25 March, 2014

End of Snooze 100km

This was my second attempt at this ride. In 2013 I didn’t start, as the morning of the ride there was a foot of snow on the ground outside my house. I didn’t even get out of bed. All was well this year until I got off the train in Cambridge to a cold, heavy drizzle; I decided to ride to the start and see if the weather improved.

I got to Hauxton village hall with half an hour to spare, and the rain had stopped. Things were looking up. The organisers had laid on toast and other breakfasty things, so I had some of those, and then we set off. The first section was a nice ride through little villages: Shelford, Whittlesford, Strethall, Duxford....By the time we got to Whittlesford (about 2km in), the rest of the field had vanished ahead of me, and I was in my usual place – at the back. 

The Right Way to Thaxted

The first challenge was the (in)famous Coploe Road, a steep, single lane that goes over the chalk ridge that separates the fens from the rest of the land. This hill feels like it has been transplanted from Yorkshire – it is steep, and there is a proper sweeping view from halfway up. I hauled myself up there, very slowly. Eventually I made it, and continued on past Audley End House to the first control. This was an Info control, where riders have to note down the answer to a question that is on their card. There had been dire warnings at the beginning that if this wasn’t filled in there would be no validation of the ride! I met another rider here who had had some mechanical problems, and we figured out what we had to write down. That done I headed off through Thaxted (of course) and the Bardfields to Finchingfield. This road was much nicer to ride than it was on the Shaftesbury Spring ride as today I had the wind behind me!

Bolts from the Blue

I didn’t stop at this control, and carried straight on. Up until now, the weather had been alright – a bit of a breeze but nothing too worrying. But at this point the clouds started to become darker and more threatening. As soon as the sun disappeared the temperature would drop ten degrees, and the wind would whip up a little, and this seemed to coincide exactly with the bottoms of steep hills. I began to think the clouds must be stuck to the hills, hovering there to catch the unwary cyclist. As the route took me back over the chalk ridge at Hundon, hail started flying sideways towards me from one of those lowering storm clouds. I stopped to put on some waterproofs and eat some chocolate.

Crawling the next few kms, I started to have some of the odd thoughts that are sometimes created in your mind when you’re out riding alone. For example: one instruction on the route sheet that led me up a particularly steep incline was 0.6km in length. Usian Bolt, I reasoned, could run this very quickly. In 60 seconds, in fact. Or, as I decided to call it, 6 Bolts. So a long section of 3.4km could be described in terms of 34 Bolts, i.e. not very far at all. He could do it in about 3 minutes (maths is not my strongest subject). I think I was in dire need of food by this point – the 24 Bolt (2.4km) stage up to the next control at Adam’s Cafe nearly finished me off. I got there and ate a huge piece of cake just in time!

Race to the (Six Mile) Bottom

The next stage defies reasonable description. It started well enough, through some nice little villages and past names like ‘Trotting Horse Lane’. All very nice. But over my shoulder was another towering storm cloud, and ahead of me was the road to Six Mile Bottom, through Brinkley, a winding, hilly, windy tortuous route over the top of an exposed hillside. Dead trees bunch together for warmth like inmates of the gulag. That cloud was perched on the hill, off to the northwest, and the wind was howling out from it across the tops, throwing needles of sleet into my eyes. This was 10km (100 Bolts: too bloody many) of hell on wheels, it felt like it would never end. At one point I was grovelling along downhill at 5mph, yelling something incomprehensible at the weather goddess.

Reaching the Six Mile Bottom junction I had a decision to make, as if I couldn’t speed up, I was going to be out of time. This would be a good bail-out point, if I was going to quit. I didn't want to quit. I decided to press on, braced for the continuing wind....but it had vanished. Here, it was still, it was calm, it was warm. The storm really was waiting on the hills, and it didn’t follow me down to the flatlands. Riding swiftly through the Wilbrahams (55 Bolts) and Fulbourn (35 Bolts) and back up to the Shelfords, I realised that I should be in time. A last gratuitous hill and a nail-biting wait at the level crossing (why does it close when the train has stopped?!) meant that I really did have to do the last few kilometres at Bolt-speed, but I made it, last of the 100km riders to make it back, with nine minutes to spare.

That’s about 54 Bolts.

