Saturday afternoon...

Well, I've tested negative, twice, and that's positive. All I have to do now is get out on the bike in the morning. I've checked it out, the puncture I fixed is holding firm, the bike's fairly clean and, weather permitting, I'll be heading for Westerham in the morning for a 22-miler. I've had a couple of walks around the block, I've eaten a bit of coffee and walnut cake from Waitrose, I've even bought a lottery ticket - who knows, I still might be able to buy that remote cottage in the Outer Hebrides, there still might be time to stare at the sea after all). Listening to music, all sorts. Rocks by Primal Scream, Temptation by New Order, Land of Confusion by Genesis, Who by Numbers, all the good stuff in other words. It's the first time I've felt like listening to music in a while and now that I'm testing negative, well, I feel good about it. School by Supertramp, that whining mouth organ, it's on now, it's dark outside, gone 5pm, wailing saxophone, piano, what's not to like? There's something weirdly pleasant about wintry Saturdays, like wandering around malls or IKEA, muddy footprints on terrazzo flooring, or visiting fireplace shops or sitting in a cosy coffee shop with a mug of tea and a slice of cake as it starts to get dark and you can see into people's houses as you pace the streets wishing you were home, in the warmth, chilling, safe behind that double-glazed, triple-locked door. 

It's different in the summer, lighter for a start, and the grass is green, the shadows long as evening approaches, but it has it's own charm. There's no need for coats and scarves, hats or gloves for a start and there's often the distant sound of Greensleeves playing from an invisible ice cream van. Or there used to be when I was a kid. I always remember the bell ringers in the local convent school, now that was a magical sound coming from the other side of the railway track, not far from where I lay in bed as a child listening to the day calming down, evening setting in, dad yet to come home from work, rapping his familiar rhythmic rap on the front door as we lay in bed staring at the ceiling tiles, longing for morning, which was a long way off, far over the horizons of time, it wasn't even dark and the daylight still seeped through the curtains. I haven't heard those bells for a long time and I often wonder whether I'll ever hear them again. I wonder if they're still there or whether they are long gone, cast adrift forever from those who listened to them back in the day. Where are they now, I wonder? 

COVID - the novelty's worn off...

Last Saturday, when I first noticed I was a little under the weather, I remember going to bed in the spare room accompanied by my radio and feeling good. Good? Well, good inside. The idea of feeling tired and weak and cosy and glad to be in bed was, in itself, kind of comforting. I had a sore throat and a dry cough, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I slept well, the curtains drawn apart to reveal the lunar glow of the streetlight across the road. I know, you've heard all this before in my previous post. The 'cosy' feeling at night continued for a day or two and during the day I got by. In a sense I was thinking 'this isn't as bad as everybody is making it out to be' (perhaps I'm right about that) but I had received three jabs and perhaps that was why it all seemed relatively okay. Anyway, put all that aside, it's getting a little tiresome now: today is what? Nine days since I started feeling unwell, the day I drove over to South West London. This time last week I was wandering around IKEA and Dunelm (mask on, of course) but I hadn't yet tested positive. In fact, this time last week I tested negative, it wasn't until Monday last week that I tested positive, so right now it's seven days since I tested positive. I feel fine. I've felt relatively fine since around Tuesday of last week and I just want things to go back to normal. I've lost my sense of taste and smell, which is no fun as I love food and can't abide just getting by on 'texture' and my imagination. Today, Sunday, around 1130hrs, I'd normally be getting back from my ride to meet Andy in Westerham. It's now been two Sundays missed and, more than anything, I need some fresh air and I'm fed up with the spare room, really fed up. The depression I feel over having the virus is only trumped by the feeling of depression I have for living in a country presided over by the current Conservative Government, a motley collection of arseholes who haven't a clue. I won't go on about the Downing Street parties other than to say that the entire country will be very angry if that fat cunt Johnson is allowed to get away with it; we don't need Sue Gray to tell us he's guilty and everybody knows that, it's a delaying tactic, and let's briefly talk about intimidation and the stories that the whips are threatening MPs with the withholding of funds for MPs' constituencies. This scandal reeks of Johnson and I'm glad that Wragg has brought the matter to the attention of the police, although I have no confidence whatsover in Cressida Dick's Metropolitan Police, the force that brought you Wayne Couzens and the innocent shooting of a Brazilian man wrongly mistaken for a terrorist. Dick, incidentally, was awarded the Queen's Medal after that little incident. 

In the world of crap where we all live, there has been some good news: Djokovic was deported from Australia, leaving just Johnson and "Prince" Andrew to be dealt with; as for the latter, well, his judgment cometh and that right soon! I'm starting to wonder whether Johnson will pull it out of the hat, but I sincerely hope he won't, we need three results on this one: Djokovic (deported and out of the Australian Open); Johnson (he must resign); and "Prince" Andrew MUST be taken to the cleaners. Here's hoping.

On a personal level I just want to test negative and get my taste and sense of smell back. I'm fine otherwise, bar a runny nose. When I think of the shit we've all been through it makes me depressed. It kind of started with Donald Trump and Brexit, Johnson getting elected by the bigots with a huge majority based on the Brexit lie, the whole Brexit thing and how it's slowly being proved that leaving Europe was a big mistake (we are now a little country with limited influence in the world, governed by a bunch of idiots (Johnson, Gove, Raab, Patel, Truss, the list is endless). I heard (and I hope it's fake news) that Gavin Williamson, the former defence and education secretary (think, for a moment, he was in charge of defence) was going to be given a Knighthood - that, in my opinion (if true) kind of sums it all up. Johnson is easily the absolute worst PM we've ever had and his motley collection of cabinet ministers are terrible, there's not one of them I'd trust with anything and the sooner they all go, the better. Can't the Labour Party put forward a vote of no confidence in the Government and trigger a General Election? Oh, that would be good news as the thought of another three years of Johnson... I don't think anybody can face that.

Lastly, of course, to make matters worse, we had the virus that eeked its way out of Wuhan back in early 2020 and continues to bug us all. Just think about it all for a minute: Donald Trump, Boris Johnson, Brexit, Prince Andrew, COVID-19, all of it 100% avoidable. Anyway, we're in this position and we've got to get on with it. 

'Make it go away' Kate Bush has just sung on my Sonos, from the track This Woman's Work, and I would second that emotion, make it go away.

It's COVID time ... and that means no cycling!

When I looked out last Saturday morning at the frosty pavements and roads I knew that plucking up the enthusiasm to go out was going to be difficult. It was cold out there! But after breakfast and a little bit of hesitation I decided that I would ride the Weeble and get back in an hour. Out I went into the garage and what did I find? A puncture that's what! And to make matters worse, a rear wheel affair. I always have difficulty putting the rear wheel in place as I tend to forget how it works with the chain. I resolved to go out later and fix it, but when I did I realised something else: that I really couldn't be bothered for some reason. I found the whole thing tiresome in the extreme. The very thought of unbolting the wheel (thank heavens for quick release) lifting it out and then prising the inner tube from the wheel using levers was more than depressing. I normally use one lever to start the process and this I did relatively successfully, but I was feeling tired and seemed to be lacking energy. Eventually, however, I managed to free the inner tube and set about what needed to be done to fix a puncture. With the hole plugged, the culprit thorn removed and the inner tube back underneath the tyre and on the wheel, I pressed most of the tyre into place with my hands but wasn't finding it at all easy. I couldn't work out why I was feeling so tired, so drained, and after giving the bike a clean (a much needed one) I shut the door and quietly looked forward to my ride with Andy on Sunday morning.

