As January gets moving...more ramblings

 I suppose the first question is simple: why was I walking around the street dressed only in a white duvet? I mean, alright, I wasn't really 'wearing' the duvet, it didn't have sleeves, so I really just had it wrapped around me, but my point is why? There's no answer. And then, somehow the duvet disappeared and I must have been clothed as I didn't feel in any way uneasy or cold. I was, however, running across a wide road and trying to reach the other side before this odd-shaped, retro van hit me. It didn't hit me. I reached the other side just in time and leapt up and over the very high pavement. From then onwards it's all a little vague. It turns out it was another of my fretful dreams, which I haven't experienced for a while, probably because the festive break enabled me to get all the crap out of my head, all the worry about this and that banished. But now I've been back a week or two perhaps all the stress is creeping back in, who knows? Anyway, I found myself awake around 0500hrs and in truth it didn't matter, I was in no rush to go anywhere, except that I was planning on a ride to Westerham or Tatsfield Village or even the Slines Oak Sloth*, but I was hoping I'd drum up the enthusiasm for a 20-plus mile ride and that normally means Westerham.

Library photo of Westerham, Kent

Cycling has tailed off considerably, especially this week. To be fair, for most weeks since the weather took a turn for the worst and the days shortened I'd managed to somehow put in around 50 (almost 60) miles, but I guess on average I been riding something like 54 miles on a weekly basis... until this week. This week I put in a measly 18.23 miles and that was last Sunday. I lost momentum yesterday. I had planned to ride to Westerham, which would have pushed my weekly total to something like 41 miles, which still wasn't good, but a lot more respectable than the reality of the situation of just over 18 miles. I don't know why I didn't simply bite the bullet yesterday, but I didn't and the weather was poor. That was the reason. It was raining in the morning and it persisted, but I can't remember how long for; it must have brightened up, but by the time things had improved I was in no mood to go out so I resigned myself to the piss-poor performance that I eventually handed in for marking.

Today was a different story. For a start, the weather was amazing. I left the house around a quarter to nine, so that's 0845hrs by the 24-hour clock, which I insist upon using for some strange reason. I was in two minds about where to go: Westerham, Tatsfield Village or the Slines Oak Sloth (see footnote). In the end I rode to Westerham and came back via the road that passes the Velo Barn, turning left on to Pilgrims Lane and later heading down The Ridge towards Woldingham. I reached home around 1100hrs (there, you see, I'm back on the 24-hour clock) and then set about enjoying the rest of my Sunday, which basically involved a walk around Chartwell in Kent and then sitting around the house watching clips from Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm and, of course, writing this blogpost. Avid readers might have noticed that I haven't been posting a great deal of late. There's no reason for this, I just haven't been posting that much. Also, you might be wondering why there aren't that many photos accompanying my posts. Well, that's easy. My phone (an Apple iPhone 5S) keeps running out of power. If you follow me on Strava, you'll note that a lot of my entries end after just six miles when the reality is a 20+ mile ride. I normally write something like '21 miles to Westerham, but phone lost power' but it's not a good state of affairs. Fortunately, I have an iPhone XS ready to use, it just needs a new screen and I have to get a new sim card. I'm out of contract now, which is great, but I doubt I'll leave my phone provider. I'm on a sim-only deal and it's fine, but I definitely needed a new phone. I've just got to get down to the phone store to get one sorted out. I think the XS has a far better camera than the 5S and I'm told the battery lasts longer. My current phone seems to run out even when there's supposedly 64% of power left. Using Strava takes up a lot of power and that's why lots of my Strava entries mention the phone running out. It's very annoying and means that I've stopped taking photos of my rides. Today's ride managed to record fine, but had I taken a photograph it would have been a different story.

Lives change, routines change and I've taken to watching independent movies at night times rather than terrestrial television. Some weeks back now I started watching movies that invariably involved 'a young married couple' visiting a remote farmhouse for the weekend only discover that there were evil forces lurking or nutters in the woods and it all turns rather sour. Good fun films to watch and movies that make you wonder why Americans going into spooky houses never think about turning a light on. You know the sort of movie I'm talking about. "Hello, is anybody there?" So, I'm watching movies like White Settlers, The Landlord, I See You, the latter two featuring a guy called Gerald, played by one Neville Archambault, who, in my humble opinion is absolutely brilliant. There's been plenty of others. I've started getting into Australian cinema with movies like Last Ride featuring Hugo Weaving, and Somersault, not to mention The Daughter, all good movies even if the latter was pretty harrowing at the end. Why am I watching these movies? Well, yes, it's better than watching terrestrial television, but there's more to it than that: I need some form of escape from reality, something that takes me out of things for a couple of hours and the movies seem to do the trick. I settle down with a cup of camomile tea or, as of the past few days, an Ovaltine, and that's me sorted until around 11pm (or 2300hrs) when I head for bed. Don't ask me why, it's just a survival technique I'm currently employing.

