Will I ride here again? I do hope so. For sure!
Wednesday 17 August 2016, 106 Miles
Going for Gold (C#32)
Wow, what a night! I’m referring to last night, the final night of track cycling at this year’s Olympic Games in Rio. Talk about edge-of-the-seat viewing – quite literally, in the case of Jason Kenny and the Keirin final, with two false starts and a finish that is best described as achieved with millimetre precision. With a total of six golds, four silvers and a bronze, the Manchester Medal Machine has certainly come good on the track this year. And of course not forgetting the Froomedog, who won a bronze in the time trial last week.
So it was with a feeling of great pride that I set out today to practice basking in the reflected glory of our cyclists. With the prospect of a lovely sunny day, a ride to Orford on the coast seemed to be the perfect route for my basking exercises. And just to ring the changes I decided to ride it the reverse way around.
As I rode along I was thinking how much competitive cycling had changed since I first started riding seriously. Back in the late 1970s I joined the British Cycling Federation so that I could obtain a racing licence. At that time the BCF, as it was more commonly known, was a fairly small organisation with very few full-time staff. Based in Leicester, it was largely run by people who had a reasonable knowledge of cycle racing and training techniques. To me it seemed that it was run in a typically British fashion: lots of enthusiasm and commitment, but always lacking a slight professional edge. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to be critical or judgemental. Instead, I am telling it as I saw it.
Most of the people involved with the BCF had come up from the club scene where there was a strong tradition of amateur and semi-professional road racing and time trialling. There were very few riders who earned their living wholly from racing. One or two managed to make the huge leap across to Europe in the hope of following in the footsteps of Tom Simpson and Barry Hoban, and securing a place with a Continental pro team. Robert Millar was the first rider of my generation that I remember achieving this. He went on to win the Polka Dot Jersey in the 1984 Tour de France. A few others made the jump, but for various reasons, and not always down to them, didn’t last. My recollection of our track racing achievements is virtually non-existent. Apart from the track at Leicester, I think most racing was confined to outdoor concrete tracks like the one at Herne Hill. In Europe there was a very high-profile winter programme of now legendary six-day races. Again, I can’t recall any British riders featuring prominently. But I bet one of you knows differently!
With the benefit of Lottery-fuelled investment and a sea change in approach, cycling in Britain has been transformed. The results speak for themselves. There is an attention (obsession) to detail that has become legendary. And in the best of British traditions the secret squirrel department of British Cycling, set up by Chris Boardman, has led the world in terms of technical innovation. Only in Britain could the national governing body for a major sport have a secret squirrel department! But all this has meant that the athletes, our riders, have been able to focus and develop their craft and realise their potential. To watch an elite British cyclist today is to watch an athlete at the very top of their game.
This cycling revolution has achieved a lot more besides boosting the performances of elite riders. Witness the hundreds and thousands of people who have been inspired to start or restart riding. Up and down the country, cycling clubs are reporting substantial increases in their members. It is not just for the racing; for many it is the social enjoyment of riding with others that is the reward. And the growth of the sportive market has provided a new outlet for the non-competitive cyclist seeking a personal challenge.
Interestingly, as I passed through Framlingham this morning I noticed lots of other cyclists on the road. Enquiries revealed that the CTC (Cyclists Touring Club) were holding their annual week-long celebration of their founding (in 1878) based on Framlingham College. Now the CTC is another interesting organisation that is reinventing itself. It has recently renamed itself as Cycling UK. This has certainly caused a few ripples amongst the membership, not all of whom have bought into the idea. The CTC, as I’ve always known it and will probably always continue to know it, is a great organisation catering for a very different market to British Cycling. (Cycling UK / British Cycling – that’s going to confuse a few folk, I suspect.) I’ve never been a member, though I do hold a Tour Leader’s Qualification from them. Most of the riders I passed, and there were a lot, seemed to be what are best described as senior citizens. And more power to their legs. I think it’s great that older people can get out and enjoy their riding, facilitated by the CTC.
