This got the five of us (myself, Keith, Charlie, Rory and 3 star virgin, Terry) out to Bedford and on the road in record time.

Lunch was booked for one o’clock so we put most of the mileage in during the morning.  And gradually, gradually, the weather improved, with the clouds drifting away and the sun breaking through.  The autumn sunlight brightened everything, even a massive field of purple cabbages.  Before lunch we visited the tiny village of Souldrop as Keith was keen to see what such a grimly named placed would like.  It turned out to be extremely pretty with a little village green.  Appropriately for Remembrance Sunday we also went through the village of Newton Blossomville with a tiny gunslit in the churchyard wall designed for the Home Guard to defend the village against the Nazi army if they had succeeded in invading in the 1940s.

Lunch was at the Bell Inn, Odell where somehow we managed to o/d on chips as each of us, unbeknowst to the others, had bought a side order of them to go with our baguettes.  Luckily we managed to eat almost all of them!

Previous attempts at this ride had been thwarted by the weather and after lunch we had headed straight back to the station.  This time, in the sunshine, we managed to put in almost another forty kilometres before we got back to the station at Bedford.  The final run-in to Bedford was along a cycle track.  When I had recced this route a couple of years ago I seem to recall the route being a bit of a maze.  This time though it seemed to work and, magically, we found ourselves back in the middle of the town and only a couple of streets from the station.

After an unpromising start it had turned into an excellent bright and cheerful day.

But I resolved to fulfil my duty by at least turning up to see if there were any takers at Kings Cross. The ride over had only a few sprinklings of light rain, which could mean that the forecasters were wrong. Or that the promised rain would come a bit later and persist throughout the day.

As soon as I got to Kings Cross the threatened downpour started in earnest. Oh dear. And nobody turned up. Oh dear again. I wasn’t going to turn back home (too late to get more sleep) and what would I do without a bike ride of some sort? Best to at least get out into Hertfordshire and see what might happen.

Then at Finsbury Park Jon McColl entrained and the vital ingredient of companionship was present. We resolved to go to Knebworth, have a cup of tea and see what was happening weatherwise.

Well, it was pretty rubbish. Not exactly enormous spheres of H2O ricocheting off hard surfaces, but not very good either. We decided to at least try to get to the tearoom at Westmill. On with the waterproofs and off via Datchworth, Aston, Walkern, Ardeley: about 25 kms in pouring rain and one puncture. Your hardmen did not flinch, but I would be lying if I said it was fun.

A change of clothing at Westmill did yours truly wonders (Ah, a fresh merino base layer!) and then, just after we left after a long break the rain slackened off.

Time to get some nice Hertfordshire miles in: Jon and I chatted about our years cycling in the area: me being partly brought up near Little Hadham, him commuting into Harlow and Bishops Stortford a bit further over to the east. The sky cleared and we even saw some wan sun for a few moments before getting back into Knebworth just in time for the hourly train.

Well worth not being put off by the weather forecast!

It’s the obvious way for the tourist to explore the city and that’s what my wife and I did when we paid a visit to ‘the salty old queen of the sea’. We were able to rent bikes at our city-centre hotel and and got a useful briefing from the desk clerk. In Denmark, a cycle is not legally a vehicle, and obeys different rules. In particular, this means no left turns at traffic lights on main thoroughfares: you must pull off to the right and wait for the lights to change in your favour. You must give way to pedestrians at the many zebra crossings, and also have lights after dark.

These are not idle rules. The police can and do pull cyclists who flout the law, we were told, and levy fixed-penalty fines of 250 kroner on each count. If you are nicked for running a zebra and turning left with no lights, that’s three offences and you face fines totalling 750 kroner. A favourite time for a police crackdown is early November, so that’s going to put a sizable hole in your Christmas-pressie budget.

Bikes are mostly the traditional sit-up-and-beg type favoured by the ’slow cycling’ movement, though some modern technology is creeping in. Though built in steel, our bikes had alloy wheels with fat 26-inch Schwalbe tyres and rolled very nicely. The built-in nurse’s lock and kickstand are invaluable for parking, but regrettably the back-pedalling rear drum brake persists.

A very wide spectrum of people use bikes, by no means all young. There is a disconcertingly large proportion of comely young blonde women (as enthusiasts of the wildly popular Copenhagen Cycle Chic website will know), many of them with a small blonde child in a rear child-seat or, if the child is larger, in the front load deck of a three-wheel cycle utility.

We were lucky to have a fine cloudless day and were able to complete a widespread tour of this graceful city of boulevards and palaces, spires and statuary. I could not imagine a better way to take in the principal sights, and it is a boon to be able to leave the bike parked with no fear of theft. One gets a strong impression of the power and prestige of the Kingdom of Denmark, whose capital dominates sea access to the Baltic Sea. In this ambition it has long been rivalled by its neighbour Sweden and there is plenty of evidence of Denmark’s past naval and military might.

