Bicycle servicing and a growing throwaway culture...

I took the train to Caterham on Saturday morning (30 October 2021). There was rain. As I walked up the hill in the general direction of Ross Cycles the hood on my parka was up and then down and then up again, but when I reached the summit and rounded the corner at the top of Whyteleafe Hill it was little more than the odd spit as I took in my surroundings. Everything looks down at heel and miserable when it rains; cars with dirty hub caps pull out of side roads, an obese man mops the floor of his takeaway and soon I turn left with only a rough idea of where I am going. I could have taken the bus, but the thought of sitting there behind a steamed up window, wearing a mask and passing by the gloomy shop fronts and empty playing fields made my heart sink. As the journey continued, I spotted a red double decker bus crawling along and felt relieved that I'd taken the train, even if I had to wait around for 20 minutes in a bright and deserted waiting room on Purley station. When the train turned up I had a carriage to myself.

Even when I reached the top of the hill, there was still a long way to go, it's a good half hour walk. I turned right and found myself on the home straight. It wasn't long before I was just yards from my destination. Am I happy? On one level, yes. I'm getting my bike back. But on another level no, I'm pretty cheesed off. This morning I received a text saying my bike was ready to pick up and that a receipt had been sent to me via email. I had already spent £90 on a silver service and was expecting to pay a little more for new parts, but what I wasn't ready for was the price at the bottom of the aforementioned receipt: £201! All the parts had worn out, including the bottom bracket. I started to wonder why I had bothered with a silver service. Had I opted for the bronze the bottom bracket would not have been touched. There was certainly no evidence that it needed to be fixed, nothing appeared to be loose. Everything else I expected: new cassette, new chain and front crank, new brake pads, but it still felt a little disappointing parting with the cash. 

"You might as well buy a new bike!"

The thought that "I might as well buy a new bike" crossed my mind as I remembered trying to get my Kona serviced back in 2016. There I was, standing in Ross Cycles, I'd spent the best part of £300 and with that money, once again, I could have bought a cheaper bike with block brakes, perhaps, and yes, cheaper parts, but nevertheless a new bike. 

Perhaps the owner of this bike needs to buy a new one

My own bike wasn't far off being 'basic' in terms of its components (unlike my Kona Scrap, which languishes in my garage with two flat tyres). My current machine is a Specialized Rockhopper, but it doesn't have top-of-the-range components and that, says Ross, is one reason why the final repair bill was so high: the cheaper parts wore out quicker than more expensive parts. Really? Well, I guess that higher spec brakes and gears would offer greater longevity, but let's not ignore the amount of cycling I've undertaken over the past year since I last had a service: easily over 3,000 miles, around 80 to 100 miles a week, I was certainly pushing the envelope, and when so much cycling is being done I should have expected that the brakes and the gears and the cassette and chain were going to wear a little, but this doesn't move away from that price. £291 in total. And that figure is enough for me to nip down to Halfords and buy a new bike. In fact, I checked out Halfords' website and I could have bought a new bike for far less than that, £175 to be precise, but let's stick with a bike for the price of the service; there were a couple of them that appealed and while, obviously, I haven't gone that route, the fact that I could have done riles me slightly. It riles me because I know that this time next year, if I keep up the cycling, it's liable to happen again and I can't think of any way out of it. It means, of course, that if I assume every annual service I have is likely to reach the £300 mark – or thereabouts – then, in a few years from now I'll have around half a dozen unserviced bikes in my garage and just one that works (a new bike). There is, of course, something ridiculous about the whole situation, but let's make no mistake, a scenario now exists where I might as well change my bike every October for a new model rather than getting my current bike serviced, and the worst thing is this: the bar is set very low when you consider that, for around £180, I can nip down to Halfords and buy a new one. Now, people might say that block brakes are terrible compared to hydraulic ones, and they are, I know, but this isn't an argument about blocks versus discs. 

Where am I going wrong?

I'm trying to work out where I'm going wrong. I've considered treating my bike like I treat my teeth (a check-up every six months) but that, theoretically, would halve the bill to around £150 twice a year and still mean I'm spending the best part of £300 on getting it serviced and even then, let's not forget the Slant, a bike I spotted in Halfords a couple of years ago for just £99 new. Assuming that's still around, then just a minor service might result in the utterance of the great phrase: "You might as well buy a new bike, sir! Have you considered the Slant?" At this rate I could open my own bike shop in a few years and my stock would be a dozen or so unserviced bikes. If I went on a cycling mechanic course I could fix them myself and sell them on ebay. 

So where am I going wrong? Am I (or was I) riding too much? Is there anything I can do to reduce an annual servicing bill of almost £300? Should I have taken the bike to the shop solely to fix the brakes and not bothered with a silver service, which gave the bike shop the opportunity to 'look under the bonnet' and find loads of other things that needed doing? 

Other sports would cost more

But then I look at it in the cold light of day: Cycling doesn't cost me much in the general scheme of things. I'd be paying a darn sight more annually if I went swimming three times a week or if I joined a gym. A measly £290 for a service once a year and new parts thrown in is nothing, even if it does mean that theoretically I could buy a new bike with the money spent. Perhaps new bikes are too cheap. But then I think of all the Ammacos and Carreras I see parked up all over the place, outside snooker halls, pubs, railway stations and supermarkets, and I look at them and wonder whether the rider would do what I did and ask for a silver service at a bike shop. Where would they go if told 'you might as well buy a new bike'? The point is that if the brake blocks wear down they'd get them replaced, probably for under £20, and as for replacing the cassette and the front crank, well, they wouldn't.

Taking the bike to the shop is getting very much like visiting the dentist or, perhaps, talking to the hygienist. They're always berating me for this or that, not cleaning my teeth probably, not using the brush in the right way, which I always think is a bit of a farce as even if I did do it properly they'd find something else that I wasn't doing right and it's the same now with bike shops. "You ought to clean the chain more often." And who's to say that's bad advice?

I am smarting at the cost of my service, I am, it's true and yes, I could have bought a new bike with the money. Alright, perhaps a slightly lower spec, but even that isn't the point as, either way, I'd be forking out the money, new bike or newly serviced bike. 

A lot of mileage

I don't feel as if I've been ripped off. I believe the shop was right and that the parts had worn beyond repair and needed replacement. The shop had said that if my bike had higher spec parts they might not have needed replacement, meaning that the cheaper the bike you buy, the quicker the parts wear down. Conversely, however, a higher spec bike would cost more to replace the parts. It's swings and roundabouts, and while I keep obsessing about brake blocks versus discs, that is not the issue here. When I look at my itemised bill, for example, all they did was change the pads for £15. I had covered, easily, 3,000 miles over the year since last October, probably a little more as I'm currently around 1,690 miles based on when I started recording my distances back in late April of this year, and that's not accounting for the six months prior, going back from April 2021 to October 2020. I could be nearer to 3,500 miles or even more.

However, it's all water under the bridge as the money has been spent, a virtually new bike now resides in my garage, it feels great to ride and I'm happy with it, but for almost £300 and that phrase "you might as well buy a new bike" looming large in the back of my mind, I'm ambivalent about the whole episode and will think twice when I next feel that my bike needs to be serviced. From now on it goes in for individual jobs: brake pads, gears and so on. There's really no need for anybody to 'look under the bonnet', it's a bike for heaven's sake.

Baffled, disappointed, confused, disillusioned

Ultimately, I'm left baffled, disappointed, mildly confused and disillusioned either because bikes are so cheap they can be thrown away rather than serviced, or that servicing itself is so expensive. Bikes are bikes, they last forever unless, perhaps, they collide with a car and end up with a bent frame. For me, the frustration lies in the fact that I have a good bike in my garage that I didn't get serviced because I was told 'you might as well buy a new bike'. I'm sure the guys at Cycle King a couple of weeks ago were teeing up the phrase as they told me what might be wrong with my bike. 'You might need an entire new brake'. I fully expected the guys at Evans Cycles to suggest it to me too, had I handed over the bike for one of their silver services.

I was going to look into cycling mechanics courses, and then somebody told me they learnt to fix their bike by watching YouTube videos. Now that's a good idea!

Further reading...

For further reading on this story, check out What's wrong with bike shops?

