A strange dream about a beard and more thoughts about riding to work...

A couple days ago I had a dream. In the dream I sported a large and bushy beard that was uneven on the right hand side and I felt a strong urge to cut off the offending bit just to even things out a bit. For some reason I found myself walking around or through the corridors of an expensive hotel, looking for the lift and while doing so spotted an old friend from a long time ago. I remember wondering why he was working in the hotel, but I never stopped to converse with him. Next I found myself standing by the side of some kind of pond and there was a man in the water wearing waterproof trousers, but where the waterproof bits ended there was a real risk that the man would get wet and the very thought of it made me feel uncomfortable. I have no idea why he was wearing waterproof clothing or why he was in the water and the next thing I knew I was awake and it was morning.

When the gates open I ride out and head for home...

Sometimes I don't feel like riding the bike to work. I managed to ride on Tuesday and my plan is to ride again tomorrow, Thursday. But today (Wednesday 10th August) I took the train in and the bus home. By going just one way by train I only spend £4.80 instead of £9.40 and that means that this week (if I ride the bike tomorrow) my total expenditure on train fares is just £9.60 instead of the usual pre-bike bill of almost £38. The last thing I want to do is give Southern Rail any more of my money than I have to, so I ride to work and I get fit in the process (and I lose a bit of weight). I rode Tuesday morning and it was a good ride in; I must have broken a record of sorts because even though the inward ride involved me stopping to buy shower gel at the Co-op in Merstham I still managed to shower and dress and be at my desk around 0810hrs. Now, considering I'd been faffing around in the shower, which is a good 20 minutes of balancing on one leg, trying to dry my feet before placing them on the tiled floor and then all the messing around drying the rest of myself, that means I must have arrived at the office around 0750hrs, which means I rode the distance in what, well, actually, I couldn't really tell the exact time because my iphone let me down, or rather I let myself down by forgetting to charge it. Still, I left the house around 0637, if you account for messing around in the Co-op as five minutes, that means I would have started the ride at 0642 so that means it took my just one hour and eight minutes when it normally takes me around one hour and 10 or even one hour and 16 minutes, so I'm managing to shave time off the ride, which is good.

The ride back was good too. Again, however, I felt the need to stop at the Merstham Co-op, this time to buy some mineral water. I need the water to hydrate myself before the climb up White Hill Lane and later up Tithepit Shaw Lane and believe me it helps. After swigging half of the bottle I sailed up the hill and felt great when I reached the top; I did the same before ascending Tithepit Shaw Lane and once both hills were conquered I only had a short ride along Wentworth, on to the Limpsfield Road, through Sanderstead's high street and then through the churchyard and down Church Way to home. The other week, or perhaps it was the other day, my wife was following me down Church Way without me knowing. She'd been to Waitrose to pick up some food and followed me down the hill. She said I ride miles too fast and she's probably right, but I kind of know what I'm doing, I keep a weather eye on the streets and roads ahead of me and I'm always covering my brakes.

When I got home last night I was whacked out. So much so that I fell asleep in a crumpled pile on the sofa and had to be woken up around 11pm after which I went to bed and slept through until 0530hrs. It was this morning that I was considering riding in, even leaving the house later at, say, 0700hrs, but in the end I simply couldn't face it. Instead I was given a lift to the station from where I paid my £4.80 and took the 0848 train to East Croydon where I switched over to Platform 6 and picked up a Gatwick train, which I knew stopped at Redhill. All day I felt relieved that I didn't have to ride the bike home, I was simply not in the mood. The very thought of changing into my cycling gear and riding towards Warwick Wold Road and the hills that followed filled me with dread. Instead I sat on the bus for all of 40 minutes reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral and now I'm sitting in the garden writing this blogpost. But tomorrow I ride and hopefully also on Friday even if I am on a day off. If I ride tomorrow I must ride either on Friday or Saturday to keep up with my four rides a week.

Yesterday (Thursday 11th August) there was a strong temptation not to ride to work again, but I was conscious of how I'd been saving money and denying Southern Railway a little bit of profit and felt good about it, so I simply had to ride the bike. I left the house around 0700hrs and it was a wonderful ride. The sun wasn't properly up yet so it was relatively cool all the way in. Put simply, I loved it! I showered and went upstairs to work and during the day the conversation, with my pal Garth, turned to his 1287 Loop ride in which he rode down Hilltop Lane on the way back. Hilltop is the road I'm effectively riding towards as I come up Warwick Wold Road prior to turning right into Springbottom Lane. By continuing up Hilltop I avoid the dreaded White Hill Lane, but the rumour is that Hilltop is just as punishing, if not more so.

Around 1800hrs I leave the office in the heat of the evening and head towards the sticks, excited by the prospect of a new hill and possibly one that presents more of a challenge that White Hill Lane. I fill a water container with lemon-flavoured water. There was a lemon in a bowl in the kitchen so I squeezed it into the water to give myself a flavoured drink. At the foot of Hilltop I stopped and drank half of it and then I set off. Before I tackle White Hill Lane I crank the bike down into the lowest of gears, but on this occasion, as I wasn't sure what to expect, I kept it in the middle of the front crank and as the ride progressed I didn't feel the need to change down. At intervals I stood up on the pedals, not really finding the hill any great effort. The worst bit (if it can be called such) was a right hand turn climb but I still didn't change down and then, there it was, a sign reading 'Chaldon' and the end of the climb. I felt good because I wasn't feeling like I normally feel (knackered) after climbing White Hill Lane. Hilltop continued on the flat and was peppered with pleasant-looking houses all the way to a crossroads. I knew not to go straight ahead down Church Lane because that led to Coulsdon and would have resulted in a ride along the A23 into Purley and besides, the road was closed. My aim was a right turn towards Caterham on the Hill along Dove Road, which proved to be bad road, lots of cars and slightly precarious. There was a mini roundabout and a shop called Chaldon Books, here I turned left and headed towards an Esso Garage then it was a right turn on to Burntwood Lane and then I was back on Whyteleafe Hill and the fairly fast coast towards the railway crossing at the bottom. Normally at this point I would be feeling tired and longing to be home, but I was feeling pretty chipper I has to be said. I finished off the lemon-infused water at the bottom of Tithepit Shaw Lane and then sailed up the hill without a care in the world. Not riding up White Hill Lane clearly preserved a lot of energy and when I reached home I was still majorly energised, so much so that a ride to Hurst Green and a pub called the Haycutter for dinner wasn't a big effort. I enjoyed cod and chips with mushy peas and a small bottle of sparkling mineral water. Even when we reached home I felt fine so there's something to be said for not opting for the steep hill. That said, Dove Road put me off so I won't be riding up Hilltop Lane for some time, I'll be enduring White Hill Lane.

This morning (Friday 12 August) I kind of knew I wouldn't be riding to work and I didn't. I figured that if I ride to Oxted in the morning that would be fine as it would mean four rides (Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday). So here's hoping I'll get up tomorrow, feeling fine, and that I'll look out, notice the amazing weather and then head towards Oxted for a green tea in the sunshine outside of Caffe Nero.

A slow puncture ruins the day...but not for long

The great thing about taking Friday off is that you wake up on Saturday thinking it's Sunday and then you realise it's only Saturday and you feel fantastic knowing there's another day before you have to head back to work. Not that I find going to work a hassle, it's just nice being off and not thinking about it.

On Saturday, later than usual, I headed for Oxted in Surrey, thinking it was Sunday but knowing it was Saturday. I left the house around a quarter to eleven, something like that and it took me roughly 54 minutes to reach my destination: Caffe Nero. I'd cycled along Clarks Lane and turned right into White Lane and then, as I rode down the steep hill I figured I could easily cycle up it, but then decided no, not today and besides, riding to Oxted, sitting in Caffe Nero and sipping a large green tea in the hot sunshine was enough entertainment for me. 

