No breakaways, raw power absorbed by gloopy mud, and no sprint finish. What kind of cycling is this? asks The Wattmeister.
The foreignness of MTB’ing will take some getting used to, but names like Eelpie Lane, Puddledock Lane and Pootings Road, are reassuringly English in essence, and the views over the Weald of Kent from hidden cuttings on the wooded escarpments made it all worthwhile.
Sightings of deer, and the cry of a kestrel being chased by a magpie made a welcome change from the chaingang. A moated house, a local brewery, a condemned home for alcoholics all lay on the fine route devised by ‘Gentleman’ Bill Chapman.
Let there be no mention of the falls nor the frequency with which The Wattmeister was stranded in a gigantic muddy bog. With each immersion, the Hippopotamus Song by Flanders and Swann with its catchy chorus “mud, mud, glorious mud” became more apposite.
A great day out in magnificent countryside….could it catch on?