Lest we forget...

Lest we forget, November 2011

Remembrance Sunday. Village greens around the UK were preparing for a service and Warlingham Green was no exception. As I returned from a ride to Westerham, a crowd had gathered, loudspeakers were wired up and there was a general buzz of expectancy about the place as I rode clockwise around the green, exiting at the 1 o'clock position and heading down the Limpsfield Road towards home.

As far as ceremonies go, it was a good day. Not a cloud in the sky and, more importantly, no fog – until later in the evening when I drove up towards Botley Hill and got caught. Very heavy fog. On Sunday morning, however, there was nothing but clear skies as I stood up on the pedals to climb Church Way.

We'd been planning a trip to Westerham but, as Andy said, we'd need to 'put a wiggle on' - that's an Andy phrase, it means 'get a move-on'. I was running about five minutes or so late, due to mislaying my mobile phone, so getting a wiggle on was a good idea.

Westerham is a great place to be when the sun shines, but being as it was early and there was no cover, the seats were wet so we stood by the statue of Winston Churchill. I took a short walk over to St. Mary's Church to see if there was any covered seating. There was, but it was the entranceway to the church and we didn't fancy being looked down upon by churchgoers as we sipped our tea. Besides, there was no rain, the sun was shining, who needed covered seating? Not us!

As we were about to leave, I noticed something: a flat tyre. We fixed it there and then before heading for home. Andy was in a hurry and we were late so he sped off, but I took the hill at my own pace. Andy must have really shifted as he was nowhere to be seen as I reached the Surrey Hills sign at the top of the hill - where there are long views of Clarks Lane.  When I reached Botley, God knows where Andy was, probably going up the hill from Wapses roundabout (on the other side of the A22).

I reached Sanderstead Church at 1030hrs and was back home by around 1040. The TV was on, Remembrance Sunday, the Cenotaph, and I caught David Cameron placing his wreath while perfecting his sincere and concerned face. He was probably thinking about how he could quicken the pace of his planned army redundancies – which affects injured servicemen. Remember: you step on a landmine and it's not just your limbs that go - it's your livelihood too.

Into the fog...

View across Clarks Lane to White Lane, Saturday 12 November 2011 around 0830hrs.

Last night, around 11.30pm, I switched on the radio just in time for the weather forecast and found that Saturday's fog was more widespread than I thought. Up on Botley Hill, fog has always been a problem, even in the height of summer. I remember when we used to drive out towards Botley Hill en route to a pub in Brasted. Sometimes, we'd be driving along and suddenly hit a wall of fog, even when, elsewhere it was as clear as crystal.

On Saturday, cycling only to the Tatsfield Bus Stop due to family commitments, the fog was what my dad would have called a 'real pea souper'. At least I think that's how the expression goes. Anyway, it was thick and while I know that I never have lights, nor, it seems to other cyclists – and they were riding fast and in packs. Very dangerous. At least I kept off-road.

We sat at the bus stop, from where Andy took this post's photograph, and found that cars disappeared before our eyes in a matter of seconds. It was a bit of a risky situation and it didn't clear either. On the way back, we stayed off road for most of the journey, hugging the grass banks leading down to the Botley Hill pub and then keeping off road for the length of the B269. The fog didn't clear until I reached Warlingham Green.

In the news at the moment: England's footy team beat Spain 1-0 last night, Silvio Berlusconi has resigned as Italy's prime minister, business secretary Vince Cable says he has sympathy for the anti-capitalist protesters camped outside of St. Paul's Cathedral, and it is being suggested by opposition leader Ed Miliband, that the Eurozone crisis is good news for David Cameron. Why? Because he can use it as a smokescreen to hide his inaction on the economy.

Two years ago....

Into the woods

A brief cycle into the woods today at just past 1pm; well, probably nearer to 1.30pm. Climbed to the top, like we did on Sunday and then hurtled back down again, taking a different route to Sunday. Probably out for around 40 minutes.

Baffling punctures and the woods

On Saturday morning, I discovered that I had a slow puncture on my hands, although, when I went out into the garage and discovered the deflated front wheel, I started wondering about whether it was possible for the bike to have a spontaneous puncture, meaning that, perhaps in the early hours of Saturday morning, it just decided it was time to deflate. Who knows?

