Kerthunk kerthunk kerthunk. Kerthunk kerthunk. This road surface is horrible, isn't it? If there's a streetlight soon, can you check which ring we're in, so that I can check whether this bastard front mech grinding that started on the climb up to Little Downham is simply me having selected the wrong one or whether it's something we need to adjust when we reach Walney. Middle ring? Oh. That means there's something to fiddle with. Ah. Oh shoot. My pedals are getting a little wobbly. Make that very wobbly. Stopping! Stopping! Thank goodness we've just passed Norfolk's only streetlight which casts a white light over the whole road.
Being an expert procrastinator, I'm not particularly good at preventative - or early intervention - maintenance, so rather than check the eccentric bottom bracket when I noticed the timing chain was a little tight, or stop as soon as I noticed the front mech indexing go, of course I waited until we were in the arse-end of nowhere going along what must be one of England's darkest and longest straight stretches of roads underneath the looming dyke of nightmares, and giving thanks that the lorries were very respectful and the road surface had calmed down as we'd moved onto the A road. Fortunately a couple of turns of a couple of Allen bolts and a cable connector and the tandem was back in fine fettle. And many thanks to the waymarker who came to check we were OK (it's alright - there were a pair of them on duty, so no danger of anyone getting lost).
Looking back at the history of this forum, I realise it's now over 8 years since my first FNRttC (May 2011), and not much less since our first tandem one (July 2011). It's also a bit over 7 years since we set off at midnight from Hyde Park north to John O'Groats (2012, chaps), and over 2 years (June 2017) since I last joined the club for a ride. So this visit was long overdue. In that time there has been welcome new blood, but nothing fundamental has changed. The safety briefing is as corny as ever, the waymarkers as patient and cheerful and effective, and the TECs still effectively sweep up at the back. And the twinkling of a row of red lights into the distance as it gently outpaces a slightly slower bike or turns a corner is as fine a sight as you'll ever see.
Flatlands are alien to me - I grew up with hills, albeit small ones, always on the horizon, and we now live on top of the Chilterns, so a ride between a dull provincial market town in the far and flat east of England, and Kings Lynn, should have been uninspiring. Actually that's a bit unfair to Kings Lynn, which turns out to have a very handsome Georgian market square and some other decent buildings. And extremely cheap beer. But flat is pretty good for a tandem (and for someone as lacking in fitness as I am), so I'm glad we chose this one as our comeback ride. It was a ride of three parts.
My least favourite bit of rides out of London is always the ride through increasingly dull (and occasionally alarming and ugly) suburbs lit by sodium glow before hitting the countryside, so leaving a small city and plunging into the darkness quickly is a refreshing change. When you do it along well-planned and well-surfaced cycle paths with solar-powered twinkles to mark the edges it becomes delightful. The winding route across the fens towards Upware and Ely was well-chosen, and a good introduction to the attractiveness of fenland - tantalising glimpes of lights in the far distance, occasional all-night agricultural establishments and a feeling of space. The comedy offroading was actually pretty tolerable, even on a tandem, at a slow pace, although I should apologise to the people behind us when I stopped a little suddenly at what looked alarmingly like a 180 degree turn; even at only 90 degrees it was a get-off-and-push job, which is always much more faff on a tandem than a solo. The comedy "tarmac" of the cyclepath at the other end, on the other hand...
After winding slowly uphill through what I gather was the old King's School library arch to the cathedral in Ely we headed further north. Utilitarian fenland rather than preserved fenland, with the smells of onions and cabbages, some road maintenance as poor as we have in Buckinghamshire, the rattle of a goods train as we went under the railway, and the aforementioned mechanicals made this section a little flat emotionally as well as literally. And we have painful family history involving someone travelling over-tired in the dark along one of these fenland roads, which was never far from my mind. But eventually we landed at the Walney wetland centre to a very warm welcome and their cheerful staff.
The sun was just peeping over the horizon as we left Walney, and revealed the promise of a bright day to come. From the perspective of near London it's easy to forget that the fens were once England's economic powerhouse, but when you're there you can't forget. Fields of pumpkins, various kinds of animal fodder, even roses and sapling fruit trees in between some seriously handsome old farmhouses and rectories (Londoners - just look at the house prices...) show the former wealth of the place, even up to the 19th century. And the huge churches (and the odd water tower) punctuate the horizon as a statement of local pride of a kind you don't get elsewhere in the country outside of our largest towns and cities. In that respect, too, it's more like the Netherlands and Belgium than the rest of England.
By this stage of the night our muscles (and other tender parts) were screaming for regular breaks - which is the one downside of a flat ride, as you don't have downhills to coast on - and the site of
@StuAff in Terrington St Clement ready to lead
@kimble, John E and us for the funny bike ride over the bridge to avoid the ferry was welcome. Soloists - you may have had the glamour of landing craft to dock you in the King's port, but you missed what might well be the best approach to the town, from the south along the dyke protecting the land from the Great Ouse trying to create an estuary. The church tower stands proud over the town, with the dock infrastructure also visible in the distance. Arriving at the faded glamour of the Globe we managed, unlike others, to find the doors of the beer garden open for secure(r) bike storage - and the dubious pleasures of Tim Martin's Brexity breakfast. It is, at least, cheap, as is the beer (£1.95 for a pint of Hobgoblin from a brand new cask!), and I did experience a certain amount of schadenfreude to discover he hasn't, as he promised, managed to eliminate European drinks from the menu - Becks, Peroni, Guinness, prosecco and Absolut all still feature. (Yes, I know some of them are brewed under licence over here.)
All that remained was to get home, and by waiting until other riders had cleared the station and leaving assembled old friends discussing future plans (they're good) we made sure we didn't overload
every train with bikes. With the connivance of a generous member of platform staff we simply loaded the tandem onto the train, no doubt breaking a number of rules. Apart from
a little excitement at the hotel where I'd hoped to have a long and refreshing Saturday night's sleep before driving home today - but that, and the 4am fire alarm which that report doesn't mention, are another story - all went well. Thanks again to
@Nick Saddlesore and
@robjh for facilitating the gear cable and leading from the front,
@LucretiaMyReflection for all-upping splendidly and Adrian NOTP for toting the requested pannier without complaint.
We'll be back.
.
