Saturday and Sunday (3/4 July) – to Merstham for tea and toast, and the Tatsfield Bus Stop

Yours truly and Andy at the Tilburstow Hill car park, Saturday

Hot weather. Too hot in many ways, but who's complaining? Not me. Right now, for instance, it's 0451hrs and I've been awake since around 0400 and have decided to come downstairs and write this blogpost. There's nothing better that decent weather where cycling is concerned.

On Saturday, Andy and I set out for Merstham and Hunger's End where we enjoyed tea and toast and a general chinwag. Jon couldn't join us this weekend. There was some kind of summer fayre going on in Merstham's Quality Street – how about that, a street named after a box of chocolates! It was all very quaint and very English and there was a song playing, 'Let Your Yeah be Yeah and Your No be No'. All the way home up Markedge Lane I couldn't get it out of my mind and, when nobody was about, I sang it out loud to take my mind off the hill. But who the hell performed it? All weekend it bugged me. I thought it was Johnny Nash (he of There are more questions than answers...and the more I find out, the less I know) but I don't know; in fact I've yet to find the answer, hold on, I'll check on Google...I was right, it was Johnny Nash!

The Quality Street Fayre in Merstham on Saturday 3 July

On Sunday we did a short run to the Tatsfield bus stop as we were both feeling a little tired due to the weather.

I realised how heavy my thermos flask can be when filled up with water, but, as we sipped tea and flipped our teabags on to the grassy space in front of the bus stop – it's a game we play – I forgot about it, and besides, the more tea we drank, the lighter it became. The tea bag game is simple: the idea is to see how far we can flip a teabag using a small teaspoon. The furthest distance wins. Very sad, but teabags are biodegradable so who cares?

In the heat of the Sunday morning sun – the Tatsfield Bus Stop

What could have been a comedy moment was when a woman from Tatsfield village turned up to place a noticeboard on the grassy space advertising a display of local artists in the village hall. Had she arrived moments earlier than she did, she might well have been hit with a warm, wet, teabag.

We cycled back along the B269 and parted company at the Good Companions pub at Hamsey. A good weekend's cycling.

This is the best of rock music today – click link to watch and listen...

Plastic Beach by Gorillaz - check out Stylo, it's brilliant or
as a sticker in the rear screen of a car screamed, Gorriliant.

Gorillaz – what a great band. Check out this amazing video of the best band around at the moment. Click here and enjoy!

Images from the weekend's cycling

I arrived early on Warlingham Green on Saturday and had
time to take this photo of my bike resting on the memorial

Normally, I'm a little late and it's Andy waiting on the Green, but this weekend, the good weather prompted me to leave on time. This shot taken prior to heading towards Merstham via Gangers Hill.

Jon's broken right pedal – who said Konas
were tough mountain bikes?

Jon's broken pedal prompted him to wonder why his Kona Fire Mountain wasn't a little tougher. Jon uses it mainly on the road but, in just a year of cycling only at weekends, the pedal is in a right mess (see above).

Andy attempts to fix Jon's pedal outside of
Hunger's End in Merstham, Surrey

Andy tried to take Jon's old and broken pedals off but it wasn't possible. Jon later told me he'd go to Halford's and get it repaired – so, new pedals on Saturday, Jon? Or, as dad might have said, "New pedals, Jorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn?"

Memories of sunny summers on the South Coast of England

Quality weather in the UK at the moment and it looks like continuing for a few more days yet. Needless to say it makes for good cycling: no coats and scarves, no gloves and, this weekend, no backpack either. I guess I was taking a risk assuming that I wouldn't be getting any punctures, but on Sunday I was only going to Woodmansterne Green (still a good six or seven miles from home) and most of the cycling surface was tarmac. As Jon and I commented, it's amazing how you can have a bike designed for rugged terrain (hefty frame, huge tractor-like tyres) and yet, the Achilles' heel, the tyres and the constant threat of punctures.

Felpham beach as I'll always remember it. Photo: Simon Carey .

Anyway, no punctures were experienced. On the Saturday we cycled the long way to Merstham, meeting Jon, who was a little bit late, at Hunger's End. Jon's pedal was still broken and Andy had bought his old pedals to the caff but couldn't fix them. I'd ambled off to the guitar shop to ogle at the bass guitars and then, on my return, we paid up and headed for home. Going down Gangers Hill, through Church Town, up the Enterdent, along Rabies Heath Road on on towards Merstham was fantastic in the early morning heat, but Sunday was promising to be what tabloids call a 'scorcher', 32 degrees. England was due to play Germany in a knock-out match later in the day and it was hard to ask for more.

Andy couldn't make Sunday so Jon and I ambled around at Woodmansterne Green reminiscing on our childhood holidays on the South Coast at Middleton and Felpham in the days when all summers were scorching hot and seemingly never-ending. We were very young when we first started going to a house called The Heron in Ancton Lodge Lane, Middleton-on-Sea. It wasn't on the beach as later houses would be, but only a short walk. Jon and I both remember the metal garden furniture and I'll always remember the woman who rented us the house, Mrs Turtle. She lived in another house next door. There was also a clock over the mantelpiece that reminded us of the Play School clock, but Jon doesn't remember that; I'm sure Criss, our sister will remember it.

