I left Swansea on the 12.30pm train with bike and luggage, reconciled to the fact that I'd have to change trains twice to get to Doncaster, but I hadn't reckoned on a power blackout at Newport. Passengers travelling north were advised to change to the Sprinter service for Nottingham. I hardly wanted to trust myself to a cross-country sprinter service, but on the other hand, we had no indication the train I was on was going anywhere, and wanting to get to Doncaster on the same day I'd set out, I put my misgivings aside and transferred. Fortunately all went smoothly even though I had to change at Newport, Derby and Sheffield I was lucky to find sprinter trains waiting for me - all with space for my bike. In fact when I got into Doncaster there was a metro train to Hatfield (where my B&B was waiting for me), so I didn't even have to cycle the last 8 miles, in the dark, without a map. I found the B&B with a bit of trouble by 7.30pm - room very nice, but the landlady seemed suspicious and hostile - all my politeness and attempts at friendliness were treated with brusqueness. But then I remembered - I'm in the North! Recollections of the pleasures of being "up North" flooded back as I scoffed down a hearty lasgne and chips with jam roly-poly to follow for £6. Grand!
Feeling much more acclimatised to my surroundings, I returned to the B&B to find another Audaxer watching the TV: Chris from Halifax. We chatted endlessly about bike bits, Scary Descents I Have Known, and the problem of losing confidence after a crash(!) Later we were joined by another pair of riders from Norwich, Andy, who had done a lot of touring but no Audax rides, and his friend who'd got him hooked on the idea in the first place (whose name I didn't catch). It was a very pleasant evening, sat around the fire chatting away, and especially so as I was in good form, cracking jokes etc. But an early start beckoned me to bed at 10.30.
The morning of the ride was cool and misty with rain and high winds forecast. I wanted to ride to the start with the guys as I was feeling a bit under-confident, but all went smoothly enough until we set off when my bike started making these ominous, but intermittent, rattling/grating sounds ... oh noooo. Sounded very much like duff bearings in the bottom bracket/rear hub/freewheel. I had nothing to fix it with. Next time I encounter a flooded road I'm going to carry my bike and not cycle throught it!
We arrived at the start to find the organiser's original estimate of a "handful" of starters had exceeded his revised estimate to me of forty, to a staggering ninety! A pleasure to see, but as ever I'd arrived with only minutes to sign on, so I had no time to chat/look around, or more importantly, think about what to do about my bearings. Thus I set off, tagging along on the back of a group thinking that if my bearings did suddenly deteriorate then at least I wouldn't have the humilating experience of being in the group as my wheels or whatever ground to a halt. I hasten to add that it did also occur to me that I shouldn't have been riding the bike at all.
Much to my relief the problem with the bearings seemed to go away after a few miles (wet roads?), and I started to relax and enjoy the ride. It was very flat, and as usual, everyone was hammering along in the initial peloton - none of your namby-pamby staggered starts in Doncaster! I was a bit concerned as we seemed to be doing evens for the first ten miles - quite effortlessly as we had a stiff tailwind, but by the first control at 37km I found I (with many others) arrived 5 minutes too early!! Wow - in excess of 30kph all the way!
Fortified with tea and a chocloate muffin I set off much more conservatively, mindful of the headwinds we would surely encounter later in the day, not to mention a couple of stiff climbs at 144km. However, I easily caught up with a group and together we clattered around the lower slopes of the Yorkshire Wolds at evens again. The route was very scenic here although this was somewhat marred by the poor visibility. With the exception of the last 5 miles into the turn-around at Bridlington the tailwind kept on blowing and blowing, and to my utter amazement I clocked in at the control after only 3h 45m! That has to be my fastest 100k (well, ok, 94k) ever.
And now, of course, the price had to be paid. The rain had come as promised, I had cooled down a lot in the cafe at the control, and it was a stiff and damp rider that set off towards the Wolds. It was a pleasure though to meet up again with a guy called John who I'd met at the annual dinner, and Chris from the B&B was with us too. We also picked up a guy with Ergo levers which produced some animated and enthusiastic conversation. (Chris has them also - the consensus seems to be that you don't want to go back to regular shifters once you've had ergo/STI.) Bit by bit, Chris and I found ourselves on our own as we plodded on to meet the Wolds. I found that the cold and wind were taking their toll on my reserves and that I was subconciously letting Chris do all the work. I tried a few times to take over, but I couldn't keep up his pace (and he was on his mountain bike!) so I resigned myself to embarassed drafting.
