December 12th 2009 – To Carshalton to see mum and dad!

Yours truly (above left) with Jon at the largest plane tree in England, Festival Walk, Carshalton, just before we headed to mum and dad's and a historic cycle up Dog Shit Alley. Middle photo shows three Christmas cakes – one for me, one for Jon and for our sister Clarissa, known as Criss. Top pic is the West Street end of Dog Shit Alley, you can see Jon cycling in the foreground.

Having swam around a mile and a half this week (three half-mile bursts in Purley Pool on Monday and Wednesday and then an evening swim in Richmond) I was feeling pretty good this morning when I woke up and was ready for a cycle to Woodmansterne Green.

We decided to nip round to see mum and dad in Carshalton? So off we toddled. En route we decided to take a detour in order to take in some of our old haunts. We passed the Greyhound, a Young's pub in the village, where Jon, myself and various friends boosted the profits of Young's for some time during the late seventies and eighties. It's changed a bit since our day. I will always remember the 'back bar', which was always full of bikers and dense cigarette smoke and the Swan bar, which is probably still there; it was where all the snobs went for a drink. Anyway, a great pub, it has to be said, especially in the summer when there were the ponds across the road. These were the days of the old licensing hours when you had to be out of the pub by eleven o'clock at night and by 3pm on a lunchtime. I don't know why, but in some ways it was miles better than the current all-day drinking scenario.

We used to love going to the Greyhound on Christmas day lunchtime and then come home for mum's turkey with all the trimmings followed by a snooze and then the realisation that all the pubs were closed on Christmas night and that there was absolutely nothing to do bar watching the television. Of course, in those days, the programmes were good: The Morecambe & Wise Christmas Show, Disney Time (well, when we were a little younger) and, of course, the Christmas Day Top of the Pops during the day (normally, if I recall, before we went to the pub).

In those days we used to drink Young's Special but today I much prefer Ordinary bitter. As they say in the industry, it's a good 'session' drink, which basically means you can knock back four or five pints and still feel fine (ish), you can't drive, put it that way.

Across the road from the Greyhound and to the left of the ponds is Festival Walk, a shaded path that leads on to West Street. The shade is caused by a huge plane tree that once made the Guinness Book of Records as the tallest in the country. Whether it still holds that record, I don't know, but the plaque is still there explaining how the tree is a couple of hundred years old, probably about 250 years old by now as we're not sure when the plaque was put there.

Turning right on to West Street we cycled up past what used to be the Carshalton headquarters of the Sea Scouts. I remember as a boy being intrigued by the Sea Scouts but not intrigued enough to join them. There was something cool about being in the Sea Scouts as opposed to the land-based ones, but strangely, we never, ever saw anybody in or around the building, certainly no Sea Scouts.

Across the road from the Sea Scouts building, which, incidentally, is no longer there and is now housing, there are some amazing old houses set back from the road. I know little about these houses but I'll try and find out more and report back.

Carrying on along West Street we eventually reached the great Dog Shit Alley, so called because, at night, and because somebody always managed to knock out the street lights, there was a high risk of stepping in some dog shit. Taking Dog Shit Alley home was always a little scary but it cut off the alternative journey of walking up Pound Street, turning right on to the Carshalton Road and then right again down Short's Road and home. If you were really brave you would walk home, in the dark, walk, not run, and not whistle to yourself either. If, like me, you found it all too much, the best thing was to whistle and break into a jog and hope you wouldn't meet anybody coming the other way.

If you take a train from Carshalton to Sutton, the line runs parallel to Dog Shit Alley and it was possible to read the graffiti on the wall, which has now been painted over with a horrible, garish pink paint. The wall, incidentally, belongs to St Philomena's school where my mate Alan and I used to nick apples. The graffiti was never offensive. "Smoke it, don't plant it" was one and I think there were a few peace signs too plus some names, like Tony Croker and Cliff Levens. I know that Tony is dead but not sure about Levens. His dad used to run The Bell in Cheam but I didn't know him, my mate Andy did.

