WARNING .... Long Post, probably containing pointless detail:
“You stink!’ ….. I don’t think Mrs Cyklisten was too impressed with my general aroma. Having crawled into bed in the early hours of Monday morning without taking a shower, it seemed that the cursory once over with baby wipes hadn’t had the desired effect. Still, she made me a cuppa whilst I sheepishly climbed into a bath and cast my mind back over the weekend.
The Midhurst 600 was to be my longest ride of the season and although I had done the distance once before (Rainsham 600 last year), this one went the furthest away from the start. In the run up to the ride there was much chatter in yacf about the sleep and the lack of available accommodation so I decided to take a tent. I also moved up to panniers: The tent and sleeping mat in one and spare clothes and emergency kit in the other. The latter was by far the heaviest and will have to be revised in future.
I made the start at around 5.30 to see one or two of the usual suspects and to find that quite a few had already set off. I had hoped to meet a few names from yacf and especially to catch up with Hummers. Having agreed to meet Martin Stovell (with whom I rode the Hailsham 400) at the start. It was round about 6 when we rolled off.
With the weather forecast in mind, I planned to make as much time as possible in the dry and so when the ‘Fast Boys’ (Chris Tracey and Richard Thomas) left the Alresford checkpoint, I tagged along. With Mark Fairweather (who had given Martin (S). quite a start in the middle of the night on the 400, rising from behind a hedge under an orange cape at the Burbage checkpoint!) and a chap with a cycling plus shirt who I have seen before, but don’t know his name, we made a good brisk pace through some quaint villages with thatched roofs in abundance - very pretty.
Arriving at the at Marlborough control it was good to see Brian and Sue Howe and as usual Brian and I got talking about gps et al. This ate into the time a little too much and I watched as Phil and Mary Turner moved away on the tandem as did the ’Fast Boys’. Speaking of eating, there was shortage of treacle tart at this feed. I resolved to quiz Mr Phipps (the usual culprit) on this subject but he flatly denied all knowledge! Hmmmm!
I found the next section quite tough. The extra weight of the panniers and (probably more significantly) their aerodynamic qualities into wind made everything quite laborious. Also, my usual ‘sweet spot’ gear wasn’t working and it took me a while to
a) Realise this and
b) find another one. Twit!
I stopped in Wooten Basset for a Red Bull, which brightened me up a bit, but I was still feeling sluggish and eventually made a small detour (on foot) into the woods. I saw a dead grass snake in there, which had me concerned for a few seconds about camping out later on. I hope they like sweet corn.
Feeling better (and considerably lighter!) I started to get into a good rhythm and the control in Cirencester was on me quickly. I had read the route sheet wrongly as ‘through Siddington’ and then 11k but the distance was inclusive. So, there I was at the @ sharp L bend go SO’ I recognised it straight away as I had ‘been there’ before in Google Earth. I took a break and a sandwich on the grass by the petrol station listening to the screeching tyres of the drivers who felt it de rigeur to tear around the car parking area at silly speed. It wasn’t restricted to ‘lads’ either: everyone was at it.
Happy to leave the Grand Prix training ground behind, I made for Newent. I was in better shape now and moving quite well. I passed Phil & Mary (they were stationary – making it possible) just before the 25% descent. I, like several others, picked the wrong 25 %, so the SO @ X wasn’t there. Having just done a long white-knuckle ride accompanied by the smell of hot rubber, a retrace wasn’t going to happen. I resorted to the SatNav. I punched in Stoke Orchard and after a bit of weaving about was back on route.
As I arrived in Newent the Tandem (I guess they went the right way) and the ‘Fast Boys’ were just leaving. While I was eating, Martin Stovell and Ray Kerridge arrived. Martin was calling out to say he thought I would have been miles away by now when he swung in to Ray and went flying onto the deck. I think he was more embarrassed than hurt, so all was well.
The next stage was very pleasant. In spite of the looming ranges in the distance and the suspicion that El Supremo would have found some horrible inclines for our delectation the wind was behind and the terrain was flat, In Ross on Wye, the ‘keep Market House on R was easily spotted (once again courtesy of Google Earth) and I spotted a pub by the name of Crown & Sceptre which reminded me of PatC’s forthcoming events.
