StuAff
Silencing his legs regularly
- Location
- Portsmouth
Excellent hill training (being as their options for a route south basically mean lumpiness, lumpiness or even more lumpiness!).
Thursday Night Ride to the Coast - Felpham March 28th
- Thread starter dellzeqq
- Start date
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Flying Dodo
It'll soon be summer
Well, wasn't that fun!! A main road mashup. Who would have thought an assortment of A roads would be so enjoyable. About the only grotty bit was the short stretch of the A264 before Faygate with road workings on.
Anyway, after picking up new arrival Stan from St Pancras, rolling up to HPC just before 11:30, we saw an amazing sight, only seen once or twice before:-
Yes, Simon was in longs, proof that cold weather was expected. After more cyclists arrived, looking more like waddling penguins than people, it was clear people had heeded the warnings.
Setting off around the HPC roundabout, someone in their excitement managed to fall off, but thankfully quickly got up before the menacing hordes of taxis could run him over, and then the pack was off, into the shadowy darkness of Grosvenor Crescent, and the usual zig-zag through to Sloane Square, then across Chelsea Bridge, towards the traditional halt on Clapham Common, before heading off down the cosmopolitan Balham High Road towards Tooting. A gap of 4 months from riding on those roads showed, as the inbuilt memory of the location of holes and the ability to instinctively recall a pattern of moves left, right, left again (ad infinitum) to avoid mishaps, had dulled over winter, coupled with the fact that in the intervening period, new chasms had appeared on some roads. Although at one point somewhere I did comment upon a brief section of new tarmac which appeared like a shimmering oasis on a blighted lunar landscape.
At Mitcham, the route then altered from normal, as we rolled out along the A236 towards Croydon, to then pick up the A23 heading south. The night air was calm, the zombie pedestrians were non threatening, and so the pack surged on, aiming for the darkness that lay beyond. Sweeping past the M23/M25 junctions, Redhill and then Horley were then despatched in rapid order - both places seemed devoid of nightlife. And then after a brief stop at a familiar petrol station next to Gatwick Airport, we had to ensure the worst bit of road surface underneath the edge of the terminal building, before we were spat out the other side. Bypassing Crawley (always a good thing), we were then heading for Pease Pottage, and Davy commented on remembering the road on his little flying trip several years ago, as mentioned a few pages earlier.
And then we were on the A264 as mentioned above, heading for the warm sanctuary of The Cabin.
Unusually, no-one seemed to be falling asleep whilst eating their food, so there's no embarrassing photos this time. After an hour, then we were ready to set off again. Although my feet had been warm & toasty, as we all know, it's always darkest and coldest just before dawn, so I put on my overshoes at this point. Going through Horsham, the automatic pilot kicked in, and I almost went the wrong way twice, as we went a different way round, and then after a nice undulating stretch, we joined the A29. Now at this point point, things went very slightly wrong, as our instructions at the front were to head for the town centre in Billingshurst. The trouble is the road signs aren't very clear, and the front half of the ride went via the bypass. Personally, I blame this roundabout sign, which does say to go round to the right, to get to Billingshurst. And the fact I didn't have my GPS in front of me didn't help either. Another bad thing about that roundabout, is that a dozy car driver didn't see us as we were going round it, and tried to drive into me, although he did apologise once he'd woken up. Anyway, the diversion was no bad thing, as it enabled the back half of the ride( which went straight on), to catch up.
I've driven on the A29 quite a few times and it's a really nice road, and in the early hours of the morning, it's a really nice road for cyclists, with not too much traffic, nice views and a lot of rolling up and down. In Pulborough, I was marking the roundabout at the bottom of the hill, and after a while a woman in the house opposite opened her bedroom window, and despite seeing me shout out the directions to a few cyclists, then asked if I was looking for a garage, in which case it was up the hill. I had to reassure her a couple of times I didn't want a garage!
And then we came to the looming menace of Bury Hill. I stayed at the back in case anyone needed assistance, but no-one took advantage of my bail-out suggestion of diverting left towards Houghton then getting the train at Amberley. The last time I went this way, was over 6 years ago, when I did my first metric century, so it was nice to follow the same route, and then down the other side, and heading through Yapton. At this point, I do have to have a bit of a moan. At the back, both Davy and I were getting very hoarse, shouting warnings about cars coming up behind. Some people were passing the warnings on, and moving across to the left, but some were bombing down the A29 before we turned off towards Yapton, riding two abreast, or overtaking oblivious to the traffic behind, and others were not passing on warnings when they realised at the last moment a car was behind them. We'd also noticed this happening earlier on as well. On fast stretches of road, I'm regularly looking behind for cars. So please if you hear someone behind shout a warning (especially if it's from someone a long way back), please pass it on.
Anyway, soon we were back onto the usual route, and then heading for the usual excellent breakfast at the Lobster Pot. I had to dash off to see my dad, but not before capturing for posterity exactly what powers Davy's thighs.
A great start to this year's season - thanks Simon!
All of the photos can be seen here, whilst the GPX track of the route taken is here.