Dad traded up to house on the beach after the Heron and we moved a mile up the road to Seafront, a house next door to the Southdown Holiday Camp, which I think has been knocked down. We had some good times there – apart from the time dad found a dead body, that of of young bloke who lived further up the coast and, apparently, had endured an epileptic fit while out on his sailing dinghy in rough seas. A week later dad,  Criss and mum (I wasn't there for some reason and I'm not sure if Jon was with them) were out looking for crabs in the rock pools at low tide and dad spotted what he thought was somebody dipping their head in the water to see what life was like under water, but it turned out to be the body of the guy with the dinghy. He'd gone missing about a week earlier. The whole thing was weird: that morning we saw a white horse galloping rider-less on the sand followed by a group of nuns and the sea went a funny colour too.

Dad had to attend an inquest and he got himself a mention in the Evening Argus, but the weird thing was that nobody wanted to help him drag the body from the water and bring it ashore. I remember him telling us about how the fish had been eating away at the guy's eyes. Not a pretty sight I'd imagine. I think the whole thing bugged dad for some time afterwards, but we were very young and it didn't spoil our holidays at Seafront, which continued for a couple more years before we traded up again, this time Merryweather on the Summerley Estate where, arguably, we had our defining south coast holidays. In fact, whenever I go down to the South Coast, it's always Felpham and I often go down and take a look at a couple of the houses we rented.

In the early nineties we went back en masse when Dad rented a huge house on the coast called Georgia in Limmer Lane but we were grown up with our own kids and while the magic was still there in a way, being grown up made it different, although I know that whenever I go to Felpham, that old magic is still there.

Jon and I were trying to remember dates because in between the joys of the Heron, Seafront and Merryweather, mum and dad, for some reason, decided to try a holiday in Hastings in a house called The Croft. It was one of those old, three-storey affairs but none of us liked the house and we came home early and then took a week at the Heron to compensate. I remember how dad bought our Action Men new outfits by way of compensation for a crap week. I said it was 1974, but Jon said it was earlier and so did dad when we called him from the Green to see if he remembered.

I remember how we used to count the days down as our holiday got nearer. I certainly recall sitting in the classroom at school when the lawnmowers were out on the playing fields and there was that lovely smell of cut grass. We used to walk around the block chatting about it over the weekends and I clearly recall the phrase, "when you come to think about it, 70 days isn't much really" referring to the amount of time to go before we went on holiday.

I'll stop there as there are so many memories I could write an entire blog on the subject.

Getting involved with the London to Brighton Bike Ride

A full English and a sausage bap, but where's my eggs?

It's been a while since we've been to Merstham, or at least it seems that way; I can't remember the last time I tucked in to scrambled eggs on toast but there I was on Saturday, with Andy and Jon, doing just that. The weather was good too, not great, but not bad, and rain was the last thing on our minds. To top it all, shaving man was there, but he wasn't shaving, just mumbling to himself and smoking his pipe. Very odd.

Jon and Andy eat breakfast

Jon and I went back via Markedge Lane, that's quite a tough hill, and I reached home around 11am. Sunday had to be cut short as I had to work in the afternoon, just for a couple of hours, so we headed off for Woodmansterne Green and got caught up in a bit of the London to Brighton cycle ride. If you've read the previous post to this one, you'll see that somebody died on the ride and now I'm beginning to wonder whether he passed us as we sat on Joyce Lowther's bench drinking tea.

Riders on the London to Brighton cycle ride 2010

I've riden on the London to Brighton many times. Once, after two pints of Young's, I went over Ditchling Beacon without stopping or leaving the saddle, that was on my old Marin Bear Valley SE. The last time I took part was in 2007 (on the Kona) and I came off, right at the end, just past the Brighton Pavilion. I had this ridiculous bag slung over my shoulder and the strap came undone, I lost balance and wham, down I went. I cut up my shoulder, my arms, my hands, not pleasant, but I still finished the ride and got my medal and then I had to sit on a coach, all the way to Clapham Common, sore and a little sunburnt.

The return of Shaving Man

Jon doesn't like the idea of doing the London-Brighton and I'm not sure if Andy's that keen either, but they're missing out on a good laugh. I reckon No Visible Lycra should put in a team for the 2011 ride (thoughts, gents?). Mind you, I reckon if we're going to do it we should stay over in Brighton, in a Premier Inn and come back the following day. I'm up for it! And if we book the hotel rooms early they won't cost a thing.



Big, sponsored bike rides are great fun: you stop at the pub on the way down, you have a few beers and then you head in to Brighton; and if we were staying over somewhere we could have more beers! Sounds like a plan to me, so keep the Sunday in June free, it'll be around the same time of the month.

