arallsopp
Post of The Year 2009 winner
- Location
- Bromley, Kent
Part I:
Howdo. Woke up early Sunday morning, MrsArallsopp still asleep. Thought it would be nice to pop out and grab the day's paper before the family wake up. I need to log some miles this month, so what the hell, I'll take the 'bent.
Hmmm... Now I know people tease Auntie Helen for logging grocery trips, so maybe this wouldn't be fair. Thing is, for her to go get groceries means going all the way to Essex! If those aren't loggable miles, clearly I'm going to have to go a bit further afield. Wonder if there's a local rag for Norfolk & Suffolk?
Hmmm.. That'd be a long trip. I best don my mouse ears, pull on the white gloves, and collect young ILB. We hook up at The Dripping Tap in Bromley. Its 3am. ILB is in 'full on touring configuration' sporting a 1 litre seat pack, and plethora of lights front and rear. I'm on the Furai, my GPS is loaded with a route from home to London Fields, and another called the 'Dun Run'.
We get going pretty sharpish, descending into SE London, shedding jerseys and jackets as we lose altitude. The night is hot, humid, and peppered with the remains of Saturday night revelers, so we seek refuge in that most charming of environs, "The Rotherhithe Tunnel". I've wanted to cycle through this since seeing Ben's youtube vid, so it was with eager anticipation that we descended into its depths.
What Ben's camera footage doesn't make clear is:
Seriously. The tunnel must have been a few thousand degrees in itself, and through peculiarities of the 'air conditioning' both directions had a major headwind. If you've ever swung open the oven door to grab a tray of chips, and got caught in the backdraft from the fan, its like that. You know that trick with the ping pong ball and the hairdryer? That's us.
Exiting onto the north side of the river, repeated unlikely turns prove correct as we swing East, then North through the side streets to London Fields. The park is muddy, so we skirt the edges for a while looking for the start of our onward route. Having never attempted the run out to Dunwich, we are using a donor GPS track recorded in 2006 and kindly shared on the web. I’ve remapped it using Audax style routing, the sky is brightening, its twelve minutes past 4, lets off!
Immediately, a splendid lack of research, familiarity, and local knowledge treats us to a U turn in a bus garage and a shortcut through a church yard. I assure ILB that this is a ‘known issue’ and that we will only have one more 300yd section where the downloaded route doesn't seem to line up to any road. These are the consequences of 500 point filtering, perhaps.
We exit town on the A102, join the first of many extremely straight roads, clear the marshlands between Hackney and Leyton, and bump along the Epping Road for what seems like ever. This is where we formalize the first laws of future route selection:
Anway, Epping forest subscribes to form with the GPS punctuating 6km silences to say “E02” or “SOX” all the damn way. The rising sun is battling with the morning mist, and lays a slab of orange as it filters through the tree cover. The light is so solid, I read it as a hill, and drop a gear. The road continues straight, level. Me, ILB, and my rattling cassette.
We smack over a pair of cattle grids flanking a roundabout, to finally reach an instruction to ‘BR’ (bear right). Momentarily lifted, we swing off into dense fog around North Weald. The sun is (presumably) up, but visibility is down. The GPS chimes in with a ‘SOX’, which we don’t even see until we’re 6 metres from it. Quite handy to have the little unit with us at times like this.
We exit Moreton at 0545, maintaining an average of 16mph and getting turn warnings from the GPS. I consider setting the ‘off track’ warning to keep me from straying into the hedges. The fog stays with us through many villages called “…Roding”, lifts briefly as we pass through Dunmow, then blankets us again as we begin the search for breakfast. Stebbing seems short on shops, Great Bardfield short on houses, the (two) residents of Finchingfield clearly don’t eat. One more strike would confirm the hypothesis… There are no shops in Essex
Distracting us from our hunger is the village of Wethersfield. Immediately upon hitting the outskirts, we begin to pick out shadowy figures at the edge of the road, some stood in front gardens, some tucked behind gates, children and adult alike, all indifferently frozen to our greetings. We become aware that the only life we’ve seen since leaving London has been relatively fresh roadkill… This has all got a bit sinister.
Realisation dawns that these are scarecrows. We discover the third and fourth laws:
0730 passes, and we leap aboard the bikes once again. ILB apes a good friend of ours, by trying to engage with cleat covers in place. Good boy. One final scarecrow of a little boy waves us off as we retreat back into the mists.
At 0850 we give up looking for sustenance, and raid the box once again. Ten minutes after resuming, we hit a ringroad near Sudbury, to find a MacDonalds serving breakfast. Ideal opportunity for our third breakfast of the day really, so we circle it on at least 3 sides before entering via the ‘no entry’ exit of the drive thru lane. Forty very pleasant minutes pass. We eat. We use the facilities. We take some time out of the saddle. We’re 7 hours into the ride, 75 miles from home, seemingly in Suffolk, and restored to health by carcinogens and mechanically reconstituted meat.
