In Which Nairo Has A Click, A Creak and A Doughnut (LGD -263 Days)

Wednesday 24 August 2017, 114 Miles

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Today was a day that had been spoken about for quite a long time. Daren (Nairo) Morgan had noticed my penchant for riding to Orford. He was keen to find out for himself what the attraction of the ride was. And he also wanted to sample one of those doughnuts that I rave about. With the prospect of reasonable weather we were soon off and riding – Nairo on his Intenso and me on my Infinito. Or rather we weren’t quite off and riding because within the first mile came the cry “I’ve forgotten my heart rate monitor” and we had to turn around and return to the start so that Nairo could reclaim this essential item. Suitably equipped we set off again and this time made it out of my village and onto the open road.

I had planned the route to give Nairo the full 5-star experience and had added in a slight deviation to skirt the north and east of Ipswich so that we could cross the River Deben on the ferry to Bawdsey. What I hadn’t anticipated was a steady south easterly wind which meant it was in our faces for most of the outward leg. Nairo is a faster rider than me and also has a tendency to start off much quicker than I do. My approach is to ride at a steady, or even sedate pace that I can sustain for the whole day without fear of blowing-up. Consequently, with Nairo setting the pace into the wind, my legs were gently asking questions about what was up. As much of the route was new to Nairo I played the part of the good tour guide, pointing out places of interest as I rode along behind him. It took me a while to work out that much my commentary was lost to Nairo – the wind blew it away behind me.

We were going quite well as we passed through Debenham and Framsden. Shortly after Framsden Nairo’s bike developed a clicking noise – loud enough for me to hear. Now this is something that happens from time to time. I ride with Look pedals which are well-known for the ‘Look Click’. Another common cause is minor slippage of the rear wheel.  Loosening the quick release, jiggling the wheel and then retightening the quick release sometimes solves the problem. Occasionally it hints at bearing trouble in the bottom bracket which can be more terminal and is not something that can normally be fixed on the road. Nairo doesn’t ride with Look pedals – he favours’ Shimanonos so that ruled cause one out. At this point I should remind you that I have issues with riding an Italian heritage bike with anything other than Italian components. Nairo is much less fussy in that department.

When it comes to noises though it’s the reverse. I am much more forgiving and excel in the art of selective deafness. That’s one of the “benefits” of parenting – my selective deafness reached world championship standards during my children’s teenage years. Nairo on the other hand can’t stand a noise – he’s inherently an adjuster and a tweaker so anything mechanical making noises it shouldn’t is an invitation to stop for an adjustment or a tweak. Or sometimes, an adjustment and a tweak. And that’s exactly what happened as we approached Otley – a roadside pause and a rear wheel tweak. Unfortunately, it made no difference. In fact quite the opposite because following the tweak, or was it an adjustment, Nairo’s Intenso started making a new sound – a short of swish or whoosh, rather like something rubbing together. The click continued unabated. Both sounds only happened when he was pedalling. Freewheel and it was the sound of silence.

We carried on for a while – I was leading now and behind me I could sense Nairo getting a bit wound up. He was not a very happy rider. Leaving Grundisburgh it all got too much for him and so another roadside stop with a tweak and an adjustment was necessary. And the result? No change – click, swoosh, click, swoosh, click swoosh with every pedal revolution. Perhaps fortunately, as we turned to pass between Ipswich and Woodbridge the road surfaces became a lot rougher so that added another level of noise and one which seemed to mask the click and swooshes. And I think Nairo was becoming resigned to a noisy ride.

I soon had my own mini-mechanical to contend with though. Although it was overcast it was also very humid so we were both quite sweaty cyclists. We decided to stop in Trimley St Mary and rehydrate with a can of pop. Suitably quenched I clipped my right foot into the pedal and pushed off. As I clipped my left foot into its pedal, in addition to the usual loud click of contact, the pedal decided it was time to part company with its spindle. As I careered across the road, fighting to avoid bodily injury, Nairo, who was behind me, was in fits of laughter. Poetic justice perhaps for what might have been some of my less than helpful comments earlier about tweaking and adjusting. Fortunately, my mechanical incident wasn’t terminal and I was able to reattach the pedal and get going again – silently!

