I'm home. Have I won?
What an absolutely splendid ride! My train arrived at Lpoo St a little behind schedule but Butterfly, Clarion and Superstoker were there to met me. We met a few other YACFers on their way - a small spinney of Oakies, Mike, and a host of other cyclists looking as though they were heading In The Right Direction. Crinkly Lion arrived and after a little saddle-fettling we were away.
The journey to London Fields was uneventful but our arrival timely. Wobbly John was just off to get some Chinese food, so I asked him to get me some too and went into the pub and bought some beer. WJ didn't actually say he wanted a pint but I had a feeling that he might, so I bought him one anyway so we swapped beer for chow mein. Conversations were had with probably the biggest gathering of YACFers I've been privileged to meet, and at about 8.30 we set off.
I was explaining to CL that Felix Ormerod, an old school and, latterly, cycling chum of mine, lived near the route and I tried to remember which was Mildenhall Road. Suddenly there was Felix, cheering cyclists on. His wife and young son were there too as well as another chap I thought I recognised but couldn't put a name to. We stopped for a chat and then we continued, acutely aware that Team Slow were hurtling turgidly off into the distance.
The Lea Bridge Road was not as unpleasant as it has been in the past. The first major landmark when leaving London, the North Circular Road, was crossed, we trudged up through Epping Forest and then convened at the garage where yet more cake was distributed and I bought half a gallon of milk, a good deal of which escaped before the 100 mile mark. We crossed the M25, whizzed through Epping and eventually passed the Talbot pub, on the A414 at North Weald, at which point the ride becomes officially rural. The street lights disappear, so does most of the traffic and one can get down to the gorgeous business of simply pedalling, pedalling, pedalling the night away.
We were a little slower than last year and although we stopped a little before 11 at Moreton to wait for an absent Mr. Gates, it didn't dawn on me until it was really too late that I could have enjoyed a quick pint of something or other. However, Mr. Gates soon appeared, ordered a pint and then we had to wait some more while he finished it.
As we progressed, I felt it only right, knowing Essex fairly well as I do, that I should make the ride a bit of a guided Tour for CrinklyLion's benefit. So it was that I pointed out a number of schools at which I had taught chess at one time or another, as well as other significant landmarks. Chief of these was probably the Axe and Compasses at Aythorpe Roding which now has a blue plaque on the wall in honour of Jurek. Team Slow had a quick regroup in Dunmow where we might just have had time to get a quick curry at the Jalsa Ghar but didn't, and then it was into the wee small hours.
On arriving at Finchingfield we found an open pub, as well as a lot of cyclists around it. It was now almost 2 a.m. and a pint of orange juice and lemonade, washed down with a bag of crisps, was very welcome, although beer would have been better if they had been selling it. Crinkly and I then tackled Church Hill and it was no match for us. Crinkly had observed earlier in the evening that, heavily laden as everybody's bicycle was, between us, without luggage, we probably weighed more than anyone else with bike and luggage.
We completely forgot about the half-way stop at Sible Hedingham and it was only the appearance of Team Slow heading South that alerted us to the fact. We went in, found that there was almost no-one there, I scoffed a cup of soup, a couple of rolls and a banana and we were on our way again.
By this time it was pretty clear that some of our number were suffering. Quite apart from assorted knees, just after I'd popped Crinkly's 40mph cherry on the descent into Sudbury, we happened upon a rather forlorn looking Julian, cycling alone, who was pleased to see us as she didn't know the way. At the next junction, however, there was Charlotte and I was touchingly reminded of the scene from the House at Pooh Corner in which Rabbit, who had been lost in the mist at the top of the forest, was reunited with Tigger.
The Waldingfields and The Eleighs came and went and suddenly so did my alertness. Somewhere around Barking I hit a wall and lost all energy so tea was essential. At this point there were four of us: Damerell, AndrewC, CL and myself. I found the stove, water, about half the milk, the other half having escaped into CL's Ortlieb, but try as I might I couldn't find the bag containing the tea bags or cups. This was a disaster of the greatest magnitude but AndrewC saved the day with some bags containing something called lapsang souchong. We had some of this and if Douglas Adams has written about it I'm sure he would have said that it was entirely unlike tea. That, however, was of no importance as it contained something which seemed to be very like caffeine and I was awake, even though its flavour reminded me very much of some Godawful Russian Black tobacco with which I used to fill my pipe and make myself the most unpopular person in the common room at Poulton-le-Fylde College of Education.
Fortified, we fairly flew into Needham Market and found the lake and its lavatories, which were open but totally innocent of bog roll so many other cyclists having been there to evacuate before us. That didn't matter because I had taken my own. We returned to the task in hand and crossed the A140 and realised that we were now of an hour when we could expect Mere Mortals to be emerging from their beds. There were definite signs of life in Framlingham and 10 o'clock Peasenhall was certainly Up and Doing.
We stopped every so often so that Crinkly could sort out her cramping foot, and downhills and freewheeling were given over to reseating ourselves to alleviate discomfort, and even though we were astride a "Double Marathon", allegedly one of the strongest tandem frames known to man, I could feel it flexing like a willow in a hurricane under our combined weight. It was Truly Awesome.
After Peasenhall, we tackled the parched wastes of Nowhere Much and, on cue, just after a hill which was definitely tougher than Finchingfield, not least because it was covered in gravel and sand, we arrived at the sign saying Darsham 17 - some wag had added a magnetic 1 to the Tens column. Damerell was a bit concerned that others might find this too disheartening and was all for taking away the extra digit, but he decided to leave it when I threatened to move the 1 to the right of the 7.
And that was about it, really, save for the arrival at the beach and a welcome by the Multitudes. Annie, that Saintly Woman with the Magic Rolling Pin, was there to press calories on me, and I can honestly say that it was the first time in my life that I have had a pint of Tanglefoot or breakfast, followed by bread, cake, bacon rolls, baked beans...
