I'm in two minds about what to do re tomorrow. I'm a bit sore from this ride 1000 and I don't fancy my plan of doing two 200s followed by a 400 in eight days, especially with the rushing around I'll need to do to set off tomorrow for another 3/4 days on the road. However, I feel like I've only just got up and last night's late-night viewing of Le Tour (I recorded three days' worth) has inspired me, so I may feel more inclined to pursue my original plan later on.
Anyway, here's my report for the Great Eastern.
One thousand kilometres is a very long way. Pretty obvious really, but it really hasn't sunk in. Everything about the ride seemed long, even the brevet card: it had space for seventeen stamps. On the train home I was looking at the times I arrived at the controls to look at my split times (first 400, last 400, first 600, last 600 etc.) but the amount of data made me give up thinking that I needed to write a small computer program to process it all!
Actually I learned a useful new psychological tool: the "FLW" concept. This stands for f***ing long way. The idea is that when you're riding along, suffering, and thinking "I've done this many k in that many hours, so that's such-and-such a pace which means I'll be at the turning-point at err.. let me see now, 8 times ... is ... no, 5 times ... is err, well multiply by 10 first and err.." the answer to all such questions is "FLW". I found this worked well for me and stopped me (a) burning my brain out worrying about distances and times and (b) being completely boggled by what I was attempting. For example, after 300k (a long all-day ride of course) there were still 700k (SEVEN HUNDRED KILOMETRES) to go. Gasp! Conversely, after 700k (SEVEN HUNDRED KILOMETRES), I still had 185 miles to do - yeah, sure. This is where FLW was very handy: at any stage the distance I had covered was a FLW, and it was still a FLW to go.
To the ride then. I'd had a lift up with David and Anne and we made a comfortable start at 10am with about 20 others from Henham for the first two legs - a 116k loop down to South Mimms and back. (Apparently 30 started from the alternative start at Fishlake near Doncaster). I'd set off at a nice steady pace with the main bunch leaving the speedies to do their own thing - after all, I was pretty nervous about attempting a 1000km ride and I really needed to learn to pace myself - my "go as fast as you can for as long as you can, then try and hang on to the end" technique was not going to work here!
Inevitiably, after a while I wanted to pick the pace up. David and Anne were dangling up ahead and as I wanted to ask them to take some of my luggage out of their car should I not see them back at Henham, I shot off to join them. A mistake! I forgot all about my pacing myself and stayed with them and their bunch, arriving at South Mimms (56k) one minute before the control opened! (and the terrain was not flat).
The services at South Mimms were busy and had nothing I wanted so I set off after a brief rest with some locals who knew their way around the suburbs. Unfortunately this group included a woman who winds me up every time she opens her mouth, so when David and Anne's group came past at the bottom of a short steep section I sprinted up to join them and arrived back at Henham at 2.18pm: 4h18 for 116k (26.9kph) at the start of a 625 mile ride - madness, but I enjoyed myself very much.
Unfortunately the control was not ready for us (!) so we had to forgo the pleasures of Tracy's cooking. Tracy is big on touring marathons in SE Asia and a fine cook, but only his dahl was ready so I had a big bowl of this with lots of bread and butter. D&A wanted to stay for food proper but I wasn't in the mood for hanging around so I set of on my own for the next control at Red Lodge (171k). This is a 24hr trucker's cafe which does fine food for cyclists (treacle tart and custard, copious beans on toast). My plan was to amble along until D&A came by and then join them, perhaps - they can ride much faster than me.
Bzzt! Although there was a slight headwind the weather was ideal and I felt just dandy. I bowled along through the lanes enjoying the countryside north of Saffron Waldon, pausing only a few times to try and decipher the route sheet (more on this later). Hills were no problem at all, although I did feel I was carrying too much weight - I had brought both my small panniers (no rack-top bag) and they were both stuffed full. On reflection I don't think there was anything I carried that I didn't use (apart from one malt loaf and my tools), and I could have done with my ear-warmer and a vest (see later). I guess I'll just have to put up with all this luggage on very long rides - or become a Hard Man like Anne (?) - she had one tiny bar-bag.