Later that day I drove over to South West London and I felt shivery. Partly, this was because it was cold out, but also there was something afoot, although I knew not what. On my return I almost went to bed immediately, in the spare room, as I figured I didn't want to give whatever I had to my wife. Oddly, I felt strangely comfortable once under the covers, the curtains drawn back so I could see the branches of a tree illuminated by the lunar glow emitted by the streetlight from across the road. I developed a sore throat and a pretty severe one at that; furthermore there was a cough, a dry cough, and I figured that, for the first time in years, I had the flu. Although I think I suspected something more was up because I texted Andy early on Sunday morning, 0414hrs to be precise:

"Not feeling good: sore throat and dry cough. Will test later," said I, meaning I would test for COVID. I went on to say that I wasn't up for the ride. When I did test myself I was negative and this was a huge relief, but a day later I tested again and was positive. It wasn't a great surprise to be honest, but prior to that second test I was convinced I only had the usual flu-like symptoms of the standard variety. Once I tested positive my inner attitude towards my illness changed a little. I felt annoyed because somewhere along the line I had been careless, but also a little anxious about the course my illness might take, although I think I knew that things weren't going to change drastically and I comforted myself with the knowledge that things would only get better. As it turned out, they did. For three days, that's all, I had a sore throat and a cough. It hurt when I swallowed like all sore throats do, and that was really it. By Tuesday, things had calmed down. I'd been filling up on Lemsip (the blackcurrant variety, so Blacksip, not Lemsip) and I was off work, although I did answer a few emails in between reading chapters from Tenement Boy, Bobby Gillespie's excellent memoir on how Primal Scream came into being. I still found time to get angry with Boris Johnson, No-Vax Djokovic and, of course, "Prince" Andrew. So far, I thought, it's one down (Djokovic) and two to go (Johnson and Andrew). It was good to see that the Royal Family disowned him and had stripped away his titles. At the time of writing (1741hrs on 19 January 2022) Johnson is still in place, but David Davis told him 'for God's sake go', words that would have made me seriously consider my position had I been the buffoon.

So, exercise wise, everything has come to a stop. All that riding around the block hasn't happened for almost a week and during that time I've sent back a rear bicycle light, USB-chargeable, which kept cutting out mid-ride. My £40 has been refunded and now I can simply go out and buy another one, from a proper shop this time and not on Amazon. Forty quid is quite a lot for a rear light when you think about it, although I'm now thinking about buying a new helmet with an integral rear light, but let's see how it goes, perhaps I'll look at that later.

It's odd sleeping in the spare room. I'm doing so to protect my wife, obviously, although on Saturday, when I first started feeling shivery, we shared car journeys so perhaps it's inevitable that she'll get it, we'll see. So far, so good. Last night I took the radio to bed with me and awoke mid-morning to the dreamy sounds of BBC Radio 3, it all felt strange and surreal in the darkness, the lunar light from across the road illuminating the room, and I must admit that I liked it, especially being tucked up under two duvets knowing there was a while to go before I had to get up. On Tuesday morning, around 0430hrs, I got up and had breakfast (tea, orange juice, a slice of bread (or was it toast, I can't remember) and a glass of water before returning to bed and sleeping on. There have been strange dreams, one involving the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, which was dark and empty except for me. I walked around the Grand Ballroom in front of the stage remembering past extravagances and slipped off into a darkened side corridor. The rest of the dream is sketchy.

I've been house bound all week, no fresh air, no cycling, but I know that a clean bike without punctures awaits me in the garage for when I ride out hopefully this coming weekend. Today I was looking back lovingly on my coverage of the 2020 summer lockdown, and the more I read the greater it all seemed to have been: all that cycling, that lovely weather, and these were the pre-vaccine days when the only variants of the virus were the deadly Delta and Alpha varieties - or, of course, the Indian and Kent variants, which more accurately pinpoint where they originated. I wrote thousands of words on the 2020 lockdown and looking back I'm glad I did as it leaves me with a permanent record of what I was thinking and doing at the time. It wasn't a bad time by any stretch of the imagination: the heat for a start, the lack of cars on the road, even working from home took a while to lose its appeal. Home became a real home instead of just a pit stop between working.

Suffice it to say I'm alright. I've had the dreaded virus and thankfully the less severe OMICRON variant (at least I think that's what I had); and now I've just got to wait until the lateral flow test says negative. One thing I do know is that I can't wait for a cappuccino and a slice of cake...but it would be helpful if my sense of taste and smell returned.

To Westerham to meet Andy...

Last night I watched a great documentary on Netflix about the band Johnny Moped, all of whom hail from Croydon, not a million miles from where I live. The film starts with monochrome images of the Whitgift Centre back in the day of the Forum pub and the automated walkway that links the pub to the ground floor. Today, both pub and walkway have disappeared, but it's good to know that Johnny Moped lives on, or at least that's what I was led to believe by the last few minutes of the film, which shows the band playing a live gig somewhere 'today'. They're all older and wiser and some a little worse for wear, but I found the film joyful to watch, entertaining and very funny in parts. It's good to see a group of guys trying their best to make it in the world of rock n roll and to be able to say that Chrissie Hynde and Captain Sensible were part of the story. They managed to release an album, had a good relationship with the music press and at moments in their career were tipped for stardom, but the cookie crumbled a different way. Still, in many ways they were a success, a documentary was made about the band and I for one enjoyed seeing sights of Croydon as it was in the seventies (less cars on the roads, no pedestrianised shopping, just proper, old-fashioned high streets, Mk 2 and Mk 3 Cortinas and, of course, a lot less people.

Give or take, I left the house this morning around 0805hrs and was happy to be on the road, enjoying the uncharacteristically mild weather. There had been overnight rain that had left big puddles on the 269 but there was little in the way of traffic so I was able to ride in the middle of the road to avoid a soaking. As I free-wheeled down Clarks Lane heading towards my destination (Westerham) Andy appeared out of nowhere and we shared the last mile or two into town, stopping (as planned) at the Costa Coffee. Andy had some vouchers and stood me a cup of tea, which was nice of him, and because of the mild weather we sat outside and I confessed that I'd never seen The Blues Brothers. At one point in my life it was one of those films, along with Withnail & I, that I made a point of not watching because everybody else seemed to be talking about. Andy enthused about it and now I'm thinking I'll check it out, see what all the fuss was about. The reason we where suddenly talking about The Blues Brothers was because I had mentioned the Johnny Moped documentary and how Johnny Moped himself was often hard to pin down when it came to gigs or recording. He once queued outside the venue to attend his own gig. Andy said that John Belushi was equally 'difficult'.