Anyway, after picking up new arrival Stan from St Pancras, rolling up to HPC just before 11:30, we saw an amazing sight, only seen once or twice before:-
Yes, Simon was in longs, proof that cold weather was expected. After more cyclists arrived, looking more like waddling penguins than people, it was clear people had heeded the warnings.
Setting off around the HPC roundabout, someone in their excitement managed to fall off, but thankfully quickly got up before the menacing hordes of taxis could run him over, and then the pack was off, into the shadowy darkness of Grosvenor Crescent, and the usual zig-zag through to Sloane Square, then across Chelsea Bridge, towards the traditional halt on Clapham Common, before heading off down the cosmopolitan Balham High Road towards Tooting. A gap of 4 months from riding on those roads showed, as the inbuilt memory of the location of holes and the ability to instinctively recall a pattern of moves left, right, left again (ad infinitum) to avoid mishaps, had dulled over winter, coupled with the fact that in the intervening period, new chasms had appeared on some roads. Although at one point somewhere I did comment upon a brief section of new tarmac which appeared like a shimmering oasis on a blighted lunar landscape.
At Mitcham, the route then altered from normal, as we rolled out along the A236 towards Croydon, to then pick up the A23 heading south. The night air was calm, the zombie pedestrians were non threatening, and so the pack surged on, aiming for the darkness that lay beyond. Sweeping past the M23/M25 junctions, Redhill and then Horley were then despatched in rapid order - both places seemed devoid of nightlife. And then after a brief stop at a familiar petrol station next to Gatwick Airport, we had to ensure the worst bit of road surface underneath the edge of the terminal building, before we were spat out the other side. Bypassing Crawley (always a good thing), we were then heading for Pease Pottage, and Davy commented on remembering the road on his little flying trip several years ago, as mentioned a few pages earlier.
And then we were on the A264 as mentioned above, heading for the warm sanctuary of The Cabin.
Unusually, no-one seemed to be falling asleep whilst eating their food, so there's no embarrassing photos this time. After an hour, then we were ready to set off again. Although my feet had been warm & toasty, as we all know, it's always darkest and coldest just before dawn, so I put on my overshoes at this point. Going through Horsham, the automatic pilot kicked in, and I almost went the wrong way twice, as we went a different way round, and then after a nice undulating stretch, we joined the A29. Now at this point point, things went very slightly wrong, as our instructions at the front were to head for the town centre in Billingshurst. The trouble is the road signs aren't very clear, and the front half of the ride went via the bypass. Personally, I blame this roundabout sign, which does say to go round to the right, to get to Billingshurst. And the fact I didn't have my GPS in front of me didn't help either. Another bad thing about that roundabout, is that a dozy car driver didn't see us as we were going round it, and tried to drive into me, although he did apologise once he'd woken up. Anyway, the diversion was no bad thing, as it enabled the back half of the ride( which went straight on), to catch up.
I've driven on the A29 quite a few times and it's a really nice road, and in the early hours of the morning, it's a really nice road for cyclists, with not too much traffic, nice views and a lot of rolling up and down. In Pulborough, I was marking the roundabout at the bottom of the hill, and after a while a woman in the house opposite opened her bedroom window, and despite seeing me shout out the directions to a few cyclists, then asked if I was looking for a garage, in which case it was up the hill. I had to reassure her a couple of times I didn't want a garage!
And then we came to the looming menace of Bury Hill. I stayed at the back in case anyone needed assistance, but no-one took advantage of my bail-out suggestion of diverting left towards Houghton then getting the train at Amberley. The last time I went this way, was over 6 years ago, when I did my first metric century, so it was nice to follow the same route, and then down the other side, and heading through Yapton. At this point, I do have to have a bit of a moan. At the back, both Davy and I were getting very hoarse, shouting warnings about cars coming up behind. Some people were passing the warnings on, and moving across to the left, but some were bombing down the A29 before we turned off towards Yapton, riding two abreast, or overtaking oblivious to the traffic behind, and others were not passing on warnings when they realised at the last moment a car was behind them. We'd also noticed this happening earlier on as well. On fast stretches of road, I'm regularly looking behind for cars. So please if you hear someone behind shout a warning (especially if it's from someone a long way back), please pass it on.
Anyway, soon we were back onto the usual route, and then heading for the usual excellent breakfast at the Lobster Pot. I had to dash off to see my dad, but not before capturing for posterity exactly what powers Davy's thighs.
A great start to this year's season - thanks Simon!
All of the photos can be seen here, whilst the GPX track of the route taken is here.
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
It's cold up north.Roll on York/Hull.
Dogtrousers
Kilometre nibbler
Noted.
I think I may have been at fault there with an ill timed overtake. I realised it at - or just after - the time.
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
I remarked to the lovely Helen at tea time "all my kit is ready, I've never been so prepared for a Fridays' ride." Clearly the malevolent daemon that controls the shifting in an S2C hub was listening....
