Lullingstone - Ash - Downe
Ed at Carshalton, marvelling at the London to Brighton Mayhem
Evidence today, not of the tribal North/South, but of the less familiar East/West divide, as Ed and I, seated by Carshalton Ponds, surveyed the terrifying stampede of cyclists, drawn together by instinct like wildebeest, on their annual migration to the watering-holes of Brighton. But what of the springboks of the C&M? Have they been swept away in this torrent, or was it an impassable barrier? Suddenly, one maverick emerges from the dust and bounds towards us – Graham! Our number now magnified, a determined trio set forth, not for the floodplains of Runnymede, not for the ballyhoo of Brighton, but for the foothills of Lullingstone.
The hamlets of Wallington, Waddon and South Croydon flew past. We then pulled back the
joystick to climb Croham Hurst and Ballards Way to the heights of Addington, followed by the dive down Gravel Hill past Addington Palace, where the formation briefly split, before reforming to bank N.E. along Kent Gate Way. Then up again along Layhams Road, North Pole Lane, Jackass Lane and across the A 233 to Green St. Green. Another climb up Worlds End Lane, where the higher you rise, the more exclusive become the lodges. We pass the former residence of a once Lord Mayor of London, Brass Crosby, whom the roadside plaque remembers as the instigator of published records of parliamentary debate and the origin of the expression “bold as brass”. So on to Well Hill and the greens and fairways of Lullingstone Golf Club.
In the clubhouse, head buried in his broadsheet, David W had ploughed a solitary furrow. Now we are a quartet! Half-way through an excellent bacon bap, a steaming Andy appears, glowing like a nuclear reactor, having overcome mishap after mishap: forgotten water-bottle, southern rail bike ban, puncture; that attendance point not lightly to be surrendered.
A quintet therefore takes off on our second leg through Crockenhill and Farningham, where we lose David homeward bound and revert to quartet form; then the long drag up Mussenden Lane before the heady descent down Speedgate and up Billet Hill to our objective: The White Swan, Ash, nearly overshot by over-eager Ed.
The hamlets of Wallington, Waddon and South Croydon flew past. We then pulled back the
joystick to climb Croham Hurst and Ballards Way to the heights of Addington, followed by the dive down Gravel Hill past Addington Palace, where the formation briefly split, before reforming to bank N.E. along Kent Gate Way. Then up again along Layhams Road, North Pole Lane, Jackass Lane and across the A 233 to Green St. Green. Another climb up Worlds End Lane, where the higher you rise, the more exclusive become the lodges. We pass the former residence of a once Lord Mayor of London, Brass Crosby, whom the roadside plaque remembers as the instigator of published records of parliamentary debate and the origin of the expression “bold as brass”. So on to Well Hill and the greens and fairways of Lullingstone Golf Club.
In the clubhouse, head buried in his broadsheet, David W had ploughed a solitary furrow. Now we are a quartet! Half-way through an excellent bacon bap, a steaming Andy appears, glowing like a nuclear reactor, having overcome mishap after mishap: forgotten water-bottle, southern rail bike ban, puncture; that attendance point not lightly to be surrendered.A quintet therefore takes off on our second leg through Crockenhill and Farningham, where we lose David homeward bound and revert to quartet form; then the long drag up Mussenden Lane before the heady descent down Speedgate and up Billet Hill to our objective: The White Swan, Ash, nearly overshot by over-eager Ed.
After BYO al fresco, it is homeward bound along the Pilgrim’s Way to Otford, down Polhill, up Star Hill to Knockholt, up Shelley’s Lane, down the terrifying, evil-cambered one in four at Cudham, along Downe Lane to tea at the Church Hall, courtesy of Downe Am. Dram. Soc. From here on, a gentle down-hill home – well, nearly - through West Wickham, Croydon, the Flyover with the parting of the ways at Waddon. For me, a gentle climb home, 69 miles behind me; a shower and refreshing beer before me. What more could any man desire?
Jeff
