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Somewhere Easy in Essex Ride
2 April 2006

...or the ride of uncertainty.

It being April, the first question was what to wear - consensus was usual winter kit, with a few concessions, the hardy in shorts. Where to start - from your front door, the Green Bridge, or Liverpool St Station? (By then we were 10 -Steve, with Tony, Camille, Kerry, Karelle, Dave T to become the 'breakaway' and visitors Sarah, Dolores and Marian, with Carl, to become the 'easy riders').

Our Castle Hedingham route disrupted by trackwork, we were off to Chelmsford, to ride (somewhere) around easy Essex countryside.

Mechanical 1 was Karelle's flat, discovered on arrival. With the cause uncertain, and no suitable spare tubes, it was a case of pump it up and hope...

A belated depart at 11.30 was followed by some creative junction crossing as Steve tried to remember the fastest way out of Chelmsford. The weather could best be described as 'uncertain', with flashes of sun and smatterings of rain in about equal measure. Plenty of daffodils and birdsong, and some cheery red phone boxes at junctions... but there was something indefinably sinister about the countryside, the sort of eeriness that precedes the discovery of aliens in Dr Who. Steve bravely in the lead, was followed by those to become the breakaway, with Carl (more sociable, or a dodgy knee?) encouraging the easy riders. About the only souls around were a mud-bespattered family on bikes, then more bizarrely, a penny farthing and outrider.

Somewhere around Easter(s), Steve fell victim to spectacular mechanical 2, with the bolt holding his saddle to seatpost shearing off. No human damage was done (nasty thought), but attempts to strap the saddle back on were at best temporary. Luckily, a bus garage at the next hamlet was inhabited, and could supply a suitable bolt. We were uncertain whether the nearby pub/restaurant would welcome us, so the breakaway set out to scout for another, while the easy riders followed and Steve stopped for repairs. Soon, however, the breakaway found themselves back at the first red phone box, with only a large scale map, no phone contact, diminishing raisin/ banana supplies, and not a pub in sight. Eeerily, a tandem sped by.

It wasn't until Camille (alone) backtracked to find a friendly local to ask that this dawned as the classic horror movie scenario... Having got directions, she kept going to meet the easy riders, but they had seemingly disappeared... Meanwhile, the rest of the breakaway had got different directions, but there was no sign of Camille... and apparently Steve had separated to look for lost saddle parts. Tony was convinced that the easy riders were ok and had stopped 'because of peanut butter' (of course!). Re-united, the breakaway pushed on to another hamlet, a few signposts later. Jubilation turned to concern as the promised pub was full (something of a tradition?), and the landlady's directions to another were uncertain at best. The group set off again, huddled together for protection and pursued by rainclouds and the spectre of hunger, guided by democratic decision making (ie no-one really knew where we were going).

It was gone 2 when we circled round to Pleshy, and an obviously friendly pub (with the tandem, war time aluminium bike and penny farthing outside). It could only do sandwiches or 'huffers' - we didn't know and didn't care. 5 huffers please landlord, and make them doubles. Not only did we get the largest triangular filled rolls ever seen but a personal demonstration of how to mount a penny farthing, and more than we ever wanted to know about captains, stokers, and other things tandem.

Naturally it emerged that Steve had found the easy riders, and all had enjoyed a long and rather more formal lunch at the pub at the other end of the village. Re-united, we vowed to stick together, not least as protection from the wind whipping across the fields. Puddles lining the roads were deceptive, and only Carl's off-road skills saved him when he disappeared hub-deep into a submerged pot-hole.

The easy riders had done more miles than they could imagine through the chocolate box countryside, and it was uncertain how much further to go. A tag team between the groups was established, with directions rationed out to two signposts ahead. Then mechanical number 3 struck, with Kerry cycling uncertainly along nursing a suspected puncture.

We pulled into Chelmsford just after 6pm, with mileage hotly disputed, between 35 - 42 depending upon where you 'started' and another 7 or so for the breakaways. (And it took three patches before Kerry could set off to the pub with any certainty).

Moral of the ride - be prepared to face the unexpected. Uncertainty is everywhere, unless you are safeguarded by peanut butter ('sandwiches to eat for lunch').

See you on the next ride - maybe.

Camille

pics by Kerry (full set)

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