Ken, Jim and I gathered at Horsham Station, knowing it would likely see us a few hours later. Talk turned to strategies for overcoming a case of the baileys. Good Friday made its presence felt when the 21:52 arrived as a four car formation. A little while later and we were dodging the wheelie cases of the passengers at Victoria, and shortly after that, I was drooling over Jenny's new bike. Still, such a lovely person deserves such a lovely bike I think. A new face ex-Martlets arrived and was welcomed. A familiar one, Adrian, arrived complete with a pair of mudguards which should, by rights, have caused an massive levitation of certain supercilium. Mick arrived, so heavily swathed I thought he'd developed a serious pie habit over the winter and scarcely recognised him.
We rolled to HPC and, en-route, were blitzed by the splendid Bruce in full-on racing snake mode. Someone has been putting the miles in over the winter.
Simon, unrecognisable in full-on ninja mode, gave a useful and informative talk on ride safety, and little did he know that the A264 would make a liar of his claims of "No bollards". I added a windshell, and offered a silent thank you to Ian and Claudine who recommended the ever effective montane. Brilliant piece of kit, even though I've had to sew the zip together at the bottom after it broke. Hands are shaken. Hugs given and received. The merits of illegal blue front leds were discussed. It is a joy to ride with friends.
My layers;
Off we went, having volunteered to TEC, firmly at the back (which is where it is all at - somehow I find standing around fixing a problem chills me less that standing around waiting for the back to catch up). Unlike Adam I cannot remember the sequence to escape so every time it is a source of wonder that we don't get lost in the first three miles.
Even the TEC's were affected by some rusty throat complaint which prevented calls being made properly - lack of practise I guess. Davy expressed his disgust and we found our voices. Ian was treated to a display of the retro-reflectives on a Montane shell and Andrew had an encounter with the front of a car. At least it was a Jag. Jenny draughts and is welcome to.
(Part of) the joy of doing FNRttC is riding on roads that I rode freely as a kid/teen, before playing rugby stole my heart, and which I'd not even consider riding on solo during the daylight hours these days. The A23? The A264? Wonderful with The Fridays or in a group, potentially terminal as a lone rider.
Sorry to disappoint but we didn't really bypass Crawley at all, we rode through the heart of it. They built the bypass in the 30's and then built the New Town either side of it after WWII. We passed Langley Green by the Tushmore Gyratory, where I, despite the huge advantage of being born in the 'sham, spent my formative years, climbed up over the railway and passed Gossops Green, on the 'right side of the tracks', from whence the lovely Helen hails. I married up.
We got lucky with the A264 roadworks. No numpties in cars, one splendid knight of the road in his HGV, and the safety lanes which last week extended all the way to Faygate have been removed as no works are taking place over the Easter holiday.
At the Cabin I swapped caps and for the first time ever I escaped the shakes on the run into Horsham. Though I did get cramp in the layby! On the Crawley Road I was pleased to see the detector strips were working and the lights changed as we approached. Slightly different route through the 'sham, right past my front door and the slumbering lovely Helen, taking out one set of traffic lights and thus one less traffic light controlled right turn and keeping us off our local race track Albion Way as much as possible.
By now my hub was sticking in top (133%) for long periods of time. Changing gear down required stopping, getting off the bike, and manually moving the pedals until it shifted. I figured I'd do that at the foot of bury Hill. The hub had other ideas. Having waymarked at Boredstiff Heath I decide to grind it out and catch up with Ken for a chat on the run into Five Oaks and down to Billingshurst. Simon tells us straight on to the town centre. My how we larfed. It's a village. You can tell from the idiots. I brake for the roundabout using the coaster (back pedal) brake and the hub goes clunk and the transmission locks nearly chucking me off the bike. Not good. It releases but when I stop to fiddle at the bottom of the high street it won't shift at all and then under manipulation it clunks and nothing will turn at all. 'Temper, temper Gregry.' As the lovely Helen would say. Game over.
I bid a few discrete farewells, shoulder the bike, and walk to the station. Giving the bike a good kicking (literally) on the platform frees things eventually but whatever the cause, it may be the grease freezing, I can't trust that hub again. Train comes at 06:41 and I sit in the warm (winter) sun on a lovely spring morning, watching the twitter updates from the ride as it rolls into Pullbogrough.
By seven I'm home and in the bath. By nine the hub is out of the wheel and in the bin. A great idea (freewheel, two speeds, direct drive bottom gear, flip flop shifting, with a coaster brake to avoid ugly cables) it is the perfect plug'n'play replacement back wheel for a fixed gear (or singlespeed) for the times when you want an extra gear and/or freewheel. But it is so badly engineered, the interwebs are littered with tales of woe, and I've done better than most owners in getting a few 1000km's out of mine. For £70, not good enough Messrs Sturmey and Archer. The fixed wheel is going back in once I've typed this and loaded the dishwasher. (And then, next month, the Plug is being sold. I'm building a disc braked fixed commuter which will take, whisper it softly, rack and 'guards. Plus the purple people eater, a fixed gear BMX/MTB inspired fixed/ss will make its FNRttC debut at some point this year, I promise. Or maybe threaten.)
Ladies and gentlemen it was a pleasure riding with you, a fellow could not ask for finer companions on two wheels.
