The Secret Life of Adrian Vole - aged 52 ½
(with apologies to Sue Townsend)
thursday 20 june
After hearing the disgusting noises coming from the living room last night, I shall be more circumspect about my alcohol intake. I doubt I could become teetotal. A bit like becoming vegan. My sister got the dog drunk on cherry brandy at the pub last night. If the RSPCA hear about it, she could get done. I need to go for a night ride. Luckily, The Fridays gather tomorrow. I worry about what to wear. Not in a fashion sense, or if my socks match my top. Just that I have enough to stay warm, but not too much that I look like I'm going for a week long tour.
friday 21 june
I felt rotten this morning. It's my sister's fault for singing ‘My Way’ at two o’clock in the morning at the top of her voice. Just my luck to have a sister like her. There is a chance she could be an alcoholic. Next year I could be in a care home.
The dog got his own back on my sister. It jumped on the sofa and caught his feet in her crocheted jumper, dragging it into the back yard. My sister kept wailing ‘three months work down the drain’ over and over again.
I get my clothing sorted and leave for the train station. It's a 20 km ride and after 5 km I feel much better. It feels good to leave my sister and the dog behind and my mood lightens. I worry about riding solo in the heavy traffic on unfamiliar streets of the capital. I reach the NFT meeting place unscathed.
Nigel showed up on his new bike. It has got a water bottle, a milometer, a speedometer, a yellow saddle and very thin racing wheels. It's wasted on Nigel. He only does FNRs on it. If I had it, I would go all over the country and have experiences.
We have a stand-in Ride Leader, Mr Tailher, because the original Ride Leader has pulled a muscle. He speaks with a strange accent, is voluble and opinionated. He is also nice, I like him.
There is a new girl on the ride. She is all right. Her name is Pandora but likes being called ‘Box’ Don’t ask me why.
We leave at midnight.
saturday 22 june
It is dry and a balmy 15° with plenty of below the thigh and bare arms on show. We rode off through side streets south of the river, around the back of the Oval, missed a turn, through an estate to the Commons at Clapham, Tooting Bec and Mitcham. Shortly after, very light moisture is felt. By Coulsdon, the drizzle is more intense and on top of the open Farthing Down, it is wetting. Nearly came a cropper over the first cattle grid.
The descent after Chaldon is tricky. The first left bend two riders come down on the greasy surface. They are helped back on by Tim, our All Upper, and another TEC and continue gingerly down. Apart from abrasions and mild shock, both appear to be ok.
By the time we reach Burstow, the mizzle has almost stopped. At The Edifice I sit next to Pandora. She has got hair the colour of treacle. I worry about what to say, so I drink my tea and eat my sandwich, banana and granola bar. A super snack from the Scouts, always most welcome.
We depart just over an hour later, light yet cloudy grey sky and dry-ish. By Lindfield, the drizzle returned. We pressed on, over the A 272 and down the aptly named Slugwash Lane. The surface has deteriorated significantly and caution was required, avoiding gravel and potholes. Nobody came a cropper.
Approaching Ditchling, the mist was so low, the top of the Downs could not be seen. The Hatler family were re-united for a nostalgic climb to the Beacon. I worry about the ascent of the Bostal without falling off or coming to a stop. I rapidly changed down to my lowest gear and hauled myself up. At the top, the blustery wind helped dry outer garments.
Riding along Madeira Drive, the sun was glimpsed through patches of white cloud. Seated on the east side of ‘Spoons out of the strong westerly with an increasingly warming sun, the world felt a better place
Pandora left, taking her train home while I was eating my four B’s breakfast - bacon butty and brown beer. More hydration and then I did the SMRbtH thing.
Until next time…
