My coldest: THE Southend ride. Minus 7, ice all over the road, water bottles froze, had seven layers on. That was Cold.
My wettest: a Brighton ride (not sure which) when on the descent after the Beacon there was water all over the road and every time a vehicle went past it was just like being hit with a fire hose of dirty ice-cold sewage. Then we sat outside the Madeira scoffing a full English fry-up as the icy gales hurtled off the Channel. (This tops, but only just, the final day of London-John o Groats when we were utterly drenched after Wick.)
Most violent: the Martletts charity ride with the punch up outside the pub in Tooting. Alas for the perpetrator there happened to be about a dozen coppers from Tooting nick on the ride, exactly as two of their mates were sorting out the wrongdoers. They stopped to lend a hand: much to the surprise of the wrongdoers who were wondering where the f*ck all these coppers had come from.
Happy days.