Are the Endura Hummvee trousers what we're looking for?

Thanks to some digging on the internet by Andy, we've found these trousers for cycling. They look good and they don't appear to contradict our 'no visible lycra' credentials, ie they're not body-hugging, tight-fitting, racing bike material; nope, they're baggy and cool and I like them. Thoughts? Click here for more details.

Mileage note.

Photo courtesy of www.autovirt.com

The trip to Merstham the slow way is approximately 16.8 miles, that's taken from Matt's house in South Croydon. From Woodmansterne Green to Merstham is 7 miles and from Woodmansterne Green back to Matt's house is approximately six miles.

Matt's house to Merstham (slow way): 16.8 miles.
Merstham to Woodmansterne Grn: 7 miles.
Woodmansterne Green to Matt's house 6 miles.


The round trip, therefore, is, give or take, 30 miles.

Down Jackass Lane to Tandridge...

Andy at Jackass Lane. I've promised him that I will stand behind
Arse-Whip Avenue just as soon as we stumble across it.

The weather had improved on yesterday's torrential rain, but it was gloomy skies overhead and cold winds all the way to a new destination: Tandridge. We travelled down Gangers Hill, our 'portal' to new destinations, and then took a left fork down a steep hill. We crossed over the M25 slightly east of where we normally cross en route to the church at Godstone and then turned right on the A25 for about 500 yards before hanging a left into Jackass Lane.

At the end of Jackass Lane we'd arrived at what we both imagined was down town Tandridge, a sleepy little place with a pleasant church, St Peter's, and a 'no cycling' sign. We cycled up to the church as there was nothing else, no café, nothing bar a few walkers and somebody jogging. And then a fine drizzle of rain that was almost invisible.

Monument to war dead outside St Peter's in
Tandridge, Kent

It was tempting to investigate a little further, see what we could find: a covered bus stop, maybe, or a teashop, anything, but we just got that feeling there would be nothing and then, of course, a 10 per cent climb back up to the small patch of grass on which we had decided to stop and drink our tea. Checking out the iphone I found a route west which would have taken us towards Rabies Heath Lane and Bletchingley or back up through Godstone down the Enterdent, past St Nicholas Church and back towards Gangers Hill.

Instead, we went back up Jackass Lane, turned right on to the A25 and then back up Tandridge Lane for a longer and steeper climb towards Gangers. On the way up I found a track veering off to the left and vowed to investigate it later. Right now, I am looking at the map and the track cuts across open ground and then through Old Park Wood and finishes at the A22. There's likely to be a tunnel underneath the A22 which then joins up with Leigh Place Lane (also a rough track by the looks of things) and this joins up with Church Lane (Godstone) a little further south of the Church there. Interestingly, the track continues on the other side of Church Lane and joins up with Bullbeggars Lane and then goes into Godstone – so, theoretically, we could cycle to Tandridge along Jackass Lane, hang a right near the end and ride off-road all the way to Godstone.

What might be more exciting, however, would be to go down the 10 per cent hill mentioned earlier (which happens to be a continuation of Tandridge Lane), past the Barley Mow pub on the left and then, after passing a primary school on the right, there's an off-road track that goes on for miles. It joins the A22 but then runs parallel with Rabies Heath Lane (Greensand Way) through a wood and continues until it reaches Bletchingley where we normally cross the A25 and travel up towards the quarry, under the M25 and then towards Merstham down Spring Bottom Lane and Rockshaw Road.

It's quite amazing just how much off-road there is between Jackass Lane and Bletchingley. Infact, the Barley Mow at Tandridge looks good too. It sells real ale and it has a website, which is www.barleymow-tandridge.co.uk Perhaps the Barley Mow, Tandridge could be our venue for that much-considered later cycle?

Who needs waterproofs – when there's Speedos!

