I have been reminded of this thread by an email notification. I have the impression that the club does not exist any more except in the form of this thread.
I continued to ride for pleasure for a few years after I gave up racing and moving away from "Tooting", but then gave up entirely when things changed radically around the early 1980's. From then, following a government White Paper on cycling, bikes were effectively re-classified from being vehicles to being a walking aid, both officially and in the mindset of a new wave of cyclists. Signs appeared requiring bikes to use the pavement, bike lanes were marked out (even on wide, quiet roads) and to my disgust cyclists started using pavements en-mass anyway. At the same time, car drivers began to regard ordinary roads as motorways on which cyclists had no right to be. Some residential roads had bike lanes with "Give Way" lines painted across them at every residential drive entrance. I was not prepared to ride a bike on those terms.
Until then, in my Tooting BC days, for a long solo ride I might go down the A23 to Brighton, along the coast to Worthing, then back home up the A24. For a shorter more scenic ride I might go via Leatherhead, then Guildford, then east on the A25 and return home up Box Hill or Pebblecombe. Our mid-week evening club training run was down the A3, and back home up the A24. The "A" roads and "B" roads threaded towns and villages together, centre-to centre, as they had for the previous 1000 years, and we happened to live at the time when that changed, a time of massive road building and the conversion of linear public spaces into motorways, effectively. Cycling may be officially encouraged as "green", but is frowned upon outside routes which have been designated as suitable by officials.
I took up photography instead, and more recently writing, including poetry. I think have a few years left, am in good health, so I was thinking of writing a book "Memoirs of a Long Distance Cyclist" as a nostalgic look back at those days before complete car domination. It would be in a similar vein to "Cider with Rosie", "Larkrise to Candleford", and Siegfried Sasoon's "Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man", which is not much about fox hunting and inspires my title. Don't worry, I shall use ficticious names to protect the guilty.