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Kent Canter - ride to Headcorn
19 March 2006

There are a few things that you'd really rather not learn from experience:

1. it is possible (and not pleasant) to ride for two hours and still not be able to feel your feet
2. the first real ride of the spring, especially if you are shaking off a winter bug, is also not pleasant
3. a manic grin and raised eyebrows from Steve means hills ahead
4. this is indeed an unusually cold winter
5. it has been said of Steve that he's 'really quite strong'
6. wind

But we (Brenda, Camille, Karelle, Kerry and Steve), have selflessly confirmed them for you while cantering out to Kent one cold March morning.

And at least one thing that you should learn from experience - no matter how huge and claustrophobic London sometimes feels, you can get out whenever you need to by the efforts of your legs alone, and reach the countryside in just over an hour (Karelle).

So we did.

At 7.00am on a Sunday, once bikes had been hauled up the steps of the Greenwich foot tunnel, even south London was quiet. Somewhere in SE9 we stopped for a quick snack and the first of many attempts to revive numb feet, before the rest of us went the same way. Just inside Kent, and time for another snack stop, we tried again. Despite Camille's best kangaroo impressions to bounce back circulation, the truth of #1 dawned - (solutions on the back of a postcard, please). But the fields had arrived, and we'd left the bizarre tires behind...

At least by our third snack stop, the sun was out over the fields, a tentative layer was coming off, and feet were coming alive. But Karelle, despite her running away to warmer climes, realised that you can't really hide from the British winter, and it was time to face truth #2. Steve took on her 'pannier of penance', which magically handicapped its bearer far more than by weight alone, especially when climbing. Ahhh, inclines. Collectively, we discovered the truth of #3.

The views were impressive, but none of us wanted to linger, and we were making pretty good time. A minor delay when Camille threw a chain was the only hold-up, despite our hopes of finding a coffee stop that looked open. It was so quiet most of the traffic appeared to be fellow cyclists speeding the other way with cheery greetings. We were at Yarling for 11.30, and hit the village shop to re-stock supplies. Some went sightseeing (ancient castle, anyone?) while some let the sights come to them - a group of social cyclists on vintage bikes enjoying a Sunday ride-out. At 12.00, we were first in the pub, taking off layers 5,4 and 3 and agreeing on the truth of #4. Lunch revealed what could possibly be ever-chilled out Kerry's Achilles heel - kryptonite carrots.

The verdict from Brenda, flying down on her Condor from Hackney, was that the pace was brisk enough but unpressured, with some good flat stretches to get up a decent speed, but the hills were no fun, and she had a coffee deficit of about 3 cups. To her surprise, the bikes with straight handlebars (aha - lower gears for hills, knobbly tires for country roads) or sporting panniers (loaded up with snacks of course) pretty much held their own. But should we be vindicated or worried by her pronouncement #5, which we feel will do our leader's ego no good at all.

Fed, watered and warm, a not too distant train station a flat 15m away sounded good. Then the depressing truth of #6, Kerry voicing the injustice of having to change down a gear or three just to try and combat the freezing headwind. Those keen to continue were in the minority, and sociability triumphed over effort with us all on the 3pm train home from Headcorn.

Statistics that went into the official blackberry:
45m to lunch
15 after,
so 60 all told.
5 hours riding time.
At an average 12mph.
Terrain - mostly flat, few hills.
Weather - brrrrr (cold and windy).
Mechanicals - not worth mentioning.

Camille

pics by Kerry (full set)

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