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Thursday 3rd May. Mangotsfield to Bradford on Avon. Report from Pete Campbell: Oh no! Bill called in sick with a urinary tract infection which sounds bad to me (never having had one) and is apparently worse. He's feeling better than he was now that the antibiotics are helping but we're not sure when the Giant will be back on the road. Also on the subject of sickness, Alex has been fitted with a pacemaker so we can expect bionic performances from him when he's back with us. So with Bill being on the sofa with a cup of tea, you're having to make do with my idea of what today's faster ride was like. When people are being asked to lead a ride, I always like to say that the format is "entirely up to you - as fast or as slow as you like, up as many hills as you like." Some look for a flat route, some take a leisurely approach with maybe a stop for a cultural interlude. Martyn was leading today, so it was likely we'd be at the faster end of the spectrum. Steve had arranged a less intense ride for any sensible people turning up at Mangotsfield station, and he had a few takers. So a group of maybe fifteen or sixteen left in the direction of Pucklechurch. Before the village Chris Hume realised he'd thought today's pace would be the normal Thursday pace (what a mistake) and turned back. After climbing the Hinton bypass Mike Sennett realised he'd also made the same mistake and decided to make his own way to Bradford on Avon. And the rest of us pushed on with the speed (according to Rambr) not dropping below 12.7 mph all morning and averaging around 15 mph. Which, I have to say, was exhilarating. The only stop I remember was crossing the A46 where helpful motorists let us over. If you want to know where we went, look at the map. It didn't really matter which pretty Cotswold villages we went through, or how many drifts of bluebells we passed: the riding was everything. We reached the Lock Inn Cafe at 12:15. Steve's group were already in the garden. I'd reserved the boat for us which is very practical when its raining, but today the sun persuaded us all to sit by the canal, with shade trees for those who prefer to keep the sun off their heads. Like Steve I tried the Maiden Voyage from the Great Western Brewing Company which he liked, I liked, and also the 2018 South West regional beer festival which gave it a gold medal. Martyn's route home was mostly flat and partially muddy, along the canal towpath. Mark Brough thought that some lanes south of the canal would give a cleaner route, albeit with a few extra hills thrown in. I decided I have better things to do this weekend than cleaning my bike again (Cheltenham Jazz Festival for one) so I went with Mark, Chris Ludlum and Andy Short up and down some monster hills through Westwood, Freshford and Limpley Stoke, meeting the muddy flat earth boys just north of Midford going into the Two Tunnels. A tiring day, and I got dropped on the cycle path on the way back to Bitton - I couldn't keep up. I blame the jerk chicken at lunch. Today's fast and lumpy route- touch here. Thursday 3rd May. Mangotsfield to Bradford on Avon. Moderate paced ride, report from Steve Hicks: Just a select group of four for our moderate paced ride today with Don Ford and Richard Harman both away and Phil Warry electing to wait for Roger Bird and make their own way to Bradford on Avon. Departing from Mangotsfield we headed east along the cycle path, negotiated the A36 crossing and made for the Two Tunnels and Midford where we ducked under the bridge and turned left into Midford Lane. This was the first significant climb of the day rising 300 feet in just over a mile however traffic on the lane was minimal so we were each able to do our own thing regarding pace and regroup at the top. Skirting around Limpley Stoke and crossing the A36 for the second time we descended into Freshford. Everyone heeded the warning not to miss the two left turns ‘Dark Lane’ and ‘Church Hill’ in Freshford and we soon found ourselves passing The Inn at Freshford which has the ‘Peter Ralph Seal of Approval’. Climbing out of Freshford again, a lady in an open top Mazda MX5 came alongside. “I’ve got one of those” called out Peter, perhaps hoping he might get a lift or a tow up the hill. No such luck as the lady sped off leaving us to plod ever upwards unaided. We avoided the lane to Iford and headed up Staples Hill where Alf decided some rare roadside flora required closer examination and dismounted. Peter was then baulked at the narrowest point by the weekly bus to ‘who knows where’, meanwhile Nisha was proving the benefits of her recent altitude training in Tenerife as she disappeared in front of us in true ‘Queen of the Mountains’ style. We then turned to Upper Westwood, another of those quaint Bath stone villages that are dotted around the hillsides in this part of the world. Passing the turning to Avoncliff we began to reap the benefit of all that climbing as we coasted down into Bradford on Avon, arriving early at around 11.45. We opted to sit in the garden of the Lock Inn rather than take up the reserved seating on the boat but no worries as the staff were quite happy and provided excellent service as we have come to expect at this somewhat quirky venue. My pint of Maiden Voyage from GWB at Hambrook went down very well accompanied by the house chilli-con-carne. We took the traditional route back; along the towpath to Dundas, up through Monkton Combe School, through Monkton Combe village and Tuckingmill to pick up the cycle path and back through the Two Tunnels. And for Steve's sensible route, touch here. Thursday 10th May. Ashton to Clevedon. Report from Peter Metelerkamp: The writer of the report was challenged to emulate James Joyce or Virginia Woolf. In the circumstances, perhaps a short report means good news, and will be met with relief. Clevedon from Ashton via Bristol Airport: enough of a commodius vicus of recirculation to satisfy the demand for a “James Joyce” effect? Whether that was what Chris Ludlum had in mind or not, it was what he chose. First the assembly of 22 gathered at Ashton on a cool early summer’s morning. Chris and Don Ford outlined their respective plans. A natural, amicable, and self-selecting separation took place between those who followed the Ludlum line and those who chose the (Don) Fordist path. The eminent Don took his group up via Failand, while the Ludlumites toddled down through Long Ashton on the cycle path, into the Festival Way (can someone please tell me what makes it “festive”?) before the single but by no means trivial essay of Backwell hill. The climb saw the usual regular swapping of places with new joiner Peter who was riding with us for the first time showing he might find us a bit on the weak and slow side (although our Mountain royalty weren’t out in force). Thence it was onto the Brockley Combe road, left onto the Pines golf course road, round the back of Lulsgate and down via Redhill to Wrington. That took care of the inescapable BTOTC requirement for a dash of eccentricity and a hill. Thereafter the route took a more predictable line, turning West via Yatton and across the Kenn moors to Kingston Seymour. By this time the day had achieved a temperate sunny glory, unsullied by rough winds, sufficient to challenge Will’s verdict on May and Kingston Seymour was dressed in its Postcard Village best, with stream, blossom, cottages, spaniel dogs, SUVs, etc. etc. The venue of the day was The Salthouse pub in Clevedon. Although overlooking its own car-park and with its back to the sea, it seemed salubrious enough, for those who chose to dine under the umbrellas on the terrace. (But they did not, by the look of it, eat with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls - even Joycean tribute does have its limits). One of us, sedulously obeying the signs, chose to retreat to a bench on the seawall near the fancifully named “sea lake” (i.e. pool sheltered from the muddy waters of the bay) to eat his sandwiches and drink from his thermos in the indulgent sunshine. But soon, as they say, it was time to leave. And now the pattern of allegiance shifted as so often happens after a good meal; this time it was the venerable Ford who drew followers to his court and the majority chose his route back via Nailsea.The Ludlumites were reduced to seven and then six and then five. We left via the bourgeois complacencies of Upper Clevedon (they must call it that?) and followed Norton/Caswell lane (as dry and rideable and stable-spillage free as it has been for years, it seemed) to Portbury. Then Chris (such is true leadership) cunningly avoided the traffic-heavy steady climb up the hill to Wraxall by taking the lane to Failand church, before further separation and eventual return to the Suspension Bridge either via further lanes or by Beggar Bush.

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