Ok, this is long. You might want to sit down with a cup of tea.
Registration and the day before
You have to register in the days before the ride. This was no trouble for me, as I don’t work a million miles away from the Excel. Registration was easy, we picked up my drop bag, numbers & timing chip, and there were lots of stalls with offers on various bits and pieces. I ended up with some very weird and wonderful stuff (beetroot flapjack anyone?) as well as several energy/caffeine gels, which I’ve never really tried before (a risky strategy, I know) and energy bars. By this point we knew the weather was likely to be filthy, and my lovely future spouse treated me to a very smart women’s Rapha raincoat that was in the sale on the Rapha stall. I was already feeling very excited by this point.
On Saturday evening, we headed over to my colleague’s house, as she lives only a couple of miles from the Olympic Park, the start of the race, and had kindly offered to put us up for the night so I could wake up as late as possible. I ate a three course meal, had a strong gin & tonic, and went to bed by 10pm, mindful that my alarm would go off at 5pm.
The start
When the alarm did go off, I had a shower before forcing down the strange beetroot flapjack (apparently you’re supposed to eat it 2 hours before exercise, why I don’t know, I was willing to believe any old crap at this stage) and having a strong coffee made by my colleague. I filled my bottles with water and Nuun tables and stuffed my jersey and little tri-bag with gels and energy bars, including some rice cakes I’d made, which apparently Team Sky use. I also put together a bag of gels/energy bars for Rob, who, after I left, was going to Waterloo to get a train to Woking and hike across fields with the dog in order to get to Ripley, where his grandparents live, and where I would have my own personal pitstop waiting.
We got to my start area (which was defined by a colour and then a letter) and dropped off the drop bag. I then rode into my pen which was already full of cyclists, and sized them up. I’d put myself down as a 7-hour rider, and theoretically I should be starting at the same time as people of a similar ability. I thought everyone looked about right. I’d been worried about getting cold at the start, as once I’m chilled I find it hard to warm up again, so I had arm warmers on with my short-sleeved Guide Dogs jersey, a buff around my neck, and the Rapha raincoat on top, with ¾ lycra on my legs and neoprene shoe covers. I was fine and didn’t get cold despite standing there nearly an hour. The announcer confirmed that the ride had been cut to 86 miles and Leith and Box hills taken out, and I felt disappointed, and wondered if it was justified.
They were playing music at the start and it was all very jolly. They were letting the waves go one by one; some got counted in, we didn’t, so before I knew it the ride had started and off we went! We were soon on the Highway, a road you wouldn’t normally want to cycle. A huge grin spread over my face as the enormity of having these roads entirely given over to bikes hit me. Already there were a few hardy spectators out clapping and cheering and I waved back enthusiastically.
The ride and the rain
The rain had started spitting just as we left, and it continued spitting very lightly. I felt a touch too warm with my armwarmers and waterproof, but I knew the forecast was for it to get much heavier, so just unzipped the jacket and pressed on. I kept turning to my fellow cyclists and saying ‘isn’t this fantastic?!’ as we flew down roads that were usually urban motorways.
And then the rain came. And it was biblical. It lashed down in sheets, and the wind whipped across the road. I laughed, it was so ridiculous, and others were laughing too, slightly hysterically. But despite the rain people were still out watching and cheering, probably because they knew someone in the race, but I waved and cheered back , not caring if they weren’t there specially for me.
Before I knew it we were in Richmond Park. I realised a few miles had gone by seemingly effortlessly, and had a gel. On training rides I’d been fairly conservative about what I ate, because I’d been trying to get my body to burn its own fat reserves, and therefore only eating when I was hungry. Unfortunately this often led to me being ‘hangry’ and struggling a bit. So on this ride I’d decided to neck as much as I could manage, little and often, without getting a stomach ache, regardless of how hungry I was.
There was a brief delay in RP as the crowd backed up behind a nasty looking accident, and we all moved over to let the ambulance through. I think it was perhaps then I decided not to draft anyone any more, despite the wind, and go it alone. I didn’t want to be too close to anyone no matter how competent a cyclist they were. There was talk of the person having a broken leg.
We moved through RP, and I remembered how hard I’d found the hills there when I first tackled them on my heavy hybrid. Today, they barely registered. We carried on, the rain continuing to lash down. The roads were often flooded. Mostly the really big deep puddles were coned off, and we warned each other of this, but one wasn’t, and I didn’t realise how deep the bloody thing was til I was in it. I have seen shallower fords. I panicked briefly when I realised I was in the middle of a lake, but a great cheer went up from the other riders who had managed to avoid it, and I realised I had better just keep going. Somehow, I made it out to the other side. Those who have ridden with me will know I’m scared of fords, especially on skinny slick tyres, so the fact that I made it through that and several other flooded roads it something of a miracle.
As we went through Kingston, I was briefly confused by some rather fast, professional looking cyclists coming the other way on the other side of the road. Afterwards, I realised that it was the very first (6am) starters on their way back. They looked very serious indeed.
