My ride yesterday. London to Brighton Overnight.
Left Mrs Donger in a nice seaview room in our hotel in Brighton and made my way to Madeira Drive in good time for our 20:30 bus and truck transfer to Tower Bridge, where I was due for an 11:30 start time on Saturday night. The queue of cyclists stretched back almost to Brighton Pier, and you really got the feeling that this was going to be something big. After a 2 hour coach trip to London you also got an idea of the length of the ride. Arrived in some dark square surrounded by closed office buildings and only a tantalising glimpse of the top of the Shard at 22:30, only to find crowds of lycra clad human misery waiting for their overdue trucks full of bikes. We waited so long that I'll spare you the details, but while some of the TNT trucks had the good sense to follow the coaches with their riders in, ours did not. We arrived at Tower Bridge, our truck apparently arrived at Dartford (????). In the intervening period, jokes or speculation started that our bikes were all probably already on
Ebay. When the truck finally turned up, we ended up unloading it ourselves!
Anyway, after plenty of time to make new friends (Hello to Sharon and Michelle, a couple of very nice nurses from Milton Keynes, who had been on my coach but were expecting to start earlier than me, at 23:00) we eventually got around to our Grand Depart at 12:21 on Sunday morning. Just had time for a couple of photos of Tower Bridge and HMS Belfast before the start.
From this point onwards, London was a bit of a blur to me, as everyone went off at breakneck speed. As I only had an almost unreadable paper map to follow (in the dark), all my concentration went on following the group in front of me. Left, right, left again .... over Tower Bridge ....back over London Bridge (I think).... through a mystifying warren of mews and back lanes .....traffic lights, picking our way between London buses and black cabs ..... searching for the yellow arrows we had to follow, but actually seeing very few of them .... occasionally spotting a marshall, .... just sprinting to get through the next lights before they went red and the group in front disappeared. I kept meeting Sharon and Michelle on the way, and we settled on following a girl with luminous bunny ears. Fortunately she knew where she was going - and luckily she was part of our ride, and not just someone on her way to Stringfellows. Saw ranks of Boris Bikes, loads of red buses, black cabs, exotic restaurants, wide boys swaggering around in pork pie hats - in fact everything you would need to see to win at Cockney Bingo.
Apparently at one time we rode through Brixton, and then at another point I saw a street sign with SW17 (I think) on it. After an hour, be had stopped so many times that we had only covered 7 miles. This was going to take longer than I thought. Eventually, by about 02:00 or so, we were reportedly out of London, and into a suburb that I did not recognise the name of, and instantly forgot.
I can honestly say that at no point in the first 60 miles of this ride did I have the faintest idea where I was. As for London, all I can say is that, at that time on a Sunday morning, the place is a human zoo. Witnessed much drunkenness .... was shouted at in both jest and annoyance .... was letched at by drunken girls haning out of taxi cab windows .... got cut up by a local lad on a bike with no lights, who was on the phone and suddenly lurched at 90 degrees to the rest of us ..... miscellaneous police sirens .... crowds of people spilling out of clubs. The lot.
There were 3 rest and repair stops along the way. Just don't ask me where any of them were. The only meaningful landmark that I spotted on the way South was when we crossed over the M25. From there up until the 45 mile mark it was
dark. I had been saving my re-chargeable front light, using it sparingly in London, aware that if it ran down I would be left with only a torch and a very poor battery light that gets you seen but doesn't light up
anything in front of you. We were helped for a while by the fortunate presence of a "super moon" and a light fret, meaning that the moonlight was reflecting nicely from the damp road in places. As the rain started, some time before 04:00, my front light started to give out. Not just disappointing - more downright frightening. My "Crap Light" carried on for the whole ride, but didn't help me to see a thing. I took a bit of a soaking at this time, as I just couldn't stop to put my rain top on as I had to sat with the crowd. The moon had disappeared behind cloud, and It was pitch black by this time. I survived by waiting for someone to catch me up, then sprinting to stay ahead of them for as long as possible, utilising their lights. If that failed, I sprinted to catch groups that were ahead of me and found that multiple bright tail lights are just strong enough to provide enough reflections on a wet road to be able to ride into the blackness. You just never knew whether you were on the level or going uphill in those conditions. I had switched to Plan Z, and at times was riding with a pocket torch lighting the road for me. I had to use it sparingly, as I was down to my last batteries.
