Storming up to Banstead; Nonsuch 2-o-clockers 23 November

Storm Bertie was battering Wales and Ireland, and South West London awoke to heavy rain and blustery winds.  The meteorological misery scale had not improved as lunchtime approached and Maggie was convinced the forecast would be accurate and conditions dangerous but we were down to lead the shorter ride from Nonsuch Park and you cannot risk people turning up for a Beginners ride and being disappointed, so we arranged a rendezvous with Anna and Roger (the latter not yet allowed on a bike, so he walked) and got the train to Cheam, cycling from the station there.  As the clock made its inevitable progress to two-o-clock we had to leave the sanctuary of La Petite Boulangerie and ride the short distance  to Nonsuch Mansion expecting (hoping?) that no-one would be there except, of course, Colin.  Colin is always there.

I had my suspicions, though.  Helen is a regular sucker for foul weather rides but it was Nigel who had elected for our ride, it turned out.  Colin was there but opting to go straight home and then, lo and behold, the ever cheery Helen rolls up.  I pointed to the darkening cloud and the steadily increasing wind.  I reminded everyone of the forecast.  I even hinted at a shortened route (to the cosy cafe a mile away).  The punters were steadfast in their demand for value for money, the ride as advertised.  So the five of us set off.

Banstead is to the South and these were southerly winds.  From Nonsuch Park the ride is almost all uphill.  Mostly gently uphill, but uphill nevertheless.  At first it was not quite raining but I pulled my beanie hat over my ears and put my head down and rode a short distance ahead of everyone so that I was unable to hear the mutterings and worse from behind me.  It was hard work into the wind and just when I got my first real rebellion, with the steep bit ahead of us up to Nork, Nigel came up with an alternative and less steep route, and the punters were happy.  Well, slightly less unhappy.

Thus, as the rain restarted in earnest, we had got to Park Life Cafe, which has replaced (and improved upon) Pistachio's.  

Temporary shelter from the storm; photo by Maggie

We probably lingered there a bit too long but the wind was theoretically behind us for the descent past the prisons, and the road had not yet flooded much, the wind blasts from the side roads were enough to wobble us but not to knock us off, and the cars travelling at unnecessary speeds all narrowly missed us, so we got home safely and just before dark.

As we sat over a cup of tea at home, we were glad we had persuaded each other to go and convinced ourselves it had been fun.

The end of democracy; Beddington to the Rookery, 16 November

The problem with democracy is that people make the wrong choices, even when faced with the most obvious binary decisions.

There was a time that the Rookery ride was a regular event on the Beddington calendar but since the pandemic the ride leadership has become more democratic, so every month we waste valuable cycling time outside the Pavilion Cafe in a loosely structured "Where shall we go today?" debate.    This is all very well for the followers but not so good for this leader, who if he can't recce the route, however familiar it might be, likes at least to think it through.  This allows him to exude during the afternoon a convincing illusion of leadership, which puts the followers at ease and (he thinks) generally enhances the overall experience.  Moreover, the debate, while earning maximum brownie points for mindfulness, openness, member empowerment and other endoplasmic notions of which Human Relations Departments are fond, ends up with us just repeating rides. 

This month I had no inclination to do same old same old but little energy to devise something new and in a discussion with Maggie about how we might change things a bit, the Rookery Ride came to mind.  It feels as if we have not been there in a very long time.  Gibsons Hill is steep, the coffee at the Rookery cafe is not up to scratch, the loos there score minus 1 on a scale of 0 to 10, blah, blah, blah.  But it's different, and Streatham Common is not an unpleasant space, the woods above it dark and deciduous, Norwood Grove has a fine old house (mentioned in one of the Sherlock Holmes stories) and who could not enjoy a meander through the chocolate box lanes of West Croydon and Fort Neaf?

It had been so long since leading that way that I had had to plot a route on Ride with GPS to take me through the tricky bits, and those who turned up were getting no choice.  Roger is just out of hospital, Colin was otherwise engaged, Ken needed to pack for an expedition up the Amazon, but Anna and Jackie, an infrequent but very welcome visitor, made us a group of four.

Off we set on a cold, grey but dry and windless day, and a jolly pleasant ride it was, too.  West Croydon had lost none of its picturesque charm and Fort Neaf has history (quite apart from Crystal Palace FC); not many people know it is where Dick Turpin, the notorious highwayman, was finally apprehended;  I've always wondered why they did not search there for Lord Lucan.  Nobody has yet tarmacked Gibson's Hill and it has got no less steep, but Maggie and Jackie walked.  Norwood Grove was splendidly autumnal.

Bright colours in the Autumn

The woods are one of those little remnant pockets of the ancient Great North Wood and fully deserving of a mention (which they did not get) in Tolkien.  The Rookery Cafe has reinvented itself, much cleaner and smarter and a smiling, welcoming service, the cakes were superb.  And the loos (which in fairness to the cafe we think are managed by the local authority) have been upgraded by at least two points, to 1 out of 10.  It was good enough weather that we could all laugh when I discovered that Ride with GPS had done what it sometimes does and taken me on a traffic-wise suboptimal route home, but we ignored it, found the cycle paths which Colin showed us years ago, under the bottle-strewn low railway bridges, and got back to Beddington Park before dusk and in good spirits.

