One Loose Nut

If you’ve been wondering about the lack of posts it has been that time of year where a holiday without the bike has stopped any progress. Back at home on Saturday and all the good plans to get back in the saddled are, if I was truthful, delayed as the next village is Little Staughton: 31 miles and North of Bedford. Warn out I opt for a lie-in and postpone until today. The problem is that doing the one village works out to 62 miles. Adding the next two only adds on another 10 miles.

Up at 6am (no longer is it light at 5am) I head off up the road in the cool of the morning at 6.30, instantly regretting not wearing my fingerless gloves. I persevere and within 5 miles there’s enough heat to keep me warm. The roads are quiet and my usual route through Flitwick and Ampthill goes without issue. This time of the morning is the best time to see Bedford: too late for the revelers to still be up, but too early for anyone else to be around.

The route to Little Staughton takes me back through Colmworth (where I note that they have taken heed of my post and purchased a new sign). I’m now so far north in Bedfordshire I’m concerned that I may pick up a new accent (or a nose bleed at least).

Little Staughton has no remarkable features, but I note a campsite with swings – handy for the next break or weekend away.

I u-turn and head south through Colmworth again, but this time heading through Great Barford and Blunham. Blunham is hosting an attempt to get a world record for playing the longest game of cricket (see http://www.blunhamcc.20m.com/record/index.html), but as cricket’s not my bag I carry on. The route to Lower Stondon takes me through Beeston, Upper and Lower Caldecote – all places that bring back memories of the earlier (and colder) routes in the year.

Lower Stondon can’t come quick enough. The wind is building from the west and buffeting me constantly from the side. Average speed is dropping, and despite the different approach from the A600, there’s nothing to excite in the village.

Riding through the 50-mile barrier I realise that this is currently my limit and anything after the 50 miles starts to see my legs turn jelly-like. Not helped by the route from Stondon to Barton being westerly and into the head wind. From Barton it’s up hill on the A6 and down into Luton where I stop at the first town sign.

I note two things from the sign: 1) it has a coat of arms stating “Scientle et Labori Detur” (which I think loosely translates into You’d be Better Off Making a Detour); and, 2) that Luton is the “Home of the Mall” – formerly know as “The Arndale Centre”. Oddly there’s a strap line of “Shopping how it should be.” I didn’t realise that they had moved it to Milton Keynes.

I could (and should) have made a bee-line to Dunstable from here, but felt that this would not be in the spirit of visiting the towns and villages of Bedfordshire and free-wheel most of the way down into the Town Centre, enjoying the ability to use the bus lanes right into the centre of town. I even get to cycle through the pedestrianised area as this is a part of the NCR 51. Oddly, I choose to go to Dunstable via Chapel Street and over the hill through Caddington, but it was probably the more traffic-free route of the two choices.

72.6 miles – 4 hours 56 minutes – 14.7 mph – Map

Yes, I know. It’s not the weekend, and I have already done a ride on Saturday and Sunday. But with half of the year gone I am less than 50 percent of the way through the 114 villages and towns and need to get a move on. So with kids in bed a quick look at Googlemaps and I can see that the next stop, Husborne Crawley, is a mere 12 miles or so down the road. Trying to memorise the route I note that I am to take the third right after getting on the road to Woburn. Not familiar with the turn I switch to satellite mode to see that it is the turn into Woburn Abbey, through the estate, and through Woburn Safari Park. Now I know that my average speed is on the increase, but I don’t fancy my chances against any of the big cats, let alone those windscreen wiper eating monkeys.

I put up with the route to Hockliffe along the A5, turning right to Woburn and stumble upon the illusive good sign from Hockliffe. A fancy sign comparatively on the west of the village. Clearly in a position to woo residents leaving Woburn into a false sense of security that they’re entering a place almost as nice as Woburn. Oh how dissappointed they will be.

Up the hill to Woburn and through the High Street before turning right to follow the perimeter of the Woburn Estate and aforementioned Lion enclosure. Googlemap indicates that Husborne Crawley is at the junction with the pub and the school but I know that half a mile down the road is a church. Off the road and up towards the rectory is the second contender in one week for the longest village sign. I note that my average speed is over 16mph, and it too 46 minutes, and mused could I make it home in the same time?

Returning back I push. None of those granny gears when the hills came: just out of the saddle and grunt. It rewarded me well. I came through Dunstable on the A5 like a man possessed. Pedalling like mad, trying to time the lights, and pushing up the hill to home. Puffing, sweating, but feeling good.

