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.