Got to Red Lodge at 5.45pm with only a few riders ahead of me (not surprisingly perhaps), but definitely now time for a proper feed and rest. D&A turned up as I was finishing off my treacle tart and custard. They were surprised to see me there - this pleased me no end of course :-). Not being someone to learn from his mistakes, I set off with them for Deeping St. James (262k). I just felt so happy and well as we swooped down through the fens. I found myself leading the group into the wind (slight) at evens and at one point I looked over my shoulder to check that I hadn't dropped them (knowing how useless I can be at setting the pace). I hadn't, and David said "it's ok Ben, you're not going to drop us - you're too good a wheel to lose at the moment". I felt so proud. [Hmm. I'm sure all this hero-worship and smug self-satisfaction is a sign of something unhealthy]
There isn't much to report about this leg - the fens are the fens: flat and completely boring. Ok, some pretty villages and the weather was fine, but after I got tired we formed a line each taking 10 minutes at the front and bashed on to Deeping St. James at 9.58pm: 12 hours for 262k including stops!
Of course, all good things must come to an end. I had nearly 8 hours in hand at this point, but 10pm seemed too early to go to bed, so I carried on with the others to Fishlake (416k) where there would be bedding supplied - and sleeping after the first 400k seemed like the "right" thing to do. There was an intermediate control at a garage in Lincoln (343k) which we got to by 2.30am, but at Gainsborough, about 20 miles short of Fishlake, I'd had enough. When I spotted a fine wooden bus shelter with a broad bench seat I dropped of the back, got out my space blanket, my rations and my radio, and settled down for some serious comforting. I managed about an hour's sleep before waking up cold and damp at about 4.30am - brrr. However, I wasn't too stiff and I soon warmed up, and felt much better when I set off than I did before I stopped, but I was definitely weak and weary when I got to Fishlake at 7.40am on Sunday morning. 21h40 for 416k was quite pleasing too, although much of the route had been flat of course.
I found the control at Fishlake disappointing since there weren't enough mattresses, and the food was only adequate. In retrospect I guess I was very tired and hoping for more 'royal' treatment, and I was too tired to appreciate the enormous effort it must take to set up and run the control at all. Eventually I did get a mattress, but I found it was a rather cheerless stop which left me feeling down as I hit the sack. But after an hour and half's kip and a small breakfast I felt much better when I set off for the final 600k (FLW, FLW).
The route sheet was was proving to be a problem at times. True, we were warned that mistakes were possible on such a long ride, and that we should carry maps and study the route, but the directions were very vague in places. I didn't complain myself (others did) - thinking this a bit ungrateful since organising a 1000k ride is a major undertaking, and I felt that some of the "mistakes" were probably mine and due to my tiredness, but nearly every other rider I met had some story to tell about how they had gone wrong here and there. A common criticism was that the instructions didn't mention signposts (unless there wasn't one!), so if you were heading generally towards Lincoln say, the route sheet would say just "L" instead of "L (sp Lincoln 7)" say - this kind of confirmation is very reassuring on such a long ride.
All this lead to me not trusting the route sheet and navigating using photocopied motoring maps that I'd brought with me. At one point the organiser had put in an information control at a place to take us away from a stretch of main road that was "very dangerous and not to be used". But not only did we end up on that road following the directions, we had to go out of our way for five miles and then back over the dangerous stretch (and dangerous it was) to get to the information control!
