Cheers, ears! Back on the bike, but aborted Sunday

There's been a fair amount of discussion lately about the inevitability of life getting in the way of cycling; one day it's me aborting, the next it's Andy, and when I look back over the past month, there's not been a great deal of riding. Last week I found myself in Winchester, the week before I was in Scotland and I was as deaf as a post (see previous post).

On Friday I went to the doctor's to sort my ears out once and for all and, during the process, there was a fantastic moment when, all of a sudden, I could hear again. Suddenly I could hear the whirr of machinery (the surgery's heating system, perhaps, I'm not sure), then, on returning home the noises of the house, absent for two or three months, had returned. Every creak, every knock, startled me and then a strange scratching, which turned out to be a magpie on the sill of the landing window. It was as if my life had suddenly acquired Dolby Surround Sound.

Andy and the bikes at the Tatsfield Bus Stop

I was looking forward to Saturday's ride and while the weather was cloudy and overcast and there was a fine rain that didn't really affect anything, it was good to be riding along the Limpsfield Road en route to the green to meet Andy. Having not been on the bike for a good fortnight, riding up Church Way proved more of an effort than usual, but soon the green (and Andy) appeared and we decided to ride 'the slow way' to the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

Andy had been cultivating a scraggly-looking beard and I started to wonder whether he fancied himself as a hipster, but no, he told me, it would be coming off over the weekend – there had been complaints. I certainly didn't envy him the task of removing it, there's nothing worse than shaving after a day or two, let alone a few weeks. Rather him than me, I thought.

We wove our way around the country lanes towards Beddlestead Lane, that interminable climb towards Clarks Lane, and then hung a left and sailed towards the bus stop where the tea and BelVita's were produced. Andy had forgotten his cup.

The plan was to ride today, Sunday, and I've been kicking myself for aborting early this morning. I didn't get a good night's sleep, waking here and there throughout the night, and by 0500hrs (or thereabouts) I figured it best to abort. Now, looking outside at 0825hrs, the sun is shining and the sky is blue and I can't say I'm happy about the situation. Another missed opportunity.

At the bus stop yesterday, we discussed not cycling and worked out that the colder months of the year were to blame for most 'abort' texts. I randomly looked at the month of January 2013 on my iPhone (oddly there was a clear signal, there isn't normally). I accessed the mobile phone version of the blog and found that, apart from one ride on New Year's Day, by yours truly, we didn't cycle together that month until 26th January, almost an entire month without riding. Why? A mixture of reasons: travelling, holidays, heavy snow, you name it.

Apart from walking, cycling is my only form of exercise and I really need to ensure that I ride at least twice a week (Saturday and Sunday). I should really try and get one in during the week too, possibly a mid-week ride to work or even a "Botley before work? What a burk!" So watch this space. I often think about taking the bike into work by train and cycling home.

The bad months for riding are usually January and February. The run-up to Christmas is usually fairly mild, characterised by days like today, which are clear and crisp and full of blue skies and sunshine, even in December.

Here's to next week.

As deaf as a post...

Sunday 1st October: For many weeks now I've had trouble hearing. It happens now and then. Let's say at least the last two months, if not longer. It normally clears within a few minutes of getting out of bed, but when I'm lying down I can't hear a thing. I doubt if I'd hear the alarm go off and this was proved correct a few minutes ago; last night I'd set my alarm for 0630hrs and when it went off, it went unnoticed by yours truly until I walked into the kitchen, about 15 minutes later, to notice my phone flashing. 'Tap to snooze' it said, but that would mean not hearing it again in around eight minutes so I slid my forefinger across the screen, tapped out my passcode and cut off the alarm.

Last week I finally admitted defeat. I made an appointment at the doctor's surgery and was told what I already knew, that both ears were totally 'occluded'. I think that's the word she used. I informed her that I'd been regularly putting olive oil into both ears and she told me to come back next Friday to sort it out. NEXT FRIDAY!!!! They don't have the old syringes they used to; these days it's a small electronic device that beavers away until hearing is restored. I can't wait. The last time I had it done was in 2011 and while, since then, there has been one incident, the olive oil drops did the trick. Not this time.

This morning I was awake around 0400hrs and there's nothing worse than lying in bed being unable to hear, but I managed it until around 0523hrs when I had to get up. But this time it didn't clear. In fact, as I write this at 0713hrs I can't even hear my fingers on the keyboard of the lap top, I keep tapping on the wooden dining room table to assess how bad things are and I can only say that things are really bad. Earlier I considered aborting the ride as I'm guessing it's fairly dangerous riding without being able to hear what's coming up behind me. For a long while I ignored the idea, but then I realised the awful truth: I'd have to abort. Just before 0700hrs I sent Andy a text and then I looked out on the back garden, hoping that it was raining so I could say to myself something along the lines of "well, it was raining anyway", but while it was a little breezy, judging by the swaying trees and shrubs, the bird bath was still, although it had clearly been raining overnight.

