As the Infinito was still feeling a bit down in the dumps after last week’s failed attempt to sample a Bedfordshire Clanger, I thought I would give it a ride out today to try and lift its spirits. This was going to require some tact if the other members of my Bianchi family weren’t going to feel hard done by. Fortunately, the Infinito sensed that something was in the air and waited until we were outside with the door closed before asking where we were heading. ‘Orford’, was my reply to which the Infinito responded with, ‘Doughnuts.’ Oh dear, I think there may be tears before this day is done.
The Infinito is a splendid bike. My one predates the introduction of Bianchi’s innovative CV (countervail) technology which was developed to reduce the tiring effects of riding on cobbles in the spring classics such as Paris‒Roubaix. But even without the CV technology it is still an incredibly comfortable ride. With a carbon monocoque frame it is lighter than the Impulso and slightly more responsive. Its Campag Athena groupset, with an eleven-speed cassette, means that the mid-range gear ratios are a bit closer together and so ideal for long-distance riding. When I use it for sportives I use a set of Campag Zonda wheels which are a bit quicker than the Fulcrum Quattros that I usually use with it. We’ve been together now for nearly 14,000 miles and so we are quite comfortable in each other’s company.
We were quickly off and headed south-east through Debenham and on to Woodbridge. The sun was shining and the roads were drying out, so this was going to be a great day. One of the things I enjoy about riding the same routes over the course of a year is the chance to see the countryside changing. The seasonal evolution of colours from spring, through summer and autumn, into winter always adds interest. It often surprises me how different a view can look between the fresh, young green of spring and the orange and gold tinges of autumn. Riding in the countryside also means that I can see changes in the way the fields are farmed, with crops being rotated: wheat and barley, rape, onions, sugar beet, potatoes and so forth, not forgetting livestock with East Anglia’s pig rearing industry.
Today just beyond Woodbridge I spotted a crop I hadn’t noticed before. There were a significant number of fields growing grass. Now, this wasn’t grass for grazing. I’m referring to green gold: grass for turf. There seemed to be any number of large fields growing the stuff. And when I say large fields, I mean at least a couple of hundred acres each. It was quite amazing to see grass being grown so uniformly and on such a large scale. I struggle to achieve anything near this with my own small lawn. I’m guessing that a combination of soil and climate make the area suitable for turf production. I did wonder what the catalyst was for switching to turf production. At one point I could see a machine harvesting the turf. It was a very large tractor with a flat plate or blade mounted out front which scraped along the ground, lifting turf onto a roller mechanism. Unfortunately, it was too far away to get a photo.
Leaving the turf industry behind we headed nearer and nearer to Orford. I could feel the Infinito getting excited at the prospect of a Pump Street Bakery stop. Oh dear, I was going to have to come clean, as the Pump Street Bakery is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, so no doughnuts today. I broke the news as gently as I could. Just in the nick of time I remembered that the Orford village shop, if it was open, stocked a fair supply of edible delicacies. Hopefully we could find some salvation there.
We were in luck. The shop was open and I bought a rather fine apple crumble tart. The Infinito can be quite choosy so I was not surprised to be asked why the tart was cold and where was the cream? There’s no pleasing some people! With warm sunshine we were able to sit outside and watch village life pass us by. Something I always enjoy doing, and which has often been the starting point for many interesting conversations. Local passers-by nearly always want to chat with the resting cyclist.
Now I must tell you about a curious incident that took place today. While I was in the shop waiting to pay for our refreshments, a voice behind me said, ‘Action Man has got his commando boots on.’ Hmm, how strange. It was almost like some special code from a low-budget 1970s spy movie. Then I began to wonder if this was a key to getting served. (It wasn’t.) I managed to catch Miss Moneypenny’s eye and then realised that there was another party involved in this affair. In very discreet and rather hushed tones I promised to return when I had broken the code. So whilst we chowed down the tart I looked around, and gradually all became clear. In an instant I realised who Action Man was, and I also knew the correct response to the code line I had heard. So, feeling confident, I returned and uttered the fateful words: ‘At least Action Man hasn’t gone commando.’ These were met by smiles all round and some knowing winks. At this juncture, let me just say that the acts of espionage here involve lust and desire amongst a couple of Orford’s slightly older citizens. And, Miss Moneypenny, if you are reading this, I can assure you that my lips are tightly sealed. When I next visit, as I surely will, I don’t want you to feel that I need to be disposed of! A nod’s as good as a wink here!