When Andy and I first started cycling back in 2006, we used to get up really early and meet along the B269 in the dark. In retrospect, getting up that early – and by early I mean we met at 7am, which was dark in the winter months – wasn't a bad thing as it meant we got back early too. But these were the days when we cycled fairly seriously. We hadn't coined the phrase NoVisibleLycra, we didn't have a blog and, well, we just got up, cycled off to Westerham, stopped for a cream bun and a bottle of mineral water and then, with little conversation, we cycled back, said our goodbyes and then repeated the process.

Gradually, however, we got more chatty, we started talking about stuff like politics and cars and Top Gear, we cracked a few jokes, talked about bikes and then, after a while, realised that having a cream bun kind of cancelled out the point of cycling: exercise. Then I thought about bringing along a flask of tea, Andy started with the cereal bars and suddenly, who needed a convenience store? Not us! We could park up anyway and sip our tea and munch on those cereal bars.

My memory's a little hazy about those early days with the flask. Did we use the bench next door to the convenience store, did we just stand around? I can't remember. When we went to Botley Hill, long before wising up to the Tatsfield Bus Stop where, hey, we could shelter from the storm, we'd just stand around under trees, even in the winter, and invariably got soaked as we drank our tea. Of course we did wise up and soon Tatsfield Bus Stop really was a port in a storm. But there were plenty of things we hadn't wised up to.

Whenever we had a puncture, for example, rather than fix it on the roadside using some kind of repair kit, we simply resigned ourselves to walking home, listening en route to the increasingly irritating sound of the tyre squeaking. Sometimes we just walked a cool three of four miles from, say Westerham to Oxted. Other times the walk was much longer: all the way home from Botley, for example, seven miles, it took hours. And then one or the other of us wised up: how about we fix our punctures on the roadside? Why don't we bring some kind of kit with us and a pump and save a bit of time? And it did save time even if sometimes it was so cold it made Andy lose his temper!

And yes, we're not called NoVisibleLycra for nothing. We just don't wear the stuff, we don't want to look like fucking Power Rangers. We ride chunky Konas and, to be frank, we wear normal clothes, not 'cycling gear'. Well, not for much longer. Now don't get me wrong; we're not planning on riding racers and buying Lycra, oh no, but we are kind of sick of going home like a couple of over-sized sponges, full of rain water and speckled with mud. And as for arse, well, it gets a proper soaking because I don't have a rear mudguard. Okay, I'm still mulling over the idea of ruining my bike's original lines with an ugly black plastic mudguard, so the wet arse might stay – or will it? Not if I buy some decent cycling trousers that are water repellent! And perhaps a matching top! Andy feels the same way.

I mean, put it this way; when I reached home this morning after a ride out to the Tatsfield Bus Stop, I was properly drenched. My trousers were so shiny I could have seen my reflection in them. My arse was so wet, I, yeah, it was wet and I can't think of simile. Anyway, forget my arse, that's a mudguard issue. No, I'm talking proper cycling clothes. Seriously, I was wet and cold when I reached home, wet and cold and it wasn't pleasant. I had to peel my clothes off and my hands were so cold I ran them under a hot tap and felt nothing, that's how numb I was; and there was no need. I could have been nice and comfortable in some kind of water resistant clothes.

So, we made an important decision today: to buy water resistant cycling clothing, but NOT, I repeat NOT Lycra, not body hugging. Mind you, a pair of Speedos might be worth considering. I mean summer's coming...

Black Horse Bike Ride – raising money for Multiple Scelrosis

The Black Horse, Reigate in Surrey.

This time last year we didn't have a blog so we couldn't really write about the great Black Horse Bike Ride, which this year is on Sunday May 16th. I think I'm right in saying that this year will be Andy's fourth attempt and my third and both of us are seriously hoping for good weather. Last year we had heavy rain and it wasn't at all pleasant. We were both soaked through, we then dried out during the middle part and then got a soaking again towards the end. Half way around I seemed to run out of fuel (I'd eaten nowt but a bacon sarnie for breakfast and that was at the pub and then, somewhere near Crawley, I faltered and had to stock up on cheese sandwiches and Digestive biscuits to finish the course.

