it had to happen....our extraordinary luck with the weather failed us this time round, and, as with the last ride for which rain was predicted the numbers fell precipitously. I detest riding in rain, and rather envied the folk texting me as I went up to the start. When one of the Peters decided to pack it in at More London there was an inward 'can I come to?' as he set off for London Bridge railway station....
But then it eased, and, bit by bit, stopped. Gary's flat dealt with, we headed in to the back streets west of Woolwich, our little group making decent time and keeping close company. By the time we made the big roads around Dartford, it was dry. One of the Boys from Brazil punctured, and that was fixed in record time. The two smallish hills out of Greenhithe and Swanscombe, the most arduous of a much-flattened route, were surmounted without great difficulty, and there we were, out of Gravesend (poor Des got the brunt of the 'finest Georgian street in England' this time round) and in to the wilds of North Kent. No canal path - User10571 and I thought that it might have softened up, but the road to Lower Higham and on to Wainscott was sweet. I was TEC'ing, and, for those of you who've not been at the back of the ride as it rolls across the little ups and downs of North Kent, I'll say that watching the trail of red lights, stretched out over half a mile or so, going up one of those little rises is a stirring sight. So, all in all, we pulled up outside Andy's in good heart.
We missed an unspectacular dawn, and the FNRttC did what it often does at 4.30, which is to go in to a kind of moving doze. The Medway towns were shaken off, and we'd just got onto the marshes again when....Mudguard Moment.
Those of you with a tablet of stone to hand, inscribe this now! Anything that isn't required to get a bike from A to B is going to be crap. The designers of this particular (British touring) bike had come up with a wizard wheeze. Why not fasten the mudguard to the forks with a bolt going upward in to the forks from the underside of the mudguard? Genius. Not only will the bolthead cause the mudguard to block when the bike encounters, well, mud, but the bolt,
fixed upwards in the part of the bike that vibrates the most will work loose and inevitably come down on to the tyre. Unfortunately the LBS had compounded this folly by fitting an axle to the bike with a mallet - the diameter of the axle being ever so slightly greater than the receiving cut-out in the fork. We took a bit of time to work this one out, and, when we did, tried a number of ways of extracting axle from fork, eventually resorting to the Might that is Aperitif combined with one of Tim O's screwdriver collection.
Axle boshed back in to forks, our little sub-peleton of six set off, only for yrs truly to puncture on a reasonably fast bend, but, thankfully not an instant deflation. Fixed in short order, once again with Aperitif's help, we picked up speed, passed the church with the BOGOF roofs at Upchurch
scooping up patient wayfinders en route, but now nine strong, missing the turn to the cycle path over the Sheppey Way. I was three from the front, and yelling 'Leeeeeee' as the recumbent's taillight zipped along tantalisingly out of earshot. Some telephone activity later we shot down the Sittingbourne ring road and on to the back end of the main group, only finding out later that User10571 had formed a one-man search party and was now halfway back to Rochester.......
The road to Faversham had the desired effect. This is as relaxing eight miles as one could wish for, with orchards, the occasional hop garden, an odd mill at Bapchild. It was not always thus - the road was the haunt of footpads and highwaymen in more exciting (but courteous) times.
(January 1789) On Thursday evening about six o’clock, Edward Reigden of Whitstable, was stopped by two foot pads between Sittingbourne and Bapchild and robbed of three shillings and six pence, and about an hour afterwards Mr. Edward Tappenden of Sittingbourne was stopped near Bapchild, supposed by the same men, who robbed him of seven guineas and his watch.
One of the villains had a cutless, the other a pistol. We understand they behaved with civility and returned to Rigden fourpence halfpenny and to Mr. Tappenden a guinea to bear expenses.
The mill stands on the site of Hengist's castle, built about 450, on land that Hengist, clever fellow, encircled with his Thong. A neat trick.
We collected by Saint Mary's Church tower in Faversham
, and set off past the even more fabulous Saint Saviour's 'Tin' Church
and on to the Graveney marshes. The racing snakes were unleashed, and zipped off, homing in on the smell of sausages. Adamski and I wandered along, speculating on the human condition, before picking up speed for a bit of Mad Max spree through Whitstable. We sat down outside, which was pretty darn cold, but, having ridden through the night, we'd clearly decided to put off the hour that normality returned to our lives. So, there we were, forty or so cyclists, a little damp, a little cold, chatting away as if nothing could be more normal than riding through the night.
I took the train back to London, imprisoning Sig with questions about black and white photographic printing, about which she knows more than, I suspect, all but a handful of people in the world. A pootle back from Victoria Station to home, and into a bath that turned black around me - if nothing else this was the dirtiest FNRttC yet.
