Thursday Night Ride to the Coast - Felpham March 28th
- Thread starter dellzeqq
- Start date
Page may contain affiliate links. Please see terms for details.
I did have a whole one to my self but surrendered half of it to our glorious leader in guilt.. but did manage to get a quarter back by half inchin' a bit of Graham's. I was one of the last to leave the Cabin and was amazed at how much was left over on the tables... including what looked like a piece which only had one bite taken out of.
rb58
Enigma
- Location
- Bexley, Kent
That would have been mine. I figured I had enough weight to carry up Bury Hill, without adding a lump of bread pudding.
I tried to donate it someone else who might have missed out, but there were no takers!That would have been mine. I figured I had enough weight to carry up Bury Hill, without adding a lump of bread pudding.
Damn.. if I had known it was yours I would have taken it.....
It could have been a number of any scruffy herberts that bought it so didn't want to chance it.
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
He offered it to me but I had some so refusedThat would have been mine. I figured I had enough weight to carry up Bury Hill, without adding a lump of bread pudding.
I got bored shouting "Does anyone wanted a piece of bread pudding when I'd eaten half of mine. But if you regard me as a scruffy herbert good only for nips of whisky....Damn.. if I had known it was yours I would have taken it.....
It could have been a number of any scruffy herberts that bought it so didn't want to chance it.
...I'd say you're an astute judge of a man's character.
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
in the same place as back peddling brakes I hope. Some inner circle of hell.
The Rücktrittbremsering
CharlieB
Junior Walker and the Allstars
- Location
- Therivermeadowatthepileofstones
I’m not going to write about the ride, bread pudding or breakfast, because it’s all been said.
No, what stuck out for me was Bognor Regis train station. Me, JonnyJeez, Graham, Ken (?) rolled up and I was struck by what appeared to be something straight out of Brief Encounter.
No ticket machines, just a single traditional office window, and every perfectly painted and preserved cast iron column supporting an old fashioned pent roof of glass and timber.
I was quite expecting a King Arthur or a Schools class engine to roll in to take us back to London.
No, what stuck out for me was Bognor Regis train station. Me, JonnyJeez, Graham, Ken (?) rolled up and I was struck by what appeared to be something straight out of Brief Encounter.
No ticket machines, just a single traditional office window, and every perfectly painted and preserved cast iron column supporting an old fashioned pent roof of glass and timber.
I was quite expecting a King Arthur or a Schools class engine to roll in to take us back to London.
Dogtrousers
Kilometre nibbler
There was a ticket machine. I bought my ticket there.
Perhaps you hed something in your eye. You should have looked out for a dashing gentleman to help you.
GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
You had to defecate all over it didn't you?
Dogtrousers
Kilometre nibbler
Well, that was fun! Well... when I say "fun", I mean "it seems nice enough, looking back, now that I've spent a whole week doing things that are actually what normal people understand as fun, and anyway if you're going to freeze your tits off unseasonally and ride like a lead-legged lardarse with an invisible anvil in tow, then you might as well do it in the finest company." I spent most of the night only-just fending off the cold with a mantra giving thanks for the dryness, so I felt like I was probably achieving a satisfactory balance, if only I were just warm enough to kick back and contemplate the beauty of it. If you are spending most of the night being Glad About Gloves or Smug Over Snoods, then you are probably missing the point.
But my sandwich had ham AND cheese AND pickle in it; and the wonders of the bread pudding have been sung about upthread; and we had more whiskies than Milroy's; and we ate the breakfast of The Lobster Pot and, behold, it was very good. I get ideas above my station at The Lobster Pot, and start ordering flat whites and huevos revueltos like they're going out of fashion. And The Felpham Measure is consigned to the drip-tray of history. Simon, disdaining the role of his Cyrene namesake (it would have been overkill, anyway, with a plywood cross), dodged past a suffering Christ-figure and performed a mini-miracle for the lycra-clad multitude, conjuring beer for all from what seemed to be a closed pub with a puzzled cafe attached. It might have been while he was power-napping (miracles take it out of you) that the Quagga mystery was cleared up. I take no pleasure in DZ being W-R-O-N-G, obviously, but as the alternative explanation was that TMN, Wanda, Adrian and I had previously spent a lengthy afternoon in a pub garden in Brighton being wrong en masse, I will allow myself the smallest satisfaction.
