Le return.

The mood in the pub was sombre.

Now, I do like a good de-brief. I like the analysis of success and failure and I like to know how to do things better next time. Next time ? Did someone mention a 'next time' ? 

It appears that whilst we licked our wounds after London to Paris in July, we had all come to the same conclusion independently - we had to go back and do it again, or forfeit the right to own a penis. We needed to finish the job and put the challenge to rest.

So, the mood in the pub lightened as we planned le return. 

Fast forward two months and our intrepid team gather in front of the Eye for the re-start. 
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A few things had changed. We had Lee along to help with the support and he and Abe would also ride alternate sections. It was also Autumn, so quite unlikely we would have to deal with 41 degrees of heat this time, but very likely we would be riding in darkness for about 10 hours and it would be colder and wetter. 

The plan was to start at lunchtime and avoid the London rush-hour. This, sort of, worked, but we still only managed a measly 8mph until we got to Blackheath - although spirits were high, smiles wide and ar$es dry (for now).
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We hopped onto the Cycle path for a mile or so to avoid the narrows along Blackheath Common but had our first slip up as the path crossed a feeder road. Martin stopped a bit quick and, in an attempt to avoid him, Simon hit the deck and was clipped by my pedal on the way past for good measure. No real damage done. Martin's fault (again).

I don't think any of us were too worried about the London to Dover section. It's pretty straightforward in terms of navigation and difficulty but it is a busy route. We just needed to get it out of the way and not miss the ferry or it would be game over.

We knew we were also likely to encounter the odd shower en route, but a little surprised with the amount of water on the road at times. At one stage, the continuous puddle along the side of the road was about 4' wide and the spray from each other and the traffic was horrendous. Lee found a lay-by and we stopped for a quick break. 

We ate. 

Johnny emptied his shoes. Scott emptied his bladder (picture available on Facebook).

We were a couple of hours in and no real dramas so far, but it was particularly uncomfortable. It was about now, when all the things that could get damaged by the rain were jettisoned. So there is little pictorial evidence of the next four hours (except, of course that dot on Strava). We arrived in Dover, bang on schedule, after six hours and we were absolutely soaked through. This was within minutes of the last attempt and represented five hours pedal time and an overall average of about 16mph. Not bad considering the first hour was so slow, conditions were so poor and the traffic so heavy. 

Changing prior to getting on the ferry was a little more problematic as we were temporarily separated from the van. Then we suffered another nasty shower just as we had got the dry clothes on. We were wet again, already.

We ride to the front of lane 185 (spooky, or is it always 185 for bikes?) and we find out that the ferry being loaded isn't ours, but the one that should have left at 18:30. The very helpful chap suggested we take refuge in Costa rather than stand in the rain, and says we can jump to the front of the queue when we get the call. Delayed Ferry ? Deja Vu ? Here we go again .. Bugger.

Luckily, the call comes shortly after the coffee and we are loaded up and away only half an hour behind schedule. In Calais, we tried to get a fast-track exit but the Load-master was having none of it, so we waited our turn and pedaled off last (again). We were all ready to rumble this time and, after a brief RV with the van, we set off in the drizzle towards the town centre. 

Johnny and I were at the front, chatting, as we went round the roundabout onto le Rue du Quai de la Loire and BOSH - we are both on the floor. A slow-mo synchronized crash as we both hit the very wet and slippery railway lines that cross the road at an alarmingly oblique angle. Luckily, our misadventure gave the rest of team enough time to stop (laughing) before they joined us on the floor. A few grazes, new holes in the clothing, a bruise or two, but nothing we couldn't pedal off over the next thirteen hours. We were (all) a bit more careful over the rest of the train lines I can tell you !

The night plan was to knuckle down and keep to the script. It was only eight hours or so but we need to keep up a decent riding speed to allow for stoppages and mis-haps.
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And that picture just about sums up night riding. You can't see much apart from the guy in front, who's light is invariably too bright. You can't enjoy the surroundings. You have no conception of scale, speed or distance and navigation is trickier. The whole thing becomes an exercise in discipline. Break it down into mental milestones, Boulogne sur Mer at 25 miles, Military Cemetery at 40, onto the flat bit now and through the marshes. Feet freezing as the cold air rolls in and sits on the ground. Very few cars about, no-one awake except us, save the MP3 player for later when it gets tougher, aha - van has stopped and Abe is pouring coffee :-) Pause, eat, drink, repeat.

A lorry overtakes us at one point and I smile as the courteous Frenchman drives right over the other side of the road to keep out of our way. I do love French drivers (when I am not driving). We are on a ribbon straight section of road through the trees and the lorry tail-lights take forever to disappear into the gloom. The smile has barely faded when Monsieur Angry appears behind us - lights flashing and giving us le horn. Caught like rabbits in the headlights, we are all too surprised to gesticulate. The car passes; it has an English number-plate. The next obvious word begins with a capital W.