Monday I'm going back to finish the ride....
Ken, Jim and I gathered at Horsham Station, knowing it would likely see us a few hours later. Talk turned to strategies for overcoming a case of the baileys. Good Friday made its presence felt when the 21:52 arrived as a four car formation. A little while later and we were dodging the wheelie cases of the passengers at Victoria, and shortly after that, I was drooling over Jenny's new bike. Still, such a lovely person deserves such a lovely bike I think. A new face ex-Martlets arrived and was welcomed. A familiar one, Adrian, arrived complete with a pair of mudguards which should, by rights, have caused an massive levitation of certain supercilium. Mick arrived, so heavily swathed I thought he'd developed a serious pie habit over the winter and scarcely recognised him.
We rolled to HPC and, en-route, were blitzed by the splendid Bruce in full-on racing snake mode. Someone has been putting the miles in over the winter.
Simon, unrecognisable in full-on ninja mode, gave a useful and informative talk on ride safety, and little did he know that the A264 would make a liar of his claims of "No bollards". I added a windshell, and offered a silent thank you to Ian and Claudine who recommended the ever effective montane. Brilliant piece of kit, even though I've had to sew the zip together at the bottom after it broke. Hands are shaken. Hugs given and received. The merits of illegal blue front leds were discussed. It is a joy to ride with friends.
My layers;
Head: trekmates polar buff worn balaclava style with walz cap over and lid on top. (At Faygate Walz cap replaced by sugino winter merino cap with ear flaps/band)
Body: On-one s/s light merino base layer, Shutt lightweight arm warmers, On-one medium weight l/s merino base layer, Fridays l/s jacket, Montane Velo shell.
Legs: Shutt lightweight long leg warmers, Shutt Pro bib shorts, Shutt Pro bib longs
Feet: DeFeet dura merino socks, On-one merino socks, Shimano MW81 bootee mtb shoes
Hands: DeFeet merino gloves, Spesh BG long finger mtb gloves, cheap 'woollen' gloves free from Cycling Plus.
I was never cold, not even post Faygate, and on the draggy climbs I dropped the zips on the shell and the jacket.Off we went, having volunteered to TEC, firmly at the back (which is where it is all at - somehow I find standing around fixing a problem chills me less that standing around waiting for the back to catch up). Unlike Adam I cannot remember the sequence to escape so every time it is a source of wonder that we don't get lost in the first three miles.
Even the TEC's were affected by some rusty throat complaint which prevented calls being made properly - lack of practise I guess. Davy expressed his disgust and we found our voices. Ian was treated to a display of the retro-reflectives on a Montane shell and Andrew had an encounter with the front of a car. At least it was a Jag. Jenny draughts and is welcome to.
(Part of) the joy of doing FNRttC is riding on roads that I rode freely as a kid/teen, before playing rugby stole my heart, and which I'd not even consider riding on solo during the daylight hours these days. The A23? The A264? Wonderful with The Fridays or in a group, potentially terminal as a lone rider.
Sorry to disappoint but we didn't really bypass Crawley at all, we rode through the heart of it. They built the bypass in the 30's and then built the New Town either side of it after WWII. We passed Langley Green by the Tushmore Gyratory, where I, despite the huge advantage of being born in the 'sham, spent my formative years, climbed up over the railway and passed Gossops Green, on the 'right side of the tracks', from whence the lovely Helen hails. I married up.
We got lucky with the A264 roadworks. No numpties in cars, one splendid knight of the road in his HGV, and the safety lanes which last week extended all the way to Faygate have been removed as no works are taking place over the Easter holiday.
At the Cabin I swapped caps and for the first time ever I escaped the shakes on the run into Horsham. Though I did get cramp in the layby! On the Crawley Road I was pleased to see the detector strips were working and the lights changed as we approached. Slightly different route through the 'sham, right past my front door and the slumbering lovely Helen, taking out one set of traffic lights and thus one less traffic light controlled right turn and keeping us off our local race track Albion Way as much as possible.
By now my hub was sticking in top (133%) for long periods of time. Changing gear down required stopping, getting off the bike, and manually moving the pedals until it shifted. I figured I'd do that at the foot of bury Hill. The hub had other ideas. Having waymarked at Boredstiff Heath I decide to grind it out and catch up with Ken for a chat on the run into Five Oaks and down to Billingshurst. Simon tells us straight on to the town centre. My how we larfed. It's a village. You can tell from the idiots. I brake for the roundabout using the coaster (back pedal) brake and the hub goes clunk and the transmission locks nearly chucking me off the bike. Not good. It releases but when I stop to fiddle at the bottom of the high street it won't shift at all and then under manipulation it clunks and nothing will turn at all. 'Temper, temper Gregry.' As the lovely Helen would say. Game over.
I bid a few discrete farewells, shoulder the bike, and walk to the station. Giving the bike a good kicking (literally) on the platform frees things eventually but whatever the cause, it may be the grease freezing, I can't trust that hub again. Train comes at 06:41 and I sit in the warm (winter) sun on a lovely spring morning, watching the twitter updates from the ride as it rolls into Pullbogrough.
