This is Chuffy's write up from the 2003 edition (and I'm sure that the C+ jersey handover was 2003) - slow day here so I'll look through my pictures.
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Dunwich Ho! A Gentleman Remembers…
Ah, pretty young things, pull up a hookah and let your dear old Uncle Chuffy tell you a tale. It was in the Summer of 02, or was it 04? I forget. Claret can do terrible things to a chap, especially ‘Whiffy’ Hogfoot. Poor beggar drowned in a barrel of the stuff. Mind you, we did lower him in head-first to search for ‘Bingo’ Moore’s monocle. But I digress…
In an attempt to restore Vim and Vigour to the veins of British Youth, we of the League gathered in the district known to the untutored locals as ‘Ackney’. They were amazed to see so many fine and upstanding specimens of Homo-Velocipidii and the related sub-species Homo-Recumbentii gathering in the grounds of the Tavern on the Park and Made Comment. Experts from Oxford, Cambridge and Thames are currently attempting to decipher their cries of ‘owfar?’ and ‘izzitfercharridee?’.
Having negotiated the hellish streets of the capital, it was in a state of no little mental distress that I arrived and was obliged, on the orders of a notable Physician, to down a brace of pints in as quick a time as possible and also to work up a manly sweat in the company of La Belle Dame Pike. In order to achieve this degree of healthful perspiration we duelled with sticks. Anything else would have been Sordid and Unspeakable (but jolly good fun, what?). Honour satisfied I sat me down and was delighted to renew my acquaintance with many of my fellow Gentleman Cyclists, viz:- Master Gates, the Noble Timli, dear old Nutters, Evil-Kiwi, Robgul the Tall, Sir Stephen the not-on-the-Forum, Fixedwheelnut (at whose mighty calves we do worship), Mr Bag, that German breakfast chappie, dear potty old Strutters and of course, that demented Loon, Naggers…Fortunately there were also many Ladies present to dilute the raw testosterone emanating from the Gentlemen’s muscular physiques. I was delighted to pleasure my eyes by gazing upon (not in order of Beauty) Mistress Ravenbait, Mrs Pike, the Delightful Miss Charlotte and her Extraordinary Chariot (with concealed bananananananananananna compartment) and, of course, the graceful and swan-like Madam Baggy.
Around the park we swooped and twittered, like bewildered swallows, until by some act of Mass Impulsion we headed for the Blue Bridge and began our escape from the diabolical clutches of Dame London. Any thoughts of League sodality flew rapidly out of the window, but not as fast as Ms Sam, Mad Naggers and the sundry others who vanished into the gloaming at a rate of knots.
I feared not. I merely tossed my head, uttered a manly ‘Eek!’ and ripped onwards at a breath-taking 15mph. Thus was the pattern set for many miles. I, clenching my trusty churchwarden between my teeth as I pedalled sturdily onwards, they thrusting ever on at a pace that seemed both Continental and unnecessary. It was at this point that I realised that I had made my customary mistake with respect to roadside refreshments. As usual I had packed chewy cereal bars with their distressing ability to reduce the most rugged of jaws to quivering jelly. Poor old Nando the houseboy had been left quite at home, with naught but the lads from the YMCA and a pot of Assos chamois cream for company when he should have been at his master’s side in the rickshaw bearing silver tureens of steaming kedgeree, Chicken Jalfrezi, Brown Windsor Soup and a naan bread the size of a table-cloth.
Night falling and the spirits lowering I hauled myself on, mile by painful mile, for some time holding the wheel of a slender chap in blue. Briefly we pedalled side by side, he whippet thin and mounted on a machine constructed from rare elements and the thongs of angels, myself on a sturdy beast of burden made of refined iron and lead. “Do you cycle much?” he asked. Restrained by the Code of the League I managed not to beat him savagely with my pump, but it was a near-run thing…
And so the night wore on. Myself wheezing behind less geographically challenged members and the miles counting upwards oh so slowly…
For some time I found myself with the enviable position of being paced by Master Tim and his lady wife Mrs P. With the daunting thought of over a hundred miles before him a chap has to find solace in whatever comes within his purview. Mrs Pike’s bottom sufficed most amply and I am most grateful to it.
I also found myself admiring Ms Charlotte and her amazing Device of Many Compartments. Despite professing a most unconvincing Fear at the distance to be traversed she proved herself a most worthy member of the Intrepid Sorority and her ability to produce banananananannas from the most unlikely of hiding places reduced this Member of the League to quivering admiration.
…and so onwards.
Pausing briefly at the feeding station for a restoring draught from the trusty hip-flask full of the distilled essence of the blushful South I sallied forth in the Company of Giants. Need I name them? Oh, very well. Ravenbait, Naggers, Fixedwheelnut and…others. I tried, so very hard, to keep up with them or face Certain Doom and wandering the Suffolk countyside forever like the Flying Chuffman of legend…
I managed. Just……..
Wheezing blindly and tapping out eldritch messages in morse on my bottomed out gear levers I staggered onwards into welcoming embrace of Sister Dawn. She welcomed me with the gladsome news that Dunwich was but eight and a half miles away. I rejoiced and sped on, muscles newly envigorated and turquoise cowbell tinkling in my right ear. With one mighty bound I found myself trailing The Company of Giants into DUNWICH! And mighty was the rejoicing.
Having inhaled a bacon butty, a pot of tea, some nuts, a fair portion of Mother Bag’s Fruity Flaps and a Most Refreshing Dip (avec Mrs Pike’s tasteless two piece, dear old Nutty’s flapping baggies and Ms Bag’s deliciously filled one piece) I felt able to Hold Court (while Mrs Pike conducted hexperiments on my person) and bestow Chuffly Wisdom upon the assembled throng. Ok, so I advised a few hover-flies about Careers and Mortgages….
…but all Good Things come to pass and we had to Hurl our noble steeds into a Ghastly Black Hole and sweat upon their safe return. We sweated ourselves and the ensuing conversation…………degenerated. For which I can only apologise to Ms Charlotte and express the wish that she will still desire future contact with both myself and Master Gates…:O
Arrival at Smithfields, the usual depository of many an inanimate carcass, myself and Mistress Ravenbait hurtled forth post-haste (and many apologies to those we ignored in our departure) in order that we might catch our train from Paddington. We prevailed and had long enough at the station for us both to inhale food and for Mistress Sam to lose her prized Rudy Projects. This cast an inevitable downer on the journey home but, Hurrah! We had cycled many miles, had no punctures and had made many new friends (and cemented others).
Glory be to all who succeeded and many apologies to those who I have failed to mention. I will remember meeting you (despite being semi-comatose with Weariness) and will look forward to meeting you all next year (yes, including you, PH, Delgado, Mogden, JokeyJon (very dry, we must see more of you) ).
Sleep tight my lovely darlings,
Chuffy
xx
