Well that was supposed to be an easy 600 to complete this year's SR. I've been doing a bare minimum of riding since PBP2015 while concentrating on kayaking (didn't know I was a multitalented athlete, did you?), and so it was always going to be a bit of a struggle. But every calendar event brings a different set of experiences.
Northwards went mostly to plan. The wind appeared to be easterly, so more a side- than tailwind, but quite helpful on the Spalding to Boston section. I yo-yoed in front of and behind several riders as pace and control stop times varied. Nutrition was less than perfect, and I had to resort to on-the-go food from my saddlebag more than planned. I intended to have breakfast at Red Lodge, but it appeared that the cook was waiting for her grandma to knit her a new stove, so I continued to the Whittlesey Spoons. I intended to get a dessert at the Boston Spoons but settled for a drink given the number of people in there. There were a couple of torrential downpours before and after Boston, where I had to shelter until the rain had eased. The second time I sought shelter in the lee of a couple of pub outbuildings in the middle of nowhere. I was greeted by a huge Alsation, barking loudly and clawing at the chicken-wire front of its kennel. The publican appeared and, to my surprise, invited me to shelter inside the pub even though it wasn't open. A little later the checkout lady at the Kirton Spar showed a similar kindness when she gave riders a stool and bottle crates to sit on while eating in the courtyard in front of the shop. I picked up two packets of fig rolls to replace my on-the-go food and a packet of apple turnovers. I cannot recommend the latter - instead of apple they contained some congealed artificial apple-flavoured goo. I rode the next few miles in constant fear of seeing them again.
I soon caught up with a rider I'd met in the Spar courtyard. His GPS captive battery had expired and he was trying to navigate by routesheet and headtorch. He asked if he could follow me to take advantage of my GPS navigation. His name was Richard, came from Torquay, and was on his first 600, which he needed for an SR. We made good progress to Goole where we controlled and ate at McDonalds. I said I intended to head South immediately after eating to reach Gainsborough at least before sleeping. Richard was quite happy with this and accompanied me from Goole. I was pretty convinced we'd sleep in Gainsborough. In 2014 I'd had to sleep al-fresco in a village before Lincoln, but this time the ground was wet and it was likely to rain. After controlling at the service station in Gainsborough we slept for a couple of hours under the entrance canopy of the B&Q further down the road.
It now seemed that I'd have Richard as a riding partner for the remaining hours of darkness. I didn't mind this but was aware that the further we rode together the more a bond I'd feel and increasingly obliged to accompany him without knowing much about his audaxing capabilities. It turned out that my anxiety was unfounded and we became useful allies when it came to navigating around the closed road section after Lincoln and into the fenland headwind. What sealed my confidence was when Richard told me he'd completed the Devizes to Westminster Canoe Race when he was 17; no problem with endurance there.
Our experience of the road closure was similar to Tomsk's description upthread. Richard was able to remember the police officer's description, but it did seem a long way to Bloxholm Lane and a very long way to Scopwick; I would certainly have taken a wrong turn if riding alone. We controlled at the Sleaford Post Office ATM at 7:15 and went in search of food, deciding to wait until the Spoons opened at 8, where we dined on a large breakfast with several other randonneurs.
After Sleaford we started to take turns on the front into the wind. Tomsk and another rider passed us as we stopped to eat. We then caught them up to form a foursome, but Tomsk soon had to stop to take a call on his mobile. It soon became apparent that Jonathan was going through a bad patch, so Richard and I just said to hook on and let us ride on the front. It soon became clear that we'd finish as a threesome and Jonathan recovered sufficiently to take turns on the front. When one stopped we all stopped, confident in the knowledge that we'd make it in time.
After eating at the Green Welly (my first time) we took Wilkyboy's route from Cambridge to Dunmow, to be greeted by the man himself, shouting encouragement in Girton. We reached the Arrivee at about 19:30, where I later handed my brevidence to Tomsk in the Angel and Harp. A really good day out. I've not ridden that far with others before, apart from a couple of Easter Arrows.