Fab Foodie
hanging-on in quiet desperation ...
- Location
- Kirton, Devon.
So @CarlP the story is like this:
We had a plan and it was a good one. We'd tested the folders over distance and with the new white wall tyres all was good.
We in this case is me and my oldest mate Chris with whom I rode the L2B together in 1986, so this was a 30 year anniversary!
The plan was thus; we'd both drive down to Brighton Saturday afternoon, drop Chris' car in Patcham and then drive up to Morden to stay at my MIL in Morden. Purchase Fish and Chips for supper, get an early night and a good clean start at 0730. We would be joined by my BIL Paul at Carshalton Ponds at 0800 for a mellow beer and burgers fuelled day of bicycling bonhomie to Brighton. Just as we'd done many times before in the intervening 30 years. What could go wrong?
As we prepared for bed, MIL asked if I could give BIL Paul some plate hangers for Frances (his wife) who was doing an art project (I'm sure he'd be happy to carry them all the way to Brighton and back ....). So being a dutiful SIL I agreed and packed them in the folders very useful bag.
Upon rendevous with BIL Paul, I mentioned the plate hangers, which, judging by the sigh of exasperation and rolling of eyes had hit a raw nerve. What was worst is that he had no way of carrying them to Brighton .... so that was now my problem!
Anyway, with a return to positivity we set about the day's task. Rolling out of London was great, the sun shone the folders (especially the tatty Universal piloted by Chris) fair clipped along putting many a carbon riding 'roadie' to shame. Many admiring glances were exchanged and 'nice bikes mate' called-out. We were together, riding our bikes and the plan was good.
Have to say,if I was a bit slower uphill than my leaner and fitter companions, I more than made up for it downhill on account of my compact mass and 1987 leather brake pads on very shiny chrome rims. Slowing was quite an effort and included praying that the bends at the bottom of the hills were not too steep and/or had plenty hay bales. Chris the maniac was also planning escape routes as he tore down hills his front brake being useless but the ancient hub pedal-brake doing a sterling job!
We were approaching our first and traditional stop, at the big Cricket ground on the RHS somewhere near Readhill. As we blatted down the last hill, Chris grinning away said, 'bollocks I forgot my super aero wrap-around shades' to which I replied, that's OK to forget them as long as you've remembered the all-important car keys ....
His face gave the answer.... He’d locked them in my car in Morden.
Team folder went quiet for a while.
We partook of Sausage sarnies and Tea and went through the options. The only realistic one was for me to ride back to Morden to get my keys from MIL’s house and drive down to Brighton to meet them. Or with a fair wind maybe park-up near Ditchling for the last miles of madness.
I set about the return. We rode few more miles together until a junction to Redhill and I left them en-route to the Ardingly beer stop. I felt surprisingly un-phased by the turn of events, (the Prozac must have been working well) and I steadily rolled into and through the dullness of Redhill and on up the A23 towards Coulsdon. Now it so happens that my SIL (who wants the plate hangers) lives in Coulsdon on the route back to Morden, so I at least managed to drop them off, continue down the never ending hill to Wallington (known to many FNRttC peeps), through the St Hellier estate and destination semi-detached Suburbia. I made good time.
MIL was both at home and surprised to see me. I relayed the story, had a glass of milk, stuffed the BSA onto the back seat of the mighty Citroen C1 and roared-off to Brighton. Now God clearly wasn’t paying attention to my plight. The M25/M23 junction was rammed and an accident also on the M23 made progress frustratingly slow. And I was hungry. Pease Pottage services offered me a difficult choice of Pastie or Whopper. BK won the day. By then Chris and Paul had made good progress and I resigned to meet them in Brighton. I parked in Patcham, unfolded the BSA and rolled down to meet them for the last few miles. Paul who was going to take advantage of a stiff tailwind was planning to ride back to Coulsdon needed chips and was very heartened to hear that I had already delivered the plate holders. Chris as always needed Ice cream. We retired to the place by the big wheel which fortunately served both. A seagull crapped on my head. ‘That’s lucky’ opined Chris who nearly ended-up wearing his Ice Cream cone internally. But did the decent thing and removed the worst. I washed the rest off in the bogs nearby. The day clearly wasn’t panning out the way I imagined ….
Oh well, we rode out of town. Paul headed for the cycle-path north, Chris and I headed to our cars and then onto the Ladies Mile pub in Patcham. A convivial boozer with smiling staff and a decent pint of London Pride. As we sat there and mulled over the events of the day I looked down on the floor and found £2! Chris said … See! I told you being shat on by a Seagull brings good luck …
We had a plan and it was a good one. We'd tested the folders over distance and with the new white wall tyres all was good.