By seven I'm home and in the bath. By nine the hub is out of the wheel and in the bin. A great idea (freewheel, two speeds, direct drive bottom gear, flip flop shifting, with a coaster brake to avoid ugly cables) it is the perfect plug'n'play replacement back wheel for a fixed gear (or singlespeed) for the times when you want an extra gear and/or freewheel. But it is so badly engineered, the interwebs are littered with tales of woe, and I've done better than most owners in getting a few 1000km's out of mine. For £70, not good enough Messrs Sturmey and Archer. The fixed wheel is going back in once I've typed this and loaded the dishwasher. (And then, next month, the Plug is being sold. I'm building a disc braked fixed commuter which will take, whisper it softly, rack and 'guards. Plus the purple people eater, a fixed gear BMX/MTB inspired fixed/ss will make its FNRttC debut at some point this year, I promise. Or maybe threaten.)
Ladies and gentlemen it was a pleasure riding with you, a fellow could not ask for finer companions on two wheels.
Monday I'm going back to finish the ride....
kimble
Veteran
Oh yes, I've just remembered: This ride was unusually effective at getting spotted by Southern Trains guards.
We got chatting to the first one on the 10:56, and he realised he'd spotted us on his drive to work outside The Cabin as we were getting to leave. He was a cyclist, and expressed a non-zero degree of enthusiasm, so was pointed at the blog.
Another guard joined the train at Horsham, and had also seen us on his drive to work. He apologised for a slightly impatient overtake, as he was running late.
While I had a brief cycling-related conversation with the driver of the Euston-Birmingham train, he (oddly) didn't mention spotting any cyclists in the vicinity of the south coast earlier that morning.
We got chatting to the first one on the 10:56, and he realised he'd spotted us on his drive to work outside The Cabin as we were getting to leave. He was a cyclist, and expressed a non-zero degree of enthusiasm, so was pointed at the blog.
Another guard joined the train at Horsham, and had also seen us on his drive to work. He apologised for a slightly impatient overtake, as he was running late.
While I had a brief cycling-related conversation with the driver of the Euston-Birmingham train, he (oddly) didn't mention spotting any cyclists in the vicinity of the south coast earlier that morning.
StuAff
Silencing his legs regularly
- Location
- Portsmouth
Today, I am mostly doing as little as possible. I think I earned that the last couple of days......
The plan, such as it was, was to ride up Thursday afternoon/evening, join the pre-meet-up meet-up at Victoria, HPC and hence Felpham, ride home again. Kip, back to London (via train, I hasten to add) for the Black Crowes gig at the Forum. Simple. Well, it would have been....
Set off 1530 Thursday. In my infinite wisdom, rather than stick to my usual route to the smoke via Haslemere & Guildford, with a rerun of the Southsea Castle ride in mind, I decided to try a new route bypassing the lumpiness of Haslemere (which is worse going southbound anyway) in favour of going via Bordon and then across via Churt to rejoin the tried-and-trusted route at Milford/Godalming. Fail on multiple counts. For one thing, I forgot to go through the Garmin routing with a fine tooth comb, and the end result was it indicated a turn at Rowlands Castle that I've never used, ever, and that led to one of those classic OpenStreetMap entirely non-existant cycle paths through a hedge/field/wall. Back on to the correct route north, and the Garmin routing didn't start up again even when its course and mine coincided. So for the 'new' bit, I was forced to improvise and try and follow the course as best I could. Second fail: the new bit, or rather my on-the-night-variation, added another seven or eight miles to the route (having had a look at the map and comparing it to the intended route- same length as my usual one- I should have gone via Elstead and then Tilford). At least going northbound, it seemed to only make for more complication. Road quality or lack thereof no different, traffic levels similar, didn't seem much less lumpy either, whereas either way via Haslemere is along the lines of (to quote an excellent Leggsian mantra) 'minimal number of discretionary turns'.
I've reached Guildford solo in three and a half hours. Thursday, it was nearly five. Apart from the self-inflicted navigational fails, there was the relentless headwind, there was a strange twinge in my left thigh (never had that one before, and it faded as quickly as it arrived), and I was thoroughly knackered, in part because I hadn't been eating and drinking enough (lunch had been at noon, that had been about it..). Short stop in Guildford for a sandwich at half-eight or so, and I then plodded on. Plodding being an all-too-accurate representation of my progress. Suffice to say, this was a night for the inner Jens Voigt/audaxing hardnut, not spinning along with glee. And the inner hardnut was still hacked off.
Equipment fails didn't help. A set of should-have-been-fresh AAs (new, and newly charged) in my USB charge pack for the Garmin spluttered and died after an hour or two, the same with a second set (which had worked well enough before). Fortunately, a third set that went in at the Cabin (when the Garmin was down to 25% or so at a guess) kept going, and got the internal battery fully charged. The batteries in my Cateye front light became very weak, necessitating an early switchover to the Hope (oh, and when I got home I found none of my rechargeables will fit in it, so **** that, I'm getting another Hope). And both rear lights were fading fast (new AAAs in one at the Cabin). Really wasn't my day was it....?