News from Agent Hilda's Big Adventure filtered through to us. DZ and I were due to rendezvous with Team Hilda in The Witterings. A leisurely lunch and a puncture on their part afforded us time for a little extra rehydration, and we achieved the perfect balance - too drunk to cycle all the way to Witters but just sober enough to know as much. Two trains later we were at Bosham in glorious sunshine, at low tide. With timing of exquisite perfection we emerged onto the banks of the Chichester Channel to see Andy's Amazing Ferry waiting to take us across to Itchenor. Riding skinny tyres down the path, which, when not covered by the tide, consists of shingle covered in green slime, was a singularly peculiar and contradictory sensation, which I can only describe as seeming possessed of superhuman skill whilst having no conscious control whatever. Hitting the brakes could be disastrous, so I followed DZ's method, which was to go much too fast and make the sort of delighted-terrified noises usually reserved for fairground rides. Back on dry land, a quick spin down Piggery-Jokery Lane, and we were at Witters, and on holiday.
But my sandwich had ham AND cheese AND pickle in it; and the wonders of the bread pudding have been sung about upthread; and we had more whiskies than Milroy's; and we ate the breakfast of The Lobster Pot and, behold, it was very good. I get ideas above my station at The Lobster Pot, and start ordering flat whites and huevos revueltos like they're going out of fashion. And The Felpham Measure is consigned to the drip-tray of history. Simon, disdaining the role of his Cyrene namesake (it would have been overkill, anyway, with a plywood cross), dodged past a suffering Christ-figure and performed a mini-miracle for the lycra-clad multitude, conjuring beer for all from what seemed to be a closed pub with a puzzled cafe attached. It might have been while he was power-napping (miracles take it out of you) that the Quagga mystery was cleared up. I take no pleasure in DZ being W-R-O-N-G, obviously, but as the alternative explanation was that TMN, Wanda, Adrian and I had previously spent a lengthy afternoon in a pub garden in Brighton being wrong en masse, I will allow myself the smallest satisfaction.
News from Agent Hilda's Big Adventure filtered through to us. DZ and I were due to rendezvous with Team Hilda in The Witterings. A leisurely lunch and a puncture on their part afforded us time for a little extra rehydration, and we achieved the perfect balance - too drunk to cycle all the way to Witters but just sober enough to know as much. Two trains later we were at Bosham in glorious sunshine, at low tide. With timing of exquisite perfection we emerged onto the banks of the Chichester Channel to see Andy's Amazing Ferry waiting to take us across to Itchenor. Riding skinny tyres down the path, which, when not covered by the tide, consists of shingle covered in green slime, was a singularly peculiar and contradictory sensation, which I can only describe as seeming possessed of superhuman skill whilst having no conscious control whatever. Hitting the brakes could be disastrous, so I followed DZ's method, which was to go much too fast and make the sort of delighted-terrified noises usually reserved for fairground rides. Back on dry land, a quick spin down Piggery-Jokery Lane, and we were at Witters, and on holiday.
velovoice
Veteran
- Location
- Between the City and the Sea
Bravo, TC! Fine piece of writing. You could do this for a living. Er... if there was a living to be made of this?
Dogtrousers
Kilometre nibbler
By the way, I seem to remember someone on the ride saying that Bury hill was harder than the Beacon.
I rode up the Beacon today (in the April snow) and gave the matter some thought. I have to disagree with this. The total climbs (just over 100m in a bit over a km someone may have better figures) aren't all that different, but the Beacon is so much more, well ... Beaconey, with steep bits, false tops and so on whereas Bury hill was just a grind.
I rode up the Beacon today (in the April snow) and gave the matter some thought. I have to disagree with this. The total climbs (just over 100m in a bit over a km someone may have better figures) aren't all that different, but the Beacon is so much more, well ... Beaconey, with steep bits, false tops and so on whereas Bury hill was just a grind.
