I am duty bound to report a worrying trend on our Wednesday evening excursions - motor tourists.
It has long been the case that at least one of our number had confused the beer and bikes ethos with some form of dining club, often involving the use of motorised transport. Not only has said member now extended this into motorised delivery and collection from our chosen venue but he is also enticing some of our more stalwart riders into joining him in his heretical ways.
Last night's trip to the Chappel Beer Festival marked a new low in such behaviour. Poor old Jan van Speijk was the only member of the Witham peloton as he wound his lonely way through the lanes. Meanwhile the previously reliable the Hustler was luxuriating in the back of Joergen's limo as they sped through puddles splashing cyclists, joggers and dogwalkers alike while throwing grapes at peasants. At least we had a visit from one half of Jemango - sadly the bald chortling half. The night was also brightened by an even rarer sighting of the lesser-spotted the Strangler who felt able to manage the 10 miles back to Serial Killer Hall on his actual bike despite being at a train station that would have taken him home. The Hustler and Joergen could learn a lot from a stout Celt like the Strangler - that is, if they could actually understand what he was saying.
It was a fairly quiet night at the festival which meant that not only did we not have to queue but also that there seemed to be a full selection on offer. A variety of ales were sampled with particular highlights being the Dark Drake oatmeal stout from Dancing Duck and the Ginger Beer from Hadrian Border. I unilaterally gave the Quaffers' Choice Award to Shingle Bay by Salcombe Brewery. I just couldn't bring myself to consult full-time committee member the Hustler and first substitute Joergen as they lounged recumbent on the benches in their top hats and cravats. It would have been difficult to tie down Joergen in any event as he was in full festival mode, rushing between tents and counters with his spreadsheet and highlighter pens whilst gobbling different gourmet offerings and slurping down ever increasing ABV beers - he topped out with a stout at 9% which I think even had his mighty constitution starting to
shudder. The pair of them certainly took full advantage of the collection service kindly provided by Mrs Jiber. There was one bright spot when a group of younger drinkers mistook Joergen for being from Cornwall. Quite how you confuse a Dutch deep house DJ with a south westerner is hard to fathom but it seemed to amuse them.
Meanwhile I was recruiting for the ACME Catapults Arrows squad. I think I have pre-contract agreements from the Strangler and the Hustler but Fandango was very non-committal. He remains bitter about our previous success where our route was 398km thus depriving him of a precious point. He also has continuing grumbles about the fact that we stopped at the Sainsburys in Spalding to don actual warm overnight gear. Apparently gloves, leg warmers and jackets are frivolous affectations on an overnight ride in April.
Before we knew it, a CAMRA volunteer who was clearly Asterix the Gaul was trying to usher us out of the venue.
Fortunately for those of who bothered to come by bike it was a mild and dry ride home with none of the unexpected rain dumps that we had experienced on the way there. The blustery winds made life interesting but were mainly helpful. It will be some months before we are back in sandals and short sleeves on the way home.