After watching the sunset and getting myself in to night mode, it wasn’t too long before I happened upon the Nr Hay on Wye control. Again, the ‘Fast Boys’ were just leaving (I’ll have to change my aftershave!) as was Andy Seviour. A rarity to see Andy with his bike as he usually rides the route in advance and helps at checkpoint on the day. The ‘El Supremo’ machine was in full swing. Dave, along with two helpers, waited on me hand and foot. I didn’t have to lift a finger. (just as well really) Luxury!
Dave told me that Hummers had packed, so I wouldn’t see him after all …. Little did I know!
Thoughts of sleep started creeping in but I wanted to get a few more miles on the clock and so it was off into the night. I enjoyed this section, making good progress through Talgarth and beyond. Passing the entrance to the Black Mountains Gliding Club where I had a memorable flight with an instructor called Ivor Shattock (how could you forget?), I thought about stopping and photographing the bike by the sign, but I was going too well and didn’t want to break my rhythm. The long descent in the next valley was great fun but the need for sleep was pressing and I started looking at the roadside for somewhere to pitch. After trying several small side roads, which were unsuitable, I found a large building set back from the road, with a lay-by-style pull in and a wall. Lean bike against the wall. Pitch tent (5 mins). Climb in, set alarm (1 hour), lights off. Lights on. Double check alarm – I had already been asleep for half an hour!) Sleep again. Alarm. Up and Pack (aka stuff everything willy nilly in pannier) and off! Only an hour, but I was well rested and with daylight approaching I passed several cyclist occupied bus shelters. I had just passed on such, containing a stirring pair of ‘Fast Boys’ when the rain started. I pulled in on an old garage forecourt and suited up for the weather. As I joined the road again Chris and Richard came passed. I thought to tag on but didn’t want to crease myself by going just that bit too fast. In Usk, I got to the ‘Info Control’ but there was no question on the brevet card. I must have missed an announcement at the start? I started frantically writing down the distances in all directions to anywhere. The pub across the road looked familiar, I had stayed there many moons ago while on a concert tour. I saw an HSBC bank and elected to get an ATM slip just in case. As I left there a rider came passed (Sydenham shirt) He had stayed in a B&B in Usk for four hours and didn’t stick around for long. Another quick one!
In Carleon the hill had me on the 24” gear for the first time in a long time. I thought I saw Phil and Mary pushing further up but they were nowhere in sight when I reached the top. I caught Chris & Richard at Magor Services and by this time the rain was pretty heavy. There was reluctance to leave and go out into the rain but it had to be done. Chris’s “Aaaagh!” as we did so, said it all. It wasn’t long before I realied that my computer had gone off so I stopped to change batteries and thus was alone again (naturally – as the song goes).
The next section was a drudge including the much anticipated ride across the Severn Bridge. What should have been a picturesque jaunt over the river with photo opportunities was hard work and a little tricky. With substantial side winds and pricking rain it was like negotiating the Striding Edge route up Hellvellyn in the Lake District.
By the time I got to Littleton Drew the rain had abated and things were getting warmer. I met a rider going the other way, looking lost. The route sheet was a bit askew regarding the placement of telephone boxes and national speed limit signs so I consulted the Sat Nav and worked out the route. Having pointed us in the right direction and being told that he hadn’t ridden since PBP he shot off and left me to it.
By Leigh Delamere, I was knackered. Having eaten, I went to get up and go but everything had seized up and was sore so I retired to the Gents and put the wet wipes, Sudocrem and Neurofen to work. As I was leaving, Martin (S) and Ray arrived.
In Chippenham, the Main street was closed (as advertised) for Morris Dancing, another photo opportunity as I was duck walking on my cleats. I skipped one of the several MRAB instructions and ended up in a shopping centre service area - Doh! – One of those gaffs that you have to correct quickly before the next rider comes along! Being brain dead at this point and confused by the sequence and number of roundabouts I once again resorted to the Sat-Nav. After a few turns and the suspicion that I was going the wrong way I stopped and checked again, whilst getting out of the ‘boil in a bag’ alledgedly breathable rain gear. Martin (S) & Ray with John? Appeared and passed me. The Sat-Nav was right!