About 03:45, and a few minutes after the Barn Owl took off from the fence post next to Martin, I noticed the road was now dry. Excellent, another milestone.

If you really want my opinion, I am not convinced you can ride in single file and swap the front man every four minutes for eight hours in the dark, we are not Team Sky. Most people have a low point, some have a few and they are never at the same time. So with seven riders you have between 15-30 chances of a serious accident if someone loses it just for a second. Night riding in a group is best done in your own groove. So find someone with a groove similar to yours and ride in two's and three's, keep together, but not too together if you see what I mean. The night went well for me as I do a lot at night and a lot on my own. Actually, the night went well for everyone because we had no real problems. The music in my starboard ear was good quality too.

And so it was we survived, and around 08:15 we rode out of the gloom and into the dawn to be greeted by a clear sky and the promise of a dry, cool and crisp autumn day. 
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We stopped at Oisemeont for a well-earned 20 minutes breather and manage a hot coffee, food and a quick change of clothes. Johnny put a picture of his bruised thigh on Facebook. Scott then leads the charge up the first of the longer climbs in his rather trendy hi-viz waistcoat, presumably bought by his mum for his cycling proficiency test in 1991.  
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Beauvais next, and the scene of le Grand Debacle last time. We are too smart this time round and opt for the slightly unpleasant, but very direct Beauvais by-pass. Think A21, past Pembury and you won't be far wrong. Quickly past the worst of it, over the river and back onto the quieter roads to join the original route. Six miles in 24 minutes, a bit better than the last attempt to get through / round Beauvais !

Shortly after Beauvais we are back on the long grind of a climb that took so much out of us last time in the heat. We have a very quick stop at the van to grab drinks and snacks but Scott and I are having a peaky five-minutes and decide that we need a few more minutes to eat and catch breath. The next scheduled stop is Amblainville, about six / seven miles away, but we need to get there in good order, so we suggest the others crack on and we will catch them up. 
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Five minutes later and Scott and I are back in the game and we start to chase the others down. The relevant stats so far are that we have been awake for 24 hours, pedaling for 14 and have well over 200 miles in the bag, so I am not sure where the average speed of 22.8mph came from, but I do know we were all together at the next stop. BOOM as the young folk may say at this point. Top job Scott - I just followed.
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Scott feels so good now, he changes into a new outfit ready for the finish line photo. Tart.  
I think we all knew we should crack it by now. But we still had Pontoise and Paris itself to deal with. Pontoise sounds very French, but it looks very Croydon. The ribbon straight D392 towards Bezons is like Purley Way but with much more courteous drivers thankfully. 

So, here we are again, exactly 14 miles to go. Normally 14 miles is an easy 45-50 minutes for any of us, even riding solo, but in London we had only averaged 8, so perhaps it may not be so straightforward after all ?

Traffic was thick, lights were frequent; correction - VERY frequent and we appear to get caught by every one. Progress was slow. We crossed the Seine for the first time but still couldn't see the Tower, presumably obscured by the high-rise of the business district. Not far now, but as we approach yet another set of lights we are caught out and Martin, Alex and Simon are off leaving Lee, Johnny, Scott and myself waiting for green. Two groups. 

As we set off, the lead group are approaching the next lights and, as they change to red, Martin slips through leaving Simon and Alex. Three groups. 

[Note - having checked on-line, I can now confirm that Martin must have identified the sneaky Strava segment along the Boulevard de Republique that, given a rolling start, may result in another KOM. Guess where the split occurred ? We are unsure whether he was successful as we refuse to ask. We also refuse to appear interested.] 

Over the Seine (again), and through the city as we rattle across the pave towards the Arc de Triomphe. We lose Johnny for a few seconds but stop and re-group before we roll up to the free-for-all that is the world's favourite no-holds-barred, come-on-if-you're-hard-enough 'roundabout'. Lights are red (surprise surprise) and Johnny shouts 'fourth' exit as the lights change and I set off with arm out and menacing look on my face across the cobbles. All traffic gives way for us as we ride four abreast but we take the third exit by mistake. Double mistake because it should have been the fifth ! Bugger. We still can't see the Tower and it is within a mile now.

Down the Rue du Lauriston for a hundred yards, left at the lights, straight over the next two sets of light, right onto Avenue d'lena and we are on track again with Scott in front - who proceeds to jump the next lights as we lose Johnny behind again. Lee and I stop to wait for Johnny. Scott disappears down the road. Five groups, temporarily.  

Not even I could make this up. 

