I had to take a circuitous route to Pompey, so up to Clarm Junction and onto the Pompey milk train, only to be abused by some bloke I'd seen in Malta.
Greg and I rode down, and "got off at Fratton" for the short ride to Aunty Clare's. Hospitality was immense, followed by a walk out to the Hole in The Wall, whsre sossidgis were consumed. We were soon joined by Fatters and the Hummers posse, Scum and co, and Spesh put in an appearance. Once he noticed that Regulator was salivating, he made his excuses and left, but Mini and Micro H stayed the course.
No, not that way. Hummerella had made the sensible decision to emigrate. Or something.
Beer was drunk, followed by more beer, and we eventually made our way home.
I was completely disorientated when awaoken by Vern, and despite lashings of tea the two boys were not in the mood to catch the 0730 ferry, so 0830 it was. Cunobelin joined us at the boat, and jolly japes continued acros the water.
We spun lethargically out to the Kite Hill checkpoint and joined the queue. As Reg and Vern were opting for the 55, I was almost tempted, but knew I would regret a lost opportunity if I did. 100 it was, and Clare followed suit. We worked our way out of the site, seeing a spectacular clipless moment, and set off.
I almost immediately found out two things: I was indeed hungover rather badly, and a race cassette is not a good choice for the IoW. The 24" gear was employed.
I wallowed round to Bembridge, knowing that time was at a premium because we had started an hour late, and I also knew I would be grovelling in my present state. As usual, my downhills were restrained only by the lighter slower people ahead of me, and I arrived nicely at Bembridge in time to catch up with Cunobelin and be caught by Clare, Vern and Regulator. The sign had fallen down for the odd detour to the school, and when I arrived a Wayfarer was standing holding it. Nice!!
After a quick cuppa and a nanananananana I set off, leaving the others. The nana wasn't sitting well, and I ground my way round to Alverstone, the next stop and the parting of ways of the 55 and 100. A quick drink of squash, and off again. By now, the Island's character was asserting itself, and the ground was getting lumpier. Lots of little rises, lots of narrow, narrow lanes, and finally I got to Whitwell, after the odd turn along the edge of the steep slopes above Ventnor and the even odder swing right at the Spar.
The wind was a gentle sort-of-tail wind, and it was overcast but warm. I was now feeling good, and managing to climb with mtb riders who were spinning twice my cadence. At Whitwell, I had met up with Cunobelin and friends yet again, and Clare caught me up as I had an oaty bar and a cuppa. I just wasn't up to eating.
On the flat I was leaving Clare, who was catching me on the ups and being left on the downs. We were playing the old randonnee game of repeated overtaking and being overtaken by various folk, and soon hit Niton, the start of one of my dreaded climbs, the highest point of the whole route. I settled down for a real struggle up to St Catherine's.
Er....was that it? I fairly (for me) flew up, and cranked hard over for the right hand, left hand, oh-shit-roundabout right hand and free fall plummet into Blackgang. I knew I had some serious time to make up, so I had left Clare and got into the groove along the Military Road, ignoring the traffic-free bit inland. I was in the big ring, head down, mouth open, doing between 15 and 25mph at a good cadence, but feeling apprehensive about a number of things, one being the approaching double climb before Freshwater Bay, which is a Bastard. Another was the sheer volume of traffic clearly heading for the fleshpots of Alum Bay. As I went along, Hummers was texting. He had already hit the Sun Inn in Hulverstone, and as I hit the first Bastard Hill of Freshwater told me they had just left.
I grovelled both hills, the micro-climate of Westerlies in full effect, and was in 24" when the shout came from behind me: "Gordon's alive!", as was Fatters. We stopped for a chat, and I heard of a three-hour, five-pint "meal break". The rest of the peloton caught up, and so did Clare. As we chatted, a tandem passed us, the captain wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of running shorts and spd sandals.....
We crested the hill and had the joy of the severely quick descent, and I took my alternative route to avoid the biker/petrolhead horrors of Alum Bay, in exchange for a gravel bridleway.
Into Yarmouth, round to the school, and they still had food, plenty of it. The boys were outside, but I decided that I wanted a proper break, the first of the ride after more than 40 miles. Clare soon joined me, and we fed and relaxed for a bit till time caught us up. As we went out, one of my regular "overtakees" came in, with dripping arms. Yes, it was raining. On went our outers, and Clare and I set off out of Yarmouth and off the main road for the cycle route, and into a freshening Easterly. Yes, really. Clare passed me after a while, and then pulled away as my lack of feeding started to tell, which is the excuse I will stick to. Cowes got no nearer, then suddenly I was there, time-critical, and the chain ferry was leaving. I stood and waited, and finally hit the Red Funnel car park and another control, and where I bought a badge.
Now I had Whippingham Bastard Hill, and after that I decided to ignore the back roads and follow the main road round. A 40mph descent took me down to a roundabout, left and off to Wootton Bridge. More grovelling, and another swoop'n'up to the Kite Hill. A quick text to Hummers, and down to the pub. I was absolutely shattered.
We had a very few beers, with Scum, Mrs Scum and Cunobelin in attendance along with the Hummers Posse, and then realised the ferry times. Mrs Scum set off to the boat, quickly followed by myself, and the other reprobates just made it. We settled into our seats, the ferry pulled out, and I realised I had forgotten to pay my bar tab....
I was able to sort that out by phone, thankfully, and we stretched our legs after welcome showers to a nearby pub for a wind-down.
Not a bad 50th birthday. My total distance only came to 75 miles, but an awful lot of that was scenery. As usual, the Wayfarers did a fantastic job of running the event, and it is something I will have to do again.
Maybe my 60th?
