Having missed the Tuesday Forty Plus club run due to some domestic chores to attend, I decided to give the Thursday rollout a try. This is billed as something of a little more leisurely ride.

Tuesday is a full-on day of riding. Thursdays involve the meet up, then a couple of hours riding before heading back to where we started and then back home.

Sounds simple, right?

The only problem is that the meet up is always over in Witham. That’s a good 35 km for me to get there.

So I cycle 35 km, then I do the two hour ride back to Witham, and then I cycle 35 km back.

It’s all about the bike innit.

There was a slight dew on the ground as I rolled out shortly before 8 am. Daylight was barely visible. I was looking like a right dickhead wearing my high vis workman jacket.

I crossed over the river and then made my way around the outskirts of Rowhedge. The rush hour traffic was pretty hellish.

This included a recently passed driver with a green P on the back of his car. This didn’t stop him from close passing. It’s best to cut this out early. A police report was filed later back at base.

As ever I had to time trial it pretty much to make the 9:30 am rendezvous. Sadly I missed this by 10 minutes.

Oh well. I took the opportunity to look at some plant pots in the nearby garden nursery. Live the dream, Jase. Live the dream.

I decided on doing my own all day ride. I plotted in a rough course on the Beeline Velo 2. I thought let’s head up to Coggeshall, then make my way over to Earl’s Colne, weave through Wormingford, and then perhaps take in more familiar home territory around Elmstead.

The route was pretty cool. The Beeline Velo 2 was doing its job. It kept me off busy roads and on deserted lanes. There was plenty of hill climbing to do however.

75 km in and my plates of meat started to bloody hurt. I pressed on.

Then all of a sudden I was back on the edges of the half-town, half-city. The route then took me through Highwood Country Park. I wasn’t expecting that.

I stopped off at yet another garden nursery. This time a plant pot was bought. I’m absolutely CREAMING myself in plant pot land right now.

I slowly headed back towards base. Strava tells me I clocked in 99.3 miles.

Arse.

There was just enough light left late in the day for a bicycle ride on Tuesday. My window of opportunity for escaping is narrowing. I need to make the most of the conditions whilst there is still sufficient light.

The rain from earlier had thankfully dried out. I had OCD pleasing bone dry roads. There would be no manic Mr. Sheen polishing taking place back at base once the bicycle ride was complete.

I timed the ride just perfect in order to beat the school run. The rush hour was still an hour or so away.

This was the first time this season that I was rolling out wearing full on gloves. They felt like a comfort blanket, having had something of a wash and spruce up ahead of the winter beastliness that is to come.

Less than two minutes in and my cycling spiritual, zen like state was destroyed by some close passing dickhead. It wasn’t the wisest thing to do fella, close passing me a your work van when I’m clearly showing a sign that I’ve got a video cam on board.

A bicycle ride is a bicycle ride, though. I’m always at my happiest when I’m out on my bike.

I reached the lanes. I accelerated into turbo mode a few times in order to overcome a growing headwind.

In Endless Road Closure News: there are still endless road closures around the bloody Estuary Wilds.

I deliberately picked the Lawford route, knowing that the usual Bobby George BONER circuit was subject to some big red signs saying road closed. I can now add Lawford to that list as well.

Whatever. I pressed on.

I decided to ignore the nasty Patriot flag flying from one particular cottage. I don’t think we’re talking American football Patriots here either.

Much more pleasing was seeing one of the local fields being worked by half a dozen or so detectorists. I wasn’t the only one making the most of the early autumnal sunlight.

Dig for victory, live to ride, etc.

Time was a little tight for the bicycle ride on Tuesday. On Tuesdays we ride; on Tuesdays we ride with the North Essex branch of the Forty group.

But not this Tuesday. I had some rare work first thing in the morning.

Pay to play, etc.

With rain forecast all day for Wednesday, my options were limited. I had a couple of hours of daylight left in the day to head out and do my thing.

Chapeau!

Unfortunately that meant that my ride coincided with the school run, which then bled into rush hour. This wasn’t the wisest time to be rolling out.

Adding to this forecast of doom and gloom was that I really didn’t have the energy. I felt pretty much zapped, but a ride is a ride, yeah? Just get out and bloody do it.

I’ve not ridden my triple loops circuit for some time. This involves staying fairly local but, as the name suggests, looping the loop on three occasions.

Two outta Three ain’t bad for Tuesday. The third loop would have involved taking in a pretty hairy stretch of a main road at peak rush hour. No thank you. I decided to cut it short and not be bossed around by petrolhead dickheads.

There was a never ending stench of manure around the lanes throughout the entire ride. It’s good for your nostrils, right?