Luckily 'Stato' (who can't visit the lavatory without plotting a route with way points and rest stops) has downloaded proof of the group's misadventure. This is not to prove how we fell apart with a mile to go, more to prove that he arrived first. Again. 
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As you can see from the Strava image, I do not exist. Actually, I simply followed the others all day because I do not have a posh Garmin and, even if I did, I would not be able to see it without my glasses. I am at the back (as usual) with Johnny and Lee, honest.

So with 19 minutes to spare Martin arrived. As is the case with the last day of any major French Tour, providing the peloton is together when you reach Paris, you are all awarded the same time. So despite losing the sprint to Martin and being last in with only 10 minutes to spare, Johnny, Lee and myself have exercised the right to be awarded the same time.  
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After the victory picture under the Eiffel Tower with the thousands of people who had come along to the finish, we then had another two miles to the hotel ! That was nearly a step too far I can tell you. First on the Agenda was (manly hugs, followed by) a quick beer. Thinking back, we had two beers, maybe three.
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Then, being good lads, we checked into the hotel, put the bikes in our rooms and sorted the gear out. 
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Celebrations lasted well into the night (21:15) and involved a hearty meal and, I think, three more beers ! We left the restaurant as the All Blacks scored the second try against France in the seventh minute. We went to bed and forgot the champagne. 

Sunday morning we take the tube to the Trocadero for the 'calendar' shoot ...

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... followed by coffee and, by 11:00, Alex, Abe and myself are in the van on the way home. 

We pull over onto the hard shoulder near Amiens and put the bonnet up. Abe stands by the van holding his head in despair and we post the picture on Facebook with the caption 'not again!' We chuckle, like the fools we are. 

We drive on and wait for the response. Simon ignores it, Johnny post a capture from Strava (yes, Stato and Saddo have it switched on whilst in the train) to say they are doing 171.9 mph whilst eating a silver-service lunch. Finally, Scott gets in touch to say they will be in the Wheaty in 45 minutes. Rasp. We get to Calais, they are in the Wheaty on pint #2. Rasp. We get back to Crowborough and they are all at home in bed. Light-weights.
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Stats :
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We also have available some detailed analysis of performance v target, comparisons of July to October, split-time analysis, altitude gain, humidity / temperature by time and latitude and finally a detailed breakdown of reduced performance against increasing temperature (taken from the July ride). If you would like to share any of this yummy data either get in touch with Martin or, alternatively, try to get out more. 

Would I do it again ?  No.
Could I do it again  ? Yes, pretty straight-forward if the public transport is on schedule. It's just long, but I can do long.
Should you do it ?     Yes, while you still can. 

Massive thanks to the support team of Abe and Lee for all the encouragement, navigation, re-fueling, hot brews and comedy moments. 

Alex, Johnny, Martin, Scott and Simon for your company, tolerance and support. 

The 'girls' we left at home and who have supported us all year while we take part in another set of slightly bonkers events in preparation for this. You know who you are ladies, without you none of this is possible and we (men) would all be fatter and much less interesting :-) xx

All the members of Wealden Cycle Club with whom we have ridden this year. The more we all ride (together) the more we are all able to ride. 

Alex for the idea and inviting us all along and, finally, everyone who supported and sponsored us and made the effort worthwhile. 

Total so far £6729.87.

Time-Out

It feels like it should be time to draw breath, but I need to be quick. 

It's the best time of year for me, Autumn approaches and the days are clear and crisp, the nights bright and dry (mostly). I love it.

Scotland first and a week on Orkney. One cheap hire bike later and I managed a couple of sixty milers on consecutive days around the 'mainland' with a few tourist stops at places like the Ring of Brodgar (below). Not that hilly actually, but the wind was troublesome. I am not complaining because at least I avoided the rain. 

Back from Orkney late Thursday and off to France early on Friday for a cycling weekend. Unfortunately, my bag (complete with pedals and a few other essentials) didn't arrive in Gatwick until the following week, so I had to share Molly's toothbrush for the weekend. 

Great weather, plenty of easy miles and compulsory / regular stops at cafe's, pubs and restaurants. About 100 miles, 20 pints, some poor behaviour and no accidents. Perfect, except for being in a French pub when we lose to them at Rugby. Drat.

We're back home, but miss the club ride at the weekend, so I go out for a quick solo century. A big circular route via Gatwick, Ditchling Beacon, Brighton (breakfast) and Alfriston. 

09:20 in Brighton, sunny and warm, 56 miles done, egg yolk down jersey from breakfast...

Wales next and three days in Rhayader while I run some training workshops. I arrive late on Monday and can't stop myself from a full tour of Talwrn Wood, Puke Hill, Bonk Hill and the Golf Links. The whole area is a great mixture of quiet roads, bridleways, double track, single track, off piste and BOAT's. 

