One Loose Nut

Our eyes meet. Bodies both hot and sweating, both slightly out of breath. I shout, “Where can I find the village of Beeston?” – Perhaps all blog posts should open this way?

The morning starts off bad. I had planned the route last night, put out my gloves, bag and cycle computer. Even the bottles are out ready to be filled. Yet at 0530 I am in the kitchen looking for my headband and arm warmers. It’s going to be a cold ride and I will be needing them. Using my manly powers of search I give up after two minutes and wake the wife to ask where they are: they’re in the arm of my cycling jacket – so that I would find them. How wrong could she be?

Shortly after 6 the bike is outside and I am ready to go. It’s dark and its icy – there has even been some snow. Lights on… oh. The bag obstructs both lights partially. With so may potholes around I need to do something. Back into the garage and I move the Spacebar around to a few alternative positions but it’s no good. The ride is off or the bag goes. With the bag of and every pocket now holding map, tools, tube, food, money, phone, keys and more food the bike at least looks better without the bag and its revised light/computer arrangement. At 0715 I head off as the skies start to lighten.

I have instructions that I need to be back to do the parent bit by 1130. If I had left at 0600 it would have been a doddle, but now it could be tight. I need to go quickly, but the further from home I get the more the roads turn from ice to snow and ice. Nothing massive, but for my near-slick 25′s it could get hairy.

I change my route immediately to miss the Toddington hill and head through Sundon, Streatley and down the A6 around Barton. I have to ride more into the road to avoid the snow and I wonder: if I fell off, would I turn back or carry on? Leaving the A6 to head for Lower and Upper Gravenhurst the road is white. A burst pipe adds to the occasion creating a wet pool with solid ice either side of the water. The bike wiggles. In Upper Gravenhurst I take the wrong route and head up the hill instead of the High Street. As I do the camber of the road takes a sudden dip. The combination of slicks, standing on the pedals, camber, ice, and lack of friction resulted in a date with gravity and tarmac. I always had wondered if the cleats would release me in the event of a fall, and just like ski bindings they did. Walking up the remainder of the hill all that is damaged is my pride.

The wrong turn spat me out on the A507 which took me back past Beadlow again. Shefford takes me left to Ireland and Old Warden and precarious downhill rides. The second wrong turn of the morning takes me to Upper Caldecote where the farm shop (pictured above) shows minus 1 degree. Brrrr. It’s coming up to 0900 and I should get to Beeston in time to head back home.

Once through Brandon Brook the road carries on to the A1. Where’s Beeston? It should be here. Confused that this village must be smaller than Beadlow I take a photo to show that I was where Beeston should be for the record and consider going home. But it doesn’t seem right: I want my sign.

Back in Brandon Brook and I am looking at houses to look for signs life. There’s someone mucking out the stables. Our eyes meet. Bodies both hot and sweating, both slightly out of breath. I shout, “Where can I find the village of Beeston?”

“Up this lane”, she replied, “but be careful – it’s icy!” Oh how astute they are in this part of Bedfordshire.

Leaving her to her horse poo I thank her for the directions and head less than a mile down the road into a village bordering the A1 called Beeston.

There was no sign to Beeston nor a sign to tell you that you’re there. Just a notice board on the green showing the Beeston Task List. The next “task” is to do litter picking on the green in March. A few photos, a text message to say that I need not hurry back, a banana and a drink an I head out of Beeston for home.

Despite the sun being out the roads remain bad. A slightly different route back takes me down to Shefford. The road is icy in shaded areas, but flat enough to trundle along for a few miles at 18mph. In Shefford I go through the High Street only to find another burst water main providing even more challenge to the cobbled sleeping policemen. I wobble precariously until I reach a sign for Campton for cycles only. I know that it’s the most direct route and follow the road until it turns into a subway under the A507. Up the other side and I am back on the lookout for potholes and ice. I see something in the middle of the road but pay no attention until the PF visits. Psssssst and within seconds the front tyre is flat. The item in the middle of the road was a broken beer bottle. Small shards of glass are across the whole of the road.

Fifteen minutes later and I am back on the road again after swapping out the inner tube. I fear that I should set a goal for the shortest time that I can fix a puncture as I am sure to be well versed by the end of the year.

The route home takes me back through Barton for the third time in as many weeks. I make it home with 10 minutes to spare and take over parent duty. But at nearly 52 miles that’s another town and goal cleared. Next stop Biddenham (in Bedford).

http://www.bikely.com/maps/bike-path/Dunstable-to-Beeston

51.9 miles, 3 hours 46 minutes, 13.7 mph average.