A chilled ride to Oxted on Saturday led me to Caffe Nero and a green tea!

The ride to Oxted was fine but because it was Saturday and not Sunday there was a fair amount of traffic on the 269, which was a little bit unsettling. I considered riding back through Woldingham but in the end didn't bother, even if the 269 was just as tricky on the return ride. It was, of course, later than usual and there was more traffic on the road. 

I reached home around 1pm, had a light lunch (a salad sandwich of all things and a yoghurt (make that two) and not forgetting another green tea. And now, as the huge conifer at the top of our garden casts its long shadow across the lawn (it's almost half past three in the afternoon) I'm considering doing one of the many chores that need to be done around the house. Tomorrow I ride early to Westerham to meet Andy.

To Westerham!

Today, Sunday, I left the house around 0806 and followed the usual route to Westerham, along the 269, which was fine. It took me 55 minutes, a little longer than last week's 52 minutes but hey ho! Andy was there and we chatted about bike stuff covering subjects like the London-Edinburgh-London event, which is happening now. It's around 1,000 miles, 500 each way and it seems like a hard slog. Then we discussed Timmy Mallet who has just finished his mammoth round the UK coastline trip, travelling clockwise (as opposed to Mike Carter's anti-clockwise trip). I think he arrived home yesterday as there's video on Twitter of his emotional arrival back home. Andy said he was a little emotional after his first Ride London and I'd imagine after spending four or five months on the bike, travelling around the coastline of the country, being a free agent, enjoying your own company, meeting some interesting people and generally enjoying the ride, it would be weird coming home, getting used to not being on the bike, getting used to not being that free agent, not arriving in a strange town, living the hotel life, but yes it would be emotional too and for many reasons, one being actually doing it, or having done it. Quite an achievement so I'd imagine there would be plenty of emotions running wild. Mallett was a little tearful when he saw that his family and friends had turned out to welcome him home and I must take my hat off to him for doing the ride and for living the dream (it's certainly my dream and probably, like all of my dreams, destined to be dashed on the rocks of reality sooner or later). When is there ever time to ride a bike around the coast of the UK? Mind you, there are other things to do that might be a little more realistic. There's a guy on Twitter called Will, as in "Will is too honest to be an MP" and he seems to run wild camping-based bike trips. Now that might be fun for a few nights.

Slow puncture!

We eventually decided it was time to head home and all was well until I noticed a slight wobble. I get the feeling I had that same wobble on the ride down, but this time it seemed more pronounced and yes, it was. I had a puncture. I advised Andy to carry on and he did as I slowed to halt and tried to figure out how I was going to play things. The puncture seemed like a slow one, so there were options. I could try pumping it up and seeing if I could get home or I could fix it by the roadside. I pulled up on to the side of the road and thought things through. In the end, I decided to ride back in to Westerham, the plan being another cup of tea and then fix the bike on the green. In the end I didn't buy any tea. I took the wheel off, took out the inner tube, pumped it up and tried to listen for the hiss. There wasn't one. I'd need a sink of water to find this one, I thought, marching in to the Costa and discovering there was no plug in the sink. Fucking nightmare. Now what? I tried putting the inner tube close to my face but there was no breeze, nothing, leading me to the conclusion that I'd have to put the wheel back on the bike, pump it up and see if I could get home before it went down. I reckoned it was a very slow puncture and that I'd likely make it so that's what I did. It proved to be the right thing to do as it wasn't until I reached Church Way that the wobble returned and by the time I was outside of my own garage door I was still in one piece as I rolled the bike back in to the garage and went inside for something to eat, ie a salad sandwich of chopped watercress, tomato, onion and mayo on brown bread followed by some ginger-flavoured yoghurt and a banana smoothie. It was then time to fix the puncture. I turned over the bike in the garage, took off the wheel and removed the inner tube, plunged the latter into a bowl of cold water and lo and behold I found the puncture. Normally I fix punctures with "Leeches" but there don't appear to be any in the bike shops so I settled for 'Scabs' which don't look as if they're as good (only time will tell on that one I guess). It all worked and soon I had the wheel pumped up and back on the bike. All I can do now is wait and see how firm it is in the morning. If it's flat in the morning I'll be taking the train, but let's hope it won't be.

It's hot outside. In fact, the hot weather has been commonplace over the last few weeks and there's been no sign of any rain and no let-up on the heat. Long may it continue is what I say. I'm not one of those people who say a drop of rain will be good for the garden, that's far too Daily Mail for me; I'll leave phrases like that to my mum, but what I do wish is that I could go to the South Coast for a night or two and swim in the sea during the day, it's simply something I must do and soon, spend the day by the sea just chilling. I need to do this but don't really have anybody who feels the same way, which is a big shame. I have this idea of arriving fairly early, let's say 1000hrs. I'd bring the wind break and a cool box full of goodies, possibly a newspaper, definitely a book and a fully-charged radio and then sit there all morning, until about 1230hrs or 1300hrs. A lot depends on the tides. If it's high then a swim straightaway, if the tide is out then just chilling, listening to the radio, munching a sandwich or a Scotch egg, whatever I've brought along, and eventually, probably around 1600hrs start to consider going back to wherever I'm staying. The whole thing would then be repeated the following day and then I'd drive home happy. In many ways it's all I want and I certainly want to do it before the weather turns and everybody starts counting down to Christmas. It's already started: the BBC has announced some of the line-up for this year's Strictly Come Dancing, which is basically a countdown to Christmas. It'll be interesting to see how the greed merchants play it this year as there's a big cost of living crisis brewing and the last thing we'll all need is commercial television trying to tempt us with the thought of a new this or a new that; they can all fuck off. All I want to do is stare at the sea for a couple of days and I'll be happy and unstressed, not that I've been that stressed of late. I'm sleeping well, eating well and feel well, give or take, and I put it all down to cycling to work three days a week, upping my cycling from two to four days per week and tackling some big hills in the process. I'm definitely a little fitter and long may it continue.

A few thoughts on the ride...

Riding the bike is becoming a little addictive. Today, I normally ride work but on this occasion I had a day off and if the truth be known, the best thing I could have done would have been to go out on an early morning ride, to Oxted. I should have jumped on the bike, hit the road and had a mug of tea in the Starbucks in the High Street, just me and Philip Roth's American Pastoral, which I am currently reading. But I didn't. I lolled around being lazy and it's all because I'm wound up with work and no holidays. I allow myself to get wound up, there's not enough down time. I have a lot of trouble unwinding, it takes a few days and when you're just taking the odd day off it simply doesn't work, unless I'd bitten the bullet and taken the bike out. That would have been the solution. The exercise would have done me good, not just physically but mentally too and I should know it because for the past few weeks I've been riding four times a week in the morning and in the evening and while the return ride certainly takes it out of me, that's half the point. I get home, I eat dinner, I then relax and fall asleep and it's that nice kind of tired you tend to get after exercise. Or is it exhaustion? Sometimes it feels that way. I'm often told that I'm overdoing it, or rather that I'm overdoing 'things' meaning I'm overdoing the cycling, but I don't think so. The cycling makes me feel good inside and the ride home is far better than taking the train, sitting there next to a lot of stressed people heading home from their respective workplaces. I'd much rather be out in the sticks, miles from the nearest railway station and on my own, just me and the bike against the world. Riding gives me the chance to think things through, sometimes I think through the wrong stuff and it gets fretful, but all I need really is the challenge of a major hill, like White Hill Lane, and then I find that I'm concentrating my mental faculties on just getting to the top of the hill. I feel great when I get there. On the return route there are plenty of hills and completing each one feels good. Not that there isn't something daunting about the ride home. I start to think about those hills long before I get on the bike. I think about them a little more as I ride towards them, through the Merstham council estate and out towards Warwick Wold Road where they start. In fact, it's probably best not to think too much about them and just pedal onwards, remembering that every yard, every inch even, takes me closer to home. The ride home is an ordeal, but only because of those hills, but the ordeal is part of the fun, part of the enjoyment, part of the challenge, although I never think as much at the time. After a day at work it's tiresome, but not overly so, it's good to be doing it rather than waiting on a hot platform for a train. That said, I've started (as I say in the previous post) riding in and then taking the bus home. I did this on those really hot days a few weeks back when it was inadvisable to ride home in such heat, especially attempting the hills. So I jumped on the 405. When the kids have all reached home safely, say around 5.30pm or a little later, the bus is empty and with a cool breeze coming in through the open windows, and a good book, it's a pleasant way to wile away around 40 minutes. Taking the bus home means taking the train the next day and then riding home, but it's one of those 'change is as good as a rest' things, sometimes it's nice to break it up and not make the whole thing a pain. I don't want to find myself not doing this because I get tired of it so to mix it up a bit is good, I still ride three times per week, I just split up one of the rides.

