I did something silly...
With the alarm set for 0215, I woke at 0130. With all preparations done the night before, I got up, went downstairs and [shame] put the telly on. By the time I'd realised that time was ticking on, it was nearly 0300.
I climbed aboard the Grasshopper, and energised the IQ Cyo at the front, and various blinkenlights at the rear. The Cateye singleshot at the front got left switched off - it's just too bright. All GPSs enabled, and I set off.
A 3-minute plummet down the A38 from the A6 roundabout to Little Eaton (A61) showed me that the roads aren't empty at that time; most of the 18-wheelers gave me space, but one was being overtaken at the time, so couldn't move to the other lane. I was glad to peel off onto the B6179 at the Little Eaton roundabout.
Streetlights. All the way to Ripley and beyond. No chance to get properly adjusted to darkness. A few houses with lights on (what WERE they up to in there?) but no sounds of screaming babies or creaking bedsprings, just tyre and wind noise, traffic from the adjacent A38, and the whirring of chain in tube.
An enforced 2-min wait at traffic lights in Denby, and I wasn't going to RLJ at that time of night - all it takes is one PetrolHead on the A609... I was just about to dismount and cross as a pedestrian when a car came up behind me, and triggered the lights to change.
Steady climb all the way into Ripley. The parallels between the town and the Sigourney Weaver character have already been mentioned - I was so glad it was neither pub-kicking-out-time nor daylight. I stopped to hang my MemoryMap GPS around my neck, rather than it being in an accessible pannier pocket, as I was now going to be following roads that didn't lead anywhere obvious - they just happened to link up to make a nice-looking set of join-the-dots.
Drop like a brick to Butterley - no stopping to admire the 4foot8annahalf steamy goodness, but still braking on the descents. Not enough light to trust the road surfaces. Swanwick, Somercotes, Cotes Park (an industrial estate with parked-up lorries everywhere) and a brief comfort stop next to a bridge over the A38. A bit dis-heartened to find I'd only done 14 miles in the first hour and a quarter. "It's been mostly up-hill" I consoled myself with that thought, and hoped against hope that the Zombies were all feasted out on BRANES for tonight.
Strange thing happened at a mini-rbt in South Normanton; a van actually stopped and gave way to me. If the road had been a normal T-junction, he would have had priority (going from my left to my right, where I was turning right); I was approaching what I thought was a Give-Way, and I slowed when I saw his lights.
On the way out of South Normanton, 1h25 after starting, I finally found myself in proper darkness. Descent down to Normanton Brook again too blind in the dark - and it came up on me too fast for me to get the Cateye Lazer-Cannon switched on, so I just had to take it a bit slowly. Then another vicious climb through Blackwell; awful surface, but fortunately streetlit and bereft of both motor vehicles and the walking undead. (Strange, isn't it - the thoughts a night-time ride can lead to?)
Under the M1, and then winch up the B6026 to the summit of the ride, Huthwaite. 188m altitude, after 1h45 and 18.8 miles. (Please excuse the mix of units. Distances are miles, heights are metres, OK?) Descent into Sutton in Ashfield might have been quicker in daylight - trade-off between lack-of-traffic and lack-of-confidence-in-road-surfaces.
On the stretch from Skegby to Please-leave (ok, Pleasley), it was properly dark. More gradients - all negative this time. I met the day's first cyclist, who was walking up the steep hill in the opposite direction to me. "Morning" I called - no response. He prolly thought I was a nutter. I don't remember much about the stretch from there to Langwith Junction, except a school with Speed Cameras. Down across the 100m contour for the first and last time.
It was just starting to get light as I careered through Holbeck and joined the A60 to Worksop. 15 mins on the A60 felt like 45; as I reached each set of streetlights, they switched off - they thought there was enough light to see by, but I begged to differ. By now the fuel tanks were getting a bit empty, and the Camelbak wasn't supplying water like it should. I wondered if there wasn't an airlock in the hose, but the answer became clear when I stopped.
Another "wait-for-car-to-come-same-way-as-me-to-trigger-the-lights" enforced stop in Worksop, then joy-of-joys! a cornershop that had just opened. (It was, by now, 6am. 3 hrs of riding, and I'd covered 36 miles.) I bought all the major food groups, including salt (crisps), carbohydrate (mars milk drink), and burnt crunchy bits (bacon sandwich). The Camelbak's drinking hose was making crunching noises as I bent it - the tube was narrowing due to ice formation!
