Half a dozen riders turned out for the moderate ride, with another five and a half braving the Tempo challenge. Why the half? Paul had suffered a puncture in his front wheel. We followed them east out of town when, for some reason at Sneedham’s Green, I developed an earworm as Peter Gabriel’s voice sang out: 🎶Six saintly shrouded men came across the lawn slowly🎶. The green was cropped short by its sheep, but could hardly be called a lawn, and as for the rest? Our waterproofs could have been shrouds and the buffeting of a southerly wind certainly meant that we were not fast but our six included a lady and I am not sure we would all pass the saintly test, proving that earworms are no slave to accuracy.
Horsepool’s Hill took us to Edge, a new road for Theo (at least while under his own steam), then a gusty crosswind caused him some excitement on the descent as he developed (and thankfully safely managed) a speed wobble.
Passing our second café option at Salmon Springs, the leader’s hints to abandon were ignored, so he didn’t’ even bother pointing out the Costa Coffee at Stratford Park where we ducked and dived through a car park for a picture of a viaduct for Alastair, on our way alongside the Painswick Stream towards the disused Nailsworth branch line’s cycle track. One rider, worried about debris from the stormy weather, chose the main Bath Road while the others passed alongside the swollen Nailsworth Stream on NCN 45.
After the scare on the descent from Edgemoor the planned route over Nympsfield and down Frocester Hill was abandoned, making Nailsworth’s Canteen a logical and attractive location for our coffee stop. It was busy, but a table for all six was found where the hot food was awaited with increasing anxiety. No need to worry, though, for when it came there was enough to share around and still leave some on the plate.
Rather than retrace our outward route or use the Bath Road we headed toward the W then swung onto Watledge Road for a scenic ride (yes, the clouds had finally cleared) to St. Chloe, passing the former residence of the Welsh poet W.H. Davis.
“What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.”
Next, we were halted on our path by a bystander with words to the wise, telling us of a bull being loose in the lane. Having climbed so far, we were loath to retreat and inched forwards. Much relief came when we saw the beast safely corralled in a field. Reaching Amberley Cross we again became aware of the wind so the leader, after taking us past The Bear, chose the lee side of Rodborough Common, past Butterow Gate where, fortunately the toll of 3d is no longer charged for “every carriage chair, gig, whiskey hearse, litter or other such carriage”.
Along the Frome valley we finally reached the Horse Trough and began to get some welcome assistance from the wind. We positively flew up the Col de Stroud Green, hardly needing the enticement of beverages at the Beacon Inn that were enjoyed by several of the group. The Captain was later sighted on his way there, but since he had not started at Kings Square it was “null points” for his Dancey Trophy score.
Altogether, it had been a much better ride than augured.
MT