... and I did get out there! I rode to Westerham and there was no rain!

My last post was pretty depressing if the truth be known. I'd woken up and not really given any thought to riding the bike until I saw raindrops hitting the birdbath and that made me feel a little down. I almost resigned myself to not riding today (see previous post) but then things started to brighten a little and while there were spits of rain when I eventually plucked up the courage to get out there, the weather was fairly pleasant. It was warm for a start, which always helps, and while I did feel the odd drop of rain occasionally, the ride was perfect. 

Inside Costa Saturday morning

Having not riden since last Sunday I felt uncharacteristically energetic as I bombed along Ellenbridge in preparation for the climb of Church Way and when I reached the top I sailed through the churchyard, along a short stretch of Onslow Gardens and then right into Blenheim. A right turn and then a left and I was on the Limpsfield Road heading for Warlingham Green and then onwards towards the roundabout at Chelsham, just past Sainsbury's. From there I followed the country lanes which wound their way towards St. Leonards church and then I took the plunge and headed down Hesiers Hill towards Beddlestead where the ferns cascaded on to the road and where the occasional Lycra monkey whirred past me.

I take Beddlestead in my stride these days, but it's still fairly long and the whole thing is a hill. But soon it was over and I turned left on to Clarks Lane and rode downhill into Westerham. I noted that Pilgrims Lane was closed so I had to follow the traditional route into town and when I got there it was its usual self: lots of people milling around, queuing for a Costa, sitting on the green or looking in shop windows.

I know I was moaning about my diet in the last post, but that didn't stop me weakening and ordering an English Breakfast tea with a cinnamon brioche bun. I sat indoors, keeping a weather eye on the bike that rested outside and enjoyed my tea and bun. I could have sat there all day if the truth be known, but I knew I'd have to be getting back. There weren't that many people there: straight ahead of me two men were chatting. I think they were old pals catching up. To my right at roughly one o'clock was a couple, a man and a woman, who didn't seem to have much to say to each other. The woman had long blonde hair and the man a kind of grey/black Brillo pad. There were two young girls sitting at roughly ten o'clock and at nine o'clock a couple with a toddler who ordered some kind of breakfast bap each along with a drink. To my right, or at roughly three o'clock, a solitary man and that was it apart from those queuing.

Tea and a cinnamon brioche bun...

In the end I plucked up the courage to leave and found myself riding out of Westerham following the same road I came in on. The hill was fine and soon I reached the roundabout close to Botley Hill and had to debate whether or not to follow The Ridge into Woldingham. I decided to risk the 269 instead and soon I was in Sanderstead High Street and then back in Blenheim, Church Way, Ellenbridge and home. 

It never rained. Alright, there was the odd spit, but nothing more and now I'm home and penning this unusual second post in one day. Total mileage today was 22.21 miles, add that to the 12.32 and you get my weekly total of 34.53 miles. Not brilliant, but I'll improve on that next week.

On Sunday the weather improved considerably and I rode to Westerham again to meet Andy who was back from his holiday in Cornwall. We chatted again about Andy's 'dawn to dusk' plan and I started to warm to the idea myself. Once again, I decided not to ride home via The Ridge and instead risked the 269. I was home around 1100hrs and then got cracking on mowing the lawn. The weather was fantastic yesterday and the only disappointment was England losing in the Euro 2020 final on penalties. We scored first, making it 1-0, the Italians equalised and then there was extra time followed by the penalties and of course we lost, we always do. Better luck next time, England.

Not a single ride...apart from last Sunday

Saturday morning and I was awake around 0400hrs, probably about 10 minutes earlier. I wanted to get out of bed, but I knew it would be a bad idea so I lay there and eventually fell asleep, waking at gone 0700hrs. I fell asleep again and awoke around 0800hrs, switched on LBC and then got up. To be honest, I hadn't spared a thought for the weather. I made breakfast and switched on the lap top, perused the BBC website and wasn't even thinking about cycling, even if a ride was lurking in the back of my mind. I always ride on a Saturday, it's the last day of my cycling week. But clearly not today. Still not really thinking about the weather I went upstairs and changed and then, when I found myself in the kitchen, I noticed the raindrops in the birdbath. I was just about to go and there they were, so I checked out the weather app on the iphone and sure enough it's going to rain all day, or almost, although there's a chance right now of getting out there and if I can, I will.

Lunch in a local caff yesterday...

It's been a bad week for riding the bike. I was working Monday to Wednesday, which put a ride out of the question, and the rain also stopped my riding in, so I was down to just two days, Thursday and Friday, but for some reason the momentum was lost and when I checked back to what I did last Sunday I was disheartened to note that I only rode 12.5 miles. Suddenly it dawned on me yesterday that my weekly mileage was going to be piss poor and that made it even worse. I resigned myself to not being proud of my weekly total.

What I must do is stop eating rubbish. This week: two Wispa bars, a Twirl, a chocolate mousse and an almond croissant. This is not new. Since lockdown I've been comfort eating. Big breakfasts, peanut butter, marmalade, boiled egg and fingers, bowl of Alpen and my general food intake isn't good either. Last night a cream cheese sandwich and it really has to stop. But it's harder than you think to stop eating crap, but I'm going to give it a go. Even a few minutes ago, however, I was looking forward to reaching Westerham and enjoying another cinnamon brioche bun with my English breakfast tea, and I've just remembered that during the week, after work, I sat in Redhill Costa munching a Millionaires Shortbread with my tea. It. Has. To. Stop.

So, the bike's in the garage, I'm in the house, it's raining and all there is to look forward to is England's drubbing in tomorrow's Euros. Well, alright, I want them to win and they could, of course, but it's Italy they're up against so I'm not going to get worked up about it, best to say they'll lose and then whatever happens will be alright. I was a bit suspicious about the Denmark game, purely because that second goal was a Denmark own goal, Kane missed the penalty, only scoring on the rebound, and the decision to award a penalty? Well, who knows? Everybody's going on far too much about the final. Just because England is generally rubbish in the football department, we're all thinking "it's coming home". Well, the only thing that is definitely coming home is the team. Why? Because the game takes place in Wembley so they're already home. It is probably going  to Rome, so I'm not going to get upset, but I will be watching the game.

This was good!