What's wrong with bike shops?

Autumn leaves, in hordes, tumbled along the road towards me; it was as if I was up high looking down on crowds of people fleeing some kind of disaster or tidal wave. They were being pushed along by a gusty wind and followed on from a night of persistent rain that left huge, black puddles, including one especially large one in my local railway station's car park. I was on my way to work and as I walked along the road towards a much later train than normal, I found myself fretting about my lack of cycling. Things had tailed off considerably. Last Sunday was my one and only ride this week. The week before it was a similar story, just one ride and now, looking ahead at the coming week, it's looking pretty shaky. Today I ride to Sutton. It's around six miles and will give me a weekly total of something like 28 miles. Even when I was putting in decent mileage (around 71 miles) it was a step down from the 80+ miles I had been covering, and of late that had dropped to 60+ plus miles as I juggled work with riding. Up until recently, a routine of sorts had fallen into place: Monday to Wednesday at work, a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and Friday and a longer ride on Saturday culminating in a pleasant half hour people watching from the warmth of a Costa Coffee in Westerham. However, over the past fortnight that routine has flown out of the window, thanks in large part to the hassles associated with not having a central heating boiler. That little problem has since been fixed.

Cycle King Croydon: I smell a rat

You may ask why I am visiting Sutton on my bike on a Friday morning. Well, for a start, I have the day off. In fact, I have every Friday off until virtually the end of the year, and also Mondays. I'll be on three-day weeks from next week, which, I suppose, is all good news for cycling. But I digress, why am I riding to Sutton? I am riding to Evans Cycles where my bike is booked in for a £60 service. They say I'll have it back within 48 hours. I've warned them that the rear braking system needs some attention, there's a nasty scraping noise whenever I pull up the brake and I'm told that the shoes are worn down and I might have damaged the disc. "You might even need a new brake!" exclaimed the manager of Cycle King in Croydon, immediately arousing my suspicion last Sunday when I rode down there to ask them to fit new brake shoes, thinking that was the sole cause of my problems. But of course I wasn't going to get away with it that easily. He even said I'd have to go online and buy the discs myself as they were having supply issues with Shimano. I smelt a rat and initially considered Ross Cycles in Caterham, but then found there was an Evans Cycles store in Sutton. Ross had done a brilliant job servicing my bike last year so I thought I'd repeat the process, but my bike is now dangerous to ride (as I discovered when I rode down Slines Oak Road last Sunday morning). In essence it doesn't stop. Sutton is a flatter journey, no huge hills, like the one heading down towards Whyteleafe from Warlingham School otherwise known as Tithepit Shaw Lane. So I booked an appointment for 1030hrs this morning. I'm told they'll take up to 48 hours to return the bike to me (depending on parts) and I'm betting they're going to say they haven't got this or that - probably those Shimano discs, who knows? In other words, I'll be another week without much in the way of riding and I'm going to have to grin and bear it.

Evans Cycles, Sutton: no qualified mechanics?

I rode around 12 miles to Sutton and back, unrecorded by Strava as my phone was out of power. It was cold out, I wasn't wearing any gloves, but I did have thick cords over my cycling shorts and a fairly heavy fleece over a tee-shirt. Once I'd got going I warmed up. There were a few hills, notably Hayling Park Road, but nothing I couldn't deal with, and I had to endure fairly busy, heavy traffic there and back. I arrived at Evans Cycles around 10 minutes later than scheduled, but they hadn't noticed and business seemed fairly slow, making me wonder how long the shop would exist as there were plenty of bikes of all shapes and sizes and I was the only customer. I explained my problem to somebody I assumed was the manager, a nice chap who was willing to be of assistance and offer helpful information. The bike had been booked in for a £60 bronze service and I'd made remarks online that the brakes needed sorting out, probably new pads and also a new disc, but it all depended on what they suggested. The first problem was a lack of properly trained bike mechanics, which meant that all I could have was a bronze service, which was what I had asked for, but the guy checked the brakes and suggested that with the potential problems that lurked with my rear brake I'd be better off having a silver service in another store (either Wimbledon or Clapham where they have trained mechanics) as they would do all that was needed in terms of fixing other stuff (he said I'd definitely need a new chain and block) and then sorting the brakes out on top. I still don't quite understand this. I wanted the brakes fixed and a bronze service, but, he suggested a silver service by qualified mechanics but in another store. Why? Because for the £60 I'd get all the work done (gears etc) and then the brakes would be extra on top, whereas a bronze service only really skims the surface and I'd end up paying more because with the silver service the chain and block would be done as part of the deal and then any issues with the brakes would be extra. He estimated over £100 in total. My brain was now working overtime. Surely, if they gave me a new chain and block as part of a silver service I would still have to pay for the parts? So why couldn't the same thing be done with the bronze service? It probably could, I'm guessing, but the Sutton store didn't have 'proper' mechanics, whereas Clapham and Wimbledon outlets do and they'd be capable of carrying out the silver service, fixing the block and the brakes... I still don't get it, but he wasn't trying to rip me off, he was, in fact, turning business away and telling me to take it to another store, get the whole lot seen to by trained mechanics and not messed around with by enthusiastic amateurs. But what if I'd just come in off the street and asked for new brake pads? What then? Surely his rank amateurs could fit new brake shoes, something I would have done at home had I known how to. So I cycled all the way home again, a 12-mile round trip, braving the intense traffic and getting home a few minutes before noon. Now what?

Well, Clapham would be easy in terms of getting the bike to the store, it's a train ride from Sanderstead and then a short ride on the bike, past Arding & Hobbs and through Clapham High Street. I'd find it. Or, I could ride it to Caterham and Ross Cycles where I know for a fact that my bike's needs would be understood. Oddly, I'm tempted to go for Evans Cycles in Clapham, in fact, I'm about to check both options out again online. Had my bike been accepted by Evans in Sutton today, of course, I would have kissed goodbye to riding the bike this weekend.

Book an assessment, not a service

I have revisited the Evans website with a view to booking a silver service in the Clapham store, but I'm worried. The site says I can book an appointment and the store will tell me what sort of service they recommend for the bike. That's not the same as requesting a silver service and then accepting that the brakes will be fixed and all will be well. What if they suggest I have a Gold service and I don't want to spend the money? I would have to walk away.

Bike shops are beginning to annoy me as I believe, for example, that a Gold service will likely set me back the best part of £200, which is not far off half the price I paid for the bike new, which, no doubt, will prompt the suggestion, "you might as well buy a new bike!" which I fell for the last time when I tried to get my old Kona Scrap serviced. "You might as well buy a new bike!" I still have my Kona in the garage, unserviced from over four years ago when I was told that a new bike would be the best option. I made a point of not buying a new bike from the two shops who suggested it (Cycle King and the now defunct Cycle Republic).

Walking away with an unfixed bike

Why is it that I can no longer walk into a bike shop and say that my rear brake needs fixing without a load of cryptic clap trap that leaves me confused and not knowing what to do? These days I tend to walk away from bike shops with an unfixed bike rather than a fixed one. So far, over the past week, I have done just that: I walked away from Cycle King in Croydon and today from Evans in Sutton.

To me it is crystal clear that my rear brake isn't working (it's hard to stop!) and needs to be fixed. It certainly needs new brake pads so why can't they simply fix it?

Sticking with an independent bike shop

I have decided to stick with the bike shop that did such a good job on my bike last year, Ross Cycles of Caterham. Why I thought I'd try Evans Cycles and Cycle King, I don't know. The very thought of another cryptic conversation with Evans Cycles, this time in Clapham, and walking away (for a third time in under a week) with an unfixed bike was just too much to bear. I'm dropping the bike off tomorrow morning and we'll see what takes place.

Tomorrow has arrived and the ride to Caterham was fine, just under six miles and no major hills to contend with. I arrived around 1030hrs and handed over my bike to Ross Cycles. He took it in and told me it would be ready by Tuesday. Fine. That's what I want to hear. None of the rubbish spouted by the likes of Cycle King, Evans Cycles and the others. Yes, Ross will call me to say it's going to cost X or Y, I'm expecting that, but at least I've not walked away with an unfit bike, it's been taken in for repair, I have metaphorically 'handed over the keys' and I know roughly when it's going to be ready for collection. Thank you, Ross Cycles of Caterham.