I can't remember if I've mentioned it of late, but we're in lockdown again. Everything's closed like it was in the summer, except it's cold out there and the cycling has tailed off as a result. The virus is more virulent, there's a couple of new variants and loads of people have been infected, some of us don't even know if we've had (or have) the virus and that's why things have taken a turn for the worse. Fortunately, it looks as if the vaccination programme has legs and is moving on at a fair pace. My mum (she's 91 you know!) is having hers next week, my mother-in-law had hers last Saturday and it's all looking good. I'm probably not supposed to ride to Westerham, it's likely to be breaking the rules, but if that's the case, I've been breaking the rules all summer. In truth, riding out alone and not stopping is probably not causing too many problems and even on a Sunday, when Andy and I meet in Tatsfield Village, it's still not an issue. Apparently we can meet one other person from another household.

Okay, so that's today's post. I hope to post more. For some reason things have tailed off, as I said earlier, but I'll endeavour to get back on track with it.

Until the next time...

* The Slines Oak Sloth involves riding along the B269 to just beyond Botley Hill, turning back at the mini roundabout and then hanging a left and riding along The Ridge towards Woldingham. The road bears right and takes me into Woldingham and then I turn right on to Slines Oak Road. I ride towards the B269, turn left and pick up the Limpsfield Road towards home. It's around 15.5 miles.

A weird dream...

Strange and vivid dream last night involving motorcycles, a car park, a large European manufacturer, central London and a lunch appointment. It also involved people, but people who traditonally don't have bald heads, being inflicted with what I can only describe as a 'clown cut' – bald in the middle but with tufts of hair on the sides of their heads. Nick Knowles and Gary Lineker sported such haircuts and they also worked for the aforementioned large European manufacturer. I'm not sure what was going on with this part of the dream as the main focus was the motorcycling. Initially, two bikes were involved in the dream, but somewhere along the line my bike went missing, or something was wrong with it, I don't know, but I ended up with the other bike, which was totally different: it was squat and bulbous and had short handlebars. I had to ride this bike and my plan was to ride it to a restaurant somewhere in London where I would hand it back to its original owner. I found myself in a car park from where I had to ride the bike out on to the road. I managed fairly well, getting the hang of things pretty quickly, but at some stage I crossed to the wrong side of the road and on to the pavement, all without falling off, but I can't remember arriving at the restaurant. This was when Nick Knowles – or was it Gary Lineker? – turned up sporting their bald hair cuts. They worked for a large industrial conglomerate on the European mainland and for some reason we were all congregating close to the car park from where my motorcyling excursion had started. There was a woman in a navy blue suit who had one of those suitcases with a telescopic handle, but her handle was ridiculously long, let's say at least 20 feet, and I was charged with the task of pulling the case into where we were all standing while keeping the handle fully extended. I managed it, but the main thrust of the dream was the motorcycle, although there was, for some reason, a small car in that car park and I had something to do with it. At one stage I wandered down to the lower level (let's make it clear now, this wasn't a multi-storey, it was a badly-surfaced, mossy space of ground on a slant) and there I saw the car, doors open, sparks flying, something was wrong with it. I can't remember much more about the dream or why I had it.

Slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop and then onwards – to Westerham...

Strange dreams last night, but nothing to do with the weekend's cycling. I was in a foreign country, possibly North Korea. Many people were swimming in a large bay, but there was something wrong with the water: it looked more like the chlorinated water found in a municipal swimming baths. It didn't matter, though, I jumped in and had a swim, it was fine and much needed. Then I found myself in what must have been a ruined or bombed-out building. There were children climbing down from a precarious piece of brickwork. Suddenly, all was gone and I was in my old bedroom at the family home in Sutton. Work colleagues were there, two of them, one male, one female. I was peering into my wardrobe where there was a lot of graffiti, and there was a feeling that somebody else had once occupied the bedroom, somebody who was a bit of a character, a lovable rogue even. It certainly wasn't me. The wall on which the graffiti was written was in a bad state: peeling wallpaper, and I was looking into the space, which, for some reason, had a small, lead-paned window and I began to wonder whether it could have been transformed into a small room. I turned to my colleagues and said I could do with some paint stripper and then, of course, I woke up. It was 0523hrs and daylight was seeping through the patterned curtains.

Westerham green, Sunday 10th June 2018

Having returned late from Poland on Friday night, I enjoyed a lie-in on Saturday morning, but was ready to rock on Sunday. Andy was tired and suggested the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop. The slow way is ideal if we want to chat as we ride along, so off we went, turning left at the roundabout beyond Warlingham Sainsbury's, chatting about the global steel industry and Donald Trump. Trump features a lot in many people's conversations these days. In fact, as I write this (later than normal – I've got a bit of catching up to do) Trump has met with the North Korean leader, Kim Jong Un, in Singapore – history in the making.

