FNRttC Friday Night Ride to the Coast - Southend on Sea 7th November

[clarion]

I overheard someone asking what was the other person's favourite destination, and I fell to thinking that, much though I appreciate a plate full of food, a cup of tea and a warm, I find the destinations a tad disappointing. It's the journey that holds all the delight for me.

 

[Dogtrousers]

One of my favourite parts of the FNRttC has been my solo ride on Saturday morning. Some of my absolute favourite rides of the past three or so years have been early on Saturday mornings, in a state of mild befuddlement. Springing to mind are the Kent Downs from Whitstable earlier this year. A couple of years back I rode my first 100 miler in about 20 years. I was approaching Hurstpierrepoint when I passed the target, after a Felpham ride. I stopped, got off, and did a kind of cumbersome, stiff-legged jig. Then had a sit down against my crossbar. That I could actually still do this was enough of a surprise. That I could do it after riding all of the previous night was just plain ridiculous.

Saturday was no different. I had a race with a paperboy down the A13 (I just shaded it). I stopped to admire this milestone . I had a brief chat about the weather with a guy on a white carbon bike as we pulled away from some lights, before he glided effortlessly into the distance. I was given directions by a bloke in Stanford le Hope who approached me because he thought I looked lost (I was). Useful directions which I promptly forgot. And finally I crossed the Thames on a little ferry, and discovered that Gravesend station has a platform zero.

 

[clarion]

Yes, I understand that, but it got me to thinking.

 

[Tim Hall]

And finally I crossed the Thames on a little ferry, and discovered that Gravesend station has a platform zero.

<twiglet zone>
By great coincidence, today I was working with the firm that built platform zero.
</twiglet zone>

 

[Tim Hall]

Some other snippets:
The picture of @Flying Dodo fishing in his wallet is where he's trying to sell a pension to an unsuspecting passerby. Or find a "Fridays" business card.
@StuAff, I liked the Lighted Lady of Barking.
MV Gin Palace, commonly called Kismet, moored outside Al Barone's was flying a Cayman Islands flag.
@User10571 wins the photobombing award.
@Aperitif gets the credit for spotting photo opportunities, eg the girls in their socks and others.

Thank you one and all.

 

[redfalo]

Well, what can I add to this? It was the end of an era, and I have to say I’m quite sad about it. The FNRttC and the Fridays in general are by far the best thing that happened to me after I had moved to London in late 2009.

As with several others, it is @arallsopp who is to blame for infecting me with the bug. Back then, I was riding a recumbent, and introduced myself in the ‘bent section of this fine forum, asking for “some joint tours and getting some advice regarding nice trips in and around London.”

In his reply, Andy innocuously – and rather opaquely – mentioned “some lovely rides from London, particularly on Fridays, around the full moon”. Well, I did some googling, and the rest is history.

I was already cycling a lot and for many years when starting with this FNRttC lark. But nonetheless, the Fridays - Simon - completely transformed my cycling experience in many ways. The open, unselfish and friendly spirit of the people taught me more about life than about cycling. In my pre-Fridays-years, I did the odd 70 miles ride, but I considered it a really, really long distance.

The first leg on LonJOG from London to Bingham really scared me, as it was by far the longest ride I was going to do in my life. This record was later broken by the first Southwold ride, and another year later by London-Southwold-Ipswich.

Ironically, while it was the recumbent that got me into the FNRttC, it was the FNRttC than made me sell the recumbent, mainly because I was so super-slow going uphill.

Thank you so much, Simon!

 

[Agent Hilda]

Agent H Ride Report – Southend Nov 2014

FOR DAISY

Well now.
Simon once told me that cyclechat is like watching television, only better. I work in television. So think of this ride report as a piece of television.
It’s a single documentary, in a primetime slot with a primetime budget. It’s made up of several parts as its being shown on a commercial channel (they pay more). It could almost be a shiny floor show, or an episode of University Challenge or a modern tragedy, but it’s really just the tale of a group of people going out on bike ride adventures together through the night.
And all of it is a conceit and none of it is real. I have edited it to suit my own means, to tell my own tale.
Here it is.

