It is easy to see why the Not Eastern Easy Riders sometimes have a waiting list for their Wednesday evening chill outs. A more cosmopolitan and diverse group would be difficult to find - they even count an Old Etonian among their number!
As has become my habit I set off just after 1800hrs determined to add a few miles to the 20 mile round trip to The Spiritual Home. After many years of careful consideration, not to mention much trial and error, I have found the best way in which to add extra miles to an otherwise familiar route is to keep riding away from the target public house. The evening was mild but the torrential rain we had all endured throughout the day had left many an epic puddle, some of which looked suspiciously like floods. I decided against Bumfords Lane as I was certain the Lido would be open for business, I also decided fords were to be avoided too, I find achieving 23mph on BJ the Fixie is difficult so attempting to ford a ford would be bound to end in disaster.
I arrived at The Compasses bang on 2000hrs to find none of my chums present. A member of josser's crew carefully sanitised my picnic bench, on which I immediately deposited copious amounts of sweat, whether this made the said garden furniture more or less coronavirus friendly I cannot judge. Dee took my beer order, she also pointed out I was sat at the wrong bench, there was one marked "ACME" in the corner. Internally I bristled, Wednesday evenings aren't ACME events they are MEMWNS events so to calm myself I ordered a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
Then, just like the shopkeeper in Mr Ben, jibers appeared. To me he looked much as he always does, a bit scruffy and decidedly northern, but he was keen to point out he was different. He wasn't wearing lycra but civvies; he was practicing for his new job which doesn't allow the wearing of cycle specific clothing. I shall leave you to guess what jibers' new job is, some of you may know already, but if you need a clue I can reveal a DBS check is required, apparently jibers has passed his, clearly that unfortunate incident with the alpaca was successfully swept under the carpet.
Minutes later Tomsk arrived complaining of wet feet, he'd encountered some of the epic puddles I mentioned earlier. Tomsk, despite his mild mannered appearance, has the capacity to surprise and so it was yesterday evening. Lately he has been riding through the centre of Cambridge, following audax routes cunningly devised by that scallywag Wilky Boy. Cambridge, along with many conurbations, is full of twonks on bicycles not looking where they are going, and pedestrians being equally careless. Tomsk confessed he found them increasingly tiresome and had on occasion raised his voice! I looked at Tomsk with what must have been an expression somewhere between amusement, horror and bewilderment. Was Tomsk about to admit he'd actually sworn at someone? I therefore asked Tomsk to clarify the words he'd used, perhaps I was about the hear an Anglo Saxon expletive sally forth from Tomsk's carefully trimmed beard! Not a bit of it! The aforementioned careless cyclists and pedestrians found themselves admonished with a stridently delivered "I say!" and tinkle of Tomsk's bicycle bell and a stern Paddington stare!
The first pints dispatched and Nick, not Nik's Nick, or even Nik himself but the other Nick arrived from the gloom. The splendid fella had ridden all the way from Ongar cos that's where he lives. As far as I know its a long way away, somewhere to the west but not as far west as London. Nick's rear tyre hadn't behaved well at all and was soft as opposed to hard. The best sort of tyres are the hard variety. Anyhow, he and jibers then talked about engineering. Their conversation about engineering was rudely interrupted by josser who had arrived in his electric car so nursed a sad looking half for the remainder of the evening whilst telling us about the current plight of the licenced trade - it's dismal I'm afraid chaps.
Eileen and occasionally Dee, both looking fetching in their visors, were keen to ply us with beer, we were keen not to appear rude so by the time we left I had imbibed 3.5 pints and having not eaten very much beforehand was feeling a little wobbly as I threw my leg over BJ to pedal home. The ride home, like the ride from home, was a solitary one, but nonetheless enjoyable. Much thanks go to the team at The Compasses, long may you service our needs, and to my fellow MEMWNS riders, may you always have Mid-Essex pubs to visit. Strange and tough times we live in