Coming off the moor, into Talwrn Wood and spotting Puke Hill - a brutal ribbon of tarmac that requires 'le granny' and during which you hope not to have to exchange pleasantries with anyone.

Day 2 in Wales and I am feeling rather jaded after yesterday, so (bizarrely) decide on a hill climb evening. Up the Golf Links this time and I manage to clean it all and feel somewhat better by half way. So much so, that I cut across to the Mountain Road, through the ford and climb up past the Roman Camp (cleaned it) and down Bonk. A gentle spin back to base along the reservoirs and old railway bed (NCR 8 - a masterpiece) to the pub.

Day 3 and I think I am back in the game. Let's climb the Links again, then across to the lower ford and climb up to Rydoldog (cleaned that too !) and then towards Crugyn. I normally swing south east at the bridleway junction and head off towards 'home' and I don't know why I carried on, but glad I did. A smooth, fast, grassy descent took me all the way across to the reservoirs and some magnificent views over my favourite riding area. 

Before the last descent I take stock, check the map, the clock and decide where to go next. Off to my left is an old nemesis and one that has beaten better men than me, but the conditions are great, it has been dry for a while and i am feeling OK, so I decide to have a pop at Black Cottage Climb and, apart from one dab, I got up that too ! Good lord it is a long one though, hardly any let up and loads of places where you can slip up. From the top, there are a few boggy bits on the way to a magnificent fast rocky descent to the road, then off through the Oak Wood and back in the pub by 21:30. Knackered but Happy.

Off to Brecon next and after work I embark upon the long, grinding, mild-monster of a doable climb from Talybont on Usk to the Gap, via Pontsticill Reservoir. I run out of time and with darkness approaching and too much to do to complete the circuit I turned round and went to eat. Really enjoyed the climb, but the 'down' was a wrist-shattering cobbled judder of a rock-fest. Very uncomfortable and quite boring. Memo to self - make sure I have enough time to complete this on the next attempt !

Talybont on Usk - is waaaay down there after that second hill ...

Home for the weekend and a few weeks in the office and local trips. I do need to keep the miles ticking over ready for the next event, so I squeeze in one big ride each week (100 miles plus or minus a few), including a charity London to Brighton with my good mate Graeme (below centre in kilt!) who has just been given the all clear after kicking the arse of cancer and was using the event as his comeback gig. Good job mate on both counts and a pleasure to ride with you.

I ride the London to Brighton with Simon from the club and we peel off after the photo for breakfast and then ride home - a respectable 108 miles all-in. 

Replacement tyres the next week. HOW MUCH ! WTF ? Only had them a few months, but checking the ride log I have done about 4000 this year so far. Maybe they really are worn out then !

Tapering week is nearly upon me and I fit in two hundred's and three spin classes in six days before I wind down in preparation for a very important return fixture.   

London to Paris

The trip was planned, details fine-tuned, bikes ready and participants mentally prepared. Then the French went on strike. The lorries backed up from Calais giving the residents of Sangatte a few more chances to masking tape themselves to the fuel tanks. Op Stack kicked in over here and the M20 was shut as the backlog of traffic for the continent parked along the hard shoulder waiting for the Tunnel to open. Why this week of all weeks ?!!

So, at the eleventh hour, Martin re-booked us on the 00:50 crossing from Dover and the start time was delayed until 17:30 - the middle of rush hour. This was just the start of an eventful trip and as Alex, Simon and I wandered towards Alex's flat in W2 we found our way was blocked by a police cordon which, it turned out, completely encircled Alex's flat (and several others) after a nearby gas explosion. Two hours before we are due to set off and we have nowhere to meet and nowhere to change. The van duly arrived and we parked in a random residential parking space and changed behind a hedge. A good start.

The three of us set off for the London Eye to meet the others with the van in hot pursuit. We circumnavigated the cordon, arrived safe, met the van, had lunch, waited for the others and were ready with seven minutes to spare.

Martin, Simon, Johnny, Scott, Alex and Simpson, ready to pedal. 17:29.

It was rush-hour but despite the traffic, red lights, being overtaken by a Brompton, being burnt off at the lights by a man running Sturmey Archer gears and wearing flip flops and a mile-long queue onto Blackheath common, we soon join the A20 running south-east and manage to get into some sort of rhythm before swinging south again to duck under the M25 and then east towards Brands Hatch. 

We had decided that the A20 should be the back-bone of the route as we could keep up a good pace without killing ourselves and, apart from the last bit, would give us a direct run to Dover. Brands, West Malling, Maidstone and Ashford came and went, darkness loomed and the lights were on.  

After a rather unnecessary slog up the Old Dover Road from Folkestone, we ran down into the port of Dover with plenty of spare time to book in, clean up with the wet wipes and change into lounge wear for the crossing. 