Fog, footy and failing brakes...

The rain had gone by Sunday morning when I headed for Westerham to meet Andy last Sunday. The ride was pleasant, but when I reached my destination Andy was preparing to leave. I checked my watch, I wasn't that late, but he said he needed to be on his way, he had a lot to do, so we didn't get to chat. Instead, I sat alone inside the Costa doing exactly what I did the previous morning: day dreaming, people watching, listening to the chilled out music. As always, I could have sat there all day, reading the Sunday papers, perhaps, but eventually I departed, riding back the way I came when I discovered that, once again, Strava wasn't playing ball. This time it said that I'd only covered just over 16 miles when the reality was something like 22 miles. Very annoying. I rode back the way I came, and rode up Hesiers Hill (again) - it's easy!

Prior to climbing Hesiers Hill...

I think the problem with Strava on this occasion might (and I stress the word 'might') have been my fault. I stopped at the bottom of Hesiers Hill, prior to making the climb, and took a couple of photographs. There's a chance that when I used the phone's camera app that I stopped Strava and, because I did so unwittingly, I never pressed 'resume'. Hey Ho.

I can't hack a ride after being at work

As always, work prevented me cycling between Monday and Wednesday. By the time I reach home, riding the bike is the last thing on my mind; I'm thinking about what there is to eat and what's on television. Invariably I find myself watching the 6 o'clock news or The One Show (a fucking awful programme full of bland presenters who don't present any kind of threat to any woke people out there). There's nothing worse than political correctness and what it can do to those who try to live by it.

I should have taken the bike out on Thursday, but I didn't so I was left with Friday and it was touch and go. Eventually, however, I decided to ride the Washpond Weeble, just a straight 12.5 miles. I figured it was not worth worrying or fretting about it. The last couple of weeks had seen my mileage plummet by 10 miles to 60-odd miles, or just over, but now I was dipping further. Last week I only managed 54.81 miles, the week before it was 64 miles. But why worry? I resigned myself to lethargy and set off on Saturday morning to meet Andy in Tatsfield Village (roughly an 18-mile ride as I rode home via Woldingham). Meeting Andy on a Saturday was a break with tradition and this was because Andy had signed up for the White Lane hill challenge. White Lane joins Titsey Hill with Clarks Lane and it's a really steep climb. Both Andy and I have done it on many occasions and it's so steep that the front end of the bike becomes weightless and if you lose momentum, it's game over. We met on Saturday because Andy had done all the preparation he needed to do and was avoiding most hills until the big day (which was Sunday). 

Fog gives way to sun

I left the house on Saturday morning around 0800hrs in thickish fog. It was fairly cold too, but I figured I'd warm up as I went along. The fog persisted, but when I reached the beginning of the B269 I spotted rays of sunlight penetrating the murky greyness. It cleared by the time I reached Botley Hill and as I sailed along Approach Road into the village the weather was fantastic. I found Andy sitting outside Sheree's Tearoom (our agreed meeting place) and the whole thing was idyllic: sunshine, misty skies and warmth. I ordered a tea and we sat there enjoying the serenity of the situation, stroking an old dog called Sophie. After chatting about Andy's continuing veganism and other subjects, it was time to mount the bikes and head home. My bike, incidentally, is in need of a service. At the very least the front brake needs seeing to as it's scrapping and squeaking and I'm worried that a shoe has either worn down so much that it's scraping against the disc or that a shoe has fallen out completely. I could probably get away with just fixing the front brakes, but it's tempting to have a service, like last year, which has seen me through to now, a whole year basically of maintenance-free riding, thanks to Ross Cycles of Caterham. So my latest dilemma is just that: Do I nip down to Cycle King and get the front brake fixed OR take it over to Ross and have a service? Dilemmas, dilemmas! Either way something needs doing and Andy suggests fixing the front brake and giving the bike a clean. It definitely needs a clean, and fixing the brake will cost less than a service. Let's see.

Andy outside Sheree's Tearooms on Saturday morning

Saturday was a fairly uneventful day, but I did receive a text from Andy. He'd come off his bike, shortly after we parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road in Woldingham. Travelling around 20 mph he went through damp leaves on the road and came off, bending the bike's gear system and hurting his hip. The White Lane hill challenge was off, for Andy at any rate, but it meant our Sunday meeting in Westerham was back on so we agreed to meet at 0900hrs at Costa Coffee.

'Footy' - a subject we know little about

When Sunday morning arrived I enjoyed my usual breakfast (Alpen, porridge oats, grapes, bananas and tea) and then, around 0800hrs set off for the northern Kent market town. I rode straight along the 269, turned left at the Botley Hill roundabout and then sailed down Clarks Lane, the bike squeaking and scraping as it went along, all very annoying. As I approached Westerham I started to wonder whether Andy would be inside or outside, bearing in mind that it wasn't that warm. I found him outside talking to a man who resembed Doc from Back to the Future. The man wore a leather jacket and there were a few badges, one for the Sex Pistols, and other bands, but when I arrived they were talking football, not that Andy knows a great deal about the beautiful game and nor do I. Various names were mentioned: Jimmy Greaves, Peter Osgood ('he's dead now too', said I pretending I owned a huge encyclopaedic knowledge of footy when in reality I know fuck all. Fortunately I do know a bit about bands and the Sex Pistols so I steered the conversation towards Jah Wobble and Sid Vicious and soon discovered that our new friend used to be a drummer in a band called Lunchbox, but clearly he'd hit upon hard times. He's been living in rented accommodation in Westerham for the past 11 years, working as a taxi driver and having other odd jobs here and there, playing the odd gig but only getting a single clap at the end of a set. But he was a nice guy, a friendly man with his heart in the right place. He'd quit drinking about three months ago and I feared that he'd been advised to do so by his doctor. There were a few 'drinking stories', like the time when he entered a pub in Sevenoaks and a man took offence at his likeness to Doc from Back to the Future and started a fight. End result? Our new pal was banned from the pub, or something like that. Later, as Andy and I rode away, having discussed who his favourite drummer was (a toss up between Ginger Baker from Cream and Jimmy Hendrix's drummer Mitch something or other) we both agreed that he was a nice guy whose heart was definitely in the right place. As we headed up the hill, animated by our encounter with the man whose name we didn't know, I forgot that I was in top gear and that was probably why Andy and I were keeping together all the way up the hill, although Andy said he was taking things easy on his hip after yesterday's accident with the damp leaves.

Costa Coffee in Westerham

Some people have tough lives, far tougher than mine, I thought as I climbed towards Botley Hill. Our new friend, who doubtless we'll see again, possibly even next Sunday morning, lives in rented accommodation somewhere in Westerham, he was a taxi driver, ferrying the likes of Judi Dench to the Rendezvous restaurant in town, but I'm guessing that right now he's not doing a great deal, just about making ends meet I'd imagine. He looked a little down on his luck and I sincerely hope he stays off the booze. 

Andy and I parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road. When I reached home, Strava said I'd covered over 22 miles, which was good going for the first day of my cycling week. I told Andy I might try and ride to work on Tuesday and that got me quietly fretting about how many miles I would put in this week. Again, it's not worth worrying about and now, here I sit, writing the blog, nobody else in the house. I'm about to start making lunch.

Stopping bad habits

Despite missing my Thursday ride, it was a good week one way or the other. I must have walked around eight miles between Monday and Wednesday, from the house to the station, and I've continued (give or take) with my no cakes policy. That said, today I had a bread and butter pudding for dessert at lunch time, a smallish chunk of fruit cake round at mum's this afternoon and, about 10 minutes ago, bananas and custard. I don't know, I've stopped chocolate bars, despite one Wispa Gold last week, and I haven't bought a cinnamon brioche bun or a toasted tea cake or a millionaire's shortbread at Costa for over a month, I make do (quite comfortably) with a large English Breakfast tea in a tall paper mug. Mum's fruit cake, incidentally, is outside of the cake ban; I don't know why. Well, for a start, I haven't had a slice for a few weeks (no petrol in the car) so today's slice was acceptable, but I will keep it all on the down-low. There will, from this moment, be a desserts ban in the house, no more bread and butter puddings from Charlie Bigham, no more Bramley apple pie and custard and, let's face it, I've been off the biscuits for ages. Well, okay, those Rich Tea biscuits yesterday could have been avoided, but I'm fretting again, so I'll stop right now. 