25 miles – 1 hour 32 minutes – 16.3 mph average – Map

With a busy day ahead and the only place to cycle to being Felmersham I had made my plans to get up early so that I can get back in time for family commitments. Before going to bed I gather the usual paraphernalia to make the morning a quick and quiet exit: lights (it’s going to be before sun-up); bottles; food bar; gloves; jacket; puncture kit; tools; helmet; lock… the list goes on. I place most of it near or on my bike only to be horrified that the rear tyre is flat! In that kind of crazy-hopeful way I pump it back to 100psi to see how quickly it goes down. No hissing and no obvious pieces of glass sticking out of the tyre = good. I go to bed knowing that if it’s gone down by the morning I’ll have to fix it before leaving, and that may delay me too much to still do the ride.

At 0400 I’m back up, dressed and breakfast had and the tyre is still inflated. Fully inflated (how does that work?)! It’s dark outside, but there is enough light around for me to not worry about putting on my main lights. I head off in the cool morning towards town. I wonder if I’ll catch any of the dregs of last night’s revellers making their way home and I’m not disappointed as a guy walks sideways, almost crab-like, across West Street barely holding on to a pizza box as he tops up his carb intake for the journey home. Turning the corner and up the A5 there’s a whole fleet of taxis waiting for people to come out of the pubs. It seems alien to me: whatever happened to drinking as quickly as you could on Friday night before they rang the bell and the cry of “last orders at the bar!”, followed by the decision of Cinderella’s or home?

Leaving Houghton Regis I come across the above Fiesta in a ditch at the side of the road. As I ride past I wonder if there’s anyone in the car. After all, it may have just happened, or may have happened during the night and the driver is still inside, unable to get out. My good Samaritan side of me takes over (OK, it was sheer nosiness) and I turn back. Being green and so far in the ditch the car is not easily visible to passing cars. I peer into the window to see vacant front seats and a wheelchair in the rear of the car. Even more bizarre.

Back in the saddle I come over the M1 only to find that the road to Westoning is closed for three days. Unsure if there’s sufficient paths to go through I dutifully follow the diversion adding a few unnecessary miles to an already long trip. Rejoining the road to Bedford north of Ampthill I see a fox run across the road ahead. The roads are remarkably quiet (only one person nutty enough to be on a bike at this time of the morn) and it seems that this is the window between revellers and the morning shoppers where animals get to move around. I have seen rabbits (aplenty), pheasants, badgers, a heron and an elephant. OK, the elephant was on a sign for Whipsnade Zoo so that may not count.

At Kempston I skirt the retail park where Burger King burned down to the ground. I suppose that this is now the “former home of the flame-grilled Whopper” now. I would have stopped for a photo but need to push on. I join the A6 through Bedford and out the other side. Near Clapham the road has been named “Paula Radcliffe Way.” I wonder if this is the name of the road all the way to Kettering (or for at least 26.4 miles) but disappointed to find out that it’s only a wee road. Hmmm…

I see signs for Bletsoe and it seems an age since I was last this far “north” then peel off the A6 and head to Radwell and Felmersham. Both villages are nearly surrounded by the river Ouse. Felmersham’s a picturesque place. Quiet at 7am and a 5-arch bridge over the river (see photo album). An information board points out the dates of the bridge and the fact that Radwell’s bridge has 7 arches. I don’t stop for long before returning along the same route back towards Flitwick.

Flitwick, pronounced ‘flee-tick’ is famous for being next to Ampthill and having a Tesco Store. I pass through the town looking for the usual town sign but cannot find one. My last resort is the one at the end of the road heading to Westoning… the one that goes to the closed road. Photo done I head past the “road closed ahead” signs concerned that I may be turned back. It would be a long ride back. When I get to the village 6 inches of road surface is missing from the whole of the village. I ride through on the path before dropping back onto the road at the other side. I now feel slightly foolish that I did not do this on the way out.

By 9am I am back home with another two towns off the list. Mrs OLN thinks I am mad. My kids think I am mad. I know.

58.8 miles – 4 hours 7 minutes – 14.3 mph average – Map

I shall not repeat the usual woes of late-to-bed preparations with fruit juice (of the fermented grape variety) nor how hard it was to get out of bed this morning for an early ride. But with a forecast of rain by 1030 I head off to seek out Elstow armed with jacket and trousers (instead of shorts, in case you thought that I was one of those nude cyclists).

I head back through Ampthill still fondly remembering it as the first village on the list and thinking now how easy it is to reach compared to January. Perhaps the fitness levels are improving, or perhaps sunshine and warmer days help. Off the back of the hill I watch out for a turn to Millbrook that I’ll be taking on my return from Elstow before passing what I assume to be the old brickworks where Google had suggested I go via (someone should tell Google that you’re not allowed in there… not without a hard hat).

