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Arthur was the leader on this Ride and he was joined at 10.00 at Chichester Cross by Lynn, Graham, Bill, Lawrence Dooley a newcomer to the area and myself (Edwin)
We headed out on the usual route on West Street and then picking up Appledram Lane towards Dell Quay before turning off on the Salterns Way to Chichester Yacht Club. We stopped off for elevenses at The Beach House Café. We were lucky to avoid having to use the App to order by using an outside Caravan which does hot drinks and seemed to be open only when it is busy.
After elevenses I left the group and headed home via Hunston and completed 19 miles includingthe ride to the start. The others continued via Birdham Pool and Birdham to the lunch stop at East Wittering.
Just two of us formed the select party for a ride to the Forester’s Arms at Kirdford last Sunday, Maureen and myself (Bob) leading. Actually we were joined briefly by Chris, who was going Bell Chiming (a Pandemic version of bell ringing) at Walberton, so rode with us briefly at the start. There was a pretty stiff wind, that seemed to be of that type which is against you whichever way you go. I was also struggling a bit with a damaged bike, having fallen over with it near Madehurst during the thunderstorm the previous Friday, which had left something rubbing against a wheel, but I couldn’t find what.
Nevertheless we ventured down the Oving Road the usual way to Walberton, where we stopped while I made a more sustained attempt at bicycle repair, involving haphazard waggling things about in the hope of getting the bike back to normal. We were instantly joined by a crowd of ladies jogging, who were Maureen’s running companions, so my increasingly desperate and aimless bike mending activities provided a space for them to catch up with each other.
We left to go up to Madehurst, and although I had no idea which of my random pushes and pulls had done it, the wheel was no longer catching, which made me feel like Bike Mechanic of the Year, so I fully intend to patronise the next person with mechanical trouble on a ride by looking Wise, Knowledgeable and Slightly Judgemental and commenting “Hmmmm, looks to me like you haven’t been Waggling Things About enough!” while nodding sagely. Probably while smoking a pipe.
It was nice going up Madehurst Hill without either a rubbing wheel or a thunderstorm going on, but we stopped at the top for a drink and were instantly engulfed by another group of ladies jogging, who all knew Maureen from running together, and gathered round her for a chat. By this time several things had become clear, namely:
Maureen knows everyone in Sussex.
She goes running with most of them.
The Friends of Maureen go about in packs and were loitering in strategic places to spring out at us when we stopped.
The purpose of this I couldn’t tell, but You Can Never Be Too Careful. They claimed to be lost (a likely story), so I went along with this pretence and supplied directions from the map on my phone to Slindon via footpaths, and when they were distracted led us in a getaway. I hardly stopped at Whiteways for fear of being surrounded again, instead shooting down Houghton Hill to reach the Bridge Inn cafe safely, where I indulged in a Breakfast Bap to celebrate my cleverness and Maureen chatted about Covid arrangements in supermarkets to the young man who served us, the conversation reaching such vigour that I began to wonder if he had been recruited to the august circle of the Friends of Maureen, and was thus destined to hide behind the palm trees before leaping out at unsuspecting customers.
Despite this alarming possibility we left the cafe unmolested, and we continued towards Wiggonholt, with only one unnerving moment when Maureen cheerily greeted a lady runner near Greatham, although though I didn’t actually see the rest of the group who were undoubtedly hiding behind a hedge waiting to pounce. We thus turned off to West Chiltington, and then left up through Adversane. The combination of Advanced Bicycle Engineering and breakfast bap had meant we were slightly delayed, so to make sure we got to the pub at the time I’d booked a table I continued on the main road to Wisborough Green instead of the less trafficy route via the Bat and Ball, and then down the Kirdford Road to the Forester’s Arms.
There we had a pretty decent lunch, in the garden rather than the table I had booked. I can recommend their soup, and the chips ordered by Maureen but largely eaten by me. They were well organised á la Covid and quite busy. When we went to go, just as we were gathering ourselves to ride off, Chris arrived again; his Bell Chiming complete he had called in before going to lunch in the hope of catching us to say hello, and indeed had so caught us.
Walberton’s bells had been rung again, albeit it a more mechanical than proper manner. And the slight delay chatting to Chris was EXTREMELY fortuitous, as it SAVED THE DAY for me. Maureen had mentioned when we got to the Bridge cafe at Houghton that she had made further advances on her Lingerie Carriage System detailed in the 12th March blog, and identified a pocket for her credit card. I was relieved therefore that I hadn’t actually got round to adopting her Mark 1 System by wearing a bra for Transportation of Portable Equipment, as I already used the Pocket System, so thought I’d stolen a march on her there. But it turned out I might have been better off with a bra, as I’d dropped my wallet somewhere, and only the delay talking to Chris allowed time for the bar lady, plus the kind chap who had found it, to emerge from the pub waving said wallet. I had stuffed it in a ordinary, rather than zip, pocket after paying and it had obviously dropped out. I thanked the kind fellow effusively, though in a Socially Distant manner of course.