Riding a bike is quite an amazing thing and yet it's something nobody really thinks too deeply about. Riding a bike is riding a bike and that's it, you might think, but just the different route, the quieter route to wherever it is you're going is like finding a new world in which to exist, a world that might not be too far from the one you know and love but a new world nonetheless, a route you wouldn't otherwise take, houses you wouldn't normally see, wildlife you wouldn't have seen. A couple of rides back I followed a small brown mouse as he waddled his way along in a dirt track that ran parallel with the road, it was quite a funny sight if I'm honest and eventually he disappeared in the undergrowth, but it was good to see him. In fact, on the same stretch of road I saw a lonely goat herd in a hillside, which, as I said in the previous post, reminded me of the song from The Sound of Music. These are all things that don't happen on the train or the bus or the car, but they're all life-enriching, albeit on a small scale. I love that idea of new worlds, but that's what it is, new worlds, different routes, roads not normally travelled, houses not usually seen, it's great the way the bike cuts through this new territory and gives its passenger a different perspective on life. Suddenly there are different views, no longer the back gardens of houses close to the railway tracks, or that boring windscreen view you get whilst sitting in the passenger seat of a car looking at the rear of a bus or another car. My route at this present time is virtually car-free, there's nobody around in the morning and by leaving the office around a quarter to six in the evening, the sun still shining brightly, by the time I reach the sticks the cars have gone (almost). It's important to remember that there's always going to be a car coming out of nowhere so I never get too complacent, but by and large the ride in and out is quiet and I like that. 

Sometimes things happen out of the blue and I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but the other week, near the Whyteleafe Tavern, I stopped to fix the chain back on the bike only to discover that the rear wheel had come loose. It was a new rear wheel and I reckon I simply hadn't tightened it enough. I managed to cover both hands in thick dirt from the chain but eventually I managed to put everything back together and head off towards the last hill of the ride, Tithepit Shaw Lane. I tend to bring water with me and I have a couple of cups of it before tackling the hills. I don't know, but I reckon it helps in some way, unless its psychological. Something else weird - and very dangerous - occurred as I made a left turn into Park Avenue off of Stanstead Road. Over the past couple of trips I'd been slowing down a little to take the sharp and blind turn and being as there were no cars around (and to gain greater visibility of what was around the corner) I'd edge out into the middle of the road and then into Park Avenue without the need to brake or slow right down. Fine, you might think, but it's important to realise that hazards materialise out of the blue. On one occasion as I lined things up for a smooth left turn without needing to use the brakes, a woman in a motorised wheelchair on the wrong side of the road and right at the end of it (she could have been hit by a car turning into the road and wouldn't have been able to avoid it) appeared out of nowhere. What she was doing on the wrong side of the road and about to turn right on to the main road I don't know, but there was no problem, I managed to avoid her because I wasn't travelling that fast and it wasn't even a case of having to avoid her, more that I saw her (thanks to moving into the middle of the road) and took minor evasive action, which meant drifting to the right slightly and then back left and following the road down and round to the old church on the corner of Manor Avenue. Park Road sort of becomes Manor Avenue, the road bends right, it's a nice piece of road, pleasant houses, and only a short distance from the start of Whyteleafe hill except that this time, unlike on the outward journey, I'm riding downhill, which is fast and again there's a strong need to keep my wits about me as the road is full of sleeping policemen, the sort that cars can drive over, and a few left turns from where cars can emerge.

Chilling...

As the ride nears its end I feel elated. Elated that I've tackled the big hills and that all that remains is Sanderstead High Street and another downhill, this time Church Way, the first, or rather the second, climb on the outward journey. The sleeping policemen on Church Way stretch from one side of the road to the other so I tend to stand up as I ride over them. Cycling down Church Way is quite fast and again you have to watch yourself as there's a blind corner where parked cars conceal cars that might be coming up the road and then there's a left turn, Briton Hill Road, where cars suddenly appear. So the hazards never stop, they're always there, right to the end. I love Ellenbridge on the return as I can pedal hard and get up a fair speed before having to slow for the right turn that eventually takes me home. And the first thing I do when I get home? I make myself a couple of slices of toast and honey (it's my new thing, two slices for breakfast and two when I get back from the ride).

As I didn't ride today I'll be riding tomorrow, to Oxted, where I'll probably stop for tea. I'm planning on taking Philip Roth with me and will likely spend half an hour reading before riding home and tackling Titsey Hill. Believe me, it's nothing. It's long, yes, but it's not a problem ride. I'd rather ride up Titsey than White Hill Lane any day. Until then, I wish you all a good night.

Normalising the ride to work

I used to say that riding to work was a faff and that's why I didn't do it, but the truth of the matter is this: it's not a faff. In fact, it's quite simple. I fold a shirt, find a towel and a pair of trousers, throw in a tee-shirt for the return ride, put my glasses and phone charger in a smaller section of the rucksack and that's it. After that it's just a case of putting on cycling shorts and another tee-shirt, plus socks and trainers and then heading out into the garage to fetch the bike. That's the only moment of trepidation. I check the rear tyre to see if it's flat or soft and if it's not, then off I go, set Strava and ride off.

Sometimes I ride in and bus it back

I ride up Ellenbridge and on to Elmfield, then Morley, then Church Way, roads I know well and then ride a little of the Limpsfield Road having crossed the churchyard. Now it gets a little busy although right now, with the kids off school, the roads are empty, which is great. I turn right on to Wentworth, follow the road down to Warlingham School, hang a right, bear left and head towards the first real hazard of the ride (although, in fairness, when you're on the road, the whole thing is one big hazard that shouldn't be underestimated).

The first big hazard, then, is Tithepit Shaw Lane, it's a winding downhill road (on the outward journey) and it's important to keep a weather eye on the traffic, namely impatient people driving to work. It also puts a little wear and tear on the brakes. Another hazardous part of the journey is the Whyteleafe roundabout, which is next up: plenty of traffic on the A22 so invariably I stop, wait for a clear path and then bomb across, hoping that the railway level crossing on the other side won't be bleeping as that can mean a fairly long wait for a train to pass, but even if it is bleeping, it's not really a problem. Some say that Whyteleafe Hill - which follows straight after the level crossing, is a bit of a pig and in some respects they're right, it is a pig, but mainly because it's long, not because it's steep. It's a steady incline and to be honest I take it in my stride. Half way along (at the end of the 'hilly bit', if you can call it that) there's a mini roundabout and from there it's fairly plain sailing into Caterham. I take my time as there's some nice houses along that stretch and it's nice to see them in all their morning finery. There's also some interesting side roads on either side that I'd like to explore one of these days. For some reason it takes me back to when I used to do a milk round in the south Wallington area.