The fog finally lifts, the skies tweak the chroma setting from white to blue, and the day starts in earnest. By 1045, we’re on B1078 through The Green at Ladyfield, enjoying the views and stealing greetings from the Sunday morning dog walkers. All is looking very good. The GPS is happy. ILB is powering along. I’m counting cars (up to 5 already!) and settling into the pace. We're both eating plenty of flies.
20 minutes later, we hit the second ‘known issue’. As the last great unknown between us and the coast, this 300 yard section sees the GPS track swing left from the relatively minor Coddenham Road, disappear on the approach to the A14, and magically reappear north of the A140. 6 lanes of traffic have been skipped in between. I’ve been putting off thinking about it.
Ok. Well, we can’t teleport, so will have to just hit the roundabout on the dual carriageway. At least it’s the first exit. North up the A140, and I'm thinking a fast dual carriageway is decidedly at odds with the quiet lanes of the recent 50 miles. Confidence ebbs with every passing car, and we are surprised to discover we have become utterly acclimatised to traffic free routes. A couple of hundred yards in, a bail out opportunity presents itself in the form of local services and we gladly take it. If nothing else, it'll at least offer a discrete opportunity to park up, zoom out a little and check the route again.
We roll into the car park to find around 200 Harleys, resplendent with matching owners. Ok. This may not be as discrete as we'd hoped. 7 minutes pass whilst I simultaneously attend to the needs of GPS and crowd, all of whom have a question about my chainline, suspension, top speed, outlay, braking, comfort, etc.. ILB reliably goes mute in new company, shuts down, and waits for it to pass
At 1115, we exit back onto the A140, wobble up the hill and peel right across the constant stream of cars heading to/from Waveney. Country lanes resume, and the little line on the GPS pops back under my tyres. Good. We don't see any road markings for 40 minutes.
Howdo. Woke up early Sunday morning, MrsArallsopp still asleep. Thought it would be nice to pop out and grab the day's paper before the family wake up. I need to log some miles this month, so what the hell, I'll take the 'bent.
Hmmm... Now I know people tease Auntie Helen for logging grocery trips, so maybe this wouldn't be fair. Thing is, for her to go get groceries means going all the way to Essex! If those aren't loggable miles, clearly I'm going to have to go a bit further afield. Wonder if there's a local rag for Norfolk & Suffolk?
Hmmm.. That'd be a long trip. I best don my mouse ears, pull on the white gloves, and collect young ILB. We hook up at The Dripping Tap in Bromley. Its 3am. ILB is in 'full on touring configuration' sporting a 1 litre seat pack, and plethora of lights front and rear. I'm on the Furai, my GPS is loaded with a route from home to London Fields, and another called the 'Dun Run'.
We get going pretty sharpish, descending into SE London, shedding jerseys and jackets as we lose altitude. The night is hot, humid, and peppered with the remains of Saturday night revelers, so we seek refuge in that most charming of environs, "The Rotherhithe Tunnel". I've wanted to cycle through this since seeing Ben's youtube vid, so it was with eager anticipation that we descended into its depths.
What Ben's camera footage doesn't make clear is:
- he is an extremely strong cyclist, untroubled by gradients.
- he is seemingly heat proof.
Seriously. The tunnel must have been a few thousand degrees in itself, and through peculiarities of the 'air conditioning' both directions had a major headwind. If you've ever swung open the oven door to grab a tray of chips, and got caught in the backdraft from the fan, its like that. You know that trick with the ping pong ball and the hairdryer? That's us.
Exiting onto the north side of the river, repeated unlikely turns prove correct as we swing East, then North through the side streets to London Fields. The park is muddy, so we skirt the edges for a while looking for the start of our onward route. Having never attempted the run out to Dunwich, we are using a donor GPS track recorded in 2006 and kindly shared on the web. I’ve remapped it using Audax style routing, the sky is brightening, its twelve minutes past 4, lets off!
Immediately, a splendid lack of research, familiarity, and local knowledge treats us to a U turn in a bus garage and a shortcut through a church yard. I assure ILB that this is a ‘known issue’ and that we will only have one more 300yd section where the downloaded route doesn't seem to line up to any road. These are the consequences of 500 point filtering, perhaps.
We exit town on the A102, join the first of many extremely straight roads, clear the marshlands between Hackney and Leyton, and bump along the Epping Road for what seems like ever. This is where we formalize the first laws of future route selection:
- Any road we look forward to (eg. Rotherhithe tunnel) will, on arrival, prove horrible.
