HOW I CYCLED TO SIBERIA (well nearly to Suffolk and back on a club run)

By Graham Thompson

If definitely felt like it. I was well equipped with my Chick racing machine, no mudguards, with 52/42 chain wheels and sprockets ranging from 13 to 24 which in old language translates to a top gear of 47". Surely this was enough to enjoy any slopes in my favour and conquer any hills which Hertfordshire could place in my way before I reached the mythical heartlands of the eastern counties. My activities of occasional hill walking and regular cycling have provided a wardrobe of clothing to ensure there is no excuse for feeling cold: there is a good crossover between the two sports to keep out the elements. In the old days a flat cap would have kept the head warm but my manager insists that a helmet is a must these days, and so I set out eastwards on perhaps the coldest day of the year.

I was still in the Old Town (Stevenage) when the 47" gear was in play due to a strong wind coming from the north east and despite being properly equipped for the task in hand to reach Perry Green I soon realised I was desperately in need of more miles or some new equipment. However I passed Weston, dropped down to Luffenhall, climbed another hill to Ardeley (the Jolly Waggoners would have been a good choice for lunch today), got beyond Wood End and before long I was on the descent from the uplands of Great Munden to Puckeridge. The 108" had a spin but the wind put paid to that exercise. It was cold, grey and hard - the weather, the countryside and the cycling.

The A120 at Standon was a as busy as ever and I had to delay two patient motorists as I grovelled up the lane out of the village which has some fine old houses. I remained seated but as soon as they were out of sight I stood up and stamped on the pedals - it was either that or fall over. Now Suffolk was getting nearer and after the food at Much Hadham (Oh! happy days returning to Barnet after a club 25 on the 32nd course) there was one more hill to surmount before a freewheel to The Hoops at Perry Green. I was still in Hertfordshire and Essex stood between me and Suffolk, yet my legs told me that surely I should now be in Suffolk. Eddie Graves, Alan Kennedy, Roy Cook had left a space for me by the radiator and I was soon my usual self after a pint of Greene King, some food and a coffee. Ken Lovett joined us to complete the party. Then it was time for the return journey.

Whereas the wind had been a foe in the morning it was friend in the afternoon. Alan and I were soon en route for Great Munden,  Wood End and Ardeley, casting anxious glances over our shoulders at the blackness building up to the northeast. The champ was showing his usual good form but I managed to keep him in sight until Cromer, where he took the shortest route to Chells Manor Village. I went up the steep and narrow hill from Luffenhall. Snow put on a brief show at Halls Green, and a final push carried me home to the Old Town. Indoors and put a match to the fire, collapse into the nearest sofa and then oblivion....zzzzzzz.... Later my manager told me that I had been overdoing it again. More miles! I don't think so! Some new equipment? New legs please!