As I'm sure you'll understand, by the time I neared Kingston, my enthusiasm had not so much faded, more taken a leave of absence and gone somewhere warm and sunny. It was past ten and I was increasingly concerned that, on account of conditions (mine, the weather, traffic), I wouldn't be able to make it to HPC in time for midnight, let alone allow time for a break and a refuel, which I really, really, needed. Saw a sign for Surbiton station and followed it- the fast train into Waterloo was helpfully waiting on the platform. Annoyed at blowing chance no1 to get this month's CC challenge century done and dusted, but needs must. On to Victoria and the meet-up.
To be honest, notwithstanding the cheering presence of you fine ladies and gentlemen, much of the first half felt like a slog. An FNRttC after 75 nice miles is not a problem. After 70 headwindy miles and various body parts are indicating that they'd like to be elsewhere pronto, a problem. The Cabin, more than usual, was a sight for sore eyes. As was finding that there was bread pudding left. Mind and body picked up noticeably. Battery fettling got done, reserve clothing donned (second buff, jumper, freebie Cycling Plus gloves as liner for a larger pair). Didn't actually get any quicker after that, but certainly felt better. Apart from Bury Hill, obviously. I hate that (please feel free to add expletives of your choice here) climb. Chapeau Graham for getting up it in the big ring, 34x27 was bad enough, as always.
And on we went to Felpham. Big breakfast as fab as always, and demolished with my usual speed. And then homeward. And chance no2 for this month's century blown. Alleged tailwind didn't feel much like it, mojo still somewhat AWOL, so reached Chichester and called it a day with 80 on the clock. Home just after eleven, bed ASAP after that. And then up again in time for the half-five train back into Waterloo, up to Kentish Town for the gig, where the Robinson brothers and band were on cracking form. Which I unfortunately followed with yet another navigation fail, as a result missing the fast train south even though I should have had time in hand. Bed beckoned again at 2am.
And relax......
The plan, such as it was, was to ride up Thursday afternoon/evening, join the pre-meet-up meet-up at Victoria, HPC and hence Felpham, ride home again. Kip, back to London (via train, I hasten to add) for the Black Crowes gig at the Forum. Simple. Well, it would have been....
Set off 1530 Thursday. In my infinite wisdom, rather than stick to my usual route to the smoke via Haslemere & Guildford, with a rerun of the Southsea Castle ride in mind, I decided to try a new route bypassing the lumpiness of Haslemere (which is worse going southbound anyway) in favour of going via Bordon and then across via Churt to rejoin the tried-and-trusted route at Milford/Godalming. Fail on multiple counts. For one thing, I forgot to go through the Garmin routing with a fine tooth comb, and the end result was it indicated a turn at Rowlands Castle that I've never used, ever, and that led to one of those classic OpenStreetMap entirely non-existant cycle paths through a hedge/field/wall. Back on to the correct route north, and the Garmin routing didn't start up again even when its course and mine coincided. So for the 'new' bit, I was forced to improvise and try and follow the course as best I could. Second fail: the new bit, or rather my on-the-night-variation, added another seven or eight miles to the route (having had a look at the map and comparing it to the intended route- same length as my usual one- I should have gone via Elstead and then Tilford). At least going northbound, it seemed to only make for more complication. Road quality or lack thereof no different, traffic levels similar, didn't seem much less lumpy either, whereas either way via Haslemere is along the lines of (to quote an excellent Leggsian mantra) 'minimal number of discretionary turns'.
I've reached Guildford solo in three and a half hours. Thursday, it was nearly five. Apart from the self-inflicted navigational fails, there was the relentless headwind, there was a strange twinge in my left thigh (never had that one before, and it faded as quickly as it arrived), and I was thoroughly knackered, in part because I hadn't been eating and drinking enough (lunch had been at noon, that had been about it..). Short stop in Guildford for a sandwich at half-eight or so, and I then plodded on. Plodding being an all-too-accurate representation of my progress. Suffice to say, this was a night for the inner Jens Voigt/audaxing hardnut, not spinning along with glee. And the inner hardnut was still hacked off.
Equipment fails didn't help. A set of should-have-been-fresh AAs (new, and newly charged) in my USB charge pack for the Garmin spluttered and died after an hour or two, the same with a second set (which had worked well enough before). Fortunately, a third set that went in at the Cabin (when the Garmin was down to 25% or so at a guess) kept going, and got the internal battery fully charged. The batteries in my Cateye front light became very weak, necessitating an early switchover to the Hope (oh, and when I got home I found none of my rechargeables will fit in it, so **** that, I'm getting another Hope). And both rear lights were fading fast (new AAAs in one at the Cabin). Really wasn't my day was it....?
As I'm sure you'll understand, by the time I neared Kingston, my enthusiasm had not so much faded, more taken a leave of absence and gone somewhere warm and sunny. It was past ten and I was increasingly concerned that, on account of conditions (mine, the weather, traffic), I wouldn't be able to make it to HPC in time for midnight, let alone allow time for a break and a refuel, which I really, really, needed. Saw a sign for Surbiton station and followed it- the fast train into Waterloo was helpfully waiting on the platform. Annoyed at blowing chance no1 to get this month's CC challenge century done and dusted, but needs must. On to Victoria and the meet-up.