As we race towards the year end, the weather is closing in. When I wake up – normally around 0600hrs – it's now dark and I have to switch a light on. There's a bite in the air too and, of course, there's rain, not every day, but it's there, along with grey cloud. It rained overnight for sure and the ground is wet, similar conditions to around a year ago when Andy and I rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, me on my brand new Specialized Crosstrail Sport. I took the corner too fast and came off the bike. Not good. I hobbled around for weeks afterwards, but I'm fine now.

Fine, but I'm as deaf as a post and I haven't been on the bike for a fortnight. Here's to next week!

Mark Beaumont breaks round-the-world cycling record

Mark Beaumont

Mark Beaumont, an endurance cyclist, has broken the round-the-world cycling record.

Mark cycled 18,000 miles around the world in 78 days and 14 hours. "It's going to take a couple of weeks for me to decompress and come back to reality," he said on his return to Paris where he started.

Beaumont averaged 240 miles per day and cut the current world record by a third.

For more on this story, click here.

To Woodmansterne Green (twice) to see Bon...

Saturday 16th September: I haven't been on the bike for a couple of weeks, but I distinctly remember Andy saying of his ride last Saturday that there was a definite bite to the air. We're entering that great but deceptive period of bright blue skies and sunshine but unexpectedly cold (or cool) weather. This morning I felt it myself. Initially I thought I'd just wear a tee-shirt as it was bound to be warm, but my decision to wear the scruffy-looking blue hoody, the one with the paint stain, proved to be right. It was a little chilly and the cold air went straight through me as I headed south on West Hill and turned right on to the B269 heading towards Purley. Close to Sanderstead railway station I hung a left and weaved my way over to the Purley Downs and up towards Pampisford Road

Woodmansterne Green, always a pleasant place to be (in decent weather)

It was later than usual (just gone 0730hrs) and the plan was to ride through Purley, along Foxley Lane and onwards to Woodmansterne Green where I would met Bon. He had just arrived as I pedalled the last 50 yards or so to the Green and once parked up, out came the tea, but no BelVita biscuits. I should have bought some from the newsagent's, but didn't want to use a credit or debit card for a packet of Digestives. Tea alone was fine.

As always our conversation was wide and varied and tinged with good humour, and at one stage we got on to the subject of humiliation and news that a man had been fined for taking photographs up women's skirts using his mobile phone. I said to Bon that if that was me I'd probably move to a crofter's cottage in a remote part of Scotland and never darken anybody's doorstep ever again and he felt the same way.

Before cycling became the weekend sporting activity, Bon and I used to swim on Saturday and Sunday mornings at Cheam swimming baths on the Malden Road, often known as the Malden Road pool. It was an old-fashioned pool with separate male and female changing, a 9ft deep end and we had to swim 27 lengths for half a mile and 54 for the mile. We'd be in the water around 0800hrs and out before the clock hit 0830hrs and then after a Mars Bar and a cup of vending machine tea in a paper cup we'd make our way to the car park where we would chew the fat about this and that before heading home.

Swimming is a great sport as it makes you feel so good afterwards. I used to enjoy the hot shower and that lovely clean feeling I'd feel all day. We swam twice a week, sometimes three, and often we'd throw in a one-miler just to test ourselves. I should really start it up again, but in all honesty cycling has taken over big time and I'd have to fit it in later in the day or during the week. There's something about a swimming pool.

We spoke about jobs and pensions and old times back at the family home and then, after drinking two cups of tea each we decided it was time to head home.

My route was straightforward following an off-road track a short distance and then the path to the mini roundabout at the top of Wallington, across into Foxley Lane, along Pampisford and then cutting through the side streets and emerging close to Sanderstead railway station. My last climb was the south face of West Hill, but it's much easier than it sounds if you get your head down and concentrate on the tarmac in front you.

Sunday
Sunday 17th September: It was dull and overcast this morning and much colder than yesterday. I followed the same route to the same place and met the same person, Bon. There was a charity cycle ride to Brighton that passed by Woodmansterne Green before dipping down towards the Midday Sun and the horror of How Lane (I know, I've done it). Judging by the numbers on the front of the bikes I saw, there were at least 5,000 plus riders.

London to Brighton cyclists heading for How Lane (the horror! the horror!)