The big problem with last year was the weather, it was awful, and I seriously hope it stays fine for this year. It's a 50-miler that weaves its way through some picturesque parts of Surrey and Sussex, skirts around Gatwick airport and then heads back through quaint little places like Rusper.

The ride starts and finishes at the Black Horse, a pub in Reigate that sells excellent beer (Young's) and throws in a free pint AND a barbecue (also free) for all the riders. It's a great day out. Last year Andy and I cycled to the start line from our respective homes (although my memory is a little hazy on that as I think I got the train to Redhill and cycled from there). The point is we didn't chuck our bikes in the car as we'd done the year before. Not sure how we're going to play it this year, although after that knackered feeling you get after a big distance, the thought of cycling home is not good at all. Last year, I think I cycled around 70 miles in total and when I reached home I went straight to bed and slept for 12 hours.

Getting back to the pub is probably the best bit of the lot. Taking that first sip of Young's and that first munch on a large beefburger with onions is better than sex. No, honestly, it is. Well, alright, it's similar. Okay, it bears no resemblance whatsoever, but you know what I mean.

So, there you have it, NoVisibleLycra's third year on the Black Horse Ride and we're looking forward to it. Not sure how many, if any, strangers stumble across this site, but if you're reading this now and consider it a worthy cause, then go to www.justgiving.com/matthew-moggridge and donate some money.

The tunnel under the motorway...

On the way to Merstham via Gangers Hill there is a tunnel under the M25. In fact, on all our cycles we tend to go under the M25 – and over it too. This shot was taken on Saturday 24 April on the approach to one of these tunnels. I know, it's not very exciting, of course it isn't, but this blog is all about our cycling and these tunnels do play a part in our adventures.

The shot above was taken in the tunnel. It's quite amazing how there is no graffiti on the walls, but then I wonder how many of the local  nutters even know of the tunnel's existence?

Lastly, my brother Jon at Merstham, outside Hunger's End, fixing a puncture. It's the same puncture he's had for ages but he hasn't fixed it. The thing is, punctures are like hernias, I've probably said this before; they won't fix themselves and can only get worse.

Actually, I forgot to add this shot of The Enterdent taken from the top looking down. It might look pretty average, but believe me, there's a steep descent just out of view, which I had just ascended.

Sunday 25 April 2010 – to Godstone Green (and back)

Despite the weather forecasters saying that today would be a right pain in the arse for London Marathon runners, it's turned out to be ideal running weather. Unlike yesterday's hot sunshine, this morning was overcast as Andy and I met up at Warlingham Green. Just prior to our meeting I'd been stopped by the police, not for committing any crime, but because I was riding past a crime scene. A house on the Limpsfield Road had been the subject of an arson attack, a policeman told me. The road had been closed but I was still able to pass even if I did have to give my name and address. Not a problem. The copper said it was a crime scene, hence the name-taking, and that there'd been an arson attack. This could mean people were killed, but who knows?

This photograph of Godstone gives you some idea of
the grey and overcast morning we were having. Andy
was planning on a barbecue this evening – not anymore!

Anyway, onwards, forever onwards and soon Andy and I were chatting on Warlingham Green working out where to cycle to today; we decided that it had to be Godstone Green and off we went, the usual route down Slines Oak Road and then through the urban hell that is Woldingham. Down Gangers Hill like yesterday, we soon found ourselves near the church in Godstone where we took a right turn down a dirt track on the other side of Bay Pond, ending up in quiet suburban streets and then the Green itself.

It started to rain so we made our way across the green to some shelter near a lonely and deserted children's playground and stood there sipping tea and munching on our cereal bars watching the rain.

The main topic of conversation today was that men don't like asking for directions and that it has to be something to do with the admission of defeat, ie that asking means you've lost the game. We might eventually be cajoled into asking for directions but, to be honest, as whoever tells us what we're supposed to want to hear, we are not listening, we don't want to be told, we'll find our own way.

