RR - Dunwich Dynamo 2005

[vince]

[2005] I didn't do a lot of lengthy writing, but I'd like to keep this one. Hopefully another to follow in 2008.

This report is a bit late, has no pictures and repeats everything that has been said before. But for the sake of completeness:

On Friday night I had been trying to finish off the decoration of the house for tenants, the Electricity Board had responded by digging up the road outside and shutting off the power until midnight. I finished painting doors by 1am and tried to get to sleep. My little brother was on the p!ss in Ipswich having just finished a week of nights at Kings A&E the day before. It’s fair to say that our preparation was not perhaps all that it could have been.

I rode down to my brother’s cell (nurse’s accommodation) in Camberwell from St Pancras, as I did so the elastic from my pannier wrapped itself around the rear mech – this was to become something of a theme. I finally woke my brother up and it was off to Edwardes for some last minute tube purchases and Somerfield to trawl for lactose free carb treats (not as easy as you would think). Back in his room I was getting ready and putting on my bib-shorts, my brother came back from the kitchen and quickly closed the curtains, complaining that as a male nurse he faced enough prejudice as it was without the good people of Camberwell being treated to such a sight.

A large pre-ride meal of bacon, peppers and pasta was followed by my digestive system playing up. I had been very careful about what I ate in the preceding couple of days and so was angry and panicky about the thought of missing another DunRun. Having Nursey for a brother has some advantages, he persuaded me to dose up on Loperamide, which sorted things nicely.

This pre-ride crisis meant that despite careering through London we got to The Monument at ten past seven and missed the C+ group that was riding from there to London Fields. After a short spell of sibling bickering it was established that Colin did not travel north of the river too often and a small A-Z was purchased. We arrived at London Fields around 8ish, saw a couple of guys on bicycles eating a takeaway and asked how early we were and when everyone else was likely to turn up. They looked a little confused, before pointing out the very large congregation of cyclists on the other side of the park around the pub.

After three years of hanging around cycling forums I have learnt that you can almost always recognise fellow forummers even if you have not met in the flesh before. My brother pointed out a tandem decked out in fairy lights and said ‘I presume they are friends of yours’ – at least I knew the Pikes were here.

It was great to meet everyone at the start, although always a little odd to speak in person to people who are usually a keyboard's length away. My brother completed his pre-ride prep by downing three pints, I mercifully could not reach my rolling-tobacco and so gave my lungs a fighting chance over the next few hours. After Nutty sorted out his wheel we were off. It was nice to meet Alex Rice from C+ and for the first couple of miles I rode with him and Bomber and started to hanker after a ‘bent. Somehow Alex seemed to drop off the back – one minute he was there and the next he wasn’t. I felt a bit bad leaving a man behind as it were, but was worried that with my brother further up the group swapping travelling stories with Kitzy I would find myself lost if I hung back so pressed on.

All went well until we reached Epping Forest – I knew I should have swapped the Continentals for my Armadillos and I was hit with a puncture. My brother stayed with me as the ACF peloton blinked its way into the distance. My little Petzel Zipka was worth its weight, not only did it allow me to check my cycle computer and route instructions all night, but it made changing a tube in the darkness of the forest a lot easier. As I took the wheel out with characteristic bad grace, a young lady with a slow puncture on a ‘bent pulled up. A stream of invective followed the snapping of one of my Aldi tyre levers and Colin inexplicably decided that she was obviously in more need of assistance then his less-than chirpy big brother. Mr Rice stopped by and I felt a little less guilty at leaving him behind earlier, there followed the first of many ‘so where are we then’ type conversations.

I was keen to try to catch up with the ACF mob and not happy at the time we had lost. For some reason Colin was very concerned at the thought of leaving an attractive young female recumbent rider and gallantly suggested we slow the pace to hers. Having told him to put such thoughts from his mind we pushed on and left her and Alex to the tender mercies of the Essex badlands. If you’re out there Mr Rice I hope you got to Dunwich ok, I don’t think we saw you on the beach?