Bon and I drank tea (Lipton's Yellow Label) and chatted about a range of subjects, just like yesterday, and then we headed home, me in one direction, Bon in the other. I reached home around 1000hrs having tackled the south face of West Hill.

The bike needs a clean and an oiling. It's nearly been one whole year without a puncture or needing to pump up the tyres.

September and the depressing reality that summer has left the building...

Monday 11 September: Arriving back in the UK after a sunny week away in Sardinia and there's definitely a bite in the air, which means winter is approaching. When I made my way downstairs around 0600hrs yesterday morning – the plan originally was to go riding on Sunday morning, but I aborted the night before – it was almost dark outside. I considered putting on the kitchen light, but that would have been too depressing.

Cloudy skies and closer-to-home destinations...

The weather improved as the day progressed and soon there were blue skies and sunshine, but later in the day the weather deteriorated and it started to rain, although it was still one of those situations when I wished I hadn't aborted. Andy went out and said it was very pleasant even if it was a little bit 'parky' first thing.

It's coming round to NVL's time of year, characterised by cloudy weather and potential rain, sitting at the Tatsfield Bus Stop with tea and BelVita biscuits contemplating the ride home and, of course, donning the gloves and the extra layer of clothing. We're approaching that time of year when it's easy to be caught out: wearing just a tee-shirt when a warmer jumper would have been advisable, packing the waterproof trousers in case of rain and riding closer to home to destinations offering shelter from the storm. Shelter means just one thing: the Tatsfield Bus Stop. Westerham becomes a risky bridge too far and anything else is off the agenda until the spring. Not that we get really bad weather in the run-up to Christmas. There! I said it! Christmas! Soon people will be counting the days, the shopping days, and the kids are already 'back to skool'. Shop window displays will feature mini blackboards and yes, it's all very, very depressing. Even more so when you remember that Strictly Come Dancing is back on the box and that's a countdown of sorts to the festive season and the false bonhomie of the New Year celebrations.

Weather permitting I'll be back in the saddle next weekend.

Rogue sub-editor incurs wrath of the PC brigade!

Cycling Weekly found itself in deep water after a picture caption reading 'token attractive woman' appeared in the magazine next to a photograph of a female cyclist.

For more, click here.

Lycra looks rubbish on anybody over 8st – my sentiments exactly, Sir Chris!

Sir Chris Hoy with medals...

Can't believe that Sir Chris Hoy is being hounded by the political correctness brigade over his remarks about Lycra. The thing is, he's right: that's why this blog is called NoVisibleLycra, it's also why we constantly refer to those who don the Lycra and go out cycling as 'Lycra Monkeys'. Put it this way, you wouldn't catch me wearing it. Body shaming? My arse!

But what irks me most is that Hoy felt he had to apologise for his remarks.

Click here for the full story.

Back problem means little cycling

Wednesday 30th August: Back in 2005 I had a back problem. I'm not one for back problems but I had one and it lasted for months, getting steadily worse as it progressed. By the end of it I had keeled over to my right and had difficulty walking, but the main problem was a lack of sleep. I had to take Nurofen to sleep and spent an inordinate amount of time sleeping in the spare room. After visiting an osteopath, having an X-ray and taking Nurofen, not forgetting cancelling a trip to Portland, Oregon, much to the dismay of my employer at that time, I woke up one morning and it had gone. I no longer had a back problem and for 12 years it didn't return, until now. It's back, but it's not as severe as before. I can sleep at night, put it that way, I can walk around, I can ride a bike, but the big issue is sitting down. If I sit down for any length of time I stiffen up and it takes me a while to walk properly. But listen, it's not that bad. In fact, as I write this, it's improved a lot. Somebody once said that the best way to treat a back problem is to pretend you don't have a problem. That's kind of what I've been doing, but I thought it best to give the cycling a miss over the bank holiday weekend.

Off-road route coming back from mum's

I rode over to mum's on Saturday following the usual route via Wallington and Carshalton Park and the off-road route on the return journey, but that was it on the cycling front.

The original plan on Saturday was to see Jon at Woodmansterne Green, but that never happened so I rode to mum's for tea and cake instead, but later than usual. I left the house at gone 0800hrs and didn't get home until 1030hrs.

The weather over the weekend was amazing although right now, at 0723hrs on Wednesday morning, 30th August, it's dull and cloudy and rain is threatened throughout the day.

I won't be riding for a couple of weeks.

To the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way

Sunday 20th August: A reasonable day greeted me when I woke up and headed downstairs for a spot of breakfast before heading out on the bike. It was Sunday morning. I hadn't gone out on Saturday. Met Andy at the Green as usual and we decided to head for the bus stop. The original plan was Westerham because Phil had indicated that he'd be coming and bringing sausage sandwiches, but it was not to be: he aborted due to a late night.