- Any road through a forest will be dull, straight, and have an abysmal surface.
Anway, Epping forest subscribes to form with the GPS punctuating 6km silences to say “E02” or “SOX” all the damn way. The rising sun is battling with the morning mist, and lays a slab of orange as it filters through the tree cover. The light is so solid, I read it as a hill, and drop a gear. The road continues straight, level. Me, ILB, and my rattling cassette.
We smack over a pair of cattle grids flanking a roundabout, to finally reach an instruction to ‘BR’ (bear right). Momentarily lifted, we swing off into dense fog around North Weald. The sun is (presumably) up, but visibility is down. The GPS chimes in with a ‘SOX’, which we don’t even see until we’re 6 metres from it. Quite handy to have the little unit with us at times like this.
We exit Moreton at 0545, maintaining an average of 16mph and getting turn warnings from the GPS. I consider setting the ‘off track’ warning to keep me from straying into the hedges. The fog stays with us through many villages called “…Roding”, lifts briefly as we pass through Dunmow, then blankets us again as we begin the search for breakfast. Stebbing seems short on shops, Great Bardfield short on houses, the (two) residents of Finchingfield clearly don’t eat. One more strike would confirm the hypothesis… There are no shops in Essex
Distracting us from our hunger is the village of Wethersfield. Immediately upon hitting the outskirts, we begin to pick out shadowy figures at the edge of the road, some stood in front gardens, some tucked behind gates, children and adult alike, all indifferently frozen to our greetings. We become aware that the only life we’ve seen since leaving London has been relatively fresh roadkill… This has all got a bit sinister.
Realisation dawns that these are scarecrows. We discover the third and fourth laws:
- Scarecrows in fields are figures of fun and function; environmentally friendly follies; favourites of trips to Oz and Aunt Sally.
- Scarecrows in a high street are fear inducing effigies of horror; Blair Witch channeling the Wickerman; that episode of Doctor Who where the mannequins come to life, only they’re dressed as clowns. This is deeply phobic stuff.
0730 passes, and we leap aboard the bikes once again. ILB apes a good friend of ours, by trying to engage with cleat covers in place. Good boy. One final scarecrow of a little boy waves us off as we retreat back into the mists.
At 0850 we give up looking for sustenance, and raid the box once again. Ten minutes after resuming, we hit a ringroad near Sudbury, to find a MacDonalds serving breakfast. Ideal opportunity for our third breakfast of the day really, so we circle it on at least 3 sides before entering via the ‘no entry’ exit of the drive thru lane. Forty very pleasant minutes pass. We eat. We use the facilities. We take some time out of the saddle. We’re 7 hours into the ride, 75 miles from home, seemingly in Suffolk, and restored to health by carcinogens and mechanically reconstituted meat.
The fog finally lifts, the skies tweak the chroma setting from white to blue, and the day starts in earnest. By 1045, we’re on B1078 through The Green at Ladyfield, enjoying the views and stealing greetings from the Sunday morning dog walkers. All is looking very good. The GPS is happy. ILB is powering along. I’m counting cars (up to 5 already!) and settling into the pace. We're both eating plenty of flies.
20 minutes later, we hit the second ‘known issue’. As the last great unknown between us and the coast, this 300 yard section sees the GPS track swing left from the relatively minor Coddenham Road, disappear on the approach to the A14, and magically reappear north of the A140. 6 lanes of traffic have been skipped in between. I’ve been putting off thinking about it.
Ok. Well, we can’t teleport, so will have to just hit the roundabout on the dual carriageway. At least it’s the first exit. North up the A140, and I'm thinking a fast dual carriageway is decidedly at odds with the quiet lanes of the recent 50 miles. Confidence ebbs with every passing car, and we are surprised to discover we have become utterly acclimatised to traffic free routes. A couple of hundred yards in, a bail out opportunity presents itself in the form of local services and we gladly take it. If nothing else, it'll at least offer a discrete opportunity to park up, zoom out a little and check the route again.
We roll into the car park to find around 200 Harleys, resplendent with matching owners. Ok. This may not be as discrete as we'd hoped. 7 minutes pass whilst I simultaneously attend to the needs of GPS and crowd, all of whom have a question about my chainline, suspension, top speed, outlay, braking, comfort, etc.. ILB reliably goes mute in new company, shuts down, and waits for it to pass
At 1115, we exit back onto the A140, wobble up the hill and peel right across the constant stream of cars heading to/from Waveney. Country lanes resume, and the little line on the GPS pops back under my tyres. Good. We don't see any road markings for 40 minutes.
(A12itis and the threat of is 'mouseketeer crack')