So leaving Chris, but not leaving my wallet, we returned the usual way down to Duncton, where Maureen switched her battery to Zoom and I caught her up eventually, then we parted company at the turning off to East Dean which I took but where Maureen carried on. I came back over the hill from Charlton to the racecourse, and through Lavant, which my spellchecker has just changed to Levantine thus adding to the mysterious glamour already earned by the VR postbox in that unfathomably strange settlement.
56 miles on my clock for a lovely ride, thank you Maureen (with walk-on parts played by The Friends of Maureen).
Six met at the Cross on a dull but warm morning for the long ride scheduled to the Hawkley Inn, Hawkley near Steep.Long ride regulars Sam, Paul and Bob were joined by Alan and Chris, with myself leading. The forecast was dull and windy all day, with the added bonus of a high risk of heavy rain around 1pm. With this in mind I had a Plan B route ready, which would lunch at Garthowen Garden centre in Four Marks, where it would be much easier to get out of the rain.
The outward route saw us go via Rowlands Castle, Horndean, Hinton Manor, Hambledon, Mercury Park ( my offer to stop for coffee at the Sustainability centre voted down) before finally stopping for elevenses at Cupacheeno , West Meon. We arrived just in time , being allotted a vacant table in the still quiet courtyard. As usual the food and service was very good and the cafes popularity reflected in the 30 or so cyclists that turned up soon after us!
Post coffee we continued on a winding route on minor lanes towards Ropley Dean before heading to Ropley on a road even Sam hadn’t used before. At this point Chris (our tame bell ringer) regaled us with tales of bellringing in the vicinity and the sad demise of the church at Ropley, burnt down but not yet rebuilt. Luckily Bob (our tame ‘interesting’ post box collector) didn’t know the area, so no ‘you really must see this victorian post box’ diversions prevented us from arriving at the Garden Centre ahead of the forecast rain.
It was quite busy in the cafe, so we opted to sit outside at tables under the parasols. At almost precisely 1pm the heavens opened, so unsurprisingly we were the only ones outside. Lunch was generally pretty good, the soup of the day was excellent as we stretched lunch out to 2pm when the rain was forecast to stop. And it did – these rain radar apps really are useful!
Return was on small country lanes through to Newton Valence , Hawkley (which paid us back with a puncture for Alan), Steep Marsh and a quick stop in Petersfield for afternoon coffee. It was then Buriton, Rowlands Castle, Westbourne back to Chichester, enlivened by another puncture ( Paul this time)
A very enjoyable day out. Total 70 miles with 4500ft ascent.
Four intrepid souls set out from Chichester Cross at 9.00am today: Alan, Harvey, Robert and Michael. We headed out to West Ashling and Funtington and on to Compton, South and West Harting, before stopping at Durleighmarsh Farm Cafe for cakes, hot chocolate and Indian Chai.
The next part of the battle plan looked simple on paper: head to Cocking for lunch via Rogate, Stedham and Didling, then in to Bepton and Cocking. Suffice to say, we did arrive in Cocking after putting the World to rights in Alistair Campbell; the last 12 months of the life of Diana, Princess of Wales – who we all agree was ‘in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong man!’; we devised our own re-construction plan for post war Iraq following the BBC2 groundbreaking series: ‘Once upon a time in Iraq’; and we all had a good moan about the cost of eye tests and the expense of purchasing a new pair of spectacles.
On the way to Cocking we stopped to admire the German POW’s grave and the plague pit in Bepton Churchyard.
Lunch was well worth waiting for: pepper and feta soup and bread rolls in the community run pub in Cocking.
The ride home was a moist affair, cycling up over Cocking Hill and Charlton Hill and then down Sculpture Hill in the rain; and then being exposed to the elements cycling across Tangmere airfield. We all had great fun and clocked up to 53 plus miles each.
Six of us gathered at the Cross on Sunday 19th July for the ride to the Parrot Inn, Forest Green: myself (Bob) leading, with Mike, Paul, Sam, Maureen and Harvey. I’d put on last week’s blog that it was good to start early as due to the booking system we knew everyone had arrived, so everyone turned up early this week, except me, consequently I got effusive thanks for my Unpredictable Creativity.
