100km of nicely-marshalled and well-managed Dartmoor sportive, sounds fun, doesn't it? Just the thing to get out on a Sunday morning.
It started out nicely, with the huge numbers (a couple of thousand) of riders ambling from the "riders' village" with coffee, race number and transponder chip, into the pens and being sent out in clumps of around a hundred. It's not a race, but a timed challenge ride - there were (I later discovered, having taken a remarkably slack approach to this) gold, silver and bronze timing categories, and some folks were racing it, but most were just plain riding.
Out from Kingsteignton we - Chuffy, Bags and I - set off up a long, steady, almost Alpine climb, buying a good chunk of altitude. The views were great. Then the gloves came off. We dropped all of that height it two insane, super-fast descents that carried a good six kilometres and left me with the smell of hot brake-block compound. Then it switched back and hit a beast of a climb right back up again. I got off and walked, and therein started a pattern...
Back up, we tooled across the moors for a bit (hello rocks! hello sheeps! hello trees!) and it was gradually up up up, groveling along until we hit Princetown for the feed stop. I wasn't at my best and stopped for a shot of
Vitamin P as the rain set in. Grumpiness abounded. There was supplied energy spoo, gels, bars, nanas and the wonder of the hexatap - a six-way tap splitter for getting rid of water-bottle refil queues. Genius.
Alas, my appreciation of Princetown pasties and Mid Devon CC's plumbing were cut short as someone said that the timer didn't stop at the control (we'd thought it did, as we rode in over a timing mat! doh!). We saddled up and grimped out, looping around the high moors on what felt like a "tourist view loop" - lovely views and gratuitous miles. After that, the best bit of the whole ride: the rollercoaster from Princetown to Moretonhampstead. A good number of climbs, but huge, demented swooping descents. I pipped my fastest-ever bike speed at 44.8mph and damn near soiled myself doing it: after each plunge you could hear groups of riders laughing in that "ha! ha! I'm alive!" way.
There was a bit more grind through Moretonhampstead (the audax-rider's term "grimping" is totally appropriate) before we hit the long, easy and fast descent on the Exeter road, turning off after Doccombe to end with a cruise down the Teign Valley and a huge mug of tea.
I won a rock!
Gold, silver and bronze were for timed categories -- the rock was what you got if you were too slow. Because of my pasty stop, we boys missed out on our medal; Baggy still got hers as womens' numbers were different. If only we'd known beforehand! If only we'd paid attention to the stuff in our registration packs! But the rock amuses me greatly, and it's less tragic than the woman who flew over from the USA and missed out on her gold becuase of her tea-stop.
Anyway, pasties are worth stopping for. As we got through the drizzle, I asked one rider why he had a California state jersey. "Oi used to live thurr," said he, "but oi came baack for two things, pasties and Argyle." Vitamin P: May be habit-forming.
In conclusion -- superbly marshalled, great organization, and a challenging, gruelling 100km that is worth doing again. It was my first sportive, and the stereotype of middle-aged roadie weekend warriors was being adhered to: many Van Nicholases and Orbeas and Colnagos were there, and many buzz-cut receding hairlines also. It is nice to just rock up and ride with no brain required; it's worth the money, but it's definitely different from a Spartan small-group haul.
I need to get new brake blocks and investigate swapping my chainset for a compact: I need a few more groveler gears.
