It had been another hasty decision for a settlement's name - more burghers with better things to do, such as lay down the basis and prerequisites for the Industrial Revolution.
'It's a hamlet, good citizen, Richard."
"But one with no distinguishing features, good citizen, Ethelred. What are we to do?"
"I need to get back to work on my idea for a steam powered Derrick - has any one every thought of just shortening Hamlet to Ham, good citizen Richard?"
The plan, today, was to do half the route of the Ride - Sheen Gate to Box Hill via West Byfleet and Leith Hill - sixty miles or so and the tough half.
There are routines for weekly checks on bikes. It is handy if your wheels don't fall of or that the brakes work. Work your way around the bike with Allen keys and keep it all nice and tight. This is particularly necessary in the light of the state of our suburban roads. Ride 100 will be closed to traffic but there is another hazard - the roads themselves. The highways and byways were resurfaced for the Olympics but they missed a few potholes:
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| just this side of Walton. |
If you are cycling in a group, the person at the front has the responsibility of pointing out any hazards - potholes, glass, drainage covers, snakes, landslips, five pound notes and so on. There are a variety of gestures employed and vocal warnings such as: GLASS! Clever huh. Invariably, however, whoever is at the front is just acting as a windbreak and my notorious excess has sheltered many a cyclist from headwinds.
We were tootling along nicely and had just left London as we nipped over the M25 at Byfleet. N shouted to us to stop. It was an abrupt shout kind of shout - not the kind of shout you use it you want to hop over a hedge for a toilet stop, or stop at a pleasant cafe for a refreshing hot beverage. It was a hurried, spur of the moment kind of shout and so we stopped in a conveniently placed lay-by. Some key piece of N's bike and fallen off in the preceding 15 miles and, with that piece probably already embedded in a car tyre, another key piece of bike had worked its way loose. N was just about to abort his participation in the mission and retreat to a nearby train station when a white van pulled up in the lay-by and out jumped a bicycle mechanic. He swiftly ascertained that a key piece of N's bike had, indeed, fallen off and following a quick call to Halfords, secured a replacement part which was fitted, at no cost, after a slight backtrack over the M25 to a small retail park in Byfleet. The hero in the white van had a bike shop of his own of in Hersham, as made famous by Jimmy Pursey and Sham 69. Do drop in to WA Cycles, www.wa-limited.com. if, for some bizarre reason, you are in Hersham.
Hope we get the opportunity to pass it forward.
N took charge of just the one navigation job. He knows the roads in this neck of the woods like the back of his neck and so in no time at all we were making an unscheduled coffee stop in the delightful village of Shere, a ham-let buried deep in a leafy Surrey valley and seemingly lost in time as they still trade in LSD (pounds shillings and pence). Well they don't really, but they could have done.
Having retraced our tracks back up the extremely steep hill we had flown down in error, we rose up to Ranham Common with its view over the vast plain south extending from the North Ridge to the South Ridge with its views of the vast plain to the north extending back up to the North Ridge. We reached Boxhill and enjoyed splendid carrot cake and coffee.
I generally ride back to East Ewell, the Outer Limit of the Oystercard Empire, and return on a cheap train through places such as Carshalton Beeches. The burghers of this little place obviously had a bit more to go on.
96 miles on bike
5 miles run
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