I had to time trial it to the CTC Club Run on Sunday morning. Any Sunday when I ride the CTC Club Run, I have to time trial it to the rendezvous for the rollout. My timing is appalling.

I made good progress despite cycling on not exactly the most cycle-friendly side of the town. I was there with five minutes to spare. What was that all about?

We had a healthy turnout as we start to transition from the summer to more autumnal Sunday rides. Eight riders rolled out from Leisure World and we picked up another along the way.

Chapeau!

As ever it was pretty shitty navigating out of the half-town, half-city. Even at 9 am on Sunday morning, and the roads were clogged.

What’s encouraging, however, is that the roads aren’t exactly clogged but there is definitely an increase in cycling around Sunny Colch. This was the exact same situation I witnessed around 2007 - 2008, back in London. You start to build the infrastructure and indeed they will come.

SHOUT OUT in particular to the dude riding on one MTB and then pushing along another with his left hand, also with a cargo trailer being attached to the second bike. That’s quite a feat, dude.

Once we were out of the half-town, half-city and the lanes were more or less empty, we did have to slow down slightly as we passed a dozen or so scouts out on a Sunday morning hike.

Some countryfied gent on a sit up and-beg old bone shaker gave us a friendly ring as he went in the opposite direction. His bicycle bell was almost as loud as the bloody church bells that were starting to deafen us around Bures.

The coffee stop for the morning was taken at Assington. Most coffee stops on Cycle UK rides that I take part in are at Assington. It was all fine. I shared a pot of tea and some fine conversation.

I did ponder hanging around and cycling on to the lunch stop and then all the way for the afternoon session, but I had a few domestics back at base. Plus I was keen to watch the Metro Bank cricket final on the telly.

It’s good to be back out with a CTC crowd.

A Forty Plus customised cycling jersey. Forty Plus isn’t the waist size by the way.

Chapeau!

Having ridden just the solitary ride with the new Forty Plus club, I now have the Lycra so I can live the dream. All I need to do now is to get out a little more and roll out on the mega mega rides each Tuesday.

I really enjoyed the 120 km gentle introduction. Spoiler alert: I didn’t actually complete the full ride as I was already knackered after the lunch stop.

Oh dear.

But the aim is to keep on riding to live, living to ride, etc. And now with a rather dashing Forty Plus kit, I’ve got no excuses for not getting out there.

Another day, another ride. Chapeau!

The plan was to hook up once again with the 40+ riders. An impending weather forecast of doom and the bloody long schlep out to the meetup point close to Chelmsford put me off. This ain’t going to end well, right?

I decided to roll out myself on a fairly semi-serious 70 km loop circuit.

As ever, the route I plotted into my Beeline Velo 2 almost fell over before I even left Sunny Colch. I had to go through the half-town, half-city in order to get the exit point I wanted for the lanes.

Colchester is bloody hellish for cyclists. It’s always been this way. I can’t see it changing, to be honest. There just isn’t the willpower or even the political imagination.

Truth be told I came close to going up after being pushed into the fringes of the roads, with very little scope for me to command the cycling space.

Finally I was free. Thank fuck for that. I reached the lanes and had a pretty decent route for the next 3 hours or so.

I’m loving riding the road bike right now. In a few weeks' time I may have to shift to the Rally electric but whilst the weather holds the roadie is just perfect. I was even cycling with a small rucksack.

I was vaguely familiar.

An unplanned bicycle ride on Saturday morning to kick-start the weekend. Unplanned bicycle rides are the best.

I had hoped to ride on Sunday. The weather forecast of doom suggests not, so Saturday morning it was.

Chapeau!

As ever for this time of the year, I got my layers all wrong. I was wearing long-sleeve Lycra but could have done with a gilet. These details matter, Comrades.

I fancy stretching my legs out along the old Abberton Reservoir route. It rather handily concludes with a stop off at the gym for a quick swim and a freshen up.

Saturday mornings are anything but quiet along the Estuary Wilds lanes. This is the time when the white van men can go out earning some extra dosh with weekend work. Getting out of Sunny Colch and then the Hythe was pretty hellish.

Half an hour later or so, I was out on the Reservoir circular route. The white van men had been replaced by the birdwatchers around Abberton.

The seasons are showing visible signs of change. Withering ferns lined one particular stretch. They look completely singed and hanging on for dear life.