I’m expecting to drop into Bedford and the A6 before heading back up a hill to Elstow but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that North of the A421 are the signs in the middle of the village of Elstow. John Bunyan country.

The bike is at the foot of the sign. If you don’t believe me go to the photo album page. Elstow’s engulfed by Bedford Town, yet has really old buildings and an idyllic green. I finish off my first bottle of water somewhat bemused by the lump of drink mix that’s congealed at the bottom then return from the way that I came in search of Eversholt.

Just after Steppingley (nice looking Indian Restaurant/ex-pub there) I hear bikes approaching from behind. Soon after four members of the Luton Cycling Club glide past with ease. The first two of the peleton pass without acknowledging me as if in some kind of bike snobbery (OK, so I wear cheap Lycra and don’t have drop-handle bars) but the next two are redeemed as they say hello as they pass. Perhaps the first two were unable to talk due to the effort they were putting into the ride? Now at the back of the group I feel the benefit of the peleton as my speed increases but it’s short lived as they peel off towards Westoning and I carry on to Eversholt.

I am really surprised by Eversholt. A sleepy village with a cricket pitch in the centre and what looks like a half decent pub (make a mental note to come back here). Getting on for midday I head back for home.

On the way out of Eversholt and joining the road from Woburn to Hockliffe I see a cyclist in the distance behind in red. Downhill to Hockliffe I keep the speed on before the climb out of the village down the A5. The cyclist still follows and I keep pedalling. Faster than I normally would. He’s on a racing bike and I can see slowly but surely his reeling me in and as I come through the chalk cutting into Dunstable he sits behind my wheel for an easy ride. I call out to ask where he’s been but with the wind I can’t here his response, but as we come into town we cycle side-by-side. In a kind of back-handed compliment kind of way he asks if I’m a road cyclist. I assume from this he is complimenting fitness or speed (but as I’m not on a mountain bike and on the road it was an easy guess on his part) or that I was a part of a cycling club at some point. He was around retirement age (sorry if you’re reading this and I’m wrong) and was off to marshal a road race in Oakley tomorrow. I was too embarrassed to let him know that I was pushing because I could see him catching me.

I find out that he lives on the same estate as me and we ride back together chatting all the way. I’ve got to say it was good having the company even if 20 years my senior he clearly had more speed in him than I. As we reach my turn I ask his name just in case I pass him on the road again: “John Adams” he replies. Sounds like a good name for a beer to me.

Rain forecast for tomorrow so I doubt if I’ll be back in the saddle.

42.6 miles – 2 hours 46 minutes – 15.4 mph average – Map

The weatherman said that there was an odd chance of a shower, but with only a fifteen-mile ride planned and temperatures at 12c, and Jim the driving instructor joining me for a ride (www.jddrivingschool.co.uk) I venture off towards Eaton Bray in short-sleeved top and long trousers. Meeting Jim at Totternhoe he clearly was either cold averse (i.e. wimp) or knew something that I didn’t.

Eaton Bray was little more than a ride to the bottom of the hill. With company I decide to get in the photo for a change and as we do it starts to rain. By the time that we’ve back in the saddle and looping to Edlesborough it’s raining hard and I’m cold and wet. Rivers are starting to appear in the road and the clip on mudguards are in the garage at home. Bugger.

At Edlesborough I’m still smiling but only just. I have thoughts of heading home, but carry on to Eggington, by which time I’m a drowned rat. Jim quickly takes the last photo trying to keep the phone/camera from getting too much of a soaking, but ends up with blurred impressionistic photo.

Crazily we loop back via Leighton Buzzard and back through Eaton Bray for the third time as the rain eases. Foolishly I had mentioned the P-word during the ride and before we could get out of the village the PF paid me a visit as the rear tyre slowly let out the air. This time the culprit was a flint. The sad, wet look on my face was only made worse when I realised that my tool kit was in the back of my car at home. Fortunately Jim had his tyre levers and I had an inner tube. Fifteen minutes later and hypothermia setting in (OK, I was shaking alot) we head back up the Totternhoe hill and leaving Jim, I head for home.

Standing on the doorstep my wife said that she’d never seen me looking so bad after a ride. Especially with the amount of road dirt up the back of my shirt. A long shower and a cup of tea later and we’re somewhere near normal again. Next time I’ll take the rain jacket.

23.3 miles – 1 hour 41 minutes – 13.8 mph average – Map