Memories
Out of my house bright and early to meet ilovebikes. Departing our usual spot at The Dripping Tap around 0530, we did a quick dash into town to meet Aperitif and CoG in an hour. With adrenaline battling melatonin, our pace was all over the place and we arrived 15 minutes ahead of schedule.
A quick comfort break gave the tower guard something to talk about, and then off towards Manningtree at 0630. The sun had kindly popped up whilst we crossed Tower Bridge, so navigation was simplified towards 'head for the bright yellow orb'. Threading out quickly on Romford Road, we kept a rolling average above 30kph (18.7mph), gathering speed as we approached what had once been the A12.
Much maligned, this old Roman route has leapt from humble beginnings to achieve first prize in Cornhill Insurance's search for
"Britain's worst road 2007".
The residents of Ipswich were amongst the first to celebrate this road's unique geology; sacrificing jewels of broken glass along its flanks, lovingly rubbing gravel into each corner, serenading it with the drone of heavy haulage day and night. Now used primarily for geology field trips, the surface provides working models of plate tectonics, chasms and crevasses, desertification, subsidence, and debris flow.
All very exciting to the Mouseketeer cyclist, but with tires running hot and speeds regularly peaking at 50kph, poor CoG's legs were beginning to enter redshift. Earning a brief reprieve on the High Streets of Kelvedon and Marks Tey, we ducked back onto the A12 for a final fling before pitting ourselves against Colchester town centre. With the Harwich Road running almost direct to Manningtree, we invoked our natural predilection for routes perverse, and headed for all Bromleys great and small. Gathering numbers, the enlarged group approached Manningtree from due South, sailing past the turning to the station with great aplomb.
With the first of the day's U turns safely out of the way, we rolled up at the meet point late, with 120kms+ in the bag. Scheduling necessities saw the promise of a hearty breakfast traded for a quick cup of coffee, and then on to routes social and agrarian.
(Eighty something kms of loveliness passes in well documented fashion. Mention goes to Auntie Helen for pulling us all together, and for her unshakeable optimism in human capacity ("they'll see the sign to Colchester, I'm sure".) Excellent choice of lunch stop too. With scones and cream as a reward, the Tiptree Jam factory is somewhere I could definitely see myself going back to.*)
On the way back into Manningtree, my bike develops an interest in percussion, and opts to accompany each spin of the pedals with an intriguing grinding sound. A quick roadside fix from unknown cyclist #2 (I really must get better at finding out people's names) gets me back to the station, but the noise persists. Cue much faffing whilst Aperitif and I play with the chain line.
Eventually, things look like they'll stick together, so at 1830hrs we set off on the final ~120kms home. Opting against the A12 this time, we note the sun has kindly passed overhead, and is now pointing the way home. ChrisKH and Sig join with map and local knowledge to target the 100 mile mark, and in true Mouseketeer fashion we ignore them and boldly spin off course. Maintaining consistency by missing the Harwich road for the second time, we scribe a lovely S bend on the map, ducking under Great Bromley, and over Colchester. The limitations of the GPS (and operator) soon become apparent when we B-line into a series of cul de sacs some 20 kms later.
Life rapidly becomes a choice of 'zoom out far enough to see the name of the town you're heading for' or 'zoom in close enough to see the road you're actually on' with favour falling on the latter. Martin's GPS spots a third option (shut down), whilst all except us consider the fourth (ask Sig). No matter, the night is young, we're probably 100 km from home, and its not even half seven yet.
Knowing that the GPS and the A12 have unfinished business, none are confident that simply asking it for a route home will work, so the evening degenerates into a session of 'pick a town that sounds like its West of us, but probably nowhere near the A12, calc a route, follow it, and repeat as necessary'. This works (to a fashion) and we happily pass 50 kms from Manningtree before rolling up at Tiptree Jam Factory. (*there you go).
Hmmm... This isn't working too good. Its gone 9pm, the cycle computers say we should be 40km out of London, and we're still seeing signs to Colchester.