Part 1
I am laying star shaped in our bed. I hear rain on the window. Then the clunk of the front door as Daisy pulls it shut and creeps in to the kitchen to make spaghetti on toast. A soft whisper of a ‘night mum!’ Then silence. Sometime later I get a text.
‘Arrived Whitstable. All good. Home by mid-day. Love S’
I am in Peter Jones on The Kings Road. Buying an orange and white blouse with floppy cuffs and a waterfall collar (check out the date man!).
I get a text
‘Having a pint or two. Home soon. S’
I sit in the bistro on the third floor watching the numbers on the tops of double decker’s and the wind and the rain in the trees on Sloane Square.
Ping!
‘Home. Miss you. Sx’

Part 2
We are living in a Victorian Terrace in Battersea. The neighbours have rows. The woman across the road puts a red light in her window and men come and visit. Madeline next door gets mice when Thom moves in.
We just got back from shimmying about in Surrey on The Rube. She is so zippy it’s marvellous. I whoop when we go down hills. I can’t stop laughing she is so brilliantly wonderfully fun.
I send a text
‘Got new bike. Having fun. Where are you kiddo?’
‘Out Mum’
‘Oh’

I am cycling up Bread and Cheese Hill – a bit disheartened by everyone overtaking me, when I get to the top he is waiting and delighted that I made it all the way up without stopping. My heart soars. I did it!
I text the kid
‘Finished my first ride! Whoop! I feel great. See you later?’
‘Cool! See you later’

Part 3
We have moved to The Hill. The neighbours are circus girls and fire eaters. Thom goes on patrol. The tree is vandalised and we get another one. Someone makes him a birthday card. We drink Prosecco.

I am wet. All the way through. The water is running up my arms. I cannot stop shaking
I reach for my water bottle and shake it. The water is frozen. My chin is blue. I am freezing
I nearly faint and sit on the roadside and cry
I fall off in a foreign land and cry.
I am zipping down Reigate Hill or pounding up Turners
I am helplessly laughing at someone laying in a ditch with their feet still in cleats
I am the boss at the back
I save my special smile for the least popular person on the ride
I am heartbroken in a bus shelter.

The sun comes up. It peers through the mist.
It rises sharply against the hill
It creeps around the corner and weakly pushes itself through the drizzle.
It pours out of the sky and burns my arms.
It rushes across the water in a million glittery sparkling flashes to the white lighthouse
I send a text
‘Arrived Southwold! Huzzah! Am I bloody brilliant or what?’
‘You’re ace Mum’

Part 4
I am in Brixton Cycles to meet the The Rube 2. I think she looks like a Victorian bathing suit. She is so brassy and red. But my! She’s a smoothy.
We take her to Paris, to Normandy, to Southwold, to Wittering, to Chichester, to Wiltshire, to Spain and to Belgium. She goes on trains and trams and A roads and B roads. She rattles over bridges, under bridges, by canals, by the sea, by the moon. She takes me down a dozen of those sinewy lanes. She listens to stories of Bataville and Princess Margaret. She splits her wheels and gets repaired. Someone washes her down and oils her up and puts 120 into her tyres.
We take her out to meet the kids.
‘oh here’s my Mum and Simon, they go night riding. She’s well fit’
Whoop

I send a text
‘In Paris! It’s hot! Saw a Hare. What you up to?’
‘I’m busy. I love you. You are fabulous Mum’
‘Oh’

Part 4
We meet up at HPC to say goodbye. I am less of a person than I was before. There are hugs. Orange is the new black. I have no job to do but zip around the ride. It’s cool. We slip into the night. We yawn a lot. The roads are lovely. We chat. I am sent to the back. The dawn is bleak and wintery. The gin is too strong. We go home and crash.
I send a text
‘I’m ok. It’s over. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Do you love me?’
‘I utterly adore you Mum. Everything will be ok’

For all the daughters and sons and husbands and wives and girlfriends and boyfriends and best friends and bosses and mothers and sisters and brothers.
Yes it is all true. Yes, everything you worry about is true. They are having a brilliant time and you aren’t there. They are falling out and falling in. They will come home and sleep the sleep of the dead and smell of beer. They will sleep through The Scouts, A Wedding Feast, The Family Lunch, The Nativity even The Football. They will be messed up for days and work at 60%. They will fall off and get broken. They will spend money they haven’t got on clothes they don’t need. They will row and laugh and be totally happy and live it up all through the night. Without you.

But in those dark moments, in lanes by themselves, rounding the corners and searching for the train of red flashing lights. They wish you could see them fly. Could be proud of how they share and care for each other. Could join them for the best and worst of times. Could buy those drinks and take them home.

I promise they do.

‘til the next time

Agent H x

 

[StuAff]

Some other snippets:
The picture of @Flying Dodo fishing in his wallet is where he's trying to sell a pension to an unsuspecting passerby. Or find a "Fridays" business card.
@StuAff, I liked the Lighted Lady of Barking.
MV Gin Palace, commonly called Kismet, moored outside Al Barone's was flying a Cayman Islands flag.
@User10571 wins the photobombing award.
@Aperitif gets the credit for spotting photo opportunities, eg the girls in their socks and others.

