A qualified success.
I was pretty nervous in the run-up to the ride. This was the biggest non-Martlets ride we've done, and I was messing with the route to take in an early hours supermarket wee-in, which meant that the regulars wouldn't know the way. In the event neither of these two considerations played a part on the night.
The getaway from HPC was prettily done. All 130 riders left in one bunch - they didn't get through the first green light, but that was never going to happen, but they did regroup in Berkeley Square, and we made our way smoothly down to Sloane Square and on to Clapham Common......by which time we had a puncture, fixed by the TECs and a chain snap, fixed by Matthew who had a link to fit the snapee's chain. Then another chapter in Dellzeqq the Legend - planting myself in the South Circular, magic hand aloft, commanding by the force of my will, a 32 ton truck to stop. Which it did, the driver gracelessly allowing his cab to come within a couple of metres of me. Pah!. The assembled multitude took control of the street, swanned through the A205/A23 junction (more magic hand treatment on a bus) and went on down to Tooting. Another puncture, fixed, and then away through Mitcham and on to Beddington Lane Asda, there to find relief. The TECs were working on another chainbreak, and rejoined us as we finished up at the supermarket. We wandered up Sandy Lanes North and South and back on to the familiar A237 route to Coulsdon. Another puncture, fixed by TimO, and then, with about half an hour's delay accumulated, up Portnalls Road to Chipstead.
We were quite a sight, wandering across the North Downs. Not quite visible from space, but pretty impressive. Cars coming the other way slowed right down, bewildered by the array of lights coming toward them. People were shouting 'hole' with a will, which is gratifying (it's not always the case) and took account of my little safety talk at the top of Reigate Hill.
Lots of good humour on Reigate Hill, nicely done, and then over Cockshott Hill to the much anticipated left turn......
Lonesome Lane. Never disappoints. I held the speed at about 20mph for the first mile or so, then gave in where the road swoops right and down, over a little bridge, and then up and left. What followed was dazzling. We poured down that road, some of us at a decent, almost wanton lick, some of us at a sedate pace, but all of us just swinging right and left on bends that flattered our skill. The vegetation pressed in from the side, the road dipped and rose, and then curve after curve after curve on smooth tarmac, made heroes of all of us. I had to get to User10571's bend first to slow them down sufficiently to get round it, and that took some effort on my part and probably some restraint on the part of others, but all the gear changes came naturally, especially sliding from the 13 to the 15 at the back on bends, then up to 14 and 13 again to kick away on the straights, and I took the famous lefthander clipping the apex. It helps if you know the road, but clipping the hedge with your shoulder on the inside of bends, while the road ahead spools out in front of you is pretty damn cool.
In to Horley. Sleep has finished off what remains of my short term memory. I think John E insisted on directing traffic at Victoria Road, but I cannot for the life of me remember who insisted on taking the long stretch at the A23 crossing. Apologies, and thanks.
Planet Sweet. Last year’s big success story. This year’s big failure – all the more failuresome when set beside the wonder of Stock Village Hall, the Carmen Rose in Ribchester and Mark’s continual good humour at the Cabin Cafe. Apologies to all of you. I had a plan and it was crap. The sandwiches were naff (is my memory playing tricks, or were they better last year?) and the service wasn’t good. I’ve got to come up with a better plan for the Genteel Ride.
So, it was a delayed resumption, which meant that we did the Badlands in the light – a pity, because their greatest merit is the air of suspense. I recall that, on our first Haroldslea Escapade, Charlotte the Intrepid wondered out loud if the old boy had finally lost his marbles. I did a bit of wayfinding, and, working my way back to the front of the ride, marveling at the volume of 2011’s FNRttC.