My week on (and off) the bike...

It's Thursday afternoon, 30 September, almost 1400hrs, and there's a blustery wind blowing up outside. The skies are grey and the temperature has dropped, not considerably, but enough to make people start talking about winter. I'm hoping that in around two hours I'll be out on the bike, riding the Washpond Weeble, a 12.5 mile ride. With a bit of luck I'll be out on Friday too and then, if the rain holds off, a ride to Westerham will round off my week on Saturday. There is talk of rain at the weekend, but I'm hoping that 'abort' texts will be off the agenda. On Sunday, as long as it's not horrendous conditions, I'll probably pack a towel and get out there. In essence, I'm hoping for a respectable 70 miles this week, unlike last week's rides, which totalled just over 60 miles.

Westerham Costa, 2nd October 2021

So far this week I've put in over 22 miles on a ride to Westerham to meet Andy on Sunday. We did what we always do: sit outside and chill for half an hour or so before heading home. I rode up Titsey Hill again and then home via Washpond Lane, a kind of Westerham Weeble if you will. The outward ride was straight up the 269. On Sundays it's fine as there's not much in the way of traffic.

Damp cycling shorts

But let's get back to Thursday 30 September and my afternoon ride. It never happened. The rain started and my cycling shorts had been put in the wash and were wet, cold and damp, so I stayed in the house, glad in a way that I hadn't been caught out as there's a chill in the air now and things are starting to look unpleasant, unlike in the summer when, I recall, I rode to Knockholt and it tipped down. I remember standing outside the general stores in the centre of the village eating a Snickers bar in the rain and then cycling along Main Road towards Sundridge Lane and then Pilgrims.

It's now Friday morning, just gone 0700hrs and a day of work looms, but hopefully, either at lunch time or this afternoon, I'll be riding the Weeble. In all honesty, I have to ride today and then head for Westerham tomorrow to equal last week's piss poor performance of just over 60 miles. Let's see what transpires.

What transpired was a pleasant ride through the country lanes towards Washpond Lane, but instead of turning right and following the usual route I rode the length of Beech Farm Road until I reached the 269 where I turned left and headed for Botley Hill. I rounded the roundabout and then hung a left on to The Ridge, which took me into Woldingham, down Slines Oak Road and then up the steep hill at the end, which found me back on the 269 and heading home, a total of 17.43 miles.

The weatherman says it will rain

It's now Saturday morning and I awoke thinking there would be rain hammering down on next door's flat roof extension, but no, there's nothing. In fact, it looks like a very pleasant morning as the clock races towards 0800hrs. The big question is this: do I risk going out? Do I risk riding to Westerham? Do I put in a quick Weeble? Or do I sit here, let the rain come and forget about it? It's a tough choice, but in the end I decided to head for Westerham, bugger the rain, not that there was any, well, not until I was safely ensconced in Costa Coffee sipping a large paper mug of English breakfast tea. It had started to drizzle as I rode past the garage just prior to arriving in central Westerham, although that word 'central' sounds wrong as Westerham isn't very big, it's just a sleepy high street and nothing much on either side. But it started to rain and it didn't bother me because it wasn't cold. I sat in my favourite seat looking out at the high street and the chemist across the road offering free flu jabs while you wait. Not for me. I know too many people who had a flu jab and then felt terrible for days afterwards, probably because they had the flu, so what's the point in that? I've been double-jabbed for Covid.

Cosy in Costa in Westerham...

Eventually I decided it was time to head home, but I noticed that something was wrong with Strava. It hadn't recorded my outward journey and it was all to do with something that happened yesterday when I was planning on cycling to Waitrose to do a spot of shopping. At present we don't have a car, or rather we can't use the car because there's no petrol in the tank. There's no petrol in the tank because there aren't enough HGV drivers to deliver it to the petrol stations and this, by and large, is to do with Brexit and a lack of drivers, most of whom have buggered off back to Europe where, of course, the conditions for lorry drivers are far superior than in the UK. That cunt of a Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, knew that problems were brewing back in June, but like with the pandemic, he dithered and as a result there are huge queues for petrol where most of the noise from the general public, no doubt, comes from those Brexiteers who thought the UK was something greater than the reality. We didn't get a trade deal with the USA (and rightly so). Just one look at Johnson and Biden must have thought (like most people would): 'what a fucking cunt!'. I mean, look at the man if you need evidence, he's an absolute wanker of the highest order and he and his merry bunch of arseholes (Priti Patel, Dominic Raab, Michael Gove and others) are in charge of the country. Anyway, no petrol. I know for a fact that if I attempt to drive to the gas station the car will conk out before I get there, meaning that the only option is to take a jerry can and walk to the gas station, walk back, fill up the tank and then queue for petrol like everybody else. But bearing in mind that the UK is full of ignorant nutters, the sort of people who believed that slogan on the bus that Johnson was pedalling to everybody, there will be lots of moaning and shouting when I arrive with a jerry can. First, if you're on foot, you can't very well queue in the road behind a car, so I would have to just walk past the irate drivers and, well, who wants the aggravation. My plan is to let it calm down, which will take a few days and then try and sort things out.

Chilling in Costa Coffee

Where was I? Oh yes, in Westerham drinking tea. I sat there for all of 20 to 25 minutes and just day dreamed, watching passers-by and listening to the chilled out music that Costa Coffee pipes through the place. The women behind the counter don't know the names of the artists because apparently the music is piped from some central location, presumably to all outlets, but all I can say is this: it's chilled. I kept thinking about one day cycling here with my laptop and spending time online, blogging, perhaps, eavesdropping on conversations, drinking tea and possible munching on a cookie or a cake. Talking of cakes, theoretically I could have enjoyed one today as my challenge was to keep off the cakes for the month of September and today it was Saturday 2 October. But I resisted, mainly because I didn't want to break the spell and get back to chocolate bars and cinnamon brioche buns, not to mention millionaire's shortbread. So the tea was fine and when it was finished I left the Costa and took a brief look inside a charity shop that had opened (or reopened) across the street. It was the usual scene: old clothes probably removed from the houses of dead people, odd bits of clutter and even old shoes. There was a pair of walking shoes, or trainers, my size, going for £7.50 and for a minute I seriously thought about buying them. Dead man's shoes, or not as the case may be, but then I thought, I'm not THAT desperate, surely? I'm not that desperate so I walked out empty-handed, mounted the bike and headed home. 

It rained all the way home

Because Strava hadn't recorded my outward ride, I set it to record the return journey and vowed to repeat the outward ride so that I could simply double up the distance and get the exact distance travelled. It turned out to be 12.08 miles from Westerham's Costa Coffee to my house, so that's 24.16 miles in total, not bad, certainly more than last week's mileage. It rained all the way back but it wasn't cold and if I'm honest I quite enjoyed it. The return route meant riding up the hill, turning left on to Pilgrims just past the Velobarn and then heading up the hill towards Botley, but not quite going that far. I had to turn right on to Beddlestead, sail down the length of it and then crank down the gears as Hesiers Hill approached. Hesiers isn't a problem, I rode up it without losing a breath and when I reached the top I followed Church Lane and eventually found myself at Warlingham Sainsbury's where I turned right, rode into Warlingham and then along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead. Cars were still queuing for petrol as I passed the Shell garage next to Waitrose.

It was good to reach home and it was even better knowing that my original intention (of not going cycling because of the rain) had been completed reversed. Not only did I go out and ride over 24 miles, I beat my mileage from the previous week and it felt good. That said, my planned Weeble on Thursday never materialised, so last week, like the week before, I only rode out three times (Sunday, Friday and Saturday). The reason I didn't ride on Thursday was because my cycling shorts had been put in the wash and were wet when I went to put them on. In a way I was relieved, but in other ways it was a shame as the weather was relatively okay. It rained, if I recall, around 1730hrs so there's a chance I would have been caught out, but that wasn't top of mind at the time. I just didn't go, which was annoying. Still, I redeemed myself this morning and that's good enough for me. Tomorrow it's Westerham to meet Andy and the start of yet another cycling week.

