It was a glorious morning as I ventured out to meet the Club at morning stop at Ware. A fresh route for me along the towing path along the river Lee from Hertford to Ware, and what a treat it was. The path turned out to be hard surfaced, if a little bumpy, and followed a spectacular winding route to and from the river, around woodlands and playing fields to the familiar sight of the Ware backs with their grade two listed gazebos. There were plenty of pedestrians and other cyclists using the path but everyone seemed cheerfully tolerant of one another. However, I did regret having recently chucked away my bell, which had given up on me, without replacing it.
     It was still quite early so I made a few local detours in the bright sunshine before clocking in to Kelly Anne's café, where I found Alec already ensconced. Soon we were joined by Bernard, Jim and Richard, who was out on his first run. The first and second rounds of tea and toast came and went and we were about to rise when Terry arrived. As a measure of respect to our new President a further round of elevenses was procured. Thus consumed we were looking forward to getting back on the road when Terry's main course was served up.
     We sat there a further interminable period discussing world events. Every now and then Terry would take time off to munch on his two enormous toasted hot dogs, whilst others anxiously glanced at maps gauging distances and checking watches!
     When we did finally make way for those customers starting to arrive for lunch the consensus was that we had left it too late to get to Hare Street and would make for the 'Plough' at Great Munden. We bade farewell to Bernard who was returning home and headed north up the long drag out of Ware.
     Jim and Richard were obviously in spirited form and were soon two diminishing dots, disappearing altogether by the time we reached Thundridge. Rather than turning right at that point, where Jim had optimistically wanted to go, the rest of us continued on to High Cross and then turned left along the narrow lane towards Sacombe. Soon after leaving the village we swept round a bend and ran into a brick wall, or so it seemed, for this is where the little Hertfordshire lane loses its identity and pretends it's a hairpin bend on the Stelvio! Alec and Terry neatly engaged their dinner plate sprockets and smoothed their way up, whilst I was left to slug it out on my 64 inch fixed. (Who's that saying "more fool you!").
     At the top it became heaven again as we spun along through the quiet traffic free countryside, through Sacombe Green, round the sweeping bend and down the long hill towards Dane End. The sky was clear blue and the sunshine brilliant with a little wind, but I did feel my rear wheel twitch a bit where the hedgerow shadow had not relieved the road surface of traces of ice.
     We arrived at the 'Plough' and installed ourselves at the bar. The theatre organ in the restaurant area at the end of the bar was tootling away and, combined with the busy chatter created a pleasant atmosphere as we ordered drinks and food. Soon Jim and Richard arrived having ridden via Cold Christmas and Barwick before turning westwards across the A10 towards the pub. Richard commented on how relatively strongly Jim had been riding, but our initial reaction might have been that Jim had been giving a working over, but somehow their body language told a different story. With Jim looking even more frayed around the edges than normal and tall athletic Richard breezily bright eyed and bushy tailed, one could easily conjure up the scenario - Jim attempting to establish his superiority and Richard enthusiastically joining in the fun but wondering why Jim's conversation was getting more stilted! No doubt they enjoyed themselves (well Richard anyway) without we three SOB's getting in the way.
     Over lunch we discussed the towing path that I had taken before morning stop and agreed that audible warning was desirable, particularly when over taking other cyclists and pedestrians. Terry waxed lyrical about the old R.T.T.C 'ping' bell. I explained that I had only just removed my ancient version as my attempts to stop it rattling had degraded its acoustic sonic qualities, or as Jim put it, I had b------d it up. The last named member uses a raucous bulb hooter and I must point out that there is no truth in the rumour that he allegedly unscrewed it from his neighbour's toddler's toy go-cart.
     There was I, basking in the atmosphere of the country pub, with comradeship and conviviality of my fellow members when I was rudely brought back to earth by President Tel suggesting that I write the club run report! Rapidly gathering myself together, I grasped several convenient straws and built up an instant cast iron case against the suggestion. I let it be known that in no circumstances whatsoever was I going to write any dammed report. Dictator Tel's response came like a finely honed stiletto, in a low, cool undertone "listen Bunter…." Those dreadful words cut through the loud ambient noise comprising the hubbub of the bar, Alec snoring gently on the sidelines, Richard chatting up the waitress, the organist reaching the final crescendo of Ravel's "Bolero" and Jim slurping his soup… "either you write the report or you buy the next round of drinks..".
     Rather reluctantly we eventually rose for the ride back. We waited patiently for President Tel to vacillate over whether to gather up his belongings or go to the loo. He chose the latter, carefully examining and analysing every leaflet on a huge notice board on the way. Then back from the loo to his belongings (via the board again) and generally fiddling and f.f.flatulating around until, at last, with saddlebag packed we were on our way.
     The Sun was sliding now into a beautiful golden haze and the countryside was crisping up as the cold night was preparing to close in. There was no wind as we pedalled through the idyllic lanes along to Dane End. We dropped further down the lane through Sacombe when on a narrow blind bend we singled out for an approaching car. To our amazement another car tried to overtake us on the bend and, coming face to face with the oncoming car, pulled over nearly sweeping us into the ditch. This was where our new President Tel really showed his leadership from the back, when he fairly exploded with a violent stream of loud expletives - the like of which I have not heard on a club run for some 40 years; ever since Rob found his bike dangling, apparently inaccessibly, from a rung half way up a telegraph pole near Barkway! Terry's vociferous retort sobered us all up as he shepherded his flock onto the Watton to Ware road.
     Turning towards Chapmore End overeager Richard, on his high tech hybrid bike, had gone some 100 yards ahead when to our dismay, he leapt off his machine and desperately fumbled in his shoulder bag. "Oh dear …" we thought, "… the poor lad has a received a severe dose of the knock - on his first club run too. Oh well we've all been there". We speeded up to get to him quickly. "Oh good he's found a Mars bar… funny, he's sticking the Mars bar in his ear… he must be in a terrible state". "You OK Richard?" we all chorused as we reached him. "Yeah I'm all right, I had to answer me mobile" :-@ ;->!.
     Pressing on, we passed the 'Three Tuns' at Chapmore End - now looking very sad. That lovely halt of earlier years was being tarted up out of all recognition as some upmarket private house. I remembered the several occasions we had morning stop there and one sunny day in the 1960's when it had virtually been the club's headquarters for a long distance road race we promoted on the Watton, Ware, Buntingford circuit. Happy days.
     Soon afterwards we began to split up to go our various ways. Terry bade us farewell to veer off to Stapleford, Bramfield and home. We continued on through Bengeo, swooping down to Hertford. There I regretfully had to turn left at the McMullens brewery to the Hartham car park where, I have to admit, my trip to morning stop had begun. I had to deliver some photographs to a customer in Hoddesdon. That was the sole reason for using the car in the first place, honestly!
     As I drove through Hertford Heath in the gathering dusk, I reflected on the day I had experienced. Those beautiful country lanes and the brilliant, if cold and crisp, weather. Best of all the clubmanship between us which must surely be the reason the Club has existed all these years. These things combined to make that perfectly ordinary club run a memorable event. Only five days previously I had reluctantly relinquished my 'junior citizenship' but - 65 years old? - on that club run I felt more like 25 again!

John