On 2 separate occasions we approached bright blue flashing lights, to find the sad sight of riders being loaded into ambulances and police studying accident scenes. This focussed the mind somewhat. At some time round about 04:00 (I think) the first pre-sunrise light of dawn started to appear, very much to my relief. I bumped into Sharon and Michelle again at the second rest station. They had met up with their friends, who had got lost earlier on. Well done girls! For people who had never gone beyond 25 miles before, they were keeping up remarkably well. By the final rest stop the light conditions were rideable without strong lights, and the worst was over - for me anyway. I did see a few who had "bonked", and needed to be evacuated by the broom wagon. Not a nice sight at all, and I felt very sorry for the old chap I saw bawling his eyes out.
By the 50 mile mark, scores (perhaps hundreds) of people were getting off and pushing at every incline, never mind the steep ones (of which there were a few). Fortunately my conditioning and training kicked in, and I was always able to keep going. I was also tiring, and my trip computer seemed to take an age to get through the fifties from 51 to 60 miles, but I just kept grinding it out through the South Downs. Eventually, just before Devil's Dyke, I found I was overtaking people on the hills, and positively flying past them on the down slopes, and starting to really enjoy myself again. Devil's Dyke was a challenge. I would have found it a challenge at the 5 mile mark. After 60 miles, it was just plain cruel. In the granny gear for almost the entire climb, I puffed and grunted my way up and, to my surprise, made it to the lay-by at the top without stopping. As agreed before, I stopped to phone my wife to say I'd be back inside the next 20-30 minutes, and then set off downhill. Thankfully, the council had closed the road for the event, so I could enjoy a nice fast descent - for all of 200 yards, where I came round a corner, only to find that I had been on a false summit! Another 200 yards of the very steepest bit still had to be climbed. At least this time you could see hordes of people at the top, clapping and shouting encouragement, so you knew this was really the last hill. By now I had taken off my reflective jacket, and was proudly displaying my "Fat Lad At The Back" shirt. "Come On Fat Lad", someone shouted, and then others joined in the encouragement and shouted me up to the top. Someone worrying close to me got to that point where he just couldn’t turn another wheel, and he just flopped over sideways within a foot of me. Amazingly, although I was at my limit, I got over the top without trouble, and to a round of applause. I would say that 75-90 % of the others around me were walking by this point, so I felt really good about myself. Downhill into Brighton now, with a huge grin on my face. A nice flat run-in along the seafront, past our hotel, and into Madeira Drive, where my evening had begun. I even managed a “sprint” finish of sorts, getting up to 19.5 mph before having to be told to slow down by a marshall! Nobody had ever had to tell me to do that before. Chequered flag, “Finish” line, crowds of people applauding, medal…. Nice touch.
08:00 exactly. I had always expected it to be slower than any of my 100km audaxes because of the London bit, and the dark, but I was quite pleased to do it in 7 hours 39 mins. I had expected it to be over 8 hours, what with only doing 7 miles in the first hour. On my way back to the hotel, I recognised many of the riders still heading for the finish, and realised I had gone quite well. Just Hope Sharon and Michelle made it home in one piece. Got back home to Gloucester (after calling in on relatives on the way) in time for the second half of the World Cup, which I slept through. I’d also had to stop a couple of times at service stations for kips, as I was so shattered. Really glad I did it now though.
Hope to post photos later - having internet connectivity nightmare at the moment. Cheers, Donger.
I hope it's nothing too serious and heals quickly.
and Hubster had coffee & walnut cake 
