My contact with Barry amounted to one e-mail each way. I sent him an e-mail, asking a question. He sent me an e-mail back and it was, put simply, rude. I gather that he didn't do politeness when he didn't see the need.
That doesn't diminish my estimation of the man. It's pretty obvious that he changed my life, and for the better.
He had a brilliantly simple idea, and worked out how to best put it in to practice. Those of you who have done the Dunwich Dynamo shouldn't be tempted to take anything for granted. Six years on I'm still looking to the lessons learnt. Starting at London Fields is clever - close enough to the centre of London to mean something, and out of the way enough to make staying there for an hour or two a pleasure. The route is a masterpiece, with one eighteen mile stretch without any turns at all. The FNRttC routes to Brighton, Blackpool and Bognor are reductions of the Dunwich route. I suspect that Dunwich had a particular association for Barry Mason, but if you were looking for a destination that combined history and romance with breakfast there would be few better.
The Dunwich Dynamo lays down the standard for rides that tell a story. There is a beginning, a middle and an end. Every time you see someone organising a ride from one anonymous place to another similarly anonymous place, ask yourself if Barry Mason would have bothered. He invented a ride that combined adventure and romance. It's an inherently naughty thing - the cycling equivalent of reading a book underneath the bedclothes - but, at the same time, an inclusive thing. The Dunwich Dynamo doesn't have a dress or a bike code. It doesn't even, as far as I know, have a start time. You meet and get to know people that you wouldn't otherwise say hello to. It is, in short, just about everything a bike ride should be. That it happened, and persisted, and spawned other night rides, that it set a new benchmark for social riding is entirely due to Barry Mason's determination.
He'll be missed, but his mark on life will endure.