what a great day out!
we gathered at Crystal Palace, where three roads meet at the apex of one of London's highest points - a nosebleeding one hundred metres above sea level. At half past seven trucks, buses and vans were already departing, rushing down the westward hill and groaning up toward Crown Dale, giving off some pleasing rattling sounds. We stood on tables outside the pub and encouraged departing fire engines to ring their bells, which they did, charmingly. Elegant charabancs, stuffed with ladies of a certain age, wheezed past in an upholstered, genteel kind of way. The occupants waved at us and we waved back. Army vehicles driven by men with beards ground through their gears as if to say 'don't you know there's a war on?' and we affected serious appreciation.
We'd have set off, but for the absence of our most distinguished comrade. 'Teef on Tour is a perplexing thing. Railton Road one minute, Gipsy Hill the next, and, to cap it off, a tour of Crystal Palace Park. Our faith, and our patience, was rewarded when he shot up Anerley Hill, like a soap bubble borne on a zephyr; we were six - Adrian, Origamist, User10571, Topcat1, 'Teef and myself.
We sliced southwards, then, through the soft underbelly of Thornton Heath, and cut in to the route at Lombard roundabout. The Old Trucks Ride is a slightly different proposition from the Old Crocks Ride - some of the trucks could shift it, and some were limited to about 25mph. There were fewer of them, and we settled in to a comfortable groove, catching the back of some and passing others. The drivers and passengers were pretty welcoming, but trucks have their devotees, and photographers, anxious to take a picture of each and every one to put in to some vast digital catalogue weren't so friendly. It's a funny thing being told to get out of the way by a badly dressed man compensating for some real or imagined deficiency with a telephoto lense the size of a marrow, but we feigned deafness and contented ourselves with waving at the spectators who'd turned out in great nuimbers.
With dry roads and the wind on our left shoulder we zipped along, the occasional burst of Teefpower giving our legs something to think about. I persuaded the others that we should look in on Bulent at Planet Sweet, and we found him behind the counter, smiling, and not a bit fazed by the prospect of feeding 140 cyclists in the early hours. We sat outside the cafe, knocking back tea and coffee for about half an hour, and 'Teef found himself i/c a dog, lent to him by a woman of a certain age and impeccable taste. I'm sure he'll explain it all to you....
Back on the road, we took to the A23 and snuck up on a US Army truck that seemed to be limited to about 21mph. What better back wheel could you ask for? He towed us through Crawley and on to the Pease Pottage road, where we met up with Tim and Annie on the Pino, and then, shortly after, RichP and Teresa. So we were ten, and in fine fettle tearing along to Cuckfield, faster than anything else on the road. I latched on to a 37 bus, with the routeboard showing St. Margarets, Richmond, Putney, Clapham Common, Acre Lane and on to Peckham - a delightful reminder of a day out courtesy of a three shilling Red Rover ticket in 1965 when a 37 took me all the way to Hounslow, there to catch the 81B to Heathrow to fill out my planespotters notebook....I digress. Origamist and I caught up with a steam driven truck we'd seen leave Crystal Palace, and asked how much coal it had burnt. 'A couple of buckets, from Hertfordshire'. We looked at each other, wondering....if two buckets of coal could propel a truck 100 miles, LEJoGgers could surely ride steam driven bikes for 875 miles on, well, a couple of nuggets of coke. Our informant corrected us - the buckets were concealed within the truck's bodywork, ten foot high and held a ton each at the beginning of the journey.
Down through Cuckfield, and on to Ansty, and then Clayton Hill, where my new bus friend laboured with me a foot or so behind the curved staircase. We slid on to the A23 and were, once again, the fastest items on the road. Why people wake up on a sunny morning and drive to Brighton heaven knows, but they do, and they sit and sit and sit and wait, while trains shoot by....
Somebody will post a picture of the articulated, almost train-like arrangement of three traction engines and a low-loader steaming in to town. We glided around it, through Brighton's one-way system and down to the Madeira. Greg and the team let us store our bikes inside, and we sat in the sunshine, tucking in to chips. Miranda was there, having trained down, and without a sling, which is good news. The possibly against her name on the FNRttC list is still there....
