Author: simonteagueathomegmailcom

Ride organizers are listed against dates on a spreadsheet called “Ride Organizers”, hosted in a WhatsApp group and carefully administered by “Andrew the organized.” Andrew is also known as “Deputy Daug, for his full-time cat-herding responsibilities. He has many spreadsheets, not least important, the one that records what you have ordered for the Christmas meal. It has been observed that many club members have difficulty in recalling these details, especially the ones who have been driven to the pub. I’m not sure why, but I have some theories. It could be that being driven to the pub is bad for the memory of those who normally cycle there, however this may conflate cooccurrence with causality.

However, what happens when Andrew’s computer is in the computer-hospital ! Chaos that’s what. So it came to pass that no ride was organized for this Thursday. No pub booked, no coffee stop, no route. Oh dear. Rod stepped into the gap as quick as a flash and constructed a route while Alan booked The Pheasant at Great Chishill. They are used to us and could host at short notice. I think we pushed out another large and ever expanding group though.

Charles took the starting photo, while Nigel carried out last minute preparations.

This time of the year Windmillers have to take every chance to get out. And what a chance this was, with unseasonably warm weather and bright sunshine after days of continuously wet weather.

We sorted ourselves into two groups (roughly). Group 1; Jeremy, Rod, Keith, Nigel, MartinB, Charles and Group 2; Alan, Graham, Howard, Andrew, Brian, Rob, myself.

This turned out to be a very nice route. We are lucky to be located where we are, surrounded by beautiful countryside and quiet lanes within easy reach. Crossing the A10 twice proved to be no problem. In fact this route back through the new estate in Buntingford is worth noting.

The coffee break was at Church Farm, Ardeley. Which is well named because before cake I can cycle downhill but can ‘Ardeley get up ‘um, whereas afterwards, I’m more resilient.

November has All Saints’ Day (1st), and All Souls’ Day (2nd), and St. Martin’s Day (Martinmas, 11th), Remembrance Sunday, St. Clement’s Day (23rd), but that’s not enough is it. No, best to start celebrating Christmas, or at least paying for it, this month, as these Grinches will testify.

This being the season of magic we spent some time in the sunshine shrinking Jeremy to the size of an elf and then restoring him to normal stature. Just one of the endless ways we amuse ourselves.

Despite the shortening days, this season has its own beauty, captured this week by Graham, with his pictures of sloes, crab apples and Rowan berries pictured against the blue sky.

Having picked up Ken and Martin on route the groups reconvened for the usual meal and drinks. A good club ride, and thanks go to Rod and Alan for that. Andrew’s computer is now recuperating and normal service will be resumed I’m told.

What a head-ache things can be. Broken technology, wife needing running repairs, Christmas meals approaching. Lets hear it for “Deputy Daug”. I’m sure he will cope, he always does.

This was a fine October morning to assemble at The Three Horseshoes in Hinxworth and explore bits of three counties; Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire and Cambridgeshire.

Two groups; group1 led by Graham with Brian, Ken, Keith, Rick, Victor, me and group 2, Maurice, Andrew, Alan, Howard, Jenni and Charles

It’s strange how different counties have such different characters. Bedfordshire with it’s open vistas, with few but very fast cars. Cambridgeshire with it’s terrible road surfaces and the little inclines and pretty villages of Hertfordshire. Some of this ride was on dirt track with few dangers to find.

If there is no hazard to find then Andrew can put his mind to making some. Here one handed cycling through leaves and twigs provides just the opportunity. Thank goodness no harm was done and it simply provided a golden opportunity for Charles’s front camera. (Well done Charles).

Coffee was at Bean Theory in Waresley, so as to avoid Christmas tat at the nearby garden center, where grandparents make an early start at spoiling the grandchildren. Providing coffee in return for money isn’t enough for Bean Theory. I only want the Bean Practical bit myself, preferably in a cup. I Love the large print black&white photos here, mostly of jazz musicians.

However I think they confuse ‘Values’ with aspirations. This from their website.

But I was too busy to quiz them on it. For instance is it too fastidious to point out that to be welcoming is a behaviour not a value? Still let’s move on and forgive them for aping Americans.

Overall this was a good ride with mixed scenery, dirt tracks and minor roads and only the occasional car or agricultural truck. Not as scenic as some rides but great to see new areas and explore three counties in one day. Thanks to Graham for route planning and organization.

A good club ride planned and carried out expertly.

Sometimes, despite the most careful planning, not everything happens how you want it, that’s just life. This ride had a large section on compacted earth, the wind blew and the ride was affected by a fire on the A14, filling otherwise quite lanes with diverted traffic. The elements, earth wind and fire, seemed to conspire against us. But that’s not true of course. Actually they just doesn’t give a toss.

We set out as two groups from The George at Spaldwick. Those with racing tires and cleats soon wished they had heeded Graham’s warning of ‘delightful hard packed cycle tracks’. That description was right, but I was surprised by how steep some of the climbs were and how the wheels spun on the dust.

We suffered two early casualties when Keith’s chain decided to knot it’s self, resulting him returning to the start. Maurice likewise had to call off his ride to care further for his much loved dog.

Oh dear was this an omen? Was there further trouble ahead?

The sky was blue and the wind was strong. It was a nice day but not the easiest for cycling. The water authority has provided excellent recreational facilities; cycle paths, sailing, fishing, out-door-adventure areas and we fervently hoped A NICE CAFE.

Having watched three people get served over about 15 minutes in the ‘Fisherman’s Rest Cafe’ by a single, pained member of staff, the group unanimously decided there were more options at nearby Kimbolton. I was impressed with the club, making a quick decision to move on, displaying exasperation rather than any doing any complaining.

Kimbolton has a castle, well not really, it now looks like a stone manor-house complex and houses a private school. Catherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s first wife, was sent to the castle here in 1534, and died a little less than two years later. The school does not encourage photos Rob learned. Maybe comparison with state schools, with their RAAC concrete, rather than honey-coloured ancient stone, is unwanted while the need for a 20% VAT reduction is debated.

The church is also fine, with marvelous stain-glass windows and fascinating woodwork.

All very nice. But where is the coffee shop? At last all was well and the half-time drinks were only slightly delayed.

The second half of the ride was planned to be through quiet country lanes. But it wasn’t to be. A fire on the A14 had displaced large amounts of traffic off the main road, turning the lanes into long queues of anxious drivers, with people racing down others in an effort to make it to their appointments on time.

Exactly how farming in the UK has developed with all the arable in the east and all dairy in the west, necessitating driving large quantities of dried grasses from east to west, will have to wait until another blog. If you wanted a better example of overly-cheap oil distorting a market economy, it would be difficult to find one. Roll on a revamp of UK farming I say.

So a lovely ride in beautiful autumn conditions, slightly ambushed by the elements of earth, wind and fire. Still what can one do?

Go back to pub I suppose and very nice it was too.

Back together Graham, Martin, MartinB, Brian, myself, Rod, Jenni, Andrew, Rob, Deborah and Alan, reunited for a beer in the warm sunshine. A happy ending to another adventure. Keith and Maurice only score half points, too bad, because despite careful planning you know stuff happens. Better luck next time.

This Thursday’s ride from The Cock Inn at Broom was combined with the chance to watch the Lloyds Tour of Britain 2025, men’s race, stage 3.

