Summer is leaving the building...

Warlingham Green, Saturday 22nd September 2012,
note Andy's shadow to the left of the shot.

I left the house without gloves on yesterday and while it was still fine, there was a bite in the air that said winter was coming. Oddly, this is my favourite time of year for cycling as it's sort of evocative – of what I don't know, but I'm guessing it's all to do with the coming of Halloween, Bonfire Night and, of course, Christmas, which I heard yesterday was 93 days away – meaning it's 92 days today.

We rode out to the Tatsfield Bus Stop after an uncertain start. Andy sent a text saying '7.30?' but in the early hours (it was 0540hrs) I thought it read 'abort', switched off the alarm and went back to bed wondering whether or not to go to Woodmansterne, or ride out alone later. I knew it was likely to be the last good weather before Tropical Storm Nadine hits the UK (loads of rain is promised today) but, as I lie there, the phone rang. It was Andy wondering what my answer might be.

Needless to say I got up and we met around 0745hrs on the Green, later than usual, but the weather was fine.

The shot accompanying this post is of Woodmansterne Green, taken before my arrival and arguably the best shot we've taken of the green.

Tatsfield bus stop, April 2008.

While at the bus stop, we chatted about pre-blog days and whether or not there was photographic evidence of our pre-blog rides. I think I've posted pre-blog stuff here before, but, for the record, here's a shot of our early rides, pre-2009.

There are other shots from pre-blog days when most of our rides involved Westerham and we made a point of going twice a week AND meet at 7am instead of 7.30am – how we've started to slack!

Top Spanish cyclist killed in road accident

Victor Cabedo

Spanish cyclist Victor Cabedo, who competed in last week's Tour of Britain, was killed in a road traffic accident a few kilometres from where he lived.

For more details, click here.

Tatsfield Churchyard...and the Royal Baps!

With a fun-packed day ahead of me on Saturday looking for a new car, I had to get cycling out of the way: not something I like doing. I much prefer to enjoy a longer ride to Westerham, leaving home at a civilised hour (7am instead of 6.30am) but it was not to be.

Having said that, the earlier start – which means reaching Warlingham Green at 7am – is starting to appeal – and just at the wrong time of year. An early start means we arrive at our destination early and we get home early, something I probably mentioned in an earlier post as this Saturday was not the first time that we'd met at 7am.

The Tatsfield Churchyard.

I'm pretty pissed off about the car hunting mainly because the car I had (an old BMW 316) was absolutely fine. In fact, as I waited at the bottom of Sanderstead Hill at 10.30am, or thereabouts, a few Saturdays ago, I was quite chuffed with the old car's general reliability. As I sat in the middle of the road on a bright and clear day, indicating right and waiting for oncoming traffic to pass, I heard the screeching of car tyres and then: Wuuuuuuuuuuuummmp! A red Vauxhall Astra hits me, shunting me forward and giving me a nasty bit of whiplash.

I won't bore you with the details, but the owner of the Astra admitted liability and my faithful old Beamer, which was only worth £850, was written off. Now this just isn't fair and is just another example of how the wrongdoer gets away Scot-free while the victim has to pay. In my case I've been forced to buy a new with money I simply don't have.

I'll leave it there, but suffice it to say that Saturday was week two of 'looking in car showrooms' for a cheap car. I'm convinced we won't find such a great car as our black BMW. It was simply the best and I miss it terribly. We found one reasonable motor and there's a possibility of another later in the week, which we'll hold out for.

The ride to Tatsfield was good, although, for the first time, despite the poor summer, I noticed the bite in the air. It's September, so it's approaching what the Americans quite rightly call 'fall'. I love that. Much better than 'autumn'. Or is it? I'll have to ponder that one. Anyway, fall or autumn, it's not here yet. The trees are still laden with green leaves, but there is a noticeable different in the air and I fear that sooner or later I'll be wearing gloves. Andy's already resorted to long trousers (I never stopped wearing them) but soon it'll be time for jumpers and scarves and there will be a dusting of frost on the grass as I look out from my conservatory. Right now, by the way, it's nearly 9pm and it's pitch black outside – another sign that the nights are closing in.

