Central London CTC blog

The Stevenage Start of Summertime Special has acquired an almost ritual status in the Central London CTC calendar. So it was no surprise to find Roger and Kay, Steven, Richard and a newcomer, James, already sitting out front of Costello’s Café at the départ. Despite the promise of a fine day, it was winter-chilly, with not an ankle in sight.

We were mildly perplexed, then, that our Hon Sec was not on the start line at 10:30. Mr Snuggs, who had by now shown up, said Nick had called in to say he had overslept and was lashing the old Landie up the motorway in the hope of getting on the ride.
SsoSS has grown to be a huge event since I first rode it in the early 1990s. Riders go off in batches to a homily from the Mayor (quite properly wearing his civic regalia) and a team photograph. Steven, Richard and I set off with the 10:40 group. I think we said we were going to dawdle along at gentleman’s pace so we could consolidate with the later group. That didn’t happen. We clipped briskly along the lanes northeast of Stevenage and arrived at the Silver Ball Café on the A10 at rush hour, coming up behind the earlier starters as well as a motorcycle meet.

By the time we had had our cards stamped, Roger and James had caught up with us. Roger was plainly intent on doing a good time and pushed off again directly . But James joined us, recounting his Tony Soprano moment that morning when a clutch of ducklings had hatched out in the window-box of his apartment in the Barbican. As a bonus, he had a handlebar-mounted GPS to warn of wrong turns, always possible even on this familiar course.

Doing a reasonable facsimile of formation riding, the four of us cleared the high ground north of Bishop’s Stortford and were able put on something of a show for the event snapper who was stationed cunningly on the nasty little hill into the second control in Thaxted. It was now past one and the sun was high in the sky. Sitting on the south-facing stoop of the medieval Guildhall that dominates the broad High Street, we felt no urgency about getting on. When we did, Kay and Roger joined us, just as Camille and then John came in for the control.

With six of us now in the group, we made short work of the third leg back to the control at Buntingford Village Hall and still had breath enough for easy conversation. (‘Who the hell was the dude with the devil’s-horns haircut, fronted a techno group?’ – well I remember now, it was Keith of The Prodigy.) Kay and Roger took off, we followed, caught them, I stayed with them as they took off again, then we came up to old Roger, or should I say with a little more respect, jolly Roger, so I dropped off the other two and chatted with him, once again riding strongly after a trying winter. Together we rode in through Stevenage’s maze of underpasses to the arrivée, Roger getting in easily under six hours (used to be five-and-a-half, he told me) and I just scraping in.

A little while after, the other three turned up, having suffered a puncture; somewhere out on the course, our Hon Sec was still bashing around in the afternoon sun. Another fine day out, and 115 km in the Audax bag. Good enough prep for the Dorset Coast 200? I don’t think so!

Martin Hayman

Nick’s sorry story:

Sometimes you should heed the warnings. Sometimes you should bow to the inevitable.

I spent Saturday night doubled up with a bad back. Fine sitting, fine standing. The bit between slow and painful. Still, re-set clocks, off to bed. Alarm went off at 8, plenty of time, so turned on the radio. The Archers. I hate the Archers at the best of times, so know exactly when to avoid them. Like after 10 on a Sunday morning. I’d put the clocks the wrong way.
I wwould have leapt out of bed, but instead hauled myself upright, dressed in a panic (3/4′s as couldn’t reach ankle zips on longs), bike in car and off as fast as the Landy can go. Which is well within the speed limit, especially up hill (in time, Land Rovers take after their owners or vice versa). Get to Stevenage to find twist and reach to get bike out almost impossible, resort to dragging. Then have to play with bent ‘guards. Finally get started about 11.15.

Zip along through 62k crowd to Reed. Pleased it’s an almost flat ride, as twisted back means I can’t stand up. and can’t really put any power into my legs – it’ll be a twiddling day. I’m surprised to be joined by Rory, who has managed to go 10k astray in the first 24k, due to an errant GPS. But it’s good to be riding with a couple of others, and Rory and Brendan (who is studiously now ignoring his technology) pace me all day. It’s chill but bright, and the route is as ever a true Spring vista, complete with a field of cuddly lambs and a sudden stop for bounding deer. And`soon the spire and mill of Thaxted are in sight, an unchanged picture of England.

John greets us as we ride in, and Camille is waiting at the control. I dine on paracetomal.

Off together, our growing group weaves through some traffic of those who insist on Stopping in the Middle of the Road. We manage to keep up with an eleven year old boy. Just.

And to Gt Hornmead. I eat for the first time of the day, slumped in a chair with Welsh tea. Creak up, back on. The bananas work, and we breeze up the last few lumps. Rory, Brendan, Camille and myself take turns to push. Into the bikeways, the first navigation of the day. And we make it without a problem. Back to the control at 17.30.

And I’ve lost my brevet card.

Nick Bloom.