80 miles in a shade over six hours, including red lights, traffic and scheduled re-fuelling stops. Average moving speed 16.0 mph. Good start. 

Most of us have never crossed like this before, but we had our own lane and Martin led the charge onto the boat, up the ramp and ahead of all the vehicles. Another KOM gained and, perhaps, one he might keep for more than a few days?

Martin, Johnny, Simon, Alex, Scott and Simpson. Lane 185 and ready for the off.

It was dark when we got on and, even after more delays, it was still dark when we got off. We changed under another streetlight and attempted to get the legs moving. The climb out of Calais sorted that one out ..

                                                    ... and Martin crests the hill with me and Scott in tow.

By the time we got into some sort of rhythm, dawn had broken and we continued down the coast towards Boulogne sur Mer and on-wards towards Abbeville. 

We were still making reasonable time, despite a few comedy diversions when the Garmin tried to tell us that a faint track across some fields was a road ! We diverted, Abe couldn't follow, but he found us a few miles further on. 

As lunchtime approached, the final morning mist disappeared to reveal a glorious clear sky and the temperature started to ramp up. We didn't know quite how hot it was at the time, but bottles started to be consumed every 10 miles instead of 15. As we get back on track after the next Garmin detour, we notice some melting tarmac as we re-join the newly surfaced 'main' road. Mmmm, might be getting even hotter then ?  

The next navigational faux-pas came as we skirted Abbeville and had a couple of issues with a one-way, no way, the wrong way road. We ignored it (sort of) and left Abe to sort it out and catch us up. By now he was getting quite good at this.

We pedal, we drink, we eat, we drink more, we share the lead, we watch the clock and check the stats and we are still there or there-abouts on schedule as we approach the penultimate obstacle - Beauvais. Mmmm, this is where the first wheel comes off. The tarmac on the ground appears to bear no relation to the version we have on the Garmin and we meet a one way section (going the wrong way), followed by a closed road (gas works) and then a couple of wrong turns in quick succession that lead us into the cobbled shopping precinct - from which we have to pedal up a hill, back to the route and the wrong way up another one-way street. Bugger. We leave Abe and he has to find us. Bugger. We lose more time. Bollocks.


We exit Beauvais after wasting another twenty minutes or so and start a long, long, climb up a tree-lined, wind-less, furnace of a road that winds up the hillside, across the Autoroute and on towards Pontoise, our entry portal to Paris. At the top we take stock, mull over the options and realize that we are going to miss the deadline. We have used / lost / wasted all the 'slack' time.

In the balmy afternoon heat of July 3rd 2015 at approximately 16:00, four dead bikes and three terminally fatigued riders gasp for breath at the roadside. Carnage it was. The other terminally fatigued riders are out of shot. 

We will miss it but we can't not do it, so we drag ourselves up and get back in the saddle. The rest is history, we reach Paris in worse shape than we hoped and we were late, 14 miles late, but we got there. 

We book into the hotel, we shower, we look after our bikes, then we fit in one beer and one steak each and we go to bed - I woke up in the same position ten hours later. We squeeze in a visit to the tower to take a few photographs that we couldn't be bothered to do yesterday ! 

Scott, Martin, Simon, Alex, Abe, Johnny and Simpson. 

Reflections

Did we really fail ? 

Well, probably not, we just weren't quite good enough to overcome the problems that came our way, despite some pretty meticulous planning. One could argue that if we had all been 5% fitter we would have made it but it is never as simple as that. We had lost two hours before set foot in France, partly because we could have set off from London half an hour later (as it happened) and partly due to the ferry delay and being last off ! Having said that, if we had left London later we may have had seven punctures and missed the ferry; then it would have been game over with 160 miles to go instead of 14. 

The route needed some fine-tuning but is is hard to know how this can be done without a recce on the ground. Plus, you can never legislate for road works that spring up at a moments notice. Garmin isn't necessarily up-to-date and neither is Googley maps, so you can check all you want but without someone on the ground to have a look, something will catch you out. 

We couldn't legislate for the heat. We are English and proud of it. We operate best when it is damp and about 8 degrees. We are not built to pedal indefinitely when it is 41 degrees and despite consuming most of the 150 litres of water we carried, laced with various Hi Five or SIS tablets and powders, we ran out of steam essentially. 

The De-Vinci Code ?

So we were 14 miles short in 41 degrees of heat. That may be a coded message. Four plus one is five, so perhaps if we had a team of five and I had stayed at home and not slowed the others up ..... 

Epilogue

We shared a farewell beer with the others before Alex, Abe and myself set-off in the van to drive home. A speedy exit from Paris had us on the Autoroute within an hour and we are heading north to Calais. 