The wind picked up. I knew this as the return run involved passing a number of wind turbines in complete overdrive.

The gym was reached. A brief swim followed, and then my reward of a hour arsing around doing absolutely fuck all in the spa.

I was a layer down in clothing for the autumnal ride on Thursday lunchtime. The weather around the roll out for the Estuary Wilds loop was made for gilets - which was something of a shame as I have become a bit of a gilet ponce in recent years. Any excuse to wear them, but sadly not today.

I was feeling a little tired on two fronts and so decided to take it easy. Yesterday we put in 25,000+ steps, schlepping from East London down to Bankside, across to the West End, and then back over east. This was also my first major physical activity since something of a vaccination spree at the start of the week.

The only eventful thing to happen on this ride was the powerful stench of onions. These appear to be getting stronger and stronger each week. I think most have been picked from around the fields in the lanes. They’re just left there lying now, waiting to be collected.

There’s a metaphor in there for the dying days of the summer.

I have to escape the bloody church bells on Sunday morning. The aim is always to be out of the house at least by 9 am. Leave it any later, and the big dongs will be tugging away on their bell ends ferociously. It does me nut in, to be honest.

A run was out of the question. BUT OF COURSE I’m still crocked. I seem to have been crocked full on of late. My current crock injury is coming close to the anniversary of it first appearing. That sounds more like a long-term condition than an injury.

Oh dear.

So a bicycle ride it was. Time and tide were a little tight. I had around an hour and a half before I had a few work commitments to take care of a little later back at base.

I’m finding a new-found freedom once again, rolling out on the road bike. It is so agile and light. Plus, there’s also a complete ease in terms of getting it in and out of the house and just simply bloody riding it.

Chapeau!

Immediately, I hit a headwind. I tried not to let this annoy me. A big smile was put on my face when I saw someone had had some fun with some OCD hedge cutting. My kind of person.

This was also a good opportunity to road test my own bicycle mechanical skills. This was the first semi-serious ride after I attempted a few tinkerings to try and lose the annoying clicking sound.

This most def was coming from the cranks, or at least it sounded that way. My friendly AI bot differed. It suggested that it was something to do with the seat post.

A few changes earlier in the week, and wow, whaddyaknow? I managed the whole ride this morning, and the clicking had gone. I really should retrain as a bicycle mechanic. Yeah, because that’s going to pay the bills, right?

This was a ride mainly around the Estuary Wilds lanes, but also a few suburban areas. The smell of Sunday roasts slowly cooking was already heavy in my nostrils at around 11 am.

Over at Great Bromley, the groundsman was going through his paces with some wicket preparation ahead of one of the final few days of the cricketing summer. We’llmiss them when they’re gone.

I reached the bonkers Vineyard, which I always think should be somewhere in the south of France and not north east Essex. There was some serious harvesting taking place. Betcha it’s a bumper crop this year, with the various heat waves.

The seasonal theme continued. The ride included heading past Herbert’s Happy Christmas Turkey Farm. I often wonder about the name. I doubt if Herbert is actually that happy. The big sign has been put up ahead of the Christmas run in. And so it begins.

A decent ride. I was back at base with no more bloody bells and a little time to spare ahead of my next work commitments.

Another day, another ride. I’m making up for lost time, having had no access to my road bike since pretty much the start of the year. I’m absolutely bloody loving it on the carbon frame rolling out around deserted Estuary Wilds lanes.

Thursday lunchtime felt like the first ride of the autumn. It was blustery and the leaves were falling. The sun was making an appearance but it was hardly heatwave weather.

Confirming my autumnal awareness was the bloke picking blackberries on the run-in towards Alresford. He had the entire stretch of a hedge to himself.

TUCK IN!

I saw a couple cycling in the same direction, roughly 500m in the distance. They looked like leisure riders.

I didn’t want to take them on but I thought I’d set myself a challenge of at least catching up with them before we meet the turnoff out of Alresford.

I pressed on a little more with the pace but it wasn’t exactly time trial speed. Much to my surprise the leisurely couple weren’t that leisurely. They were soon out of my sight and off to Gawd knows where.

I reached some of the fields where lawn grass is grown before being sold on. It’s got to be better than astroturf, right? Finally there is a very light green tinge appearing across the fields selling the sods.

