The roads less travelled and the right gear; B group ride from Banstead to Wimbledon via Kenley

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference”

                                Robert Frost

I was a bit worried when we only had two takers by Sunday night but Banstead never draws the biggest crowds and we had more by deadline time.  Then there was the forecast rain.  Sure enough there was a steady drizzle by the time I left home but it was not at all cold.  I toyed with the idea of saving time by just putting shampoo in my hair and shower gel on my top half and cycling up to Banstead in nothing but my bib but decided that it might cause too much of a stir at the Community Centre and lead me to fall out with the rides secretary.  

Then I remembered the last time we were at Banstead when it drizzled like this and we all but drowned in the Surrey Hills.  But this time the drizzle never got too serious and everybody turned up who said they would, and came in the right gear for a rainy morning and a sunny afternoon.  So we had eleven starters in two groups, which is pretty good for Banstead on a rainy day, and very good when you consider that I used the dreaded H word in the ride invitation.  Well, you can't pretend that Rickman Hill, Southerns Lane or Hilltop Lane are flat and that was not counting Doctors Lane or Furze Lane or a few others.  I was relieved to see that Fixie, too, had for once come with the right gear.

In a way, the drizzle was good for us as coolant, for it was muggy and there was a fair amount of up and down in the morning, as can be seen from the profile.  My group had Karl, Christina, John A (who peeled off before lunch), Mick and Tim C (who back marked; thanks, Tim).  

Half way up Southerns Lane

The countryside was superb, dotted with ancient houses as we went along the road less travelled and everyone in my group made it up the hills.  There is a certain satisfaction in successfully climbing challenges like Hilltop.  

One strong man takes luggage up Hilltop!

To cap our morning our circuit of RAF Kenley coincided with some glider action.  On the downside Mick had a puncture so close to lunch that we might have made it to the pub before total deflation had set in had not our official photographer faffed around making us strike embarrassing poses.

It's a good job John had peeled off; he wouldn't have had any of this nonsense!

The pub was welcoming, the weather by then inviting us to sit in the garden where Mick took his wheel off and worked at the table while the food came and Tim G's group (Julie, Anne, Fixie, Stephen) arrived with stories of their success on the hills and, being gullible folk, we believed them.

More sensible people at Kenley

They ribbed us a bit about taking our time departing lunch but were unlikely to catch us save for acts of God, such as Mick's recurring puncture just outside Purley Fire Station.  Odd this, because the cause of the original was a drawing pin and we could hardly question the expertise of the man who leads our maintenance courses.  When he extracted the offending replacement inner tube, however, it was marked with half a dozen scuffs and grazes.  He swore it was brand new but upon closer questioning confessed that he had bought it in 1948 and it had been stuffed in a box full of wire brushes for more than half a century.  Something like that.  He put a new, new one in this time.

The incident meant that we were overtaken by Tim's group, now led by Julie.  They passed us cheerily but it proved their nemesis, because we learned their naughty secret.  We got going again fairly efficiently and surprised them on the aptly named Hill Road in Purley and could hardly believe our eyes as we rode past; they were all dismounted, pushing their bikes up the hill mumbling some lame excuse about road works.  The shame!  And one of them in club kit!  

Let us hope it never gets out on social media.  I shan't tell anyone.  

Once we had climbed to the top of Woodcote Village the afternoon was a complete contrast to the morning.  Bright sunshine, almost all gently downhill, or flat and bitty long the Wandle Trail.  But the highlight was being greeted enthusiastically by the Queen of Clyde Road as we passed her Victorian palace.

We were well within opening hours when we achieved Wimbledon Windmill Cafe.  A couple had peeled off home along the way but we survivors all agreed we felt more tired than a mere 35 miles warranted.  Interestingly, too, we felt that it was the stop-start, the barriers, dogs and schoolchildren on the Wandle Trail that had tired us despite our breathless morning.  Our pleasure of the roads less travelled had surpassed the efforts we had made riding them (or in the case of one team, walking them).