I'm feeling tired all the time, which is another sign of a change of the season. Either that or it's a lack of B12, according to the Saturday Times, but then I eat plenty of meat, I like an egg or two and, well, it's got to be the change of season. On Friday night I went to bed at 9pm and slept through, which was nice. I was out of bed on Saturday morning at 0550hrs and then out of the house by 0630hrs.

No laughing matter, apparently. Pic courtesy of the Daily Mirror.

The big news of the weekend is the Duchess of Cambridge's baps. Yes, her baps! Lovely word 'baps', especially when related to women's breasts. Baps! I've never been a 'tit man' so the whole furore has passed me by, although I did take a peek online and found the baps in question to be fairly inoffensive. I mean, she's no Chesty Morgan. Remember Chesty Morgan? I remember an old man handing me a photograph of her in a pub. Now Chesty Morgan had baps! Baps! They were more like melted truckles of cheese, but let's stick with baps. Baps!

It's all a big fuss over nothing and what's worse is the way the British press – in the shape of Eve Pollard (I think that's her name) is acting 'digusted' when only a few years ago, the British press was chasing 'The People's Princess' through road tunnels. Anyway, the pix are out there, the Italians want to publish them and the Duke and Duchess are initiating legal action – what a waste of money in these troubled economic times, which, of course the Duke and Duchess know nothing about. What's more, people might lose their jobs if threats to close down an Irish newspaper become a reality. In my opinion, the Duchess should have thought to herself: 'here I am, in a very privileged position when many others have no money. Who am I to risk other people losing their jobs when all I had to do was keep my baps to myself?'

As the editor of the Irish newspaper said, she's only royalty in the UK. Outside of that, she's a celebrity and they've always been fair game for the media, especially if they get their baps out whilst forgetting that high-powered zoom lenses are a reality and might be lurking around in the bushes. Didn't she think as she unfastened herself? Didn't it cross her mind? Didn't she say to herself, "No, perhaps not, you never know...I'll keep my baps covered."

And what's Max Clifford doing standing in front of his Surrey pile and moaning about the whole thing as if totally disgusted by the antics of the press? Pots and kettles. The hypocrisy of it all is maddening.

Before I sign off, I've got just one word to say: Baps! Baps, baps, and more baps! Alright, six words.

Bill Moggridge, inventor of the laptop, dies...

I thought I would mention the death, announced today, of Bill Moggridge, inventor of the modern laptop. Whether there's a family link between the late, great Bill and the UK-based Moggridge family, of which I am a member, I don't know, but considering that Bill invented the laptop, I thought it worth a mention on the pages of NoVisibleLycra.

Bill Moggridge, inventor of the laptop computer.

Sadly, Bill didn't enjoy a long life like my dad, but here's hoping he didn't suffer.

I know it's vain to Google yourself, but when I'm bored or at a loose end, I often click on 'images' where, among my own mug shots, I find photos of Bill Moggridge, one of which I've posted here. I'm guessing that Bill, when he was bored, probably Googled himself and found shots of yours truly.

My late father, Gerald Moggridge, who died on May 15th 2011, was a keen geneaologist. He never Googled himself for the simple fact that he wasn't on-line.

I now possess a proof copy of dad's excellent history of the Moggridge family, which spans 1680 to the present day. When it's generally available on Amazon, I'll post again, providing the link, but let me tell you now that's it's a work of sheer historical genius.

Click here for more on the late, great Bill Moggridge.

Two years ago....

Click here to find out more.

Andy rides Caterham-Brighton-Caterham

Andy, Brighton Beach, Saturday September 10th 2012.

Saturday 8th September: Hot weather. Very hot. But Andy was up with the lark and en route to Brighton from his home in Caterham. It wasn't easy, but he did well, arriving at the coast at 10am. Here's a shot of Andy on the beachfront. The cycle back was hard due to the heat, but he did it and still managed to meet me the following day at 0730hrs on Warlingham Green for a shortish ride to the Tatsfield bus stop, although he admitted that an 'abort' text from me would have been well-received.

We cycled to the Tatsfield bus stop, drank our tea, munched on our cereal bars and then rode home. It's a wonderful day. Very hot as I write this at 1045hrs. Time, perhaps, for a trip to the beach!

