, we had to do another short ride and decided upon the Tatsfield Bus Stop again. However, as we drew nearer, I said let's go to the village instead and we did. This time I had some excellent fruit cake, made by mum, and we both tucked in. You can't beat tea and fruit cake.

A woman arrived in an old Volvo 740 Saloon. By old, I mean 1984 and it was in perfect condition. And that, summed up Sunday's ride. We resolved to go to Hunger's End next week, so if you're listening Jon, this week we'll be there - problems and hassles permitting.

In Tatsfield there's a Reptile Zoo and it has a caff, which is apparently open from 7am on both a Saturday and Sunday - we'll be trying that out too!

Two Years Ago – click here!