Oh we have slipped the surly bonds of Cheam. Short ride, 22 November

The weather was non too promising on Saturday but dear old Auntie had promised that the rain would blow through and ease by two.  It did so by one, so we set out configured for another cold, damp afternoon.

Colin was awaiting at the Mansion but is still not fit enough to come out on the ride, so we thought it would likely be just Paul and Maggie, Roger and Anna.  And, of course, Biggles.  Banstead was on the programme, as it usually is when it is my turn to take the short ride, and I thought we'd test Roger's relationship with Biggles by seeking out the hilliest route but, to our collective delight, Jenny turned up, her first ride with us since her unfortunate tumble the other week.  And then, in direct contradiciton to what Aunite had promised, it began to spit rain again, so I promised everybody that we would take the easier route.

Thus did we slip the surly bonds of Cheam, and dance the lights under the railway on laughter-silvered bikes.  Upward we climbed and joined the gloomy murk of rain-filled clouds, and wheeled and soared round muddy crack and pothole.  We flung our eager steeds through buffeting gusts of gale until with easy grace we topped the wind-swept heights of Banstead where this day neither lark nor eagle flew.

The Lavender Cafe was near-deserted but boy, was it warm in there.  And as we coffeed and caked and watched our bikes the rain came down.  So we waited and waited in hope that it would ease but really, we were waiting for Spring and hope was hopeless if we wanted to get home for tea and not only did the rain get worse, but a winter's evening was closing in.

Cosy and warm and hoping for the rain to ease

So down we went through standing puddles past the prisons and through to California.  There some turned for home but leadership involves seeing everyone safely back and Jenny needed a guide back to Nonsuch.

At least the drivers, generally, acknowledged that anyone so stupid as to be cycling in such conditions on a November night should be afforded room and courtesy.  There was just enough light to get through the park and, just as my fingers and toes were beginning to complain, I was home, put out my hand and grasped the mug of steaming tea.

Thanks to all for your company on such an afternoon, and apologies to a brave young man, John G McGee.