Lots of walking

One last word about other forms of exercise. I didn't ride the bike Monday through Wednesday because of work, but on Tuesday and Wednesday I did a lot of walking, on average around four miles per day. I might have said this before, but walking is far more knackering than cycling. When I come back off a ride I feel energised and ready for anything. I'll happily make the dinner and wash up, for example. But after a walk I'm dead to the world, as weary as hell and in need of a sit down, a lie down, even. Either way it's all good exercise.

Last week 70 + miles, this week just over 60 miles...

It's Sunday morning, 1128hrs, 19 September, and outside it's bright and fairly warm as we approach the end of September (alright, there's still just over a week) and the autumn sneaks in, or, as I call it, NoVisibleLycra weather, meaning dull and overcast, the threat of rain, cloudy skies. I've just returned from a ride to Westerham where I met Andy and we enjoyed tea and a chat. Things have moved on somewhat since the days of sitting at the Tatsfield Bus Stop sipping tea from a flask and munching Belvitas. We now visit Costa Coffee where a large English Breakfast tea (in a paper cup) costs £2.10; but it means we don't have to carry stuff unnecessarily, which is a big weight off of my shoulders (quite literally) as I used to carry a huge flask full of hot water, four tea bags and a mug. Now I don't have to, but I still bring the rucksack with me. That said, we've been talking about crossbar bags. I have one that sits on top of the bar, but it gets in the way. I was thinking of buying one that hangs down from underneath the bar. Andy says I can get a slimmer one that fits on top. In all honesty it's not top-of-mind, not yet at any rate. In fact, not much is top-of-mind at present.

The bottom of Hesiers Hill, Saturday 18 September...

As avid readers will already know, I love the Sunday ride. It's good to meet outside (or inside) the Costa in Westerham and enjoy the chat about routes and hills and saddlebags and things that non-cyclists would probably regard as boring. A big topic of conversation is Andy's planned ride to Cornwall to see his sister. He was always going to ride there, but has now decided to ride back too. Why? Because booking the bike on to a return train looks like more trouble than it's worth. If it's anything like booking a seat on a train, it could prove disastrous, ie somebody else's bike in the spot he booked or simply no space left. So, instead of all the grief, Andy's going to ride home. He's allowing three to four days and his first stop on the return journey will be a Premier Inn in Exeter. That's about as far as his return journey planning has got, although it looks likely he'll rely upon Premier Inn, Travelodge and possibly even Days Inn as rest stops as he heads back from Bodmin to Caterham. I have to say that I'm excited for him.

Ledgers Road, 16 September, on the Washpond Weeble ride.

My weekly cycling routine is starting to bed in and it looks (at present at any rate) that I can ride around 72 miles per week on Sunday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I'm not going to entertain the idea of riding after a day at work, it's far too tiring and besides, I can bolster my walking (and possibly even swimming) on the days I don't ride. My new routine appears to be a ride to Westerham (like today), two Washpond Weebles on Thursday and Friday afternoons and then a ride to Westerham (or Knockholt, the Lakes, Dunton Green) on Saturday. The longer I ride on Saturday will determine the total weekly mileage, which has the potential to reach 80 miles. In fact, I need to look back on last October and November's rides to see what I managed and whether I can achieve the same distances this year.

On Beddlestead Lane, 18 September, being overtaken...

On my no cakes or biscuits journey, things have lapsed slightly. Last Sunday I weakened round at mum's, but I've managed not to eat any cakes whilst on the ride, ie no cinnamon brioche buns or toasted tea cakes in Costa, and I've stayed off the chocolate bars completely, although today I had one of those yoghurt-coated 'Natural' bars, which I fear are just as bad. What I have been doing a little too much is eating bread. Today, for example, I've had six slices, starting this morning with two slices of honey on toast for breakfast (around 0630hrs) and then two more on my return from the ride (I figure it's better than a bun or a toasted tea cake), and then, just a second ago (it's now 1708hrs so let's say around 1700) I had a Marmite sandwich, but remember this: I haven't had any lunch so I guess I'm "quids in". However, I'm due to go out to eat tonight so perhaps I should have exerted a little will power (which I don't have where food is concerned.

25 Sept's ride...

I enjoy my weekend rides more than anything, especially the Sunday ride, and it was good seeing Andy this morning. We're going to sort out a curry (with Dave and Geoff) although we're not sure where Dave is: he could be in South Wales, but we're not sure. I plan to call his mobile to find out. Avid readers of this blog will remember Dave, the guy with the Harley. Geoff, of course, is the illustrious illustrator and I'm sure he's been mentioned in the past. We all used to work together, but the importance of the curry (in Whyteleafe) is that, back in 2006 we went there for an evening meal, Andy and I started talking about cycling and decided that over the weekend we would meet and ride to Westerham. It was the start of regular cycling together and we're still at it today.

One week later...

It's now one week later (almost) and I can't say the week behind me has been that good cycling wise. I missed a ride on Thursday and that's why my end-of-week mileage is just over 60 miles, a good 10 under my respectable distance of 70 miles. Today (Saturday 25th September) I left the house at 0730hrs, the earliest I've been out in months, and headed for Westerham in the fog. I rode via Beddlestead Lane and Pilgrims Lane, passing the Velobarn and coasting downhill into town. All the faffing around on country lanes to avoid 269 traffic cost me time. The usual one-hour journey that I take on Sunday to meet Andy turned into one hour and 20 minutes, I arrived in Westerham at 0851 and ordered myself a large English breakfast tea to take out. I sat outside, people watching until 0915 and then headed home again, following the outward route and even riding up Hesiers and then turning left and heading for Washpond Lane, 24.48 miles. Not bad, but as I say, 10 miles under my respectable weekly distance of 70 miles so I'm not overly happy with the situation.

Did I mention my Taliban trousers?

One thing I find absolutely hilarious is people queuing for petrol in their cars. Sailing past the queues on the bike made me feel great, on top of the world, in fact, as I picked up on motorists arguing with one another as they waited in line. It was even funnier when I heard this builder type (huge red head and clearly very impatient) shouting at nobody in particular, just ranting with anger as he waited for the queue to move. And, of course, the queue didn't move. Brilliant! He probably voted Brexit, which made it even funnier. "Bloody Europeans, coming over here and taking all our jobs, driving fuckin' wages down, the cunts! I'm voting for Boris because I believe every word he says and why don't we give the £350 million we give to the EU to the NHS? Good thinking, Boris!" But he was forgetting - he didn't know - that Boris Johnson is an obese buffoon, habitual liar, adulterer and all-round nob cheese, you just have to look at him to see that, what with his master race hair cut, his ill-fitting suits, he's no Churchill, far from it, and now we're all paying for the bigotry of the Brexiteers; and Boris and Grant Shapps have gone to Europe, tails between legs, to see if they can arrange temporary visas for the European workers they told to fuck off. This is brilliant news all round! Here's hoping the Europeans tell us to fuck off!

The great thing about bicycles is that they don't need petrol, just manpower - and they keep you fit. While I can't go out in my car (the tank is virtually empty and I can't afford to be stuck in a petrol queue) I've already been to Westerham on a 24-mile plus ride, enjoyed a large English breakfast tea sitting outside of Costa Coffee and then I rode home. Who needs a car? Not me!

A few words about hills

Just a brief word or two about hills, mainly to say that most of the inclines on my routes - Titsey, Hesiers, Slines Oak Road, even White Lane - are doable, but it hasn't always been the case. Now, after many years of riding and getting fitter by the ride, Andy and I are able to handle all the aforementioned hills, they no long present us with that feeling of trepidation as they approach. Quite the opposite, in fact; I've now started to take them on, ride up Hesiers or Titsey without thinking and slowly but surely get to the top. On Saturday, as I reached the top of Hesiers, somebody said something like, "I bet you're glad that's over!" Or, "It's easier going the other way!" People like to put in a friendly comment, which is great. And I always agree with whatever they're saying and continue on my way. Sometimes, though, I feel like saying, "Actually, you know, it's not too bad," but I fear I might come across as arrogant, when all I'm saying is that I've reached a certain level of fitness and hills no longer frighten me. Well, not the hills that I know at any rate.

