First Wednesday ride ths year

OK. The mince pies are all gone.  Trifle is history.  There might be a bit of Christmas cake left but the day of reckoning has come.  Time to start to lose those pounds gained over the holiday!
Let's begin by getting a few miles in on Wednesday.  Weather looks dry with a light and variable wind and just a bit colder than of late so we can expect reasonable riding conditions.

Meet at the usual time of 9.01 at Priory for a 9 o' clock start.  Route out will be Hewish, Puxton, Wrington, destination Whitehall Garden centre, but this time by the short route (Providing we don't get lost again!)
Home via Chew Stoke.  Computer says yes. 53 miles

The good weather tempted 6 of us to start from Priory. As usual, everyone was present and ready to leave at 08.50. Not. Which was fortunate, because a pleading phone call from Paul needing assistance with a flat tyre and faulty pump made us alter our planned route out, but Pete had beaten us to it by the time we found him at Kent Ave. So a loop through Banwell took our now 8 riders a slightly different way than expected to Wrington.

Our usual pensioners pee stop at Wrington bogs was thwarted by a large ‘CLOSED’ sign. This was a serious blow to those of us with less than young bladders but we stoically rode on, being forced to sweat a bit instead, on the way to the top of Redhill. A short cut that was long took us all down into Winford and on through Chew Magna where a few riders decided that the pace was too slow for them and went ahead. Now this is never an issue for me but they forgot that going ahead means getting lost and so they overshot Norton Lane while the rest of us turned left. Luckily they were within relayed shouting distance so we easily regrouped. After waiting a few hours at the Whitehurst Garden centre gates they finally decided to let us in. The wrong accent at the intercom was the problem. Robby got tired of waiting and went home.

Route home was through Pensford, under the old viaduct. Unfortunately we were all squashed into the hedge by a Transit van on Moorledge Lane and unknown to the rest of us, Jim pressed a shedload of mud into his left cleat that transformed it into a plasterers float. Someone said they saw him performing a rain dance in a deep puddle near Chew Stoke but no one understood why. He lost sight of us and took the right turn at the crossroads instead of the second towards Nipit Throbwell. We waited a while and Keith returned to look but too late. Sorry Jim. After Butcombe, a change of our normal way home took us up Station Road hill into Blagdon where once more the “group” (The Oxford dictionary describes this as ‘a number of people or things that are located, gathered, or classed together’) split, with one lot heading past Burrington, directly to Banwell and the remaining 2 of us taking the standard Langford route. 8 were counted out but only 2 returned.

We didn’t get lost. The sun shone. It wasn’t cold. The lanes were full of wet brown stuff. But everyone had a good ride. Possibly.