There's also Wimbledon finals this weekend, but as I've said before, the tennis is boring, there's no major 'rock star' players like Borg or McEnroe, everything has it's golden age and for both footy and tennis, they're over. God! I'm sounding as if I'm on a big downer, perhaps I am, it's hard to tell these days.

It's looking brighter out there and I might make a dash for it even if I know I'll get a soaking in the process. It's 1003hrs and it's make or break. I'll probably get to the top of Church Way and it'll start pouring down. What's worse, though? Staying in and resigning myself to a slobby day or getting out there and at least giving it a go? Probably the former, but I'm feeling fat and slobby as it is so I'd better get out there.

Hardy's Return of the Native...oh how I wish I hadn't bothered!

Over the past couple days I've been riding along country lanes taking in the wonderful smells and aromas of the summertime, the scent of the hedgerows and, of course, that lovely warm breeze you get on days like today and yesterday. As I rode around the lanes that led to St. Leonard's church in Chelsham I thought about a lottery ticket I had bought during the week, it was one that, should I win, I would get £10,000 per month for the next 30 years. Can you imagine that for one moment, £120,000 per annum, tax-free, for the next 30 years. That's a lot of money and a lot of time. And as I rode the lanes I imagined having won such a prize and how amazing it would be to be cycling through the summer knowing that I didn't have to work anymore, I could spend my days riding the bike, going to the beach, strolling around, wild swimming in the sea and so forth. Hell, I might even buy myself a place close to the coast so that I could enjoy the freshness of the sea and the sea air whenever the fancy took me.

Chilling at Costa in Westerham, Kent today...

But of course I haven't won such an amazing prize and why the hell should I? There are millions of people more deserving than I am. Perhaps I'll have to write that definitive 21st Century novel and then I'll be able to take life a little easier, buy myself one of those Henley garden offices and spend the rest of my days chilling and riding and writing and skimming stones into the sea. I haven't been to the south coast in a while and I really should be getting down there now that the weather's good. I'm still a little taken by Andy's 'dawn to dusk' idea and wouldn't mind trying it myself, although, as I probably said in a recent post, possibly the last one, I doubt I'd be able to ride the 250 miles to Cornwall before the sun went down, but who knows? Perhaps I'd surprise myself. Andy said that there would be downhill stretches that would speed things up somewhat and, of course, he's right. While I tend to average around 10 miles/hour there are times, when I reach a downward stretch, that the bike picks up incredible speed. But I reckon I'd be able to ride around 150 miles before the sun set in the west, possibly 200 if I was really lucky, but I'd settle for 150. I think I'd head for the coast and then, on reaching the front, head west towards Dorset, I might manage to reach Wareham before I sought out a campsite or, if I was really organised, the B&B I'd booked for myself prior to departure, having worked out exactly where I'd stop (or where I would likely end up) as the sun disappeared on the horizon and it was time for me to get some kip.

My sleeping rough 'fantasy' or 'dream' or whatever it is, still hangs over me occasionally. The other day I was on Amazon looking up bivvy bags, which are kind of elaborate sleeping bags. I found one that was basically a small tent, the sort of thing you could set up in minutes and then cover with camouflage so that nobody can spot you from a distance (I'm thinking angry farmers who wouldn't entertain the idea of me sleeping in one of their fields. That said, sleeping in random fields could be dangerous. What if a herd of horned bulls mosey on over during the night while I sleep, although I don't think I'll be getting much sleep, not on my first few nights under canvas. That whole 'dawn to dusk' business could easily involve the bivvy tent as it would be easy to carry, simple to erect and ideal for one person trying to keep a low profile. One day I might have a crack at cycling to the beach, I haven't done it for a long time and I'd love to do it; riding to Felpham is about 60 miles, which, these days, bearing in mind my increased fitness levels, I wouldn't have a problem with. I reckon I could easily do such mileage and would enjoy every minute, just as long as the weather was on my side, which it could be, you just never know with the British weather.

Summer in full swing on Beddlestead Lane today...

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I made a big mistake recently when I purchased a copy of Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native, I book I read ages ago and I rather enjoyed it; there's something about Diggory Venn, the reddleman, and Egdon Heath, which appealed to me, or so I thought when I bought it. But now I'm struggling and I wish there was such a thing as an amnesty on unread novels, like there is for knives. We could all trampse on down to our local police stations and hand in the books that failed to keep our attention, and I'd certainly be taking Hardy's tragic novel with me, although, in all honesty I don't really find it that 'tragic'. The character of Clym Yeobright, to me, is basically pathetic, he's come back from Paris where he seemed to be 'doing alright' and found himself getting married to one Eustacia Vye, Egdon Heath's femme fatale I suppose. But she fell in love with Clym because of what he was, not because of what he intends to become, and it all starts to go wrong. As I read it (I'm still struggling) Clym has damaged his eyes because he's been studying hard in bad light and as a result has taken a job as a furze cutter on the heath, much to the dismay of his wife who thinks he's capable of much better things. She wants to head to Paris with him, but he's fed up with the French capital and never intends to return and now she's going off of him. In my mind Clym is basically an idiot; he had a good job, he should have stayed in Paris or, failing that he should have returned to Paris with Eustacia, but no, he doesn't do that. I always feel as if I should shout at him to pull himself together and not throw his life away on the heath, but he wouldn't listen. His mother, Mrs Yeobright, is despairing with him too. Not only does she not like his new wife, but can't believe that he would throw away the opportunities presented to him by Paris and whatever it was he was doing there (I'm sure this is explained, but I can't remember). As I said earlier, I've read the book before and for some reason thought that the haunting quality of the heath and the strangeness of the reddleman would make the book appealing, but in all honesty I want to finish it and then crack on with something a little more exciting, like a cycling adventure book, of which there are many online at present; but because there is no amnesty on unread novels I'll have to wait until I've finished Return of the Native as I hate buying a book and then not finishing it; then it's all down to what \i read next. I could make a rod for my own back and read Saul Bellow's More Die of Heartbreak, which might be a decent book, I don't know, but it could be another Return of the Native scenario. What I need is to be sitting in a coffee shop somewhere, possibly the Costa down in Westerham. I could ride there, order tea and cake and then try and get through a couple of chapters of Hardy's classic novel. I'm not doing too badly. I'm on Chapter Three of 'Book Fourth', The Closed Door so I'm not a million miles from ordering something else online, like Nelson Algren's A Walk on the Wild Side, yes, the book that inspired Lou Reed's classic song of the same name. I'm tempted to read The Plague by Albert Camus or even something by Jean Paul Sartre, but I'm not sure, perhaps something lighter. like the aforementioned cycling adventure, would be better. But right now my only problem is finishing Return of the Native. It's Friday evening, it's very warm outside and the sun is still shining as the time approaches 1830hrs, so it's likely that I might fight my way through another chapter, taking me closer to the finish line.