17 March, 2014

Shaftesbury Spring 100km

The Shaftesbury Spring 100km - a journey through heaven and hell


New year, new attempt at minor audacity. This year I want to get my name in the AUK Handbook, and the most modest way to achieve this is by completing a ‘Brevet 500’, five 100km rides organised under the Audax UK umbrella.

This was the first.

 

A Fine Beginning

The ride began with a run to the beginning from Audley End station, with enough time at the first control for a cup of tea and a confirmation of the joke that in audax, no one makes eye contact. The weather was warm, such a contrast from last year’s hyper-extended winter, so I left a fleece in the clubhouse and changed into my summer gloves. The club house itself was packed, and a large group set off at 10am heading out towards Great Dunmow.

I was off the back of the main group after about 5km, but this always happens and I am now resigned to it. After successfully negotiating Brick End and only one minor double-back due to a missing signpost, I reached the first control, ate a macaroon, and carried on. My plan for this ride was to eat something at every control, rather than stopping for a big lunch in the middle of the ride. A good plan, in theory.

The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day. Another rider came past me, so I wasn’t last after all! And next was another nice run, to Great Bardfield and Shalford. A tailwind helped me fly past the airfield and into the village, where I passed the second control, ate a cheese roll, and carried on.

 

The West Wind

The route sheet instructed me to ‘keep left at 2 triangles sp GT BARDFIELD’. All very clear, expect that the first triangle had no signpost. I dutifully kept left anyway, only to be led down a farm track that was clearly going nowhere. Back to the main road thinking I’ve gone wrong much earlier – no trace of anywhere else to go. I lost half an hour here trying to find the right route, not helped by the absolutely dreadful state of the lanes. So much mud and debris on all of them that it was hard to distinguish the farm roads from the road that actually led to Thaxted.

I know that eventually all roads lead to Thaxted. But this one took a very long time because of the headwind. Oh, that wind. Dead-on into my face for the whole of this section of the ride. I knew I had been having too much fun on the first two stages. Now (as every cyclist knows) I would have to pay for it, and the price exacted was high.

I bounced the next control, only stopping to eat another sandwich and have a drink of water (not enough). I knew the next section would be fast as it was basically the route back to Audley End, and I was right – another nice ride past the posh house and the lake and then into Littlebury.
Where it all went to hell.

 

The Price Exacted

The next 20km were absolutely dreadful. The headwind was back, stronger than ever, the sun was beating down (I actually got sunburn on one side of my face, in March!) and the road was a nightmare of potholes, huge gaping trenches and pools of muddy sludge, and hills. Hills I had trouble walking up – I didn’t even attempt to ride them. Desolate landscape (as desolate as you can get in the home counties, anyway).It crossed my mind that a mechanical out here could be quite serious. It’s fairly deserted. I had seen perhaps two cars.

Royston Lane – very poor surface’, the routesheet said, and boy, were they right about that. Gaps between the broken slabs of tarmac that were wide enough to fall into. All uphill (obviously) and still into that godawful wind (it goes without saying). I was actually glad to reach the A505 and turn off....but the wind was still right in my face. Finally, finally I reached the next control and a turn away from the wind....uphill. I could hardly drag the bike forward. I was in the lowest gear, still struggling for any momentum. I walked a bit. I swore a lot. I was passed by another audaxer who looked much too cheerful.

 

The True Nature of the Soul

It has been said (probably) that doing audax rides reveals the true nature of your soul, and I am sorry to say that on this ride, the true nature of my soul was that of a quitter. I came to the junction for Brent Pelham, glanced up at the hill that followed, and carried on along the straight road to Newport. I just couldn’t face it. I got the map out and saw that actually, I would be covering roughly the same distance as the official route, barely going one side of the village of Manuden instead of the other, but, crucially, I would be riding mostly downhill.

So, weasel that I am, that’s what I did. Oh, it was good, wickedly so, freewheeling down through Clavering, down into Newport and then back up to rejoin the route for the last 10km or so back to the clubhouse. I made it back with four minutes to spare, and the light bleeding from the sky, so I did make the right choice out there on the road.

But...have I done the ride? Can I really claim it? I got my stamp, and the good people of Shaftesbury CC accepted my explanation and put my card in for validation, but....did I do it? I did the distance, but is that enough? Did I keep the spirit? Am I sufficiently....audacious?