Thank you one and all.

Each to their own.....think it needs a more interesting light show, or some artwork.

 

[mistral]

June 2009

Whitstable

I was hooked

Each ride since has been eagerly anticipated

Those cold wet nights that turn out to be more rewarding than a hot date

The casual banter as we speed through puddles on Lonesome Lane

Dodging thrown objects

The physically strong may chase down the line and tame the hills

Yet those not blessed with muscle mass or carbon or titanium have the real strength

Cruising through sleeping villages in the early hours

Those exotic locations, Goole, Grimsby, Blackpool, Southend and Bognor …..

The Fridays

A strange bunch of irregular individuals, it shouldn't work …

… but it did and it does

We have learned and laughed together

Already drunk on the night’s adventure before we take our first sip of morning beer


One more night ……

 

[Davywalnuts]

So, that was just what the Dr ordered. Thank you and thank you Mr Ianrauk for special duties, tis was great, again.

We ride, we love.

 

[velovoice]

Agent H Ride Report – Southend Nov 2014

FOR DAISY

Well now.
Simon once told me that cyclechat is like watching television, only better. I work in television. So think of this ride report as a piece of television.
It’s a single documentary, in a primetime slot with a primetime budget. It’s made up of several parts as its being shown on a commercial channel (they pay more). It could almost be a shiny floor show, or an episode of University Challenge or a modern tragedy, but it’s really just the tale of a group of people going out on bike ride adventures together through the night.
And all of it is a conceit and none of it is real. I have edited it to suit my own means, to tell my own tale.
Here it is.

Part 1
I am laying star shaped in our bed. I hear rain on the window. Then the clunk of the front door as Daisy pulls it shut and creeps in to the kitchen to make spaghetti on toast. A soft whisper of a ‘night mum!’ Then silence. Sometime later I get a text.
‘Arrived Whitstable. All good. Home by mid-day. Love S’
I am in Peter Jones on The Kings Road. Buying an orange and white blouse with floppy cuffs and a waterfall collar (check out the date man!).
I get a text
‘Having a pint or two. Home soon. S’
I sit in the bistro on the third floor watching the numbers on the tops of double decker’s and the wind and the rain in the trees on Sloane Square.
Ping!
‘Home. Miss you. Sx’

Part 2
We are living in a Victorian Terrace in Battersea. The neighbours have rows. The woman across the road puts a red light in her window and men come and visit. Madeline next door gets mice when Thom moves in.
We just got back from shimmying about in Surrey on The Rube. She is so zippy it’s marvellous. I whoop when we go down hills. I can’t stop laughing she is so brilliantly wonderfully fun.
I send a text
‘Got new bike. Having fun. Where are you kiddo?’
‘Out Mum’
‘Oh’

I am cycling up Bread and Cheese Hill – a bit disheartened by everyone overtaking me, when I get to the top he is waiting and delighted that I made it all the way up without stopping. My heart soars. I did it!
I text the kid
‘Finished my first ride! Whoop! I feel great. See you later?’
‘Cool! See you later’

Part 3
We have moved to The Hill. The neighbours are circus girls and fire eaters. Thom goes on patrol. The tree is vandalised and we get another one. Someone makes him a birthday card. We drink Prosecco.

I am wet. All the way through. The water is running up my arms. I cannot stop shaking
I reach for my water bottle and shake it. The water is frozen. My chin is blue. I am freezing
I nearly faint and sit on the roadside and cry
I fall off in a foreign land and cry.
I am zipping down Reigate Hill or pounding up Turners
I am helplessly laughing at someone laying in a ditch with their feet still in cleats
I am the boss at the back
I save my special smile for the least popular person on the ride
I am heartbroken in a bus shelter.

The sun comes up. It peers through the mist.
It rises sharply against the hill
It creeps around the corner and weakly pushes itself through the drizzle.
It pours out of the sky and burns my arms.
It rushes across the water in a million glittery sparkling flashes to the white lighthouse
I send a text
‘Arrived Southwold! Huzzah! Am I bloody brilliant or what?’
‘You’re ace Mum’

Part 4
I am in Brixton Cycles to meet the The Rube 2. I think she looks like a Victorian bathing suit. She is so brassy and red. But my! She’s a smoothy.
We take her to Paris, to Normandy, to Southwold, to Wittering, to Chichester, to Wiltshire, to Spain and to Belgium. She goes on trains and trams and A roads and B roads. She rattles over bridges, under bridges, by canals, by the sea, by the moon. She takes me down a dozen of those sinewy lanes. She listens to stories of Bataville and Princess Margaret. She splits her wheels and gets repaired. Someone washes her down and oils her up and puts 120 into her tyres.
We take her out to meet the kids.
‘oh here’s my Mum and Simon, they go night riding. She’s well fit’
Whoop