To be honest, notwithstanding the cheering presence of you fine ladies and gentlemen, much of the first half felt like a slog. An FNRttC after 75 nice miles is not a problem. After 70 headwindy miles and various body parts are indicating that they'd like to be elsewhere pronto, a problem. The Cabin, more than usual, was a sight for sore eyes. As was finding that there was bread pudding left. Mind and body picked up noticeably. Battery fettling got done, reserve clothing donned (second buff, jumper, freebie Cycling Plus gloves as liner for a larger pair). Didn't actually get any quicker after that, but certainly felt better. Apart from Bury Hill, obviously. I hate that (please feel free to add expletives of your choice here) climb. Chapeau Graham for getting up it in the big ring, 34x27 was bad enough, as always.
And on we went to Felpham. Big breakfast as fab as always, and demolished with my usual speed. And then homeward. And chance no2 for this month's century blown. Alleged tailwind didn't feel much like it, mojo still somewhat AWOL, so reached Chichester and called it a day with 80 on the clock. Home just after eleven, bed ASAP after that. And then up again in time for the half-five train back into Waterloo, up to Kentish Town for the gig, where the Robinson brothers and band were on cracking form. Which I unfortunately followed with yet another navigation fail, as a result missing the fast train south even though I should have had time in hand. Bed beckoned again at 2am.
And relax......
swarm_catcher
Guru
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
What you mean sh1t3 paint and dodgy mudguards? No chuffin' way.In a suitably small, Adrianesque style hopefully. Will you wear a cap backwards?
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
trust me, the purple people eater has plenty of style, but sense is in short supply.2386280 said:
Wobblers
Euthermic
- Location
- Minkowski Space
I had some concerns about this ride. Mostly, it has to be said, about getting to the train station, as snowy Birmingham has experienced a thaw which can only be described as glacial in pace (sorry about the pun), with the added fun that all the day's meltwater rapidly freezes into treacherous ice flows after sundown. But the main roads were fine, and relatively quiet - one advantage of Thursday rather than Friday.
Cold was expected, and cold was experienced once I left the warm oasis of Marylebone (bet no one's ever described it as that before!). I had heeded Dellzeqq's dire warnings, and was wearing several layers - merino is wonderful stuff, and I heartily recommend On-One's merino arm warmers. As had everyone else it seemed when I arrived at HPC to find a bevy of cyclists wrapped up like Arctic explorers. Greetings were exchanged and heads shaken at Greg's outrageously blue lights. How nice to see familiar friendly faces after this seemingly endless winter!
It was not long before we were off through London streets that were quieter than we were used to. Nor was the usual pedestrian wildlife in evidence either, though there were a few strange yells from that god forsaken heath known as Clapham Common. I planned to do some wayfinding, so that the sprint back to the front would stave of the chill. It worked quite well. What I had not planned for was for the apparently magnetic properties of flashing red lights and Jaguar motorists. I was waymarking on a roundabout in Croydon (always a place of evil reputation) when I noticed the lights a Jag driving rather slowly towards me. Hmm, that's funny - he's a bit far over to the left. Looks like he's on a collision course, nah, can't be possible, I don't believe...*bump*. Yes, somehow, at a very slow walking pace this chap had managed to hit my back wheel. I looked at him. He looked at me. He sort of shrugged. I enquired as to his visual acuity. He remained frozen to the steering wheel. I checked the bike - all straight, rear wheel unbuckled, bless My Shimano's wheels. There wasn't any marks on the - rather nice and shiny - Jaguar either. I was just about to tell him that there was no harm done, nothing to worry about, and perhaps using the train next time when he drove off! Oh well.
Onwards and upwards - or at least southwards. I don't remember too much the journey to Faygate - one main road pretty much looks like another in the dark. We did have a cheery chat about how cold it was in a train station carpark - -2.5 C according to my bike computer, 0 C according to User482. We agreed that it was cold.
With water bottles starting to ice over - I had omitted the alcoholic antifreeze - The Cabin with it's warm mugs of coffee, sandwiches and most especially bread pudding was a very welcome sight. The half way stop soondegenerated became a whisky tasting session. I can certainly testify as to its efficacy to ward off the cold.
The second half, I'm afraid to say, was something of a slog. The cold was strangely energy sapping, and my lack of miles so far this year didn't help. Suffice to say, my legs of lead (Copyright greg.collins) did not appreciate Bury Hill. I found following MartinT in lowest gear best for pace - sorry if my pathetic gasping distracted you, Martin! To cap it all, my ankle by this stage was acting up - a week of icy pavements on top of a long, cold ride were a bit much for it, so unclipping became increasingly painful. Certainly I had no energy for a last sprint to the Lobster Pot - in fact, no one seemed to keen on that. But breakfast was at least worth it all. As was a few brown beers in convivial surroundings with convivial company. Thank you one and all: I doubt I'd have completed it without you.