We made our way down to Felixstowe Ferry and crossed over to Bawdsey Quay before heading on to Orford. With a quick spin down to the Quayside at Orford we then headed back into the village for a late lunch stop at the Pump Street Bakery. I had been bigging-up the quality of the doughnuts to Nairo so I was hoping they hadn’t sold out. Although there were no raspberry ones left there was a nice stack of rhubarb filled ones so our order was placed. This being Nairo’s first visit he went the whole hog and snaffled a sausage roll as well. I was a bit more restrained – for once. I also discovered that this was Nairo’s first ever visit to Orford – by any mode of transport. So that was another first!

With the noticeable headwind most of the way down here we were looking forward to a wind assisted ride on the final 50 miles home. Unfortunately for us, Mother Nature had other ideas and whilst we had been lunching in the shelter of the village, the wind had turned to become a westerly. In other words, it was going to be a headwind home. Drat! The return leg took us back through Snape, Saxmundham, Framlingham, Stradbroke and Eye. This was only Nairo’s second century of the year so he was showing some signs of wear – brought on by a combination of miles, wind and yes, clicks and swooshes!

By the time we arrived back at my house we had ridden 114 miles which for Nairo was another first – the longest distance covered in a single ride. Sitting in my garden I asked him if he had enjoyed it to which he replied “I’ll need to think about that.” Well, that may be. I certainly had a grand day out.

Some Random Thoughts On The Road To Shotley Gate (and Back) (LGD -270 Days)

Wednesday 16 August 2017, 103 Miles

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Today I had a hankering to ride over to Shotley Gate on the coast between Felixstowe and Harwich so that’s where I went! Why? Well, I’ve no idea it just seemed like a good place to go! To add a bit of variety I decided to ride the route the other way around to my last outing and I also snuck in a couple of small diversions to knock off a couple of ‘new roads’. Why? Because I can!

I was underway just after 8.00 am. Carol Kirkwood, the BBC weather lady, had promised me blue skies, sunshine and heat so that seemed like a good omen. As I rode along I was thinking about the last of this year’s Grand Tours, the Tour of Spain (La Vuelta a España) which starts on Saturday. Slightly confusingly, but following a recent trend by the Grand Tours (read on) the Vuelta will actually start in France - from Nimes! It has all the makings of tough event. The defending champion, Nairo Quintana, won’t be riding as I suspect that he’s rather overdone it this year having ridden both the Giro d’Italia and the Tour de France. He looked a shadow of himself in this year’s Tour. Bertie/La Pistolero (Alberto Contador) has recently announced his retirement so this being his home event I am sure he will want to leave on a high note. And then there’s the Froomedog. Whilst he's best known for his four victories in the Tour de France we shouldn’t forget that he has also finished as runner up in three past editions of the Vuelta so there is an element of unfinished business here. He has made it clear that he will be riding to win. If he does win he will become only the third rider to complete the Tour-Vuelta double in the same year. I’m going to be glued to the nightly highlights on the box for the next 3 weeks. Sorted!

Heading towards Hadleigh I started to think about which of the three Grand Tours I liked the best. And I didn’t reach any conclusions on that score. They are all very different in scope and spirit. The Giro d’Italia, which in 2014 started in Northern Ireland with a time trial round the streets of Belfast (see, I told you to read on), tends to be a loud, raucous and flamboyant event. This year it celebrated its centenary and has had a very colourful history, including years when the pre-race favourite has been paid not to take part and allegations of result fixing and mafia involvement. The Tour de France (La Grande Boucle), which this year started in Germany with a time trial in Dusseldorf, is the ‘senior’ Grand Tour; it was first held in 1903. The Tour has become heavily commercialised and the pre-race caravan is probably now at least as much a spectator attraction as the race itself! By contrast, the Vuelta has a rather lower profile and to me feels more like a rider’s event rather than a public spectacle. But that doesn’t mean that the spectators don’t vent their feelings with passion. Lots of Latin passion! In a way, I think it’s great that the three Grand Tours are each quite different. It makes for much more interesting racing and much more interesting spectating.

