The Bluebell Ride: Through the Looking Glass
Posted on Monday 27 April 2009 by Martin Hayman
No matter if you know the route, the Bluebell Ride always holds out the promise of surprise and delight. By contrast with last year, when it rained heavily, this year’s edition promised good sunshine. I arrived to find a good posse of our own who had arrived by train, and at the last moment even George showed up.
That was the last I saw of him: he, Richard, Rory and Roger got out of the car park promptly and disappeared down Saint Martin’s Drive amidst the green-and-white jerseys of the home side, Willesden CC, while a group of Keith and Naomi, Stephen, Charlie and me was still dawdling about.
The first 10 km or so are something of a mystery tour of the outer fringes of Metroland, threading through street after street of slumbering semis with neat gardens and a gleaming family car drawn up at the front. Then, on the other side of Rickmansworth, the route ducks under the M25 and through the looking glass. Dog Kennel Lane is a vision of a centuries-old England that has yet to discover golf or BMW. From here on in, the bluebells hinted at in suburban gardens now appear in profusion, carpeting the woodland floors.
The route rounds Sarratt and Flaunden through the maze of lanes, and swings westwards into Bucks the other side of Bovingdon, heading up and over the Chilterns. Swapping the lead about, and with everyone on their summer bikes, we were able to make light of the route and avoid the many potholes that organizer Rocco Richardson had warned us about. The descent off the scarp of the Chilterns is fabulous, the plain spread out below in a patchwork of fields and towns.
Our progress was slowed when Keith clipped a kerb and flatted, but we were in no great rush to get to World’s End. The control there is at the Wyevale Garden Centre and, loafing around in the sunshine, with tales of Alpine ascents being swapped, life was good. And we were able to pass on our best wishes to Rocco for continuing improvement after a serous illness.
For whatever reason, the pace went up after the stop and quite soon Stephen and I went off the front. Our group had been buzzed a few times by a group of triathletes and, doing bit and bit, we reeled them in. As they struggled up a short sharp pitch near the Chalfonts, mashing gym-shoes to pedal, we carved through them and away. Having the right equipment does make a difference, one finds.
Having had glorious, unbroken sunshine all day long, Stephen and I were back in the clubroom at about 3:30, the others following some 15 minutes later. There was no sign of our front-running group, who presumably had been and gone, so we were able to devote ourselves to the super-value fare laid on by the Willesden. As Keith said, there?s only one opportunity a year to eat rice pudding, and this was it.