We in this case is me and my oldest mate Chris with whom I rode the L2B together in 1986, so this was a 30 year anniversary!
The plan was thus; we'd both drive down to Brighton Saturday afternoon, drop Chris' car in Patcham and then drive up to Morden to stay at my MIL in Morden. Purchase Fish and Chips for supper, get an early night and a good clean start at 0730. We would be joined by my BIL Paul at Carshalton Ponds at 0800 for a mellow beer and burgers fuelled day of bicycling bonhomie to Brighton. Just as we'd done many times before in the intervening 30 years. What could go wrong?
As we prepared for bed, MIL asked if I could give BIL Paul some plate hangers for Frances (his wife) who was doing an art project (I'm sure he'd be happy to carry them all the way to Brighton and back ....). So being a dutiful SIL I agreed and packed them in the folders very useful bag.
Upon rendevous with BIL Paul, I mentioned the plate hangers, which, judging by the sigh of exasperation and rolling of eyes had hit a raw nerve. What was worst is that he had no way of carrying them to Brighton .... so that was now my problem!
Anyway, with a return to positivity we set about the day's task. Rolling out of London was great, the sun shone the folders (especially the tatty Universal piloted by Chris) fair clipped along putting many a carbon riding 'roadie' to shame. Many admiring glances were exchanged and 'nice bikes mate' called-out. We were together, riding our bikes and the plan was good.
Have to say,if I was a bit slower uphill than my leaner and fitter companions, I more than made up for it downhill on account of my compact mass and 1987 leather brake pads on very shiny chrome rims. Slowing was quite an effort and included praying that the bends at the bottom of the hills were not too steep and/or had plenty hay bales. Chris the maniac was also planning escape routes as he tore down hills his front brake being useless but the ancient hub pedal-brake doing a sterling job!
We were approaching our first and traditional stop, at the big Cricket ground on the RHS somewhere near Readhill. As we blatted down the last hill, Chris grinning away said, 'bollocks I forgot my super aero wrap-around shades' to which I replied, that's OK to forget them as long as you've remembered the all-important car keys ....
His face gave the answer.... He’d locked them in my car in Morden.
Team folder went quiet for a while.
We partook of Sausage sarnies and Tea and went through the options. The only realistic one was for me to ride back to Morden to get my keys from MIL’s house and drive down to Brighton to meet them. Or with a fair wind maybe park-up near Ditchling for the last miles of madness.
I set about the return. We rode few more miles together until a junction to Redhill and I left them en-route to the Ardingly beer stop. I felt surprisingly un-phased by the turn of events, (the Prozac must have been working well) and I steadily rolled into and through the dullness of Redhill and on up the A23 towards Coulsdon. Now it so happens that my SIL (who wants the plate hangers) lives in Coulsdon on the route back to Morden, so I at least managed to drop them off, continue down the never ending hill to Wallington (known to many FNRttC peeps), through the St Hellier estate and destination semi-detached Suburbia. I made good time.
MIL was both at home and surprised to see me. I relayed the story, had a glass of milk, stuffed the BSA onto the back seat of the mighty Citroen C1 and roared-off to Brighton. Now God clearly wasn’t paying attention to my plight. The M25/M23 junction was rammed and an accident also on the M23 made progress frustratingly slow. And I was hungry. Pease Pottage services offered me a difficult choice of Pastie or Whopper. BK won the day. By then Chris and Paul had made good progress and I resigned to meet them in Brighton. I parked in Patcham, unfolded the BSA and rolled down to meet them for the last few miles. Paul who was going to take advantage of a stiff tailwind was planning to ride back to Coulsdon needed chips and was very heartened to hear that I had already delivered the plate holders. Chris as always needed Ice cream. We retired to the place by the big wheel which fortunately served both. A seagull crapped on my head. ‘That’s lucky’ opined Chris who nearly ended-up wearing his Ice Cream cone internally. But did the decent thing and removed the worst. I washed the rest off in the bogs nearby. The day clearly wasn’t panning out the way I imagined ….
Oh well, we rode out of town. Paul headed for the cycle-path north, Chris and I headed to our cars and then onto the Ladies Mile pub in Patcham. A convivial boozer with smiling staff and a decent pint of London Pride. As we sat there and mulled over the events of the day I looked down on the floor and found £2! Chris said … See! I told you being shat on by a Seagull brings good luck …
.
