Avalon Sunrise 400 km Audax Ride
This was to be my first venture beyond 300km and so my first attempt to ride all night and all day. So I set off from home both excited and a little nervous about what lay ahead, worried that I would not be fit enough or mentally up for it.
The drive down the M5 met with the usual congestion but this time south of Bristol rather than around it. After a quick trip to Sainsbury’s in Taunton for essential supplies I tried to find the village of Clayhidon and quickly discovered that my atlas was not quite up to the job. It should be called Clayhidden. However eventually I found Clayhidon and the welcoming Half Moon pub. Soon I was tucking into some excellent Fish & Chips and talking to fellow AUKs. Then the “faffing” about started, should I put my tent up before setting off, what should I wear and so on but I wasn’t the only rider pondering such matters. Eventually, I decided to leave the tent until my return and the slightly damp chill that came with dusk decided the clothing issues.
Steve from St Albans, who pitched next to me, had the misfortune to have his route sheet holder snap shortly before the start. Fortunately the base remained intact and with a boot lace from my glovebox was able to secure his route sheet in a plastic bag to the remains. I later discovered that his main light had died too but he managed to finish well within time.
As dusk turned to night we left the camping field to find a group of about 25 riders waiting at the start. About 5 minutes before the 10:30pm start, the pub’s drinkers and diners emptied out to see us off creating a rather special atmosphere, especially as there was a party of visitors from Clayhidon’s twinned french village. So with Union Jacks and french flags waving we were sent off by a cheering crowd.
By chance I found myself at the front and shot off to get out of everybody’s way. This surprised Steve who thought he was never going to keep up with me but within a few kilometres the natural order of things was restored and I was at the back, or at least I thought so. About 4 kilometres down the road, a rider caught up with me. He was Graham from Sunderland and had just driven for 8 hours. I quickly learned that he was doing the ride to raise money for a children’s hospice in Sunderland and that this was his first ever audax ride! He was really excited about riding at night and thought the whole thing “surreal” but I was worried he was not prepared for what was coming. He didn’t know that he should have signed in and collected a brevet card. His front light seemed poor and his route sheet was in his back pocket, trapped under a rucksack. He didn’t have a headlamp or torch to read it by if he could get to it. We stayed together for a while but on the slight rises into Tiverton, he dropped away and had vanished by the outskirts. I waited a short while but he didn’t appear and I later learned that he never made it to the first control. I hope he got back to Sunderland alright and somewhat wiser for his experience.
The Tiverton control was in Tesco’s car park and “manned” by friendly ladies who wished me well as I set out to find the A396 to Minehead. There were still a few other riders about but eventually they passed me although I did ride with Don from Exmouth, qualifying for his third or fourth Paris-Brest-Paris for a while. There was very little traffic on the A396 and soon I left alone with the little owls calling and other wildlife sounds that I did not recognise. The climb over Exmoor was not as bad as I expected and before I knew it I was flying down into Minehead where Jamie was waiting with Cafetiere Coffee and homemade cake and biscuits. There were several riders again at the control and one or two really fast ones who had started late and soon vanished.
Re-fueled I plodded on to tackle the climbs on the A39 over West Quantoxhead, chasing the rear lights of the only tandem eventually catching up with them for a while before they would whoosh away downhill. Whereas the Exe Valley had been very dark, I now had a good view over Bridgewater Bay to the lights of Barry and Penarth and a skyline that had a permanent orange glow, under the steel blue night. Somewhere along here I managed to unship my chain but it was soon fixed. However, I lost the tandem until I found them outside a taxi firm in Bridgewater where I think they packed due to a medical problem. By now it was just starting to get light and the light NE breeze began to strengthen into a moderately gusty wind that made the next 100 km hard work at times.
I reached Glastonbury just as the sun was rising over a hill to the west. It was quite a special view and I was pleased that my steady pace had got me there just in time. It was just as I was leaving Glastonbury I had a lucky escape. Heading into the sun a VW Golf came by at great speed and its wing mirror clipped my right hand knuckles. It must have been the slightest of touches as I barely wobbled and the pain went quickly. My hand was fine within minutes but I was extremely grateful the car had not come a few millimetres closer. I think the driver could not have seen me against the rising sun.
Leaving the main road I found the worst stretch of road in the whole ride, It had raised transverse cracks every few feet and made riding really uncomfortable. There were now also a great many flies that seem to be a feature of the Somerset Levels. I was starting to hit a low patch and then missed the turn for Dinder. I realised this mistake fairly quickly and made my way back to tackle Maesbury Hill. This wasn’t particularly steep but it seemed to go on forever. Eventually, I stopped just before the road that ran along the ridge into Frome, outside one of those places that seems to be a derelict yard. There were dire warnings of hungry dogs and my imagination was starting to run riot (been reading the Lord of the Rings, again). So I rapidly downed my caffeinated gel and bolted off down the ridge road like a frightened hobbit. Soon I was walking down the cobbled hill in Frome and before long had made the services on the A36. Now I was hungry and had a breakfast of Danish pastry, Pringles and banana washed down with Red Bull. I still did not feel at all sleepy.
The next section brought me into Bath after first climbing the interminably long hill through Midford where my faith in Jamie’s route sheet was sorely tested by not finding the Cross Keys pub where I thought it should have been. I was a little slow getting past the station and missed the cycle path despite looking out for the landmark “first bin”. The initial section alongside the river I didn’t enjoy as several children tried to force me to take avoiding action by taking a dip. It didn’t look at all inviting! Eventually though I made the old railway path and was surprised to find it had a tarmac surface. Now I could make good progress sheltered from the wind. The path runs past a preserved railway but there was not time to stop. The clear run eventually came to an end when I misunderstood the routesheet and ended up doing a nice loop to come back to where I had started at one of the road traffic islands. This was were I was really glad of my compass, oft carried and not used but this was the first of several times when I was able to check I was heading in the right direction in unfamiliar territory.