Dave’s extra stop at Burbage was most welcome with beans on toast, rice pudding and tea – the usual ‘Full Monty’ with banter!
We rode on, as a group, consisting myself, Martin (S), Ray, John? and Mr PBP (didn’t catch a name) but by the the time we reached Barton Stacey there were onle three! John? and Mr PBP had presumably taken the short cut and got lost. We met them coming the other way! Pressing on, there was uncertainty about where we were. I had studied this one (again Google Earth) and was certain the Services were just around the corner and Hey Presto - Voila! We made it just on the time limit – though the receipt said otherwise.
We were tight for time and there was much lingering and faffing going on. Ray and I agreed that it was time to turn up the wick a bit so as to finish within the allowance. Mr PBP had bought a wadge of Sunday newspapers “There’s a lot going on in the world that we don’t hear about” !
On leaving the control there was further confusion and uncertainty because of lack of a railway bridge as advertised. I was sure we were going the right way and rode a while until I saw the remains of a railway bridge on both sides of the road; much over grown. The deck had long since gone. From here I could also see the next turn. We eventually agreed that ‘this was the way’ and set off. Ray wound the pace up nicely to a speed that would do the job. This, last leg was quite strange. Firstly, John? kept appearing and disappearing, like a ghost and Mr PBP appeared to be in a lot of difficulty. He was riding with one pannier which looked pretty full and was leaning quite badly and he was hunched awkwardly over the bars and muttering about core strength. His gears were playing up too and he spent a good deal of time looking at them and grumbling. He seemed to by very strong and would overtake uphill and pull right in front and then change down and almost stall making avoiding action necessary. The only safe place was out in front so I got out of the way. At some point he had a dodgy cleat moment and took a tumble. He didn’t sound very happy.
As night drew on we pressed on and the descent near Steep was fantastic. I put my front lamp (Lupine Wilma) on full tilt which allowed me to go for it. By this time Ray reckoned we would make it and on joining the A272 we were homeward bound. There was a pee stop but I kept going but then had to stop for stingy eyes. By the time they had cleared I was at the back as we strung out along the road.
Down the last hill into Midhurst I could see a car coming towards us. Nothing unusual, except that is seemed to be stopping at each rider in turn. I had visions of either a nutter or the police giving free lectures on the dangers of cycling at night or, in my case, a telling off for my extravagant light show. In a way I was right first time: It was Hummers! Having returned to collect his van he was shouting encouragenent at us on the last leg. Cheers, Mark!
Just before town, there was a pub on the left with revellers outside. I heard “ Oi!, in ‘ere … fell off! shouted at me as I passed. I thought it was the usual jeering. But on arriving at Midhurst, there were only three of us (I guess Mr PBP had had another tumble).
Ray, Martin (S) and myself had made it, with (in my case) four minutes to spare. There was an air of modest celebration as we stood together on the garage forecourt before departing our separate ways. I got the noddy’s in the car on the way home and slept badly before driving gingerly back to Kent. Next time I’ll take a leaf out of Ray’s book and B&B it in Midhurst, or even repitch the bivi.
I only got an hours sleep but it was so good and I felt rested afterwards and will do it again.
There were times when I had to dig really deep. The downside of carrying the tent was that it was there, available at all times and could have all to easily packed, set up camp and waited for the cavalry (aka Mrs Cyklisten).
I have Charlotte to thank for these words, which kept me going in some of the toughest parts:
“Mainly, it's the bloody mindedness. What gets me through bonkers rides is taking the attitude that the only way I'm not going to finish the ride is if I'm dead, dying or on fire.”
Given the rain, there was little chance of a fire breaking out but giggling to myself at the prospect did the trick
And finally: Many thanks to the man himself, Dave El Supremo Hudson and helpers for the hard work involved.
Andy
Pix to follow…