Excellent planning by Graham had placed us at the pub in Broom at 1o’clock to see the race go by right at the end of the street and then again nearer Northill, with the race going around the loop above. We were able to sample some of the excitement, passing infrastructure prepared for the race, also by being able to cycle the ‘King of the Hill’ part of the circuit (downwards) and passing cycling-fans who had camped roadside preparing for a good view. A good view of the race that was, not of a Windmill Club ride, which is not yet a popular spectator sport. They looked slightly confused, checked their watches, but our ride was shorter, 75% sorter and quite a bit slower, just under half their average speed actually.

Still, I suppose they didn’t stop for coffee, talk to their friends and finish with beer and sausages. More fool them is all I can say.

It’s hard to credit how quiet the roads are in this area, having got there on bits of the A505 and A1 I had my doubts. Once underway I really enjoyed the ride, especially with much of it off-road and along the river, via Newnham and Willington.

Coffee was at Danish Camp, a log cabin and river boating center. The story goes that the site was constructed by the Danish Viking leader Hastein. It’s true that the upper course of the Great Ouse marked the boundary between English territory and that of Danelaw in the year 884.

The Danes (Aka Vikings) had been making a nuisance of themselves for a few hundred years and had taken much of the eastern part of the country. I know, they say “something is rotten in the state of Denmark”, the populations of Greenland and the Faroe Islands might agree with this even today. But with respect to this site, I’m sorry to inform you that this history is rubbish.

Perchance made up for the tourists?

Serious dating performed by archeologists and reported in Bedfordshire government archives shows human habitation at the site starting from around 1100.

Still it’s a family run business, so who can blame them. And the coffee and cakes were good.

Back at the pub we enjoyed the authentic (c1830) interior and the variety of beers. The pub has won a number of awards ‘Rural Pub of the Year’ and ‘Bedfordshire’s best Pub 2025’. It’s famous for having no bar but barrels in the cellar.

We were back in plenty of time to see the race whizz by. I was halfway though lunch so missed some of it, though one has to get one’s priorities right. I cycled with Rod to catch them 2nd time round, but we missed that as well, so some improvement in cycle viewing is possible on my part.

I was prompted to dwell on why road racing isn’t as popular a spectator sport in the UK as on the continent. This despite considerable UK success in professional races, including this one. Those interested might read this rather thoughtful article

https://rijden.uk/blog/is-british-cycle-sport-dying/

Too much focus on the elite end of the sport, lack of free-to-air viewing, resistance to events by local authorities/police/motorists, limited diversity by ethnicity/age/gender etc, there are a few problems. Myself, I felt the inability to stay in one spot to see the sport happen was the greatest limitation. I can more easily imagine going to a cycle drome or even cyclocross, where you can see much of the course from a single spot. It’s a shame though since road cycling has led the way in the development of data analytics, biomechanics, innovations in sporting equipment and safety gear. The best people in the sport are undoubtably amongst the fittest people in any sport. On the other hand it also has a venerable history in drug use and doping.

A memorable ride and thanks go to Graham. For the record Rach, Rob, Graham, Rod, Nigel, Alan, Brian, Jeremy and myself rode.

Nigel bought birthday drinks and received the usual rendition. Andrew failed to make it, but wishes he had, having seen the price of a new tire on a Range Rover. Ken made it to lunch. A very enjoyable ride where the threatened rain never materialized. We got away with it again.

Oh yes, it’s that time of year again.

Always a popular ride this one despite being a full day out and 43 miles, most of which can’t be done at full speed, because it is along canal tow paths or through very urban spaces. I was pleased to see the club acquit themselves well, giving other path-users plenty of space and friendly thanks. We pride ourselves on being a polite club and I was glad to see high standards upheld on this ride, despite some difficult conditions.

The group contained new members (Rob) and those that hadn’t done it before, like Rach. The weather wasn’t great, especially for the return leg, but I hope they enjoyed the ride as much as the regular ‘crew’.

As usual we assembled at the Lee Valley White Water Centre. E-bikes and Brian formed the first group (Charles, Martin, Rod, Maurice, Brian). The rest; Rach, Victor, (new)Rob, Graham, Andrew, Tom, Paul, Deborah, Howard, Rick and Me were meant to form two more groups, but counting and organising proved too much of a challenge without the ever-patient guidance of Brian, the trip organiser.  However, Brian had left us both a route and a plan. They are both useful things we found.

The route.

The plan.

This was for the e-bikes and Brian to take the Silver Town Tunnel Shuttle Bus and the rest of us to take the cable car, pardon me, the ‘IFS Cloud Cable Car’, because e-bikes are regarded as too self-combustible to be transported by cable car.

You see it’s better for bikes to catch fire inside a tunnel, inside an electric bus. A bus with a much bigger electric battery, along with other people, who also have combustible e-bikes. Together with an innocent driver, on minimum wage, dressed in an inflammable nylon uniform. You see not enough poor people have been set on fire by rich London boroughs, since Grenfell.

No seriously, the point is in a tunnel, any fire will be out of sight. Where people can’t take photos of burning cable cars with ‘IFS – Solutions for Every Industry’ posters in the background.

The bus driver does look a little bit nervous in this photo. Still who can blame her with all those bikes, bikers and the prospect of another trip through the tunnel ahead. Meanwhile we enjoyed ourselves on the cable car.

When a river crossing at this point was first proposed, in 1998, it had to be ready for the year 2000 celebrations. Sustrans suggested a walking and cycling bridge. But Sustrans is a charity, with the slogan ‘liveable cities and towns for everyone’ so they were ignored. Instead, and I’m not making this up, it was decided that London commuters would ‘flock to’ a cable car. The then London Council insisted that, whatever link was created, the journey must be payable by Oyster Card, so as to make it available to ordinary Londoners. After an 11-year delay and 10-fold increase in cost, to £60 million, the cable car was just about open, ready for the Olympics in 2012. After the games, commuters only flocked to it in a limited way. Oster Card data showed that 16 people a week used it for commuting.

At exactly 1000 meters the cable car looks excellent value at £60K per meter against HS2 at £295K per meter, the latter without including the cost of the proposed Euston terminus.

As always it was good to see Charles on this ride, dressed in his inimitable style. Behind him you can see a silver Rolls Royce (center left) waiting for an ordinary Londoner who has commuted to work by cable car. Just like Boris predicted they would after the Olympics. I missed my cup of coffee getting that photo you know.

Lunch at Greenwich’s Trafalgar Inn provoked some controversy. With beer (and cider) at that price, that was inevitable. Brian, with supercharged diplomatic skills, eased the club into an early lunch rather than forging on to later venues. His next challenge will be a negotiated peace in Gaza.

Nelson had abjured naval power for flower-power and Howard had brought a map in the unlikely event that he got lost.

The route along the south bank is complex and we had some problems keeping the group together. Crossing Tower bridge was as exciting/scary as ever.

With the crowds of tourists, crawling traffic, noise and rapidly worsening weather it was a relief to drop down to the Limehouse Basin. Unfortunately Rach and Graham go split off at this point. And the rain became increasingly yuk.

Some of the infrastructure in London is incredible. One example is Bow Locks. Rather than have some e-bikers dismount, other club members pushed them up the ramp. Anyway everyone go to the top safe and sound in the end. Good club effort.

To be honest the route home was a challenge, with cold rain, greasy cobbles, puddles and grit. Non of this dampened the good spirits of some of the group who still found time to encourage young cyclists along the way to continue enjoying their riding.