Wife/girlfriend: "Well, what did he say?"
Bloke: "Er, yeah, it's this way. I was right all along."

And then, of course, luck either plays its part or you end up having to ask somebody else while accusing the first directions giver of being a fraudster.

Bloke: "He gave us the wrong directions deliberately, I reckon."
Wife/girlfriend: "Hmmmm..."

We let the rain ease off before donning our helmets and heading back home, this time along the original footpath running alongside Bar Pond and then left when we reached the church. The climb out of Godstone back to where Northdown Road joins The Ridge, is pretty severe, but we got there and parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road.

Rain dribbles down from a drain, what a pain, muddy
country lanes, old men with canes, the mentally insane, with
nothing to gain but varicose veins for a life in chains.

By this stage I really needed more tea and something to eat. I started thinking about the Village Café on Warlingham Green, which was open on Sunday mornings, and how I could nip in there and order scrambled egg on toast with tea. Lovely. But as it drew nearer I decided not to bother as the prospect of a bowl of porridge, two slices of toast and marmalade and a mug of tea, for nothing, at home, was a far better option.


On the way home I passed the crime scene again. The road was no longer closed but the area surrounding the house had been cordoned off and there were photographers taking shots of the burnt out house. The Fire Brigade were still there too but all I could think about was my breakfast and whether or not I should drop into Waitrose and buy some oranges.

Saturday April 24th, to Merstham, the long way round...

I knew I would be cycling alone this Saturday so the temptation, as always, was not to bother. But knowing that last week, while I was in Exmoor, Andy had got up early and sailed down Gangers Hill, meant that I had to put in an effort.

I must admit that, while seated in front of my computer, looking at and writing a bit of the blog, I did consider remaining there and doing nothing; but that would have been to waste what was already an amazing day. The weather all last week, last weekend and now this weekend (today is the day of the London Marathon, by the way, and the weathermen are warning that it won't be ideal for the runners) has been really good so I decided to get up and go.

My plan? To reach Hunger's End in Merstham and have breakfast there with Jon, who would be travelling the conventional route (just as gruelling as he'd have to tackle Hazelwood Lane in Chipstead). Anyway, off I set with, quite literally, all the joys of spring. I was feeling optimistic about the whole thing, especially considering that breakfast would be thrown in at the end for good measure.

Me at the top of The Enterdent having climbed the hill

When I reached the golf course in Woldingham and a deceptively difficult stretch of off-road, it dawned on me that it wouldn't all be plain sailing: I had the Enterdent to climb, and this realisation deflated me a little as I was concerned that I wouldn't get there in time for Jon. The last time Andy and I took this route – the first time we'd ever done it – my gears were playing up, we stopped to take a few too many photographs here and there and ended up in Merstham at around 0930. I was kind of expecting a repeat performance as along the route I was stopped and asked directions by a Lycra-clad person on a racing bike and then I stopped to take photographic evidence that I'd actually bothered to go cycling. During the week, actually last weekend, Andy had sent me evidence from his mobile phone that he'd gotten out of bed and I felt ought to do the same, so I stopped at the top of The Enterdent and took a self-timered shot of myself and the Enterdent looking down before resuming my journey (see pic above).

The rest, I have to say, was pretty smooth running: Rabies Heath Lane, into Bletchingley, an empty A25 to cross into Church Lane, that bit of off-road around the quarry and under the motorway and then Spring Bottom Lane and Rockshaw Road before hitting Merstham – quite a haul, though.

When I got there, no sign of Jon and having not looked at my watch, I assumed it was something like 0930hrs, but then, as I passed Hunger's End and noticed the 'Closed' sign on the door, I realised that I was mistaken. I pulled out my iphone and noticed that it was only 0857hrs. Amazing! A record time! Then Jon arrived; he'd been there for around 20 minutes or so and was cycling around Merstham, killing time.

