Club Run to Old Loom Mill
Sunday 15th September by Paget Cohen
After last week's rear wheel puncture and front wheel shunt I thought the Giant deserved a little TLC so bought her a little black number in the form of a pair of Conti Gatorskins. Even colder than last week with the garden thermometer struggling to reach double-figures and that was in the sun of Heathfield; I found freezing fog in Framfield. Either I was flying or my cycle computer was having a funny turn as it showed 57 down Birdineye, and even in kph that's unlikely for me. At least it was working unlike Brett's cadence-meter that had taken the cold snap as a sign to go into hibernation. We waited with Terry + spaniel (neither riding as required as children's entertainers for the day) until almost 8:40, but the Swedish au pair Ian had promised us failing to materialise we reluctantly hit the road South with Mark & Darren making 5, all in long sleeves or armwarmers.
Avoiding the time-triallists on the A22 we made for Glynde via Bentley and Half Mile Drove. Brisk progress had already been made, but it seemed ridiculously easy with a tailwind and smooth pavement along the A27 cycle-path. Less so on the loose chippings around the back of Ripe and Chalvington, but even the Berwick level-crossing was on our side. From Arlington to Monkyn Pyn, however, we faced the world and his wife on horseback and the level-crossing barriers down just for good measure even before braving the A27. To people local to Wilmington the sight of a giant must be more reassuring than frightening, that of a man in a Godzilla costume more intriguing than scary, but being swamped by an Eastbourne Rovers club run, now that is terrifying. They were in such tight formation that you could have thrown a blanket over them, or a gillet as Ian attempted to no avail. Once we'd recovered said article from the Litlington road we continued southwards to Exceat - perhaps he should have had it securely strapped to his seat-post as the banana of one of the now-departed Rovers was. Once on the main road Darren took off uphill like a man on a mission, to find somewhere to pee as it turned out, while the rest of us paced our effort to Friston pond. Just for a change I wasn't left behind to ride solo through Jevington, but once Ian had taken the register Mark took it as his cue to put the hammer down into Wannock and I have yet more horse-riders to thank for bunching us back up. Leaving a large crowd of Rovers huddled outside the Polegate Harvester we crossed the A27 via the footbridge - strictly no cycling - and from there we could have almost smelt the coffee and teacakes were it not for the horse manure and exhaust fumes.
For once the main club run beat the rush, but we were joined in our queue by a late-starting Midgo sporting a retro Fagor jersey as part of a Sean Yates tribute. Mr Jeffs, pristine in the latest Wanderers fashions, was next to pitch up followed by an off-road Gibbo in a mud-spattered jersey form a manufacturer I've never heard of and an overdue appearance from Ollie Tuckley in old-school Wombles gold. Once refuelled we hit the road, or the Cuckoo Trail in Gibbo's case, to find the sun had gone in and the wind got up. Not wishing to leave our route-finding home to the driver of a campervan from whom Ian hitched a lift, Midgo and I went our own way across Hailsham to repeat our 2up from Hellingly of 2 weeks ago. Unsurprisingly the uphill and loss of strength in numbers put a dent in my average speed, which had apparently been 18.2mph to the tea stop if my computer was to be believed, but if I can replicate 17.5 over a hilly 3 hour club run I'm confident I can break the hour for my first ever TT in a fortnight.
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