With the designated ride leader recuperating from Covid in Cyprus and the Vice Captain on a training camp in sunny Spain it was left to the President to “lead” the Sport Ride in sunny Gloucestershire. Those absences, and a few other missing regulars, limited the numbers so it was that three of us set off for The Nest at Trumpet – one for all and all for one. The brisk pace set by C & C (the latter hereafter distinguished as “Shining C” in homage to his polished aluminium Campagnolo groupset) had the leader doing his job from behind, calling out route directions and hoping that his voice would reach the front of the paceline. Most of the time this worked and the workload passed smoothly from C to shining C and back again but occasionally, and usually on short sharp climbs, the enthusiasm of dark C took him so far ahead he missed a turn, giving all some relief until we regrouped.
Wainlodes and Tirley Cross were the familiar route out of town, then a right turn onto Tirley Street introduced the group to the first of many “sketchy” roads that are usually avoided by the Sport ride. At Eldersfield we admired the craftsmanship of the wall builder at the Old School House then at Lowbands, proudly Chartist since 1848, we startled a rabbit busy navel gazing in the middle of the road.
The President was pleased at the apparent recovery of his legs after riding the North Coast 500, and grateful at being able to stay in the big chainring, the small one having been worn out by the Scottish coastal roads, but at Drury Lane an impromptu stop to pick up a dropped pump meant the little one had to be brought into play for the unwelcome hill start. Onwards then, through Broom’s Green to pick up the Dymock Poet’s Path #2 for the final push north along Falcon Lane to the Nest.
Prices seemed to have crept up, as they have everywhere, with a toasted teacake at £4 but one sharp eyed rider spotted carrot cake at only £1.95 and promptly ordered it to go with his tea. We’d arrived early but after waiting unsuccessfully for the B ride to join us it was time to leave, for a gentle ride home. The freshening North wind put paid to that idea, though, and we sped along the Roman Road through Little (whose boundary sign had been modified by some wag as “Mini”) Marcle. It’s surface was deteriorating badly (perhaps we should call in the Romans?) but it improved once we crossed the Ross road and was fast and smooth to Dymock. Four Oaks, Oxenhall, and Newent got the group close enough to home that the leader navigator felt confident his wingmen could be sent on ahead, but they would have none of it, easing their pace to preserve the trio. One for all, and all for one it was indeed, all the way to the Maisemore bridge where we parted ways.