"Don't forget the biscuits! Phil's aborted" was the gist of a text I sent to Andy. It also meant that I wouldn't need to bring extra water as Phil had instructed.

Library shot of bus stop

An uneventful ride to and from the bus stop. When we got there we discussed this very blog and whether it should be discontinued. This came about because we were at the bus stop again, there's little one can write about it that hasn't been written before, we've photographed it many times and, well, what's the point? The question – of not writing anymore blogposts – was never answered and while there are a few people who don't like this blog (ignoring the fact that it's not written for them) I have no intention of stopping it. What would I do when I'm sitting in my hotel room abroad, bored?

We rode back, as always, the fast way, and parted company at the green. No Andy next week so I'll probably ride over to Woodmansterne to see Jon or go over to mum's for some cake. Until then...

To Warlingham Green and then Woodmansterne Green...

I aborted on Saturday as I felt a little weary, but on Sunday, after a good night's sleep (that camomile tea must have done the trick) I was up with the lark and ready to rock. Tea made I headed outside, jumped on the bike and rode to Warlingham Green where Andy would be waiting for me, but when I reached my destination there was no sign of him. Not a problem, it was only just gone 0730hrs so I parked the bike and took a photograph of it, expecting Andy to arrive any second, just like he normally does, unless, of course, he's aborted, but ... I checked my phone. He had aborted, late last night, but for some reason I hadn't looked at my phone. Normally, it's the first thing I check, but not today.

Still, I was up and I was out of the house so I had to go somewhere and there was plenty of choice: Westerham, the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the Tatsfield Village, Godstone Green, Redhill, the list was endless. The world was my oyster. I could call Bon and meet him on Woodmansterne Green. Remember that I had a huge flask of hot water, a mug and four teabags in my rucksack – no such thing as 'precious grams' in NoVisibleLycra World – and that couldn't go to waste. I called Bon and he said he'd see me there in 30 minutes. Well, let's say 45 minutes.

Bike on Warlingham Green around 0730hrs this morning...

I rode past Warlingham School, down Tithepit Shaw Lane and into Whyteleafe then hung a right on to the A23 and headed towards Purley Cross, into Foxley Lane and straight ahead, turning left at the lavender fields on the outskirts of Carshalton and soon found myself approaching Woodmansterne Green. Bon had cycled down to meet me and we rode a few yards together back to the carved out old tree where we set up camp. I'd texted Bon and told him to bring a cup with him, but his idea of a cup was the top from a small flask, which was no bigger than a thimble, so in the end he did without. I was beginning to realise how Andy and I had become a team in the foodservice department: I provided the tea and Andy the BelVita biscuits – and the spoon, both of which were now noticeable by their absence.

"Normally the tea bag bobs around on the surface and it's easy to fish out," I said, feeling the full force of the spoon's absence.
"Sod's law," said Bon, as we both waited in vain for the teabag in my blue mug to surface. It remained on the bottom.
"Might as well just leave it in there," I said and started drinking.

We chatted about this and that, – and for much longer than normal – so I didn't reach home until around 1030hrs.

The weather was fantastic and it got better as the day progressed. There was sunshine, there were blue skies and I sat in the garden reading from a collection of short true stories in a compilation called The Moth. The trouble with sitting in the garden is that things get a little fretful. It's impossible to truly relax because there are jobs that need doing – weeding mainly – but it niggles and makes me restless. I made an egg and mayonnaise sandwich and a cup of tea and tried to chill out and then I drove over to mum's for tea and cake in a garden that needs very little doing to it (mum is and always has been, a keen gardener and she puts me to shame).

Bon and yours truly, Woodmansterne Green...

It's still hot now, at 1813hrs, and I might sit outside again and this time try not to be so fretful about the jobs that need doing. Earlier I thought about weeding a bed, but there's no point unless there's something to put in place of the weeds. If there's nothing then the weeds will simply grow back in a week or two (the futility of gardening, no less!) Still, mustn't grumble, the sun's out, the skies are blue, all is well and I managed to get a lengthy ride in – probably around 17 miles.

Next weekend it might well be Woodmansterne Green again as it's a great place in good weather and it's ideal for just chilling out, watching the odd passing jogger or old bloke going to buy a paper. There's the occasional caggle of Lycra Monkeys passing by and there's nothing better than sitting on the aforementioned carved-out tree sipping tea. Mind you with Andy not there until next Sunday I'll have to remember the spoon and some biscuits. Can't go cycling without biscuits.