Militarism has receded in contemporary Denmark and the army has abandoned much of its holdings of buildings and land either side of the defensive moat and 17th-century ramparts to the east of Christianshavn. Squatters moved in and in 1971 proclaimed the ‘Freetown of Christiania’, which continues to this day to defy ‘normalisation’ by the city authorities and remains one of Europe’s last redoubts of hippy culture.

Christiania’s city end is just behind the magnificent baroque Church of St Saviour, with its amazing corkscrew spire, and the free republic spills eastwards to the shores of the 4-km long moat, an idyllic, rural location where long-stay squatters have converted disused buildings into splendid though often ramshackle lakeside homesteads – accessible of course only by bicycle. Pausing for a rest in the busy Christiania market place, we selected some high-grade weed from a splendid display on a stall, and passed an agreeable half-hour spliffing up with some conversible locals at a nearby open-air bar. Only joking!

Copenhagen’s daily traffic flow integrates cycling to a remarkable degree. Practice makes perfect and cyclists are skilful and proficient. Their approach is practical, not sporting, and though we might be tempted to describe their mode as ’slow cycling’, they make purposeful and indeed swift progress. It was a novel experience to be overtaken elbow-to-elbow by young mums with children in back. I saw a tricycle utility with its outer front wheel cocked in the air as it negotiated a sharp bend. And when I stalled at lights in the town hall square at rush hour, unable to get my right pedal up to the start position because the wretched back-pedalling brake prevents it, the ongoing rush of Viking commuters showed no mercy!

The only misfortune was shortly after lunch, the bolt that clamps the saddle to the saddle pin sheared on a bike.  An expert team of mechanics, lead by Selwyn, was assembled to bodge it back in place.  It was more ‘Scrapyard Challenge’ than ‘Apollo 13′! Several nylon ties, bits of wire and nuts and bolts later the saddle was in place if not particularly stable.  However, Nina could sit on it and free wheel (if not pedal) to the train home from High Wycombe.

A few statistics: 76km (48miles), 845m climbing.  Map of the route here.

About eight of the Purple Peloton turned out including me, Stephen, Keith, Naomi, Phil Magnus, Rogers C and F and Kay (apologies to any I’ve missed).

I arrived at King’s Crustacean to find my seat pack had decided it didn’t want to hold on to the saddle rails any longer, but the cable tie supply at the start in St Evenage persuaded it otherwise.

The weather was superb – almost completely dry and sunny, if a bit windy.

I was in the 10.00 departure group and had my picture taken with the Mayor. I was amazed to get to Hare Street in just over two hours, and even more amazed to get to Saffron Walden before the rush – on leaving Hare Street the queue for the control was huge and hordes more riders were arriving – despite having been passed by the Flandrian Three.

Thanks to the tailwind, I rode the bit from Hare Street to Saffron Walden at an average of more than 25kph.

So, I thought, with that wind the ride back will be slow and painful. Not entirely so.

The next bit to Therfield was hard, including a long uphill drag with a howling crosswind, but I was still in good time.

The last stage back to St Evenage just seemed to fly by, although the weather turned cyclonic for a while and I stopped to get my race cape out (which caused the rain to stop in a couple of minutes, of course) and tell a couple who stopped at the same time they’d missed the Therfield control. There were great views from the tops of the climbs, with superb visibility and huge skies.

After the rain, the sky cleared and the wind dropped. Judging by the wet roads, I’d missed the worst of it.

Coming into St Evenage is IMHO the most difficult bit of navigation on the ride, especailly now thet they’ve changed the numbering system for the underpasses, and I came across a few lost, puzzled-looking souls.

I got back to Costello’s at 15.55 – my best time ever for this ride – and was in the bath by 1745. I did 122km on the day in 5h50, not including food-and-faffing time.

Thanks to Jim and all the St Evenage mob (and Therfield WI) for their usual excellent organisation.

In fact hill climbs are about the most lung bursting of all races, as I found out that weekend. I posted 2 minutes 45 seconds: a few years later when I had got used to racing, I did 2 minutes 23 seconds. The club record is under 2 minutes.

So today was to be the unofficial “not a hill climb” for us. I met Rory Rhodes, Sarah Khedouri and Jon McColl at Euston, and Nick Dean cycled out. Regrettably there was a low turn out for this and the West London DA (or is it MG?) freewheel competition, I think due to the absence of tubes to Amersham. A shame, although cold (first gloves day of the year), it was beautifully sunny in the afternoon and lots of perfect autumnal views.

From Tring it’s only a few miles to Toms Hill at Aldbury, so some warming up was in order.  I was in two minds whether to have a go – as was everybody else – as I had had a cold for the last month and was hardly in a position to do a proper time with no training. But maybe I could at least do it in less than 3 minutes… So, with rudimentary timing for our unofficial event,  the results were:

Nick Dean             2 minutes 42 seconds
Bob Davis             2     57
Rory Rhodes       3    10
Jon McColl           3    19
Sarah Khedouri     4    28

So that was pleasing for me, and I think the others found it at least an interesting experience.