We had a hearty breakfast. Jon tucked in to a large full English and I had scrambled egg on toast washed down with a couple of mugs of tea. Jon still hasn't bothered fixing that slow puncture and his front tyre was flat by the end our breakfast. I lent him my pump and soon we were on our way, this time riding back the usual way (for Jon and I) up Markedge Lane, past Fanny's Farm and on towards Chipstead, down Hazelwood Lane, left into Holly Lane towards Banstead High Street, where we parted company, and I carried on into Woodmansterne and the usual route home.

I reached home at 11.30am and then sat in the garden reading the Guardian before having a spot of lunch (pea and ham soup and a bottle of Shepherd Neame Spitfire ale).

Andy did go cycling last weekend...

Andy has just pointed out to me, quite rightly, that other members of the NoVisibleLycra team DID go cycling last weekend. In fact, if I recall, Andy was up at the crack of dawn last weekend, earlier than normal, and was cycling down Gangers Hill and doing a bit of off-roading too. What a guy! He texted me some pictures to prove that he hadn't lolled around in bed. If you look at the previous post, you will notice, Andy, that I've amended the headline accordingly.

Hopefully, I'll be suitably self-motivated tomorrow morning as Andy isn't going tomorrow. We'll see. I'm not planning on a late night so it might be possible. The aim is to meet Jon at Hunger's End in Merstham, except that I'll be taking the long way round.

Avid readers of this blog will know that a few weeks back my brother and cousin managed to ship two Moggridge pianos over from the USA. Well, the reason behind that, as I probably explained in the post, was that our father has been doing a lot of family tree research and is in the process of putting the finishing touches to a book, which he'll either publish properly through the usual channels or simply have a few copies printed up for the family.

Anyway, Exmoor, where I went last week instead of cycling, is where the Moggridge family originate from; Dad told me to visit the church at Molland, which I did, and there I found the graves of two Moggridges. Pictured are the two graves in question. The conventional slab like stone belongs to an Elizabeth Mogridge while the one with the cross is that of Mary Ann Mogridge – weirdly, both christian names exist in our current family, although we now spell our surname as Moggridge with an extra g. I've got a notepad with all the details of those occupying the grave and when I find it, I'll post the details. That's the church pictured above on the right and those are the graves, the one with the cross in the foreground and the slab just beyond it to the left.

No cycling last weekend – for Matthew! Andy went, though!

No cycling last week as I went away for the weekend and couldn't very well get back in the morning from Exmoor where I was staying. But this weekend, I'm back in the saddle and, as I write this, it's touch and go as to whether Andy will be there or not. I'm currently awaiting a call, having telephoned him from the new Marston's pub in Caterham, the Ladybird, where I'd been enjoying a chicken and roasted peppers sandwich and a pint of Brakspear's. Very civilised, especially on a hot day like today. Here's hoping it'll stay this way for the weekend.

A map of the Exmoor region. 

If it is hot and sunny, I plan to get up early and head off in the direction of Gangers Hill en route to the caff in Merstham (the caff being Hunger's End). I certainly need the exercise as I've been drinking a fair bit of beer of late. In fact, as the weather hots up generally, now might be the time to start cycling every day, early in the morning.

I can't remember if I've mentioned the fact that I had my bike serviced the other day. Cost me £103! Still, it needed doing; the gears kept on getting stuck, there was a lot of creaking going on and, yeah, it needed to be done.

Talk about rambling! I'm waiting for somebody to approve copy before my magazine, the one I edit, goes to press. Still, there you have it. Exmoor was good for cycling, not that I did any, but reading in one of those tourist newspapers, one I picked up near Dulverton, I discovered that Exmoor is ideal for mountain biking. There are tracks for both experienced and inexperienced riders and what's more it's all off road. I did spy a couple of mud-spattered Specialized mountain bikes at the Tarr Steps near to where we were staying and it got me thinking about a NoVisibleLycra Field Trip. Thoughts?