Properly light as I left Worksop, but I kept my lights on just in case. Sting-in-the-tail climb on the B6045 past the Hospital, with a "show your speed" camera/sign. 4mph. Thanks a bundle. I know I'm slow, but there's no need to rub it in.
More descendery goodness through Blyth, and across the A1 (where it becomes the A1(M)). Last time I was here, it was a standard flat roundabout! Fortunately now a bridge takes the A614 across the A1, with motorway-style slip roads. This was (approx) the half-way point - so now I had to settle down and conserve energy and momentum - "You've got all day" I kept telling myself. After all, it wasn't yet 7am.
Bawtry "Medieval Port" the sign proclaimed. I wasn't going to argue, but this did hint that I'd lost all the height that I'd ever had, and was now on the zero-contour run-in to York. (Joke!) The less said about the A614 past Robin Hood airfield, Finningley, Woodhouse Grange prison/young-offenders-centre/rejected-asylum-seekers-departure-lounge, and home to motorway junctions designed by M C Esher the better. As I rode into Thorne, I saw my first train of the day, a Northern Rail class 185. Sainsburys - opportunity for a second refuel, and comfort stop. A bit anxious that I hadn't brought a lock, but the 'bent was studiously ignored by passers-by. The SEP-field generator seems to work.
More flat and featureless roads north from Thorne to Snaith, with some short-sharp-pointy climbs over the various motorways, rivers, canals and navigations. At Carlton I cunningly avoided the Curse Of Sustrans; the road sign listed Selby as being 7 miles away, but the bike path showed it to be 12 miles away. An extra 5 miles - no thanks. Then again, the A1041 into Selby was a bit cyclist-unfriendly. Very long and straight, tree-lined, with not really enough room for a car to overtake a bike if there were a car coming the other way. Because of the sightlines, estimating the approaching car's closing speed was not easy - poor visual clues. Made worse by an oncoming agricultural machinery thingy - too wide for cars to see past, but too slow to stay behind.
Once in Selby, I sighed a mental sigh of relief. Until I got to the A19 swing bridge - closed. I didn't have a downloaded Landranger OS map of this bit on either GPS, so was a bit lucky in finding the route out to the A63 Ouse Swing Bridge. (luck being - "Do I go left or right? Which way will get me across the river?") Shed a few layers now that it was 10am, with bright sunshine. Looking at the maps, had I gone left, I'd have found a B-roads route via Cawood, Stillingfleet and Naburn. But I'd've missed the planets.
A63 to Barlby, then I lifted the bike onto the grass past a coned-off sliproad, phoned through to CrinklyLion to let her know where I was, and got onto lightly-trafficked roads again. Now the Sustrans route on the Ex-East-Coast-Mainline, and I could do my Deltic impersonation. Tailwind, good surface (well, better than when I last used it), other riders and runners to overtake and show-off to, and the hope that I'd be at the riverside in time to see the first division race, all combined to give me 2nd (3rd or 4th) wind, so that I covered the 10 miles from Barlby to the A64 bridge in 50 mins. A few slow bits, such as encountering Red-Nose-Sponsored-Walkers, and a peleton of southbound riders who didn't either slow down or go single file, but simply forced me onto the grass.
When I got to the end (or beginning?) of the Solar System model (the sun, at the A64 bridge), I rang CrinklyLion again - to find she'd only just set off. (A Cub's Wii addiction...) So after a slight hiatus there, during which I could indulge in the luxury of finishing my emergency rations, she showed me a splendid route across the racecourse, then down to the river, and through town to the Bike Co-op (with a slight coming-together of my chainrings and CrinklyCub's rear rack at one point). Then along the riverbank to the Derby Rowing Club trailer - the last one almost by the railway bridge. CrinklyCub was most interested in all things Rowing - I think we have a recruit. The rowers were most grateful for the chocolate and bananananana cake that CrinklyLion had brought along. As was I.
I have no recollection of the train journey back to Derby. There may have been football supporters - though that doesn't quite ring true, as I got in at about 1650, according to the GPS log; ah, no, the foopball "enthusiasts" were on the previous York-Derby trip the previous week, after CrinklyLion's excellent Cake Run. I re-assembled the bike (i.e. stuck the flag into the rear rack), switched on the various lights, and pootled home. (I stopped off at the pub to apologise to the landlady that I wouldn't be drinking that night!) A detour to the supermarket got my mileage to 97.5, but I wasn't bothered about doing the extra 2.5.
Thanks for the encouragement, offers of bail-out, actual CAKE, and for reading this far. I won't do it again, I promise.