Well, enough of this pontification. What about today’s ride? As I’ve already mentioned, I passed through Framlingham and made a small detour to look at the front of the castle. This is a rather spectacular place originally built by the Normans by 1148. It has passed through many ownerships, including Pembroke College, University of Cambridge from 1636 to 1913. Today it is owned by English Heritage who run it as a tourist attraction.
Soon after leaving Framlingham I spotted a slow worm basking on the tarmac. Unlike last week’s grass snake (C#30, 12 August) this reptile, which is neither a worm nor a snake, but a lizard, responded to my exhortations and slithered off to the verge and the cover of long grass. So I was quite chuffed with my reptile count.
By now the sun was out and it was getting quite warm so I was glad to reach Orford for a brief stop to refuel. The Pump Street Bakery provided another very tasty egg sandwich and a caffeine-boosting coffee. The Impulso had its usual doughnut. In fact, one of the ladies behind the counter asked me if the Impulso would like a doughnut; I didn’t have to order it myself. Believe that if you will!
The rest of the ride was very enjoyable, I detoured from the standard route to visit Gibraltar, but was unable to find a road sign to get a photo as proof of this. Then it was past the entrance to Helmingham Hall with its rather splendid gates before heading through Debenham and thence back home.
Like many cyclists, I use a Garmin to record my rides, and when I get home I upload the data to Strava to see how I’ve done. Apart from getting kudos (sort of Facebook ‘likes’) from mates and unknown Eastern Europeans, which is always good for the ego, Strava checks your times against your previous rides and those of other riders, and awards you little gold, silver or bronze trophies where you have performed sufficiently well. My count today was 43 trophies, including 13 Personal Bests. As well as basking in the reflected glory of Team GB, I think I might enjoy a little glory of my own!
Sunday 21 August 2016, 107 miles
Tour de Môn (C#33)
Today was a day to do something different: the Tour de Môn. In the mid-1970s I was a student at the then University College of North Wales, UCNW as it was generally known, in Bangor. Most of my time there was spent perfecting the art of being a student. And no, I’m not going to elaborate – you can use your imagination. Suffice to say that I didn’t do much riding during the three years I spent in Bangor. Most of my time, when I wasn’t studying, was spent hill walking in the nearby mountains of Snowdonia. But what little riding I did was great. North Wales is an excellent place for bike riding, even with the hills ‒ or perhaps especially because of the hills. So, for the last few years I’ve tried to fit in at least one ride in North Wales each year.
I’ve ridden a number of sportives here, all organised by Always Aim High Events, a local promoter. One of these which caught my eye a while ago is the Tour de Môn, or Tour of Anglesey. When I was a student, living on Anglesey was a mark of style. It didn’t matter if you actually lived in a hovel or a sheep shed, just living on ‘The Island’ was what mattered in terms of status. One of my friends lived in an abandoned windmill. I can remember going to a party there one weekend and then returning the following weekend because the party was still going. Wow! But that’s enough of these student antics.
&nbs
p; For me, the notion of being able to go all the way around an island in one ride is a great proposition. And, strictly speaking, the Tour de Môn involves going around two islands: Anglesey and Holy Island. So that’s two for the price of one. Excellent.
I set off at 7 am from the start at Holyhead and headed out past Holyhead Mountain; the route didn’t go up it as that would have needed a mountain bike. But I went over its shoulder, and then after a few ups and downs was soon crossing over to Anglesey proper and heading towards its airport. Yes, there is an Anglesey Airport, which boasts a tarmac runway, not just a grass strip. I think the airport is probably closed on Sundays because the organisers had laid on a 1-mile sprint straight down the middle of the runway! Well, that could have been fun, but riding into an exceptionally strong headwind rather took the edge off it as well as giving my legs a bit of a roasting.
Leaving the airport I then headed south-west through Newborough with distant views across the Menai Straits towards Caernarfon. On a clear day I would have been able to see the mountains of Snowdonia, but today they were shrouded in dense low cloud. A sharp left turn had me riding parallel to the Straits and into, wait for it:
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
Try saying it! And if you want to know what the 58 letters translate to, well you can Giggle it on the Interweb. Otherwise, just refer to it as Llanfair PG, which is what most people do.
