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....