Elmden TOIL

The actual ride and its epic mountainness is documented  here

This is the pretty pictures bit.

The ride started heading out Madingley road, taking in the misnamed Madingly Rise, a muur of a hill before heading into the nasty headwind


Following the villages through Barton and Haslingfield (watching out for baby hedgehogs, of which I saw non. Boo)

befure heading up Chapel Hill, another epic 50m of climb affording me this view into Hertfordshire A side trip to the Millennium Meridian marker (very similar to the one near Bourn)

and back into Melbourn (without the e and not in Australia). It's a bit rural!

Ever south and into Herfordshire through Barley before a left turn brought me to a surprise windmill in Great Chishall.

It's a post windmill. Not sure why it has the rear vane on it as the idea is that it's manually rotated into the wind on a post (as opposed to a tower where the top of the windmill rotates based on the tail rotor.

It's around this point I hit the heady elevation of 141m. In reality the hills as they were, were sharp and nasty. Yes I even dropped to 2mph at one point and dabbed once. However what did for me was the diesel and water on filthy roads. So much so that in Arkesden, 34 miles in my front wheel just went, I did 10 yards on my helmet before slamming onto my back. Fortunately no witnesses. The main reason for this ride was to make it up Elmden, Essex Hill, part of the London to Cambridge bikeride, run by Bike Events this year on 22 July. It's always been the sting in the tail. Turns out it's quite the sweetie compared to some of the other routes.


A quick run across the M11 to Ickleton, Sawston bypass and onto the DNA Path or NCN11 for the dullards. Here's the art

Obligatory helmet shot. Insert your own jokes. And sympathy. And cake

Did anyone pack your bag for you?

A Wednesday night in a hotel in an industrial park in Delhi. It's 21h00. Three British engineers in a bar in Delhi. It sounds like a joke. A Scot, an Englishman living in Scotland for so long he's got the accent and me. A gentle beer or two and peanuts. The usual chitchat.

In walks Christine; a tiny American of Korean extract I'd spoken to at the bar the previous night. It's her last night before she heads home. Just a quick beer to be polite before she heads home, her flight at 03h00, taxi booked for 0h15.

22h comes and goes and the beer and chat carry on. Nothing consequential, just really good company. 23h comes and goes and I'm sure she has it all in hand. All until the double Jack Daniels and coke come out. Not me, I'm not daft. But the other three are polishing them off like nothing. By midnight, it's time to step up. The boys have had 7 each, she's had 11. The only hint that she's been on the pop is she's fairly relaxed about her flight.

"Better get you packed" someone suggests, so the four of us pile into her room. "Want something from the mini-bar?" she says. She's not packing. So two of us start emptying her room into her cavernous suitcase. Makeup, clothes, lingerie. Then the phone rings "Shh, it's my husband". The three of us are looking at each other trying not to snigger. A number of apologetic excuses, yes, you can tell she's fairly gone.

Converse recovered from the suitcase we finally pour it and her into a taxi. She just emailed me saying she slept the whole trip to Frankfurt. At her next transfer in the US she was asked "Did anyone pack your bag for you?"