Thursday, 21 July 2022
An anonymous participant writes: It was just like old times. A 2-stop, 113 km 70 mile Thursday ride. All manner of shenanigans ensued with defections, mutinies, accidental separations and the usual comings and goings. At the Brookside start were eleven riders on a cool morning with light cloud and a nice breeze. So far so promising — particularly after the blistering heat we experienced earlier in the week. The only concern at this point was whether the advertised lunch stop in Stansted Mountfichet was open on Thursdays. But who cares? There's bound to be other options in such a vibrant metropolis.
The route took us out of Cambridge on the Barton Road then across to Grantchester where we entered the scorched earth landscape that is now Trumpington Meadows. We raced Rupert round the duckpond (Rupert going anti-clockwise and the Ride Leader clockwise) and headed towards Hauxton where a shady, furtive figure lurking in the shadows turned out to be Greg who joined the ride. With the wind behind us we bowled along through Newton and Thriplow before reaching Fowlmere where we had arranged to pick up Phil who opted for an extra half hour in bed rather than trail over to the Start. Just before this however, there was a brief 'stop-to-regroup' by the Church in Fowlmere. After the usual disrobing and taking on water, the Ride Leader gave a two-minute warning, but then shot off into the distance after barely a minute and a half had elapsed.
This was in fact the last that was seen of the Ride Leader (who shall henceforth be known as 'the Irredeemable Ride Leader' or 'IRL') until the Coffee Stop. The group made valiant efforts to catch up but soon came to the conclusion that the IRL had not only left the group standing, but had also taken an entirely different route.
The group sallied forth across the A505 and up the long incline to Great Chishill where there was a brief rest stop. Fortunately, the group included several experienced ride leaders — some of whom had downloaded the route. All would be well.
Meanwhile the IRL had also gone over the A505 and up the even longer incline directly to Barley where he and his group of two had been joined by David W. and Susan G. Despite waiting all of eight and a half minutes at the junction where the Heydon-Gt.Chishill route entered Barley, the two groups failed to meet up until reaching Reed where the number of riders had swelled to 16 with the addition of Ed and Richard.
At the Silver Ball Café there was the reassuring smell of bacon and eggs. The Café has invested in a new al fresco 'extension' which provides shelter from both sun and rain and a place of sanctuary for all the smokers. Should the huge Silver Ball ever fall from its elevated position, the 'extension' also guarantees that some unlucky outdoor diner will not now be hit on the head by this prodigious sphere. Imagine what the Coroner would have to write on the Death Certificate?
Simon, meanwhile, who had travelled at great pace on his fixie was miffed that the Silver Ball — unlike most cafés (except 1960's transport caffs, of course) — did not have an extensive selection of home-made cakes oozing with chocolate, caramel and cream. Not to be outdone, he ordered fruit pie with lashings of Bird's Custard.
Lively conversation was then interrupted by two Police Cars zooming past, sirens blaring, while a 3rd took up position in the side road next to the Silver Ball Café — the very road that we were about to cycle down. This was a strange turn of events as regulars at the Silver Ball will know that the Police are the Silver Ball's most loyal customers. The Constabulary have never been known to pass the Silver Ball without at least ordering double sausage, bacon, eggs and beans to go.
Meanwhile the hapless IRL phoned the planned lunch venue only to be told that it was closed on Thursdays. Never mind, we would improvise. After Coffee, seven riders left the group to return home and nine continued on.
Next we negotiated a path past the road-blocking 3rd Police car — the Officer informing us that the lane ahead beyond Holborn Farm was completely impassable. We thanked him and blithely ignored his advice. 'Road Closures' are nothing to intrepid CTC Cambridge cyclists. Further down the lane two women started waving their arms and shaking their heads at us. "You'll never get through" was the clear message. Ahead, we could see that the roof of the large blue HGV was well and truly wedged beneath the huge boughs of a tree. There was no space to pass either side of the truck on the road so the group ventured into the tangle of nettles, thistles and brambles. A pathway of sorts was established and one-by-one each cyclist gingerly stepped forth into the tangle of vegetation eventually emerging at the other end.
After this we headed in an easterly direction towards Buckland and some nice countryside beyond — Barkway, Nuthampstead , Anstey and the famous Puttock's End — about which Ronnie Barker made an hilarious black-and-white silent movie back in the 1970's though he had to change its name to "Futtock's End" for fear of litigation by the locals. (check it out on Google or YouTube). We then passed Brent Pelham and Stocking Pelham with that lovely looking pub nestled in the trees just away from the road. It's still on my list of pubs to visit.
With the sun threatening to make a sustained appearance and the wind in our favour, the mood lifted. We sped past Gravesend towards Clapgate (these names are all real, by the way) when another slightly unusual event occurred. Over to our right in the middle of a field were 2 Police Cars. The Officers had closed the 5-bar gate behind them and were speaking to a couple of youngish people. Strange. Why shut the gate? Why interview someone in the middle of a field? Were they the same 2 Police cars that zoomed past the Silver Ball at high speed? As we pondered these questions a helicopter clattered overhead — isn't that the Herts Constabulary Helicopter? The consensus amongst some of our group was that human remains had been unearthed and locals were being questioned about their identity. Gravesend, indeed.
Going through Clapgate we then chanced upon a parked White Van outside a house. On the side of the van in large lettering was written 'Disaster Response Service'. Just the thing. Someone articulated aloud that perhaps we should we tell them of the stuck HGV or the human remains in the field? But then the door of the van opened and the Disaster Response Operative leaned out smiling and munching his sandwiches. "Sorry, mate — it's lunchtime" was his only Response.
Keeping calm and carrying on, we were nearing Stansted Mountfichet. By now both Ray and Rupert had left the group to attend to more important matters and the remaining group of seven became fractured once again with a faster group of four, intent on getting to the Stansted Co-op before the sandwiches ran out. The more leisurely group of three including the IRL, JJ and Ed spent the next 20 minutes trying to find each other. The IRL and JJ eventually met up by the famous Stansted Windmill — and continued down Chapel Hill to the "Yeoman's Café" on Lower Street to enjoy a proper lunch. The other four later joined them for hot drinks. Then Ed finally appeared after his trip to the Co-op but decided to return home straightaway and via a different route i.e. quicker. Similarly Simon the 'Fixie' decided to push on after only the briefest stop in Stansted.
While the outward leg of the trip involved lots of comings and goings and separations (flexibility is clearly the name of the game for post-pandemic 2-stop all-day rides), the return leg was a model of efficiency, consistency and harmony. Mike, Tyrone, Nigel, JJ and the IRL all worked together to keep up a decent pace — until we hit any hills. Then Tyrone would launch a ferocious attack leaving us all standing — but pausing later to allow others to catch up.
So we more or less stuck together en route through Manuden, Clavering and Arkesden. Down Quicksie Hill then up Telegraph Hill we went and soon we were on home-ground. From here, the IRL finally displayed some leadership by taking the front from Ickleton and setting a brisk pace through Whittlesford, Duxford and the Shelfords. We arrived in one piece at Cambridge Station just as the station clock showed 4.30pm.