Days of Albion- 5th May

During his time at Anfield, one of the many criticisms of Gerad Houllier was that Liverpool almost never fielded the same team in consecutive games. In recent times much can be said of Ampthill Cycle Club,as the increased membership and inability of many of us to manage our diaries means you just never know who's going to show up.

Variety is the spice of life,as they say, and this has certainly added to the enjoyment over the last couple of years. So far this season, the first three rides have seen an average of seven riders while 14 different members have been out.

This week's motley clue comprised Mick,Chedge, Everton, John, Young Joe, Kieth and Mark-the-Fireman.
The absence of the Chairman added to the usual disorganisation and meant there was no pre-planned route. Thinking on our feet, or in the saddle, we decided on the old favourite of Steppingly, Eversholt, Milton Bryan, Potsgrove & Woburn, with an initial plan to stop at the Green Man on the way home. After calling for Kieth like a bunch of sub- adolescent school boys, we finally got on the way on another bright and breezy April evening.
Squad rotation and the tendency to consume too much beer during the season are probably the only two similarities we have with Premier League football teams. However if we were a Premier League Club then, surely Everton would be a our very own Ryan Giggs- gracefully driving us on despite being several years older than most of the crew. [Mention of RG is in no way a gratuitous attempt to drive traffic to this site-Ed]
Much as I'd like to think of myself as the David Beckham of the team, the fact that I'm well past my sell by date and spend most of my time right at the back probably makes me more of a David "Calamity" James. Any way, enough of football.

With varying levels of fitness this early in the season, it was not surprising that we were well strung out up the climb to Milton Bryan but we re-grouped before tackling the main road towards Woburn. It was strange riding through Potsgrove without Joe K-J providing his "All Our Yesterdays" commentary- but there were one or passable impersonations from the"young old boys".

Everton pulled us along at a brisk pace and we arrived in Woburn well ahead of schedule. After a quick conflab we agreed it was too early to go to the Green Man and that we would ride around the perimeter wall of Woburn Abbey rather than going through the deer park. So, 30 seconds later off sets half the team, heading straight through the middle of the deer park.
I'm really beginning to think we should change our name to the Goldfish Cycling Club!

We'd agreed to stop at the French Horn before heading back to Ampthill but after another brief debate we decided to head to the Albion for some real beer in a real pub (at sensible prices). This proved to be a very good call and, as seems to be increasingly the case, we decided the beer was so good that we made this our only stop of the night.

Come Out to Play (Now the Light Nights Are Here) 21/4/2011

22 Dreams may not be Paul Weller's greatest album; indeed some of the fillers sound like they were lifted from Pearl & Dean cinema ads, but, hidden amongst the also-rans is the excellent Light Nights (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGqDn00As0c).


The light, and un-seasonally sunny, nights certainly proved a great draw for our first official ride of 2011, and eight goodmen and true (Brian, Blunty, Mark the Fireman, Mick, Loren, Clive and Chedge) set out from the Old Sunon a warm Thursday. It's become something of a tradition that the first ride of the year heads out out to Haynes, via Clophill and Great Lane. All too often it's been a truncated affair with the elements convincing us to spend as much time in the pub as on the bike. This year was different and we added an extra loop through Silver End, along the A600 towards Shefford, picking up the surfaced bridelway behind Chicksands before rejoining our original route at Apsley Corner.


Spirits were buoyed by the glorious weather and the golden rape fields of the Bedfordshire countryside mirrored the the bright sunshine. Shorts revealed many pairs of knees that wouldn't normally be seen until well into May, but perhaps the most unusual thing was that Mick had cleaned and lubed his bike, had batteries in his lights AND a spare tube!

As we headed towards the Stone Jug, Mark the Fireman just happened to drop out the he would be celebrating his 50th birthday while on rugby tour over the weekend. I'd always thought that Mark was several years, rather than a few months, younger than me and kidded myself that that was the main reason for our relative fitness levels. This is clearly not the case. Nor can I blame the fitness gap on having had a harder paper round than him since he has spent much of his life chasing around putting out fires while I've been pushing a pen (or keyboard) for most of mine. Perhaps the clue lies at least in part in the fact that Mark left us outside the Stone Jug to pack for rugby tour while the rest of us went in to sample the local ales! Anyway, Happy Birthday, Mark- we drank a toast in your absence.