I got blown off course towards Great Bromley. The cross winds were ferocious out across the fields.

A little further along and the village hall had set up shop as a polling station for the day. Not another one, etc. I’ve absolutely no idea who was being elected or why.

The remotest part of the ride was a little surreal. I was convinced I saw a Tardis in a field. It wasn’t a Tardis, it was a solitary blue portaloo.

Chapeau!

My road bike started to develop a slight clicking noise towards the end of the ride. This was most disconcerting. It appeared to be coming from somewhere down by the cranks.

Oh dear.

I tried various different pedalling techniques and also changing up and down the gears, but nope, the bloody annoying clicking noise was still there.

I noticed on the final hill climb of the ride that when I was dancing on my pedals the clicking stopped. Ah, even though it sounds like it’s coming from down below it might be something to do with the seat as there’s no pressure on it.

Back at base and a little Chat GPT online investigating led to the suggestion that my seat was a dirty and the seat pole needed cleaning.

I whipped out the WD40. Whenever you are in doubt about life in general, then WD40 is usually the solution. I gave the seat pole and the clamp a bloody good clean. I managed to reassemble them without everything falling apart.

I gave the road bike a very quick road test up and down the local streets. The clicking sound had gone. That’s my achievement for the day.

A new month and whaddyaknow? A new cycling club to join.

Chapeau!

On Tuesday morning I rolled out in search of the North Essex branch of the 40+ cycling group. I fit into that demographic quite comfortably. I was still the youngest rider that rolled out on Tuesday morning.

The description of North Essex is quite a wide ranging terrain. Rather than meet up in one central location each week, the branch rolls out from various changing rendezvous.

On Tuesday morning I set my Beeline Velo plot a route heading out to Cressing Temple Barns. I’ve been here before. It’s a fantastic and deeply historical place, but from memory it’s also a bloody pain to get to.

There was a slight September chill in the air shortly before 8:45 a.m. The meet-up was 10:30 a.m. I had planned to leave at 8:30 a.m. What could go wrong?

Sunny Colch could go wrong of course. I’m fine navigating my way around the most remote lanes in North Essex. Trying to find the best route around the centre of the half town, half city can be a right bloody pain in the arse. This delayed me by around 15 minutes.

It didn’t help when a dickhead motorbike rider tried to overtake me like an absolute twat. Not only did he close pass, he then insisted on riding along a bicycle path.

Oh dear.

I confess to getting a little lost en route to Cressing Temple. The Beeline Velo had plotted in a bloody horrid route. It took me along the A12 - or rather the pathway adjacent to the A12.

It’s completely safe as there is no other traffic to share the space with. It’s just that for 4 km you have the constant thunder of HGVs speeding past you. No thanks.

A quick shifty at the watch and SHIT THE BED. I had half an hour to make up around 20 km or so. This ain’t gonna happen right?

I time trialled the run into Cressing Temple. This was a bicycle ride in itself. I was pretty knackered and 40 km or so were already showing on Strava.

I knew that I would miss the meet up, and then by pure chance I caught half a dozen or so riders around 2 km or so out of Cressing Temple.

Chapeau!

This was the 40+ group. I knew one of the riders anyway from the Cycle UK Sunday Club rides. Some introductions were made and I was happy to continue riding for the rest of the day.

We were heading roughly in the direction of St. Pauls. I had no bloody idea where St. Pauls is but I was happy just to tag along for the ride. The nearby fields were fresh with the smell of the corn crop that had recently been harvested.

This was s a pacey ride. I later learned that two sections of the 40+ group had rolled out. I had latched on to the fast group. It definitely showed.

By now I was well into the longest ride of the year for me so far. We hadn’t even reached the lunchtime stage.

I trembled a little when the ride leader gave out the sign for the big hill coming up. Not surprisingly I BONKED big time. I was flat out and all spent on energy. Having only some yoghourt and an apple for breakfast didn’t help.

I was reassured when I was told that the lunchtime staging post was within touching distance. We were now deep into thatched cottage territory. It was really quite picture postcard pretty.

Luncheon was reached. I’ve learned from past experiences that all North Essex bicycle rides stop at a garden centre for lunch. This is really quite a weird phenomenon and it’s one that’s totally passed me by. A garden centre is a garden centre for me. Back in the day you go there to buy your rose bush.