So successful was the experiment that (certainly while Colin is away and I have complete control over both houses) I will be doing away with this democracy nonsense.  Beginners First!

  

  

Riding through the Bush; Nonsuch 1-0-clockers 9 November

It was seasonably cold this Saturday but I had tested negative after a week of Covid so had no excuse not to ride to Nonsuch to ensure we had a listed leader.  The temperature had dropped further along the way and I just could not get the thought of merino wool out of my head; certainly I began to regret my decision to wear fingerless gloves.  As I approached Sutton, Nigel appeared from his road and, disconcertingly, we were the only two when we arrived at the Mansion.

Never mind, regulars turned up until we were eight, including the very welcome returning Mark, an erstwhile Beginner and co-founder of the Beddington rides, whose twins (now six years old) have kept him from the bike for a while.  It was pleasing to hear that he found himself available for a bike ride today and looked up his alternatives on the internet; when he searched us out he had found the wording quite clear and therefore turned up at one-o-cock in hope of a ride.  I report this because several regulars still find the change in times confusing.

IN WINTER THE BEDDINGTON RIDE 

AND THE LONG RIDE FROM NONSUCH START AT 1PM.

Hampton Court/Bushy Park was on the rides list but in my pre-Covid state last week I had taken a group to Molesey.  Now in my post-Covid state I did not fancy anything too hilly or too long.  Nobody present today had been on my ride last week, so everybody was happy to go to Bushy Park and then, at the last gasp, the cavalry arrived in the form of Steve W.

We all agreed on Bushy Park but Steve offered a more exciting route through Wimbledon, Roehampton and Richmond Park.  Karl, Tarantino Rob (the infamous film producer), Stuart, and Nigel went with him; Sharon, Lorraine and Mark with me.  I went the Tolworth, Long Ditton route.  The weather may have been a bit dull but at least there was no precipitation.  My only difficulty, and one I have not solved yet, was how best to get my group from the Cycle path on the east side of Hampton Court Way to the Lion Gate at Bushy Park.  The "safe" cycle route involves crossing the busy main road three times.  I decided next time either just to ride over the busy roundabout up Hampton Road or to execute the route in reverse order.

We arrived in Bushy Park before the others and had finished our coffee and cake (note, next time avoid the lukewarm vegan sausage rolls at a fiver a throw) when Steve's group turned up.  Forced to sit outside because less deserving people (ie those not wearing shorts) had taken all the indoor tables, we had got cold enough not to be sociable, so we made our excuses and left, as the News of the World reporters used to say.

Mark with two very cold ladies at Bushy Park

On the way out we met Carolyn, who was volunteering and cheerily told us she did not feel very well.  Having just had both the vaccines and the disease, I need not have backed off so abruptly.

The ride home was distinctly colder but even so the path along Cobblers Walk to the Timothy Bennett memorial is always a joy.  It is like riding through the bush; the vast open space, the lakes, the fallen trees, the herds of wild deer; one almost expects a Kangaroo to stick its head up from the long grass, or a leopard to come leaping out of it.  

At Kingston Market the only thing that leaps out is a pedestrian staring at his mobile phone.  We split, as usual, at Worcester Park and made our several ways home.  Thanks everybody for the fine company on a cold day.

Remembering Ron Weeden

Yesterday we said farewell to Ron.

Ron's grandchildren delivered their personal tributes at the service. They are here in this folder.

~ Tim

Six over the Eight; Nonsuch winter one-o-clockers to Molesey, 2 November

It was an unpromising morning; grey and misty, drifting in and out of drizzle, we had children and grandchildren staying and I had a bit of a cold.  But the announcements reminding riders of the winter time change had not gone smoothly and with Nigel on slow recovery, Steve away the last couple of weeks and Tony down to take the short ride at two-o-clock, we had no idea how many would turn up at the Mansion and whether we would have enough leaders.

A one-o-clock start gives us a minor lunch challenge, and Maggie's experiment to meet up with Anna and lunch in Cheam would have worked perfectly had I not underestimated the size of the savoury pastries.  I had to ride with a cherry tart wrapped in serviettes in my saddlebag!  We had a guessing game about how many would turn up, and knowing that Nonsuch riders have a history of good attendance on bad weather days, I was the one who guessed correctly.

Thirteen of us had gathered and as the only registered leader willing to lead I explained that with a bit of a cold I did not fancy a hilly ride in the country; my suggestion of Hampton Court seemed to go down well.  The group was uncomfortably large so I was mightily relieved when on the cusp of our departure Steve breezed up the path offering a slightly faster ride to Walton Bridge, so we split and seven went with Steve, five with me.

Six is a really comfortably sized group for an urban ride, I kept a steady pace, my cold behaved itself, and the weather slowly cleared, so we ended up having a delightful ride through Tolworth and Thames Ditton to One over the Eight, the Molesey Boat Club cafe south of the river.

Friendly staff, a leisurely coffee, a delicious cake, back through an autumnal Bushy Park and Kingston Market, home in the light before five-o-clock and nearly 50 Km door to door to help me creep towards my annual mileage target.  What more can you ask of a Saturday?

Bushy Park on Saturday; picture by Sue

During Sunday, however, Maggie and I began feeling really rough and on Monday we tested positive for Covid, despite having had the vaccination four weeks previously.  I expect we will not be round and about until at least next weekend.