"Plans that either came to naught..."

 Arguably one of the best songs ever written was Time by Pink Floyd on their Dark Side of the Moon album. The headline of this article is taken from the lyrics. It's relevant because this week I had great plans for daily exercise, but they were thwarted by 'stuff', they were plans that came to naught.

I now have to work three days a week away from home, meaning I get up at the crack of dawn to be at my desk by 0800hrs. To achieve this, the best bet is to walk from my house to Purley station, that's around 2.5 miles and takes me something like 40 minutes. There's a train at 0734hrs, which means I need to leave the house before 0700hrs to have any chance of catching it; and there's also a high probability that the train will be cancelled. I can do the whole thing around 30 minutes later, catching instead the 0804hrs train and being at my desk around 0830hrs.

Cutting down on bread led to me to a chilli jacket potato at the caff.

Before leaving the house I need to eat breakfast, so any thought of riding before I eat is just crazy. I'd have to get up at 0500hrs, leave the house by 0530hrs and then I'd get back around 0645 (when I should be leaving the house to catch the 0734. If I hung around for the 0804hrs train there would be a window of around 15 to 20 minutes to eat breakfast and get showered, unless I changed my routine and showered and shaved the night before, but that's always a bit hit and miss. The only way to get a ride in between Monday and Wednesday is to do it in the evening after returning from work and while that's possible, as the nights draw in and the clocks go back it's going to be out of the question: cycling is not without its dangers, we all know that, but night riding just adds to the problem. 

This sickly bun in Filtr made me rethink what I was eating.

Let's face it, we've got rain, snow and cold weather to look forward to, plus dark nights and dark mornings and it's going to drag on for months. I hate it. The only way, possibly, to get a ride in while working is to ride to work, but for how long? The clocks go back next month. I need to check what kind of cycling I was doing last winter and that might help me plan for the next six months. Last winter I seemed to be fine in October, but things sloped off a bit in November, there's a lot of 'If I ride after work then I might put in a respectable mileage' and indications that weekly mileage nose-dived to under 50 miles, thwarted by the rain, and this post in November 2020 rather sums it up (click here), the headline reads 'Not riding as much...'. It all makes me wonder what I should do. That November post suggests I shouldn't fret about it so I'll do my best on that front. I've thought about joining a gym or starting swimming again or just blending walking with cycling. 

The bike outside of Filtr, Sanderstead

On the positive side, winters are fairly mild and last year I was riding to the Velobarn late in the year and sitting outside with a cappuccino reading Consider This, by the author of Fight Club (Chuck Palahniuk) - a book I found very inspiring - so I mustn't lose hope on this, I've just got to get in as many rides as possible, increase the walking and possibly even look at swimming, although I think I'll hold out on the winter being mild (thanks to global warming!). Andy talks about buying some kind of contraption, hooking it up on the old Kona and then working out in the garage when it's raining. It's not a bad idea, although 'the old Kona' is in a severe state of disrepair. I think I'll maintain as positive an attitude as is humanely possible, get out there as often as I can and try to do local rides, like the Norfolk Nobbler.

Looking at last December's rides, I managed a trip to Sevenoaks so things weren't too bad (click here for more). 

This week, the long and the short of it was this: I had intended to ride daily, but things got in the way. Monday was the first day back at work so the whole 'ride to work' thing was out of the question (too much to carry). However, I took Monday off so you might think getting a ride in would be a piece of cake, no sir! For a start, I took the day off for a reason: to paint the bathroom. I thought I'd get it all done by around 4pm and then I'd scoot off for a ride to Westerham, but it was not to be. Why? Because I was still hard at it around 6pm and, as usual, there was all the clearing up to do and washing the brushes. In short, I never had the time to do anything else.  The plan was then to start on Tuesday, but that wasn't to be either (I went out for a meal (at Cucina, Oxted) and was picked up at Purley station, no chance of a ride). Wednesday? Nope, just being at work put paid to that and I didn't leave at 4pm (I never do). So it was all down to Thursday and Friday and thank God I did that, I rode the Washpond Weeble on both days and, as I write this I'm about to embark upon a ride to Westerham; I should be able to put in respectable weekly mileage. But listen, it's not to do with now, it's to do with the coming weeks when the days draw in, the temperature drops and the heavens open. I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. The truth of the matter is pretty simple: stop moaning and get on with it (as my dad used to say). Incidentally, it would have been dad's 92nd birthday last week (8 September).

I ought to explain the photographs

The first one, of chilli con carne on top of a jacket potato was my lunch at the caff during the week. Last Sunday while chilling in Costa Coffee in Westerham, Andy and I spoke about dieting and exercise and I said I was going to stop eating bread and buns. Well, I kept up the buns and I won't be having one later when I arrive in Westerham on my Saturday morning ride, but I weakened on the bread (yesterday, Friday) and I had toast and honey for breakfast this morning. However, the odd bit of bread is fine. I also had a couple of cheese rolls for lunch yesterday. No, the key thing is not to eat cakes and so far I've managed, in fact I don't see there being a problem. So the chilli con carne and jacket potato was instead of my usual chicken fillet baguette and yes, I know, I would have been far better off with the chicken baguette. The next photograph, the one of the bun and the cup of tea in Filtr in Sanderstead High Street, was taken after a Washpond Weeble last week the week before last. The bun was so sticky and awful that it prompted me to weigh myself the following morning. I was 13 stone! Shite! 13 stone! That realisation led to the diet conversation with Andy last Sunday and during the week just past I did well, trying not to eat in between meals (but that was another reason for that jacket and chilli: I hadn't nibbled biscuits or anything so I figured a decent lunch would prevent me snacking in the afternoon. I hasten to add that my stomach felt a little dodgy after that chilli. The shot of the bike outside of Filtr is just that, nothing special, just saying, perhaps, that I had just rode the Weeble, perhaps a justification for the bun, but there's no justification for the bun at all and that's why, for the past week, just over, I've stopped cakes and biscuits and wrapped chocolate bars (like Twix, Wispa, Twirl etc).

This morning I rode the slow way to Westerham, following Beddlestead Lane and then branching off of Clarks Lane and on to Pilgrims Lane. I turned right on Westerham Hill and followed the road into town where I stopped at the Costa, took a seat by the window and sat there gently sipping my large English Breakfast tea while listening to the chilled out music being piped through the sound system, so relaxing. I didn't want to get back on the bike, but I did, riding back the way I came and turning left on to Pilgrims Lane. I followed Clarks Lane to the Botley Hill roundabout, hung a left on The Ridge and rode through Woldingham, tackling with ease the steep hill at the 269 end of Slines Oak Road and then riding into Warlingham and then Sanderstead and home. It's now just gone 1pm, I'm alone in the house just finishing off this blogpost, which I'd earlier checked on my iphone while in Costa and found it wanting. Hopefully it now reads fine.

Lord Chatham's ride: a big disappointment

Having studied my maps and discovered Lord Chatham's Ride, I've been champing at the bit for some time, fired up with the thought of experiencing what looks like a great ride through the woods. So, while I've had a couple of false starts over the past few weeks, yesterday (Saturday) I took the plunge after a pretty piss poor week, managing to miss my target of a respectable 70 miles by around three miles. I even considered going out and doing one lap of the Norfolk Nobbler just to knock me across the line, but then I thought no, what's the point? Just accept you've not been as fortunate this week when compared to last and crack on. The chances are that next week's rides will be good as the bank holiday Monday gives me the chance to get out there on a day when I would normally be going to work. In other words, I reckon I'll make the 80-mile marker at the end of the coming week, who knows?

Will I find Lord Chatham's Ride?