Cyclist dies on 2010 London to Brighton Bike Ride

A 48-year-old cyclist taking part in the London to Brighton Bike Ride on Sunday collapsed and died yesterday after going up the notorious Ditchling Beacon. Click here for more details.

The mathematics of cycling...on the 'Woodland Trek'

Two 'Woodland Treks' equal one 'cycle', that's what I was figuring out in my head as I embarked upon a one-hour, ten-minute ride round suburbia, taking in a bit of woodland en route. It was a hot day on Thursday and I fancied a cycle, but knowing that a cycle around 1pm was going to mean traffic, I steered clear of the usual routes (Botley, the Tatsfield Bus Stop and so on) and besides, I had work to do and this was technically my lunch break (I was working at home). So I set off with my son on what I used to call the Woodland Trek (a route I've probably spoken of before, I'm not sure). In essence, it involves cycling around the streets near the house, a kind of 'world' in its own right and there's no traffic to speak of.

Cycling up this bit  of the woods requires a very low gear

What's the route? Well, briefly, it's turn left out of my house, down to West Hill, turn left, then left into the Ridgeway. Follow the Ridgeway to the top, turn right and left into Briton Hill Road, ride to Church Way, turn left, go down Church Way and then swing back on yourself, briefly entering Arkwright Road but turning back and up Church Way, then hang a left at Norfolk Avenue, follow it to the top where it bears left then take first left into Arundel Avenue. This bit is down hill and Arundel Avenue curves right before straightening out but towards the end you hang a left into The Ridgeway, a pleasant American-looking housing estate. The Ridgeway is self-contained, ie you've got to get out the way you came in, but I do one loop, then another and then hit an alleyway that leads on to the main Upper Selsdon Road, but I turn left back towards Croydon and then, within about 25 yards, cross the road and take a right turn down a track near the golf course; this leads me into Croham Hurst, a very pretty piece of woodland. I travel along a track, the dappled sunlight through the trees casting pleasant patterns on the woodland carpet of leaves and twigs (see photo) and then, just after it opens out a little bit, I crank the gears into low (believe me, if you don't, you'll have to stop, as I did) and head uphill to the very top of the woods where I can see my house down below and quite a distance away. This is always a good place to stop for a while. Many years ago (they probably still do it) the local church used to hold Easter services up here at 6am in the morning. It was weird: the vicar and a few of his parishioners standing around with bibles, but it was good too and while I'm not a churchgoer, there was something good about being up on the hill on a misty Easter morning – you could say it was a religious experience which, of course, it was.

At the very top of Croham Hurst woods, South Croydon.

Anyway, once at the top of the hill you have a choice: you can go left or right and this time I went right (on my second lap I saw a bald-headed guy doing press-ups, but that's beside the point). Going downhill in the woods can be a little treacherous and you have to watch your step, but soon you'll appear, as I did, on a patch of green grass hemmed in by Croham Manor Road and another road called Bankside (I think). I turned left along Croham Manor Road back towards the Upper Seldson Road where I turned left again and then right into West Hill, and then, if this was going to be a one-lapper, I'd turn left into Barnfield Road and finish. However, this was a two-lapper, so I simply carried on up West Hill, turning left into the Ridgeway and, to make things mildly different, half way along the Ridgeway I turned right into Hook Hill and followed the road until it joined with Briton Hill Road.

It was tough, but good and I kind of vowed to do it daily but, of course, I didn't.

Cycling shop owner in York wins the lottery!

... and he's not planning to let the money change his life. Click here for more details.

Postscript on passion

Here's a rather pretentious self portrait of yours truly on a train.
I must have been bored shitless or fed up with my book.

Andy sent me a message via our other site (novisiblelycra.ning.com) and it got me thinking; he said that he figured he did have a passion for motorsport and photography, and that got me thinking that I'm not completely passionless in terms of 'leisure pursuits', although there's no point in my trying to be passionate about something I'm simply not passionate about: football. Mind you, I'm keen on the World Cup and I do feel that there's a sense of camaraderie when England are out there playing against the rest of the world, so I guess I do kind of get passionate about international football tournaments. And then there's writing and reading and cycling, so I'm not without my 'passions' either.

I think that post of mine when I said that I lack passion, was probably too strong. It implied that I'm some kind of stoned-out zombie with no interests and a permanently vacant expression on my face. I might even have implied that Andy was the same, when clearly he's been thinking about it and has decided that he does have passions.

So, there you have it, we're both full of passion about a lot of things, although, as Andy's other half pointed out recently, we are a bit like television's grumpy old men, as a recent photograph of all of us (which appeared in Club Mirror magazine's May issue) illustrated. Perhaps the word is 'cynicism', we're very cynical about stuff in general, but there's a whole world of difference between cynicism and a lack of passion.

Postscript on Passion – an afterthought

Andy has suggested that we're cynical realists and that sounds about right – as long as we're passionate about being cynical realists.

Longford Lake, home of Chipstead Sailing Club

Longford Lake is the home of Chipstead Sailing Club where, among other things, they sail radio-controlled yachts like these pictured above.

For more details of the club, visit their website by clicking here.