The Lunchtime Weeble...

It's been a good week on the cycling front. It started last Sunday with a ride to Westerham to meet Andy and then, having riden for five consecutive days, I decided to take Monday and Tuesday off. On Wednesday a Washpond Weeble and then, on Thursday and Friday, two Lunchtime Weebles, which was by far the way to go. I used to dread the moment I finished work knowing I had to pluck up the enthusiasm to jump on the bike and ride out into the sticks. It's the last thing I want to do after a day of working. Lunchtime rides are far easier. I'm more awake for a start, there's less traffic (normally I have to cope with rush hour drivers) and I feel energised on my return to complete my week at work. In total this week I rode over 84 miles, an improvement on last week and I'm feeling good about it.

It's Saturday afternoon, 1317hrs to be precise, and the sun has just come out. Earlier, around 0900hrs, I rode to Westerham and it was cloudy with a mild breeze. I had the feeling it would rain at any minute and it did when I was sitting outside of Costa Coffee drinking tea and enjoying another cinnamon brioche bun, yes, another one. The rain lasted all of a few seconds and then stopped and held off all the way home until I reached the Sanderstead area. I had riden the slow way (along Beddlestead Lane) and then turned left and headed down Clarks Lane, following the road down the hill and round the bend, bearing right, not even turning left as I usually do and riding along Pilgrims Lane. I sat outside with my tea and bun and just took in my surroundings, people watching. A man tried to get a bright red armchair into the back of his estate car and he managed it before heading off to his home in nearby Chiddingstone, which, he said, was 15 minutes' drive away. There was a man with a nasty-looking dog, a few old people floating around and a handful of people on the green. The sun made brief appearances. I rode back along the road towards the Velo Barn and then hung a left into Pilgrims Lane where I found a Lycra monkey struggling to get out of the wrong gear. I should have quipped that being in the wrong gear was the story of my life, but I simply couldn't be bothered. I continued along Pilgrims Lane, emerging at the foot of the hill and started the climb that wouldn't end until I reached the Botley Hill roundabout. I turned left on to The Ridge and rode into Woldingham, down Slines Oak Road and then up the steep bit at the end. When I reached the 269 it was raining, but it wasn't cold so I pushed on regardless, passing Flavours, my new favourite caff in Warlingham, and then along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead. I sailed down Church Way in the rain and put in a good 24.55 miles, giving me that magical 84-mile weekly total, well, just over 84 miles.

Keeping it respectable...unlike Matt Hancock!

You know my rule, 70 miles or more per week and nothing less, that's the only way I can claim any kind of respectability out there in the cyclesphere, and this week I never thought I'd manage it. I was at work for three days and that put paid to any 'after work' riding. On Sunday just passed I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy, due to the possibility of rain and the fact that there's no cover in Westerham. Fine, but it reduced my mileage down from the usual 24 + plus miles to just 18.22 miles. I was on a loser, it seemed, but on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I rode the Beddlestead route (17.40 miles) and that bumped things up a little bit. Saturday morning I was set to make it around 80 miles, but foolishly in retrospect, I only repeated the Beddlestead run, giving me a weekly total of just over 70 miles (70.46 to be precise). I can live with that.

Col Du Skelly, a marker on Beddlestead Lane...

I started a new week today (Sunday 27 June) and rode to Westerham to meet Andy. I was thinking last night that we were going to be rained off, but no, it was fine. The weather was pleasant, fairly warm, a little cloudy and there was some fine drizzle but we avoided a soaking and now, at 1215hrs I'm back home and listening to Radiohead. Why? Because the BBC has been repeating Glastonbury and devoted a whole programme to the band's 1997 performance, which was little short of amazing. So now I'm listening to tracks from my favourite Radiohead album, The Bends, it's brilliant. I'm alone in the house, which means nobody is going to insist I turn it down or turn it off and yes, I'm typing a blogpost about my past week, which I've already explained. It's not possible to ride after work and unless I ride to work on the bike, which I've done in the past, cycling is off the agenda until a day I don't have to visit the office. Of course, theoretically, the Government is still saying stay at home if you can, but the company wants us in, in bubbles, and last week was my 'bubble' so in I went. To be fair, I welcome it. It's nice to see colleagues, visit the Pop Inn cafe for lunch and chew the fat with people I haven't seen for some time.

Looking up Beddlestead Lane...

It's Sunday, early afternoon, Matt Hancock has resigned his post as health secretary having been filmed grabbing the arse of his squeeze and, therefore, flagrantly flouting his own rules about social distancing. He's left his wife and, well, he's in a right mess. Boris Johnson, of course, was happy for him to stay in his post because, he, Johnson, has very, very low standards and is himself a dishonest arsehole who, like Hancock, and, indeed the rest of the party, should be removed from power. Look at the mess they've got the country in: Brexit, the highest COVID deaths in Europe and yet we voted for the cunts. Everybody is pissed off with Hancock and let's be fair they were pissed off before he was caught on camera snogging his bird. It's now a couple of days after the event and people are still seething, but their seething is tinged with glee as they know he's gone and is probably right this minute crying into his dinner. No longer in a position of power, it's only a matter of time before his mistress gets pissed off and decides to stay with her multi-millionaire husband, unless, of course, he kicks her out, although I hear she's left her husband, Hancock's left his wife and they're going to shack up together. How awful. She'll soon get fed up now he's no longer a member of the cabinet and just plain old Matt Hancock MP, an unimportant back bencher.

The Rockhopper at the top of Beddlestead Lane...