Well, after the skulduggery of Orford it was time to turn around and head home. I can report that both the Infinito and I enjoyed the last 40 miles and our heart rates remained within sensible parameters. Anyone got any cyanide?
Sunday 23 October 2016, 104 Miles
A Ride of Two Ports (C#51)
I have a large-scale map of East Anglia which I sometimes use to help plan my routes. I also mark it up to show the roads that I have ridden on. This helps to identify areas and roads that I haven’t ridden on. Not that I’m on a quest to collect all of East Anglia’s roads. But then again…
Looking at the map I realised that there was a corner of Suffolk that I have never visited, by bike or any other means. As the weather forecast was good I thought I would head out and investigate. The bit of land in question is the Shotley Peninsula which is between the Orwell and Stour estuaries, with the ports of Felixstowe and Harwich on either side. I’d also been told that it was quite an attractive part of the county.
On a crisp, chilly morning with the prospect of some autumn sun I rolled the Impulso out of the garage and prepared for le grand depart. I should mention that the Infinito is with Uncle Mick Madgett getting a new headset, and the Oltre is showing early signs of winter hibernation. So there was no backchat to contend with.
As I rode south-east towards Ipswich I could see the Mendlesham Transmitter Mast looming large. This sits alongside the A140 near the village of Mendlesham. Well, it’s not going to be anywhere else, is it? That would be plain stupid! The mast is visible from quite some distance, especially at night when its red lights are on: I can see it from where I live, which is about 12 miles away as the crow flies. The mast was originally built for the ITV network but now supports a range of other services including DAB radio. When it was built in 1959 it was the tallest structure in Europe at 1,000 feet. It lost that distinction to another mast in 1965, ironically one of its own relays. I’ve quoted these ‘facts’ from a website that seems to be dedicated to radio masts (yawn). So, readers, before you start bombarding me with messages to say I’m wrong, let me come out and admit it! My own research tells me that the Eiffel Tower, completed in 1889, is 1,063 feet tall and held the world record until the Chrysler Building in New York was completed in 1930. Anoraks out there will of course point out that with the addition of a radio mast in 1957, the Eiffel Tower leapfrogged the Chrysler Building by 17 feet. But whatever. No one can disagree that the Mendlesham Mast and the Eiffel Tower are big; very big!
Anyway, on with the ride, which next took me through Ipswich. I’ve been there many times by car and train but rarely ridden through the town. Today I was going to go right across it. Fortunately, the route I had mapped out approached Ipswich by the back door, so to speak, following a minor road. Before I could say ‘chainring’ I was riding past the train station and rapidly approaching the quayside at the head of the Orwell Estuary. A very painless and largely traffic-free experience.
Now, talking of big structures,
I soon arrived at the Orwell Bridge. This is an impressive feat of engineering. The bridge was opened in 1982 and has a main span of 623 feet which, at the time of its construction, was the longest pre-stressed concrete span in use. The total length is 4,222 feet, with a width of 79 feet and an air draft of 141 feet. Pilings were sunk 130 feet into the river bottom. By any stretch of the imagination it is big. The design capacity of the bridge is over 70,000 vehicles per day, and I have read that this was exceeded in 2015. When it’s closed, due to either high winds or accidents, many of Ipswich’s roads are brought to a near standstill. And do you know what? Now that I’ve ridden under it I quite fancy riding over it. I wonder if that’s possible. Perhaps on Christmas Day? Mmm.