The welcome at the Stone Jug was as warm as the weather, and the beer up to its' usual high standard. It was very hard to drag ourselves away for the slog up Badger Hill and chase back to the Old Sun. Continuing the theme of warmth, most of the remaining crew partook of Paddy's extra hot curry, making the most of Friday being a bank holiday and staying for an extra pint or two.
A very enjoyable if not record-breaking 22 miles.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

They say that time passes quicler as we get older and I can certainly say that my 50th year seems to have gone considerably fasterer than each of the previous 49. It hardly seems any time since I was writing about last year's Christmas ride and meal, but here we are half way through the festive season and looking forward to the New Year celebrations.

This years Christmas do was held on 4th December. Heavy snow during the preceding week had put the ride in some doubt, but a timely thaw enabled half a dozen hardy souls to complete a short trip around Ireland, Northill and Southill, partaking of an obligatory beer or two in the Stone Jug before heading home in drizzle to get ready for the evening's festivities.

Newly self appointed Social Secretary, Mick, had selected the Green Man at Eversholt as this year's venue. This is a fairly regular stopping off point for us during the summer and Mick has developed something of a love-hate relationship with the landlady- You've guessed it; he loves her and she, well at best tolerates him as long as we keep him on a short leash. She was delighted to accept the phone booking but apparently was a bit taken aback when Mick turned up to pay the deposit. I suppose in the current climate, beggars really can't be choosers, and she was happy to take his money.

Due to various holidays and other commitments, numbers were a bit down on previous years but by all accounts a very good time was had by all- food, service and beer all coming up to scratch, and there was a some good hearted banter with the other groups in the restaurant.

Highlight of the evening was the annual awarding of the Pink Barbie Cycle Helmet to the biggest arse of the year. Despite having done an excellent job of organising the revelries, Mick had done more than enough through the year to retain the trophy he won last year. I'm told Ladbrooks have stopped taking bets on him completing a hat-trick and winning the trophy outright in 2011!

For many of us, one of the highlights of Christmas in Ampthill has long been the annual carol service at the Old Sun. Like Ampthill Cyclists, there are differing views as to when this first started, but it was well over twenty years ago and it's still going strong. This is thanks to the conducting of Raff Troianno and a subset of Ampthill Town Band.

This year's event took place on 21st December and, despite the snow lying deep and crisp and even, the Old Sun was full to the gunnels. This was in no small way due to the cycle club turning out en masse with about half of our regualr members and their respective partners in attendance.

Several of the crew, including Joe, CP and Clive do have very good voices; unfortunately they couldn't make it this year. We thought we harmonised beautifully, but a subsequent posting on Facebook of our rendition of While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks ( to the tune of Ilkley Moor Bar T'at) proved this not to be the case.

The emphasis has really always been on quantity rather than quality and, despite Raff's attempts to whip us into shape over the years I don't think the Old Sun Choral Society will be coming to a venue near you any time soon.

Anyway it was a rousing, fun packed evening thanks to Paddy, Jenny, Jay, Raff and the band.

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year.

Three Peaks Challenge

While the rest of us were messing about in the relative molehills of the Chilterns, Everton and Andrew Paisley were taking part in a serious ride as they tackled the Thee Peaks Challenge on their bikes. Below is Everton's account of this epic journey. it puts our tour in perspective!: -

"Hi everyone

Back in one piece last Thursday evening. Most certainly the hardest thing I have ever done !!

Climbed Snowdon on Friday 25th and the following day cycled 113 miles and camped for the night in Wigan (delightful place - not). The following day we cycled a further 100 miles and should have climbed Scafell Pike on the same day but we had underestimated the hills in and around the Lake District (a lot of 25% hills - in fact, too many!!)

The following day we climbed the Pike in the morning and then decided (God knows why !!)to climb a relatively small mountain called Green Gables - we underestimated the time it should have taken. We thought about an hour but it took 3. After that we were well and truly knackered and way behind schedule. However, we got back on the bikes and gave it everything in order to make up the time we had lost. We then cycled a further 92 miles finishing around 9pm. Three of us cycling along major A roads in the pitch black was a nightmare!! The following day we cycled a further 90 miles before making camp and contemplating the long cycle ride into Fort William and the the last climb. The next day we encountered torrential rain and really cold weather - we cycled 65 miles to Ben Nevis and completed the climb in 4hrs 30 mins (around 7.30pm) which was not too bad considering what we had already done previously.