It's weird cycling up Rossdale because that's what we used to do as kids. I used to pretend my bike was a train and I even mapped out a few imaginary stations: Plumbury being so named because of the Victoria plum tree that overhung the street from the garden of shop at the end of the road.

The shop's gone now; it too is now housing, but it used to be a grocery store called Pullen's and then Len's of Sutton, a shop for railway enthusiasts that was incredibly well thought of in the world of trainspotters. Once, my mate Andy was asked directions to the shop by a man who had travelled all the way from Aberdeen. Amazing.

Mum and dad's house hasn't changed much over the years, it's still a very cosy place especially now that mum has the Christmas decorations in place. When we arrived they, mum and dad, were having breakfast. We stopped for a cup of tea, a Maryland cookie and a chat and then headed home, parting company at the end of the road and going our separate ways.

We're on for tomorrow, though, and who knows where we'll be going?

5 and 6 December 2009 – abort! abort! abort!

Andy and I couldn't make Saturday and then Sunday was rained off completely. How annoying! Especially when, around 11am, the sun came out. Oh well, next week – and it'll have to be a long one, ie Redhill. 

28 and 29 November 2009 – life's a beach? Not when you're cycling in the rain

I forgot to take the camera with me on Sunday so here's a picture of the beach at Felpham on the West Sussex coast, a cycling destination the No Visible Lycra Committee have discussed but never attempted. In fact, we briefly touched upon it on Sunday. Perhaps next year, eh, chaps?

It was one of those weekends. First, there was reasonably decent weather. On Saturday morning (28th November) it was one of those clear days, not too cold and just fine for cycling, but for various reasons I didn't bother going. To be honest, I slobbed around a bit. Normally I am out of the house by 0700hrs and on my way but I got used to making myself comfortable, drinking tea. And then I remembered my slow puncture. Time was moving on.

Still, Jon and I had communicated and the cycle was still game on – and then it wasn't. Time was ticking by, there were things to do and in the end I thought no, I'll go tomorrow. Which, of course, was a big mistake. Why? Because the following day it pissed down. I got up early and could hear the rain hammering down on the conservatory roof, it was heavy. But then it stopped, suddenly, and when I looked out it was clear and quiet and I had already arranged with Andy to meet at the top of Foxley Lane so I had to just get out there and go. 

Such a downpour had prompted Andy to write the obligatory 'abort' text message but just before pressing it, the rain had stopped and we met, as usual, at around 0730hrs. Over in Epsom, where Jon lives, the rain was still hammering down and it didn't look as if he would be at the green. We, that is Andy and I, managed to avoid a soaking until we were nearing Woodmansterne Green, but by the time we got there we were drenched through and sought refuge under the covered gateway at the church where we sipped hot tea and munched on our cereal bars.

Just when we'd accepted the fact that Jon wasn't going to turn it, he arrived and stood around chatting about various subjects, some mirthful, others a little more serious. One of the more serious topics was racism, prompted by a man who approached and asked for directions to a church hall where later in the day a wake would take place. We admitted we didn't know the area that well and suggested he spoke to the man in the newsagents. "Nah, he's Indian he won't know," he said, dismissively and that's how the conversation began.

We continued to chew the fat under the gateway as the rain started and stopped, started and stopped, until we realised we'd have to just go for it. Parting company with Jon, Andy and I went home the quick way, which for me meant a ride along the busy (and wet A23). It was very unpleasant and I was soaked through. From the Purley Oaks Road onwards, until I reached home, I effed and blinded to myself, like some madman with Tourette's. "Fucking, fuck!" and words to that effect. It was the only way I could cope with the driving rain for some reason. Fortunately, nobody heard me.

I reached home drenched through and had to peel my clothes off, dry myself down and then change into something clean and dry. One thing that did please me, however, was the fact that I'd got up and gone cycling, however unpleasant it turned out I still did it.

Sunday November 22nd - Woodmansterne Green

Are we lucky with the weather or are we lucky with the weather? Let's face it: rain, wind, it's not been good, but for some reason, we've managed to avoid it this weekend. Here we are on Woodmansterne Green (Andy, yours truly and Jon). It looked as if it was going to pour down at any moment, but it didn't – well, not until we were all home and dry.