Our friend the drummer, who we haven't seen for a few weeks, passed by the Costa and we chatted for a while about this and that; he said his Christmas hadn't been too bad and that he hadn't been teaching the drums for a while. He used to be in a band and he reminded me very much of the characters in the Johnny Moped documentary, that's why I mentioned it to Andy and that's how we were chatting about The Blues Brothers and then I mentioned Withnail & I, which Andy hadn't heard of before. I had a Wispa Gold in my pocket, which accompanied my tea and all was well with the world. Andy talked of how his 13-year-old granddaughter had made him vegan cup cakes (he was rightly chuffed) and no conversation would be complete if work wasn't mentioned once or twice. It was quite a wrench having to leave, but leave we did, heading back up the hill. I bade farewell to Andy and he sped off as I continued up the hill, turning left on to Pilgrims, then right into Rectory Lane, rejoining Clarks Lane further up and then heading for Botley Hill. There was very little in the way of traffic so I rode the 269 into Warlingham and then followed the road into Hamsey and then Sanderstead, getting home just before 1100hrs.

I didn't ride on Friday or Saturday, circumstances beyond my control. I don't like it when I miss a ride so I'll need to get my act together next week and try to ride my short six-milers daily. Last week I rode Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I really wish I'd riden on Friday and it would have been even better if I'd riden to Westerham yesterday (Saturday morning) but I didn't and there's no point fretting about it. The key is to get rides in as and when. Today is Sunday 2nd January and I've got tomorrow off work because it's a bank holiday. I might get up early and ride to Westerham again, which would be good, but let's not count chickens before they're hatched.

As the year draws to a close...

When I looked out on Sunday (last week) there was a persistent rain and it didn't look as if it was going to stop. In days gone by, an abort text would have been sent, but because our mindset on cycling has changed, it was still 100% game on. The plan was to go to Westerham, but we couldn't remember whether the Costa Coffee was open. There was only one way to find out: ride there and see for ourselves. Andy texted the plan: whoever gets there first, checks out the Costa and then, if it's closed, sets up shop in the small memorial gardens next to the Co-op. Well, I knew it wouldn't be me that got there first. For a start, I was faffing around doing something I haven't done for some time: making a flask of hot water, finding some teabags and some milk and basically preparing like I used to for a pre-pandemic ride. To be honest, I was hoping that I wouldn't be using the flask. I was looking forward to my large English breakfast tea, and being as it was Boxing Day, I was already considering a cake of some description. But then I remembered Sheree's Tea Rooms in Tatsfield Village. I knew it was open on Boxing day so all I had to do was text Andy and ask him to meet me there. But it wasn't that easy. Andy had already left his house and, like me, would not be looking at his phone until he reached his destination.

Seasonal decorations on the Nobbler...

After all the faffing about, I was finally out of the house and on the bike around 0815hrs, so that's a quarter hour behind my originally scheduled arrival time. It normally takes me around one hour door-to-door so now I'd be getting there around 0915.

The rain continued, but I was wearing my parka, hood up over my crash helmet, and it was good. So good that I didn't really notice the rain. I was, however, wearing a pair of green cords over my cycling shorts and sooner or later the rain would soak through. In fairness, it was a slow process. I stopped and took shelter momentarily when I reached Sanderstead Waitrose, a chance to see if Andy had responded to my earlier text about Tatsfield. He hadn't. Then I set off for Westerham, heading initially for Warlingham Green and then, of course, the 269 to Botley Hill and beyond. Halfway along the route Andy sent a text. He'd reached Westerham. I told him I'd get there by around 0930hrs and he said he'd be there, which was good. I had thought about going to Tatsfield village and a cup of tea and a Millionaire's Shortbread at Sheree's, but once I knew that Costa was open and that Andy would be there when I arrived, I 'put my feet down' and continued on my way to the Northern Kent market town of Westerham. The rain slowed a little and as I powered down Clarks Lane had almost stopped.

I felt good because I hadn't aborted the ride and, as with most things, riding in the rain isn't as bad as it seems. It was fine, although my trousers were getting damper and damper, but it was nothing a bit of warmth couldn't cure. Andy was already sitting at a table enjoying his coffee when I bowled through the door. We were two of around six people in the shop and that felt good. I wasn't THAT wet either, only my legs were experiencing a mild dampness and that slowly disappeared as I warmed up. There was no queue either so I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and a Bakewell tart and joined Andy at his table. We talked about a variety of topics: decent rear lights, cheap bikes, giving up cars altogether, living a more minimalist life and the commercialism of Christmas. 

Nativity scene in Arundel Avenue

Andy left around 1022hrs I and continued to slob around for another 10 minutes before heading for home. The rain had all but stopped and I followed the road towards the Velo Barn, taking a left on to Pilgrims Lane and then crossing Clarks Lane and continuing along the next section of Pilgrims, turning right on to Rectory Lane and then rejoining Clarks Lane. I rode into Woldingham along The Ridge and then down Slines Oak Road and up the other side towards the 269, taking the steep climb at the end of Sline's Oak in my stride. It was then a case of riding into Warlingham and around the green, through Hamsey and onwards to Sanderstead.

There was a fair amount of fog around too.

More Christmas lights in Arundel Avenue

Shorter daily rides have now become a regular habit. Today, as I write this, it is New Year's Eve, 0946hrs and I make no pretence of the fact that I'm slobbing around on the lap top, but rest assured that I will be out there later on, probably after dark, riding around amidst the Christmas lights of Norfolk and Arundel Avenues. I've mentioned these rides before, they're 5.94 milers and they take around 35 minutes. I think I would be faster if I went out earlier in the day. 

There's nothing better than riding after dark over the Christmas holidays as there are plenty of decorations on display as I ride my circuit and they all add a dreamlike quality to the ride that I don't get at any other time. That said, other seasons, like the summer and the autumn, have their own attractions and I love them all.

Happy New Year to all my readers!

Christmas Eve 2021 ramblings...

Last Sunday, 19 December 2021, I rode to Westerham to meet Andy in the Costa Coffee on the green. As you all know, this is a weekly event, the highlight of the cycling week. We meet, we eat, we chat and then we say farewell, until the next week, which just so happens to be Boxing Day. Today, as I write this, it is Christmas Eve morning, 0844hrs to be precise, and I'm sitting here, drinking tea and listening to BBC Radio Three, Dawn Over the Moscow River, by Mussorgsky. I now consider myself a regular listener and the great thing about listening to classical music in the morning is this: It's so chilled out. In fact, give me BBC Radio Three, Caffe Nero and a decent book and I'd be in heaven.

Outside, the weather is dull and grey and overcast. Rain is on the agenda later today so I'd better get out there and do my six-miler, my 'round the block' special, the Nobbler, single lap. Yesterday I modified it a little bit: I rode two loops, bringing the total to something like 8.5 miles instead of the usual 5.94 miles. I don't know why I modified it; probably because I was riding earlier in the day and felt more alive. Today I'll probably stick to the usual distance as there are things to do, people to see.

The fog started to clear on Clarks Lane, Sunday 19th Dec 2021.

The ride to Westerham last Sunday was thick fog from the moment I set foot outside the house. Fortunately, I had my lights, front and rear. I was amazed to discover that the fog was everywhere, but it thinned when I was travelling along Clarks Lane. At one point the fog was below me, in the valley. Cyclists were stopping to photograph the spectacle as I sailed down the hill and into the mesmerising fog itself. Andy was sitting inside the Costa. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea (my regular order). No cake, no Billionaire's shortbread. As always, cake is always around. I can't remember now, but prior to Sunday I must have eaten some cake, normally a slice of coffee and walnut cake, possibly in a National Trust property somewhere, Polesden Lacey if I recall correctly. Either way, I refrained from eating anything at the Costa in the full knowledge that there would be plenty of occasions in the coming days. It is, after all, the festive season, Christmas time no less, and that means mince pies, chocolates, cake and, of course, Christmas Pudding. I'll be getting my fair share over the next few days and that's a fact.

