onionbagblog

And so with the 2013 Spring Classic season now completed on the cycling calendar, what next for a bored blogger who likes to live out his lycra dreams whenever the day job doesn’t interfere?

Ahh, a cursory glance at the cycling schedule and it seems that the Grand Tour season has already started with the Giro d’Italia.

Chapeau!

The Grand Tours are the pinnacle of the pedaling world. You work your arse off during the Spring Classics to ride yourself into fitness, and then spend 2-3 weeks at a time racing around Europe in search of Grand Tour glory.

But bugger that.

I still had a booze hangover from the cricket come early Sunday morning. A grueling 17.2km team time trial might have been occupying Allez Wiggo et al, but I was all set for a bit of a leisurely bicycle ride to Braintree and back.

And whaddya know - those incredibly friendly folk at Colchester CTC had just the ride, rolling out of the glamour that is the skateboard ramp at Leisure World, just as the Grand Tour boys were descending from a similar style ramp on the Italian island of Ischia.

Ride yourself into fitness wasn’t far from my mind. If you can lose the eight cans of cheapo lager hangover by the time you reach Lexden, then the job’s a good ‘un.

Have roadie, will travel, has been the motto for my introduction to CTC riding. I’m clueless when it comes to route planning and preparation. I’ve taken to the approach of not even checking to see where the fine CTC-ers are actually riding to each weekend.

Which made Sunday morning something of a mystery ride.

How exciting.

Would it be Braintree? Boxsted? Or maybe even Brightlingsea, the North Essex rival to the Italian city of Turin.

Stanway is always a good starting point when you are exiting Sunny Colch. A dozen or so CTC-ers cruised out of the town, riding a combination of roadies, tourers, hybrids and even a Colne Valley Mini Wheeler, complete with the essential cycling accessory of sandals.

I didn’t read too much into the mystery tour destination as we took a turning into Turkey Cock Lane. Like I said - these CTC-ers are incredibly friendly folk.

All the gobble, gobble action led to a few mechanicals in the lycra shorts department. Less than ten miles out of town and I was caught short. It is every male cyclist’s etiquette challenging conundrum: do you pull over and lose the pelaton, or discreetly let the lycra soak up the ‘excess water,’ hopeful that it can be mistaken for sweat and effort?

I may be a lycra fantasist but I’m no dirty dog. A curbside stop in the great outdoors, and then I was pulled back into the pack with a domestique donkeywork ride from Wifey.

The toilet stop was badly timed - I had forgotten the CTC tradition of endorsing the tearooms at EVERY garden nursery en route. A sharp right hand bend and soon we were de-cleating at Coggeshall Garden Centre.

I pulled off the unlikely feat of puncturing whilst stationary - not in tyres, but the palm of my hand that took on board a particularly painful splinter. An aborted puncture repair kit effort to remove the splinter soon became a Coggeshall Garden Centre mini-medical operation. I challenge you to find any other coffee shop at a nursery garden centre that employs the skills of a splinter assistant.

Much appreciated, Madam.

Vanity got the better of me as the midday sun rose above the BIG Essex skies. The long sleeve lycra soon became shortened, all set for a cyclist’s suntan. Cometh the Pro look, cometh the semi-Pro big boys of Colchester Rovers, out on the club run and probably racing into Coggeshall for splinter assistance.

The passing of other Sunday morning cyclists has been an increasing theme of late. There was a time not so long ago when if you mentioned on Monday morning at work that you had spent your Sunday cycling, you probably would have been spat in the face.

Cycling was a WEIRDO pastime, the preserve of social inadequates who didn’t see the attraction of staying in bed all Sunday morning. Now it seems that half of Essex has taken to two wheels along the lanes each week. A critical mass has reached - not just by the sheer numbers out each weekend, but also in the attitudes of most motorists, observant and understanding of any weekend club run rolling out.

Not that we clogged up the roads for any other users. A speed of 25mph was clocked on the descent down towards White Notley. I’m not sure what I was more impressed by - the speed itself, or the fact that White Notely has a digital speed calming measure.

I still didn’t know where the chuffers we were, or where we were going.

Live to Ride, Ride to Live, etc.

Luncheon was taken at the charming old Rayne railway station. We sat in the shade dining upon our continental brie paninis (toasted cheese sarnies,) and then marveled at the steady stream of young families cycling along the old railway line.

Braintree and Bocking beckoned, via the back route of a fairly bleak industrial estate. Bluebells greeted us in Stisted, and then soon we were racing back through Wakes Colne, aka barn conversion country. A rotting pile of wood had a knobber estate agent sign hanging from it, boasting optimistically of a ‘barn lifestyle escape.’

Good luck with that one, fella.

“YOU BIKE WANKER!“

…was the welcome from the passenger seat of a speeding motorist at we entered Eight Ash Green. Still some work to do to reach that mainstream critical mass for cycling.

The sight of a Stars and Stripes flag raised above a front garden pole was a little weird. It would have made for an interesting doorstep conversation had UKIP come knocking the week before.

And then with 60-ish miles appearing on the bicycle computer, we were back at Castle Park and the lovely CTC ride was almost complete. I’m still not entirely sure where we went, or even why. North Essex and a love of garden nursery coffee shops sounds about right.

Chapeau!