I suppose a cycle is what you make it. You can always ignore the weather, spread your love of riding and just hope for a drier, warmer day tomorrow. This Maurice has truly mastered.

Special thanks go to Brian for organizing this one and navigating the difficulties along the way with aplomb. I enjoyed it in a slightly masochistic way, but then nobody can control the weather. Onwards and upwards.

It started at the Red Cow in Chrishall with a simple request for a fish finger sandwich.

Red Cow staff “We only do things that are on the menu”.

Martin2 “OK give me a pen and I’ll write it on the menu”.

The riff came to my mind, “You can’t always get want”, from the Rolling Stones. Something in Mick Jagger’s demeanor however suggests to me that he lacks something more significant to him than a fish finger sandwich. Perhaps its a prescient commentary on pre-Thatcherite Britain. Or maybe Mr Jagger was referring to the human condition and some deeper desire for “Satisfaction” with life in general.

At the Red Cow it transpires that there is a menu, also a specials menu and then rising into the stratosphere of attempts at “customer satisfaction”, a special by pre-order only menu, whereupon one can obtain fish finger sandwiches. So, there you go, next time we can take full advantage of the service available and obtain true ‘Satisfaction’ at The Red Cow.

It was a very nice morning. The pub looked splendid in the summer sunshine.

We split into two groups of 6. Myself, Rod, Andrew, Gareth, Martin and Martin2. Group 2 Graham, Geoff, Nigel, Rick, Alan, Maurice. We were slightly delayed by bumping into two old friends of the club, Simon and Oli, former owners of the Windmill Pub in Great Chishill, the club’s spiritual home.  

The route was approximately as shown.

The ride proceeded uneventfully enough. Only Andrew being a little delayed by catching a shoelace in his chain and Martin having some problem with ‘the master controller’ on his bike. Apparently, the more important the gadget, the smaller the electrical contacts.

We approached the coffee shop half way round with some trepidation.

In the past Poppy’s Barn had solved the conundrum of providing “customer satisfaction” by the simple expedient of stopping customers coming in. This applied especially to cyclists. Most especially to cyclists who complain, so we have avoided the place for around a year. Rod had decided to let “bygones be bygones” and give it another go. An appointment was duly made. The staff raised the Union Jack and put away the Swastika and the Jolly Roger, which they carefully folded-up and put in a drawer. The Bolshe proprietor had returned from his ‘customer satisfaction’ course transformed into a modern version of Uriah Heep.

“Oh, would you like coffee Sir. Myself and Mrs. Heep have looked forward to this, Sir, a long while. We had fears that our ‘umbleness stood in the way. ‘Umble we are, ‘umble we have been, ‘umble we shall ever be.”

“Oh, and cake Sir! You do us a great honour. I shall ask Mrs Heep to transport some of her very finest morsels from our ‘umble kitchen to here, for you, for your immediate delectation.”

My cake and coffee was well over £8. But of course I didn’t complain. Martin says his scrambled egg(?) was excellent and that its good to know that the free range, organic roosters will sup champagne and dine in style this summer eve, having provided such excellent service.

I should warn the rock fans among you that not all music has aged as well as the lyrics of Jagger and Richards. Old fans of Uriah Heep please take note.

The highlight of the 2^nd leg was cycling past the Wenden’s Ambo nuclear missile silo.

The first I heard of it was Andrew saying, “in that window there it says, this house contains nuts”. Indeed, the village has gone nuts, though I am told that their negotiations will Moscow, concerning arms reduction, is going well. Early attempts at warhead generation has led to some radioactive contamination in the area and one of the resulting, huge, yellow snails was spotted at the level crossing.  

Perhaps, like in the Cuban missiles, this missile too will soon be decommissioned, and I hope that I will be able to report progress in future blogs.

More immediately we noted the availability of a station mistress.

It’s good to know that even British Rail are getting more focused on ‘customer satisfaction’. I wondered if she will accept my pensioner’s rail card.

The final piece of ‘off road’ was a cool, green tunnel against the rising heat of midday and seemed designed to remind us how lucky we are to have all this excellent cycling so close by.

Thanks go to Rod for organising and re-trying some of our old haunts. Also, to Graham who celebrated his birthday and bought the beer. It was good to see Ken upon our return though this week he couldn’t quite make the cycling. Half marks, should try harder.

Cock-a-doodle-do!

I sprang out of bed cock-a-hoop at the thought of such fine weather for a Thursday ride this early in March. Cock-a-doodle-do went next door’s rooster. I thought, this word is a fine example of onomatopoeia. My bacon sizzled, my cereal went snap, crackle, pop and I looked forward to clunk, click (every trip). The latter being a lovely example of onomatopoeia combined with assonance. Anybody would think these advertising executives have done English degrees and, unlike most of the students, were actually listening.

This early in the morning my darling wife looked fetching, using a pillow for a hat, with her palms firmly pressed over her ears. I thought this was probably because of the rooster’s antics. Or maybe she is anticipating this morning’s first lecture “A comparative study of onomatopoeic usage in English and Spanish (part 1)”

All this was soon forgotten as we assembled at the Cock at Hen(ham) with the prospect of a fine day for cycling. In the garden the weathercock was set to fair. We all had coffee, except Deborah who cocked-a-snook at this tradition and chose tea instead. Andrew studied the menu hoping for cockles as a starter, but they were unavailable. Unfortunately, the soup was tomato and basil and not his preferred cock-a-leekie.

After coffee and before riding, gentlemen of a certain age all visit the bathroom. However, all reference to cock has been deleted from this section of the blog by the Windmill Club Censors.

By 9.30 Group-1 (Maurice, Rod, Ken, Andrew, Victor, Rick, Brian and myself) was cocked and ready to go. I kept an ear cocked so as to be ready for when my group set off. I asked Brian if I should join group 1, he cocked his head in affirmation.

This was the route

We went anti-cock-wise.

As I cycled, I mulled over the symbolism of the thrice crowing cock. It is associated with events of great import and of the need for repentance. This relates to the biblical story of Peter’s denial of Jesus (Matthew 26:34, Mark 14:30, Luke 22:34, John 13:38).

Our neighbour’s cock often crows three times. The pause is then tense. When it resumes and issues some more, any thought of my need for redemption fades from my mind. It crows like its life depends on it. That would be especially true if it were my cockerel. My actions would then require quite some redemption.  

Andrew’s chain came off during the ride. The chain was a bit long and on the smallest cog looked a bit cockeyed. He thinks it is necessary to remove two links. Both he and Maurice were nearly caught out by a particularly bad pothole right in the middle of the carriageway during this outing. These need pointing out when on a club ride. Though there are so many at the side of the road it has become near impossible to call them all out.

The second group was comprised of Graham, Geoffrey, Alan, Charles, Deborah, Howard, Neil, Gareth and Keith. The two groups met for coffee at the Blue Egg and we all sat together in the sunshine.

Group 2 stopped at the Rectory Ponds at Little Easton where Howard tried recording and identifying bird song using his phone.

They spotted a duck with a fishing lure attached near to its eye and Kieth reported it. The reply from the angling club was a bit unhelpful. One might expect a fishing bailiff to have excellent eyesight, and so it proves. Apparently, the lure has ‘Made in Poland’ printed on it, though my eyesight is too poor to make this out.

It’s an upsetting image so I am using Graham’s of another duck to adorn our blog.

