Sunday 10th March

"And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here"

Sunday morning's bitterly cold, north-easterly winds brought snow showers, and so it was no surprise that a smaller-than-usual Group 2, with just seven riders, left the Market Square.

Someone (Steve?) remarked that the weather was supposed to clear a little, invoking groans from the group, and condemning us to a cold, wet ride.

We set out towards the Offords, enjoying the painful little darts of snow stinging our faces as we approached Paxton Hill, where Group 1 joined us briefly, before leaving us in their wake. The Magnificent Seven continued on towards Godmanchester and through Huntingdon, where we passed Group 1 repairing a puncture. Offering prayers to the Gods of Inflation, we made our way north toward Abbots Ripton, where we found ourselves briefly riding along the Richardson's Rumble course, shouting words of encouragement to riders who were facing many more miles than us today.

Crossing the A1 near Coppingford, a couple of Rumblers made the mistake of assuming we were following the sportive route, and followed us West, instead of turning North. One rider was gone before we could let him know, but we performed our good deed for the day, and our bit for international relations, by setting a German lady back on the right course. As we continued South-West toward Buckworth, we saw the first Rumbler re-tracing his tracks with a stony face; today was not a day to take a wrong turn.

As we grew colder and wetter, discussions were being held on possible shortcuts home, as we approached Old Weston. Perhaps it was this attempt to shorten the ride that caused our earlier prayers to be ignored, and Rob suffered a puncture. Our earlier good deed was revisited on us, however, as a lady and gentleman walking their dogs offered us help and coffee. We thanked them and declined, assuming we would be on our way quickly, but a further problem resulted in a second puncture before we could get rolling again. As we shivered in the cold and wet, while Rob and Trevor repaired the second puncture, the gentleman re-appeared, brandishing a trackpump, saying that he hoped someone would do the same for him one day. He'd forgotten the coffee, but we didn't like to mention that, and thanked him before heading to Catworth, now thoroughly wet and cold.

The climb to Catworth splintered the group, but by the time we were enjoying the searing crosswinds on the drop down Bustard Hill into Kimbolton, the Seven Samurai were back together. We agreed to head straight down the B645 to St Neots on the grounds that (a) we were cold, wet and in desperate need of coffee and cake, and (b) Steve would have won the Bushmead Sprint, anyway. Steve put the hammer down as we approached Great Staughton, the scent of cappuccino in his nose, and we all made our way back to Neros, to enjoy a hot drink and share tales of our mighty deeds. Group 1 were waiting for us, with faces straight out of a Rapha catalogue, and we all agreed that none us felt as cold as Wayne looked.

Given the conditions, a strong and memorable Group 2 ride from Trevor, Tony, Steve, Jon, Andy, Andy Mc and Rob.