Some of the remote houses were full of Halloween tat - and when I say tat, I mean the tattiest of cheap tatty tat, plastic tat.

It was all going rather well until my peace was disturbed by a lone paraglider with his small jet engine. Still, it’s better than having some four by four arsehole trying to take you up from behind.

I reached the turnoff stage for the third loop. I admit to pondering, thinking, yeah I could do this. Let’s put in the km’s.

I took one look at the traffic and wisely opted out.

A ride of necessity rather than a ride of complete enjoyment.

Saturday’s ride was all about the gin. I was under strict instructions to return with a bottle of the finest and cheapest Lidl gin that money could buy. Which all meant this wasn’t a day for the road bike. I set off on the Raleigh Electric with a couple of panniers, also known as gin bags.

We are now entering sloe pickling season. Hopefully in three months' time we’ll be into sloe gin getting pissed season. We’re still using the tried and tested recipe kindly handed over to us by R almost 15 years ago.

But first how about a bicycle ride?

I made my way down through the University. It’s that one weekend of the year when returning students and new undergraduates start to rock up on campus. I remember those days well. They’re best off behind me.

I crossed over the Dirty River and made my way over towards Fingringhoe. Traffic was particularly heavy. I can’t be arsed to make a piss poor joke.

There was a rather quaint village scene by the village pond that is overlooked by Fingringhoe Church. There was a grandad, a father, and a young grandchild all fishing together. It really was quite sweet.

I’d mistimed my own personal rod dangling escapades completely wrong. I was caught short and had to pull over.

My timing was a lot better with the sleeping lion back in the cage, just before the next car turned around the bend.

Nothing to see here, Madam.

I reached Abberton Reservoir. There was a very excitable gathering of twitchers.

A little further along the route I could smell the fresh soil from the fields. It was all very rustic.

About 30 seconds later I realised it was actually manure.

The run-in involved seeing some poor fella roadside struggling with a puncture. I’ve learned that we don’t talk about this though.

Destination Lidl was reached. The cheapo Lidl gin wasn’t as cheapo as I was anticipating. I still went for the lowest price one, natch.

Objective achieved. Another bicycle ride ticked off.

Chapeau!

I returned to the road bike for Friday morning. Something just felt right about this. The Estuary Wilds still insist that it’s late summer and not early autumn. Road bikes are for summer, right?

The windy conditions were incredibly warm albeit windy. There was some debate about whether rowing would take place later in the day.

I opted for a gilet. It was the right decision both in terms of the atmospheric conditions and my aesthetics. I looked cool as fuck with a Brixton Cycles gilet.

The last-minute decision to neck a big fat bowl of porridge was a wise one. I had that Ready Brek glow as I rolled out to see where the road bike would take me.

I opted for the Lawford route. It’s an absolute breeze to get there now, with the new Road to Nowhere being open, but not really open. It throws me out along the Lawford to Manningtree stretch within no time at all.

I was singing along to Edwin Collins, having heard the magnificent Girl Like You shortly before setting off. No one else was around. I say singing, it was more like shouting out the lyrics and grunting that bloody great guitar riff.

The lanes were absolutely empty for Friday morning, all apart from one dickhead van driver who approached me in the opposite direction in the middle of Gawd knows where.

I did slow down and indicated I was going to pull over. The twat didn’t slow down and didn’t even attempt to head slightly to the left of the lane.

Oh dear.

Hey hoe, live to ride, ride to live, and all that bollocks.

Two birds, one stone for the Thursday afternoon bike ride, aka the Abberton Reservoir loop, which conveniently takes in a local Lidl for the weekly food shop. One panniers load up rather well with cheapo Lidl Greek yoghourt, whilst the other takes on board cheapo Lidl lager. Never forget the lager. Nope.

Chapeau!

It may have been the 1st of October but it felt like early August. Local workmen were perched high upon scaffolding as I rolled out. They were stripped down and topless. We are closer to Christmas than we are to the previous summer solstice - I think? These dates are made for riding.

Once again the mechanics of the Raleigh Electric continue to amaze me. Somehow I clocked up 44 km/h going down Boundary Road on a 27 kg bike. This is absolutely bonkers.

Up above were big fluffy clouds. These lingered throughout the 40 km ride as I made my way out towards GAWD knows where, but basically around Abberton Reservoir.

It was pretty uneventful. There was an abundance of birdwatchers on the short stretch that crosses over the reservoir. One fella in particular stood out. He wasn’t wearing all the usual camouflage crap. He had bright cycling Lycra on. That’s going to clash a little when it comes to the birdwatching thing, fella.

It then became clear that he was combining his two passions - cycling and birdwatching. One out of two ain’t bad etc.