I note male birds of any kind are called cocks, the females’ hens. This nomenclature is a little cumbersome when referring the male woodcock, as a cock woodcock. With a little more global warming a think peacocks and cockatoos will be a common sight around inland ponds.

The route was far from a cockamamy idea and proved ideal for the day. There were no cockups in the arrangements, as might be expected for a Graham ride. Both groups arrived back in time for their pub lunch. All that remained to do was to enjoy some beer in the spring sunshine, while listening to the usual poppycock and cock-and-bull stories.

At this point you can vote. Was this a good blog or a load of cock?

I remind you that it can be both.

November 14th, another Thursday and I wake up to fog. I draw the curtains, the grass is still growing, the leaves are still on the trees. It’s my son’s birthday he’s 32. I remember the fortnight before his birth only too well. Nottingham had snow on the roads for all of the two weeks before. The ruts were so deep I had to park the car several streets away from the hospital and trudge the rest with two carrier bags. They mostly contained spare clothes, nuts and chocolate. Apparently women in late pregnancy double their calorie intake. Believe me that’s a lot of nuts.

Still this day was warm enough for shorts, just about. I got the bike out but could hardly see the road from the house. Still off to a Maurice organised ride from the Black Bull at Balsham. The fog on the way was even worse than at home.

Driving along I remembered on my son’s 10th birthday, our first in Chrishall, it snowed. His birthday party turned into a massive snowball fight. I’m convinced there is no joy greater than when 10 year old’s engage in a snowball fight. My only regret was I missed much of it while consoling a delicate, weeping boy whose hands were too cold to stay outside. The tears were half for the pain, half for missing the fun. A terrible life-lesson for anyone too sensitive about their environment.

Coffee and a chat in the car park passed the time as the fog gradually lifted.

It was predicted to clear around 10.30. Although they aren’t perfect, I’m sure weather forecasts are better than they used to be. It transpired that they were right this time.

See the fog at the start. Like hovering rain, it stuck to my legs. Yuk, where was that sun.

I set off thinking about how there had been no snow on his 20th or 30th birthday. I started thinking about the Gaia theory (pronounced Ga-ee-ya) In this theory, stuff living on the planet, in the oceans, jungles and everywhere else, interacts with the environment to form a self-regulating system that makes life on Earth possible, by stabilizing the system as a whole. So, you can think of the earth, the whole environment, as very like yourself on a ride, cold at the start, warm after a while and back to normal after half an hour in the pub. A wonderful self-regulating machine.

If you look at the temperature for November in the UK you might see what I mean. The black-dashed line in the picture above is the average, the trend, over 130 years.

Looking at the dashed-black trend line, in 1900 the earth is a bit warm, but by 1920 is back to feeling normal again. This undulation in temperate has been going on for thousands of years. Undulations that return to where you start will feel very familiar to anyone riding with the club. By 1950 it’s getting warm again, but as Gaia theory would predict, all the living stuff on the planet starts to restore normality. However, by 1970 it can’t quite do it, something’s in the self-correction machine is bust.

I’ll leave you to contemplate how thinking of the whole earth as being like a ‘single body’, like yourself, is a bit like a religious belief. After all, many ‘primitive’ religions emphasized one-ness with the sky, the rocks and rivers, being as one with all living and non living things.

One thing this religion of ‘eco-stuff’, like Gaia, does have in common with other faiths, is that it annoys people. It annoys them a lot. Its like having a Methodist berating you about drinking beer. “For goodness, sake leave me alone, I’m a grown-up”. Or a Jehovah’s Witness on blood transfusion. “My blood, my business”. Likewise, my organs, and as long as I’m completely done with them, I’d be delighted to help someone else. If you ask me, it’s wicked to bury or burn life-transforming biological material. That’s my firmly held belief, but you don’t have to share it.

So, no preaching about the climate. The data are the data and likewise your experiences might make you suspect that the trend is right. Remembering my son’s birthdays has convinced me, looking at data from expensive satellites has too. Some truth is inconvenient, that’s why it isn’t always popular.

By 11 the world around me had nicely warmed up, as had I. Time for a coffee at at Winners in Finchingfield. Nice place, very efficient and Group 1 (Roger, Maurice, Alan, Charles, Rod and Howard) already had their coffee and were comfortably seated outside.

If there had been more space outside, group 2 would have opted for that as well. But they had nicked all the nice spaces.

So group 2 (Neil, Myself, Brian, Tom, Chris, Gareth, Martin) settled for coffee and a cake inside. We made the best of it.

Actually it turned out to be a beautiful ride, designed by Maurice, with a few gentle undulations. Just enough to keep it interesting.

Special mention goes to Martin since it was his first 30 mile cycle for a while. Having missed much of the summer, at least there was a little sunshine and it must have been great to get out again.

Back at the pub we had a table and a room of our own. The service was as welcoming and as swift as ever. My meal was only interrupted when I realised I hadn’t paid at Winners.

Too busy taking photos for this blog. Still they were very nice about it. And lest we forget something much more important I include one of my pictures here.

Nice ride. Not too complicated. Made time for a bit of contemplating and reminiscing. Not too much I hope, since we all have to focus on enjoying the here and now.

Still this weather makes you think. Doesn’t it?

After a spell riding the lost railways of Andalusia it was back to Blighty and the Red Lion at Gt. Sampford. Once again the sun shone on a Maurice Ride with blue skies, a slight chill that disappeared by 10, and what turned out to be a fine ride through the deserted lanes of Essex.

Deborah was early. Yes you read that right. But she was using Jennie’s bike and a borrowed car, so the chaos of her house moving/renovating, bike loss, bike maintenance etc remains a much discussed Windmill Club saga. A bit like The Archers, but more interesting.

Our route is below.

I was in group one, lead by Maurice with; Paul, Rod, Gareth and me. Most of the pictures though are from group two; Jeremy, Graham, Howard, Roger, Kieth, Deborah and Andrew. This group followed the usual etiquette and got their group photo with the Gibraltar Mill, Great Bardfield in the background.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly until we arrived at Tarka’s. We left our bikes up against the side of the cafe, since the ‘fence’ is only a couple of wires. One of the staff came straight out and told us not to leave bikes there because if people tripped over them on the way to the toilets then Tarka’s would be sued.

Intuitively I felt that this possibility was unlikely. We have experts in insurance within the Windmill Club, just like on every other subject, but I felt I could manage without additional guidance. I suggested that we move the bicycles to the other side of the wire. There they would be on the public road and covered by someone else’s insurance. But no, that was no good. Apparently the cafe was being enlarged and our bikes would be in the way of construction traffic. I stifled the thought that this was probably so that they could sell still more coffee and cake at £8 a go to cyclists, but instead suggested instead that we might take them round the back. But no, that wasn’t possible either.

I felt a rising sense of despair as I contemplated exactly what it was, that was within my power, which would make this lady happy. After all they have not (yet) invented hovering bikes or ones that take themselves for a ride while you have a quiet coffee. All the discussion was a pity really since this place is normally friendly enough. Eventually the fuss died down, we moved the bikes onto the ‘ultra-busy’ road, which is a dead-end and also serves a sleepy antique shop, then got on with our coffee. I made a mental note that, if they ever do provide some bike stands, I must leave my bike well away from the antique shop.

No complaints when the cakes arrived though.

I only ate half of my cake. Then, since I was riding a light-weight bike, I wrapped the rest in a serviette and gave it to Maurice, who returned it safely to the pub.

