19 Feb 2017: Hatfield to Rye House

The 10 riders assembled at the ASDA car-park anxiously inspected their watches; it was past 9:15 and there was no sign of the designated leader, Graham. I rang his mobile number, but his phone was turned off. I wondered if he turns it off when he doesn’t want his movements to be tracked.  

Ash Valley Golf Club

A subsequent call to his land-line unexpectedly did elicit a response and yes, he had forgotten. What had caused this amnesia was open to conjecture: had he played football in his youth and headed the ball too often? Or was the memory-loss due to an activity closely associated with the conclusion of each Wednesday-evening ride? Had he been struck on the head by a rolling-pin after returning home last Wednesday?

Whatever had caused this dereliction of duty, Carol immediately seized the initiative and quickly mapped out a route to Much Hadham, passing through Bramfield and Cold Christmas and avoiding the motor traffic and associated toxins of the urban conglomerations of Hertford and Ware. Our destination, Ash Valley Golf Club lies just north of Much Hadham where a magnificent carpet of Snowdrops adjoined the road through the village.

The large green sign

Unfortunately, Bill, whose formidable knowledge of four-letter words is legendary but apparently does not include the words GOLF and CLUB, even when prominently displayed in foot-high white letters on a bright-green notice, sped straight past the entrance and was almost in Little Hadham before a call to his mobile phone caused him to backtrack. 
 

At the club we were met by Steve and Jackie, who had cycled directly from their home, as we rested for the consumption of bacon sandwiches.  On departure we headed vaguely south, passing a large group of eccentric-looking cyclists going in the opposite direction; the identification of one of them indicated that this was North Herts CTC. Then Bill experienced another problem: his back tyre was rubbing against the mudguard stays, but a short stop enabled Jon to establish the cause as a loose skewer.

 
Despite the delay we arrived at our destination, the Rye House in Hoddesdon, at exactly 1 o’clock after approaching it via the picturesque and fragrant toll road through Rye Meads sewage works. A member of staff immediately approached us and invited us to park our bikes in the garden at the side of the pub. The bar was surprisingly empty for a Sunday and was essentially a two-for-one establishment, so we paired up to order reasonably priced food which quickly came. 

The return journey, starting through Broxbourne Woods, passed through Little Berkhamsted, where Bill correctly named some Winter Aconite growing in the verge, and then via Wild Hill, where Philip, on looking at his watch, was devastated to discover that the time, 3:05, had precluded another pint at The Woodman, South Herts CAMRA Pub of the Year. It was all Bill’s fault.