The Whyteleafe railway crossing

It's a short ride past Queen's Park (on my right) to a little short cut, I think it's Manor Avenue, a quiet road which leads to Park Avenue and joins the Stanstead Road which takes me all the way to White Hill Lane via Chaldon. White Hill Lane, in many ways, represents the halfway point in a sense, but it's dangerous, a 10% drop that curves left and right and isn't ideal if you have a car behind you, even if I do deliberately hog the middle of the road to keep the motorist at bay. The problem is speed, which picks up, and then there's a right turn that I need to take, so I slow, take one hand off the bars for a split second to indicate I'm turning left and soon I find myself on Springbottom Lane, a long road with huge houses, some sporting swimming pools on the left and right. There's even a steep hillside with goats grazing and I think of the lonely goatherd in the song from The Sound of Music, not a film I'd put down as a favourite, more a childhood memory of going to the cinema and seeing Miss Candy with her red light and choc ices.

At the end of Springbottom a T junction and I turn left and then keep going, down another steep (and fast) hill and over the motorway, it's either the M23 or the M25 but I find it an invigorating moment of the ride, suddenly riding, at speed, over a busy motorway and then calming down a little as I reach the end of Warwick Wold Road and turn right, heading through the council estate of Merstham. This part of the ride is fairly chilled as, indeed, is the rest of the journey. I pass a curry restaurant, a Co-op and then, after another mini roundabout I ride under a railway bridge close to Merstham railway station and turn left, where the road is a little uneven as it takes me through a row of shops towards another mini roundabout where I turn right and head towards another railway bridge, or possibly two, I can't remember. By now, of course, I'm almost there. A left turn under the railway bridge, then a right on to what I think is Frenchies Road, I might be wrong about that, but either way I pass the Jolly Brickmakers and head on down into Redhill. At this stage there are various options: ride down Lynwood Road or head up towards the A23 and either cross it or turn left on to it and ride towards the town centre. As soon as I engage with traffic the need to be alert is crucial, trying to second guess the intentions of other road users, but soon I arrive in Clarendon Road, I press the security code, a door opens and I arrive in the office car park, time for a shower and a day's work and then, as the day wears on, I start to consider the ride home, which, it has to be said, is a pig. Why? It's all uphill and all those steep downhills become steep uphills, a real work-out that's for sure, but ultimately it's a 24-mile ride, roughly 12 miles each way and, of late, certainly on the inward ride, I've managed to shave six minutes off my time. It used to take me around one hour and sixteen minutes, now it's around an hour and ten.

The motorway on a return ride...

I tend to ride three times a week and sometimes I split it, I might ride in and take the bus back and then the following day I ride home, having bought a single ticket on the train, which is only £4.80 compared to £9.40 for a return trip. This week I rode there and back on Monday, I rode in Wednesday and left the bike at the office, taking the bus home (it costs me nothing) and then yesterday (Thursday) I rode it back. Now it's Friday, I've got the day off so I can either ride nowhere today, but only if I ride to Oxted or Westerham tomorrow morning. The aim is four rides a week, so Sunday with Andy plus three rides before Saturday. So far I've done two rides, ie two complete rides (there and back). I'd be happy with another one today, but as I say, if I don't go today I must go tomorrow so as not to break the cycle, so to speak.

The other side of this, of course, is fitness. I've lost around 7lbs, or let's say 6lbs, and I'm kind of watching what I eat. I've got to be slightly careful, because there's also that thing about regular cycling and not needing to keep to a diet. I've bought into that a little bit along the lines of eating cake and biscuits, but it only works if the riding is kept up and even then it's a false economy; but on the other side I've not been eating in between meals (most of the time) and I've been having light meals. The danger is when the cycling slopes off a bit, which I'm sure it will do when the weather closes in, but all I really need to do (to maintain current cycling levels) is to ride on the weekends and then twice during the week. So Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday should do it.

The bike at work, probably prior to the ride home

You see much more of the world around you when you're on a bicycle. If you're travelling fast in a train, while you get to see the countryside and the fields at a distance, it's all over in a flash. In a car it's even worse, but on a bike you spot things you might have passed by, like the old church in Caterham built in something like 1039AD, there it is on the side of the road as I turn into Manor Road, see photo below.

The old church in Caterham

The above shot is taken while on Manor Avenue, which leads down to Park Avenue. I just saw it and thought it looked like a nice spot. That's the thing about cycling, you see lots of nice spots where you can imagine yourself chilling with a cup of tea or just lolling around doing nothing, what's not to like?

Riding to work, saving money and keeping fit...

I reckon the media's at it again, scaremongering. Matt Frei on LBC (under the circumstances, perhaps that should be Matt Fry) was talking up a lockdown with a former government chief scientific officer, who wouldn't be drawn either way, and the papers are full of it being over 40deg C. I haven't checked my iphone weather app for next week, but the last time I looked 40deg C wasn't on the cards, it was something like 36 degrees, if that, so don't believe the hype. There are even reports on the trains being disrupted due to overheated rails that might buckle. The train companies, or Network Rail, are advising people not to travel unless it's absolutely necessary, which is rather stupid as nobody's going to get on the train to Redhill, say, if they don't have to, but I'm guessing if you work there then you must catch the train (or the bus). Or, of course, you could do what I did three times last week and ride in, 25 miles per day plus a 21-mile ride to Westerham last Sunday morning, I was clearly on a roll and the weather was wonderful. I guess that the experts would say cycling is out of the question too, but I figure that early in the morning the sun isn't exactly at its hottest and when I ride home, normally close to 1800hrs, the hot weather is bound to have cooled off a little; in fact I might ride on Monday and Tuesday if there's the slightest hint of 'trouble on the trains', there's nothing worse than knowing it takes just one hour and 15 minutes to ride to work when you're standing on a hot platform with a load of sweaty commuters wondering if one of them has COVID. It is, therefore, highly likely that I will ride to work and in the process deny Southern Railway of my daily extortionate fare of £9.50.

Bike in Westerham last Sunday...

Last week's rides were good. I rode Tuesday, Thursday and Friday and enjoyed them all, apart from the big hills on the way back, namely White Hill Lane and Tithepit Shaw Lane. That said, I crank the bike into its lowest gear and set about the task of uphill riding in the heat, because it has been warm. I noticed my forearms sweating as the climb continued and when I reached the top I felt elated that there was just one more hill to go and then I'd be almost home. It's great getting home, of course, pressing 'finish' on Strava, putting the bike in the garage and then chilling for the rest of the evening. On a couple of occasions I've gone to bed early (around 2000hrs). I lie on top of the bed in a spare room, fully clothed, and then find myself waking up in the middle of the night, everybody in bed and asleep and me considering cleaning my teeth and going back to sleep in my own bedroom. Not 'my own' bedroom in the sense that I'm the only one there, but the bedroom I share with my wife who is fast asleep when I arrive feeling slightly more awake than I did prior to visiting the bathroom to clean my teeth. It'll then take me a while to get to sleep but eventually that's what happens and then it's morning again and time for work once more. Give or take, this happened on three days last week and I'll admit that I do feel better for it. I take sandwiches with me and that means I spend nothing, except, perhaps, for a cup of tea in the Pop Inn, which is £1.50. The caff is getting expensive, they're putting up their prices so that 'going to the caff' is no longer the cheap option (compared, I suppose, with other caffs, like the M&S caff, which is never good value for money) or other venues, although the choice in Redhill is very limited. Give me an avocado sandwich any day, it's all I need. I've cut down considerably on what I eat, although I do currently have a weakness for toast and honey (two slices in the morning and two when I get back off the ride). But I figure that cycling 25 miles/day means I can eat my toast and honey without feeling too guilty about it. So I'll aim for riding Monday and Tuesday, Thursday and Friday next week, one ride more than last week. It's so easy riding to work: chuck a shirt and a pair of trousers into a rucksack along with a towel and all the stuff I'll need - ie glasses, iphone, phone charger - and then just go. I know roughly what time I'll arrive and the time I'll return as the only possible delay would be caused by a puncture and that would delay me approximately 20 minutes. That said I've got some new 'leeches' and they're not Leeches, so they might not be up for the job. The last thing I want is to be stranded somewhere between Redhill and Caterham (which is all out in the sticks and miles from a railway station).