It's important to point out that while I didn't cycle until Friday (giving me a Sunday/Friday/Saturday scenario that totalled just over 67 miles) I did engage in other forms of exercise, namely walking, which is really exhausting. I was clocking up five miles per day, so 15 in total between Monday and Wednesday. On Thursday, rather than ride the Washpond Weeble (which was the plan) I mowed the lawn with my new Mountfield Princess 42-inch Rotary Mower (with rear roller). The grass looks amazing and once again I must take my hat off to my dear old dad, God rest his soul, for telling me once, many years ago, that my garden was my gym; he was right, it gave me a good work-out on Thursday afternoon as I mowed the front and back lawns and got the shears out to trim the edges, and don't forget, the grass hadn't been cut for a while so I was up and down the lawn like a yo-yo. I tell you what, though, it looks fantastic and afterwards I was whacked out. So, walking, lawn mowing and then on Friday a Washpond Weeble - during which I spotted some weird-looking stuffed scarecrows - saw me in reasonable shape for Saturday's ride.

This ain't Lord Chatham's Ride...

I left the house at 0905hrs and there was no rain, it was warm and fairly bright, although cooler than of late to be fair. I followed the slow way route to Westerham, along Beddlestead Lane, and then down Clarks Lane, but not riding down the hill towards Pilgrims Lane as usual. I had to go via Knockholt. Andy and my only recollection of riding to Knockholt (in pre-blog days, pre-2009) was driving rain and a punishing hill as we followed Sundridge Lane to Main Road, having riden along Pilgrims Lane from the bottom of Clarks Lane as it turns towards Westerham. There is only a village hall and a general stores in Knockholt. Oddly, the last time I was there (a couple of weeks ago, alone) there was more driving rain and I was soaked through, with only a Snickers bar and bottle of mineral water to keep me company. I remember standing in the pouring rain munching on the Snickers bar (I prefer to call them Marathon bars). While it was raining hard (and didn't really stop) it wasn't cold so it was little bother. Somewhere along the line I've digressed and lost my thread, all I'm really trying to say is that there's no need to encounter hills on a ride to Knockholt from where I live; not if I follow the wooded road that leads to the Park Wood Golf Course from close to the Tatsfield churchyard and then take the left fork and follow it until it meets Westerham Hill. I then cross the road and follow Grays Road or Grays Lane, can't remember it's exact name, towards the beginning of Main Road and then I kind of roll into town, well, Knockholt. 

...nor is this

Unfortunately, there's no caff in Knockholt or Knockholt Pound, for that matter, although they are really one and the same, but it's in the latter that I found Chevening Lane. I knew it would lead me to Lord Chatham's Ride, but I was to be disappointed. Chevening Lane was a No Through Road and for good reason: at the end of it there was Chevening House which, if I recall, is the country seat of the Foreign Secretary (currently Dominic Raab). So when I reached the end of the road where I was expecting to find a big sign proclaiming (in neon lights) 'Lord Chatham's Ride', all I found was a gate saying 'private, no entry' or words to that effect. It was very disappointing as I was hoping I'd have a story to tell Andy, but it wasn't to be. There was, however, a footpath that was probably not open to cyclists as it proved very hard to get the bike through the initial gate (and subsequent gates). Once through I was initially riding on a track with corn fields on one side and woods on the other. I met a few walkers on the way, none of whom seem bothered by my presence. Could this be the way to Lord Chatham's Ride? No, but it was the beginning of a complex network of bumpy, root-laden tracks through thick, dark woods. Some of the tracks were dead ends and others led me round in circles. The bike took a bit of a beating if I'm honest and eventually, fed up with the whole thing and realising that if Lord Chatham's Ride existed at all it was behind the locked gates and within the grounds of Chevening House, I decided to give up, which wasn't easy. There was a tall metal gate that I heaved my bike over, but I had to leave it hanging by it's front wheel until I used the adjoining walkers' gate to escape the depressing wood. I unhooked the bike from the larger gate and rode into Knockholt for a second time (why I don't know) and decided - after considering a further two-mile ride into Dunton Green - to go home instead. I had contemplated Bojangles for tea and cake, but the misery of not being able to tackle Lord Chatham's ride had depressed me somewhat and I preferred the idea of just going home and forgetting about it. 

Escaping the woods!

Tea and cake at Sheree's Tearoom made things a lot better

Instead of retracing my steps along the private road that led to the Park Wood Golf Club, I followed road signs on a parallel road to Tatsfield and found myself on a hilly up and down country lane that plonked me bang in the centre of the village, which was bustling with cyclists and villagers. Andy and I are normally in the village early in the morning, back in the day, sitting inside the wooden bus shelter munching biscuits and drinking tea from a flask. Sheree's Tearoom is normally closed, but now, at around noon, it was busy with cyclists some of whom sat on the wooden tables on the green while others sat outside the tearoom, their bikes parked in front of it. It all seemed very agreeable so I stopped for tea and lemon cake and sat at a wooden table overlooking the lake. I phoned home to let them know where I was and then, after eating the cake and drinking the tea I rode out of Tatsfield following the usual route towards Botley Hill, but turned left on to The Ridge and followed the road into Woldingham, not looking forward to the steep but manageable hill at the far end of Slines Oak Road. I was home around 1300hrs.

One of many sinister roadside figures

On Friday, incidentally, I managed a Washpond Weeble in the morning, leaving the house at 1037hrs and getting home just before noon. I had made a snap decision to take the day off and that meant I could get the ride out of the way early and not feel tired and weary and demotivated, as I tend to feel around 4pm when a ride looms. I'm not saying I don't like cycling (I love it) but the Washpond Weeble, while pleasant, is a fitness ride, not so much a leisure ride (like riding to Westerham to meet Andy). While out I noticed that some people had made these strangely sinister stuffed figures and left them outside their houses or in fields. It was like something out of a horror movie (see photos for evidence).

Why was the road closed? Flytippers, that's why. But bikes not affected.

The Washpond Weeble is far better than doing the Norfolk Nobbler, which is restricted to suburban streets, but that extra 2.5 miles often makes me think (certainly if it's late in the day) that perhaps I'll just do five miles or, better still, nothing whatsover; instead I'll take a drive to Oxted and have a Millionaire's Shortbread in Caffe Nero or Costa. There's nothing worse than feeling tired and weary because it lurches towards despairing, feeling pointless and trapped and worthless and when I feel like that the last thing I want to do is jump on the bike. Ironically, however, jumping on the bike and riding for roughly one hour cures me so it's worth pushing myself when feeling down and getting out there.

Dunton Green? No, I'll go home...

And now it's bank holiday Monday and while it's looking a little overcast outside and I remember hearing heavy winds last night while I lay in bed, there doesn't appear to be any sign of rain, which is good as Andy and I are meeting again at Westerham and it's all seriously good news for this coming week's mileage. Yes, I missed my respectable 70 miles last week, but with today's ride I'm a good position to push things into the 90 miles bracket, and one more Westerham would take me over 100 miles, so here's hoping.

It's now Tuesday evening and I'm contemplating riding to work tomorrow. I don't know why I'm thinking about it because it ain't going to happen. I've yet to kick myself into gear on cycling to work and soon the clocks will go back, the nights will draw in and the time available to go cycling will be limited, which is very depressing. Winter will be winging it's way and soon there will be cheap tinsel Christmas trees in shop windows and people will be counting the shopping days until Christmas and all the greedy bastards will be ordering huge turkeys from the supermarket and stockpiling Paxo and then toilet rolls when it becomes obvious that Boris Johnson's gamble with the public's health was just that, a gamble. We'll all be in lockdown again and our mop-topped nutter of a Prime Minister will be stuttering out his excuses to a gullible public who will quite happily vote the nutter into office for another five years, whenever the next General Election is due. It's a long way off, but that makes it all even more depressing.

A view of Tatsfield pond while munching lemon cake and drinking tea

A ride to Westerham...and a few thoughts on freedom

I thought it might rain, but then, when I saw Magwitch by the roadside, small dog on a lead, I found myself full of optimism. "Lovely day!", he exclaimed and I had to agree. A chat had been on the cards for some weeks. We'd spotted one another before and simply acknowledged our co-existence with a nod and then carried on with our respective lives. Today was different, the circumstances changed, we were both easy like Sunday morning and it seemed like the right thing to do. I never stopped pedalling and as I headed for the hill I saw a dishevelled, harassed, pre-occupied, edgy Barbara Hershey – or somebody who looked a little like her – standing on the path admiring a horse across the street. She mumbled something, it sounded like "I've never seen such a tidy horse" and I had to agree, again without stopping, although I probably managed a smile. Perhaps she meant a tiny horse, a pygmy pony. I looked in the direction of the horse, who stared out from a solitary field in front of the football pitches as I passed. 

