Another amazing adventure. Thankfully somewhat warmer than last week, though that tailwind (yes, a tailwind!) had turned into a not-terribly-helpful crosswind for the ride back west. More on that later. A helpful commonality with last week was that it was early doors at work again, so no problems making the 9.24 train, which (again as last week) was on time. So no problems making HPC in plenty of time for chinwagging and the safety talk. Exit from the Great Wen was remarkably rapid and uncomplicated. In the absence of loud voices contradicting wayfinders, there were no wrong turns attempted at the Blackfriars Underpass (closed Friday night anyway) this time
Apart from the puncture that led to us holding up for a while at Greenwich (providing the night's spectacle of Mildly Entertaining Drunken Argument), there seemed to be remarkably few mechanicals and pleasantly little hanging around when wayfinding. And no blind-as-a-bat drivers trying to clip us either, which was nice. At one point, the average speed on the Garmin (overall, not rolling) was showing as 11 mph.... positively rocket-like when compared to some nights.
Must confess to slightly mixed feelings about The Path. On the one hand, a splendid experience- notwithstanding the surface, a smooth enough ride for the most part, empty apart from amphibian noises and Network Rail contractors, a cracking view of the night sky, some lovely views around us, and Not Erith. On the debit side, in parts there was busted concrete that almost made Brentwood's cobblestones look attractive to cycle on, those bleedin' Sustrans gates (to put it very mildly), which were a tight squeeze for scrawny old me, let alone normal-width people, stupid bollards....the plus side definitely wins.
On that steep little descent towards the church in Strood, my rear light decided to make its escape- well, the back half did- thanks to the nice chap (didn't know your name) who picked it up. It continued flashing despite its encounter with tarmac. And thankfully it continued to work perfectly when back in one piece. And as for the spread provided by Tim, Mrs D et all…splendid, again. I settled for a mere two rolls, three bits of cake and a cup of tea. Had to do my bit for a good cause.
On the way out of Rochester, our favourite submarine looks to have fallen into a parlous state, from listing and alone to listing, alone, and seemingly entirely covered with rust. Hopefully it'll get some much needed TLC before too long. Second half was as joyous as the first. That final stretch through Seasalter never fails to amuse me, even with a headwind. With a tailwind, absolutely glorious. Yesterday morning's variant was not quite the best time I've had on it (in multiple senses) but not far off. And it's always nice being at the Waterfront. Breakfast as cracking as ever.
Martin's tube explosion was a bit of an alarm call for anyone feeling a little sleepy (that would be everyone, then). I was somewhat surprised that the tyre survived the experience. Until I saw the name on the sidewall, that was. Schwalbe Durano Plus. A controlled explosion, then. The tube itself looked thoroughly demised, the tyre anything but. Whatever one's metaphor for 'very very tough thing that makes other tough things look feeble', this is the racing tyre version.
Oh, I've got it....the
Jens Voigt of tyres (though he was actually riding Ultremo ZXs in the New Forest).
And so to the ride west. As last year, and 2011 (though I failed that year), I'm aiming to complete the century a month challenge. Despite having a week off and (hopefully) favourable weather for the month, opportunities to actually get one in the bag looked a bit thin on the ground. Today was out (I always prefer a lie-in and a fairly lazy day on a Sunday after an FNRttC, for some reason), next Saturday I'm seeing Eddie Izzard at the O2 (which takes Saturday out and renders Sunday highly unlikely), then there's Normandy the week after that (according to Simon, trying to do a century over there is not a good idea, so I'll follow that advice), so that's those out. Unless that idea about riding to Brighton on the Saturday night bears fruit... And if the weather sucks on the last weekend...game over.
So, I decided well in advance that (a non-repeat of Wetstable permitting), I'd tag along with the SMRBtH for thirty-odd miles, before turning off for a suitable station. Rochester was going to be a bit early, so I reckoned on Meopham. Ian and Rimas had a bit of a wait for food, so the intended departure time of 9.00 got pushed back by half an hour. The plan was route one- A2 for the most part. Certainly not a pretty route, or a quiet one, but direct. The pace was expectedly rapid- I was lagging behind, oh, only about 99.999% of the time, and my average was over 14 mph nonetheless. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem for me (the ride back after Saarfend at the end of '11 certainly wasn't), even after thirty hours awake etc, but this time I was feeling it a bit more, the aforementioned now cross/headwind making it somewhat hard work. Martin ended up as TEC/babysitter for most of the time. I wasn't going to bail, I wanted that ton in the bag, but at the same time the pace this time was just a bit too hot and I didn't want to be a burden. So when we regrouped at Sittingbourne, I told the others to just carry on at their own pace. Nonetheless, having someone to chase was a big help in getting that far up the road that quickly, so thanks again, chaps. Once we were out of the town, they eased off into the distance, and I carried on plugging away up the A2. Meopham was an easy turn south just after Strood, so I thought.
Made Rochester at 11.45 or so, and started keeping an eye for a suitable left turn, which should be clearly marked. Er, no. Stupid Cycle Farcility number two (number one being those gates) had other ideas. Very nice off-road path alongside the A2 near the junction with the M2 suddenly disappears, no visible means of safely continuing along the road. Sign posts? Heaven forbid. There is a slip road left, so I think 'oh, this must be the way'. No, this is the way to a golf club. There is a footpath, so I try that. Nope, that cuts off, again at the golf club. In order to continue west and then south towards Meopham, assuming you are neither in a motorised vehicle nor have a death wish, one must therefore go the other way up the slip road, on to a flyover, then proceed west on a helpfully non-signposted road on the north side of the A2, until finally a junction with Brewers Road, another flyover then takes you over the A2 again and on towards Cobham. Missed my turn towards Meopham (poor signage didn't help), but backtracked. Came to Sole Street station, decided to bail there. On account of earlier shenanigans I just had missed one train, and it was one an hour. So on to Meopham, fortunately only a couple of miles down the road. This time, perfectly timed for the train- I got my ticket, walked onto the platform, and there it was waiting (fortunately with time enough for me to board). All that bother meant that I'd taken till one to get there! Final total since midnight, 106.66 miles.
Getting back to Waterloo proved unnecessarily complicated thanks to a BNP demonstration and associated road closures. What is normally a straightforward trip from Victoria turned into a convoluted slog, and I missed the train I would have otherwise caught south as a result. Never mind, not long to wait for the next one. Home just after four, and much needed nap not long after that. Thanks everyone. And for those of you coming to Normandy (and/or the Portsmouth prologue) see you in a couple of weeks!