Something worth listening to...

... while noting that 'listen' is an anagram of 'silent'.

Click here for Bob Chilcott's Making Waves.

Enjoy the peace.

Everything stops without tea...

Tea - the lifeblood of NoVisibleLycra rides. Not to be overlooked again!!!

NoVisibleLycra discovered that tea is at the centre of its cycling universe. Without it, life just isn't the same. This Sunday, due to some mild texting confusion, tea was not produced for the Sunday ride to Westerham. Andy had been expecting friends from work to join the ride and thought it probably best that we all visited the tearoom on the green rather than try and squeeze four cups of tea out of the NVL flask. In all honesty, it would have been fine: we would all have had one mug of tea each. Normally, Andy and I have two mugs each.

Anyway, I'd received a text saying 'don't worry about tea', so I didn't. If I'm on honest, I was expecting The Saturdays. I figured that somehow, Andy had spoken to their management, possibly sent them a link to the infamous 'hot tubs' post and, well, they'd said they might join us on the ride.

But when I arrived at Warlingham Green, there was nobody there except for Andy, although I still held out a glimmer of hope that they'd be waiting for us in Westerham.

Another problem was the time: we had agreed to meet at 7am instead of 7.30am and when we reached Westerham at 8am, everything was closed.

"Oh, I didn't make the tea," said I, reminding Andy of the text he'd sent me.

There was no sign of The Saturdays and then Andy let the cat out of the bag. "A couple of guys from the office were going to join us, but I think the early start put them off," he said.

"Oh," said I, concealing my disappointment.

To make matters a little more disappointing, the bench behind Churchill's statue was wet so we decamped to the benches in front of the underwear shop, a timely reminder of The Saturdays' absence.

Andy brought out the cereal bars, but without a mug or two of tea our lives were clearly empty and our 'tealess' state nagged at both of us. I gazed up at a clock perched over the shops to our left. It was 8am. By five past we were ready to leave.

"It's not the same without tea, is it?" said I.
"No, you're right," said Andy as we pedalled out of Westerham towards the hill.

It was a good ride, though, and Andy and I bade farewell to one another at Warlingham Green and then went our separate ways.

When I reached home it was 9.15am and we'd been all the way to Westerham and back. A combination of no tea and an early start provided a valuable brownie point back home as I'm not normally expected until 10.30am!

Next Saturday, Andy and a couple of pals are riding from Caterham to Brighton and back. It's an 80-miler, says Andy who's done it before, and while I'd like to join them, I can't due to other commitments. Hopefully, we'll ride out together on Sunday.

On the weather front, by the way, we got a mild soaking on the return trip, despite television weather forecasters saying that Sunday would be a scorcher. It wasn't cold, but it was generally overcast and grey.

Cycling pix from Andy's ride

Woldingham near the railway station. Nice shot.

The Ridge between Gangers Hill and Botley Hill. Love the sun rays.

Camping's not for me...

Andy's Blast and yours truly on Westerham Green.

First, don't say I haven't tried. In 2009 I spent over £200 on a tent. Alright, it was an eight-man tent and we didn't need it to be so big, but there you have it: a Eurohike Buckingham from Millets. It's so heavy when packed up that I can barely lift it to the car. But lifting it is nothing compared to putting it up. The first time was in the New Forest and I managed to get help from friends; the second time, the same (help from friends) but for me one of the big daunting things about going camping is erecting the tent. I should have bought something smaller. A four-man tent would have sufficed, but no, I had to go and buy a huge tent instead – and, of course, I'm paying for it. Big time!

The Eurohike Buckingham – it's going on Ebay.

But that's not all that's wrong with camping. My view is this: I'm happy to go camping if, say, I'm walking the Pennines with a tent on my back and some de-hydrated food in the rucksack. I'm happy to pitch a smallish, one- or two-man tent in a field, miles from civilization and camp under the stars en route to my end destination if there's no B&Bs or small hotels in the vicinity. That's fine, but why make camping a recreational activity beyond that? Where is the holiday in pitching a huge tent in a field alongside loads of other huge tents and then, when you need a leak in the middle of the night you have to unzip the tent door and stand around in misty, dewey, damp night air taking a wazz. Fortunately, I'm a bloke. A woman would have a little more aggravation. Perhaps that's why you rarely hear of women going outside the tent at night for a wee. I can't think of any occasions.