We cruise past a Renault estate, who then undertakes us a little further up the hill as we inexplicably slow down. Houston we have a problem. Power is lost, engine response is nil and we freewheel to a stop on the hard shoulder exactly 82 miles from Dover (41 x 2, it's getting scary now). Bollocks.

The RAC cannot recover on the Autoroute so they (eventually) dispatch Le Chuckle Brothers to load us up and take us to their lockup. We push the dead Transit into a space, midway between a 78 Orange Dodge pickup used to store straw and an old horse box propped up on breeze blocks that the geese sleep in. Yes, this is all true.

Alex is busy remonstrating with the RAC on the mobile as junior Chuckle brother beckons him into the office to tell us that they shut in five minutes and we need to leave. Er, van ? bikes ? kit ? home ? Bollocks. Open tomorrow ? Non. Lundi ? Oui. Bon (great).

Three English refugees alone in a small French town with five pieces of luggage stagger towards the local Tabac. We sit down, order beer and wait for the call. Simon sends us a picture of the rest of them enjoying lunch in Paris. Nice touch guys.

Two beers later, the taxi arrives and we are off to the station in Amiens. We have a two hour wait, a train ride to Calais, another half an hour wait, a taxi to the ferry port and some stern negotiations with the ticket-office man before we are in the waiting room. Five minutes turn to ten and ten becomes 45 before ticket-office man appears and asks why we are still there because the ferry has gone. You couldn't make this up.

It transpires that the waiting room was checked and 'they' didn't see the three of us, so assumed there were no foot passengers and didn't send a bus. Not to worry, there was another one in half an hour. Bon. 

Back in Dover and the cab that was arranged had gone and not returned. Alex shouted at the RAC again. We waited for another cab and eventually arrived at Europcar to find a most splendid fellow who had decided not to travel home and wait for our call, but had waited for us instead. All's well that ends well then ? 

We arrive home at 02:00 on Sunday morning.

The RAC generally take up to three weeks to get broken vehicles back to the UK because they wait until they have enough to fill a transporter before they pick up. We learn that the Van is an exception to this and it is worth so little, they will not pick it up at all ! So fast-forward to Monday morning and Simon and Abe set off in Alex's Range Rover with a hired trailer to recover the vehicle. We RV at the shop at 23:15 and, an hour later, we are finally reunited with the broken van, bikes, kit, a mountain of rubbish and three rather smelly leftover chilli-chicken wraps. Scott has lost a glove. 

Stats 

Collected for the Meningitis Research Foundation - about £5500 we think. Thank you to everyone that contributed.
Awake for 40 hours.
Total Event Time : 24h 59m with moving average of 15.1mph
Total Distance (miles) : 
248.7 for Alex, Simon & Fred who rode from the RV to the start. Hardcore
247.7 for Johnny and Scott who rode from the station to the start. Average.
245.7 for Martin as he took the tube to the start. Lightweight. 
Climbed almost 10,000 feet
One puncture
No accidents

Conclusion

I can categorically tell you that it is faster to ride from Calais to Paris on a bike, than try to get from Paris to Calais by van, recovery truck, taxi and train. It is also a lot more fun. Thanks for taking me along guys, it was a blast and wouldn't have missed it for the world !

Top job Abe. We hope we can return the favour one day and look after you while you enjoy yourself.

Chase the Sun

The caption reads :

'an annual, physical, motivational and navigational challenge; a group ride to experience, endure and savour the diverse geography, history, weather of the country ... every minute of the year's longest day on two wheels' 

Essentially, Olly Moore had the great idea of filling up a complete day with a doable monster of a ride from coast to coast. Set off as the sun rises in the east and arrive before it sets in the west. Simple.

It took Olly three attempts to crack it, but now it is one of the classic under-the-radar events with no entrance fee, no free tee shirt, no support and no prizes. All you get is your name on the website and asked for a donation at the end to help fund next year. 

There be a few harmless trolls on the cycle forum's who say that he could have picked a better route. They may have a point but I think they have missed THE point. THE point is that it was Olly's original idea (and not many of us have them), and I believe that it starts at the geographical boundary where the English Channel ends and North Sea starts and finishes at another boundary - between the Bristol Channel and the Atlantic.  Originality and meaning. Nice.

I like prep - although I have never prep'd quite as many supplies for one ride !

That is our three feet long cold box and it doesn't include the stuff that was in my pockets already.

We arrive on the Isle of Sheppey at 20:00, miss the briefing, eat an average meal, drink two beers and then have three and a half hours sleep before assembling at the sea front to check bikes and sign in at 04:20.

It is already light, but it's not sun-up (which we don't actually see thanks to the cloud) and so we shuffle about waiting for the official start time. And .... at 04:44 we are off, 300 riders in dribs and drabs. Two of our group are up the road, leaving the other five. One of the five gets a puncture and two others stop with him, unknown to the rest. So, just a mile in we are already in three groups, but we know where we are going and will all re-group soon.