I send a text
‘In Paris! It’s hot! Saw a Hare. What you up to?’
‘I’m busy. I love you. You are fabulous Mum’
‘Oh’

Part 4
We meet up at HPC to say goodbye. I am less of a person than I was before. There are hugs. Orange is the new black. I have no job to do but zip around the ride. It’s cool. We slip into the night. We yawn a lot. The roads are lovely. We chat. I am sent to the back. The dawn is bleak and wintery. The gin is too strong. We go home and crash.
I send a text
‘I’m ok. It’s over. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Do you love me?’
‘I utterly adore you Mum. Everything will be ok’

For all the daughters and sons and husbands and wives and girlfriends and boyfriends and best friends and bosses and mothers and sisters and brothers.
Yes it is all true. Yes, everything you worry about is true. They are having a brilliant time and you aren’t there. They are falling out and falling in. They will come home and sleep the sleep of the dead and smell of beer. They will sleep through The Scouts, A Wedding Feast, The Family Lunch, The Nativity even The Football. They will be messed up for days and work at 60%. They will fall off and get broken. They will spend money they haven’t got on clothes they don’t need. They will row and laugh and be totally happy and live it up all through the night. Without you.

But in those dark moments, in lanes by themselves, rounding the corners and searching for the train of red flashing lights. They wish you could see them fly. Could be proud of how they share and care for each other. Could join them for the best and worst of times. Could buy those drinks and take them home.

I promise they do.

‘til the next time

Agent H x

Thanks, AH, you've made me bl**dy cry. At work.
Gorgous words. Yes, it ought to be a play.

 

[srw]

"She shells C shells on the sea shore?"

Perhaps a bit more than a C shell?

I don't know about anyone else, but I found that little pile of clothes, especially in November, a bit sad.

 

[srw]

Since this has turned into a thread for reminiscence, here's mine.

Sometime about 9 years ago I was casting around to get some advice on repairing my Brompton and happened upon a little forum called ACF. It was a bit odd, but quite inspirational, and encouraged me indirectly to dig out my old Dawes Windsor. Taking that apart it became clear it would never be ridden again, so I looked around and ordered a different Dawes from Edinburgh bicycle. The first time I went out on it I managed about 3 miles before having to stop and go slowly home because I was out of breath. We went out together on our solo bikes, me crawling very slowly up a hill behind Mrs W, but we enjoyed it. Then we went on a holiday to a Landmark Trust place in Lincolnshire, loved it, and started talking (again) about tandems.

Meanwhile, back on ACF, some charismatic lunatic called Simon L3-and-a-half (or something like that) was going on about his night rides, and had a Guardian article published about them. I was captivated. They were far too long for me, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to meet someone from a forum in real life - it was enough just feeling that I had some virtual connection with them. But when we got our first tandem in about 2008 I specced it with a hub dynamo specifically so that we had a piece of kit fit for an overnight ride.

Fast forward to 2010 and I signed us up for a Brighton ride as prep for our cross-France tour. Simon did his best to dissuade us from riding tandem, but in the end it was simple overwork and undersleep that made us drop out. Taking advantage of R's absence staying with her mum, one day in 2011 I signed up for a solo Brighton jaunt. By that stage I'd developed an online rapport with a few Fridays, but very deliberately kept stumm about having signed up. It was August, but a very cold August, and the half-way stop was very slow - and some young thing called Andy was riding a BMX. I didn't quite know what to make of it, but was enjoying myself enough to say hello to TC and Adrian. She invited me for a beer - drinking over breakfast was surreal - but I do remember waxing very lyrical over a Thai meal that evening before falling fast asleep.

Then we signed up for LonJoG, I took Greg Collins over a bumpy road that spilt him off his fixie, R joined me on a very wet Brighton ride where we got to the top of Ditchling and were met by a wall of rain and wind (but again, she loved it), and the rest is history.

I don't know whether Simon did it consciously (probably not - he's focussed most on the here-and-now, the immediate response), but the last few years have been (as much as anything) a training ground for the long term for future ride organisers and leaders. The Fridays will continue, in some form or another, and I hope to be part of that.

 

[slowmotion]

Or worrying.

I saw them as well and wondered about the circumstances that left them there. I hope that there was a happy explanation.

 

[srw]

I'm glad someone else has said that. I didn't see them, but I found that photo very troubling.

The clothes were tucked just under the path we were on. Given the proximity to civilisation, the careful pile and the good weather a few days earlier, a happy explanation is more likely.

A local might like to contact the cops?