Charles rose fearlessly to the cake challenge with extra marsh mellow on his coffee. No further complaints were heard from the staff when Jeremy changed into a new shirt.

Unfortunately this was not the only coffee stop problem this week. Poppy’s Barn has decided to charge an extra 15% on groups of 6 or more. Since cakes don’t cost more for a large group, I suppose this is really a ‘we don’t want you here’ signal. Of course we cycle all year round and they may change their minds when the ramblers/wanders pack it in for winter, but until then we have re-routed our future rides to Compass Courtyard. Apparently the irascible proprietor of Poppy’s has had some dispute with a member of another, less polite, cycling club so its

“Knock knock” “Why are all cyclists the same” “I don’t know, why are all cyclists the same” “They all have bikes and they are in the way”

Anyway back to the joys of riding Essex’s best lanes on a nice day.

These were perfect lanes for a Windmill Ride. You could power ahead like Howard, while Kieth and Andrew chat two abreast. Or take-up the entire road for yourself, like Andrew here. Gareth and myself powered through the last 4 miles at a really good pace, which I enjoyed despite an all too close encounter with an oncoming heating-oil truck.

As usual the food at the end of the ride was excellent. This time Tom seemed to hit the jackpot.

Not bad for ‘pub grub’ I think. Then of course there is the beer. And with a beer in front of him Graham always looks like he’s won the jackpot.

I can’t say I blame him. After 30 miles or more the first one always goes down rather well I find.

Anyway great ride, excellent pub, well organised and lead by Maurice.

What else would you expect?

For a while Keith had been telling us that there was this great pub in Clare, The Cock. And what a load of old cock that turned out to be. They never replied to his phone calls or emails, so one Thursday he went round to knock at the door. Sure enough, it was closed. He judged (correctly) that a key requirement for a pub acting as base for a ride is that it should be open at 1 o’clock, and also preferably at 9 o’clock. He suspected that failure in this regard was likely to come up at the ‘Christmas Do’ so more investigation was required.

He decided to go down the road to The Swan although it didn’t look like it had any parking, only to find that they did, in a field round the back. So this became the base for our Suffolk ride.

With glorious late summer weather and the prospect of a ride through quiet lanes, the turnout was large, 18 in all. When I was at school we were instructed in a skill called division, so I naively thought that the 3 groups would contain 6 people each. Still after the first 8 had left I gave up on any notion of academic rigour as applied to Windmill club. The music in the garden also reminded me of very old times but there you have it.

I set off in the last 5. The going seemed hard. There was an annoying squeak from the bike. Perhaps the mudguard had got knocked while driving over? Still mudguards are a kindness to fellow riders when riding in a group, so you have to put up with them.

I got off. The side of tire was was sticky and hot. Odd but the wheel looked buckled. Had a fiddle, but everyone was keen to get on since we were only 10 minutes into the ride.

Quite a few hills at the start of this ride and by Belchamp and I was knackered. The locals seem a bit obsessed with this place. At one point all roads seem to lead to Belchamp. Perhaps they don’t want any visitors to miss out on its attractions or maybe it is 2nd World War sign intended to confuse the invading Germans.

By the coffee stop at Willow Tree Cafe near Glemsford it was clear to me that either my bike was on its last legs or I was, or possibly both.

Time to get help from one or more of our resident engineers. Anything can be fixed, especially when fueled by coffee and cake.

This is not something you want to see 15 miles from the pub, with your brakes rubbing, tire wall blistered and legs getting a bit wobbly. Still back forks are flared and by moving the wheel back as far as it would go and loosening the back brake it was possible to position the wheel so the bike was ride-able, just.

The cafe is quite posh and the service was very good, which was just as well since we spent most of the time bike-fixing. Our groups deficiencies in arrhythmic were partly addressed by us acquiring Deborah and Neil from another group. I will pass over the mere fact that we were now 7 out of 18. Its just a detail.

It was good to be joined by Neil whose bike is not deficient in any way. In fact its a very nice bike I thought. I wish I had one.

Here I can be seen, head down, encouraged by Rod while Neil enjoys his ride.

Despite my difficulties I can honestly say that this was a very nice ride through delightful, quiet Suffolk lanes. Grass growing down the middle, that sort of lane, where you can talk to fellow riders or just enjoy the sunshine and the piece and quiet.

Absolutely perfect.

Return to the pub made possible several long, cold drinks in the warm sunshine. The food had been pre-ordered and came out quickly through the effort of several busy servers.

Everyone seemed happy to have been part of another excellent Windmill occasion. It had been an adventure. New pub, new cafe, nice route, bike nursed home with some help from other club members and beer duly drunk. All that remained was to go home and nurse my very tired legs in a hot bath. Taking a leaf our of Andrew’s book I opted for a hot bath and 40 winks before my wife returned from work. Whereupon I tell her how busy I have been, gardening, jobs around the the house, that sort of thing. She expresses indulgence rather than any great belief.

For the record riders were: Keith, Jeremy, Paul, Deborah, Jenny, Roger, Sandra, Neil, Maurice, Rod, Charles, Martin B, Howard, Nigel, Andrew, Geoffrey and myself.

Doctor’s note and lunch only for Brian who is shouldering along, back to full fitness and of course our very best wishes to ‘The Reverend’ who is making sterling progress and whom I hope will soon be back as a lunching member.

So far, it’s not been a great summer weather-wise, but all that was forgotten as it turned out at its best for the annual London ride. With six members still in France, a small but select band; Kieth, Paul, Roger, Brian, Deborah, Gareth, Simon and Maurice prepared for the trip by assembling at the National Water-sports Center and heading off down the Lee Valley led by Maurice.

This route follows the canals to the center of London with hardly a moment on the roads. This seems like a miracle.

Being a warm day we were ready for a drink when we arrived at the base of the IFS Cloud Cable Car. Kieth ordered his can of drink, which he put down only for it to be swept up by a hyper-efficient street cleaner, who emptied it, retaining the can for recycling.

The trip in the cable car, views as great as ever, soon deposited us on the South Bank of the Thames

New was Damien Hirst’s ‘Demon with a bowl’ statue. At 18 meters tall this is an impressive piece of public art and a fine addition to London’s many sights.

Lunch was, as usual, at the Trafalgar Inn. With good beer, food and most importantly really rapid service, which makes it a great stop.

By this point everyone was enjoying their ride. The pub is something of a celebration of England’s past and of Nelson in particular.

During his career Nelson fought; the Americans, Italians, Indians, Russians, Prussians, Swedish, Dutch, Spanish and most famously the French. He seems to have lacked the instinct for self-preservation, which is so well developed in most of us. Early in his career he was reprimanded for chasing a polar bear, putting crew members at risk. He lost his right eye during the battle of Corsica and his right arm in the battle of Tenerife. I particularly enjoyed the description of his efforts during the battle of Egypt,

“a piece of French shot struck him in the forehead. He fell to the deck, with a flap of torn skin obscuring his good eye. Blinded and half-stunned, he felt sure he would die and cried out, “I am killed. Remember me to my wife.” He was taken below to be seen by the surgeon. After examining Nelson, the surgeon pronounced the wound non-threatening and applied a temporary bandage.”