And home. I left them to it, catching a near empty train back to The Great Wen, not really able to stop myself smiling. It was, to repeat, a great day out. Fine riding, great company and much to look at. Make a resolution to join us next year.
we gathered at Crystal Palace, where three roads meet at the apex of one of London's highest points - a nosebleeding one hundred metres above sea level. At half past seven trucks, buses and vans were already departing, rushing down the westward hill and groaning up toward Crown Dale, giving off some pleasing rattling sounds. We stood on tables outside the pub and encouraged departing fire engines to ring their bells, which they did, charmingly. Elegant charabancs, stuffed with ladies of a certain age, wheezed past in an upholstered, genteel kind of way. The occupants waved at us and we waved back. Army vehicles driven by men with beards ground through their gears as if to say 'don't you know there's a war on?' and we affected serious appreciation.
We'd have set off, but for the absence of our most distinguished comrade. 'Teef on Tour is a perplexing thing. Railton Road one minute, Gipsy Hill the next, and, to cap it off, a tour of Crystal Palace Park. Our faith, and our patience, was rewarded when he shot up Anerley Hill, like a soap bubble borne on a zephyr; we were six - Adrian, Origamist, User10571, Topcat1, 'Teef and myself.
We sliced southwards, then, through the soft underbelly of Thornton Heath, and cut in to the route at Lombard roundabout. The Old Trucks Ride is a slightly different proposition from the Old Crocks Ride - some of the trucks could shift it, and some were limited to about 25mph. There were fewer of them, and we settled in to a comfortable groove, catching the back of some and passing others. The drivers and passengers were pretty welcoming, but trucks have their devotees, and photographers, anxious to take a picture of each and every one to put in to some vast digital catalogue weren't so friendly. It's a funny thing being told to get out of the way by a badly dressed man compensating for some real or imagined deficiency with a telephoto lense the size of a marrow, but we feigned deafness and contented ourselves with waving at the spectators who'd turned out in great nuimbers.
With dry roads and the wind on our left shoulder we zipped along, the occasional burst of Teefpower giving our legs something to think about. I persuaded the others that we should look in on Bulent at Planet Sweet, and we found him behind the counter, smiling, and not a bit fazed by the prospect of feeding 140 cyclists in the early hours. We sat outside the cafe, knocking back tea and coffee for about half an hour, and 'Teef found himself i/c a dog, lent to him by a woman of a certain age and impeccable taste. I'm sure he'll explain it all to you....
Back on the road, we took to the A23 and snuck up on a US Army truck that seemed to be limited to about 21mph. What better back wheel could you ask for? He towed us through Crawley and on to the Pease Pottage road, where we met up with Tim and Annie on the Pino, and then, shortly after, RichP and Teresa. So we were ten, and in fine fettle tearing along to Cuckfield, faster than anything else on the road. I latched on to a 37 bus, with the routeboard showing St. Margarets, Richmond, Putney, Clapham Common, Acre Lane and on to Peckham - a delightful reminder of a day out courtesy of a three shilling Red Rover ticket in 1965 when a 37 took me all the way to Hounslow, there to catch the 81B to Heathrow to fill out my planespotters notebook....I digress. Origamist and I caught up with a steam driven truck we'd seen leave Crystal Palace, and asked how much coal it had burnt. 'A couple of buckets, from Hertfordshire'. We looked at each other, wondering....if two buckets of coal could propel a truck 100 miles, LEJoGgers could surely ride steam driven bikes for 875 miles on, well, a couple of nuggets of coke. Our informant corrected us - the buckets were concealed within the truck's bodywork, ten foot high and held a ton each at the beginning of the journey.
Down through Cuckfield, and on to Ansty, and then Clayton Hill, where my new bus friend laboured with me a foot or so behind the curved staircase. We slid on to the A23 and were, once again, the fastest items on the road. Why people wake up on a sunny morning and drive to Brighton heaven knows, but they do, and they sit and sit and sit and wait, while trains shoot by....
Somebody will post a picture of the articulated, almost train-like arrangement of three traction engines and a low-loader steaming in to town. We glided around it, through Brighton's one-way system and down to the Madeira. Greg and the team let us store our bikes inside, and we sat in the sunshine, tucking in to chips. Miranda was there, having trained down, and without a sling, which is good news. The possibly against her name on the FNRttC list is still there....
And home. I left them to it, catching a near empty train back to The Great Wen, not really able to stop myself smiling. It was, to repeat, a great day out. Fine riding, great company and much to look at. Make a resolution to join us next year.
(No prizes for guessing who hatched that gem - much to the amusement of guests standing close by!)
It was one happy day - and there is nothing to stop you advance booking a 3.70 ticket to Londres and riding out - or back home. It leaves a big smile across your face for days to come, whether cruising at 30+mph or chinwagging with all and sundry*
I know, I was shocked too!