Martin and I approach the bridge off the Island and on towards the Medway towns. 

Or first planned stop is at Costa coffee in Bromley as it opens at 07:00 - by which time we are all in a nice group and I enjoy a latte and toasted mozzarella, tomato and basil panini in the morning sunshine. 07:17.

The trip from Bromley, through South London is thankfully uneventful but it is hard to keep the momentum going as we hit, what appears to be, every red light for miles. Uneventful, that is, until we get on a short section of the A3 running south towards Richmond Park. We approach a set of lights and Martin and I drift to the outside lane having checked traffic (and the other guys in the team) over one shoulder. Unfortunately we checked over opposite shoulders and the bikes converge slightly, my front wheel catches his back one and over the bars I go. Pilot error. Sore elbow, sore knee and broken handlebars now held together by the bar tape. No worries - only 148 miles to go.

Through Richmond Park, Kingston and Hampton Court and then along the river on quieter roads. I grab a couple of under-the-armpit shots of the guys as I push the pace westwards whilst I know that I still can.

Martin, followed by Johnny, who appears to be indicating that I am No 1.

We head south West around Bracknell and then  off towards Newbury and Bramley (the official half-way, sign-in point) and the mild headwind, that was forecast, picks up a bit. Not really what we need.

We sign in but don't stop as it is busy and we don't want to waste time getting stuck with the other riders and support vehicles. Our safety vehicle is fifteen miles down the road at a quieter spot and so we are off. As we leave the car park and turn right, this is now my longest-ever ride. Despite best efforts over the last six months, Alex and I have never found the time to fit it anything longer than about a hundred miles, so we pedal off into no-man's land.

We leave the leafy lanes of Berkshire and drift off towards the area north of Salisbury Plain and the sky opens up, the sun comes out and the wind feels just a bit stronger. A couple of the longer hills feels harder than they should do with the wind in your face and to compound matters I get the first attack of crampy-legs at about 140 miles. Alternating between 'in' and 'out' of the saddle keeps me going forward but I am unable to do my fair share at the front for a while. I give myself a stern talking to, pull a face, and am back in the game after ten minutes or so. 

We are through Devizes sometime during the late afternoon. Actually I have no idea when it was but we have been pedalling for freakin' hours. We are rocking towards the last quarter now and two more bouts of the leg cramps come and go as we head for a small but spiteful climb at 173. All those hours on the single-speed pay off and we are up it after a few minutes. It's slow and it's not pretty but it's behind us and we are all up it in good order !

A long, long, gentle-ish, mildly boring, headwind climb to Cheddar Gorge follows and I put some time in at the front again. As soon as the tarmac points downwards, however, I am at the back as the rest of the team pedal off. I am a few seconds behind them at the bottom and we re-group. I still can't see the point of pedalling down hill ? 

And that was it in a nutshell. We have about twenty miles to go but we know we will finish before sun-down, so there is a relaxed atmosphere in the peleton. More head-wind to contend with but we get the first glimpse of the sea and mentally it is all down-hill.

As we spin into Burnham on Sea, my Garmin runs out of power 250 metres from the finish and we freewheel down the jetty for the obligatory finish-line shot.

Martin, Alex, Simon, Johnny and Simpson. 21:03 on the Longest Day, 2015.

Personal Stats - 207 miles, about 15:15 ride time I guess, max speed 40 mph, average 12.53 (incl stops - so a bit faster average ride-speed), Calories expended 14856 (according to Garmin), Calories consumed must have been 15000 as I was the same weight the following day. I had 16 x 750cl bottles of various re-hydrants (new word and I like it), three chilli chicken wraps, six raisin granola bars, three bananas, one panini, one latte, two cinnamon and raisin bagels and two chunks of flapjack that I was still chewing the following Tuesday (thanks Martin). No gels, no drugs, no pre-packed sugar-rush booster blocks and no Cliff bars. I am a clean athlete.

Sore legs, sore arse (especially) and a sore elbow and knee (the ones I damaged on the A3 but didn't feel them until I was in the pub). Broken handle bars, battered wheels (built for someone less substantial I'll wager) and one lost water bottle. Apart from all that it was just another great day on a bike with good friends going from A to B for the sake of it. 

Now, don't think these things are easy, if they were anybody could do it ! You do need to train but you also need to plan, and Chase the Sun is an exercise in being organised. Not just the build up and training, but the pacing, the feeding, the hydration, the rest stops and the support arrangements. Thank you to all my team mates who helped along the way with advice and encouragement and got me through my first event of this type and massive thanks to Graham and Lee who supported us, without whom we may not have done it. Even more massive thanks to Molly who allows me to participate.  