Leaving the Orwell Bridge behind me I passed the entrance to the Suffolk Food Barn which my eldest daughter tells me has a good café. It was a bit early in the ride for a stop (maybe if I do the ride in reverse sometime) but it looked very popular as the car park was nearly full at 11am on a Sunday morning. As I rode along the road I kept getting glimpses through the trees of the River Orwell, which was chock full of boats of all types: dinghies, sailing yachts and cruisers. All too soon I arrived at Shotley and turned the corner to Shotley Gate with a view across the estuary to the Port of Felixstowe. Now this is a massive operation. Nick and Michael, who are members of Team Super Six, work there. I’m not totally sure what they do (Nick is an engineer and Michael is a manager) but I do know that their work involves cranes, and boy, there are a lot of very big cranes there. And I’ve read somewhere that Felixstowe is the world’s biggest exporter of empty cardboard boxes: more than 1 million tonnes in 2013. Wow.
After gazing at Felixstowe, I retraced my steps, or more correctly my tyre tracks, to the other end of Shotley Gate where I could see across the Stour Estuary to Harwich. This is the destination port for ferries sailing to the Hook of Holland. In addition to people, Harwich also receives tankers and other general cargo. The port has had a shot in the arm since it became the support base for several nearby offshore wind farms whilst they were under construction.
From Shotley I headed back inland parallel to the Stour Estuary. Although not that isolated geographically, I had a strong sense of riding in some quite remote countryside. The narrow lanes and gently undulating land made for quite a lonely feeling. That soon passed though, when I emerged at Holbrook, which is noted for the Royal Hospital School. I rode past the front of the school and made a mental note to return as the buildings were very striking and I’m guessing that there’s a huge amount of history that I could investigate and write about. So, until the next time.
The final part of the ride took me through the edge of Dedham Vale which was looking magnificent as the hedgerows were starting to put on an impressive display of autumn colours. I do hope that the frosts and winds hold off awhile so I can enjoy my favourite season to the full. Heading towards Hadleigh I had a ‘Garmin moment’ when said device decided to stop providing me with turn-by-turn directions. When I eventually realised this, I discovered that I had strayed off my intended route. Infuriatingly, the Garmin was showing the correct route on the map screen, and even more infuriatingly was telling me that I now had 223 miles to ride to my destination. And the further I rode, the greater the distance got. So I gave up using the Garmin for navigation and followed my own compass. And I have to tell you that I (a) didn’t get lost; (b) didn’t add any extra miles; and (c) had a cracking ride to the finish. So there!
Thursday 27 October 2016, 107 Miles
Going to California (C#52)
Do you know the song Led Zeppelin ‘Going to California’? It’s on their unnamed fourth album which most people unsurprisingly refer to as ‘Led Zep IV’. Well, today I went to California too. Unfortunately, the lyrics are a bit dark and don’t lend themselves to the theme of my writing here. Any attempt to try and be clever is bound to fail. ‘California Dreaming’ by the Mamas and the Papas is probably much closer to the mark. ‘California?’ I hear you saying, ‘No way.’ Well, I certainly did go there. But not the California that Percy Plant or Mama Cass sang about. My California was the small hamlet in the Fens that adjoins Little Downham about 3 miles north-west of Ely. It’s clearly marked on the map, but I didn’t spot a road sign to photograph so you’ll just have to take my word for it!
Today’s ride was another one that’s in Chris Sidwells’s book, this time around Cambridgeshire. I’d arranged to start from the house of a friend who lives just outside Cambridge. Gareth and I used to work together in Cambridge; he’s now a running his own successful consultancy business. He used to be a very keen cyclist and even owned a Bianchi (Pantani replica). Sadly, a few years ago he fell off, hit his head and subsequently crossed over to the dark side to ride motorbikes in trials. Actually, I made that first bit up – about falling off and hitting his head. But he very definitely does ride trials bikes now. Like all good consultants, he was tucked up in bed and sound asleep when I arrived so I sent him a text to say I’d been and gone and hoped to catch up with him when I got back – if he was awake!
All this meant that I could make a quick getaway, so after unloading my bike from the back of the car I was soon under way. Chris Sidwells’s route starts from the city centre, which I intended to give a miss as having worked in Cambridge for about 15 years I have no desire to ride there. Chris is fulsome in his praise of Cambridge as a cycle-friendly city. My main recollection is of groups of young students who came to the city to learn English. As far as I could work out, they were enrolled at one of the many language schools, berthed at one of many B&Bs, and provided with a hire bike to get between their B&B and language school. They seemed to have absolutely no road sense, as well as a death wish by riding at night without lights. During dark, wet winter mornings and evenings I used to drive in constant fear of making a left turn and hearing a sickening crunch. Fortunately, this never actually happened, but I did have several close encounters.