The sight of the ACF peloton: Bomber, Kitzy and Fatbloke having met up with Ravenbait et al was something to behold, it was like a two wheeled carnival. I was pitifully glad to have slowed the pace once we had caught up and enjoyed many sociable miles until about three miles before the food stop. Colin heard that someone had wiped out and we left the group to cycle back – well he went back sharpish, I tried to ask what the point was unless there was a third party worth suing but got one of his NHS ‘looks’ for my trouble. He came back before I reached the accident saying that the guy was fine, I can’t help but think there was a note of disappointment in his voice.

We carried on to the feed stop and the little candles by the side of the road were great. The queue at the stop less so! At the stop there were so many people queuing for food (around 3am?) that we decided to raid the malt loaf supply and re-fill water bottles before pushing on. Aside from anything else I was starting to cool down and didn’t want to get cold in the queue. I re-filled my water bottle by sticking my head through the window of the kitchen and jumping the queue and we were off again.

I had expected the second half to be slower and that the rest of the ACF group would catch us up, but for some reason we got quite a rhythm going. We ran into a group led by a guy on a fixie with a very high wattage lamp that flooded the road with light – a group to draft and decent lighting was too much of a bonus to pass up so we tagged along for a few miles. I started to feel guilty that one lad was taking the brunt of the work so I went forward to take a turn. After a while the light seemed dimmer, I didn’t think that even my bulk would eclipse such a magnificent lighting system and my brother pointed out that they had actually fallen behind. I suspect that they hung back to get rid of a couple of hangers-on!

Colin and I then got into the habit of drafting each other for a while and maintained a decent speed along with occasionally riding side by side and chatting, which is a luxury we rarely enjoy as he lives in London and has a pretty hectic schedule. We continued like this up to the 90-mile mark when I was keen to stop to eat. The last of the energy drink and nuts were consumed and I treated myself to a fresh pair of gloves, as the ones I wore were drenched in sweat. Although I managed my food intake much better than on previous long rides, my brother has told me that me riding started to become quite erratic at this point. Sometimes I would manage a steady 19mph and others I would drop to 14, at the first hint of a hill I had nothing left in my legs and dropped straight on to the granny ring.

About ten miles from the finish we came to a short hill that had a lot of gravel at the bottom and saw a guy come off quite spectacularly. If someone lives locally to this stretch they could save a lot of grief next year by putting up a homemade sign. We stopped for a quite a while whilst Colin produced a huge first aid kit with supplies that looked suspiciously like MoD and Hospital issue. I of course was not much use, being more inclined to treat the sick by poking them firmly with a stick and so occupied myself with fiddling with the panniers I had bought cheaply from SJS on eBay. The panniers seemed determined to destroy themselves and the hooks were coming unbolted. Having come so far I did not want to be defeated by a defective pannier bolt! We left a pretty shaken cyclist and his mate pushing their bikes and pushed on for the finish.

We got to Dunwich just in time, another few miles and I would not have had anything left in my legs. My sodding little brother seemed fine though! I spoke to a depressingly fresh looking Sam, memyselfi (Rob) and Arabella (?), none of whom looked like they had just cycled 116 miles. A short dip in the sea followed, it was very cold and as I quickly struggled out I noticed what looked like Sizewell B off to the South, which may have influenced my decision to swim if I had spotted it earlier. On getting out of the water I asked Colin for a towel and he produced a J cloth! Apparently they are his idea of lightweight travel. I was too tired to rant so used my very sweaty cycle jersey instead and stomped off to the lavatory to see if the hand drier could be used.

After a pretty mediocre breakfast, for which Colin queued for some time even at 7am, I was warm having dressed in fresh clothes and feeling somewhat better. It was nice to chat to people as they arrived, but I wasn’t tempted at the thought of joining others for a second swim. Sam pedalled off debating whether to head for London or Ipswich and a horribly fit looking Rae left declaring London or bust. How these people do it without the benefit of East German pharmaceuticals I do not know. Colin wrapped himself up in the remainder of his clothing and fell asleep on the beach and I drifted around chatting to people. Next year I’ll bring a light sleeping bag and stove to avoid queuing and grab a couple of hours kip before the bus.

