After the last alarmist(?) blog I was delighted to see familiar faces at the start. Via Headley and Brockham we went over the top which had more than a dusting of charity and sportive riders. At Beare Green the warmth and smell of cooking oil drove us outdoor where ten was our number eventually; Ed having nobly stayed behind with puncture victim Frank. Without Bob we headed for Weare Street and Rudgwick where vociferous roadies were adamant - "no roughstuff" so we continued past the Blue Ship roadend to the A29 and then back north to the Red Lion at Slinfold.
Apologies are due to John M and Don; the trivial (a dropped chain) must have been more serious. Briefly they appeared at lunch but presumably didnt spot us in the gardens. The way back via Warnham, landfill and Rusper developed into a gallop on the long downhill to Parkgate and quickly it was gateaux sur l'herbe at Brockham Church. It had been a fine day for cycling - spots of rain as I left the house and patchy cloud but a lot warmer after a month away.
PS Owners of the July/August newsletter may have noted a lack of rides leaders; Ed, Irene and I are OK to lead the July rides. Any offers for August 1st (Plaxtol), 8th (Hascombe) and 29th (Turners Hill)? Contact Andy or myself.
At the Half Moon Inn and Tanhurst Farm
Question: What is the correct name for the Farm? The OS map says Tanhurst Farm; Google map says Tanhouse Farm; the livery on the farm van says Tanfield. A prize of a presta valve cap awaits the provider of the first correct solution - if there is one!
I didnt take a camera (Jeff nudge nudge) so a recent snap - waiting for the Baltasound bus.
I'm beginning to think that it is me, not them! Today's venue for 11's was Horsham Spoons. I took that to mean Wetherspoons and headed for the Horsham Ovary - not quite as easy to find as you might think. But there I was at 11.01 am and not a soul in sight. I'm either at the wrong place or they have gone already. Has everybody been sucked into the giant ovary? For a while I gazed at this anatomical anomaly, with its fallopian tube and breaking waters, but no sign was given.
Nothing for it but a gentle solo spin to nearby Nuthurst and the 'No sandwiches on Sunday' Black Horse. I was lucky enough to be able to get an over-the-'phone mortgage to pay for a half pint of shandy and sat outside, enjoying the stream and birdsong, intending to make it last until the possible arrival of a gang of C&Mers. Shortly before 1pm however, the pastoral peace was rudely broken by the outburst of an in-house jazz group. It certainly had the effect of moving me on. I toyed with the idea of retracing my path to Maplehurst and the White Horse Inn, which does sell sandwiches on Sunday, but decided instead to hightail it back home.
Pictures from Pam