Anyway, I was now on my own for the journey to Stamford Bridge (474k). More of the flat stuff, but the weather was good and I felt in reasonable shape, and the FLW concept was proving to be really useful. My bum was starting to feel it though - no saddle soreness, but the Brooks still isn't comfortable - I am thinking about getting a nice fat gel saddle for PBP. This portion of the ride was through the lanes and quite pretty, although it became very hot after about 10am, so it was a matter of drinking lots and lots, and just keeping the pedals going around thinking "FLW" to myself every time I started computing distances and times. I've also noticed I have a tendency to sing and whistle to myself when I'm riding alone. We were discussing what do people actually do when they're on the bike for all that time: in my case I think it is this - endlessly humming the opening bars of Beethoven's 5th/Daisy, Daisy/the last pop tune I heard/ ... over and over again. (What a life!)
Stamford Bridge was very pleasant at 1.30 in the afternoon. The control was a proper English tea- room (thatched roof, lawns by the river) where I sat outside for a while feeling happy and relaxed, but it was too hot so went inside for my baked potato. I also had some amazingly scrummy death-by-toffee cake. Not exactly cycling food (when it's doused in half a pint of cream) but marvellous for the spirit.
Forgot to mention the route-sheet hassles getting to Stamford Bridge, but they continued in getting to the turning point at Scotch Corner (565k). The last few miles were especially exasperating and I was very cross when I finally rolled in at 7.35pm, shagged out after 33½ hours on the road with 2½ hours sleep. After forcing down a horrid burger and completely tasteless chips that were like yellow slugs filled wth pus, I considered my position. Thanks to the initial thrash I had absolutely bags of time in hand - about 9 hours, so I could have a long stop here. Pressing on was an option, but the next control was a garage, and after that it was Fishlake at 700k - this would mean riding through another night, having to sleep during the day, and then having to ride through the third night to get back to Henham - in retrospect it would have been better to have stopped for sleep back at Deeping St. James. I was on the verge of shelling out £40 for a room at the motel when I couple of Cheltenham riders Dave and Mike arrived at the control. After talking to them Dave suggested we get a family room. This turned out to cost the same so it worked out very well: £13.33 each for a shower and a proper bed.
We set off together for Knaresborough (631k) shortly after 4am - this gave us over 5 hours to cover the 65k needed but en route I noticed that time seemed to be slipping by very fast. I can't remember the figures exactly, but I eventually got concerned enough to put the hammer down. Later I noticed I'd inadvertently dropped the others. Much to my embarrassment however, I discovered when I got to the garage at 7.20am that the clock on my computer was fast and I hadn't realised due to my tired and befuddled state - the other two had been in fact become cross with me for unnecessarily charging off, although they seemed somewhat mollified by my explanation and apologies. (In retrospect, they didn't have to try and chase me!)
Anyway although much of the benefit of a night's rest had been wiped out by my exertions, we had two hours in hand and set off for Fishlake (704k) at a more sensible pace. Again the route sheet drove us mad: at one point Mike punched his bar-bag in frustration. We got to Fishlake at 11.43am with 3 hours in hand - a bit too close for comfort for me, but still, we had broken the back of the ride and I was feeling reasonably comfortable although my saddle problems were starting to irritate me. Shortly after Lincoln (772k, at 4.17pm) I let the others press on since I was suffering a bit by this stage and fancied a nice long road-side stop for some comfort, but it was pleasant to be on my own again: I'm starting to think that I am a solo rider by preference.
I got in to Deeping St. James (858k) at 9.20pm feeling quite tired and with a bum that felt bruised (even if it wasn't actually bruised), but I felt good about the distance I'd covered. Once the trip-meter went above 700k I just felt so pleased with myself every time I happened to glance down at it and notice a three-figure reading with a seven at the front of it. I met up with Dave and Mike again at the control but I was in no hurry to leave and they were more or less about to set off, so I wished them well and tucked into a huge bowl of museli that I was given to eat - there must have been half a packet of Alpen in there!