Andy and I were both running a little late. I arrived in Westerham around 0915 and spotted Andy sitting outside of Costa with a cup of black coffee and a slice of cake, his bike neatly parked next to him. I bought myself a large English Breakfast tea and a cinnamon brioche bun and then sat outside with Andy. We chatted about a number of things in between my bouts of heavy sneezing and itchy eyes. Hay fever. I get it every year.

I was heading in the Warlingham direction...

Andy's thinking about a 'dawn to dusk' bike ride to Cornwall to see his sister. It sounds like a great idea, getting up at the crack of dawn on the longest day of the year and riding until dusk. Andy reckons he could cover the 250-mile distance or get pretty close. I wouldn't mind having a stab at something like that. We talked about the Dunwich Dynamo, a night ride from Hackney to Dunwich in Suffolk, something else we'd both like to do, although there's the worry of how to get back home. Where's the nearest station, for example? But then I suggested renting a car or a van and we both agreed that would be the solution. Mind you, riding through the night could be hard and apparently it can get a little edgy when you reach Epping Forest, or so we've heard. It started to rain, but not heavily, so we remained seated and eventually it stopped and then it was time to head home, never a nice moment, the thought of the hill all the way to Botley and then, for me, the ride up the steep bit of Slines Oak Road.

Beddlestead Lane, not a million miles from the end.

Andy's on holiday next week so I'll have to motivate myself next Sunday, but at least this week I got off to a good start, a 22-mile ride. It's weird how the distances vary on Strava: today it was something like 22.95 miles, but the same ride has recorded as longer. I rely on Strava these days and, as Andy says, if it's not on Strava, it didn't happen.

Yours truly

It's official, by the way, Andy's become a vegan. He's riding daily, he's losing loads of weight, he's given up on eating animals and he's not finding it at all difficult. I mentioned that when I gave up drinking it was like flicking a switch and I no longer cared. I never really had any pangs, any craving for a beer, I just stopped and that was it; it's nearly been four years. We were having this conversation as we rode out of Westerham towards the hill, but we both know the hill starts as soon as we leave the northern Kent market town and that it's a right old slog all the way to the Botley Hill roundabout and then we follow The Ridge into Woldingham.

I'm amazed we both escaped a soaking. In fact it didn't rain all day and only started this evening (it's pissing down now).

A strange dream, yes, but I managed 84.75 miles this week, not bad!

A strange dream last night and very vivid. I was in the house of a very rich person and was engaged in some kind of game, I'm not exactly sure, but we were in a large space with a glass roof, possibly a very big conservatory and we were in what must have been water that was covered with white rose petals, up to our necks in it; I say 'we' because I was not alone. Sir Richard Branson was one of the guests and so was veteran newsman Harold Evans, plus myself and I can't recall anybody else. I was intrigued about Evans' presence, not because he's dead, but because there was a connection between him and my father and I wanted to ask him if he remembered dad. I never got the chance. Branson, incidentally, must have been fully submerged in the water because he broke the surface with a toothy smile and then we all sort of sat there not really saying a great deal. The next scene was outside somewhere, presumably in the grounds of the huge house in which this strange situation took place. I was walking along, possibly crossing a bridge over water or even simply walking along a concrete path bordered by a low wall behind which there was water, possibly a lake of some sort. Robert de Niro was leaning against the wall, but just before we engaged with one another a man started to attempt tripping me up from behind. He didn't succeed, but at one point he grabbed me by the short and curlies, said something offensive and then moved on. He was an older man with broad shoulders and farmers' clothes, a brown jacket, possibly corduroy trousers, the details are sketchy, but he passed by and soon I was telling Robert de Niro what had happened, pointing the man out as he strode away from us and disappeared. We walked in the man's direction, not with any intention of chasing him. We turned right and I heard myself saying, "So, how's it all going on the sartorial elegance front?" A strange question to ask, but one he answered without hesitation. He said he was fine and had seemingly taken my advice, but what I might have advised him I simply don't know. When he had gone I found myself approaching a young woman who I mistook for Harold Evans' wife, but she was far too young for that and pointed me elsewhere. Once again, my true aim was to ask Evans if he remembered my dad and I probably thought that by finding his wife I might stand a chance, but it wasn't to be. Lastly, prior to waking up, I was somewhere else and while something was going on, I can't remember exactly what. It was 0600hrs, it was raining outside (or about to) and a day of work lay ahead of me.

Tea and cake, Tudor Rose, Westerham

I'd had a fairly good week on the bike, unlike the previous week when I did absolutely no cycling, apart from the Sunday ride with Andy. Why I don't know, but after my jab on Thursday (not last week, the week before) I felt a little weary and didn't even go last Saturday, so my weekly total was something like 22 miles or thereabouts. This past week, however,  has been far better. On the Sunday just past (13 June) I rode into to Westerham to meet Andy. We sat on the green as usual, chatted about this and that, watched a few Harley Davidsons roll by and then rode home, parting at the top of Slines Oak Road in Woldingham. I then rode down the hill, up the other side and home. Fortunately I was motivated enough on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday to ride three Washpond Weebles, but on Thursday there was rain, loads of it, all day long, and more is promised according to the weather people. I would like to ride today, Friday (18 June) and then again on Saturday (19 June), but my current total is just under 60 miles so even if I don't ride today and manage to get a ride in on Saturday, my weekly total will hover over 80 miles, which is a result. Right now it's looking pretty gloomy out there, in fact it's raining now, I can hear it, so a ride today is probably out of the question, which is a shame. Yesterday I was seriously considering a ride. I went out on to the driveway and there was a lovely smell of rain in the air. Fortunately, I decided not to ride and no sooner had I made that decision it started to rain, just like it is right now. There are those who will say it's good for the garden and perhaps they're right, but sod the garden I want to ride my bike. It is Friday 18 June 2021 and as I say, it's not been a bad week for cycling and it's not over yet; if today's a wash-out, there's always tomorrow and I think it'll fine on Saturday, but the weather will deteriorate as the day progresses, or so they say. I might still get to eat cake and drink English breakfast tea on the green at Westerham, but whether Andy and I will be meeting on Sunday (20 June) I don't know. We will see.