I had to stop to syphon my own Python about 2 km past the reservoir. The Lycra-clad bird bloke then slowly cycled past me.

“GOOD AFTERNOON!”

Whoops.

Destination Lidl was reached. One pannier was stuffed full of cheapo Lidl Greek yoghourt whilst the other balanced it out rather nicely with some cheapo Lidl lager.

Live to ride, ride to live.

Another Tuesday, another Forty Plus club ride.

Chapeau!

Having clocked up 120 km on the previous ride, I was keen to at least match this. tl;dr my final ride distance came in at 118.5 km. I should have gone around the block a couple of times just to get this up.

There was a slight doubt if I would roll out early on Tuesday morning. Some meticulous weather planning the night before suggested possible rain through until 9 am. My rollout time was around 8:15 am.

If in doubt just fucking do it. You’ve got to get out there and ride, right?

There was plenty of surface water around as I made my way westward over towards the rendezvous meet-up over in Tipperary. I had some slight OCD concerns and made a mental note to get the Mr. Sheen out for my Raleigh electric upon my return later in the day.

My route took me around the side of a half town, half city I wasn’t expecting. It turns out I could have just gone on my usual Abberton route, which is where the new route then threw me out.

This meant going all the way around Abbey Fields and past the barracks. Some of the troops were out on manoeuvres doing circuits. They were all carrying rifles as well.

Blimey.

I had to stop at one stage along the lane to allow a family of young pheasants to pass through. It was most charming. Mother and Father Pheasant were walking together with their kids right behind them.

I reached the rendezvous with 10 minutes to spare. This is better than the effort a few weeks ago when I actually missed the meet up time and had to time trial it to catch them all up. It wasn’t the best of first impressions.

A few heads were turned when the other club riders clocked my Raleigh Electric. You bounder! You cheat! etc.

They’re a friendly lot and I think they got their heads around the idea that a bicycle ride is a bicycle ride, innit?

It turns out that I didn’t actually really need the electric. I was pretty knackered a few weeks ago, heading off with the fast pace group. I just about managed to hold on at the back.

Instead on Tuesday, I opted to go with the slower pace group, who were also then meeting up with the fast riders for the lunch stop.

It was, how can I say, rather slow. I actually turned my motor off for the majority of the morning session. Even with a bike weighing a massive fuck off 27 kg, I could still keep up with the pace unassisted.

We passed one particular house that had a homemade street sign saying “Pothole Heights.” The road leading up to the climb where the house was located lived up to its name.

The route was a little random. At one stage we actually crisscrossed the fast group, who were going a slightly elongated way around to the lunchtime get-together.

Lunch was taken at a fairly remote but rather quaint roadside cafe. It was a type of place that was covered in lots of OH SO FUNNY signs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in my old man’s stuffy old conservative golf club. You get the idea.

A ham sandwich was ordered.

A ham sandwich these days means something a little more than two slices of bread with some meat thrown in.

What rocked up was a sandwich on bread that was as thick as a double CD jewel case. In between was the most gristly ham. The side serving was some fairly average salad and a packet of ready salted crisps.

Yours for £10 sir.

I really should bring my own food to future rides.

I opted to join the faster group for the afternoon session. One of our poor riders had a few mechanical issues with his fancy electronic gear shifting roadie. While the battery said 80% capacity, they weren’t talking between the brake levers and the actual disc wheel. He was stuck in one gear for the entire ride.

We decided to take afternoon tea at a different location than the planned Coggeshall meet up. It just seemed to make sense with dark skies starting to descend.

We all split off on our various ways as we approached the run into the half town, half city.

One of the riders uttered the rather unfortunate words:

“See you next Tuesday!”

I don’t think it was intentional.

A roll out on the Raleigh Electric to start Saturday morning. It’s been almost six months since I last pressed the eco button on the absolute beast of a bike and let the Bosch motor work its wonders down below.

It’s been a little complicated; access to the Raleigh Electric has been tricky. I gave the bike something of a once over yesterday evening ahead of the ride to start the weekend. Much to my surprise the battery level of three bars from six months ago had been retained.

The first obstacle to overcome whilst leaving the house was a gig boat being towed right down our road. Saturday morning is the Rat Race for the local gigs.

It’s a very competitive course, which, as the name suggests, takes you around Rat Island and then back down to the Sailing Club. It was quite a sight seeing a full-on gig being towed past our house.

My first thoughts as I put my pedal down and worked in unison with the motor were Christ, this bike is built like a bloody tank. It’s so strong and almost inflexible. It does give you a false sense of security, thinking that you’re on par with motorists on the road. You’re never on par with motorists on the road.