Wild flowers on Clarks Lane on the return ride from Westerham last Sunday

These past two or three days it's been hot and in the morning very pleasant. In fact there's been nothing more pleasurable than riding from where I live to Redhill. Fine, there are a few dodgy bits, but not many, most of the ride is country lanes, but it's important not to take my eye off the ball, so to speak. On the outward ride the most dangerous spots are riding down Tithepit Shaw Lane and then White Hill Lane, the latter being extremely dangerous as it's a steep downhill and it's hard to keep control of the bike AND then signal a right turn. I might start riding along War Coppice Road and then Hexstalls Lane to avoid the steep drop and the effect it must be having on my brake pads. There is a way of avoiding Tithepit too, but it all adds up in terms of time. Still, better safe than sorry I guess. You have to be careful everywhere. Once in Merstham I was cut up as I approached a mini roundabout by a driver who cut in front of me as he turned left. On the return ride the main danger spot is riding down the lower half of Whyteleafe Hill. There are sleeping policeman in the middle of the road and all you need is an impatient driver getting too close and that's what happened to me last week. He got close enough, at speed, to make me feel wary of that stretch on the return ride; in the morning it's fine as it's uphill and, therefore, slower.

Clarks Lane looking towards Botley Hill last Sunday

A colleague at work has suggested high visibility clothing and he's right. I need a high-viz rucksack definitely as wearing, say, a high visibility top would be concealed by my current rucksack. The only time I don't need a rucksack is when I ride at the weekends and don't need to pack a shirt or a pair of trousers, but on those occasions (ie my ride to meet Andy in Westerham on Sundays) a high visibility top would be preferable. I guess I need both.

Railway crossing at the bottom of Whyteleafe Hill last week

The bike has performed relatively well, but the week before last I had a buckled wheel. I only noticed this because I noticed I had a puncture in the office car park prior to riding home and when I had fixed it and replaced the wheel I couldn't believe the wobble. A chappy in the bike shop in Redhill said place your finger next to the wheel, spin the wheel and if the rim touches your finger, you need a new wheel or you'll need to have the wheel and a couple of spokes fixed. As it turned out I needed a new wheel, there was a hole in the underside of it so I nipped in to Cycle King in Croydon with a view to buying a new wheel. But guess what? It's not in stock. It never is at Cycle King and the bloke there, a rather cocky individual, always suggests I go online, order what he tells me to order and then bring said item into the shop and he'll fix it. Easier said than done. He suggested Chain Reaction Cycles and I thought they'd be good because they're on Twitter and they appear to be fairly cyclist friendly, but now I'm having my doubts. The guy in Cycle King told me to key in '29 Er wheel with centre lock hub' or something like that; I made a note on my iphone and when I reached home I did just that expecting a whole load of products would spring up on the site and that I could choose from the selection, get the wheel delivered to my house and then take it Cycle King and they'd fix it. But it's never that easy, not with Cycle King at any rate. It should be but it isn't. For a start, when I keyed in what I was told to there were pages and pages of stuff about wheels and hubs, expensive wheels and hubs, but nothing at all to match my search criteria. I scrolled through half a dozen pages before realising I was not going to find what I wanted. On a later try three expensive mountain bikes sprung up, no wheels, nothing, just three expensive bikes. 

Riding over the motorway, not sure which one...

I realised that Chain Reaction Cycles were not going to be getting my business, not because I didn't want to give it to them, but simply because the item I keyed in simply wasn't there. It was a case of 'everything but' so I signed off. The guy at Cycle King said he would send me a link but as I suspected he never did, even now, over a week later, I haven't heard back from him. Fortunately, there was Balfe's in Sutton. It used to be Pearson's and it's a great bike shop, very very helpful. The guy said he didn't have the exact wheel but he could still make things work with what he had. I drove over to Sutton in the heat of a Saturday afternoon, having retrieved the wheel from Cycle King. The guy in Balfe's - I think it was Mike - took my old wheel, found a new one and told me what he was going to do, I said fine, go for it and went to wait it out in the Starbucks next door. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and a couple of ginger biscuits and sat there watching the good people of Sutton pass up and down the high street as I reminisced about my childhood town and the countless times I'd walked up and down the high street 'back in the day'. I tend to visit Sutton once a week but never the High Street. However, on this occasion I left the car in the B&Q car park, walked through Manor Park, where people were playing ball games and generally enjoying the good weather, and then down the high street to Balfe's where I handed over the wheel and, as I said, sat outside Starbuck's awaiting my new wheel. The rear wheel was the problem so the guy in the shop had to swap over the block from the old wheel to the new. When I went back in I asked if he thought I needed a new rear tyre. He said no, there was some wear left in the old one. I paid up, £111.98 and left the shop with my new wheel. I felt elated because I'd told Andy that it was highly likely I wouldn't be riding to Westerham in the morning, but now I knew I'd be there so I told him so via a text message.

I was heading for Caterham and White Hill Lane...

The following morning I went into the garage and fixed my new wheel on to the bike and then rode to Westerham to meet Andy at Costa. We sat chatting for around one hour before heading back home. Andy was with James and the two of them were part of the Moof IT cycling team, they had the branded vests, the lot. They were the sole members but I'm sure the numbers will improve and even if they don't it doesn't matter as Andy is not only part of NoVisibleLycra, but also Oxted CC.

Hell is a left turn...

It's hot today. Too hot to mow the lawn, which is scorched and scraggy after around three weeks of not being cut, probably longer. There are wild flowers and it's tempting to leave it as the grass hasn't grown a great deal because of the heat, but I've promised to cut it later when things cool down a little. Right now, in fact ever since I started writing this blogpost, I'm sitting in the shade under a tree, lap top on lap (where it's supposed to be). There are birds tweeting, blue skies and a few scattered clouds of the white cotton wool variety. I can hear the drone of a plane in the sky but I can't see it and I can just see the tops of the trees in the woods. A radio plays in the distance and everything is still, especially the clouds, which are motionless.

I didn't go riding today on account of my three rides during the week, but I will be in Westerham tomorrow morning, a week after the last meeting that nearly didn't happen, to meet Andy and enjoy an English breakfast tea in the sunshine.

Sunday morning

I left home at 0801hrs and headed for Westerham. It was warm out, very warm. In fact, right now, at 1808hrs it's still warm, something like 28 degrees. I decided to put sun block on and a long-sleeved fleece to protect the old forearms and then I was on my way, having also tanked up with cold water. I doubted I'd need it on the outward journey but perhaps on the way home, at the top of the hill coming out of Westerham and then at the top of Slines Oak Road as I was planning on avoiding most of the 269. I didn't want to be dealing with hot and bothered drivers.

The bike at work...