We sped off down East Street just like last week, but unlike last week went in the right direction first time, thus disappointing the crowds gathered in the hope of seeing more Synchronised U Turning, a new Olympic event for which our esteemed club should be chosen to represent Britain (or by then possibly England, or maybe just Bognor). We took the usual Oving Road route to Walberton, making dignified progress at a steady 14-17 mph, with Sam shouting “We are all here Bob, you don’t have to wait”, which comments I ignored feeling that Patience is Good for the Soul, and that a bit of Good forceably injected into Sam’s Soul might come in handy.
During a stop for a swig of water at Walberton Pond I was able to vouchsafe that the Damsel and Gentleman we had rescued last week from being punctured on the Kirdford Road had wondered, in an email, whether Sam had been a bass guitarist in a 1970s rock band. He claimed not, though (as he put it) Keith Richards looks like him. I wasn’t sure whether the Rolling Stones counted as a 1970s band, as they’ve occupied every decade since the 1850s, but Sam’s claim gives a new and under explored meaning to the 1967 Chichester drug trial which doubtless afforded Richards the opportunity of modelling himself on a local metal-working cyclist.
It was delightful crossing the A27 after Walberton, with not one car in sight in either direction, and thence up to Madehurst and Whiteways, which was almost empty presumably because last week’s Massed Ranks of Bikers had all died of Covid 19. But there our copy of last week’s ride ended and a Brand New, Avant-Garde ride emerged as we whizzed down Bury Hill, through West Burton to Fittleworth and up the Fittleworth Road to Wisborough Green. There were a lot of cyclists at the cafe and we had a long wait in the queue. We are also becoming connoisseurs of Track and Trace methods, but the one at Wisborough Green was the most innovative yet, of not doing any as far as I could see.
Even before this it had begun fairly piddling down, and didn’t look like stopping that quickly. Which in turn meant the prospect of sitting outside the Parrot Inn eating soggy fish and chips, when we were already pretty wet and cold left us distinctly unenthused. I already knew they were allowing only bookings for indoor tables, so looked at the website and luckily found there was a table available. Unluckily it was at 4.15. So it seemed pointless to go there and have to cycle somewhere else to eat, and the garden centre cafe at Cranleigh would be indoors and warm, characteristics which most of us found alluring though Sam prefers to be outdoors so he can complain about being too cold.
So we went up Drungewick Lane to the Loxwood Road, but instead of going through Rudgewick as I had intended we veered left at the Mucky Duck and went straight to Cranleigh, where the cafe was very organised, visible protections in place, and we had a decent cooked meal, the tables restricted to four as it is well known that the coronavirus can’t be bothered with such small numbers, requiring at least seven before getting excited.
Replete with our good food we grabbed our bikes from the car park
and took the Elmbridge Road through Dunsfold and Plaistow to Kirdford, where we hoped to sample again the coffee from their new coffee caravan. But we didn’t as they weren’t serving coffee. This was, to say the least, a bit of a let down, especially as both caravan and coffee makers were out and about, so everything was in place except the actual coffee. There was some talk of going back through Petworth to grab a cuppa, but I decided against this on the logistical grounds that I couldn’t be arsed, so we went the usual way. Half the group left us at the Welldigger’s Arms to return via Houghton Hill, despite my screaming “NOOOO you will die”, leaving myself, Sam and Paul to return whence we came. Lovely ride, 71 miles for me back to Chichester.
Six of us met at the Chichester Cross on Sunday 12th for the long ride to Southwater: myself (Bob) leading, with Sam, Paul, Maureen, Alan and Michael. Weather was good, especially as the high winds of late had abated.
We started about ten minutes early, one advantage of the booking system to limit numbers being we knew who was coming and that we were all there. I set off down East Street and St. Pancras, realised I’d gone wrong, so we did an elegant, perfectly synchronised U turn which must have been a pleasure to watch and went down The Hornet and Oving Road instead to go via Walberton and up to Madehurst. The number of bikers at the Whiteways café was extraordinary, phalanxes of them, packed shoulder and revving their engines. I thought of popping down and saying “You do know about social distancing, don’t you?”, but then I thought I’d like to live a bit longer so didn’t. Instead we zoomed (that is, we rode quickly, we didn’t peer at each other on little boxes on a computer screen) down Houghton Hill and stopped for coffee at the Riverside café, as Wiggonholt was still closed and I hadn’t been able to confirm the Amberley Tea Rooms hours. They had plenty of room and found a gap for us amid palm trees and the like
There was some talk of collecting one person’s contact number in a group, which seemed a good arrangement, but as we went to go no-one seemed to have asked for one. Turned out we should have written it on the menu, so we weren’t much better organised than last week, though without the hokey-cokey.