So it's now Saturday morning as I write this and everything is dull and still and it's looking as if it'll rain at any moment, although the weather people are still saying it will be cloudy, no rain, not until later in the day, or possibly overnight. It's 0739hrs and I'm planning to hit the road around 0800hrs. My iPhone says a mixture of cloud and sunshine today, certainly until lunch time, which means if I'm quick I could get myself down to Westerham and score a quick 22 miles, which would bring my total this week to just over 80 miles, not bad going, but let's see.

Well, it's now 1220hrs on Saturday morning and I've not long returned from a ride to Westerham, which was fantastic. Alright, it was cloudy, but it wasn't cold and while on the outward journey there was a fine shower of drizzle for a short while, I sailed along Beddlestead Lane and down Clarks Lane, turning left into Pilgrims Lane, passing the Velo Barn and then riding into Westerham where I found the Tudor Rose Tearooms. I sat inside, ordered tea and a slice of coffee & walnut cake, which could have been a little fresher, but it did the job, and soon I found myself back on the bike riding home. I decided to follow The Ridge into Woldingham, braced myself for the steep hill at the end of Slines Oak Road and then turned left on to the B269 and headed home. In total this week I rode 84.75 miles, a vast improvement on last week's 22 miles, and right now I feel good and I'm looking forward to a drive to Chartwell, which is just outside of Westerham, so I'll be retracing some of this morning's ride in the car.

The Westerham ride was fantastic as everything is in bloom. As I rode along Beddlestead the cow parsley was tipped with teardrops of rain and as that fine drizzle fell to the ground quietly, as only drizzle can do, I embraced the moment, the misty air, the warmth of a summer morning, the tweeting of the birds in the hedgerows, what was not to like, I thought, as I pedalled along looking forward to seeing the mobile phone mast that signifies the near end of Beddlestead Lane and the refreshing downhill ride towards Pilgrims Lane. I really hope that rain doesn't stop play tomorrow (Sunday 20 June) as I'm looking forward to meeting Andy on the green in Westerham* for our weekly chinwag.

* We met in Tatsfield village.

64 miles, thanks to the Dunton Green Growler...

 A poor week of cycling redeemed itself on Saturday with a ride to Dunton Green in Kent. The weather was wonderful and it felt great riding along Pilgrim's Lane. I ended up in Bojangles where a cup of tea and a slice of coffee cake made things even better, although my cake addiction is worrying and needs to be stopped. I sat on the green opposite the cafe, which is takeaway only at the moment and has been for some time, thanks to the pandemic.

The Washpond Weeble...

During the week I didn't start riding until Wednesday, but after two rides, the last one on Thursday, the rain fell from the skies for the whole of Friday, putting any thoughts of a ride out of the question. I managed a Washpond Weeble and a ride along Beddlestead Lane and then along The Ridge and home, total mileage was around 29 miles, giving me little to redeem myself. In a way I felt a little guilty for not kicking myself into gear, but then it was my first week back at work having enjoyed a week off. So, 35.90 miles did the trick, add the 12 miles for the Weeble and the 17 miles for the Beddlestead run and it added up to what? Around 64 miles, I can't remember exactly. If you read last week's post you'll know that nothing over 70 miles can be considered respectable in my book, but then I tend to fret about stuff like this when I shouldn't really worry about it. Sixty four miles is alright and I'll have to try to do better this coming week. I've got work on Monday and Tuesday this week, and by that I mean actually going into the office. I could ride in, but I won't, it's too much of a faff and I'd have to leave the house at an ungodly hour, ie 0630hrs and that would mean missing a mammoth breakfast, which has become a regular habit. I like nothing more than getting up early and eating a hearty brekkie, but now I think about it, I have to leave the house early so it won't be that mammoth and I won't have time to really enjoy it, less if I ride in. I'll just have to ensure I get a few shorter rides in from Wednesday through to Friday and then, adding a ride to Westerham next Saturday should give me a respectable mileage. It's all about a respectable mileage.

The Rockhopper on Washpond Lane

I love the summer, it's the best season of the year. No need to wrap up and wear a balaclava, no need for layers of clothing and no need for gloves either. I love it! And there's nothing nicer than riding through the countryside on narrow lanes smelling the passing cow parsley and the last few days of the bluebells that shimmer in the woods on either side of the road.

Summer 2021 is not as good as last year, but there's still time so let's not get too pessimistic. Last Friday's rain was a bit depressing, it drizzled all day long and while I thought it would brighten up in the late afternoon there was no chance; it rained into the night. But Saturday morning started with mist and gradually brightened up. Sitting across the road from Bojangles on the white plastic seats provided I lapped up the sunshine eating the aforementioned slice of coffee cake with my tea. The ride back wasn't half as wearisome as I thought it would be and soon I found myself on the hill leading up to the Botley roundabout. There was traffic on the Slines Oak Road that might have slowed me down, but even though the hill is steep I somehow weaved around the cars that were stacking up on their approach to the 269. I'm amazed I kept the bike on two wheels in such a low gear, but I managed it and then sailed home along the Limpsfield Road towards home.

On The Ridge...

On Sunday morning I left around 0800hrs and when I reached Westerham there was no sign of Andy. For a short while I thought I'd missed a message and that he'd rescheduled, but no, he was on his way. Soon enough he arrived and told me all about his 162-mile jaunt to Rye, Dungeness and the surrounding area. I felt tired for him, but what an achievement. Andy, if you're reading this, take a couple of days off, you don't want to overdo things, it's not good for you. We sat on our favourite table, me with an almond croissant and a paper cup of English breakfast, Andy with a fruit drink, a cookie, a chocolate cakey thing given to him by mistake and, well, it doubled as a kind of second breakfast and rightly deserved after all the cycling. We chatted about his mammoth ride and eventually headed for home. I decided not to ride along The Ridge as I had stuff to do, like mowing the lawn, so I rode the 269, keeping a weather eye on the traffic.

Woods along The Ridge

I've got my second jab this week, can't say I'm looking forward to it, but needs must and all that.

A short break on Pilgrims Lane on last Saturday

It's worth pointing out, incidentally, that this blogpost has been waiting all week to be posted as, for some reason unknown to man, the images you see never uploaded to Google Photos for an entire week. Today, as I write this, Thursday 10 June, the day of my second jab, I found them on the site and now I can press the 'publish' button.