By the time I reached Westerham Andy was there, sitting at a table on the green. There was a bunch of Japanese motorcycles lined up outside the Costa, which made a pleasant change from the usual Harley Davidisons, there was even an old Virago, but mainly, it seemed, Yamahas. It was one of those days, there was plenty of vintage this and that floating around, mainly vintage cars: old Ford Escorts, MGBs, Ford Anglias, you name it, all heading for a field off the Limpsfield Road. 

It was a good ride and I was feeling tip top, which was probably a lot to do with being almost a stone lighter and fitter through the riding I'd been doing during the week. Andy later said that I was riding faster than usual, which was good to know. While on the green we sat and chatted, mainly about Andy's ride to Cornwall and, of course, the nasty accident that preceded it. Hats off to Andy for having the determination to succeed and keep with his original programme, that of riding to and from Cornwall to see his sister. 

Andy and I stayed together on the return ride until we cleared Rectory Lane. I went back via The Ridge and through Woldingham, taking the Slines Oak Road hill with ease and then gliding along the Limpsfield Road towards home. I got back around 1120hrs and then mowed the front lawn and trimmed the tree a little bit too, it all looks good now. For the past three weeks or so we've not had a mower, the wheel came off and it needed repairing. The hot weather has scorched the lawns front and back, they're brown and dry and there's little in the way of growth. I've chilled in the back garden, drinking the odd cup of green tea, eating baked beans on toast and then driving over to Wimbledon (and back). Didn't see mum this weekend, which was a shame, but I'll see her next week for sure. 

Casting a shadow in Whyteleafe...

Tomorrow it's supposed to be almost 40 degrees, so pretty hot. I will probably ride in early and then, if it's really bad I'll either leave the bike at work and take the bus or check the temperature and if it's alright I'll ride back, but let's cross those bridges as we encounter them.

I'm rather hoping that after Tuesday - when they say the heat will calm down a little (perhaps to what is now) - that the good weather will continue and I can ride to work a bit more. What  I don't want is rain and storms, well, perhaps for one day, but it's still early in the summer, we're in July for heaven's sake, so I'm expecting more sunshine, just not so severe as they're expecting tomorrow and Tuesday. Actually, I'm hoping that it's all media hype, but something says it's not and the last thing I want is heatstroke.

The media was right!

As it turned out the media was correct: it turned out to be a real scorcher and temperatures almost reached 40 degrees C; it was 38 degrees C in Suffolk and over here in my neck of the woods it was cool enough to ride into work but there was no way I was going ride home as it was sweltering hot. Instead, I got the bus home and managed, thanks to cycling in, not to spend a penny on public transport. Result!

 

Strikebuster! I ride to work and back!

It's not often that I miss a week or two on the blog, but as desperate readers must be thinking, where IS he? Well, I'm here. I haven't gone away. In fact, the week before last, due to the train strike, I managed to ride into work from Tuesday to Friday, roughly 25 miles per day... and the weather was absolutely perfect, arguably too hot, especially on the the hilly return ride. Normally, riding to work is a bit of a pain and can be fairly stressful when you consider that the threat of puncture always looms large and it's the last thing I want when I'm riding in; on the return journey it's a little less threatening but probably worse as I'm tired from a day at work and looking forward to getting home to relax. But fortunately, no punctures, in fact, nothing was wrong with the bike at all so I was, if you like, blessed with good fortune.

The bike in an empty car park ready for the ride home...

The weekend prior to the train strike I didn't cycle anywhere because I was going away for a night, down to darkest East Sussex. I didn't ride on the Saturday morning to Oxted and then, because I woke up in a hotel on Sunday morning, no riding on Sunday either. But then I more than made up for it the following Tuesday (day one of the train strike) when I rode to Redhill through Whyteleafe, Caterham and Chaldon. The ride in, as I've said before, was a piece of cake, mainly because most of it is downhill, but not until I've cleared Whyteleafe Hill, which is not too bad, it's just long and dragged out. But once at the top and once having turned right just beyond a small park, the rest of the ride is plain sailing along Stansted Road, into Chaldon and then down White Hill Lane, turning right on to Springbottom Lane and then left and straight on, over the motorway and into Merstham. In fact, riding down White Hill Lane is arguably the most dangerous part of the ride because the downhill is fast and there are a few twists and turns and then I have to slow the bike down and make a right turn.

Sign for Route 21... no, not today!

Once into Merstham it's pretty much plain sailing through the village and then along Frenchies Road into Redhill. When I arrive at work I can shower in the office and then, refreshed, walk up the two flights of stairs to the office feeling energised and ready for the working day. The best bit about riding to the office (when the weather is good) is that I get excited about the ride home. It's great knowing that all I have to do is walk downstairs, unpadlock the bike, jump on and ride home. I can even let the folks at home know the exact time that I will return (barring hassles like a puncture) as it takes roughly one hour and 15 minutes to get home, give or take. The problem with the return ride is the hills. I encounter them just outside of Merstham on the Warwick Wold Road leading up to the bridge across the motorway and they continue from there. The first big one is White Hill Lane: dangerous riding down and bloody hard work cycling the other way. Oddly it's little more than around five minutes of pain and then it's over. Suddenly I'm approaching the Harrow pub in Chaldon and all is well. As the week progressed I got better and better at climbing up White Hill Lane, although on one day I decided to seek out Hexstalls Lane, a gravelly road that bypasses the hill and deposits me right at the top on War Coppice Road which leads down to the Harrow pub. But all that gravel worries me: what if I get a puncture? As I said earlier, it's the last thing I need on the ride home, even if the sun is shining.

Cycling over the motorway, with more hills to come...

On the Friday of the week of riding to the office I only rode in. I left the bike in the office over the weekend due to a calamity that needed immediate attention but then rode the bike home the following Monday and, much to my amazement – after another weekend of not riding the bike – I sailed up White Hill Lane. It was odd as I saw another cyclist a few yards ahead of me on a racing bike. I watched as he stood up and pedalled his way to the top and so decided that I would adopt the same practice. I found it worked well and realised that I'd conquered the hill and that it would never be a major problem for me again. I put this down to two things: one was all those rides to Oxted and the ride back up Titsey Hill; these rides would have put me in a good position for the pain of White Hill Lane. Two, the fact that I'd been riding on four consecutive days to Redhill and back meant that I was accustomed to the hill by the end of the week so when I tackled it on the Monday, having not cycled in to Redhill (which must have helped) I took the whole thing in my stride.

Reaching the top of White Hill Lane

White Hill Lane, however, is not the only nasty incline on the return ride, there's also Tithepit Shaw Lane. On the Monday evening I decided to stand up for as along as I could and change down as the hill reached its steepest point; this proved a great success and once over I felt the relief of knowing there were no more hills and that I would be home within around 10-15 minutes. 

On one of the days, I think it was the first Tuesday, the day of the strike, when I reached home I felt tremendously energised. So energised in fact that I set about making myself a homemade pasta and sauce (basically fusilli with chopped tomato, red pepper and onion. I ate the lot.

Ever since returning from Prague, where I started drinking green tea, I started to watch my diet a little bit and soon I was down to 12st 7lbs. I had weighed around 13 stone and wasn't happy so it was good to jump on the scales and find myself half a stone lighter, which I put down to not eating more than two to three slices of bread per day and trying my best not to eat between meals. By and large I've laid off the cakes too, although over the weekend just past I did eat a few chocolate digestives (at my mum's) and some digestives and a slice of chocolate cake (at my mother-in-law's). Not ideal, but then last night I didn't eat a big meal. Today (it's Monday and I was going to ride in, but will probably ride tomorrow morning depending on how I feel) I had Alpen and fresh fruit with yoghurt for breakfast, no toast, and mug of green tea. I made myself a tuna and mayo sandwich, just the one and that's all I've eaten today so far (it's now just gone 5pm and I'm about to go home, albeit on the train. I would like to get my weight down to around 12st, just over perhaps, but that would be enough.