We in fact passed the Amberley tea rooms which was open, but we sped up past Wiggonholt, turned off to go through West Chiltington, turned off to go through Broomers Corner, past the Countryman pub near Shipley, and then straight up to Southwater Country Park.
I’d tried the route out during the previous week and found the park horribly crowded, with long queues for the café and loos, so had emailed everyone suggesting they bring sandwiches. In fact, though it was Sunday and the weather was better, for some reason there were no crowds and no queues at all. This was obviously a plot to embarrass me; I thought of hunting down the actors who had posed as crowds, queues etc on Tuesday but decided they might have made their getaway by now, being as half a week had passed, so I contented myself with glaring at everyone suspiciously while we ate our lunch.
However Maureen had recklessly left it to buy lunch at the cafe anyway, a plan which turned out to be annoyingly feasible. However when we left and started back down the main road we had a minor crisis in that Maureen thought she had lost her credit card. Fortunately she found it again. Being a gentleman I decided it was best not to mention in the blog which item of clothing she had stuck her card in, as it was her bra, but she did vouchsafe later that it was also a good place to stick jelly babies when she went for a run. This sartorial advice was obviously born of much experience, and I think we should, as a club, explore the possibilities. We already know from pioneering research of the digital payment and confectionary carrying potential of lingerie, but why stop there when the transportation possibilities are so auspicious? Tyre levers, bits of string, bottle tops, small frogs, batteries, ornaments, miniature turnips, candle ends, model carpet sweepers, and gorgonzola fragments all come to mind as essential equipment the carriage of which would be greatly facilitated by the wearing of underwear often marketed under the label “Maureen’s banking and energy supply carriers”. A New Dawn beckons, threatening the very existence of saddle bags.
The excitement of this occasion did not prevent us from continuing on our way through Kirsty’s Wood and Barnes Green to Summers Place. I had intended to go down the pavement for the few hundred yards of the A29 we have to endure before taking the Okehurst Lane turning. But when we got there the road was almost empty! Lockdown had returned! I joyfully led us down the unoccupied road therefore, and immediately the traffic lights from road works that had been holding the cars back changed and unleashed Armageddon on us.
We fortunately got off the A29 safely despite this, and wound our way down to Wisborough Green. I had said we could stop for tea there if we were late and so likely to miss the shop at Kirdford, and Sam had moaned as he didn’t want to stop there. But we got to Wisborough Green in very good time, so I didn’t stop there, and Sam moaned that we weren’t doing so when I’d promised we would. So we continued to Kirdford anyway, but on the way passed a very nice couple who had suffered a puncture but had no repair means. We stopped, and Paul kindly supplied an inner tube for said restoration purposes. They were perfectly prepared with the equipment to do the repair themselves, but Sam of course repaired it for them anyway, the gentleman whose tyre had been punctured looking bewildered as he’d thought up to that point that it was his bike, not realising that Sam is the Comptroller General of every bike on the planet.
It was a pleasing thing, that the couple had just been to (I think) Kirdford shop for some groceries, a journey they had often made previously by car, but now cycled. And when we got to Kirdford the chap giving out coffee in their new coffee van said they had noticed a marked increase in cycling during The Plague, which hadn’t seemed to abate at all as restrictions eased, which is good news. After a cuppa we continued back over Duncton and the Midhurst road, the group fragmenting as Maureen left us at the turning to East Dean, Sam and Paul at Two Barns Lane, Alan and Michael at East Lavant, leaving me Heroically Alone to Finish the Job into Chichester.
A lovely ride, 75 miles (120 kilometres) on my clock.
Five of us met at the Cross on Sunday 5th July for the long ride to the Flower Pots Inn, Cheriton; myself (Bob) leading, with Paul, Sam, Linda and Mark. It was pretty windy especially on the way out.
We went via Rowlands Castle to stop for coffee, mainly to stock up for lunch, as the Flower Pots, although serving their excellent beer brewed on the premises, was sadly not intending to serve food due to kitchen refurbishment. At Rowlands we had our first taste of the new government regulations for hospitality, and distinguished ourselves immediately. There was a nice big, clear sign at the entrance to the Bumblebee telling us not to order at the counter unless we were taking away, but sit at a table to order and be served, providing our name, rank and number so we could be hunted down and quarantined if necessary. We didn’t even notice the sign so cheerfully walked straight past, ordering at the counter as usual, then went outside and sort of sat at a table but also stood, completely unable to say if we were taking away or drinking in, half of us giving our details and half not, but not moving very far away either.