And now the adventure: I didn't realise until I left the control at about 10pm that it was now dark, I only had my Nightrider lights, and I had a maze of 90k of unlit fens to cross equipped with a route sheet I wasn't too sure about. I guess that I had about 4 to 5 hours in hand at this stage, but it didn't seem like that much to me especially as I would be going slowly and carefully to avoid easy-to-make sleeplessness-induced errors such as making a wrong turning or losing my wallet or brevet - and boy, was I paranoid about the latter as you might imagine!
Actually, the trip across the fens to Red Lodge (949k) was some of the most enjoyable riding I've ever done, possibly even better than my first solo touring experience in Germany. Initially I was quite tense - even a little frightened about the possibility of taking a wrong turning so I stopped and double-checked my route at every intersection, and counted in and out everything I took out of my panniers with military precision, and always visually confirming the presence in my pannier of my brevet before setting off. However, I soon got into the swing of things and found a real sense of freedom in what I was doing. It felt good to be carrying all those little things which an experienced rider does carry and to have the opportunity to use them. At one point I had a nice road-side picnic on a superb lawn. Sitting on my space blanket feeling comfortably warm, munching cakes and listening to Classic FM, I was as happy as Larry: the fact that it was 2.30am and the night air was freezing cold didn't bother me at all. In fact (as you will know, knowing me) I took great pleasure in the perversity (to others) of it all. Neurotic Boy Outsider? Moi? I also found the radio reception was good while I was cycling (no trees or hills, constant direction of travel), so I had music while I cycled which was great fun. Actually, I think I was quite spaced out due to the lack of sleep - I wish someone could have been there to take a photo of me wearing my Gortex jacket over my AUK jersey and reflective vest over the top of everything, yellow goggles and a filthy Aggassi-style tennis peaked cap, and an insane grin on my face.
I was hoping to go straight through to the Red Lodge café where I was sure to catch up with Dave and Mike. They'd offered me a lift to Cheltenham if I wasn't too far behind them, so I wanted them to see me so they'd know I was on my way. But the lack of sleep took its toll, and most frustratingly I had to stop only 10 miles from the café. I'd tried to encourage myself by thinking of hot coffee and bacon rolls, but it was no good. In the end I was starting to fall asleep on the bike and wandering all over the road. I set up camp in another great bus shelter where I was very comfortable and after some refreshments went to sleep soundly and immediately. (If only people knew: being "comfortable" means lying on a solid wooden bench wrapped in a piece of reflective plastic wearing clothes that are two days old, and "refreshment" means half a pint of chilled stale water and half a dry malt loaf eaten straight from the packet. :-)
I woke up at 4am feeling damp and very cold indeed - I was shivering so much that I could barely roll a cigarette, and I had visions of local newspaper headlines "Cycling zombie found dead from heart attack in bus shelter". This was not comfortable at all, so I just stuffed everything in my panniers as fast as possible - not even worrying for example about possibly scratching the lenses of my Oakleys which were loose in the bottom of the bag - and got going again. I warmed up quite quickly, but the fens were covered in cold mist and I was really stiff. My saddle was definitely a problem now, and I spent much of the time cycling out of the saddle in top gear (but slowly).
I rolled into Red Lodge at 5am passing Mike and Dave as I arrived. I immediately ordered and ate a generous serving of treacle tart and custard and then had a cigarette and considered what I'd like to eat :-) After an hour or so I felt much better although rather weary but with only 55k to go and 4 hours in hand I set off happy to simply roll along. Bzzt! FLW had served me so well throughout the ride, but at the last I forgot to use it. The last 55k seemed to go on and on forever. The day got hot quite early on, and the last 20 miles were very hilly - hadn't noticed this at all on the way out - and the traffic was very bad around Saffron Waldon. I was reduced to stopping every 5 miles or so for a rest and to relieve my aching bum.
Finally I rolled into Henham at 9.08am with 1040k in 71 hours on the clock and five hours in hand. I was so pleased. I was warmly congratulated by a couple of riders and felt like I'd won the event, and in a sense I had. PBP here we come!© Kilgore's Enterprises February 1997