“Dulwich Hamlet came out with a victorious 2-1 win against Havant and Waterlooville in a tightly contested match at Champion Hill on Saturday. The match was played in support of International Women’s Day and Her Game Too, with Dulwich wearing specially commissioned shirts to be auctioned off for charity.”
On Sundays we ride.
I had the day set aside for a big old bicycle ride. I’ve been playing around with some GPX download sites.
I loaded up a ride that was optimistically called Ride of the Crocuses. I had no interest in looking at the silly crocuses, even if they were out on a very overcast south London morning.
The route looked half decent. It took in parts of Richmond Park, before then heading back in towards the centre of town and around Westminster.
I’ll have bit of that I thought.
And so I have snaffled up the file and loaded up into Strava, ready to then be displayed on my Velo Beeline 2.
The starting point was on the north side of Clapham Common. I headed over there and waited for the Beeline to pick up the location on the map. The Flute Man of SW8 was giving his Sunday Service at the gyratory.
It didn’t get off to a very good start when the Beeline took me towards the direction of Tooting. No, thank you. I turned around.
I managed to pick up the magic arrow which was guiding me in the rough direction as to where I should go. Soon I was in Earlsfield. I’ve never been to Earlsfield before. I doubt I will ever go back.
The route became a little hit and miss. I soon became aware that I was pretty much freelancing and not following the arrow where I should be.
I passed some geezers in Fulham scarfs. Oh, I thought. I must be close to the river. I could sense it but I couldn’t see it.
The landscape then changed once again. Fulham scarfs were replaced by bloody golf bags. Oh dear.
I ended up near Wimbledon. There was a bastard hill to climb. This isn’t what my Decathlon folder was meant to do.
I approached Wimbledon Common and some extremely posh townhouses. That would explain the golf clubs. It wasn’t for me. Time to turn back.
Rain was in the air and I hadn’t seen any crocuses. I did see some bloke riding a Boris Bike wearing a kilt. Chapeau to you, Sir.
Finally I found myself down by the river. I was going at a leisurely pace. I was overtaken by two crews of rowers along the Old Father.
I paused the route on my Beeline. This ride ain’t going nowhere. I’m going home. I set in a course to take me back to Sunny Stockwell.
And so I didn’t get to see any crocuses, but I did get a decent 40 km bicycle ride. I confess to riding a little around the back streets of SW8, just so that the Strava counter could tick over to the magical 40 km mark.
Job well done, Jase.
Back at base and eBay pinged me saying I managed to flog off a 1995 copy of the NME. The Stone Roses are the cover stars. Any old tat, etc.
I caught the final stage of Paris Nice. It wasn’t exactly Stockwell Earlsfield. I know who got the better day in the saddle today.