Queen's Park in Caterham, I think that's what it's called...

On Sunday I rode to Westerham to meet Andy who told me all about his ride to and from Cornwall. We sat on the green sipping tea for around one hour talking about the ride and I must say the whole thing was inspiring. I'm pleased for Andy as he broke his hip, you might recall, earlier in the year, but was determined to ride to Cornwall and he did, so respect is due, top man and all that. I would like to have a crack at a longer ride, perhaps a trip to the south coast, but I'm not going to commit to anything as I have enough travelling to do in my job as it is. Avid readers will know that over the past month of so I've been first to Pittsburgh in the USA and then to Prague in the Czech Republic. There's a trip to Sweden and Finland coming up so I don't want to be away for longer than I have to, but a one-day ride to Felpham would work, I'll just have to see if an opportunity arises.

The last hill of the ride... and it ain't a walk in the park!

Grandior Prague - a fantastic hotel...

Some hotels are like the Tardis. From the outside they might share the road in which they are located with various stores and not really enjoy the luxury of a grand entrance, but once through the doors they open out like a huge canyon of glitz and glamour, mirrors and polished floors and occupy a vast space that goes back and back as far as the eye can see, but fail to offer any evidence of their size on the outside. If you took a walk around the block to check out the scale of the place from the outside you would find nothing to suggest that you hadn't been dreaming. 

View from room 512, Grandior Hotel

The Grandior Hotel in Prague is very much a Tardis. Once inside, you lose all sense of there being an outside world. You exist in another space all together and it's a great feeling. The streets and shops are gone and you find yourself in a corridor, passing numbered doors until you reach your own where you are plunged into a world within a world, your room, where silence reigns supreme, a made bed awaits your attention and a minibar too.

There was very little not to like at the Grandior Hotel. Great rooms, amazing food, fantastic hospitality all made my stay impeccable. The breakfasts were to die for: quark cakes for a start, poppy seed cakes, pastries, a variety of breads, hot and cold delights, cereals and yoghurts, a selection of teas, scrambled eggs, beans, bacon, sausages, roasted potatoes (yes, roasted potatoes), mushrooms, you name it. Lunches were good too and I'm guessing dinner was also top notch, but I never experienced it, much to my dismay.

Checking in and out was straightforward and the conference I was running went smoothly thanks to the hotel staff who pulled out all the stops, offering sweet and savoury snacks to delegates during the breaks and generally being there when called upon. 

Room 512, Grandior Hotel

I was staying in room 512 on the fifth floor. The bathroom was luxurious and my only complaint was the ferocity of the shower and the fact that I managed to soak everything as soon as I switched it on; it was so powerful, like a Karcher jet washer. I felt as if I was sand-blasting myself rather than having a warm, gentle shower. Sometimes I couldn't face it until after breakfast. That would be my only gripe, everything else was perfect.

I arrived on Monday 6th June and checked out on Friday 10th June and then flew home with easyJet, not British Airways. And you know what? The food offering was better and the flight too, it was smooth all the way, sunny with scattered cloud and we flew at 38,000 feet. I read Middle England by Jonathan Coe, sipped on a green tea and munched on a KitKat, that was lunch basically. It was good to be flying into Gatwick and not Heathrow. The former means that the plane runs just north of the south coast and then turns inland to touch down, there's no circling the airport half a dozen times before landing and once on the ground it's a short walk to the train station and regular trains into London. I was home by 1530hrs and sitting in the garden finishing off my book. The big question is what to read next.

No, I won't jump, I need breakfast!

Monday 6th June, Flight BA860 from London Heathrow to Prague...

Waiting to take off...

First, let's get all the commercial crap out of the way. I hate it. As soon as I am through security – which this time was relatively painless – I found myself surrounded by booze and perfume and then watches and expensive leather goods, clothes shops and so forth. I was elated to note that shops like Tiffany, Bvlgari and other big brand names I'm having difficulty remembering were all empty, no customers whatsoever, it was so heartening. I've always hated the false notion that air travel is somehow glamorous and that we should all be considering some Beluga caviar before we fly (another shop, incidentally, that had no customers, much to my amusement, all those oysters going to waste, I thought).

Unfortunately for me I'm still on antibiotics, thanks to my last trip abroad. The course finishes tomorrow, but I almost forgot and ordered a chicken burger, which I swiftly cancelled, keeping only the mineral water in order to swallow my pill at the desired time, which just so happened to be at lunch time. I had the prospect of not eating for one hour, which was very depressing especially when I later discovered that the inflight service consisted of a bag of crisps. If I wanted anything else, I was told, I should have ordered something on the BA shopping app prior to flying, except that nobody told me about this. Next time I'll buy food before I fly, I thought. The other option was to use the app to order something from the limited selection they had on board, which was rubbish and consisted only of coffee and a couple of biscuits. And considering that I was now at 30,000 feet and the option of pre-ordering was out of the question, it was all I had left. I made the cabin crew work. I had many questions and I needed them to help me use the app in order to buy an awful cup of black coffee and those biscuits. The coffee came in the shape of a coffee bag which I had to place in a paper mug of hot water they had given me. The coffee was awful, no taste at all despite claiming to offer 'notes of dark chocolate and burnt caramel'. I squeezed the bag as per the instructions on the back but it made no difference, it was still absolutely awful. So much for their 'Signature Blend'. 

Looking down at the M25...

To use the app, the cabin crew told me I had to take the phone off airplane mode (which made me a little apprehensive as I imagined the plane suddenly nose-diving and the captain coming out and saying "whoever's turned their phone off airplane mode, switch it back on" and then the plane levelling out). Nothing of the sort happened, fortunately. 

The biscuit and the coffee set me back a fiver and didn't represent value for money in my world. The annoying thing here, of course, was that once again, I found myself being forced to eat rubbish. I had no dinner on Sunday night because there wasn't any food, no breakfast for the same reason the following morning and then no lunch because I had to take an antibiotic at a specific time and I was really looking forward to the inflight meal, but it wasn't to be thanks to British Airways, the airline that likes to disappoint its customers.

The flight was only 90 minutes and as I looked at  my watch, I realised we had started our descent. As soon as we land I'm going to grab something decent to eat, I thought to myself. I was really glad that I got the cabin crew working on that app. I was like a dog with a bone.

The captain said the weather conditions in Prague were 'cheerful', which was more than could be said for BA's food offering. The muddy water they passed off as coffee was a joke as, indeed was the whole experience. I think the crew thought that nobody would be bothered to use the app, but I proved them wrong. They're probably still cursing me as I write this; at least I hope they are!

BA's idea of lunch!

Outside the window and far below me, there were green fields and sunshine and scattered cloud. When I looked at my watch, there was around 15 minutes until we landed. I could see little villages below and the usual patchwork quilt of corn fields and grass fields dissected by narrow country lanes and peppered here and there with forests, the occasional river and even a few wind farms. Ten minutes to landing.

Once down, getting through security was a doddle, so was baggage reclaim and then I spotted a cafeteria, a spacious place with hardly any customers. There was a servery counter so I ordered a pasta and chicken dish and a decent dessert and chilled for a few minutes before finding a taxi and heading for the Grandior Hotel.

Postscript: Just going back to British Airways again, one thing I always used to enjoy was reading John Simpson's column in the High Life magazine, but now it's not available as a print publication – or so it seems. Now it's an app that you can read (I'd imagine with huge difficulty) on a mobile phone. I didn't bother. Fucking apps!

Westerham and Tatsfield with Andy...

