Eleven of us in the blue maze at Cutty Sark Gardens, including a trio of forumengers.
With a tailwind it was mostly fast flat roads through Woolwich and past Dartford with a nautical interlude at Greenhithe. Four more waiting at Gravesend and we were fifteen. One sure way to know you're riding on the National Cycle Network is the broken glass beneath your tyres. Two flats, speedily fixed. Not so easily fixed was a snapped rear drop out on an old Dawes, forcing a improvisational repair and a wary retreat to Gravesend for the unlucky pair.
Quiet lanes on the Hoo peninsular. Charming Cooling church from which, on cue, Jools Holland, the current king of Cooling Castle, emerged. We said hello by a sad row of tiny gravestones. Inside the church, piles of strawberries from the field next door in readiness for an afternoon tea party (zero food miles).
To Yantlet Creek and views east to the London Stone and out to sea and west to the darkening storm. Rapidly soaked, then dried in the sunshine and lunch at the pub. All but three elected to return by train from Gravesend.
Rolling lanes over the Darent, through Swanley Village, emerging into the Metropolis around Chislehurst and each to their own way home. Mine, to Waterloo, and just shy of twelve hours since leaving home the odometer read 92 miles.
Eleven of us in the blue maze at Cutty Sark Gardens, including a trio of forumengers.
With a tailwind it was mostly fast flat roads through Woolwich and past Dartford with a nautical interlude at Greenhithe. Four more waiting at Gravesend and we were fifteen. One sure way to know you're riding on the National Cycle Network is the broken glass beneath your tyres. Two flats, speedily fixed. Not so easily fixed was a snapped rear drop out on an old Dawes, forcing a improvisational repair and a wary retreat to Gravesend for the unlucky pair.
Quiet lanes on the Hoo peninsular. Charming Cooling church from which, on cue, Jools Holland, the current king of Cooling Castle, emerged. We said hello by a sad row of tiny gravestones. Inside the church, piles of strawberries from the field next door in readiness for an afternoon tea party (zero food miles).
To Yantlet Creek and views east to the London Stone and out to sea and west to the darkening storm. Rapidly soaked, then dried in the sunshine and lunch at the pub. All but three elected to return by train from Gravesend.
Rolling lanes over the Darent, through Swanley Village, emerging into the Metropolis around Chislehurst and each to their own way home. Mine, to Waterloo, and just shy of twelve hours since leaving home the odometer read 92 miles.
A good ride by handsome group.
Route