From Llanfair PG it was a short ride to Menai Bridge and a chance to ride across Brunel’s Suspension Bridge, round the roundabout on the mainland and back over it to Menai Bridge. The last time I rode over the bridge was in June 1978 soon after completing my finals. I also have fond memories of evenings spent on the terrace of The Antelope, a rather fine pub which overlooks the bridge on the mainland side. When I was a student the suspension bridge was the only road onto Anglesey. Consequently, bank holiday weekends were plagued by legendary traffic jams. One incident, which made the national news, involved a fake AA sign placed at the A5/A55 road junction several miles away. The sign simply read ‘Anglesey Closed’. (I know nothing, M’Lord!) Oh dear, these student insights do rather seem to be slipping out!
Leaving Menai Bridge I headed further along the Menai Straits to Beaumaris to complete the first 50 miles. Then the tough riding began. I turned northwards, headed upwards into some lumpy countryside and straight into a pretty fierce headwind. Gradually my heart rate increased, my breathing got more laboured and my legs started to ask some pretty serious questions about what I was doing and why. At one point the wind was so strong that even though I was going downhill, I still had to pedal to maintain forward motion! Happily, the physical demands of riding were more than compensated for by the number of people out in the various villages I passed through, all shouting encouragement and ringing cowbells. One chap even had a vuvuzela – remember those?
Next stop was a detour inland to Parys Mountain, which is basically a mountain that has been quarried away for copper ore. There’s some sort of heritage trail there now so I’m guessing that the copper mining has ceased. I clearly remember my last, and only visit to Parys Mountain. It was on a geology field trip in April 1976. I was there as part of one of my university courses. Whilst our lecturer shared the intimate details of copper-bearing geology a group of us spotted a burnt-out car. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we lifted the car up, carried it to a pit, and tipped it over the edge to send it crashing down into the orange-tinged lake about 100 feet below. As you can imagine it was a rather noisy event. Incredibly, the lecturer appeared to keep up his discourse without interruption, acting as if nothing was happening. In my book, that takes a certain something.
But enough of the student antics, and on with the ride. From Parys Mountain I headed back towards the coast and into that wind, which still hadn’t relented. Then it was a grind back to Valley before crossing over to Holy Island to retrace the route back to Holyhead and the finish. There was a great crowd at the finish, a mix of riders’ friends and relatives as well as a good number of other spectators. This time, instead of being given the usual finishers medal, I received a rather fine engraved slate coaster. A nice touch to commemorate a great day in North Wales and the County of Anglesey.
11. A DAY OUT WITH THE COUSINS
Sunday 28 August 2016, 49 Miles
Essence of Edoardo
‘Bev and I are at the Crown if you are looking for food, drink and Bianchi talk.’ Well, that was an offer that I couldn’t refuse! Bev and Chris are two members of the BOCUK (Bianchi Owners Club UK) that I belong to. Until now we’ve only met virtually, through social media conversations. But already I feel that I know them quite well. The chance to meet them for real was too good to miss.
This all came about because there was a BOCUK ride in East Kent the following day and I had decided that it would be better to stay over locally the night before rather than get up at stupid o’clock and thrash down the M11 and M2. A wise move, as it turned out, because the nearby M20 was closed after a lorry had somehow managed to demolish a footbridge over the motorway. Anyway, I can report that the food was good (I had some tasty ribs), the beer was great (a local brew) and the Bianchi talk was outstanding. And for those readers who don’t quite get the Bianchi thing, we did talk about other stuff as well.
Fast forward a few hours. It’s 8:30am the following morning in the car park of the Premier Inn at Ramsgate. Now, Premier Inn car parks look pretty much the same everywhere, especially early on a Sunday morning. One word best describes them: grey. Well, here in Ramsgate something was happening. Rather like a chameleon, a transformation was taking place. Small isolated specks began to appear and coalesce into a rich sea of colour. And not just any colour but the richest colour of them all: celeste. By 9am two dozen of us were ready to set off on a route round East Kent. For me this was a first, as apart from once driving to and from Dover, I haven’t been to the area before. I was looking forward to enjoying some new countryside with some great company.