Actually, there was a tiny bit of rain but we found cover underneath a parasol outside the Woodman Pub where we drank hot tea and chewed the fat on various subjects.

New front mudguard for Andy

He'll be getting a basket next! Andy's new front mudguard means no more Kona Face (our name for a face covered in flecks of mud).

November 21st 2009 – the bus stop beyond Botley

Our bus stop is fantastic: a nice dry bench on which to sit; a roof to keep you dry in rain, sleet or snow and a generally relaxing vibe.

There's not doubt about it, the old wooden bus stop just past the Botley Hill roundabout en route to Westerham is our favourite resting place. For a start, there's shelter, so even in wet weather the seats are dry. We've taken refuge from the snow at this bus stop, it's great and there's owt better than a decent cuppa while seating there admiring the view. Not that there's much of a view, just a road and a few grass verges.

We were running late today so Andy and I parted company at the Botley roundabout on the return trip.

Sunday November 15th – After the flood

The top of Foxley Lane, Purley, was waterlogged after storms on Saturday 14 November. This shot taken on Sunday 15th November.

Nobody in their right mind would have gone cycling on Saturday 14 November; there were howling winds and driving rain and later there would be plenty of flooded roads too. Sunday seemed fine so off we toddled to Woodmansterne Green. On the way we saw this huge puddle at the top of Foxley Lane, Purley, our meeting place. You can just see Andy in the far right corner of the shot.

The view from the top of Box Hill

The view from the top of Box Hill. Not bad, even if it was a little overcast. We'd just had our tea and cake and took this shot as we embarked upon our journey back to Croydon.

November 8th: Croydon to Box Hill

Jon had been saying how Box Hill was 'just up the road', probably no further away than Redhill from Woodmansterne Green and that we should go there. In fact, yesterday, while at the green he said 'let's do it tomorrow'. No sweat, thought I, no sweat. Let's do it.

The weather wasn't as good as yesterday. It had been raining all night by the looks of things and judging by the overcast skies it looked as if the rain was about to pour down. Fortunately, it didn't, but it was wet and when you haven't got any mudguards you can get a very wet arse.

Met Andy at Purley in the usual place and off we went, still not 100 per cent sure we were going to ride to Box Hill. Better phone Jon to check he's going first: no answer, just the ansaphone and that was the way it stayed until we were almost back home: no answer and no reply. Jon's excuse? "A bit of a headache." Fair enough, but we did it and it was much further away than Redhill.

But what a great run it was; hard work in parts, but not too bad and the reward when we got there was almost too good to be true. Not only some excellent views over Surrey, but an excellent café too. Well, not a cafe, more of a servery, but take a look at those cakes! They were the best. Because the flask had failed us last week, we had to rely upon tea from the servery. Andy ordered a coffee (that's a Lycra wearer's drink, Andy!) and we had some cake too. I tucked in to a slab of coffee and walnut and Andy went for a piece of chocolate cake.

There were some pretty serious cyclists there too, riding mainly Specialized top-of-the-range mountain bikes, although one had a Claud Butler and another had a Mongoose. They were covered from head to toe in mud – and they're bikes had mudguards! These were, of course, serious off-roaders, but they were suitably impressed by our Spongy Wonder saddles and wondered where the hell they could get one in the UK. You can't, we said, only in Canada, via mail order. Nice to impress the professionals!

Cake eaten, tea drank and quick dump thrown in for good measure and we were back on the road again. This was easily our longest ever Sunday morning cycle, apart from when we get involved in the Black Horse sponsored cycle every May. I didn't get home until 11.30am! We'd cycled between 35 and 40 miles but it was worth it just for the tea and cake.

Empty the bins!

This time last week (November 1st 2009) my Black's stainless steel thermos flask fell to the floor and died. I put the dead flask into the waste bin on Woodmansterne Green and lo and behold, it's still there! Sort it out, Reigate & Banstead Borough Council, sort it out!!!!