During the week I continued with my regular riding. I normally miss a day, meaning I ride six days a week and have one day off, not intentionally, just circumstantial. Yesterday, for example, was Thursday 23 December. I didn't ride on Wednesday night so the plan was to ride twice, like I did last week, once in the morning and once at night. But I only managed the one ride, meaning that if I don't ride twice today, my total rides this week will be six out of seven. I'm happy with that. It's been the case ever since I started regular (almost daily) rides.

The Nobbler, single lap is good. I've mentioned before it's roller coaster qualities, the ups and downs, the fast and slow. The first big climb is when I turn left out of Barnfield and on to West Hill. I ride up hill to The Ridgeway where I turn left, then right on to Hook Hill, which I follow to the triple junction with Arkwright and Briton Hill Road. The latter is a hill, all the way to Church Way where I turn left and head towards Morley and the turn opposite Madeleine House (a new and unwelcomed block of flats). Here I double back in a sense, back on Church Way until I turn left on to Norfolk Avenue and the next hill. At the top I bear left and roll down towards a left turn on to Arundel Avenue and then it's a downhill roll towards Ridge Langley. I pick up a fair bit of speed riding down Arundel Avenue and by the time I reach the Ridge Langley turn-off I have enough speed to push me around the loop ahead, eventually emerging on Arundel Avenue again, heading uphill and turning left onto, I think, Arundel Avenue. It's very confusing, but I soon turn right on to Norfolk Avenue again and ride uphill and then down until I'm back on Church Way and then heading towards the Selsdon Road along another section of Arkwright that isn't connected to the earlier stretch. This bit is fast and punctuated by sleeping policemen and parked cars, but soon I'm on the Selsdon Road, which is downhill all the way to West Hill, arguably the most daunting uphill ride as I pass Barnfield, continue towards The Ridgeway and then ride the length of it until I reach the earlier section of Arkright Road where I turn left and head towards Church Way. I turn left, race towards Morley, turn left, then right on to Elmfield, left on to Southcote, right on to Ellenbridge, then right and then I'm home.

I'd better get moving as I've got to get out there now, in the next 10 minutes, to do the above. Whether I get a ride in tomorrow is debatable. By rights I should do, even if it's a short one, a Nobbler, single lap. I've never been on the bike on Christmas Day before but let's see if I can change that. 

Mild weather, regular rides...

There's been cold weather and there's been mild. Of late, the latter. But I've managed to rise above it, thanks to my Parka, a balaclava and a beanie hat. I've finally kicked myself into gear with a daily exercise regime, in other words, regular cycling. I've worked out an almost six-mile, single lap route (5.94 miles) and it's a roller coaster of hills and dips, nicely balanced, and I now ensure that I go out every night, in the dark, lights flashing front and back. Andy was right, I do get a decent night's sleep as a result. I feel good too. Last night was a case in point, I slept through from 2300hrs to 0600hrs and probably could have gone to bed earlier if the truth be known. I had a relaxed dream and awoke to the sound of birdsong emanating from my iPhone and now, here I am, listening to Radio 3 and writing a much-delayed blogpost.

Return journey along Pilgrims Lane, Sunday 12 December.

The weekend rides have been kept up, although last Saturday I rode the Weeble rather than head for Westerham, which had been my plan. The reason was simple: lateness. I had dawdled and by the time I got outside in the fresh air it was gone 1000hrs and I didn't really want cycling to take up the entire day. In truth, I hadn't riden the Weeble for a while either, but it's of no consequence, the key is daily riding, keeping that heart rate up and generally feeling good about things. It's been awhile. My recent trip to the doctor, incidentally, turned out alright. I explained to him that when I relax my blood pressure eventually dips to an acceptable level. He even allayed my fears about a low pulse rate, accepting my diagnosis in a sense, that was based on the amount of cycling I've been doing (well over 3,000 miles in a year - hence that huge repair bill when I took my bike in for a service recently (see previous post).

Andy and I have been keeping up our Sunday meetings in Westerham, a kind of high point of the riding week. That said, the week before last I couldn't make it as I needed to be in London for a family meeting. We met in The Engineer pub in Camden, which seems to have taken a dive in quality terms and nowhere near what it used to be like 15-20 years ago when Michael Palin name-checked it during an interview I conducted with him 'back in the day'. We all had roast chicken, which was alright, but I've eaten better; and the service lacked something. We sat upstairs in the Brunel Room (geddit, The Engineer pub, engineering, Brunel?). Anyway, it wasn't that brilliant is what I'm saying. It was the first time I actually felt tempted to order a beer, a pint of Doom Bar no less, but I resisted (of course I did!) and settled for sparkling mineral water instead. It's rare that a temptation to drink arises and I'm always rather glad when I resist it, which isn't difficult. Occasionally I dream about drinking again and when I wake up I feel mildly anxious until I remember it was a dream, not reality.

Egg, mushroom, tomato for lunch

The local six-milers are good for one reason: they're just one lap, there's no repetition. If I get bored doing laps then the appeal of regular exercise will wane pretty quickly, so I'm keeping it simple and it's working. The route is familiar, but it's the knowledge that I'm always progressing forward and not thinking that I've got to do another lap; every revolution of the pedals takes me closer to the finish rather than just to the end of the first lap. Night riding is good too. It's dark around 4pm now so by the time I reach home I have to rely upon the street lights to illuminate the ride. The great thing about riding at night is that you can see the cars coming. Add to that my own lights and it's fairly safe. And when it's over I'm both relieved and elated. Relieved that I've done my daily exercise and elated also that I'm actually doing it and that I can relax, safe in the knowledge that I've riden another six-miler. The key thing is that it's becoming part of my routine, something that I have to do, but also, strangely, something that I enjoy doing. I'm familiar with the route and at this time of year my albeit brief ride is accompanied by Christmas lights. At roughly six miles per ride, by the end of the week I've covered almost 30 miles and I'm also trimming minutes off of my time, which started at something like 37 minutes and is now around the 33 minutes mark, I think I've even managed 32 minutes, I'll have to check on Strava. For some reason I don't feel the need to wear a crash helmet, although I did last night. The mild weather (which I'm told will be short-lived) has meant no balaclava.

I had my booster jab on Friday (my birthday) and fortunately no side effects, bar a very mild pain in the upper arm. While walking around M&S immediately afterwards, looking for a Christmas present for mum, a friend called and when I told him I'd just had my booster jab, he calmly informed me that he was an anti-vaxxer. I wish I'd quizzed him as to why, but I didn't, preferring instead to simply accept his position and leave it there; that said, I feel that anti-vaxxers somehow like to put across an air of being the enlightened ones, the people in the know who know best, and that left me momentarily feeling a little deflated because I thought back to my two Astra Zeneca jabs and, a few moments ago, my booster, and I wondered whether I was guilty of blindly following Government instructions without a thought for personal liberty and so forth. But it didn't last long. I'm glad I was vaccinated as the last thing I want is to die from COVID. I don't want to be one of those statistics they read out on the television. The problem with not being vaccinated is that, sooner or later, you won't be able to do anything. Rock concerts? No. Eating out? No. Staying in a hotel? No. Air travel? No. You'll be completely stuck. But I guess if you live in a fairly remote farmhouse in the middle of darkest Wales, well, as long as you live the life of a hermit, you won't be affected.

