There was, allegedly, a considerable drop in temperature on Saturday but it did not feel that significant at two in the afternoon as we made our way in a hurry to Beddington Park, having cut it fine making the fig ice cream.
And there, awaiting us, was a healthy assembly of Beddington Park regulars plus a couple of very welcome extras; Clive, a newcomer, and Karen, on a whistlestop tour of Beginners venues since her appointment as the new Beginners representative on the SWLCTC Committee.
Regular readers will know that last time at Beddington I allowed lethargy and the other riders to persuade me to go on one of our regular rides to MED when I wanted a change. Maggie, on her first ride for a long while as she continues her slow recovery from that torn rotator cuff, volunteered to take first-timer Clive on a gentle trip to MED while I announced we were going on our first visit to Streatham Rookery in four and a half years.
They begged. They pleaded. They even mentioned Coombe Lane, which includes a ride through the trees, a precipitous gravel descent to a main road, crossing the Purley Way twice and a fairly lusty hill. But no. Leadership is leadership; Streatham Rookery it was going to be. Thus Roger and Anna, Ken, Sharon, Paul B and backmarking Karen set out on a ride slightly longer and slightly hillier than the Beddington Park norm.
Four and a half years is a long time and there are some intricate bits in downtown Norbury, so I had taken the precaution of digging up Colin and Shirley's instructions and plotting them on Ride with GPS. And I had forgotten some of the delights inherent in this route. The Waddon tram stop where nobody likes a cyclist. The path under the Mitcham Road where drivers do a U-bend and get two opportunities to refuse to let you across on the zebra. The sheer tranquility of London Road in West Croydon on a hot Saturday afternoon. The tree-lined glades and waterfalls of Thornton Heath. How the riders leapt for joy when instead of going along the busy Green Lane I chose the upward way; Norbury Hill. I admit I had not allowed for the fact that the unpaved section of Gibsons Hill would be quite so sandy and pebbly, but apparently there had been no rain there for a while. So thrilled were they all with the climb up Gibsons Hill that not one of them opted for the push-through-the-Grove option. And were those tears of joy I saw glistening as we sat in the sultry heat regaining our breath in the heavy air having skilfully avoided decapitation from the low-hanging bough on the brief roller coaster path at the top of the Grove, where we thrilled at the romantic panorama of Croydon and the faraway music of its police sirens?
The kitchen equipment was out of order in the cafe and I admit I had to count to ten several hundred times to keep my cool and say nothing at the girl serving coffee, who was the epitome of casual inefficiency. And Paul B's comment that the gents up there was a bit seedy merely reflects that he has never been to Old Delhi in the summer's heat.
The long downhill made every inch of the double climb worthwhile and the lads smoking weed and apparently trying to set fire to Micham Common provided a charming insight into the local customs.
Seriously, thanks to everyone for your company and to Karen for back marking.
I had a great time, and the others all thanked me, and Anna was perfectly polite in asking if it might be another four and a half years, at least......