The route from Andy's house to the woods.

Anyway, I figured it was a slow one and that, when I arrived in the garage at just gone 7am on Sunday morning, it would still be half-inflated. But...it was flat and when I pumped it, it hissed. The slow puncture had speeded up as there was a hissing noise. I had a puncture to fix and I'd have to use my last 'Leech' (a heavy duty sticker for fixing punctures).

After calling Andy I whipped off the tyre, inflated the inner tube and expected to hear the same hissing, but no, it had gone and the tyre was seemingly fixed. There was no noise at all and I had to resort to the old bowl of water trick, but again, nothing. Was this, I wondered, a phantom puncture? In the end, I heard  something and noticed tiny bubbles on the dampened inner tube. Leech attached, wheel back on bike, Andy arrived and we headed off on my suburban 'Woodland Trek', which involves suburban streets and then the woods, which, at this time of year, looked the business: leaves, golden, all over the place.

We cycled along, dodging dogs, and then took a steep incline to the top, cranking the bikes into low gears. I lost momentum and had to walk a few yards before getting back on the bike and making it to the top.

You can see my house from the top of the woods. Andy and I sat on a wooden bench and drank our tea and once again the conversation turned to camping out, although the problem with Croham Hurst (that's the name of the wood) is that I've often seen police helicopters hovering above it and the occasional bonfire late at night, meaning there must be a few undesirables up there at night. Still, it would be an adventure.

No sleep, thick fog and the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

The war memorial on Warlingham Green.

I keep waking up around 3am in the morning and then have a devil of a job getting back to sleep. On Saturday morning I was getting a little impatient - and decided to get up. It was around 4am. I stayed up, reading but had that nagging feeling that I should have been in bed. To be honest, I was fretting about a poor interview and had been, metaphorically, punching walls for most of Friday. It was one of those typical scenarios where you find yourself saying the first thing that comes into your head - and then realising how rubbish you were after leaving the interview. Anyway, water under the bridge. Move on. But, for some reason, I couldn't move on. The reason being that I'm good at what I do, but, through my own actions, I under-sell myself and lose out in the process. But, as I say, move on.

Andy's bike on the green.

So basically I'm loitering around the house early in the morning, wishing I could just go back to bed, but realising that going back would be pointless - and disastrous for cycling. So I stayed up, drank about three mugs of tea, had a couple slices of bread and marmalade and sat there reading. I couldn't be bothered to switch on the news channel because I knew it would be doom and gloom about the Eurozone countries or our own economic situation. The worst thing about the Eurozone is this: you just know they're going to fuck it up - the Germans, the French etc - as nobody seems to be able to take a decision. What will happen? Well, Greece's situation will definitely worsen, Italy will take us to the brink (if not over it) and the others (Ireland, Portugal, Belgium etc) will somehow get their acts together. That's my prediction, but either way, it all looks bad for Europe and I'm so glad we're not part of the Eurozone.

So, with that backdrop - and thick fog outside - I had another cup of tea and then prepared for the ride. I was tired. There was no way I was going far: the Tatsfield Bus Stop was going to be my limit, but I nearly didn't go at all. On reaching the garage, I had a flat front tyre, a very slow puncture, so after pumping it, I left for the Green and met Andy a little later than usual. As he waited around, he took these excellent shots, the ones accompanying this post.

We did cycle to the bus stop and met our old friend from a couple of weeks back. We don't know his name yet, but he's bought another bike, a Dawes Vantage, because he wants to keep the Galaxy in the warm during the cold and wet weather.

The three of us yabbered quite a lot and finally headed back around 0930hrs, reaching home at just gone ten. The ride had done me good - woken me up to be honest - and prepared me for the day ahead, which was pretty much average.

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!

Cycling Destinations Rated - now updated

Unbelievably, we missed out two key destinations - Chevening Church AND Longford Lake. They're both now rated (see link on right hand panel).

Chevening Church

In the churchyard at Chevening enjoying the long shadows and the tea.

I never thought - and nor did Andy - that we'd be cycling along early on a Sunday morning discussing the X Factor... but we were! And the worst thing of all? We weren't discussing it ironically!