The only regret I have is that over the years pro-riders have become much more specialised in their approach. Some like the Froomedog only target one or two Grand Tours in a season. Everything else is preparation for the Grand Tour. Technology and team tactics also play a greater role today than hitherto. I recently watched a couple of films of Eddy Merckx. One featured him climbing Mont Ventoux on a stage of the Tour; the other was of Paris-Roubaix. I was left feeling that pro-cycling has lost quite a lot of its special character – riders and bikes racing each other, battling the roads and weather with fairly basic technology. Then it was more about strength and talent and less about specialisation and team tactics. But that’s progressI suppose.

These random thoughts occupied me until I reached the ‘new’ part of the route – a little diversion after passing through East Bergholt so I could ride around part of Alton Water. This is a reservoir which was opened in 1987 to provide water for Ipswich and Felixstowe. It extends over 400 acres to a depth of over 60 feet and can provide up to 10 million gallons of treated water daily. Apart from the road crossing at the top end of the reservoir I didn’t see much of it. There is an 8-mile circular cycle route but some of it is unsurfaced so I didn’t want to risk any punctures.

One of the great delights of riding a route ‘the other way around’ is that occasionally I get a surprise and spot something I haven’t noticed before. Well today’s surprise was Erwarton Hall with its spectacular gatehouse. This dates from c1549 and is a rather spectacular brick structure. The Hall is also pretty impressive. The other claim to fame, or perhaps notoriety, is that Anne Boleyn’s heart was apparently buried in the village church, St Mary’s. There’s a copy of a Hans Holbein painting of her attached to the organ - to be clear that's the church's pipe organ!

The remainder of the ride which took me down to the shore at Shotley Gate before turning back inland to head for home via Ipswich was all very enjoyable. The only disappointment was that the blue skies and sunshine that Carol Kirkwood had promised me didn’t materialise until a couple of hours after I had finished. I am going to have to have word with her about leading me on with false hopes!

By way of a postscript I realised after uploading my ride data to Strava today I had now crossed the 10,000-mile threshold for the year to date – the equivalent of riding from home to Fiji apparently. And I have also just about climbed Mt Everest 8 times. Wow! But to keep my feet firmly in my pedals, Mark Beaumont who is trying to ride around the world in 80 days, is in New Zealand. He has completed over 10,000 miles in 46 days. All apparently with a suspected hairline fracture to his elbow/arm sustained in a fall early on in the challenge. Go, Mark, Go!

Not By Royal Appointment ( LGD -279 Days)

Monday 7 August 2017, 157 Miles

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It’s been just over a week since my last century ride so, with the prospect of dry weather today, I thought I’d better get back in the groove. But where to go? I’m running out of new places to ride centuries when they start and finish at home. A look at my road map of East Anglia is usually where I begin my planning. I colour in the roads I’ve ridden so it is easier to spot those that I haven’t been on before. What’s that you say? Obsessive – mmmmm. Compulsive – perhaps. Disorder – definitely and emphatically not!!

After studying the map for a while I noticed that there were a few roads east and north of Kings Lynn that I haven’t ridden. I decided to head towards Sandringham and then carry on to the coast road on the edge of Hunstanton and follow it as far as Wells-next-the Sea before turning south and heading gradually homewards. As century rides go this was going to be one of my longer ones at around 120 miles.