I knew my dad and his partner were planning to try and watch me near Ripley, so I’d started watching the crowd very carefully. Having watched a fair few cycle races, I knew how difficult it was to pick out particular riders, even if I wasn’t going quite as fast as the TDF guys. So I’d have to pick them out first. The rain made visibility even harder, but I scrutinised every couple who even vaguely fitted their physical descriptions. Again, everyone was bundled up against the rain, and I worried I’d miss them. I knew my Dad had been looking forward to seeing me and would be hugely disappointed if he missed me. But then, as I approached Ripley, I saw a likely looking couple and started waving madly at them. My dad saw me and shouted excitedly ‘There she is! It’s Laura!’ and they both cheered and waved madly. It was fantastic to see him and be cheered by someone I actually knew!
I knew Ripley would be flooded; it always floods, as we know from previous trips to Rob’s grandparents. We rode down the middle of the road to stay in the shallowest water, which slowed things down a bit, but few people wanted to take the risk of losing a wheel in a hidden pothole (though a hardy few did). When I got onto the street where the grandparents lived, I saw Rob’s granddad waiting and watching for me in his porch. I dashed into their house, leaving a watery trail, and used their lovely warm clean toilet that was Not A Portaloo (I bloody hate portaloos) while Rob refilled my bottles and stuck them back on my bike. I scoffed a banana and an energy bar, gave everyone a rainy kiss goodbye, and jumped back on my bike. I was determined not to waste any time faffing, and Rob had briefed his lovely grandparents to expect me to basically run in and run out again.
As I rode along, an older gentleman rode alongside me and told me I had a ‘lovely riding style’. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, so he explained ‘you’re riding in a dead straight line, no wobbling around at all’. I wasn’t sure whether to feel pleased or patronised, but went for pleased given that if he’d seen me a few weeks ago when I was practising taking a drink on the new bike without veering all over the road, he might not have said that. I do a lot of riding on the blue London ‘superhighways’, where there are constantly other cyclists bearing down on you giving very little room, so I suppose you do learn to ride in a dead straight line that way.
Eventually we hit the only proper hill left on the course, Newlands. While I was hardly the fastest up it, I’d necked a gel as we approached it, and got up it easily, overtaking several very fancy carbon road bikes with gearing similar to mine whose owners were walking them. Just as I was feeling most pleased with myself on the descent, the rain got heavy again, and I realised my brakes didn’t appear to be having an effect as rivers of rain flowed down the hill. The amount of rain on the roads and coming from the sky meant the brakes (which are normally Dangerously Good) were struggling to clear the water from the rims quickly enough to have an effect. I nearly had a brown trousers moment as I realised a bend was approaching and I needed to shave some speed off. In reality it was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like forever as my brakes finally managed to bite and I slowed slightly. And it was then I realised that, as disappointing as it was, taking the hills, particularly Leith, out of the equation, was probably a Very Good Idea.
We carried on, and the crowds of people grew as it got later and the rain eased. Some of them shouted at us to cheer up, and several people pointed at me and said ‘Look , she’s smiling!’ They shouted loads of encouragement, and I thanked them, waved at the kids, and high fived those who wanted high fives. Given my clumsiness, it is a wonder I didn’t cycle into a barrier doing this, but somehow I didn’t. A lot of the other cyclists were taking it Very Seriously and didn’t interact with the crowd at all, but I milked it for all it was worth. You hear pro riders talking about the crowd’s energy and how it boosts them, and having experienced even a tiny bit of that, I think I know what they’re talking about. (Either that or it was the energy gels). I particularly liked the people with cow bells and yelled out thanking them for making it ‘just like the Tour De France!’ which got a cheer.
Soon I realised I had only around 20 miles left and still didn’t feel like stopping at any of the hubs. I’d got plenty of energy left; I’d deliberately paced myself, plus the rain meant I’d been cautious about speed. But the sun came out, and the roads started to dry…plus the cyclists started to thin out a bit once out of the narrower Surrey lanes and I found I had more room around me. I had another gel before the hill in Wimbledon (which is not massive, but took people by surprise last year) and pootled up it, overtaking the lunatic who was doing the ride on a Boris Bike. Then I decided that conditions and timing were just right to give it all I had. I got down on the drops (was still a bit windy) and hammered it. It was massively exhilarating. At one point a bloke started to overtake me and a spectator yelled ‘Ooh, he’s attacking! Don’t let him!’ and I pretended to sprint in an exaggerated fashion, which got a laugh. Soon I was flying alongside the river, getting closer and closer to central London, unable to work out where the time and miles had gone. As we got closer to the Mall the noise of crowds cheering got louder and I felt quite overcome; I’d bloody done it, after months of worrying that I wouldn’t. Yes, they’d lopped 14 miles off, but in their place had been flooded roads, biblical rain, hugely increased stopping distances and crappy visibility. And I’d loved every minute of it.
5 hours, 54 minutes. Which suggests that I just might have made my original 7 hour target for the 100 miles, and almost definitely wouldn’t have been so slow that I was taken out by the broom wagon.