M&S soup and a roll for lunch during the week

It's Wednesday night, 15 December 2021, and I'm watching Michael Palin walk to Base Camp at the foot of Mount Everest. He moves on to Lhasa and then swims in a hot spring, making me realise, perhaps a little fretfully, that I need to start swimming again. How COVID-friendly are swimming pools? Tonight I missed my 6-mile ride, largely because my phone was out of power. Now that might sound really daft (and it is) but it all boils down to Strava and the notion that 'if it's not on Strava, it didn't happen'. So I didn't go out. And besides, it was getting late. I made the mistake of having dinner first and that kind of did it for me. I wish I'd remembered that my phone was out of power, but I didn't and while I was planning on going out around 2030hrs I discovered that I hadn't fitted the charger properly and my phone was still dead. At that point I gave up. Perhaps I'll go in the morning, although, for the past two weeks prior to today I've had one day off (from cycling) per week. I think last week I rode four of the five days and the week before possibly the same, or it might have been three out of the five days. Mustn't fret about it, just get out there tomorrow and do it.

Birthday present from Max...

Something I have been fretting about is eating rubbish. Crap in the shape of Quality Street chocolates, biscuits and cookies at work. The custom at work is that you buy the office 'stuff' when it's your birthday (normally chocolates and cakes). My problem is that I can't help myself and it's something I need to address. I managed to address my weakness for alcohol (by giving up completely) and now I really ought to consider doing the same with cakes and sweets. To be fair, with various lockdowns and three-days a week in the office (working two days at home) there hasn't been much in the way of celebrating colleagues' birthdays. So I guess it's been few and between, thankfully. But that doesn't stop me feeling a little guilty, especially when I missed a ride. I'm off now until the new year (again, thankfully) so I can focus on a bit more riding, although I think I'll maintain the daily night rides of the Nobbler, single lap. That's what it's called on Strava, 5.94 miles with a few ups and downs and then it's over, exercise done. I always feel good on my return. I'll be back on it tomorrow.

The mild weather is set to continue, right through to Sunday when Andy and I meet for a chinwag in Westerham, something we both look forward to. While I know that Christmas is only 10 days away, I know that I won't be over-indulging like I used to and for that I'm thankful. I'm going to spend my time off reading and riding, walking and chilling and while I'm not going to deny myself the odd cappuccino or the occasional slice of coffee & walnut cake, I will keep a weather eye on things. Here's hoping. 

Sometimes I lose the will to live...

Last Sunday we broke with tradition and rode to Tatsfield village instead of Westerham. In the old days, of course, riding to the village would have meant sitting in the cold bus shelter drinking tea from a flask and then riding home again, but now that we're leaving our respective houses later, we get there in time for the opening of Sheree's Tea Room. Last Sunday I was there first and secured a seat by the window. It was all very festive and cosy. I ordered a pot of tea and (foolishly) a millionaire's shortbread. And then Andy arrived. I could have sat there for the whole morning if the truth be known, but as the clock edged around to 1000hrs I knew it was time to head home. Andy and I parted company at The Ridge and I rode the 269, getting home around 1100hrs.

Cosy and festive window at Sheree's Tearooms last Sunday...

Talk about riding five miles daily went out of the window as the new working week began. When I reached home on Monday night I was in no mood to get on the bike and it was the same for Tuesday and Wednesday. I did manage a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and I might well try to get one in today (Friday) but it's looking increasingly unlikely. 

Fake cakes at Sheree's Tearooms...

The weather is getting bad (or so say the TV weather people). If it does get colder then the balaclava will come out, and the scarf. Yesterday (Thursday) I rode the Weeble wearing a heavy jumper and my Parka. It was a good ride. Apparently today (Friday) offers "a really chilly start", not what I wanted to hear, but then I'm not planning on going out this morning. I have the day off so I'll go later on. Andy's not riding on Sunday so I'll have to motivate myself, which isn't a problem. I've been thinking about a ride to Redhill to have breakfast in the Pop Inn, let's see.

I'm beginning to wonder why I left it until later to hit the road. It's raining now and doesn't look as if it'll stop any time soon, so today might be called off. I'm beginning to lose track of my rides. Yesterday was a 12.38-mile ride starting at 1324hrs and ending 73 minutes later. Prior to that I had covered 16.26 miles to and from Tatsfield village on Sunday (on the road for 93 minutes in total) and then, the previous day, I did a longer ride into Westerham via Beddlestead Lane and back up Hesiers Hill (24.26 miles in two hours and 35 minutes). I did a Lunchtime Weeble (12.37 miles) on Friday 19 November and then it was the ride I mentioned in my last post when I gave up queuing and simply rode home from Westerham Costa without my regulation large English breakfast tea. In other words my mileage is seriously slacking.

Losing the will to live

I'm actually finding it difficult not to lose to will to live at the moment. This is largely due to work-related woes, and I feel a little on the edge as a result and constantly thinking how pointless everything appears to be at present. It's all work, work, work and no play. And at night I am reluctant to go to bed because I don't particularly like sleeping any more, ever since that inner ear infection back in October 2017 (28th), the day I decided to give up drinking. I've kept that up, which I'm pleased about, but the end result of the infection is that I cannot sleep on my right hand side, or rather I don't want to in case it all starts up again. Add to that a constantly blocked up ear, which I will get seen to shortly, and the whole idea of resting has become a nightmare. There's nothing worse than not being able to hear what's going on at night. I literally can't wait to wake up and as soon as I do I'm out of bed and downstairs eating breakfast if the clock reads 0500hrs or later. Anything before that and I have to grin and bear it, the only one awake, staring at the ceiling, fretting about something or someone until the hour is respectable enough for me to rise from bed and head downstairs for breakfast. 

Last Sunday's at Sheree's Tearooms

My only true pleasure at the moment comes from visiting a cosy coffee shop with a decent book and my lap top, like I did a few weeks back at a London branch of Caffe Nero. You simply can't beat it. 

To try and stop the edgy feelings and the stress I also look forward to just sitting in front of the television watching something decent (if I can find something). Normally nothing good is broadcast until 2100hrs and at the moment I'm watching the ultimate rubbish in the shape of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! which is absolute craperama, and even more so now that Richard Madeley has been removed from camp after being struck down by illness, caused, I believe, by diving head first into a load of rotten vegetables and fish guts, aged 65. They're back in the Welsh castle again this year due to COVID and now, of course, there's talk of another variant (Omicron) emanating from South Africa that can bypass all vaccines. I've been double-jabbed and I'm awaiting the booster, which I don't particularly want. 