It wasn’t healthy even to be stood near Nelson. So, during the battle of Trafalgar,

“Victory came under fire. A cannonball struck and killed Nelson’s secretary, John Scott, nearly cutting him in two. Hardy’s clerk then took over, but he too, was almost immediately killed. Victory’s wheel was shot away; another cannonball cut down eight marines. Standing next to Nelson on the quarterdeck, Hardy’s shoe buckle was suddenly dented by a splinter”

Well, you know, the more risks you take, the more likely you are to cop it in the end, and moreover it can all be ruinous for your favourite footwear.

Still all this has sea-faring stuff has left us with some fine buildings including the Admiralty, designed by Sir Christopher Wren, where officers of the Royal Navy received their training. These days they do it near the sea, at Portsmouth, not as grand but I suppose makes more sense.

The club has certain hallowed traditions. One of these is Brian lying down to take groups photos at the Cutty Sark. This was duly done.

Unfortunately a mile before Tower Bridge disaster struck and Roger found that one side of his crank had bent! I’ve never seen this before and it reminded me of a ride a few years ago when a member’s pedal sheared off.

There are some things that happen that are just not roadside fixes, though we can handle most things. Roger was forced to drop out and make it back to the water-sports center by train; address Station Rd, Waltham Cross. Clue how to get back is in the name, which Roger did very successfully.

After the hustle and bustle of Tower Bridge it is always a relief to drop down to Limehouse Basin and dream of owning a boat docked in this very desirable bit of town. We found one on sale for £200K at 70ft with two double beds and a residential mooring. Seems like a good buy, but only Maurice can get away with buying accommodation in picturesque locations when out for a wander, so we cycled on.

I think this photo sums it all up. Great weather, great trip, led and navigated by Maurice in grand style. One of our longer rides but with much to see and do. A vintage trip.

Thanks to Maurice from the lot of us.

80 years ago on this day 133,000 troops set out to liberate Europe. We rode past this postbox which reminded us of that fact. Again, we have war in Europe and the rise of the extreme political parties. Perhaps lessons have been learned and our leaders will address the root causes. ‘Lest we forget’ we are reminded that making 80 years of peace can be costly.

This week Martin took us to the seaside. I think he misses it, coming from the South Coast, likewise seeing France. Still after a busy motorway drive we were deposited in the sleepy lanes of Fuller Street at The Square and Compasses pub, under beautiful cloudless skies ready for a trip to the seaside (or mudflats).

Despite holiday commitments it was still a good turnout and we set-off (clockwise) in two groups to the Haybridge Basin on the Blackwater estuary.

Coffee was at the Tiptree Tea Rooms at the water’s edge and was as pleasant as ever. The weather was still nice as Group 1 arrived but it deteriorated upon the arrival of group 2. We tried not to hold it against them and focused instead on keeping the birds at bay while we ate our cake.

This time the tide was in so we were presented with water rather than the usual mud-flats, which on the 2nd of June, were the location for the 50th annual Maldon Mud Race.

Keep running like that and you will finish up in the Netherlands, or even Belgium. Then you’ll be sorry.

From the cafe you can look out to Osea Island. This is the endpoint of the Chelmer to Blackwater canal which was completed in 1796 and allowed goods to be brought in by sea to Chelmsford. Commercial traffic only ended in 1972. I thought the motorways looked a bit new round this bit of the country.

After coffee we dropped in at Maldon Church. This has a new window commemorating the Battle of Maldon, 991. Ethelred the Unready verses the Vikings. Unfortunately 1-0 to the Vikings, which Roy Hodgson and Gareth Southgate will be able to relate to. True to form the defeat was celebrated in a poem making this one of the oldest poems that we know of about English battles. But its not in English so it doesn’t really count. As you will know the oldest proper poetry is Chaucer (1532). Sit up at the back! Which is in English (just) as you will remember from the scars you received studying it at school.

This church visit was made more atmospheric since somebody was playing the new German organ on the recently built mezzanine floor inside.

Alan and Martin opted for a discrete photo in the churchyard outside rather than interrupt the music. Thames barges which are characteristic of this area can be seen behind them.

Next stop was the Maldon Moot Hall which is grade 1 listed. Martin was tempted to trying his Hercules pose.

But his heart wasn’t in it and the hall remains intact. Maldon was also the location of the first Tesco store in the country to be designated as a “supermarket” in 1958. No I didn’t make that up.

Actually the town has a surprising number of historic sites that we didn’t have time to visit. Being a port it has a lot of history I suppose.

On the way back we went round the famous Terling Ford

One to miss if you are driving around this area. Its 2 ft deep even in summer. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBD34Wt7ICo. What surprised me is that it is also pretty long and with very little signage on the road.

Back at the Square and Compasses the beer was ready for drinking. The food is good at this pub too.

Warm sunshine had returned and with it the warm glow of another good ride completed by; Iain, Brian, Roger, myself, Martin B, Alan, Paul, Neil, Howard and recorded by the able photographer The Reverend Holy Moly Martin, organizer.

Sorry the rest of you that missed it.

It was real pleasure to return to the Golden Fleece at Braughing, home to many a pleasant Windmill Club occasion, including Christmas meals. The last few weeks might in fact have been Christmas, judged by the weather. However, this was the first ride of May and at least it had turned a bit warmer. Still cloudy though.

I’m always amazed that Jess remembers me, my gluten free needs, and that, this being Braughing, that I always order sausages. How does anyone do that when we only go a few times a year?

Better weather and the prospect of quite a good cake had resulted in an excellent turnout; Maurice, Brian, Martin, MartinB, Roger, Kieth, Paul, Victor and Andrew, Charles, Ken, Howard, myself, Rick and Deborah or something like that. The groups got mixed up several times for various mechanical and biological reasons.

In Greek legend Jason needs to find the Golden Fleece. He was accompanied by heroes in a ship called The Argo, hence The Argonauts. We intended to cycle to The Brewery Tea Rooms in Walkern, then to re-find The Golden Fleece. Well, I supposed, someone with a Garmin and a sense of direction might be able to. I’ve just come along for the ride.

Those up for a little further education might want to re-read the legend of the Argonauts. https://theargonauts.com/the-story-of-jason-and-the-argonauts/. I didn’t realize that some words from this source have entered directly into our language like Harpies; an unpleasant sort of woman, who were cruel to Jason. Also see Sirens, alluring voices, but likewise bad news. Bit of a misogynous theme developing here. More of that later.

The ride out to Walkern was excellent. We went via High Cross where is buried Captain Arthur Martin-Leake, one of only three people who have ever been awarded two Victoria Crosses. The first was in the Boer War and the second in the First World War. I suppose he must have been quite brave then.

Less resilience was required of us as we proceeded towards a beautifully cooked, home-made cake at the Brewery Tea Rooms. Safely ensconced in the tent outside, with the joyful sound of children playing in the local school yard, continuing living seemed preferable to any attempt at winning medals.

Still, everyone must suffer some time and this time it was Kieth who had a puncture. Two weeks ago it was me, and last week it was, oh no not him again. However that one was before the ride, so it doesn’t really count. Still a new tire, on the bike, should fix all that. Scwalbe Marathons no doubt, this should avoid the possibility of an end of year award. Hopefully.

The Argonauts did return to the Golden Fleece where they enjoyed excellent beer, food and a good get together. We were more fortunate than Jason who ends up underneath the aging Argo after his wife has killed all his children. I’ve already explained that he didn’t have much luck with women. Finally, he is struck dead by a rotting timber falling off the boat.  They don’t call them Greek Tragedies for nothing you know.