Crikey! Will you look at that? I’ve already written 500 words and we haven’t even started on the ride. I’d better clip in to the Infinito and get pedalling, pronto. Riding around the edge of Cambridge was easy because of some excellent cycle paths, and as it was half term week there was a lot less traffic. I was soon heading through Waterbeach and Landbeach and into open countryside. The early morning mist had mostly cleared, leaving very clear air, so I was able to enjoy some magnificent long-distance views. Fenland always impresses me in terms of its sheer scale. And despite being pan flat there is always the odd surprise to add some amusement. Today’s was the realisation that I had been riding across Grunty Fen. Now, that’s a name to conjure with. Grunty Fen has had its share of the limelight as Radio Cambridgeshire used to broadcast a programme starring Dennis of Grunty Fen. Dennis lived in a caravan with his ninety-two year old grandmother and was ‘Britain’s favourite vocal yokel’. So, there you are!
As I rode north I could see the land rising up as I approached the Isle of Ely. The city of Ely itself sits at an altitude of about 70 feet above sea level. Much of the surrounding land is at sea level and rarely rises above 20 feet. That means that the ‘island’ is quite prominent. Sitting at its centre is the magnificent cathedral, whose west tower rises to a height of 217 feet. Consequently, it is a major focal point in the landscape. I’ve spotted it from nearly 20 miles away in Suffolk. And its floodlighting means that it is a significant navigational beacon on dark winter nights. The cathedral can trace its origins back to an abbey in AD 672; the present building dates from 1083. It is certainly worth a visit if you’re in the vicinity.
Leaving Ely I continued northwards through Queen Adelaide to Littleport then I headed generally west, albeit on a slightly circuitous route. On the way I passed through the aforementioned California, though I didn’t know it at the time. This was pure Fenland riding: miles and miles of flat, intensively farmed fields in every direction with very few hedges or trees to break the view. And not forgetting those long, straight roads.
Arriving at Chatteris I then headed south and into the wind, making for St Ives. I didn’t meet any men with seven wives, cats or kits. Most likely that’s because I wasn’t in Cornwall. But no matter, these little trivia all help to break the mental monotony of riding round these parts. I was a little concerned about the route from St Ives to Huntingdon which followed a very busy A-road. I needn’t have worried, because for most of the way there was a magnificent, smooth tarmac cycle path. Arriving at the edge of Huntingdon I passed through Godmanchester, left the Fens behind and headed on to St Neots where I turned east. By now the countryside was rather more undulating so that gave me a different and most enjoyable riding experience.
From St Neots I made good progress through a succession of attractive villages before reaching Grantchester. Grantchester has more Nobel Prize winners living there than anywhere else in the world. About ninety people from Cambridge University have been awarded Nobel Prizes, more than any other institution. And around one-third of these worked in the Cavendish Laboratory, which is housed in a rather anonymous building in the city centre. Four Cavendish alumni even won prizes in the same year (1962). I learned all this from Bill Bryson, the author and adopted Englishman. No, I haven’t met the man in person. My eldest daughter has, though, as he presented her with her first degree when he was Chancellor at Durham University. The closest I’ve ever got was standing behind him in a till queue in John Lewis in Norwich. His body language didn’t really say ‘introduce yourself, Mark’. His excellent book, The Road to Little Dribbling, is my source for the information on Cambridge’s Nobel laureates.
Well, on with the ride; these little diversions seem to be taking over the story! I rode across the south side of Cambridge, which is undergoing a massive transformation. A lot of very upmarket accommodation is being built. There is a huge amount of new business investment, linked to the university, being made by several well-known global leaders in their fields. No sign of a recession or austerity in these parts. As I left the city, heading for Fulbourn, I skirted the edge of the Gog Magog Hills. What a fabulous name – Gog Magog. I love the sound of it. Go on. Say it slowly: ‘Gog Magog’.
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