Forest Row Bike Club

Ride Report

Hassocks - 30th October 2016

I awoke, went back to sleep for a short while, did one sit-up and didn’t feel any better. I mused who on earth would call a town ‘Has socks’ and got up.

The only way to cope with today’s ride would be to take my very bestest bike, which I got ready, took outside, and realised that the roads were very wet from all the fog and maybe rain that we’d had during the night. So a change of plan. Winter bike in car, drive to FR, and suffer the ride in silence. Well, maybe not silence.

Having locked my car in the car park, I arrived round the corner at the bike shop looking, I like to think, magnificent, when who should I espy across the road in my bus shelter but the lovely Sienna. It crossed my mind that she had obviously come back to see me, when I recalled the Knight in Shining Armour incident. All was not lost, however. More of that later.

Now, I know I’m not immune from perceiving some things in a way which suits me more than reality does, but I seem to remember Sienna enthusing to me about her last week’s ride, and how she had got home, had a bath and massaged her legs. I made a sterling effort to look unconcerned by trying to imagine Ann Widdecombe, and I think I may have succeeded.

Soon there was Graham and Steve. And soon after that there wasn’t Trex. But long afterwards there was Trex, so off we all could go.

It transpired that Sienna had had no difficulty with last week’s ride, and wasn’t phased at all when I suggested that in that case, we wouldn’t have to dawdle about this week. Priory Road came and went, so did the lovely descent of Chilling Street, not entirely aptly-named, as we were all warmed up nicely by now. Soon came the Ardingly sign, and I was delighted to notice that Sienna was the first to pass it, just in front of Graham, who seemed to be trying rather hard.

At some point a little later, I’m not sure exactly when, we rode past a dead animal on the road, which had apparently been out on the lash the previous Saturday evening. Trex stopped. I thought it was either because he could no longer keep up with his betters, or that he had found something to put in a sandwich for later. Not so. He advised me that it was so he could move the unfortunate animal, a young deer I think, into the undergrowth, so that any scavenging birds would not be in danger in the road. Bless! And I had thought until now, previously, hitherto, erstwhile, heretofore (that word again), that Trex was a bit of a rough diamond. In fact he is nothing more than a limp-wristed sissy. I was momentarily heartened to hear the grinding crunch of gears as he moved off, believing that he was about to kiss the gravel yet again. By a sterling effort, though, he avoided that shame.

Nearing Has socks, I alerted Trex to the fact that there was a sign there to be bagged. At the appropriate moment, ie. when Graham’s attention was elsewhere, I gave Trex the nod, and away we sped. A couple of bends were negotiated, including potholes and gravel, and suddenly we had to cross a main road, just the other side of which was the sign. At our ages, we should know better, but we threw caution away, and dashed for it. I cocked up my gears, but thankfully so did Trex, and the sign was mine. Naturally.

In the absence today of Martha and Jane, it was very pleasant to have some other female company. But once in the cafe, a frontal zip was partially undone, revealing a not unattractive décolletage, fingers were ruffled through tousled hair, and legs were crossed in a lascivious fashion. Let me say now, if you ever do that again, Trex, I shall leave the club forthwith.

We arranged our tables to suit our requirements, and ordered our breakfasts. But, if half a scrambled egg and half a tomato can be regarded as a breakfast, then Sienna had a breakfast.

Not long afterwards, Sienna interrupted me to speak about herself again. She mentioned how last week her leg had taken ages to stop bleeding. Having been reminded, the gallant Trex asked if he could have the bandages and the plaster back. What planet is the KiSA on?

At some point on the way home, I couldn’t resist mentioning the fact that I had beaten Graham to the Hassocks sign. The sad loser tried to counter that by claiming that he had beaten me to the Westmeston sign. Well, that may be true, but I wasn’t trying for that one.

Later on, the temperature had climbed quite a bit, and I eventually had to remove my outer layer. Previous experience has taught me that in such circumstances the said top and contents, when tied round the midriff, keep drooping down. But, if stuffed down one’s tights, are completely safe, even if exposing one to ridicule. I can’t begin to explain some of the comments about the deposits in my trousers. Let’s leave it there.

I’m very happy to report that this week’s ride concluded with a zoom down Priory Road, with a charged-up Trex going for the final sign of the day. I gave it just enough to look like I was going for it too, before, at the end, Trex asked where on earth the sign was. What a pity that there isn’t one. Ha, ha, and another ha.


If you took part in a ride, why not write a report? The more florid the language, the more inflated the hyperbole, the more tumescent the innuendo, the greater your chance of winning the FRBC Prize for Original Plagiarism.

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