Turning left at the traffic lights a vision appeared on my right hand side. For a second I thought that I’d slipped in to some groovy New York street graffiti world – but, no, it was our own BMXBoyinnit offering to wayfind. Awesome. Dude. ROFLMAO. Off he went, arse-wibbling at such a rate that I feared sparks might ignite the baggy shorts, which, I am assured by Saint Jess Carter-Morley, are de rigeur for BMXers. Happily whatever Law of Thermodynamics applies was taking a night off, and we turned right on to Effingham Lane without so much as a smoulder. Those of you giving thanks for his survival might like to show your appreciation at
http://www.charitygi....uk/romania2011
So – Turners Hill, Lindfield and Slugwash Lane. Morning sky, bright colours, warming sunlight. Slugwash Lane, where, in late 2005, the Newhaven Night Ride stopped to take in the stars and the passing of Skylab, was drowning in yellow sunshine, turning everyday corn fields in to the stuff of Shredded Wheat commercials. The road to Ditchling was half decent, thanks, in part, to the roadworks outside Haywards Heath that herald a further ‘burbing of Sussex. The Ascent of the Beacon never quite hits the ceremonial highspot without Hatler and Joe doing that coffee thing (not that we aren’t glad to have Rob on the ride), but there were a lot of smiles at the top. I struggled, grudgingly conceding that the days of doing that hill on a 39/21 are coming to an end. ILB and User10571 buzzed up and down like bumblebees on acid, testament, respectively, to youth and a virtuous life.
The Sea, the Sea. Seen from the Beacon it’s usually mid-grey. On Saturday morning it was a piercing blue-green. The view north was just wonderful – our entire journey from Turners Hill laid out in brilliant sunshine. I waited for our third chainbreak to be sorted by the in-house riveting expert while the main body of the ride sashayed down to the prom, there to lay their bikes against the rollershutters of the Seagull cafe – of which more later. Joining the TECs I got a chance to assist in a puncture repair on Ditchling Road – not in a big way, because ‘Teef was ready with the Thumbs That Will Be Obeyed. Adrian and I did that middle-aged speed camera thing, a sort of rite of passage in reverse.
We arrived. Greg’s new grill had done the business and he was absolutely made up because his big worry (the one that gave him sleepless nights last year) was that he wouldn’t cope with the Martlets ride. All that remains is for Antonia and yrs truly to overwhelm Brighton’s highways department.....
Mr. Seagull was having a hissy fit. Worse still he was moving bikes around, heedless of paint jobs. We shuffled expensive machinery down the colonnade, but, by this time, he’d lost the plot and started raising a rollershutter with about five grands worth of bike resting against it. Points of view were expressed, and Greg, fighting to keep a straight face, followed up the breakfast with beer (both ‘yellow’ and ‘brown’).
And so, dear peeps, when, in years to come, you recall those times at which life suddenly takes on new meaning, those moments in which the Spirit finds itself in harmony with all Creation, the fourteenth of June 2011, 224 years to the day after the Continental Congress placed a star on a flag and thereby put in train the stellar progress that, in the fullness of time, found its ultimate expression in the FNRttC shirt (cheques to me by 30[sup]th[/sup] June please), will be the date, the place being the apogee of all things English Seaside, by which the essence of all things that are Human, all things that are Joyful are measured. Beer at the Madeira. Roll over Beethoven’s Ninth.
I really don't remember the journey home.....
) and I tried and failed to compliment him on his climbing without beingpatronising, sorry. Royally fed up of not being able to sit down and secretlydreading the descent of Reigate I distracted by myself on the next sectionlooking at the fantastic light orange moon, chatting about the Edinburghobservatory amongst other things with a nice guy on his first FNRttC andbenefitting from the excellent light set up on Charlotte’s bent.
. And the rest as they say...
How about the Marlets find a hall for the purchasing of grub (rather than the giving of) when the pelongerandlongeroton rolls Brightonwards? Sandwiches cake and a nice little urn er like the scout hut. When I win the lottery, I'm going to buy the pub at the top of Turners Hill and open it for such uses. No need for a massive amount of food as it is closer to Ditchling and thenThe Madeira, but a welcome drink and bite to rekindle the spirits.