Cold was expected, and cold was experienced once I left the warm oasis of Marylebone (bet no one's ever described it as that before!). I had heeded Dellzeqq's dire warnings, and was wearing several layers - merino is wonderful stuff, and I heartily recommend On-One's merino arm warmers. As had everyone else it seemed when I arrived at HPC to find a bevy of cyclists wrapped up like Arctic explorers. Greetings were exchanged and heads shaken at Greg's outrageously blue lights. How nice to see familiar friendly faces after this seemingly endless winter!
It was not long before we were off through London streets that were quieter than we were used to. Nor was the usual pedestrian wildlife in evidence either, though there were a few strange yells from that god forsaken heath known as Clapham Common. I planned to do some wayfinding, so that the sprint back to the front would stave of the chill. It worked quite well. What I had not planned for was for the apparently magnetic properties of flashing red lights and Jaguar motorists. I was waymarking on a roundabout in Croydon (always a place of evil reputation) when I noticed the lights a Jag driving rather slowly towards me. Hmm, that's funny - he's a bit far over to the left. Looks like he's on a collision course, nah, can't be possible, I don't believe...*bump*. Yes, somehow, at a very slow walking pace this chap had managed to hit my back wheel. I looked at him. He looked at me. He sort of shrugged. I enquired as to his visual acuity. He remained frozen to the steering wheel. I checked the bike - all straight, rear wheel unbuckled, bless My Shimano's wheels. There wasn't any marks on the - rather nice and shiny - Jaguar either. I was just about to tell him that there was no harm done, nothing to worry about, and perhaps using the train next time when he drove off! Oh well.
Onwards and upwards - or at least southwards. I don't remember too much the journey to Faygate - one main road pretty much looks like another in the dark. We did have a cheery chat about how cold it was in a train station carpark - -2.5 C according to my bike computer, 0 C according to User482. We agreed that it was cold.
With water bottles starting to ice over - I had omitted the alcoholic antifreeze - The Cabin with it's warm mugs of coffee, sandwiches and most especially bread pudding was a very welcome sight. The half way stop soon
The second half, I'm afraid to say, was something of a slog. The cold was strangely energy sapping, and my lack of miles so far this year didn't help. Suffice to say, my legs of lead (Copyright greg.collins) did not appreciate Bury Hill. I found following MartinT in lowest gear best for pace - sorry if my pathetic gasping distracted you, Martin! To cap it all, my ankle by this stage was acting up - a week of icy pavements on top of a long, cold ride were a bit much for it, so unclipping became increasingly painful. Certainly I had no energy for a last sprint to the Lobster Pot - in fact, no one seemed to keen on that. But breakfast was at least worth it all. As was a few brown beers in convivial surroundings with convivial company. Thank you one and all: I doubt I'd have completed it without you.
To be fair about Greg's blue lights, we had a gentleman (and may still have for all I know), who had a blue rear light a year or two back, essentially like the old thin Cateye TL-LD600 only blue instead of red. I remember chatting to him later, and he lost it when the entire bicycle was stolen. They were briefly popular, possibly because Argos for some very odd reason, had them in its catalogue.
Edit: LD600 not LD800. <doh>
Edit: LD600 not LD800. <doh>
Quagga
Almost extinct
Well for my annual FNRttC ride, I think I picked a good one.
As people have already said, not as cold as the immortal Southend ride, and this time I had better clothing, so absent the usual feet like ice bricks the whole thing didn't feel cold.
Highlights for me were
- The sunrise which was fabulous, and thanks to the people who've posted pictures
- The lack of punctures which made the whole thing go more smoothly
- Being able to fit everyone into the Cabin
- Probably the best breakfast and coffee combo I've had after a FNRttC and plus a nice pub, funny conversation and brown beer
- The Bognor easter procession - we have to do the same ride at Easter next year, if only to see if the poor bloke carrying the cross survived
Lowlights
- The poor bird that had frozen to death overnight, lying on the road
- That f*****g hill and my lack of winter training
- Mr DZ repeatedly getting my name wrong depite his pocket list of attendees
- Having to leave the pub early having faithfully promised to be home for midday (1430 was reasonably close I thought)
Roll on next year
As people have already said, not as cold as the immortal Southend ride, and this time I had better clothing, so absent the usual feet like ice bricks the whole thing didn't feel cold.
Highlights for me were
- The sunrise which was fabulous, and thanks to the people who've posted pictures
- The lack of punctures which made the whole thing go more smoothly
- Being able to fit everyone into the Cabin
- Probably the best breakfast and coffee combo I've had after a FNRttC and plus a nice pub, funny conversation and brown beer
- The Bognor easter procession - we have to do the same ride at Easter next year, if only to see if the poor bloke carrying the cross survived
Lowlights
- The poor bird that had frozen to death overnight, lying on the road
- That f*****g hill and my lack of winter training
- Mr DZ repeatedly getting my name wrong depite his pocket list of attendees
- Having to leave the pub early having faithfully promised to be home for midday (1430 was reasonably close I thought)
Roll on next year