Television

Getting back to what I like watching on television to soothe my edgy feelings, stuff like long-running crime dramas (Shetland) or programmes presented by Ben Fogle or even watching Shappi Korsandi (an Iranian comedian) walking alone through the countryside, something that takes me away from everything. Sadly, reality gatecrashes the party at 2200hrs when Huw Edwards appears, sombre look on face, to deliver a whole bunch of bad news to the country, normally something that involves us having to watch pictures of that prat of a Prime Minister Boris Johnson or Priti Patel leaving buildings or giving speeches or addressing the House. At this moment I channel hop, but rarely find anything worth watching, and soon I start to consider the awful reality of the situation: I've got to start thinking about locking up the house and heading upstairs to bed. Perhaps I should just sleep in a different part of the house to mix things up a bit. I keep thinking about bedding down in the conservatory in a sleeping bag for some reason, surrounding myself with pillows. That would make waking up in the middle of the night a bit more exciting. I could lie there with my radio for company, listening, perhaps, to BBC Radio Three or LBC, although the latter would probably make matters worse so let's stick with classical music. I've got a lot on my mind at present and I just wish I could find a desolate cottage on a windswept beach in Shetland or Orkney or the Isle of Harris where I could simply stare at the sea for a few days, that's what I need more than anything else.

Blood pressure

Then, to make matters worse, the doctor sends me some kind of document to download on my iphone (which proves impossible) so that I can send him a blood pressure reading. My blood pressure has always been 'borderline high' meaning not crazy or out of control but worth monitoring. So I have a monitor, which I think causes more stress than anything else. What normally happens is this: I visit the doctor for whatever reason and he takes my blood pressure, it's high, it always is when it's first taken, they call it 'white coat syndrome', and it won't come down a great deal if he presses the button on his machine a few moments later. He asks me to go away and do my own tests, which I do, and invariably the readings are much lower and it's all forgotten about. As a stressful day at work drew to a close last week the message came through and I somehow managed to send him a reading (152/89 - or something of that ilk). There was a note saying that when you first take a reading it will be high so I didn't send him the first two or three, which, according to the document, meant I needed to get myself off to A&E immediately (in itself stress-inducing). And so, the ball was in motion once again. On top of work and not being able to hear properly because my ears are blocked (and don't appear to be unblocking any time soon) all I need is to start fretting about blood pressure. But it's worse this time. My pulse, which, for years has been a constant 60, has dipped to 59, 55, 53, 51, even 50. Naturally, I make matters worse for myself by checking it out on the Internet. Brachycardia. This might be something to do with the amount of cycling I've been doing over the past 18 months, I don't know, but there it is. Andy says he gets it too and he's thought about visiting the doc, but hasn't yet. At around midnight I call a Bupa nurse (who, of course, is absolutely no help whatsover). I thought about dialling 111, but that would have been a mistake, they'd insist I wend my way to casualty and I would have been there all night... and nothing would have been resolved.

Tudor Rose Tearooms today

I have an appointment with the doc next Friday at 1000hrs and I'm already plotting (working on ways I can reduce my BP). Daily cycling is one thing, although this is also to stop me fretting at night times when I hit the sack and it was something Andy suggested when we met on Saturday (yesterday) at Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield Village. "Just a local five-miler, nothing more, don't attempt to start cycling to work as that will cause more stress when you fail to get it together, just five miles, nothing more, nothing less". So I'm going to do it. Incidentally, I weakened and ordered a slice of cake. See, there I go, fretting again.

Right now I'm just a ball of stress. I simply can't relax. I'm always thinking about work or I'm feeling wary about something and it all starts from the moment I open my eyes. Consciousness reminds me about the BP situation, about work and anything else that might cause anxiety, down to little things like "can you put X or Y in the loft?" or "should we put the electric fire back in the garage?" And if I'm sitting down, reading a paper or watching the TV I'm thinking "I wonder if my BP is dangerously high?" It's a continuing onslaught of worry and with the latter it's because I don't want to take blood pressure tablets, I don't want to be one of those people 'on medication'. Last night I had the monitor on all night and most of the readings were borderline high and some very high, but I managed to get one or two below the 140 marker, but nowhere near the optimum reading. I find myself getting conspiratorial about it: the docs just want to make money by getting me to take out a life-long prescription, that's all this is about. Apparently they get paid for every prescription they issue, no wonder there's a load of top-of-the-range Audi sedans in the surgery car park. I view doctors with suspicion like I do almost everybody these days. Very few people have my best interests at heart. And what really annoys me about the BP thing is this: I don't drink, I take regular exercise, I eat relatively well, I make a point of walking to Purley station every morning (well, most mornings) to keep up my steps. My only vice is the odd bit of cake, although I do need to lose about a stone in weight, and that's why I'm going to bust a gut to do that daily 5-miler during the week.

Sunday's ride to Westerham

It's Sunday morning and the sun is shining, but it's not warm outside. Far from it! Time to hit the road and get some exercise, in the shape of a 22 miles plus ride to and from Westerham. I'll probably have a large English Breakfast tea when I get there and then ride home again. The weather was bright and sunny and cold as I headed off in my Parka, heavy jumper, beany hat under helmet, and gloves. I rode the slow way along Beddlestead Lane and then down Clarks Lane, a left on to Pilgrims, turning right at the Velobarn and then riding up the hill to the Costa. There was quite a few cyclists in there and a long queue so, reluctantly, I moved along the green a little to the Tudor Rose Tearooms where I enjoyed a pot of tea and a rock cake, which was absolutely perfect. For a short while I was chilled out, deep in thought, sipping tea and munching on that rock cake. Wonderful. But soon the journey home beckoned and I found myself standing on the green, buttoning up the Parka, putting on the crash helmet and gloves, pressing 'resume' on Strava and then heading off, retracing the inward route. I decided to ride through Woldingham and up Slines Oak Road and then made my way along the Limpsfield Road towards home. 

Thoughts on this and that...

It's hard trying to get back into the swing of cycling, especially now that the weather is closing in. We're in November, heading towards the middle of the month, but the weather seems pretty mild. Last Saturday I rode to Westerham and sat outside munching on a billionaire's shortbread. Yes, you heard me, a billionaire's shortbread. It was fantastic, so good that I didn't want it to end, but I started to realise that I'd been falling back into my old ways: no exercise for a start (or not much) and then the food. The snacks. The white chocolate cookie, the chocolate brioche rolls, the Wispa Gold, the stale cinnamon brioche bun from Costa the week before last and that's just the sweet stuff. I bought some ham as I thought I'd be making my own sandwiches for work, but in the end I couldn't face the ordeal of eating a sweaty homemade sandwich when I could simply walk to the caff and enjoy something a little more substantial. But I digress, the billionaire's shortbread: it was worth every penny and even now, five days later, I'm still thinking about it. During the week I raved about it to colleagues, under the mistaken impression that only I knew what a billionaire's shortbread was. I was mistaken, which made me wonder why I hadn't enjoyed one before. A few days prior to my Saturday ride to Westerham (I think it was Wednesday) there was trouble on the trains. Somebody had jumped in front of a train close to East Croydon station. The emergency services were dealing with it. For me it meant 'no trains'. I wandered away from the station in the dark and made my way to the Costa Coffee opposite the bank for a large English breakfast tea and a millionaire's shortbread. Fortunately, I had a decent book on the go: Dave Grohl's excellent memoir, which I have since finished. I sat in the Costa reading it and then moseyed on back to the station and jumped on a train. The problem had been sorted out.