Suffice to say we were showered and defrosted and in the pub by 9.30pm. A great night was had by all.

We covered a total of around 460 miles at an average of 92 miles a day over 5 days - and yes I managed to keep up with the 2 youngsters (my son Andrew - 22yrs and his mate James - 23yrs) but it was far from easy !! After day 2 I had saddle sores and therefore had to cycle for many of the remaining miles out of the saddle.

Would I do it again ?? The answer is yes and the next time I intend starting with Ben Nevis - this is the harder route as the last 80 miles or so en route to Ben Nevis had a number of downhill segments. Believe it or not, my wife will be the support driver.

If there is anybody out there that wants to accompany me please let me know.

Regards

Ev paisley"

Well done- but I don't think many of us will be taking you up on the challenge!

Let's Go Fly a Kite

For the the romantics amongst us, this was a tour through the rolling hills of the Chilterns, stopping en route at a number of delightful country taverns and over-nighting at an historic hotel that figured at the centre of the Allied Forces victory in WWII. For the less poetic, it was a ride from Ampthill to Watford and back, a few beers in some dodgy boozers and a night in a cheap and cheerful pub with a few bedrooms.

I'd like to think that the majority of the nine hardy souls who set off from the Old Sun leaned toward the former, for this was undoubtedly one of the best tour routes we have ever ridden, thanks to the planning of CP.

Covering almost exactly 100 miles and climbing nearly 5000 ft in the process, the route was suitably stretching without being unduly hard. Saturday's ride took us out through Barton, Hexton and up our first serious climb to Lilley, around the edge of Luton and out into the Hertfordshire countryside. For the most part, we avoided towns and main roads, although we did clip the outskirts of Hemel Hempstead before taking a detour to Croxley Green and finishing in the leafy suburbs of Watford.

In his inimitable manner, Mick had persuaded Paddy & Jenny to open the Old Sun and cook us bacon sandwiches before departure. After the ubiquitous photo shoot- for ugly blokes we do seem to have had lots of pictures taken this year- we set off on time and managed a full two miles before our first stop- a phone call from bag man Kieth, that well known typo. As luck would have it, apart from Clive losing his chain a couple of times, there were no mechanicals on Day One although we did make up for it in the first few miles of the second day.

As we began the slog up Hexton Hill the level of banter dropped almost as much as the pace of the ride and we were soon well strung out. Acting as shepherd, Mark the Fireman came back to round up the stragglers and casually announced that he regularly rides three laps of a route which goes down Barton Cutting and up Hexton Hill. Some people are just too fit for their own good.

We were fully expecting to see a few kites as we got deeper into the Chilterns, but the first and by far the most impressive came much earlier than we expected. On a short climb out near Lilley Bottom we spotted what we first though was a very (very) large kestrel, hovering about twenty feet off the ground. A second look showed it to be a kite using the ever strengthening breeze to hold position as it scanned the ground for suitable carrion. It was enough to take your breath away- if the climb had left you with any.
Beyond Luton we got into the rolling hills of the Chilterns and began something of a roller coaster which would last for most of the weekend as each climb was followed by a quick descent.

Lunch was in the delightful Cricketer's Arms. Overlooking Redbourn village green, this is an idyllic setting for a quintessential country pub that provides a range of top notch real ales, good quality, fresh cooked food and excellent service. I'm sure we'd all have happily stayed for the afternoon.

For the most part, the route kept us away from any towns of significance and it was a bit of a culture shock when we arrived on the outskirts of Hemel Hempstead. On the evidence we saw, Hemel appears to be largely populated by would-be boy racers who are desperate to make mommies Renault Clio sound like a real car by revving their engines and spinning their wheels at the traffic lights.

Having made decent time through the afternoon, Mr Park decided to take on a short detour to find the Sportsman at Croxley Green. This rather nondescript hostelry was recently voted the local CAMRA pub of the year. Whilst we did not get the warmest welcome we have ever received (probably something to do with Clive asking for a very cloudy pint to be changed), it did offer a variety of unusual ales which for the most part seemed to be well kept, and we managed to amuse ourselves with some stupid games for an hour or so.

From the Sportsman, it was a relatively short hop through the suburbs of Watford to the Southern Cross- our destination for the night. This small hotel/pub restaurant was apparently the head quarters for the American strategic command during the World War II. There is no evidence of this in the trading areas but the staff assured us that there were plenty of relics down in the cellar.