After a good breakfast, I was underway at 7.45 am heading for Watton and Swaffham. Then I carried on to West Acre where I turned on to the first of today’s ‘new’ roads. I then continued north west crossing the busy A148 road and entering the Sandringham Estate lands. It was immediately apparent that this was some special countryside. Everywhere had the appearance of being well-managed. The fields looked highly productive, the hedgerows were immaculate, and, to my forester’s eyes, the woods were in tip top condition. The various estate houses and buildings were all well-maintained. Although everywhere seemed to be in pristine condition there was also a strong sense of productive countryside. This was very much a working landscape. I suppose the owner has a rather unique influence and her eldest son is well-known as a pioneer of organic farming and environmentally friendly land management.

It was mid-morning as I was riding through the estate so I thought I might call in to see if I could blag a cup of coffee and perhaps have a catch-up with HMQ. So I turned towards ‘the big house’ to try my luck. The chap on the rather splendid gates told me that I was out of luck as the lady of the house had just taken the corgis out for their morning exercise and he had no idea when she would be back. Funnily enough when I last tried dropping in on her a couple of years ago at Balmoral, her Scottish holiday home, I was told just the same thing! I wonder if she’s deliberately trying to avoid me?  Hmm.

No matter. I wasn’t offended as she does have a pretty busy schedule so I guess opportunities to have a goss with the subjects are few and far between. So, onward. Maybe I could drop in for a sandwich with Desmond MacCarthy. I’ve been watching his series on BBC2 – Normal for Norfolk. In terms of property management Desmond has a very different approach to the folk at Sandringham. He once famously said that there’s lots of money in his place and most of it belongs to the Bank! Desmond is rather distinctive person. Instead of eyebrows he sports a couple of hairy caterpillars. A look at my map revealed that breaking bread with Desmond was going to have to wait awhile as my knowledge of North Norfolk geography was a bit off. His place was further along the coast beyond Wells where I intended to turn inland. The good news is that there is a nice cluster of roads around his house that I have yet to ride. So, Desmond, I will be back.

In my humble opinion the coast road is one of those roads that provides total enjoyment if you are a cyclist. The road between Hunstanton and Cromer is rarely more than a mile from the sea. It rises and falls across the small ridges of the land giving glimpses and hints of the sea. When the wind is in the right direction it can also be a fast ride. The succession of small villages, some very attractive, others rather more nondescript, but all calling out to the passing tourists, provide lots of interest. The only downside is that it is usually quite busy and its twists and turns can mean that in the war of motorist versus cyclist, frustration and even occasionally a spot of road rage erupts. Unusually today, the road seemed quite quiet. Maybe all the tourists are on holiday!  So the ride today was full-on enjoyment as I passed through Holme-next-the Sea, Thornham, Brancaster and Burnham Overy Staithe before reaching Wells-next-the Sea which was bursting with people all enjoying its delights.

I decided to forsake the opportunity to refuel here as any possible place I saw had a lengthy queue of people waiting to make their choices. So with no realistic prospect of a fresh Cromer crab sarnie (or similar) I headed south and inland, stopping briefly at Co-Op on the edge of town for a rather more mundane egg roll which did exactly what it said on the packet. The ride from Wells to Fakenham, Dereham and Attleborough was on roads that I know quite well so I just concentrated on tapping out the miles. I had one minor excitement when my Garmin and I had a disagreement about the best way to go through Fakenham. (I won.) This was the third time the Garmin had got bolshie in Fakenham. Maybe it will eventually realise that I am the master of navigation – in Fakenham at least.

As I reached East Harling (120 miles), which I had passed through soon after the start of the ride, my legs still felt good so I decided to carry on for a while by throwing in an extra loop that would take the ride up to 150 miles. Apart from a heavy rain shower at one point the last leg was pretty comfortable going and I arrived home feeling surprisingly sprightly. As I pressed the stop button on my Garmin it told me that I had set a new distance record (157 miles) which was quiet satisfying; 152 miles was the previous longest distance recorded by the Garmin. And yes, I have ridden a longer distance in the past. My PB is 241 miles. But I did that (in 12 hours) about 40 years ago when I was considerably fitter than I am now. And in the interests of journalistic honesty I should add that after that effort I could hardly walk for a week!