...And its not even particularly close any more.
Now... It is rarely said that hunger is an aid to navigational abilities, or that tiredness will improve the quality of one's decisions, but the Mouseketeers are empiricists and do not stand on theory. We bravely target the next town on 'route', Maldon, and bid the GPS "get us there".
Beeps and whirrs. A prompt: "street name?"
Street name? I've never been there. Erm, High Street?
Beeps and whirrs. Searching. Found. Calculating. Done.
Ok. Here we go. Maldon lines us up nicely. All will be well. We've seen some lovely villages, but it'll be good to be home. Confidence is high, and I'm even thinking that some of the places we've passed will make ideal spots for future rides. The sun setting behind us at Coggeshall (Bridge Street area) is beautiful, and memories of this insulate me against the dropping temperature as we approach the coast. A brief discussion about which way at a cross roads (GPS wins) and we roll into the High Street some point after half nine, with the smell of the sea fresh in our faces.
Wait a minute... Scroll back. Sun behind us? The coast? Smell of the sea? Just which 'High Street' is this?
Answers on a postcard to:
Yes, I went the wrong way again competition,
Any route but home,
Tollesbury,
Essex.
Damn. Ok. Maybe now would be the time to ask Sig and Chris...
In fairness, both are absolutely marvellous about the somewhat indirect routing, and when the paper map reveals that we have water on 3 sides of us they simply backtrack 5km inland, swing above the River Blackwater and drop us into Maldon within 40 minutes. Shirts are traded, ground is covered. From here, it gets a bit dizzy in my mind. There is a fit of giggling between myself and Topcat, a crazy ascent in an unknown town, Sig and Chris depart, the Mouseketeers target a kebab shop in Billericay, the GPS is back on again.
Somewhere around this point, I start seeing double, and lose the ability to focus on street signs. I find confidence in Dave, who reassures me with soft words for 5 kms or so. The cold night doesn't seem so bad any more. I'm being pursued by little white orbs, but Dave is there alongside to keep me safe. What goes on tour, stays on tour, so I won't disclose them here, but Dave and I shared many secrets and founded what might be a lifelong friendship. I'm feeling good about things. The road is getting more urban again. I notice that Dave disappears whenever we pass under streetlamps, but that doesn't matter anymore. My chain is still rattling along. The GPS will beep if it needs me. There's a second Dave behind me. More the merrier.
Final bit of dark road as we swing south of Billericay, its getting harder to see Dave #1 now. Seems he's only visible when my left pedal is in the 12 o'clock position. Odd how his bike is silent too, given he's currently riding atop a hedge. No matter.
I miss the turn to Billericay town centre, so Aperitif jumps infront and targets Brentwood. The group bunches up a little (all these headlamps make it hard to see Dave) and we finally stop at a taxi rank / kebab shop next to Shenfield Station. Dave #1 waves goodbye for good as soon as we hit sodium lighting and I get some food in me. I'll miss him, but Dave #2 is there and the rest of the Mouseketeers slowly come into focus.
That was an odd few miles.
Well... Its gone 1am. We finish our burgers, drink some polystyrene flavoured caffeine, Aperitif treats us to Cadbury's Caramels. Home is only 55km away. We'll make it by 4, I'm sure. In a devastating departure from form, we head
West on the Colchester road, Romford Road, Mile End Road, hey! Tower Bridge. Topcat and Aperitif peel off just after 3am, and ilovebikes and I cross the river and head for home.
I vaguely remember Bromley Hill being upward, parting with Andy at the top of the High Street, and swearing at Bromley Council who seem to make roads out of rubble and broken biscuits.
Rolled into the driveway at one minute to 4, with 372 kms on the GPS log. Evey was less than impressed, so she treated me to breakfast detail with the Tunk (0700hrs), taking him swimming (0900hrs), and then a trip to Ikea.
I may be offline for a while.
Ouch.
Edit: unknown cyclist #2 is FatFellaFromFelixstowe