Westerham green, Sunday 10th June 2018

When we reached the bus stop, we did what we always do: sit and chat while drinking tea and munching biscuits, although I didn't bother with the biscuits so Andy ate mine. I'm addicted to biscuits and I'm trying to kick the habit, but it's hard. It was 0917hrs when I looked at my watch. It was later than we thought so Andy said he'd be heading back via The Ridge, which is just short of Botley Hill. I decided to push on to Westerham alone and rode leisurely down the hill into Kent.

We had no more tea so I could have visited the Tudor Rose, but I didn't have a padlock for the bike so instead I sat on the green, watching classic cars roar past on the A25. There was a group of bikers to my right and they were all kitted out head to foot in leathers. At one stage a team photograph was suggested and they all marched over to Churchill's statue where a cyclist sitting on the grass agreed to take the shot. The bikers marched back to their bikes and roared off along the A25 heading east. I sat there for around 15 minutes and then hit the road, not looking forward to the slow climb up the hill.

The off-road track along the B269...

On the 269 I used the off-road path, which proved annoying as I was constantly ringing my bell to alert joggers or give way to oncoming cyclists, but soon I reached Warlingham Sainsbury's and rejoined the road, riding round the green and along the Limpsfield Road into Sanderstead and then free-wheeling down Church Way towards home.

The weather was amazing – another hot weekend – and I spent most of it in the garden tidying up the edges and drinking tea. Andy's not riding next week so it's down to me to motivate myself. I'll probably ride to mum's on Saturday and possibly Sunday too.

Great weather, but no cycling...

I've noticed that there's a lot of 'no cycling' going on. Sometimes it's been because of the weather, other times because of illness or tiredness or, as is the case this weekend, there's simply not enough time in the day and besides, Andy's not going either, although he did say he could have gone tomorrow, but I can't make it. So, all in all, it's not a good situation.

All I can do is have weird dreams about cycling. I had one last night that half way through morphed into a bizarre toy car race. The cycling element of the dream is hard to recollect accurately, but it had something to do with myself and a colleague from work, called Sam. We were out on our bikes somewhere rural and all of sudden something weird happened to my front wheel. It was as if the front forks and the wheel melted and I experienced a strange, disorienting sensation that culiminated in whatever I was doing becoming a race that involved a toy car. The toy car that I had for the race was small – we're talking Matchbox size – and it had no form of propulsion (it wasn't battery powered or radio-controlled, it wasn't even friction driven) something I distinctly remember feeling disgruntled about as I could, apparently, quite easily have chosen a toy car that was a million times better than the one I was actually using.

One thing I do remember is the length of the race: 27 miles for some reason and I had to push my tiny Matchbox car along rural tarmac, crouching down in the process. Eventually, I'm guessing that the sheer monotony of such an undertaking frustrated me beyond belief and I woke up, at gone 0800hrs, and noticed one thing: incredible weather. The sun was shining through the gap in the curtains, there were blue skies and cotton wool clouds and while there was a cool breeze it was perfect cycling weather – another reason why it was so shameful that neither Andy nor I was going anywhere. The good weather is set to continue, hopefully it'll be good next weekend when, Andy has informed me, he still won't be cycling, more's the pity. But if it is good weather next weekend, I'm getting out there, even if it's a short one to Botley Hill and back or, better still, an urban ride to mum's.

The old Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Stop press! The Tatsfield Bus Stop is back!!!
That said, I have some very important news: the Tatsfield Bus Stop is back! Alright,it never went anywhere, but the seating did. A car smashed into the bus stop many, many months ago, making it uninhabitable for NoVisibleLycra. The end result has been regular visits to Tatsfield Village. Not any more! Last week I was driving along Clarks Lane towards Westerham and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were seats at the bus stop. My heart skipped a beat and as soon as I was able, I sent Andy a text. Just when we both thought the Tatsfield Bus Stop was never ever to have seats again, the council has done its job.

I've just got back from visiting mum – I drove there, it being Mother's Day tomorrow, and I have been reliably informed, by mum, that there's some fruit cake to be eaten, and quite a lot of it. Mum made the first tier of a wedding cake for one of my nieces – who is getting married in June – and accidentally dropped it on the counter top (not the floor, let's make that clear). The cake in question then split so mum had to go back to the drawing board and start over, which she did. So there's what amounts to huge circular chunk of fruit cake going begging. I had a couple of bits earlier with a cup of tea and I can vouch for its greatness. Here's hoping they'll be cake in the tin next weekend. Mum says she'll save me some.

So, no cycling this weekend, not a good state of affairs.