Before I start this post, a brief explanation as to why I'm even writing this sentence. Basically, there's some kind of formatting issue which means that if I try to make the next paragraph the start of this post, it suddenly increases the font size and centres the paragraph and it looks awful. I've spent an age trying to work out how to get it right and the only way I can think of is to fill the space with text like this. Anyway, here's the post...

It is possible to draw an invisible line between the time prior to my recent trip to the USA and the time since I've returned. Before I left the UK, I had things kind of under control. For a start, I had found a routine of sorts that involved a ride to Oxted where I would chill out with a mug of tea or coffee and possibly a small chocolate bar. Such chilled out behaviour would take place in either a Starbucks in the middle of town or a Caffe Nero at the top of the High Street close to Pizza Express. I loved it. Once sat down at whatever establishment I had chose I would simply shut down for a while; I would sip tea, watch passers-by and generally relax. I might take a look in a charity shop afterwards and then I would prepare myself for the journey home, which would involve climbing Titsey Hill or Chalkpit Lane depending on how I felt, the latter being the steeper option.

 

Andy, Westerham, Saturday...

On my return from the USA, however, things changed. For a start I arrived home with an infected foot; it was bright red and swollen and, as a result, I was given antibiotics. I worked at home for a bit and I stayed off of the bike, although I still managed a ride to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy for his first ride since breaking his hip (see previous post). In all honesty, the foot was well enough to ride the bike, but the infection persisted and I was given another box of pills. I rarely take pills, not even an Aspirin for a hangover because I no longer suffer from them having given up drinking five years ago. But now I found myself taking one pill every four hours. I had to find a pen and paper and note down the times of each pill and I wasn't allowed to eat until one hour afterwards, which, in a way, disciplined me to slow down on eating generally, ie I couldn't simply stuff my face all day as I've always been prone to do; and this was good as it put me back in the frame of mind to starting dieting a little, lose a few pounds. I'm certainly below 13 stone and if possible, I plan to get down to 12 stone, although that ain't going to be easy.

It's funny how food sets out to ambush me... or perhaps that should be that bad food sets out to ambush me; take last Wednesday, for example. When I arrived home from work I found a huge spread of food including ham sandwiches and sausage rolls and as this seemed to be all there was for dinner, I tucked in and later regretted consuming both the ham sandwiches and the two sausage rolls as I normally avoided reformed meat and I certainly steer clear of sausage rolls. And let's face it, the whole 'meal' was the worst kind: white bread for a start and we all know how bad sausage rolls can be. Then there's visiting mum. I tend to resign myself to eating crap at mum's, normally a slice of fruit cake or, as is currently the case, a chocolate digestive or five and possibly even a KitKat, not forgetting the tea which, these days, has a distinctly weird taste to it; in fact, it has been said that mum bleaches everything (cups, plates and I often wonder whether the kettle gets roped in too). Outside of visiting mum and being ambushed, I can pretty much avoid it and I've stopped eating wrapped chocolate bars so things have kind of got off to a reasonable start.

An amazing 14.9g of sugar!!!

But things certainly haven't been the same since I returned from the USA. I'm still fairly stressed for a start, the pills keep me focused on taking them (the pills) and I'm off to Prague on yet another trip. I wish I could take the train and probably could, but it would have meant leaving earlier than I have to if I rely upon aviation. Train travel is by far the most civilised form of transport, but it's much more expensive than travelling by air, but that's another story.

This weekend I agreed to meet Andy in Westerham. I found him in the Costa, or rather outside in the fresh summer air, and we enjoyed chilling and chatting like we used to prior to Andy's unfortunate accident. He has, I hasten to add, completely recovered and is all set to ride to Cornwall in a couple of weeks from now.

On the ride home, just before I reached Botley Hill, I stopped. I was feeling a little faint and decided to call home for a lift back. In retrospect I shouldn't have bothered, but I thought (wrongly) that I had been over-exerting myself whilst taking antibiotics and shouldn't have been riding the bike - or this is what I was told when my lift arrived. Meanwhile, I'd walked the short distance to the Botley Hill Farmhouse where I sat down and ordered a pot of tea to revive me. The truth of the matter is that I felt mildly dizzy probably because I'd started putting drops of olive oil in my ears in an effort to clear the blockage caused by excessive ear wax, a constant problem for yours truly. I really ought to sort this out as it makes going to sleep at night an unpleasant experience; as soon I'm lying down I lose all hearing and it would take a herd of elephants to wake me and even then I probably wouldn't hear them. To cut a long story short I should have chilled with the tea and possibly a cake of some sort and then slowly completed the journey by bike. But I'd made the call and soon enough I was driving home with the bike (minus its front wheel, which was in the boot). Later I discovered that I could exercise whilst taking antibiotics, which meant I could carry on riding the bike. 

Tea at Sheree's on Sunday morning

The next ride was supposed to be Westerham, but I figured it might be best to take things a little easy. I texted Andy and suggested Tatsfield Village, setting off around 0800hrs. When I got there I found Andy inside drinking coffee. I ordered a tea and (perhaps foolishly) a small packet of oatmeal biscuits to dunk in the tea. We sat and chatted about all sorts of things, one subject being 'joy'. Joy in the sense of not having any since I gave up drinking, joy in the sense of losing out on 'the good things in life' just because I discovered last week that a can of Pellegrino Limonata (a drink I enjoyed over ice in Pittsburgh) contains 14.9g of sugar. I went back to the office and told one of my colleagues, stating that I won't be having any more of them and she suggested that I'm cutting off all elements of joy from my life. She has a point. I recently tweeted that fun had left the building since I stopped drinking, but added that so have the hangovers and humiliations. Enjoying a drink, said Andy as we sat in the cosy environment of Sheree's Tearoom, was a media construct, we're all supposed to enjoy drinking but, as my doctor said, alcohol is a poison and I could easily do without that large glass of Merlot in my favourite Italian restaurant in Dusseldorf, I didn't need to drink to enjoy myself and that's the point: nobody needs alcohol to enjoy themselves so don't be hoodwinked by the media and the drinks company advertisements on the television. I'll never start drinking again, I said, because the defeat of starting again would be too huge to cope with and in all honesty it's not even that: I've gone five years, I no longer need it and that makes me realise that I never needed it, I was told I needed it, I was coerced into it by advertising, by peer group pressure, it was expected of me, it was what people do, what blokes to to enjoy themselves, and the myth lasted years until five years ago I finally stopped for no other reason than an inner ear infection. I feel better, put it that way, and for that reason alone I won't be going back, I don't need to, I've broken the invisible barrier and come out the other side unscathed.

Mist along The Ridge on Sunday

The weather in Tatsfield was wonderful and had been all the way there; it wasn't sunny and warm, far from it, it was relatively cold compared with Friday's ride to Westerham, there was a fine rain, everything was green and misty and in some many ways it was perfect cycling weather. Andy reminded me before I left to bring lights and he was right. As I rode the 269 towards Botley Hill a mist descended and it didn't pass until I was in Tatsfield.

Fallen tree blocks the way home...

Andy and I chatted our way through a second cup of tea and another coffee (not forgetting another packet of oatmeal biscuits for me - not so much an ambush but a deliberate decision based purely on the fact that I was enjoying our conversation so much that I simply desired biscuits and a second pot of tea). I was driven, perhaps, by the joy of the moment.

I emerged victorious on the other side...

I rode home along The Ridge and through Woldingham, riding downhill on Slines Oak Road. A motorist flagged me down and told me that a tree had fallen across the road. "I doubt that even a bike will get through it," he said, but I figured I ought to check things out for myself. On reaching the tree I initially thought that he and another motorist who said the same thing were right, but I found a way through, which took me around five to 10 minutes. I emerged unscathed and victorious on the other side and continued the ride home. The mist had all but vanished and it wasn't long before I was home and working out when I needed to take my next pill.