What a glorious evening. And the simplest ride a TEC has surely ever had. Not a single mechanical or puncture.
@Tim Hall and
@TimO were co-TECers and this was a lovely pay-back for all those punctures we've had to fix over the years.
As all-upper I have to hold my hand up to having missed
@Eddie_C in Tooting Broadway. Sterling chap that he is he decided to mark the turn where we normally turn left to make sure no one did turn left. Because I knew we were heading straight down the A24 it never occurred to me to look out for someone marking a non-turn. Still, if we hadn't had that enforced wait in downtown Morden then we would simply have had longer standing outside the Cabin Cafe.
In a slightly disturbing mirror of
@Fab Foodie's journey through the past, this was broadly similar for me. In Morden we passed by the traffic island-come-shrubbery where, many years ago after a long night on the beer, I had decided to relieve myself after a too-long tube journey. Fifteen seconds in to what turned out to be a two minute exercise a tannoy crackled into life - "Put it away !!" boomed the copper's voice.
Then shortly afterwards past the row of shops where there used to be a KFC which was my treat for those occasions when I'd missed the last train back to Ewell and had to walk from Morden. Next onto the Ewell by-pass with the roof of my parents' old house just in view alongside Ewell Castle school. Into Epsom which used to be a bus ride from our home in Banstead to get to the 'proper' shops and through which I used to tear down the High Street chasing the 164 bus which was scheduled to leave about one minute before my train home from school in Wimbledon was scheduled to arrive.
The climb to the Downs past my dentist just next to the fire station (still the only dentist I have ever been to). Epsom Downs, scene of countless viewings of the Derby and my first bet on the horses (Stintino, two bob each way - he came in third to Nijinsky in the 1970 running and I got my four bob back), and where we used to go for a walk on a Sunday to watch the radio controlled planes, and about half a mile from my first two schools (the second of which used to close on Derby Day). Round Tattenham Corner to the switchback road, scene of one of the few regrets I have. As a five year old I use to accompany my dad on his site visits in the Summer. There's a pipeline which runs near there and he was checking that it wasn't rusting. Whilst there the route-checker arrived in a Bell X47 helicopter (the one with a perspex bubble front) and offered to take me up for a jolly. I was too scared. Regretted that moment ever since.
After the switchback the road swings left under a railway bridge and that's where I used to get off the bus to take me to my first job in a seaweed products research lab. Down the hill and past the house where I bought my first car (a Mark II MG Midget). Up the next hill and past a house where I was at a party which was gate-crashed by some hoodlums who kicked off the biggest punch up I have ever witnessed, bottles being broken over people's heads, the works. Straight after that we passed through the countryside which my cub pack used to criss-cross on sponsored walks.
Back to the present. The ride just kept rolling. No-one seemed to be struggling, the night was balmy, the conversation flowed and before we knew it we were at the Cafe. Standard (and very welcome) fare, though I really should take a tip out of
@User's book and order two cups of tea on the first visit to the counter. Out into the dawn for the second half of the ride and it became apparent that Friday night/Saturday morning must have been the equivalent of the slugs' new year celebrations. They were all over the place, and by the time the ride was over they too were all over, all over our bikes. I think I ended up with the ejected remains of one on one of my forearms at Storrington. Yeucchhh.
Storrington, yes. That wasn't actually on the route. Shortly after a re-group, four of us set off a little after the others (rack-pack packing was the cause of the delay) so we were not in sight of the group. When we got to the deserted right turn for West Chiltington Tim Hall remarked that we had turned right there on a previous run to Felpham, but given that
@Flying Dodo has taken us on all manner of new route variations recently we didn't question it for a moment. A few miles further on we arrived at a roundabout without a waymarker in sight. A quick phone call determined where the respective groups were and a rendez-vous arranged. Thence to Bury Hill. My first time up there. The traffic issue on the hill isn't too much of an issue because there are two lanes going up. It's the stretch immediately before it which I found a little unpleasant - too high a proportion of the nerks in cars were hugely inconsiderate and thoroughly arseholeish. Really poor standards of driving on display.
Bury Hill is a bit of a slog, but the views are spectacular. I never fail to be surprised (and you think I would have been over this by now) at how quickly you gain elevation on a bike. You start at the bottom of a hyuuuge looking hill, put your head down, focus on the tarmac ten yards ahead and just keep pedalling. When you look to the side at the scenery it's always a surprise quite how far up you have propelled yourself. Doesn't make the hill seem any shorter though.
Not much more to report beyond that. A glorious downhill, picture postcard views, mile after mile of flat cycling and then the wonder that is a Lobster Pot breakfast, followed up by a double scoop blackcurrant clotted cream and honey & stem ginger ice cream.
Oh yes, and a couple of beers in town. The perfect day continued with all three of the trains I needed to catch to get me back to Hassocks not only all turning up, but turning up exactly on schedule. The ride ended with a gentle meander through the lanes and bridleways back to the caravan where Lu and Joe had just arrived. Doesn't get any better than that.
Thanks, thanks and thanks again to Adam for organising this ride (and all the others) and also to all of you who are such great company.