Sam took a lead in this process, doing a sort of Hokey-Cokey stepping in and out from the tables and boldly giving his details reluctantly in order to be decisively indecisive. It was good to take comfort in the fact that everyone was having to cope with the new situation together, except that everyone else in Hampshire seemed to have cottoned on without the slightest difficulty, we alone acting as Pioneers of Brainlessness with no-one else competing at all. Searching for someone to compare ourselves to favourably we went through Eddie the Eagle, commanders of the Light Brigade, the Sinclair C5, Prince Andrew’s PR officer, the chap in the American Civil War whose last words were “they couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist….”, and finally in complete despair had to make do with Matt Hancock.
Anyway suitably refreshed, we continued via Catherington and down the hill and took the back roads towards the Bat and Ball. On the way however Sam (or at least his bike) got a puncture. Sam and Paul got on with mending the puncture, but Mark, Linda and I did the serious work of finding out what had caused it, and a systematic exploration revealed that it was in fact Mark’s fault: seeing a magpie some minutes before he had saluted, whereas the scientifically correct response (according to my mum) is to say “hello Mr. Magpie, how’s your wife and children today?”, a deficiency in Mark’s education I was pleased to fill leading doubtless to fewer punctures in Rides To Come. As we were beside a fairly new vineyard we also assisted the process by reminiscing about drinking wine in the ‘70s, which mainly involved Mateus Rose imbibed through flared trousers.
Puncture mended we continued to the Bat and Ball, over to East Meon, down the valley to West Meon, and up the 224 cycle route that starts as Church Lane. I was delighted to find that the road name as it goes through Bramdean Common changes to Uncle Bill’s. Uncle Bill’s what isn’t clear, but they do have a very personal, sometimes frankly anatomical approach to geography round there. We turned left at Manor House Farm and up the steep hill, on to Cheriton Lane and across the old battlefield, where due to shortage of time we had to confine ourselves to re-enactment on our bicycles, thus using technology unavailable to Generals Hopton and Waller.
The beer was very good at the Flower Potts Inn, but they really didn’t do much else, not even tea or coffee, which Sam was miffed about having to make do with lemonade. But they were very friendly and organised and had a contact tracing thing involving text messages, which seemed a good idea. The big garden meant lots of space, and open loos and staff poised to boil them after each piddler. It was quite popular, by the time we went to go there were lots of bikes parked.
We returned via Kilmeston and Wheely Down, thus passing quite close, I was pleased to see on the map, to Betty Mundy’s Bottom. We then skirted carefully round Henry Robinson’s Spleen and fairly shot up Mary Watkinson’s Armpit, and so to Warnford and up the long hill to Old Winchester Hill where we just missed the coffee van but didn’t miss the hoards and hoards of cars mystifyingly wanting to clog up Hayden Lane, park at the top and sit in their cars. I began to plot ways of filling up the new Eco Burial site at the Sustainability Centre with their bodies, but instead we carried on along the ridge to Clanfield and Charlton, and thus down to Rowlands again.
I wanted to get back in order to Clap, and Linda and Mark also wanted to carry on, so we split with Paul and Sam stopping for tea at the Bumblebee, hopefully Managing The Process better than last time. Linda and Mark left me to go back through West Ashling, and I have a fear that Mark may have seen a magpie again and Done the Wrong Thing, as I had another spoke break at Southbrook (second in a week), fortunately I was still able to ride it ok.
Lovely ride, about 65 miles (104 kilometres) back to Chi.
Early rain cleared before the start of the Ride to sunshine and cloud and a good day save for being extremely windy..
Four of us joined Harvey at 10.00am at Chichester Cross for a bike ride to Slindon via Eartham. The group was Harvey, Robert, Rosie, Alan and Michael. Thanks to Michael for the report and pictures.
We cycled along quiet country lanes and then enjoyed slices of bakewell tart, caramel shortbread and chocolate brownies and lashings of hot chocolate in the sunshine in Slindon. All very good, harmless fun!!!
Pictures were taken at Slindon and other locations on the way back.
This is a report on the short ride today. There were four of us out today Arthur, Lynn, Maureen and Graham for a very windy ride to East Wittering stopping at Chichester Marina for a coffee. Then it was on via the Salterns Way to East Wittering.
We met Arthur’s cousin at Birdham Pool on the way back, that’s his boat in the background of the picture.
Another stop at the Marina on the way back this time for an ice cream, 21 miles in all after a lovely day and lots of catching up chat.