"I think Frankie Coccoza is definitely walking."
"Yeah, he was rubbish, even Gary Barlow admitted it."
"But they were having a right go at Misha B, weren't they?"
"Yeah, but I think that Kitty's mad, don't you?"
"Yeah. The gay bloke was good, though."
"Yeah. Don't think much of the bands."

And that little diversion took us half way up the B269 towards Botley Hill. We were on a long ride today and had met at the Green at 7am, not the usual 7.30am. This was not good for the soul. Why? Because normally, we get up at 6am, hang around the house for an hour drinking tea and checking emails and then leave, having at least woken up a bit. Meeting at 7am, however, means getting up, getting dressed immediately, trotting downstairs and making the tea and then zooming off on the bike. Admittedly, I had time to upload the blog post before this one (having written it the day before) but that was it - and it was pitch black outside, which meant riding on the path to the green as I only had a front light.

The long shadows of an early October morning caught in this shot by Andy.

We were headed for the lakes, the Longford Lakes at Chipstead in Kent - a good 32-mile round trip, but we didn't want to get home around 11am (it causes friction) so we left earlier.

"Talking about the X Factor means we're bona fide couch potatoes. You realise that, don't you?"
"Yes, I know; that and Strictly Come Dancing on the other side."

The two programmes are chalk and cheese - Waitrose and Tesco - but what to do on a Saturday night? And even that, of course, is a sad admission as there's plenty to do. Play a game! Read a book! But no, it's  Strictly and then X Factor.

"I can't stand Frankie Coccoza."
"Coccoza by name..."
"Yeah, right..."

And by now we'd reached the Hill and were hurtling down Clark's Lane and past the legendary Tatsfield Bus Stop.

On Saturday, the 'old geezer' with the Dawes Galaxy told us about a time trials on White Lane (a road that links Titsey Hill with Clarks Lane). Apparently, there's an organised event that involves cyclists seeing how fast they can cycle up from the Titsey end of White Lane to the finish on Clarks Lane. The event attracts a big crowd. Now this had fired us a little and we resolved that the next time we headed towards the bus stop, we'd go down Titsey Hill, hang a left into White Lane and then across to Clarks Lane before breaking open the tea and cereal bars.

Chevening Church is covered in scaffolding and surrounded 

by corrugated iron, so we took this shot before heading home.

Right now, we were in Pilgrims Lane, arguably the best road ever for cycling. The last time we were here was April when we all had a little too much Harvey's commemorative Royal Wedding ale, the name of which escapes me. Andy rode into a hedge on the way back and now, at the very same spot and having taken my eye off the ball, so to speak, I almost did the very same thing, but instead cut Andy up before regaining control and heading down the last stretch towards Sundridge Lane.

We decided to go to Chevening Church instead of Longford Lake and it proved to be a good decision. Chevening House is the official country retreat of both Nick Clegg, deputy prime minister, and the foreign secretary, William Hague, but, as we unpacked our rucksacks and made ourselves comfortable in the churchyard at just gone 0830hrs, we couldn't for the life of us remember Hague's first name.

"Andrew, Brian, Christopher, David, Eric, Fred, Graham..."

I went through the alphabet, quietly to myself.

"....Peter, Robert, Stephen, Ulysses, William!"

Andy measures the ride from Caterham and back, which is 28.53 miles,

but I know that the same route from Sanderstead and back is roughly 32

miles.

"William. It's William Hague," I said, as Andy fiddled around with his camera and I sipped my tea.

We had visions of Hague and Clegg, lounging in novelty socks and polka dot boxers on opposing sofas, watching the X Factor amidst the baronial splendour of Chevening House and then extinguished the image by concentrating on getting the right shot for the blog.

As Andy pointed out, we hadn't included Chevening Church in our list of destinations – something that would have to be rectified. After 30 minutes of taking photos, munching cereal bars and drinking tea, we prepared for the gruelling journey home - 16 miles or so of climbing. Well, actually, it's 16 miles in total, but I reckon a good half of it is uphill. I managed to reach home at 10.30am so leaving early proved to be the right decision.

All pix taken by Andy Smith.

Tatsfield bus stop and a Dawes Galaxy...

Now that's what I call a different angle on an old bus stop!