Our route initially took us westwards along a cycle path parallel to the busy A299 before turning south through Minster and past the amusingly named Plucks Gutter. I almost felt at home here as the countryside was quite flat with an almost Fenland feel to it. We soon reached Wingham and turned east, heading gradually towards the coast. I spotted an apple orchard, which I imagine along with hop fields is one of the county’s archetypal sights. Today was very much a social ride so there was lots of chatter amongst our small peloton. And as this was also a ‘no-drop’ ride we paused occasionally to allow everyone to regroup.
In no time at all we were into Sandwich and riding past the Royal Cinque Ports Golf Club. The direction of the wind meant that there was virtually no chance of any of us being hit by a wayward tee shot, so that was a bit of a relief. (Note to readers: I used to be rather expert at wayward tee shots so I do know what I am talking about.)
Leaving the golf course behind we arrived at Deal for what is always the high point of any social ride: the café stop. The RouteOne Cycle Café was our choice of venue and truly excellent it was too. They had obviously gone to great lengths to make us feel welcome, to the extent that their name boards were painted in celeste! Our impressive collection of Bianchi bikes leaning against the sea wall created a real stir of interest and admiration amongst the many passers-by. Most of us were able to pass this off quite nonchalantly, but I am certain that everyone got a buzz from the interest shown by our admirers; well, the admirers of the bikes, if not the riders. For the sake of completeness I should report that the coffee was excellent and the chocolate orange sponge cake was even better. I’m just relieved that cycling is a high-calorie sport…
Resisting the temptation to linger and overstay our welcome we then retraced our route slightly to ride up the coast through Ramsgate, Broadstairs and Margate. Pedalling along the coastline gave the ride a completely new and delightful feeling. With some impressive chalk cliffs and a few ups and downs this really
did round out the East Kent experience. The only downside was the volume of traffic. But you can’t have everything. From Margate we headed westwards to Westgate before turning inland to arrive back at our starting point, the Premier Inn car park.
So how do you sum up a ride like this? Well, partly it’s the quality of the route, and Ian who planned it did us proud. Very proud. But for me, more than anything it’s the people I ride with. Once again, with BOCUK I really did feel that I was riding with my extended family; people I’ve known for a while but never met, and who in mere minutes I forge a strong bond with.
Somewhere on the ride I got chatting to Paul, who seemed surprised when I told him I was nearly sixty. (Thanks, Paul – much appreciated, and I’ll ride with you any time, mate.) Slightly cornily I told him that it was all down to Essence of Edoardo, a secret potion. Well, after thinking about this a bit more on the drive home, I decided I wasn’t that wide of the mark. Edoardo Bianchi founded his company in Milan in 1885. I can’t imagine that he would have conceived of a group like us riding our bikes round the English countryside, but I am confident that had he been able to see us he would have been quite proud that we enjoy his legacy. So I’ve decided that’s what the Essence of Edoardo really is. And before you get any clever ideas, I’m off to file a patent application.
Passione Celeste compagni piloti!
12. MILES, LOTS OF MILES
Tuesday 30 August 2016, 106 Miles
Essex Creeks and Marshes (C#34)
Have you ever meant to do something important and then completely forgotten about it? Well, I had one of those moments today. As I was driving my car towards Colchester to start today’s ride I had a nagging feeling that there was something I had forgotten. I mentally revisited the kit I had packed, to check I’d got everything. Riding solo without a pump is guaranteed to cause mayhem. So, Garmin (yes), phone (yes), camera (yes), route map (yes), tools (yes), spare inner tubes (yes), drinks (yes), and just to check you’re awake and reading this: pump (yes). I didn’t bother to check off the bike as if I had really forgotten it I wouldn’t be writing this report and you would be none the wiser, haha! So, no luck. I knew it was something important, but whatever ‘it’ was, was lurking on the edges of my consciousness, frustratingly just beyond my grasp.
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