Before I knew it I was at the Severn Bridge. This was now a very open wind tunnel with the wind coming straight down the Severn estuary. The wires hummed and everything not very securely bolted down rattled furiously. It was not a crossing for the nervous. Memories of physics lessons and an american suspension bridge hitting its resonant frequency flitted through my consciousness. I did not look down and soon was at the exasperatingly slow Tesco Express on the edge of Chepstow. Another quick snack and precious receipt to prove that I had been there and I was off on the way to Thornbury. Now the sun finally put in an appearance and the temperature briefly soared, so there was an unscheduled stop to peel off a few layers and put on plenty of sun block. After Thornbury there was some pleasant, fairly flat, very english scenery with cricket being played at Rockampton and Stone. The spectators all looked so relaxed with their pints of beer. It was tempting to stop and join them.
Soon I made it to Michaelwood Services where I was very pleased to see Jonathan (Jaded) with whom I had ridden a large part of the Heart of England 300 in April. With another stamp on my Brevet card, this time from a potato, I felt I was now heading for home and most importantly would now have the wind with me. I felt better but hungry and really wanted an ice cream so the village shop in Wickwar was my next stop. The ham sandwiches were just right but my mouth was too dry to cope with the crusts, the Magnum just slipped down.
After Chipping Sodbury, I was on roads that I remembered painfully from my first 300km ride two years ago and then I realised that I would have to climb out of Bath Easton up Kingsdown again. However this time I climbed it on the bike rather than pushing it up. The change in gearing from a compact double to a MTB chainset has really paid off but I still needed a breather at the top and another caffeinated gel as I felt a bit wobbly. Then I was off to Bradford on Avon which looked very pretty in the sun. On the steep descent into the centre I was accompanied by a guy on a beautiful Harley who very kindly positioned himself to stop a RangeRover behind me from trying to force me into the gutter. Leaving Bradford on Avon, I was expecting more of a climb back to Frome and the services but it was not too bad and I arrived at the control just as a group of six riders was about to leave. It was tempting to try and join them but I needed more food and water and they would probably been too fast for me anyway.
Refreshed, I now headed off with “home” and completion insight and I made good speed in the remainder of the dull afternoon to Glastonbury where I might just have seen sunset if it had not been so cloudy. Here I stopped to light up and then set off to the make the best speed I could down the A361 to Taunton. By now it was getting dark and my legs didn’t want to know about any hills. I could see my target time of 24 hours (probably unrealistic in the first place) slipping away but I thought I could do it in 25 hours. Then I made my worst mistake and missed a line out on the route sheet so did not take the A358 for Minehead. Instead I ploughed merrily on down the A38 into Taunton. Now completely lost, I tried to find the A358 where it should, I thought, have come in but all I managed to do was go further out of my way and back towards Minehead. Eventually I did what I should have done in the first place which was get out the sheet torn from an old atlas and look to see where Trull was. It looked as if I went out to the hospital I would find a road to Trull. It didn’t look hopeful at first but then there it was, like a beacon, a sign to Trull. I followed this and after a tour of more of Taunton than I wished to see (probably very nice on a sunny afternoon but not to me on this Saturday night), I was on the road home.
Jamie, the organiser, says that the hill from Angersleigh to Clayhidon is not steep and that I was just tired. I did get up it on the bike but had to stop once and driving home that way in the morning I still think it’s fairly steep. Certainly the cyclist coming up it on his carbon fibre racing machine was making it look hard work so I didn’t feel too bad. Looking at the map now it climbs 150 metres in 2 km so that’s an average of 7.5% and some bits are quite a bit steeper.
I got a great welcome when I returned to the Half Moon from a pleasantly boisterous stag party. The stag was dressed as a Freisian cow. The land lady brought me a very tasty beef and rice dish and a charming young lady bought me a glass of very good Somerset Cider. The lads had a laugh when I tried to stand up after eating my meal as my legs did not want to know about supporting me any more and I lurched out of the pub to find my car.
Amazingly, I still did not feel at all sleepy. I pitched my tent as quietly as I could and slipped into my sleeping bag. The minute my head touched my pillow (a rolled up cycling jersey) I must have gone out like a light as the next thing I knew it was 8 o’clock in the morning.
With my navigational errors, I clocked up 426 kilometres in exactly 26 hours. Without the extra 20km I should have done it in about 24 hrs 40 minutes and would not have been so far off my target time. The next morning, Steve told me that he had got lost coming out of Trull and been down various lanes that seemed to end in dead ends. So I did not feel quite so bad about getting lost.
I think the most important lessons that I learned were; the next time I get truly lost in the dark I must not rush about but stop and think as I am sure I could have avoided a lot of wasted time and distance in Taunton had I used my map and compass first; that I still probably did not drink enough which made eating lunch difficult because of a dry mouth; and that the time spent stopping every 100 or so km to re-apply cream to my rear end was time very well spent.
The worst bits for me were Maesbury Hill, the Somerset Level Flies, the few stretches of very busy road and the last climb back to Clayhidon.
The highlights were the night ride, with its owls and views over to Wales; sunrise over Glastonbury Tor; the varied countryside and the send off and welcome back at the Half Moon pub.
Thanks to Jamie and his helpers for putting on a great ride.