Then over to Penn Street for the freewheel – 18 km up Wigginton Hill, through to Cholesbury, up gradually to St. Leonard’s, through the Lee and then on main roads to Hyde Heath. Then it’s down to the main road, through picturesque Little Missenden (but just about everything is picturesque around there), up the most pot holed road in the Chilterns to the main road and then to the top of the hill at 12.15 – to find nobody there and nobody to contact.

So up to the pub at Penn Street: halfway through a lunch what looked like some West London types going down the hill, and sure enough Rocco Richardson and Liz Creese turned up at the pub at one. Only 4 had turned up for the competition, and maybe we could have given them a run for their money. But we hadn’t felt like hanging around and so the trophy is back from Central London to West London – for now!

Then Nick went off to pick some mushrooms and the rest of us retraced steps to Tring for a 15.15 train back to Euston.

A short but very pleasant day.

It was Roy, texting to tell us he’d discovered a shortfall in the accounts – Paul hadn’t paid his 50p contribution at lunchtime! A flurry of texts were exchanged. Michael and Sue pleaded for clemency – had not Paul generously bought us coffees at lunchtime? But as an ex-policeman, sworn to uphold the law, Roy stood firm and enlisted the assistance of Tom, a professional accountant, in recovering the debt. Mortified at being thus named and shamed, Paul vowed to pay in full at the earliest opportunity. (Fortunately for him, interest rates are low at present). The accounts will be meticulously scrutinised at the AGM, to ensure the outstanding debt has been duly met.

Some may say that this is a storm in a valve cap, as the contribution is voluntary anyway. But in this time of recession, financial integrity is more vital than ever .

My ambition was to do better than my time last year (39 minutes 45 seconds) and, if possible to manage a time of 37 and a half minutes which would equal an average speed of 20mph for the 20 kilometre route. This would be my stepping stone to greater things next year when I turn 50 and aim to complete a 25 mile TT.

The Blenheim Palace route is three laps of the park. It starts with some lovely swoops and turns as you go around the edge of the palace and into the grounds of the park proper. Then there is a climb which isn’t steep but somehow saps the strength. After that a good gradual descent where you can pick up speed before a final climb that eventually brings you round to the home straight (on a slight incline). Then repeat twice more. The grounds were laid out by Capability Brown – cycling (and time trials) did not exist in his day but he had laid out a perfect route!

I realised at the end of the first lap that I would have do some serious work to get close to my target and, despite valiant and slightly crazy efforts on the final lap, I finished in 38 minutes and 25 seconds. I didn’t make my target but I did beat my personal best, and it was in the right direction.

Whither? Up the hill to Whitestone Pond. Bit of a push this, on the single speed. Hampstead Heath beckons, basking in golden light. Offroad it is then. I follow the old trail that I first beat on the Carlton track fixed, long ago. Caution on the dry dust and little pebbles that shed grip like a carpet of marbles. Up to Parliament Hill Fields, with its magnificent view clear across Central London to the North Downs beyond. I stretch out on the grass and it is so warm I doze off.

I slide off the hill and bomb down Kentish Town Road, through Camden Town and on to Regent’s Park Outer Circle, a familiar circuit. A hairy-legged ogre on a Giant comes past. I jump on his wheel and spook him for a lap. As I overtake, I am overtaken in turn by the gold-and-blue jersey of an Eagle RC. I hunker down on the bar extensions and chase. But I know this guy, and he is far too good for me, even if had my new bike and lycra instead of the 1953 Taylor and denim fatigues. I turn into the Inner Circle for a warm-down, then cross the Park on the Broad Walk, mixing with the pedestrians – it is legal now, though some scofflaws have always done it.

At exactly the appointed hour, I rendezvous with my wife at her school in Primrose Hill. Together we amble home through the back lanes of St John’s Wood.

It was the wrong bike for the hillclimb, the offroad, and the pursuit. But it was the perfect ride.

The purpose of the ride was to seek out the great drains. massive man-made waterways that criss cross the fens, The Anchor sits on the edge of the One Hundred Foot Drain; a little later we cycled along the edge of the Forty Foot Drain, both built in the seventeenth century by Cornelius Vermuyden, using the technology from his native Holland.

The big fenland sky was a crumpled grey all day although the occasional tear let a shaft of weak sunlight break through. And at one point, just after lunch it was torn open by the thunderous roar of the Red Arrows hurtling overhead!

On the ride out we battled against a massive headwind with no shelter on the open roads. A little after lunch, though, we turned about and the wind was on our backs. We bowled along ramrod straight roads as if we were riding kites instead of bikes.

At Huntingdon most of us chose to end our day’s riding but a handful decided to take advantage of the tailwind and carry on to St Neots where we had started that morning.