Equestrian sports at the Edenbridge & Oxted Show

Then, there's having a wash and a shower: you can't just stay put, you have to walk 100 yards or more to the washrooms, which, invariably, are full of unflushed toilets, used bandages and horrible smells. And now I've noticed a new thing: people emptying out what can only be described as 'toilet buckets' somewhere – presumably down the toilets in the washrooms. Yes, you can see people, in their dressing gowns, holding a plastic bucket full of shit, en route to the same washroom where you're planning to have a wash and shave. They look at you knowingly as they pass and might even say something like, 'I'm not relishing this job'. No, I bet you're not, so why make a holiday out of it?

Motorcycle stunt riders in action

I just don't get it, but I try until the other big stumbling block, that particularly affects me, hits hard: disorganisation. I wish I was like my pal. He's so organised it hurts! Always has been and it's a great quality. I envy him. Me? I'm just not like that.

When I realised that camping was game on I just got the tent out of the attic, shoved it and a few sleeping bags into the back of the car and drove to Corfe Castle. I only packed a double airbed - for my wife and daughter – I forgot that my daughter might have out-grown her child-size sleeping bag and I just hadn't counted on the fact that they both hate camping.

Classic cars – there were quite a few Triumphs

Night one: no way was I getting any sleep and neither was my daughter. She was cold and uncomfortable and decided it best just not to talk for the entire time we were away – which was not for long. A rain-drenched day walking around Swanage followed. My daughter wore a long face and didn't smile or talk. She didn't eat anything either. She wanted out and so did my wife. Admittedly I did too and had said as much the night before, but I figured that an airbed would solve my issues and that a full-sized bag for my daughter would solve her's. But no, they both wanted out and so we had to leave after just one night.

I drove home through driving rain, reached the house by around 10pm and then spent Saturday doing mundane things like shopping and drying out the tent on the back lawn (it's now in the garage awaiting another session of drying, hopefully today, although rain is promised). Generally, I feel bad about coming away when all I needed to do was buy a sleeping bag and an airbed, but my wife and daughter were not prepared to make that the solution and besides, I'm well in the red financially and couldn't cope with even a smallish purchase like a sleeping bag and air bed. Even if I had bought them, the pressure was on to just come home and I've spent the weekend occasionally wimpering about the whole thing. Still, you live and learn and we all made a decision: no more camping.

Birds of prey aplenty – I think it's an eagle, not sure

To add to our woes, while we were away, some nob cheese climbed over the side gate, broke into the garage and stole one of our mountain bikes. Unfortunately for whoever it was, the bike in question was not in good nick and was virtually useless (as I'm sure he or she discovered). The police were called and, of course, we can get money off the insurance for the stolen bike. Amazingly, my top-of-the-range Kona was still there – because it was padlocked (thank the Lord!). My daughter's bike, which was unpadlocked, was still there too. Perhaps they didn't want a girl's bike.

Alpacas too!

Being home, meant that I could re-instate my planned ride with Andy. We met early (at 7am on Warlingham Green) and headed for Westerham where we did what we always do: drink tea and munch on cereal bars before heading back home.

Cycling is good as it often gives you ideas for things to do over the weekend. In my case, the Edenbridge and Oxted Show, which was frequently advertised along the roadside, seemed like a good idea so I set off with the mother-in-law, wife and daughter to Lingfield for what proved to be an amazing day out. We got there around 3pm and entered the showground where there was a load of stuff to do: classic cars, motorcycle stunt teams, equestrian stuff involving stuffy-looking toffs riding around in seemingly period costume, hoping for a place in the Horse of the Year Show, which I'm assuming is later in the year. There was a flower show, prize vegetables, plenty of exhibition stands, a fairground, prize cows, rabbits and chickens, cake competitions, you name it, the Edenbridge & Oxted Show had it. We had a tremendous day and the whole thing was rounded off with a takeaway curry. In other words, all's well that ends well.