There was a slight early autumnal chill to the air. I could have possibly done with my full on cycling gloves. Soon it will be farewell to the fingerless ones for the season.

It didn’t take long before I passed the first roadside pheasant. He was looking slightly squashed. I don’t think he’ll get to enjoy the weekend.

I then realised I’d got my route all wrong. I missed off the usual turning for the Bobby George Boner. This meant I ended up riding it in reverse. It was most discombobulating.

I passed one of the local ponds that is usually a decent stop off point for a selfie, not so right now. It’s still completely bone dry.

Another signifier for the changing season was the sad sight of no wicket being prepared at Great Bentley. This is normally a regular scene as I cycle past the cricket club. Instead there was a sign up for an Autumn Fair. What goes around comes around.

Having messed up and tackled the route in reverse, I then also had to head down Tenpenny Hill rather than climb it. I would rather climb, to be honest. It’s pretty hairy with motorists trying to take you up from behind.

I passed the first pumpkins of the season outside a house. They weren’t real ones, but some kind of ceramic shit ones placed on top of a couple of gate posts.

The Raleigh Electric held its own as well as pretty much most of the charge. Autumnal and winter days were meant for taking the Raleigh Electric out around the lanes.

Chapeau!

The ride out on Thursday afternoon was all about testing some new cleats. I finally gave up on my patched up cycling shoes after more than a couple of years of applying cheapo cheapo superglue to the sole. Sometimes in life you just have to accept that even a tight arse penny pinching cyclist such as myself needs to think about an upgrade.

No worries. I had a reserve pair of cycling shoes stashed away specifically for this purpose. I had attached the cleats around six months or so ago, in what I was hoping would be the exact same specification as my old knackered cycling shoes.

It’s all about fine margins when it comes to attaching cleats. The slightest miscalculation, compared to what you’ve known previously, will disrupt your whole cycling style and position.

Look at you, you pro cycling PONCE.

I rolled out rather gingerly and got myself clipped in. I almost came a cropper as I had a very soft testing of the release mechanism in the new cleats.

Anyone who has ever tried cleats for the first time knows that it’s a rite of passage that you will fall off within the first few pedal strokes as you try and unstrap. Somehow I managed to avoid this on Thursday.

I rolled out a little further, practising the chicken feet dance routine. You have to twist your ankles very abruptly, around 45°, and the theory is that your cleats will pop out. Simple, this, right?

Soon I was out along the lanes. I’m always happy when I’m riding a bicycle, even with dickhead close-pass motorists coming up from behind.

The weather conditions seemed ideal. There were bright blue skies and it was sunny up above, but it wasn’t hot and there was a pleasant breeze to propel me along.

I reached Elmstead Market. They’re a funny lot over there. I noticed Christmas decorations, not on one but two separate houses. What the fuck is wrong with some people?

The ride was then pretty much uneventful. I headed out towards Lawford, touched on the boundaries of Manningtree, and then looped back to base. I got caught a little short in the final stretch and had to stop off to water some blackberries.

All that moisture might certainly help over the coming weeks. I also managed to clock the first roadside mushrooms starting to appear.

Let’s do autumn, Halloween, and Bonfire Night before we start thinking about bloody Christmas, right?

I’ve probably cycled the Abberton Reservoir route more times in the past month or so than is usual for this time of year. The main reason that I’ve still only really got access to my road bike. Abberton is a perfect route for this. It has the added bonus of allowing me to stop off towards the end for a brief swim and a freshen up in the spa.

Chapeau!

Wednesday was no different. We always seem to experience something of a run of barmy late Indian summers around the Estuary Wilds this time of year. These are now not freakish, but they have become the norm. If we’re approaching October then it must mean that it’s still 25° or so outside. The aim is to get these rides in on the road bike whilst I still can.

The route remained the same but with ever changing observations in the fields around me. The land has been freshly ploughed. There was a rather invigorating scent of soil rising from down below as I cycled along the lane corridors. It looks a little dry this year, mind.

It was all going so well until I reached the final run in towards Colchester and the gym. My cycling shoes finally gave up on me after years of patching them up. It’s no big deal. It’s just that the hardened sole has been bolted on with various cheapo cheapo superglue solutions every couple of months or so. I think they have finally reached the end of the road.

Also pretty shitty was the hellish approach towards the Hythe. There’s a series of temporary traffic lights on this final stretch. There were some pretty piss poor tailbacks, which I felt obliged to respect rather than queue jump.

I think the lesson to learn here is to always stick to the lanes, try and find an escape route that involves avoiding as many dickhead motorists as possible, and just get out there and ride.

Oh - and perhaps finally make the switch to the new pair of cycling shoes I’ve had stashed away for a few years.