16 of us clustered outside Limehouse station on an unusually hot morning for early October.  After some confusion over the lack of group save tickets, we all bundled onto a busy train heading for the East coast.  

The tide was out when we reached Chalkwell and mudflats stretched out as far as the eye could see.  A gentle tail wind infused with the smell of Essex estuary pushed us along the seafront, as the great and the good of Southend made the most of the sunny weather. 

We continued to trundle along the cycle path, taking care not to collide with straying pedestrians and the odd, rather hot and bothered club rider.  At the path’s end, we spent our first tea break at a seaside cafe, listening to the jangling slot machines, while lapping up cold drinks and icecreams.

Heading slightly inland it wasn’t long before we arrived at the barriers to Foulness.  Unable to get hold of the island’s security before the ride, Alex wondered whether we would be able to visit Foulness at all, but thankfully they let us in and, after strict instructions to keep to the main road and not take any photos, we set off.

With a population of just 212 people boosted only by large numbers of migrating birds, there is something a little eerie about the island.   The MOD use it to test military munitions and the visiting public can only gain access during the summer on the first Sunday of every month.  The road was therefore pretty much traffic free and we sped along its straight, flat surface, arriving at the visitor’s centre after a swift 30 minutes.  Here, some surveyed the collection of agricultural implements on show while others sidled out to the garden, clutching slices of particularly delicious homemade Victoria sponge.

For once, we were thankful for the headwind keeping us cool as we made our way off the island.  A security chap shook his head in bewilderment while we pedalled on in the rising heat and, as the temperature tipped 30 degrees, many of us were beginning to dream of a quenching pint of lunchtime beer.  However, as we passed the dismally grotty pubs of Great Wakering, Barling, and Stonebridge, this fantasy gradually began to fade. 

By the time we reached Rochford, we’d given up on the idea of a pub lunch and settled for the Co-Ops finest, while Nick set to work on the day’s one and only puncture.

Maybe it was the weather or perhaps there were just too many roundabouts, but five of us managed to take a wrong turning out of Rochford and became separated from the rest of the group.  A few fraught phone calls later, Alex sped over to find the stragglers at Southend Victoria, while Nick led the rest of the group back to Chalkwell, via Westcliff-on-Sea.

Cold beers on the train home were a welcome treat after one of the warmest Wheelers rides...

Annabel