The bike on Pilgrims Lane last Saturday

It was a good week on the bike, that redeemed itself with the Dunton Green Growler. This week is looking a bit dodgy. The weather yesterday was amazing but I was feeling down, demoralised, I don't know, and I left the house without wearing a crash helmet. I didn't realise until I reached Church Way and was halfway up the hill. I thought about turning back or pressing on and decided on the latter. When I reached home I'd travelled all of 1.79 miles.

Bojangles in Dunton Green, time for some cake!

I must go out today, I keep telling myself, but it's jab day and I think you're supposed to take things easy, we'll see.

Tea and coffee cake, Dunton Green

The cake must stop, it just must.

75 miles last week, a respectable distance...

 I managed 75 miles or thereabouts last week. The weather picked up, which was nice, and because I'd taken the week off work I wasn't limited to rides after 1630hrs. Often times, riding late in the afternoon is wearisome and if I think too hard about the ride, like cycling up Church Hill or along Beddlestead Lane, then I start to feel tired and there's a very real chance that I simply won't go. It's great, of course, if I get out and reach that point of no return, because I know that I have to finish the ride, I can't shorten it and it means I can chalk up some miles on Strava. Now I know that sounds very Lycra monkey, I get that, but the great thing about Strava is that it records everything and earns me a bit of kudos in the process.

I stopped for tea along Beddlestead Lane.

Last week saw me riding along Beddlestead Lane then turning right at the end, riding towards Botley and than taking a left turn into The Ridge and following the road through Woldingham, up Slines Oak Road and home, a total of 17.39 miles, but it varied. The second ride was 17.41 miles and the third was 17.88 miles, although, on one of them, I did return home temporarily to check I'd locked the doors, which I had so it was pointless going back.

Towards the end of Beddlestead Lane

On one ride, the weather was so pleasant that I stopped around three quarters of the way along Beddlestead for a cup of tea. I'd brought a flask with me and sat on the side of the road. It was idyllic. There was almost total silence apart from the sound of the birds and then the occasional cyclist pedalling past and remarking on the weather. I had enough water and teabags for a second cup and I could have stayed longer, but decided to push on and finish the ride. I had intended to ride into Westerham, but didn't. I figured that around 17.5 miles was a good enough jaunt.

The serenity of Beddlestead Lane, total silence

At one stage during the week I realised I was on for a pretty good weekly mileage total, but as always things got in the way and I had to recalculate my distances. I figured that one more 17.5 miles or so would give me the magical 75 miles and that was it. I'd tasked myself with decorating a bedroom and it took three days from start to finish but put paid to a few rides. I never went out on Sunday (the start of my cycling week) and now I'm back at work and it's Wednesday. I must ride today, tomorrow and Friday if I'm to put in a respectable mileage at the end of the week. And you might well ask 'what is respectable?' and in my book it's 70 miles or over, anything less is a case of 'could do better'. Why 70? I don't know, but it seems about right, although my aim is to ride over 90 if possible, although I'll make do with around 80 miles if I have to; it all goes back to that 1630 ride and whether I feel up to it. It's great reaching home knowing I've done it, but it's hard to motivate myself to get out there and that's the key.

On The Ridge heading for Woldingham

One thing I did last week was fix the phone situation. I am now the proud owner of an iPhone XS and the battery is good enough to allow me to use Strava and take a few photographs, something the old blog has been lacking over the past few weeks. My old iphone 5S has been put out to grass and while the XS is slightly bigger, it's far, far better.

Looking across fields from The Ridge

Here's hoping I get out today, tomorrow and Friday and that my Saturday ride to Westerham gives me a respectable weekly distance.

A bad week for cycling: blustery weather and rain put paid to my exercise!

The week before last was brilliant. I managed to ride 105 miles and you can read more about that in the previous post. This week has not been so good and it's entirely to do with the weather. All week it's been on and off raining, one minute it's nice and sunny, but then I turn around, the skies have darkened and it's raining. Normally this happens around 1600hrs when I'm considering stopping work for the day and getting some exercise. The end result, of course, is that I don't get out, I resign myself to no cycling and, you know, I'm kind of relieved. Why? Because at the end of the day I'm knackered. I know it sounds odd using the word 'knackered' when all I do is sit at a desk, but after a full day, starting around 0800hrs, I'm done by the close of play around 1600hrs and I want to do is sit down and watch an episode of Detectorists on iPlayer.

Every day of last week was the same and as the week drew to a close I soon realised that my mileage would be nowhere near what it was last week.

On Friday night I didn't get much in the way of sleep. I developed a kind of phantom toothache, a nagging dull ache the eventually forced me, at 0200hrs, to seek out some painkillers and deal with the problem. I dropped one around 0230hrs and went back to bed, waking around 0430hrs and somehow managing to get through to 0600hrs before getting up. A ride was out of the question. I was feeling weary and would remain that way for the rest of the day, so I found Detectorists on the iPlayer and watched a few episodes at random. I'm going to have to write an entire post about Detectorists and the genius of Mackenzie Crook. All of the characters are brilliantly portrayed by some top class actors, led by Toby Jones and Crook, it's always a hazy summer's day (apart from the Christmas Special at the end of Series 2) and I find I can lose myself in the fields. Oh to live that sort of life, with no real worries, nothing stressful going on, just endless summer days of wandering the fields, drinking tea from a flask and talking bollocks. It's a bit like Andy and I on our bikes come to think of it. Perhaps there's a comedy series waiting to get out of NoVisibleLycra, who knows?

Tea and cake in Redhill's M&S cafe on Saturday

After Detectorists and with a blanket keeping me warm, I watched Tales of the Unexpected and then did very little else until around 2pm when I drove to Redhill to look around the shops. I went to Waterstone's and realised there were lots of books I wanted to read. I sat in a virtually empty M&S cafe with a huge chunk of coffee and walnut cake, something I should have avoided if toothache was the problem, but I'm not sure it was. Tea and cake and light conversation and then another wander around the bookshop before driving around Redhill for a bit and then driving into and around Reigate. I can't remember what time I reached home, but I was still a little weary and later found myself watching the Eurovision Song Contest. I only liked Mata Hari by Azerbaijan and I hear that the British entry received nil points, it was that bad!