Back in Stressville. Didn't sleep too well either. Woke up around 3.30am and then drifted in and out of sleep. The radio sprung to life at 6am and I toyed with the idea of getting up. Time for a ride and I needed one, having not gone out last weekend. The plan was Hunger's End, but to be honest, I wasn't in the mood. Despondency is awful, but fortunately I got out there and headed for the Green where Andy was waiting.

Time was short so we decided to go to the bus stop instead, which proved a good move. We sat there, drinking tea, flicking teabags on to the grass and chatting about my children's novel, that I've just published on Kindle  - here's hoping it'll make some money, but who am I kidding? It was always just something for my daughter, although my pal Geoff and I got carried away, produced an illustrative front cover, edited it, threw in an additional chapter and suddenly we're all expecting a Pulitzer prize.

Then, having sipped our teas, an old man arrived on a Dawes Galaxy, a brand new one he had bought on the internet for £800. A smart bike. A tourer. Twenty seven gears, mudguards, the works. Very sensible. He used to be a runner but his legs gave out and now he's back cycling again - he used to do it a while back with his nephew.

I'm guessing this guy is in his mid-to-late seventies - he has a brother who is 80 and lives in Cornwall and a running pal who is 81 and still visits the gym. He's just given up running and the two of them enjoy a long distance walk, like a nine-mile walk. What are they, supermen? Probably. It says a lot for cycling and general fitness.

We chewed the fat with the old guy for some time and I suddenly realised how anoraky we were all sounding, discussing tyres and gears and stuff. The old guy, we never got his name, commented that we must find it tough riding our bikes on the road. The tyres are huge and the bikes are designed for off-road riding. Yes, we said, we know. We like riding our Konas on the road and have no plans to change tack, although I must admit that the Dawes Galaxy did look very sensible and mildly desirable - not that I desire the sensible. The Galaxy had mudguards for a start, meaning no chance of a wet arse - unlike me on my Kona. But no, I'm sticking right where I am, cold arse be blowed! In fact, if anybody would care to blow my cold arse dry - using a hairdryer, perhaps, well, who needs mudguards?

We suggested to the man that he might like to join us and he said yes. We meet on the Green at 0730hrs normally, most weekends, we said, and we suspect that one day he'll be there, waiting, on his Dawes Galaxy. If he is there one day, it'll be the first time a stranger has joined us on a ride.

Our route.

He set off first, having told us where he was going: back along the 269 to Beech Farm Lane then round the lanes to Chelsham Church and back on to the Limpsfield Road at Warlingham Sainsbury's.

A few minutes later, Andy and I set off and said our customary goodbyes half way along the 269. I carried on towards Sanderstead and there I noticed a presence behind me, a shadow. A fellow cyclist! Well, it turned out to be the old guy. He'd caught me up, exchanged pleasantries and then he was off. There was no way I could catch him, no way at all, which kind of annoyed me. Why? Because I'm trying to work out whether it's me or the bike I ride or what? It seems that everybody is faster than me, they power past me and soon are gone and I can't figure it out. Okay, the old guy has a lighter and probably faster bike and he seems to be higher in the saddle, bearing down upon the handle bars, whereas I ride what amounts to a tractor, it's lower geared and very heavy. That might be it. Or, of course, it could be that I'm just terribly unfit, despite going out every weekend for the past six years on regular cycle rides ranging from 14 to 35 miles. Either way, it's a little annoying.

D-Day Cycle from London to Caens

I told Andy in an email this morning that I'd be going out on a pioneering ride - but didn't. In fact, I haven't been cycling all weekend, although I'm planning a regular ride to the Botley all of next week, so that should make up for my slacking.

The reason I'm writing now is because Andy and I have been talking about doing something big next year and so far it's been decided that it will involve microbreweries, ie cycling from one to another throughout Kent and Sussex over a three-day period. Well, I'm not so sure about that now. Why? Because I've seen something else far more exciting.

This ad from Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine.

It takes place over four days from 13 to 17 June 2012 and involves cycling from London to Caen and taking in the key sites of the Normandy landings. The finishing line is at the historic Pegasus Bridge and the idea is to raise funds for clearing landmines and destroying weapons in conflict zones around the world. I don't think we have to clear landmines or destroy weapons en route - surely not!

There's a registration fee, sadly, but it sounds good.

For further details, call 0161-238 5447 or email events@maginternational.org

There is a website: http://www.maginternational.org/d-day