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 we
re 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.
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 we
re 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.
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