Night sets in early

It starts to get dark around 4.30pm. I started thinking about riding the bike into work and while the morning ride would be fine, for a while at least, the return journey would be a race against time. It takes around one hour and 15 minutes to ride to work and roughly the same going the other way, so I'd be home around 5.15 and would probably be riding in the dark for roughly half of the ride. I can't say the idea appealed to me and I don't remember doing much in the way of night riding last year, apart from the odd Norfolk Nobbler, talking of which, I did one today, a 7.30-mile ride. It's always a bit of a work-out riding the Nobbler, thanks to the hills, but I always feel good when I get home. I went out around 1345hrs and the ride was around 40 minutes in duration. A good way of bumping up the weekly mileage is to ride short distances, like the Nobbler, and while fairly easy on a Thursday and Friday (when I'm working from home) it's a little more difficult on a work day. Would I be motivated enough to ride at 0600hrs before eating any breakfast? Well, I wouldn't get any time for my Alpen and fruit as when I get home it'll be time for walking to the station to catch my morning train. I should really stick to Washpond Weebles on Thursday and Friday lunch time, but today's exercise was to determine the mileage of a Norfolk Nobbler with a view to riding one every day. Big thoughts! But I know only too well that when I wake up in the morning the last thing I want to do is get on the bike without drinking tea, munching toast and eating my Alpen and fresh fruits. It's just not going to happen. Actually, I really must get my act together; what with the aforementioned chocolate bars, cookies and billionaire's shortbreads, I must seriously slap myself into shape. For most of October I avoided the cakes and while I've only just started to weaken, I must stop it. That stale cinnamon brioche bun from Westerham Costa last week put me off, making me wonder at the time why I even bothered. Perhaps I should have taken it back.

More mid-week Washpond Weebles are needed

It's Friday and if there's any justice in the world I should be looking at a Washpond Weeble at lunch time. Right now, as I write this, it's breakfast time and today I admit I went over the top: in addition to my bowl of Alpen and porridge oats topped with blueberries, grapes, raspberries and sliced banana, I enjoyed two slices of toast with honey AND a couple of fried eggs on two pieces of toast. I'm thinking about another cup of tea as I write this.

Rain stops play

Friday brought rain and in the end I didn't go out so it all rested on Saturday, but instead of my usual ride to Westerham, I rode a 9.72-mile 'special edition' Norfolk Nobbler, a local ride extraordinaire (basically three loops of the Norfolk Avenue/Arundel Avenue/Ridgeway route). Last Sunday I started my week as usual with a ride to the Northern Kent market town, which is my long-winded way of avoiding using 'Westerham' twice in the same paragraph, but now, of course, I've done just that. So my weekly total was around 38 miles (one 21-miler, one 7.20-miler and a 9.72-miler, you do the math).

Billionaire's shortbread in Costa Coffee

I love coffee shops

Coffee shops have taken the place of pubs in my world. While, in the dim and distant past, a pint and a cigarette used to be my idea of relaxation (it never ended well) I now prefer sitting in Caffe Nero or Costa with a large cappuccino or an English breakfast tea. Alcohol never did me any favours, quite the opposite, and now, four years after giving it up, I found myself in Caterham, home of Ross Cycles, sitting in a Caffe Nero (I think it's the best brand around) reading a new book, Willy Vlautin's The Night Always Comes, his sixth novel (I've read them all). A couple of weeks ago, when I walked from Ross Cycles to Caterham railway station after dropping off my bike for its silver service (click here and here for more details) I stopped off at the Caffe Nero for a large cappuccino and a slice of cake. It was chilled and cosy. Yesterday I found myself alone in the house and decided to jump on a train to Caterham and head back there, book in tow. Again, I ordered a large cappuccino and this time a millionaire's shortbread. There's a tinsel Christmas tree at the front of the store, making it that little bit more cosy. I loved it and I sat there reading until I'd finished my coffee and cake. I found myself on the 1450hrs train back to Purley Oaks from where I walked home.

Sunday: the start of my cycling week

And now it's Sunday morning, almost 0700hrs. I've been up since 0600hrs and managed to listen to Radio Four's Something Understood (I'm guessing the subject was commemoration). I've since switched to the World Service and I'm guessing the news is about to be broadcast. Time to hear more about what is essentially a climb-down on climate change now that COP 26 has come to an end. I'm about to listen to Weekend with Celia Hatton. Coal is being phased down, not phased out, thanks to India, but who can blame them? We've had our industrial revolution, let them have theirs. I just hope that industry worldwide continues with its plans to reduce emissions. I know for a fact that the global steel industry is doing more than its bit to reduce emissions.

But enough of all this. There's around 30 minutes before I need to ride to Westerham to meet Andy and start my cycling week. Hopefully I'll be able to put in some decent mileage this coming week.

Notes from the ride...

The ride in itself was absolutely fine. I rode the standard route along the 269 and down Clarks Lane and when I arrived Andy was inside the Costa drinking a large Americano. He was halfway through a toasted tea cake. There was a long queue and everybody was ordering complicated drinks so I decided to wait it out and chat with Andy before getting up and ordering my English breakfast tea. But the queue never quietened down and in the end Andy left and I had a dilemma on my hands: queue up again or just ride home. I started to queue again, but immediately got annoyed with the whole situation and decided to ride home. I considered the Tudor Tea Rooms, but what was the point? I rode towards the Velo Barn, turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane and then crossed Clarks Lane and followed Pilgrims Lane to Rectory Lane where I turned right and joined Clarks Lane again but a little further up the hill. Loads of stuff was going through my mind. Do I take The Ridge into Woldingham? Do I take Beddlestead Lane and Hesiers Hill? Do I take Beech Farm Road and Washpond Lane? Nothing appealed and I felt I wasn't quite ready or motivated enough to tackle any big hill. This has plenty to do with being overworked. Instead I rode the 269 and reached home around a quarter to eleven (1045hrs). We slobbed for a while, had burgers for lunch and then headed out for a drive to Ightham Mote where I (foolishly) ordered a large cappuccino and a gooey mince pie. I can't say I really enjoyed either of them and vowed there and then to stop cake, biscuits, bread and cappuccinos. On the bread front, no more than three slices a day. Dinner was a light pasta dish with a tasty tomato-based source, home-made, the perfect end to the weekend. Tilly Ramsay survived another dance-off in Strictly.

Bicycle servicing and a growing throwaway culture...

I took the train to Caterham on Saturday morning (30 October 2021). There was rain. As I walked up the hill in the general direction of Ross Cycles the hood on my parka was up and then down and then up again, but when I reached the summit and rounded the corner at the top of Whyteleafe Hill it was little more than the odd spit as I took in my surroundings. Everything looks down at heel and miserable when it rains; cars with dirty hub caps pull out of side roads, an obese man mops the floor of his takeaway and soon I turn left with only a rough idea of where I am going. I could have taken the bus, but the thought of sitting there behind a steamed up window, wearing a mask and passing by the gloomy shop fronts and empty playing fields made my heart sink. As the journey continued, I spotted a red double decker bus crawling along and felt relieved that I'd taken the train, even if I had to wait around for 20 minutes in a bright and deserted waiting room on Purley station. When the train turned up I had a carriage to myself.