Freedom is a summer field...

In my head Dreaming from the Waist by the Who blasted out, I love that opening guitar that sounds like a flock of seagulls and the crashing, euphoric triumphalism of Keith Moon's manic drumming and then as Daltry's powerful voice kicks in – "I've got that wide awake, give-and-take, five o'clock-in-the-morning feeling" – I pushed on towards the 269 looking forward to the rest of the ride and the cinnamon brioche bun that awaited me at the Costa Coffee in Westerham. All was right with the world, I was on my fourth consecutive ride of the week and looking forward to chewing the fat with Andy about whatever we decide to discuss. 

Lord Chatham would have to wait, I thought, as I remembered an over-ambitious plan to ride early to Knockholt Pound this morning. I just wasn't sure I'd get back to Westerham by 9 o'clock, but I think I would have. There's always next week. Or let's hope so. 

I felt so glad - relieved - that I live in comfort in my 'safe European home' and not somewhere hostile like Kabul where I'd have to deal with the bearded, turbaned, extremist Taliban who think they can run other people's lives for them, make them adhere to a strict version of the teachings of the Koran. The worst thing about religion is that none of it is true, people don't come back from the dead, you can't feed hundreds of people with a loaf of bread and a sardine, when people die there are no virgins waiting for them; why would everybody be so scared of dying if that was the case? Why have a death penalty if it's really nothing more than a Brucie Bonus? 

I find myself extremely angry with the West's withdrawal from Afghanistan and, of course, it has its roots in something Trump arranged while in power last year; he, the biggest cock in the world, naturally, sowed the seeds of disaster, but I didn't expect Biden to carry it through and leave innocent Afghans at the mercy of a bunch of extremists. 

Why can't women be educated? Why do they have to cover up? Why is it that if they (or anybody else for that matter) don't agree with the Taliban they risk death? Everybody should be free to live their lives, think freely, do what they want, when they want, and not be cowering under the cosh of the fucking Taliban. And what about those soldiers we've all seen without arms and legs, 'life-changing injuries' caused by roadside bombs laid by the Taliban? It seems as if it was all for nothing. In another reality those soldiers could have been walking around without the aid of prosthetic limbs. And now we all face an uncertain future as the Taliban are sure to allow extremist groups like Isis and Al Qaeda into the country (I'm sure they're already there) to work on their evil plans for another 9/11, another bombing on the London Underground, perhaps. 

The worst thing is that it didn't need to happen, but it did and here we are, powerless, hearing stories of horror from those trying desperately to reach Kabul airport and find a flight out of hell. I think how easy it is for me to reach Heathrow and fly out of the country, I think of me now, at this very moment, listening to Nantucket Sleighride by Mountain, having just started to prepare dinner. I'm not expecting a biblical-looking gentleman, dressed in rags and carrying an AK47, to knock on my door and take me away because I've expressed a few anti-Taliban thoughts. I can call Boris Johnson an idiot (and worse) safe in the knowledge that the secret police won't be round to see me. I rode my bike 22 miles this morning without encountering any problems, no road blocks, snipers, mines, nothing. I am a free man and I don't see why others can't be free too. Why can't people live in peace? Surely we can all get on if only we stop forcing people to think in a certain way or act against their will. I don't trust the Taliban, they're saying they have changed, but I don't believe a word of it, and nor does anybody else, but time will tell. If they have changed there's no reason why some kind of deal isn't struck, but I can't say I'm optimistic.

Politicians at this present time are seriously lacking, especially in the UK. Just look at the British Government. Look at that idiot Boris Johnson, whose appearance alone let's the cat out of the bag. Dominic Raab, Michael Gove, Matt Hancock, Priti Patel, people we voted for; and look at Brexit. I love the fact that food prices are going to go up because we simply don't have the staff, all those foreign workers who willingly picked our crops from the fields have gone home and the lazy, good-for-nothing Brits think that kind of manual labour is below them. I understand we're now considering letting prisoners do the work instead, it's all very desperate, a bit like a chain gang in America in the 50s and 60s. What a fucking poppy show!

Facts and Figures – yes, I've been monitoring my rides!

Last week I just about scraped up some respectability for myself by managing to ride a little over 70 miles – 70.34 miles to be precise. A couple of weeks ago, while on holiday, I managed 143 miles and would have put in a few more had I not missed two days out of my cycling week. Now, back at work three days per week, I've got to recalibrate my weekly mileage. Today, as I write this, it's Tuesday and unless I ride into the office tomorrow (24 miles) or if I push the envelope a bit on Saturday morning, I'll be game on for another just about respectable 70 miles or so.

Saturday 15 August in Westerham Costa

It's Friday. Yesterday I rode to Westerham in the afternoon. By rights I should repeat the ride today if I'm going to gain any kind of self-respect, although I'm thinking hard about a Washpond Weeble instead, which will put me in a delicate position, although I might improve on last week's 70.34 miles. It boils down to whether I want to 'slightly improve' or put in a decent effort. Yesterday I left the house around 1630hrs and got home just before 1900hrs. I rode along Beddlestead and then down Clarks Lane into Westerham, but rode back on the road towards the Velobarn, hanging a left on Pilgrims Lane and then later taking the Woldingham turn-off known as The Ridge. It was quite a slog after work, but I'm glad I did it.

The weather outside looks alright, no sunshine to speak of, but it's warm enough, which is the main thing. I'm not sure if I've spoken much about it, but ever since 25 April this year I've been recording my rides and since that date I have covered a total of 1,202.15 miles. I haven't been riding every day, but I have had a few spells of daily rides and there haven't been many long gaps between rides. My longest spell of consecutive rides started on 15th July and finished on 27 July when there was a gap of just one day until I jumped back on the bike and rode to Westerham and then, two days later, rode to Shoreham in Kent (38.63 miles). My longest mileage was 143 miles during the week starting 25 July and now, as you know, I've had to recalibrate to take into consideration the work situation.

Saturday 21 August in Costa in Westerham

The great thing about recording rides (and I don't mean on Strava, although I do that too) is that you find little facts that can be used to enliven blog posts like this one. For example from 25 April until 25 July six out of 50 rides encountered rain as opposed to 25 out of 50 rides that were blessed with sunshine (now there's a heartening statistic! Since 1st July I have covered 578.20 miles on the bike and overall, since 25 April (as I've said already) I've riden a total of 1,202.15 miles. Not bad going. In terms of rides per week since 1st July, and in date order, I have been on the bike for seven days a week just once, five days a week three times, four days a week and two days a week just once each; the two days per week ride was on the week commencing 1 August when I rode on 1 August and 7 August, the ride on 1 August was warm and sunny, but the 7th August ride was warm with rain.  The four-ride week commenced on 8 August and finished 14 August and most of the time it was warm and sunny. Generally speaking the weather has been pretty good. Over the period from 25 April to the present day I have riden to Westerham 25 times and experienced the joys of the Washpond Weeble 21 times. And let's not forget new rides to Shoreham in Kent, Green Street Green and Knockholt and shortly there will be Lord Chatham's Ride, let's hope that's all I'm building it up to be.

Weekly mileages since 1st May 2021

Week ending

1 May 2021 = 60.18 miles

6 May 2021 = 65.64 miles

15 May 2021 = 105.89 miles

16 May 2021 = 25.35 miles (only rode once that week).

29 May 2021 = 75.58 miles

5 June 2021 = 67.09 miles

6 June 2021 = 21.44 miles (only rode once that week).

19 June 2021 = 84.75 miles

26 June 2021 = 70.46 miles

3 July 2021 = 84.57 miles

10 July 2021 = 34.53 miles

17 July 2021 = 83.17 miles

23 July 2021 = 115.73 miles

31 July 2021 = 143.53 miles

7 August 2021 = 47.68 miles

14 August 2021 = 70.34 miles

21 August 2021 = 83.01 miles

Notes: it's worth bearing in mind that since 1st May 2021 there have only been two riding weeks under 30 miles, 10 weeks over 70 miles, thirteen weeks over 60 miles and just three weeks over 100 miles.