The coach back was both terrifyingly graphic having sat at the back with the bad kids and good fun, which given that many therapist advised me never to travel by coach again is saying something. A huge thanks to my little brother who cycled to Camberwell to pick up the rest of my stuff whilst I pushed my bike to our friend’s flat in Battersea – I was too sore to cycle.

Overall, a great ride and probably the most atmospheric and friendly mass ride I’ve ever done. I’ll probably pop along next year – with a bike I’ve had longer than 72 hours and a Dyno-hub.

[TimC]

Thank goodness I don't have to work today...

We (me and Fat Nigel) arrived at the pub somewhere around 7pm, and immediately set to carb loading with gusto. The discovery that Fatters can sink a pint in next to no time at all gave a little edge to the race to pre-fuel, but we decided that 3 or 4 pints was probably enough. Probably.

I was gobsmacked to meet so many people whose existence has only been semi-real to me, and the wonderfully eclectic mix of bikes and biking wear was a joy to behold. Watching the first few groups depart almost inspired us to do likewise, but we decided that maybe just one more pint for courage was required...

That meant that we were still around when the acf/C+ massif began preparations to depart, and when Nutty discovered that his front inner tube wasn't fully up to the task (this on the replacement bike as bike No.1 had self-destructed on the way to the station!). We hung around to offer help, superglue and useless advice, and the odd turn on the pump, until Nutty was fully ready for combat. (As an aside, one incredibly generous bloke offered Nutty the use of his bike then and there. Amazing!) We saddled up, and realised at that point that our group of 20 or so were about the last to leave.

After the torturous maze of alleys and cycle lanes for the first part of the ride (who navigated that - and how did you know where you were going??!), the pace hit somewhere between lightspeed and Warp 5 for the first few miles. As we stopped briefly at the petrol station, I turned to Nige and said I couldn't maintain that pace for 120 miles. His face answered me eloquently... We left the petrol station in a smaller bunch, and quickly realised that either the acf/C+ lot had gone ahead or we'd left them behind. As hardly anyone passed us in the next 50 miles (and we had slowed considerably from the early race-pace), we can only guess it was the former.

We found a huge group at the pubs at Moreton, and were slightly confused by the fact that we seemed to arrive there by a different route than most. As I was using a mapping GPS with the route displayed on it, I was fairly confident that we were right, but I did begin to have suspicions that the 2004 route was slightly different from the 2005 one...

The run into Dunmow was fast and fun, with even a few applauding spectators out and about. The run out of Dunmow, OTOH, seemed to be continually uphill. Now, I live in the area (Halstead), and I'm pretty sure that Great Bardfield is not actually on a 2,500 ft hill, but it bloody felt like it was yesterday! The pratts who decided to throw stones at us confirmed that the local oxygen level was probably pretty low...

The roads between Dunmow and Sudbury were magical, with the rolling countryside offering occasional glimpses of the long line of twinkling Cateyes, punctuated by the delightful lanterns someone had put out to mark the route. The impromptu stop just outside Sible Hedingham was a riot of sparkling lights. Almost put me off my peanut butter, ham and pickle sarnie... Sudbury itself seemed to confuse a few, but this is my stamping-ground, and we blasted through on a lactic-acid-fuelled high, coupled with the momentum gained in the Ballingdon Hill descent, aided by the traffic lights at green. The climb out of Sudbury wasn't quite so magnificent, but we coped.

The next few miles were marked [sic] by the presence of an unlit rider who thought it would be fun to suck our wheels. We slowed to let him take the lead just as we came out of the lights of Little Waldingfield into the pitch black of the Suffolk backwaters. He stopped, which was probably a good idea. We continued, now pretty desperate for food (and having resisted the post-beer curry in Dunmow). Through these winding lanes, we appreciated the rather splendid illumination provided by our Cateye EL500s. Not SON/E6 splendid, admittedly, but perfectly adequate for those who don't normally ride at night.