Thanks to Maurice ably assisted by Andrew for another vintage Windmill Club ride. 

This Thursday’s ride once again showed the quality of our cycling adventures. From award winning pub, via award winning cafe, through some of the best cycling lanes in the area.

Fom The Chestnut Tree in West Wratting, rural pub of the year 2023, via the Victor Victoria Coffee in Newmarket, best cafe of 2023 and through quiet lanes in beautiful autumn sunshine. It could be worse you know.

The route was;

The route was designed by Graham, I particularly enjoyed the views descending into Newmarket alongside the ‘gallops’ for race-horses.

It was a good turnout, which was no surprise in light of the weather. Groups 1; Charles, Maurice, Sandra, Chris, Rod, Alan and Andrew, who appears to be practicing for his Christmas ‘rock-performer’ impression.

The second group got split up when I had to stop and get my front tire pumped back up. Still Gareth, Jeremy, Geoff and Roger carried on in the clear but chilly autumn sunshine.

By Newmarket it was time for a hot drink and a cake. Group 1 had taken position outside, resulting in Victor becoming far to warm and comfortable inside the cafe, smelling the freshly brewed coffee. Meanwhile I didn’t feel smug at all.

After coffee Victor was able to indulge his interest in shop signage. Who am I to complain having interrupted many a ride to photograph agricultural scrap-iron and bags of horse excrement.

The second photo perhaps requires more explanation. In ‘The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin’ his place of employment ‘Sunshine Desserts’ gradually loses letters from above it’s head-quarters doorway in step with Reginald’s declining desire to carry on with his pointless job. Something which struck a cord with many viewers. Certain other aspects from the series also entered into national conversation including; “I didn’t get where I am today …” from the boss and ‘super, fantastic’ in response to stupid ideas from fawning subordinates. The series also gives a subtle nod to surrealism (Dada), whenever his mother-in-law is mentioned, Reggie visualizes a hippopotamus trotting along. Classic subversive British TV, that would mystify an international (American?) audience I think.

On the way back to the pub our group split again(!) with myself and Graham doing a steep bit past some rather attractive wind turbines and the ‘spliters’ taking the easy route for the last mile.

Good food and beer at the Chestnut as normal. News that they are selling the pub and moving on is very unwelcome. Nothing stays the same I suppose, enjoy things well you can and hopefully we will be able to find another lovely pub from which we can explore this area.

Thanks to Graham for organizing, really enjoyed it, as I hope we all did.

I did not expect to be riding this week having planned to be in Italy but, having been refused permission to board a flight to Italy at great expense, here I was outside The Red Lion’s Italian restaurant. In Great Sampford. In England.

The expiry date on a UK passport is not the expiry date which is recognised by EU countries. Oh no, that would be too simple. For EU countries the expiry date is ten years from the issue date. You see a ten-year passport must last ten years, ten years exactly. To have an easy time interacting with the EU just try to think like a German. Anything other than ten years would be deviant Anglo-Saxon toying with government rules on and an official document. This might be interesting, even amusing in the arts as witnessed by exports like Mr Bean, Monty Python or the LiveStream of proceedings in the UK parliament. But a passport is not a place for amusing flexibility with rules.

I should add the rest of the world uses the expiry date as printed on the passport. All non-EU countries take the view that the UK government knows best when a UK passport expires, and that it helpfully prints this next to the words ‘expiry date’.

The route was clockwise via Clare Castle, and we split into two groups for the ride.

I’ve always been unable to convince my wife that I disappear each Thursday to go cycling. She remains convinced that I only eat cake, dine then return home smelling of beer. Similarly suspicious females ruined my trip into the wilderness around the castle to answer the call of nature and I was forced return to the busy facilities at the café.

The toilets contained an amusing sign. Amusing that is as long as the UK government continues to grant rail companies exception to the rules concerning the disposal of human waste.

As the head of the rail union recently said “You quickly learn to turn your back and close your mouth when you’re trackside and a train is passing. As I know first-hand.” He went on to suggest that if the government were treated the same way at work then they might apply the rules with more earnestness, saying, “it is our members, not government ministers, who are regularly sprayed with human sewage while working”. In the UK, trackside workers currently need to be inoculated against hepatitis which might be obtained by contact with raw sewage. The practice was to end in 2017, then in 2020, but it has proved to be more convenient for the government to extend impunity from health and safety regulations for a while longer. Naturally I wonder if the EU would find it so amusing or be so flexible with the rules. It is said that taking trains out of service to modify the toilets would inconvenience people travelling to large cities, like London.

I should add that not all of UK industry is as customer focussed as one might expect. Indeed, upon reading about the problem I find that it is mostly the public’s fault. As proof I offer a quote from Richard Parsons, operations director of the train cleaning system specialists Airquick, who confirms that a retrofitting programme “usually takes longer to achieve than planned” (?). “We have installed toilet retention tank emptying systems for retrofitted stock, only for them not to be used for up to 12 months following commissioning”.

OK I think, park one outside the café at Clare Castle and I will happily oblige.

Apparently, it is hard to fit a large enough tank for a gravity fed, water flush toilet anywhere on a train, so our sympathy and indulgence is requested. I note that the airlines use vacuum flushing for that reason. Still, that is an entirely different industry isn’t it, covered by international, not UK only rules.

One of our oft-photographed windmills showing club members old and new; Maurice, Ken and Howard, then Paul an Ian.

Overall a brilliant ride through a very picturesque and quiet route as planned by Maurice, who also organised our meals at the restaurant. After pleasant exercise and a beer in the warm spring sunshine with the club I felt much happier.

I returned home to my wife who said “I suppose you are going to tell me again that you have been cycling?”

“Ah it’s good to be back” I thought as my wheel-rim clanged into a second pothole filled with muddy-brown water. “I have missed dozens of those this morning and Guatemala has much bigger holes”. I made a mental note to ring the Guatemala Road Authorities and ask them if “after you have had some practice with your own potholes, can they please come and help out in Essex?”

Having listened to the Budget and Prime Minister’s Questions on Wednesday, I was reassured nothing much had changed during my travels. I got up full of enthusiasm on Thursday ready for this weeks ride, ably organised by Graham, from the Rising Sun in Halls Green. I wasn’t sure the sun had actually risen, since it was rather grey. Still the overnight rain was easing, surface water was running down the road and all the potholes were nicely full.

We split into two manageable groups, the first consisting of Charles, Rach, Jeremy, Tom and new-Martin. The second group was Graham, Iain, Rod, Geoff, Victor and Simon. A number of members failed to attend this ride. The common theme seems to be horses; Alan was in Cheltenham choosing slow horses, Andrew was at the horse hospital and Maurice had back-ache from cleaning up after horses (and Lin’s birthday party).

All was well, though my chain came off once, when I selected an easier gear, but at the wrong time. We passed the Nine Wells Farm at Whitwell, which is one of only two watercress farms in Hertfordshire and has been run by the Sansom family for nearly 200 years. There are nine artesian wells in the cress beds, which go down 250ft, hence the farm’s name. They harvest in May and again in very late autumn. The cress is busy flowering during the summer, so they have to leave it to do its own thing.

Graham had chosen the cycling heaven of Spokes Cycling Café in Codicote, which is a quirky and highly distinctive cycle stop for proper cyclists. It has extensive workshops, excellent coffee, cake, Lycra clothing and straw hats just lying around for glabrous* cyclists to try on.

What’s not to like!