Would I do it again ? Not sure as there are many other things to fit in. The Crossing or the Fred Whitton ? Who knows ... 

Chapeau Olly !

Welsh Velothon

After a hectic week, Molly and I make our way to Cardiff on our own to ride in the inaugural Welsh Velothon. The rest of the guys had ridden the Dragon Ride the previous week, a 140 mile monster of a climbathon that take in most of the hills in South Wales just for fun.

The Velothon may look like 'just a big ride' but it is one of the few occasions where we normal cyclists can enjoy a closed-road event and act like a pro for the day, cutting off corners, going either way round the roundabouts and throwing empty water bottles at spectators. Brilliant.

Molly had signed up for the 50 and I was in for the 140 (km), so both should be easily manageable and a good training run.  

About 15,000 people took part, dispatched in waves of 750 or so from half a dozen pens located around Cardiff the city centre. We were up early for the three mile cycle to the start line ready for Molly's group to leave at 07:03 ! At this point she didn't look too impressed ...

I had a relaxed latte in Starbucks before my start at 08:00.

Both routes were pretty benign for the first few miles and the shared route meandered across the relatively flat coastal plain before splitting at about the 8 mile point. Molly's route got slowly lumpier until the sting in tail at Caerphilly Castle. This isn't a long climb but the mile or so slog up to a gradient of 17% is a bit of a bastard. Luckily, thereafter,the route is pretty good back to the City and Molly finished strong to the cheers of the adoring crowd and overtaking a couple on the finishing straight according to the video.

The longer route took to the outskirts of Newport, across the M4 and then along the quiet lanes of Gwent and wound slowly north to Abergavenny. The route was really good with no massive climbs and I by-passed the first feed station. All was well until about the 50km point, when tacks were discovered on the road ahead and several hundred people were forced to carry their bikes for ten minutes until we were sure we had passed the danger. 

Our first real climb was the Tumble, a rather famous hill that is shoe-horned into every event in the area. It's a classic climb, not too hard, but about 5.5 k m long - so it goes on about as much as Jeremy Clarkson. Guess where the photographer was ...

A reasonably quick top-up at the feed station and we we were then heading down. During the fast descent, Mr Garmin was up to nearly 50 mph on the straighter bits. We snaked through a few small towns with the locals cheering, waving flags and swilling beer. What a great atmosphere. 

As our route approached Caerphilly, we had a long grinding climb up one side of a dual carriageway that was 5-7 km long. I selected an appropriate gear to simulate the cadence I am used to on the single speed and overtook all the aero-bar'd roadies who had overtaken me coming down the previous hill. Why pedal down a hill ? Odd. 

Caerphilly Hill ? Mmmmm. Bastard. I was never going to fail, but between 25-30% of all the others around me ended up pushing. The final food station at the top was paid a quick visit for more liquid and a few welsh cakes and the sprint to the finish was on. All was well until 2 km out when the rear tyre exploded. The tube was knackered and the two inch split needed my magic 'old-toothpaste-tube tyre-boot' treatment before I could carry on. The repair appeared to take forever and thank you to the spectators who offered assistance and then applauded as I got back on and shuffled off to the finish.  

Molly was sitting in the sun with her new found riding buddies as I finished. Two over-priced burgers and a latte later, we cycled back to the digs to clean up. What a great day.

Molly came home in a creditable 2:32 and I recorded 5:26. In fairness I knew I could spin round in under six with little trouble but has hoped to be much closer to five. I suppose that taking into consideration the tacks, the crowded feed stations and the puncture it wasn't a bad effort. My Garmin had the average speed as 15.9 mph. Pleased with that as I deliberately didn't draft anybody for the whole ride so it was a true solo effort.

The Velothon was the final training run for next week's event when I may, however, be doing some drafting ... 

24/7

Some days I wake up thinking I should have woken up hours earlier and got on with something. Time never drags in our world because we make the most of nearly every minute.  

In-between working and pedalling we have almost got the front garden back to where it should be. 

We started with a moss patch in February 2014 which was attacked by the digger in order to lay the new storm drain.

Build wall in June, followed by three days in September double-digging it by hand to remove debris, plastic, hardcore and rubbish before rotovating and re-grading. 

A long half-day laying the turf in October, with assistance from Java.

Then wait patiently all winter, before mowing in lovely straight lines during April 2015.

We have also attacked the back with some gusto and removed the rest of the unnecessary bricks from the patio wall to enhance our viewing enjoyment of the rest of the garden.

Fitted new capping stones, re-built the steps, re-painted and re-fitted the lights.

Almost finished weeding, pruning, digging and shifting plants - In order to give us a great view from the settee in the kitchen.

We have even impressed ourselves with all this ! 

Work, however, continues. In-between bike rides ...