The food stop was a welcome beacon of light in the blackness, with what seemed like hundreds of bikes strewn around the verges of Monks Eleigh's village green. The 30-minute queue confirmed that the estimate of 'hundreds' was probably pretty accurate. The presence of the majority of the acf/C+ group, already finishing their meals, confirmed that we were right to have slowed earlier; you guys were too fast for us! We ate, and I was just contemplating a forty-wink lie down, when Macleach suggested that he and Fatbloke ride with Nigel and I for the remainder of the ride. Bugger! I've read about Fatters' exploits on the velocipede, and Macleach looks like a Tour refugee. Had they offered me a beer I'd have been happier, but our bluff had been called. we set off again, into the night.

Well, almost night. The first wisps of the rosy-fingered one were just appearing as we left the food stop. The first hill out of Eleigh (and the next out of Bildeston) confirmed that my climbing ability had not been restored (or, rather, created) by the injection of calories, but, bless 'em, Fatters and Mac didn't rub in the fact that they were with a couple of rank amateurs. The ride past Wattisham and into Needham was fast(ish) and fairly flat, and illuminated by someone with a light fetish. The drop into Needham ended with a little confusion as to where to go, but it was soon sorted (at this stage, the GPS was off in battery conservation mode).

The next twenty or so miles are rather sketchy in my memory. I have vague recollections of lots of short, sharp uphills completely unbalanced by downhills. Some pretty villages and several pee-breaks. Well, Macleach had several pee-breaks. I obviously wasn't drinking enough!

Somewhere around Brandeston, the lack of directional confidence in the groups we encountered prompted the re-emergence of ORAC (the GPS). We then confidently followed the 2004 route for the next few miles to Peasenhall, where the GPS finally expired. Luckily, at that point we rejoined the route everyone else seemed to be following, rightly or wrongly, and stepped up the pace for the triumphant final few miles to the finish. I wish! We continued at our now pedestrian pace (sorry, Barry & Chris!) until I was rudely interrupted by three phone calls. I ignored the first two, knowing it was my ex wanting to know if I'd finished yet. I was unwilling to stop and have to face the pain of restarting, so I cursed her and rode on. At the third call, I thought, 'Perhaps it's important', so I stopped and answered.

"Where are you", said she. 'Bugger', I thought, 'I'm right...'. "I've got about 15 miles to go and it hurts," I snapped back. "Well hurry up, the kids are waiting to congratulate you." "Where?" "At the cafe at Dunwich!"

Suitably chastened, and very humbled, I set off again, caught up with Barry and Chris, and set the best pace I could to try and get to the finish with some semblance of pride in the achievement. We were met by Peri and my children, Georgia and Kieran, about half a mile from the cafe at around 7:15 am, after almost exactly 8 hours on the bike. Barry, Nigel and Chris - sorry if I was a bit emotional at that point!

My son ran (ran - he's seven!) with me to the cafe, excitedly chatting all the way. While Nigel went off to queue for brekkers, I sat and was regaled with tales of derring-do on the beach at dawn, and the personal histories of several, very special, stones. At this point, I should apologise to the caretakers of Dunwich beach if it appears to be a little, um, smaller today. It wasn't erosion...

The kids and ex left us to sleep a little and went home. I awoke, and realised that I'd totally failed to acknowledge the existence of any of the forummers since I'd arrived, so made my way to the van. While no-one was full of the joys of spring (possibly due to thermal shock from skinny dipping?!), there was a sense of quiet satisfaction at the achievement, small for some but huge for others, of 120 miles (give or take) at night.

I've said thanks to Charlotte et papa elsewhere, but I must add that the flawless organisation of the transport helped enormously in the overall feel of the event. Next year (yes, I'll be there!) I'm taking a space blanket and some heating pouches for the beach - which will, of course, be 30C and windless!

The bus home? That's for others to tell....