While in Redhill Andy texted me to check if I was okay for meeting in Westerham Sunday morning. I said I was because I thought I would be fine and, fortunately, I was fine, although, in the middle of the night I did wake up, not with toothache, more anxiety about toothache, and started to wonder if an 'abort' text was necessary. It wasn't. I eventually rose from bed around 0600hrs, made breakfast as usual and then headed for Westerham around 0800hrs, arriving just after 0900hrs. Andy was there already and it was his shout for the tea and cake (well, almond croissant). We sat there watching the arrival of many Harleys, some of them carrying Hell's Angels from Surrey, they all seemed like nice guys, but I did feel a little inadequate with my mountain bike and 'Wild Man' cross bar bag. It takes all sorts. We chatted about Andy's organised ride the previous week, on his mountain bike, and how the rain made it all a little unpleasant. When a pal pulled out because of a brake failure, Andy (quite rightly in my opinion) followed suit after covering 22 miles of a 40-mile plus ride.

It was time to head home, always a bad moment, that thought of riding up the hill towards the Botley, but as always we manage it and after riding through Woldingham we parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road. Until the next time (in a fortnight's time as Andy's heading for Ashford in Kent next week). I'll have to motivate myself next Sunday.

I reached home just in the nick of time. It's been blowing a gale and raining ever since and now as the light fades at 2115hrs, it's still the same. Here's hoping next week will be better.

I have a haircut...and ride 105 miles!

The problem with lockdown (or one of them) has been living with long hair. I haven't had long hair for many years. And let's face it, long hair doesn't suit me. Back in the day, when I was around 19 years old, my hair was shoulder length and a mess. There are people who can have long hair and look good with it. Not me, but then there are people who look good whatever the length of their hair or the state of their clothes. Again, not me. But then I'm one of those people who look just as bad with short hair. My mum loves it when my hair is long, but nobody else does, but then I go for a hair cut and people moan that I look like a criminal. I suppose the answer is not to have a crop, a number three no less, but I like having a crop because it kind of frees me up, it means my hair dries quicker after a shower, it means I don't need a brush or a comb and it makes me feel great. Having a half way house haircut is no good, although you can bet that my critics would love that, a halfway house, a compromise, and if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a compromise. So I went to the Syrian barber in the high street, he flamed my ears, gave my hair a wash, put some sweet-smelling cologne on my hair and, of course, gave me the much-needed crop. I was amazed to see so much grey hair, that was a little depressing, but I left it on the floor and walked out £15 the poorer but feeling on top of the world.

The haircut was needed, not just because I looked a mess, like the Toecutter from Mad Max (the first movie of the franchise). I was in a fairly dark place thanks to lockdown. Working all day in the conservatory, possibly getting out on the bike in the afternoon, but then returning home, having dinner and watching back-to-back indie movies on Prime, almost as a form of escapism. I've mentioned the movies before, I know, and I won't go on about them now, but perhaps saying 'almost a form of escapism' is ignoring the fact that it was totally a form of escapism. I needed to get away mentally from the mundanity of everything and I sought refuge in movies and, more recently, Detectorists, a fantastic, light comedy written and directed by the great Mackenzie Crook. There are three series and I've been watching them all from start to finish at least three or four times in succession. I can now watch random episodes and enjoy every minute, I feel like I know the characters personally and the environment in which the story of Andy and Lance, two detectorists, plays out. I can't begin to tell you how much Detectorists means to me, it's only rival for my affections is Mike Carter's One Man and His Bike, a book I often reach for when feeling down as just a random paragraph brings me out of the darkest mood. I don't really have 'dark' moods, I might get a little down, but that's about it. So now I'm thinking of when I find myself on Desert Island Discs and that bit where they offer the castaway his or her own luxury. Well, I'd have Mike Carter's book and a box set of the three series of Detectorists. 

I had a good week on the bike. It started on 9 May with Andy. We met in Westerham and enjoyed croissants and cake with our hot chocolate and tea (I had the latter, Andy the former). That ride added up to 22.97 miles and was followed up on Tuesday 11 May with a ride to Tatsfield, the long way, via Beddlestead Lane, a pleasant ride that found me riding back through Woldingham and then down and up Slines Oak Road. After that I did three Washpond Weebles bringing my total to 81.29 miles by Friday, with one day to go before the end of my cycling week, a vast improvement on last week's 65.64 miles. Today is Saturday 15 May and I had resigned myself to not riding at all, bearing in mind that bad weather has been on the cards and it's raining as I write this; in fact, I'm more than happy with my 81.29 miles and don't really need to go out today. That said, it looks as if it's brightening up and I do so want to put in over 100 miles so I think I will hit the road. 

And so I did hit the road. A couple hours have passed since the full stop before last and I have riden all the way to Westerham, the slow way, and back via Woldingham, a total, this time, of 24.60 miles. I say 'this time' because Strava seems to vary from ride-to-ride, I've done the same ride and it's been 25.05 miles, so God knows what is going on there. It was a wonderful ride, albeit a cloudy one that threatened rain constantly, but nothing came. I even sat on the green at Westerham under an umbrella, outside of the Tudor Rose Tearooms, where I had purchased a large English breakfast tea and a huge chunk of coffee and walnut cake. I sat there with some old people: a woman who had travelled by bus from Beckenham to see her grandchildren for the first time in God knows how long, and an elderly couple with their daughter who had purchased some framed prints of birds. It might not have been their daughter but I figured it was. The man moaned (jokingly) about them creating work for him later and we all had a fairly jolly time of it until it was time to go. I put my empty paper cup and plate in a waste bin, bade farewell to the old lady waiting for her grandchildren (the man, his wife and their daughter had departed a few minutes earlier) and soon I was on the bike riding towards the hill. After a week on the bike it was easy and soon I was approaching Woldingham. It started to rain and it was enough to get me wet (I'm still a little damp as I write this, but don't tell anybody). The rain stopped when I reached the top of Slines Oak Road, which was also comparatively easy thanks to this week's riding.

Here, then, is my riding record for the past few weeks. The date marks the last day of my cycling week, a Saturday and, therefore, the mileage reflects the cycling of the previous six days. My cycling week starts on a Sunday.