Even when I reached the top of the hill, there was still a long way to go, it's a good half hour walk. I turned right and found myself on the home straight. It wasn't long before I was just yards from my destination. Am I happy? On one level, yes. I'm getting my bike back. But on another level no, I'm pretty cheesed off. This morning I received a text saying my bike was ready to pick up and that a receipt had been sent to me via email. I had already spent £90 on a silver service and was expecting to pay a little more for new parts, but what I wasn't ready for was the price at the bottom of the aforementioned receipt: £201! All the parts had worn out, including the bottom bracket. I started to wonder why I had bothered with a silver service. Had I opted for the bronze the bottom bracket would not have been touched. There was certainly no evidence that it needed to be fixed, nothing appeared to be loose. Everything else I expected: new cassette, new chain and front crank, new brake pads, but it still felt a little disappointing parting with the cash. 

"You might as well buy a new bike!"

The thought that "I might as well buy a new bike" crossed my mind as I remembered trying to get my Kona serviced back in 2016. There I was, standing in Ross Cycles, I'd spent the best part of £300 and with that money, once again, I could have bought a cheaper bike with block brakes, perhaps, and yes, cheaper parts, but nevertheless a new bike. 

Perhaps the owner of this bike needs to buy a new one

My own bike wasn't far off being 'basic' in terms of its components (unlike my Kona Scrap, which languishes in my garage with two flat tyres). My current machine is a Specialized Rockhopper, but it doesn't have top-of-the-range components and that, says Ross, is one reason why the final repair bill was so high: the cheaper parts wore out quicker than more expensive parts. Really? Well, I guess that higher spec brakes and gears would offer greater longevity, but let's not ignore the amount of cycling I've undertaken over the past year since I last had a service: easily over 3,000 miles, around 80 to 100 miles a week, I was certainly pushing the envelope, and when so much cycling is being done I should have expected that the brakes and the gears and the cassette and chain were going to wear a little, but this doesn't move away from that price. £291 in total. And that figure is enough for me to nip down to Halfords and buy a new bike. In fact, I checked out Halfords' website and I could have bought a new bike for far less than that, £175 to be precise, but let's stick with a bike for the price of the service; there were a couple of them that appealed and while, obviously, I haven't gone that route, the fact that I could have done riles me slightly. It riles me because I know that this time next year, if I keep up the cycling, it's liable to happen again and I can't think of any way out of it. It means, of course, that if I assume every annual service I have is likely to reach the £300 mark – or thereabouts – then, in a few years from now I'll have around half a dozen unserviced bikes in my garage and just one that works (a new bike). There is, of course, something ridiculous about the whole situation, but let's make no mistake, a scenario now exists where I might as well change my bike every October for a new model rather than getting my current bike serviced, and the worst thing is this: the bar is set very low when you consider that, for around £180, I can nip down to Halfords and buy a new one. Now, people might say that block brakes are terrible compared to hydraulic ones, and they are, I know, but this isn't an argument about blocks versus discs. 

Where am I going wrong?

I'm trying to work out where I'm going wrong. I've considered treating my bike like I treat my teeth (a check-up every six months) but that, theoretically, would halve the bill to around £150 twice a year and still mean I'm spending the best part of £300 on getting it serviced and even then, let's not forget the Slant, a bike I spotted in Halfords a couple of years ago for just £99 new. Assuming that's still around, then just a minor service might result in the utterance of the great phrase: "You might as well buy a new bike, sir! Have you considered the Slant?" At this rate I could open my own bike shop in a few years and my stock would be a dozen or so unserviced bikes. If I went on a cycling mechanic course I could fix them myself and sell them on ebay. 

So where am I going wrong? Am I (or was I) riding too much? Is there anything I can do to reduce an annual servicing bill of almost £300? Should I have taken the bike to the shop solely to fix the brakes and not bothered with a silver service, which gave the bike shop the opportunity to 'look under the bonnet' and find loads of other things that needed doing? 

Other sports would cost more

But then I look at it in the cold light of day: Cycling doesn't cost me much in the general scheme of things. I'd be paying a darn sight more annually if I went swimming three times a week or if I joined a gym. A measly £290 for a service once a year and new parts thrown in is nothing, even if it does mean that theoretically I could buy a new bike with the money spent. Perhaps new bikes are too cheap. But then I think of all the Ammacos and Carreras I see parked up all over the place, outside snooker halls, pubs, railway stations and supermarkets, and I look at them and wonder whether the rider would do what I did and ask for a silver service at a bike shop. Where would they go if told 'you might as well buy a new bike'? The point is that if the brake blocks wear down they'd get them replaced, probably for under £20, and as for replacing the cassette and the front crank, well, they wouldn't.

Taking the bike to the shop is getting very much like visiting the dentist or, perhaps, talking to the hygienist. They're always berating me for this or that, not cleaning my teeth probably, not using the brush in the right way, which I always think is a bit of a farce as even if I did do it properly they'd find something else that I wasn't doing right and it's the same now with bike shops. "You ought to clean the chain more often." And who's to say that's bad advice?

I am smarting at the cost of my service, I am, it's true and yes, I could have bought a new bike with the money. Alright, perhaps a slightly lower spec, but even that isn't the point as, either way, I'd be forking out the money, new bike or newly serviced bike. 

A lot of mileage

I don't feel as if I've been ripped off. I believe the shop was right and that the parts had worn beyond repair and needed replacement. The shop had said that if my bike had higher spec parts they might not have needed replacement, meaning that the cheaper the bike you buy, the quicker the parts wear down. Conversely, however, a higher spec bike would cost more to replace the parts. It's swings and roundabouts, and while I keep obsessing about brake blocks versus discs, that is not the issue here. When I look at my itemised bill, for example, all they did was change the pads for £15. I had covered, easily, 3,000 miles over the year since last October, probably a little more as I'm currently around 1,690 miles based on when I started recording my distances back in late April of this year, and that's not accounting for the six months prior, going back from April 2021 to October 2020. I could be nearer to 3,500 miles or even more.

However, it's all water under the bridge as the money has been spent, a virtually new bike now resides in my garage, it feels great to ride and I'm happy with it, but for almost £300 and that phrase "you might as well buy a new bike" looming large in the back of my mind, I'm ambivalent about the whole episode and will think twice when I next feel that my bike needs to be serviced. From now on it goes in for individual jobs: brake pads, gears and so on. There's really no need for anybody to 'look under the bonnet', it's a bike for heaven's sake.

Baffled, disappointed, confused, disillusioned

Ultimately, I'm left baffled, disappointed, mildly confused and disillusioned either because bikes are so cheap they can be thrown away rather than serviced, or that servicing itself is so expensive. Bikes are bikes, they last forever unless, perhaps, they collide with a car and end up with a bent frame. For me, the frustration lies in the fact that I have a good bike in my garage that I didn't get serviced because I was told 'you might as well buy a new bike'. I'm sure the guys at Cycle King a couple of weeks ago were teeing up the phrase as they told me what might be wrong with my bike. 'You might need an entire new brake'. I fully expected the guys at Evans Cycles to suggest it to me too, had I handed over the bike for one of their silver services.

I was going to look into cycling mechanics courses, and then somebody told me they learnt to fix their bike by watching YouTube videos. Now that's a good idea!

Further reading...

For further reading on this story, check out What's wrong with bike shops?