I think "adequate" was probably the best all round adjective for the Southern Cross. Rooms were basic but fine and the beer was decent. Showing our age, we elected to stay in to eat rather than hitting the high spots of Watford (the Lutonians amongst us insisted this this was an oxymoron and we'd be wasting our time going out). This seemed like a good plan until we realised that the foolproof state of the art electronic ordering system had managed to lose our order and dinner did not appear until 10 pm- Whatever happened to the good old paper and pen. Anyway, the company was good and the mood was buoyant and nobody really cared.

Dinner had hardly gone down before it was time for breakfast.

Having avoided any mechanical incidents on Saturday, we soon made up for it on Sunday. Clive picked up the first puncture in the car park as we set off, stopped for a second a mile down the road and completed a hat trick as we cut through the grounds of the exclusive Grove hotel and country club. No doubt we caused ructions amongst the security staff as they watched us on their CCTV's.

Once out into the country we resumed the roller coaster of Day One. The first few hills proved particularly demanding and there were a couple of "pushers" on one climb. I think some of us were secretly relieved when we temporarily lost the route and had an enforced stop to review the map. A quick short cut along the route of an abandoned road got us back on track and we were soon making good time again.

As we rode on through the morning the wind was ever strengthening and we could see it bringing in dark clouds from the east. We ground on to Marsworth, stopping to admire the craftsmanship of the bricklayers who had recently restored one of the many bridges across the Grand Union Canal- even Joseph was impressed. Lunch was booked at the the Angler's Retreat where Pauline, the Kiwi landlady had laid on a splendid buffet. Mick was clearly smitten and I think was hoping that she might lay on something more.
After lunch we did a quick detour to visit the Matter Hatter- Mr & Mrs Park's floating gin palace- and very nice it is too.
For no apparent reason, there seems to be something of an obsession within the club for all things relating to World War II and we have often taken timeout to explore a bit of military history over the years. Half the team couldn't resist the attraction of the former US aerodrome at Marsworth and took off to explore what is something of a land-locked Mary Celeste. Expecting to be able to ride right through the site, they were disappointed to find their way blocked and had to double back, putting on a couple of unwelcome additional miles.
By now it was raining quite hard. Clive, our resident jet-setter and international playboy, injected a touch of urgency, revealing that he was being picked up at 7 pm to catch a plane to Dubai. There was no time for further detours and we decided to take a shortcut through the centre of Leighton Buzzard as we set about grinding out the last 20 miles or so.

Leighton Buzzard has been working hard to promote cycling in the town and full details can be found at http//www.gocycleleightonlinslade.org. On this occasion, we decided that the most direct route was preferable and, for the most part we stuck to the main road.

The road from Leighton to Hockliffe is surprsingly twisty and climbs far more than you realise in the car. I don't think we were very popular as we created quite a tailback of traffic but it was good that, for once, the drivers were patient and did not try any dangerous overtaking.

Once we reached Hockliffe we could feel the call of the Old Sun and a well-earned beer. Re-grouping at the traffic lights, we agreed that the best route to take was via Milton Bryan, Eversholt and Steppingley. However, it was no great shock to find that Mr Hopes, riding off the front of the pack once again, had carried straight on to Woburn. On past evidence, it was quite a surprise that he managed to find his own way back to Ampthill from there- Yes Mick, you have been there before!

Mark the Fireman repeated his sheep dog role of Day One, rounding up the stragglers to make sure we got back safely. I have to say I was very grateful for his company at the back of the pack for the last 10 miles or so.

For the first time in about five years, the same number of riders arrived back at the Old Sun to toast a very successful tour and one of the best routes we have ridden for years.

Deluge-

"Whose out?" asked the email from the Chairman "The forecast doesn't look bad".

Despite the fact that it had rained solidly for 48 hours, and that there was little sign of any let up, 10 of us were taken in by this prediction. To be fair, as we met outside the Old Sun, the solid grey blanket that had covered the sky for the best part of a week had dispersed to reveal milky sunshine and the odd streak of blue and we were all optimistic that we were in for a pleasant evening.

Setting off into a gentle breeze, we headed out to Ridgmont, through Huborne Crawley and took a right into Horsepool Lane, stopping briefly to acknowledge the memorial to the WWII plane that crashed nearby. As we turned into Gypsy Lane, shouting to Mick who, as usual had run on past the junction there were a few rain drops in the air but nothing to forewarn of the deluge we were soon to encounter.