20 March 2021 = 72.01 miles

27 March 2021 = 43.39 miles

3 April 2021 = 81.00 miles

10 April 2021 = 22 miles

17 April 2021 = 68.20 miles

24 April 2021 = 83.15 miles

1 May 2021 = 60.18 miles

8 May 2021 = 65.64 miles

15 May 2021 = 105.89 miles

What I am slightly annoyed about is that I am not recording any of my rides with photography. This is because my iphone needs to be replaced and I've been meaning to upgrade myself for weeks now, but simply haven't got round to it. The problem is that my iphone cannot cope with doing anything else other than one job at a time, so when Strava is on, for example, I can't take a photograph. This sorry situation will be rectified very soon.

How many breakfasts?

On Sunday I rode to Westerham and when I got there I bought a large paper mug of tea and an almond croissant from Costa Coffee. I sat on the Green people watching and scoffing and then I got up and rode home. Earlier, if Andy is to be believed, I enjoyed three breakfasts. Not one, three. Now I would rather suggest that I had one big breakfast consisting of a bowl of Alpen with grapes, blueberries and sliced banana, a boiled egg and fingers, bread and marmalade and an orange cut into chunks. Andy thinks that the bowl of Alpen and a cup of tea would be one breakfast (and, indeed, it used to be for me); and that another breakfast would be the boiled egg and fingers. He would also suggest that I could (and should) pass on the bread and marmalade and he would be right. My take on all this is that my food intake has increased. There was a time, not long ago, when I did make do with a cup of tea and a bowl of Alpen and only occasionally having the boiled egg and fingers. There was a time when I gave up marmalade because of the sugar, I stopped, for a very very long time and, as a result, haven't had any fillings for some time. There was a time when I cut back on cakes and stopped eating them, but right now, for whatever reason, they've all decided to come back en masse. Alright, let's talk cake for a little while. I've always been partial to a slice of fruit cake, mainly round at mum's on a Sunday afternoon, but since lockdown that's been impossible. But hold on, I've also been partial to large chunks of coffee and walnut cake, mainly at National Trust cafes on a Sunday afternoon, and if I'm down on the South Coast, well, there's always the Lobster Pot where I might indulge my passion for buttered toasted teacakes. But Andy's right in a sense: I am eating a lot in the mornings before a ride and I suppose it could be argued that I'll burn it all off on the ride, but the fact remains that I'm eating more than I used to; even today I was handed another great passion of mine, a Waitrose cappuccino mousse, something I never knew existed this time last year. Fortunately, I cycle regularly (see last post for table of weekly mileages).

Longford Lake the last time I was there...

Why, you might ask, am I discussing all this? Well, it's simple really. Today, Bank Holiday Monday, 3rd May 2021, I cycled to the lakes, the best part of a 29-mile ride. We rarely visit the lakes together, Andy and I, in fact we normally go there alone. The last time I was there was during the first lockdown and I'm sure Andy's been there alone too; but today we agreed to meet there. I left the house around 0700hrs and I got there around 0810hrs and sat on a bench looking out across the lake. Is it Longford Lake or is it Chipstead Lake or Chevening Lake? I don't know. I think it's Longford Lake. But that's not the point. I reached the lake about 20 minutes before Andy did and sat there watching a man exercising with a personal trainer. There was a mat on the ground where he did various things, including 'the plank' and squat thrusts and there was a large black rope, which he later picked up and did various exhausting exercises. And what about the two bright yellow dumbells? He clasped one in each hand and pretended to box with them, apparently for one whole minute. The female personal trainer was clearly fit, unlike the man who had a protruding gut and was sweating profusely. I even wondered whether he might keel over, but he didn't, which was good. 

When Andy turned up around 0830hrs we both sat watching the spectacle of the man being basically bossed around by a woman in brightly-coloured and tight-fitting leggings. He was certainly getting his money's worth, we both thought, and eventually they both packed up and left, leaving Andy and I chatting about health and fitness; and this was when we got round to discussing my many breakfasts. I might have a try and not eating such a big breakfast, perhaps forgoing the marmalade or alternating between a boiled egg and fingers and the marmalade sandwich. You see, it's all about bread intake and mine has gone through the roof. I used to limit myself to three slices per day, which is roughly what my mammoth breakfasts allow: one slice for the fingers, two slices for the marmalade. But the problem is later in the day when I fancy another marmalade sandwich. I've even been known to have another bowl of Alpen, so things are getting out of hand and need to be reined in. Andy doesn't have a problem with the almond croissant on the green or the slice of coffee and walnut cake on the ride. Why? Because you burn off the calories, that's why.

It was time to head back home and as we made our way to the road a cavalcade rushed past, led by a police motorcyle outrider, followed by a huge, black Range Rover and another car and then more police motorcycles. Up the road is Chevening, which I think is the country retreat of the Foreign Secretary, so I'm guessing that Dominic Raab was on his way to Chevening House (if that's what it's called) for some peace and relaxation. Although it might not have been Raab, it might have been US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken who Raab was meeting yesterday. Perhaps he was being whisked from the airport to Chevening House to meet with Mr Raab. The motorcycle outrider leading the cavalcade was riding very fast for a small and sleepy village and I couldn't help but think: not another American involved in a fatal car crash on UK soil claiming diplomatic immunity. Well, all was fine and by the time we reached the end of the road there was just a solitary police car waiting there. 

Just a brief word about Pilgrim's Lane: it's wonderful on a pleasant day and a joy to ride along. Andy and I stuck together until we made the turn on to Sundridge Lane from Ovenden Road and then Andy decided to put his foot down, so to speak. He is now much fitter than I am, he's lost a load of weight and he rides a racing bike so I bade him farewell and continued on my merry way. Pilgrim's Lane is long and almost completely straight and this meant that I could see Andy's flourescent jacket far away in the distance until he eventually turned a corner and was gone. 

I reached home around 1045hrs and I was pretty tired. A cup of tea did the trick and then I found myself mowing the front and back lawns after which I made some pasta for myself as I was the only one in the house; but then, ironically considering what I was discussing earlier, I ended up having two lunches. A large tray of macaroni pie that I had made yesterday was being heated up and I wasn't going to miss out. I ate quite a lot if the truth be told and now, at 1914hrs I'm not in the slightest bit hungry, so that's a result. Today, then, if Andy's theory is right, I had something like three breakfasts and two lunches, but then I did ride the best part of 29 miles this morning and yesterday I rode 25 miles so I'm not doing too badly.