*Bald is now recognised in discrimination law as a sex specific insult. The jury is still considering ‘slap-head’ though it may be classified as incitement to unacceptable physical violence. I have tied to keep this blog within currently acceptable guidelines by using almost unknown adjectives for any physical characteristics.

On arrival Victor carefully locked his bike to their rack. He assures me his steed is from this millennium and so eminently nickable. Anyway having carried a lock that size around, he was damn sure he was going to use it. The café facilities were rustic, but cyclists are grateful just for somewhere out of the wind and so these were perfectly acceptable.

Return to the pub was uneventful. My fitness had improved a bit which is always welcome. Graham had arranged a table and pre-ordered the meals. None of this stuff happens without someone making an effort, so we were all grateful to sit down and enjoy a pint and a good meal.

It turned out to be a descent day. No significant rain and fairly warm. A very nice route (thanks to Graham), efficient pub and another good trip for the Windmill Club.

Long may it continue.

This Thursday saw a beautiful ride from one of our favourite restaurants, The Red Lion at Great Sampford, anticlockwise round this course via Castle Hedingham and back. It was completed by eleven riders.

My day started badly when I put some more air in the tyre, only for it to explode like the crack of a whip, taking the tyre off the rim. I received excellent help from Howard and Alan and was soon back in action. This was just as well since as organizer, I had a number of jobs to do.

It is difficult after many days of mourning and, when an army of journalist and commentators have said so much, for me to say anything new concerning the passing of The Queen.

Nonetheless I will try.

Even those with doubts about the institution of monarchy, with its imperialist overtones, detected considerable virtue in the late Queen. These are the enduring virtues of faith, hope and charity. Other attributes are sometimes admired in modern times, such as great beauty or intellect, riches or sporting prowess, but there is no excuse for us being distracted. The first two are mere accidents of birth, one fleeting the other usable for good or ill. Riches are rarely a measure of person’s quality. After all King Salman is rich, but he is an unlikely role-model. Likewise, we know that someone can be the greatest player in the world one day and a retiree with bad knees the next.

So, we return to the enduring virtues. Faith, adherence to one of the great faiths or the belief that life is better lived when guided by principles and circumscribed by restraints. This was clearly at the centre of The Queen’s life. Hope is so valued because it is infinitely preferable to despair. It gives the strength to move forward in faith, towards trying to create a better world. She was often a source of hope in difficult times. Her charitable efforts were focussed on The Commonwealth. This works for good governance and the elimination of corruption in many of the world’s poorest nations, also in the fight against poverty, ignorance, and disease.

Of course, we know intuitively that more is required in living a ‘good life’ than the avoidance of sin. Pray silence while we name the seven deadly sins in order that they may be recognised. They are; greed, gluttony, idleness, envy, pride, lust and wrath. No, a person is also required to display positive attributes and behaviours as well. For guidance these were identified in ancient times as; courage, truthfulness, the advocacy of fairness, modesty, friendliness, generosity, patience and the lack of self-indulgence. So, there we have it, enough on virtue. At least now we know how to recognise it, maybe we can attempt a little. But carefully and on a small scale.

We set off in two groups. Now, in the middle of September, the start was chilly but things had warmed up by the time we arrived at The Moot House in Castle Hedingham. Here the two groups interacted over the customary coffee and cakes.

There followed some discussion of current ailments. Though, in fact, anyone present would likely be classified as ‘worried well’ by their doctors. Long may that continue. Several members are so comforted by their regular ingestion of statins that they have decided to demonstrate the effectiveness of this wonderful treatment using jam, cream, butter and scones.

The first group made off, while the second visited St. Nicholas Church. This is a beautiful building and we thought how nice it would be on another trip, to climb the tower.

This route, designed by Maurice, took in some exceptionally quite lanes and pretty villages. We were soon back at the pub. Maurice was there to greet us. The food was excellent (again) as was the welcome and organisation.

Another great day out with the club for which we are all so grateful. It only remains for me to follow club tradition when a new monarch is appointed and exclaim;

God save the King!

Also, our precious planet, the National Institutions which give our lives some continuity and predictability. Also our intersecting circles of family and friends, who are always in our thoughts.

Yes, this Monday saw Alan guide us expertly around another course which he had devised. Meanwhile in Westminster we saw the installation of another (expert?) leader, who we hope proves similarly effective at devising a course towards the desired objectives.

‘Course’, of course, is a word with rather too many meanings, so I feel that I need to make myself absolutely clear. I refer to ‘course’ in the course of this write-up in the geographical sense, not the culinary one. Though I don’t deny that Alan’s service to the club could only be enhanced if next time, at the pub, he bought us all a first course. Those who received the gpx on WhatsApp and who still can’t follow the ‘course’, have only one course of action available, that is to take a course in navigation at night-school. I’m pleased to report that during this ride no hare-coursing was spotted and that over the course of time we hope that this will remain the case.

This trivial linguistic diversion has run its course to stop right now. “Focus on the work in hand, Teague, and you may yet rise-up to be average” as my Latin teacher so wisely advised me all those years ago. If only I had listened to those sage words, my life might have stayed on course better than average. But with youthful vitality coursing flowing through my veins, I was not yet ready to listen.

We started from the Bull at Lower Langley. That evening music was to be made by 20 musicians who, the landlord bemoaned, would only drink one pint each. Nick arrived on time having acquired a new cycling computer adding to the variety of gadgets on his bike, including radar. Rod was delayed by leaving the house without cycling accoutrements and had to return to get them. Anyway, it’s safe to say that with Alan armed with Garmin, and Rod and Nick baring clusters of electronics, we were very adequately equipped for a pleasant trip round our local lanes. Myself, I had invested in a new tyre and felt a warm glow, which I knew would not be punctured by future events. A warm glow of satisfaction which only Schwalbe Marathons can provide.  Martin completed this high-tec peloton which cycled, through a refreshing, light shower, around the following route.

I mused on the meaning of Truss. Could a failing Houses of Parliament be saved by the placement of a suitable truss, so preventing the roof from finally falling in? Was our previous Prime Minister trussed-up and placed somewhere in which he can no longer prove embarrassing? Will I need a truss when I get my next hernia and find that medical care is no longer available in this country? Will these fine fields provide 36 lb bundles of straw after this year’s modest harvest? Finally, and most importantly, was my Latin teacher, right? Yes, on mature reflection, I think he probably was, and I have written ‘I must not get distracted’ several times on a post-it note as evidence of my contrition.

Since we were passing through Furneux Pelham we felt the urge to stop and bother Roger. But decided not to on closer inspection of the sign at the bottom of his road. Those who know the village will remember two facts relating to this village’s hospitality. The church clock has the motto “Time Flies. Mind your Business'” and a murder took place in the village of a retired Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Workman on 7 January 2004. In true Cluedo fashion, it was the gamekeeper what dunit. He later confessed to another murder while in prison and was sentenced to a minimum of 32 years in 2012. So at least we are safe from that village member. Still discretion being the better part of valour we decided to cycle on with our precious party intact, leaving the Pelhams behind to mind any business but ours.

Finally, we were expertly delivered back to the pub. Cursory examination resulted in us concluding that the road ahead might not be smooth with this chosen leader in place and so the best thing to do was to ‘drink more beer until the economy picks up’. A wise plan, since it is probably best not to approach this future entirely sober. There we go. We are lucky, we know it, we are grateful.

Now can we just get on with our lives please?