But nope, the garden centres of 2026 are pretty much a hybrid of rose bush buying and TUCKING IN to a fry up. Usually I would skimp on this and have a cup of tea and be done with it, but I was in desperate need of some substance. Quiche and chips did the job for me.

There was fighting talk about riding on to the afternoon tea stop and then back somewhere towards Sunny Colch but I was completely spent. I knew there was still around 35 or 40 km for me to head back to base.

Another rider suggested that he was also going to skip tea and make a dash for it. I rode along behind him pretty much all the way back into the half town, half city.

The highlight of the afternoon session was passing some hedge in the middle of bloody nowhere that had been trimmed meticulously into the shape of Thomas the Tank Engine. It even had a smiling face attached to the front.

So that was my first 40+ ride. Without hesitation I signed up as a member whilst recuperating back home. I’ve even got a 40+ long sleeve cycling top waiting to be checked out in my online basket.

Retirements were made for cycling.

YEAH.

A wifey Bank Holiday boner bicycle ride for Monday. Bank Holiday Mondays are always the best for riding, especially when you roll out early. The roads are deserted.

This ride saw the first wearing of the gilet for the season. It was a little windy out there.

The first obstacle was to dodge a couple of darting squirrels who came close to my front wheel. I suspect there was a bit of boy/girl action taking place there.

This was soon upgraded to a lone pheasant who shot out in front of me, eyeballed me, and then thought better of hanging around. SEE YA!

There wasn’t a lot of pace taking place to be honest. My cycling partner had decided on a more genteel ride, despite rolling out on the roadies.

Our progress was curtailed considerably when we reached the descent into Dedham. This is normally a stretch where you hover with your hands on the brakes, but hope for the best as you dart down the hill at around 45 km/h.

A couple of horse riders were midway through their descent. This meant an incredibly slow ride towards the town.

Dedham was a little more lively. There was some church jumble sale action taking place. I did think of stopping by briefly but it was full of tat.

A toilet stop did take place once we had left the town. I was wearing my cycling bibs, which always makes for something of a faff when it comes to the correct manoeuvre. I was happily going about my business when I noticed a couple out walking across the vale, around 200 or so metres away.

MORNING!

The stench of the ride soon turned to onions. Despite being a Bank Holiday, the young farmers were out in the fields harvesting their crop. You could write a blog post about onions being harvested and put into a bag.

An hour and a half or so later and we were back at base. A decent enough ride with quiet lanes and something of a pedestrian pace.

A beat the rain ride on Sunday morning. Usually it’s a BIG FAT BOLLOCKS to the BBC weather app; but the blackened skies up above the Estuary Wilds told me it was time to get a shifty on.

There had been some serious rain overnight. This was the first time in a number of months I have had to avoid puddles whilst pushing the pedals.

My rough direction of travel was over towards Lawford. This involves around two minutes or so on an A road. For once there was a considerate motorist who was happy to let me slip off onto the slip road without taking me out from behind. Thank you, Madam.

I reached the lanes. Consideration scales soon started to diminish. Some dickhead driver in what looked like a Land Rover couldn’t resist revving up behind me, and then close passing, leaving a thick dark dirty black plume right in my face.

You dirty dog.

Finally I had some quiet around the lanes. It was tranquil apart from the other riders. Sunday morning seemed to be something of a Last of the Summer Rides around these parts.

The terrain got more remote as I ploughed on through. I did stop to allow an approaching car to have the road on a particularly barren lane. As I stopped I noticed something flapping around by the roadside.

Oh dear.

A closer inspection revealed a rook who looked like his days were done. To my surprise the motorist also stopped and out stepped a big old Essex geezer.

He was actually wonderful and knew how to handle the situation. He managed to pick up the rook and feel the strength that was remaining. The diagnosis was the feet were gone, there was still a little flapping left in the wings.

We both agreed on a dignified end to what was a very sad situation. He placed the rook somewhere quiet in a nearby field. At least that would mean no other passing motorist would finish off the poor bird.

We both stepped away and then looked on from a distance for a couple of minutes. The rook was still flapping and fighting for its life. It looked like a bit of airborne action might happen. We both decided to cut our losses, shake hands, and head in our opposite directions.

The rest of the ride was uneventful. I barely changed gears. It felt like I was riding on a fixie.