F0r some reason, we became strung out and as we stopped to regroup at the junction with the A5130 most of us took the opportunity to pull on waterproofs and switch on lights although the rain was still little more than drizzle.

The roads around Woburn Golf Club took a serious hammering from last winter's frost and snow and in many places the potholes had been overlaid with a covering of sand from the recent storms. This made for an interesting couple of miles of riding as those with skinny racing tyres took extra care to stay upright and avoid the holes.

Despite the disappointing weather, the mood was good and there was plenty of banter as we wended our way back into Woburn and up through the deer park. The deer were obviously not happy with the weather and were restless. They seemed to be be contemplating a stampede as we climbed the hill and it felt like we were running the gauntlet. I think I prefer my venison roasted on a plate rather than charging behind a full set of antlers.

By the time we turned at the end of the deer park so had the weather. The gentle breeze had stiffened to blow the strenghtening rain into our faces and there was a noticeable drop in the level of chat as we ground our way homeward.

We decided to forgo our planned beer stop in Eversholt and pushed on to Ampthill, calling in for a quick pint in the Albion. By now, the rain was torrential and Flitwick Road loked more like an open drain. Despite dripping all over the floor and steaming up the windows, we were given a warm welcome by staf and customers. The pub was lively and there was a broad range of conversation. One of our former members regaled us with the tail of the recumbent cycle he recently bought from eBay. It seemed like a bargain until he realised it had been in a crash and the custom built forks need replacing at double the price he paid for the bike.

Like many of our fellow customers we decided to do the sensible thing and have another pint while waiting for the rain to ease. Unfortunately it didn't and by the time we left at 10.30 it was raining harder than ever.

It was a very tentative ride home but a very enjoyable evening despite the weather.

A very soggy 20 miles.

Who do you think you are kidding....?

One of the shortest but best attended rides of the summer proved to be one of the most eventful.
Ten of us gathered in gloriious sunshine outside the Old Sun. Altough we were raring to go, departure was delyad by two punctures and yet another photoshoot for the new shirts. Sitting with his bike propped against the wall, waiting the for the restof us, Mick became the first victim of the puncture curse as his rear tyre exploded for no apparent reason. Next, Loren discovered his back tyre was flat. The resultant delay gave new recruit Nick (Casey) time to get home, change and join us on his very own Cannon Ball Express- a five-speed Peugeot classic.

After posing for Jay's Wonderwall we set off towards Potsgrove via Steppingley, Eversholt and Milton Bryan, with an enforced stop on Flitwick Road to pick up Casey's bike rack.

Potsgrove is the ancestral seat of the King-Johnson family and Joe always delights in regaling us with local history. Tonight he took us on a detour to see an old World War II radio station hidden in the woods off the gated road. As we variously rode, scooted and pushed our bikes across the field to find the station we looked like a shambolic scene from Dad's Army. In the absense of our very own Captain Mainwaring- on manouvres in Turkey- Corporal Jo(n)e(s) took charge, briefing us on the network of radio stations that were linked to Bletchley Park during the war, and the way in which they were guarded by the Home Guard, which included Joe's dad.
As we set off towards the main Woburn road a shot rang out at the back of the bunch- not a Fifth columnist but the sound of Casey's back tyre exploding in the heat. (They don't make tubes like they used to)
After another stop, protracted by the lack of quick release nuts on the Cannon Ball Express, we headed on to Woburn and picked up the road along the wall of the Woburn Estate. In an effort to make up ground on the front runners, the backmarkers cut the corner at the Old White Horse, picking up the old footpath. This seemed like a great idea until Joe hit a pot hole and, you guessed it, got another puncture.
The lead group carried on to the French Horn while the rest of us helped change the tyre before joining them for a much needed beer.
After years of masquerading as a poncy restaurant (in between closures) the French Horn is once again a pub, albeit up-market, and there was a decent selection of beers including Old Speckled Hen. I twas nice to sit out in the sun and shoot the breeze. However, prices are still aimed at the merchant bank brigade and we decided the kitty couldn't stand a second round so we headed off to the Old Sun for Adnam's and Paddy's chilli.

A staccato 20 miles but a fun evening despite the enforced stops.