It was with some relief that we finally found the hills. All this flat riding was really tiring - it just seemed endless as we went t roug anonymous hamlet after anonymous hamlet. I'm sure that in the Summer this could be a really nice ride, but for us visibility was down to a few hundred metres, it was raining, and there was a strong sidewind. The climb up to Thixendale (350m) was horrendous however. Now we had a strong headwind, and my fingers felt they were going blue with cold, and this was despite the exertion of climbing and my neoprene gloves. Man, it was raw on the top, and a struggle to both see where we were going and keep the front wheel pointing in the right direction.
At last, the Thixendale control at 144km. Time not recorded but I can't imagine my average speed from Bridlington was much (or indeed, any) more than l0mph. The control was welcome but not welcoming. 25 very cold and wet Audax riders huddle shivering sat in their own private pools of water. There is a calor gas heater with one bar lit, and much talk of packing, since there are 60km of strong headwinds to go. However, by alternately shivering and keeping still enough not to feel my own soddenness, I start to recover, and after my second helping of beans on toast for the day (and my third pint of tea), my spirits recover enough to brave the weather once more.
A mistake! The weather is really horrid now - comparable to the Horseshoe 100, but cold too. Fortunately (?) there is a stiff climb out of the control which helps Chris (with whom I set off) and I to warm up. After a few km we are back on the flat again, but with the wind head-on. Mile after mile we struggle on, with, once more to my chagrin, Chris doing most of the work. Later we pick up another rider who helps Chris at the front, but I am too tired to make a contribution.
Evetually I can't even keep up at the back do I let them press on. Never mind I tell myself - it's often when I'm on my own and I set my own pace that I'm happiest. I stop for a long-postponed pee by the side of the road, scoff a powerbar (new flavour: banana! (ugh)), wash it down with half a pint of Maxim and press on into the wind, rain and darkness with my dynamo barely illuminating the road two feet in front of me. Mile after mile. Progress is sooo slooow. The usual mind-rot sets in: "Why am I doing this?" "This is is no fun at all." "It's always like this." Endlessly computing expected average speeds and distances, in both miles and kilometers, trying to find some encouragement in knowing that either the ride will be over soon, or the overall time will be "respectable" in some sense that is not entirely the product of outrageous rationalisation (:-). But no. Everytime the answer comes out the same: I'm going to be suffering like this for at least another four hours, and I'll be lucky to make it in the time at all. I am crap.
Although I failed to spot my low spirits at the time (and consequently tell myself that it'll get better soon), a couple of things raised my spirits for me. The first is that I realise that due to my tired state I have been calculating thus: I have about 20 miles to go, my average speed is 10 mph, therefore it will take me 4 hours. (I think this is what they call "mental" arithmetic :-) Obviously I am cheered by the realisation that anything over l0mph is simply a bonus, rather than anything under l0mph resulting in being out of time.
And on and on. my knees hurt now and the wind is really strong. Occasionally it becomes a side wind which gives a temporary ecstatic feeling of relief as I find I can turn the pedals without effort, but then I am almost blown into the gutter, and the wind turns back to a head wind.
I start to find it a bit scary being on my own in the dark on roads that always seemed to skirt around towns and never go through them. The road seems endless. There don't seem to be any road signs either although the road is easy to follow. Eventually I see lights on the horizon and feel gladdened that there will be some cheerful neon lights (yes, I was that desperate!) and some evidence that I am not in fact trapped in a terrible cyclists' hell from which there is no escape. I spend some time watching the lights not getting any nearer and am disconcerted when the road seems to start to bend away from them, leading off into the dark lanes once again. But then, huraah! Howden! It was hiding behind a small hill.
Still some way to go, (10, 12 miles?) but I'm definitely on the way home now. I meet Chris and the other guy again who have stopped to check directions. I can't believe it: more or less the last instruction is obvoiusly wrong: it says to go left at roundabout onto the A164, but the A164 is right - so what are we supposed to do? Go left? Or go onto the A164? Aaargh. So close to finishing and now this :-( We choose left, and stick togther for a while, but then the other guy drops both of us and we are left struggling down a flat, featureless main road. The rain has stopped but the crosswinds are still dangerously high. I feel demoralised as we have done at least six miles and there has been no sign of the "small wooden bridge" that we were supposed to look out for, and now I am sure we will have to go back to the roundabout. But Lo! There Was The Bridge. And It Was Good.
After yet another real struggle for a mile and half against the headwind we spot the finish with true relief and gratitude. The best news of all: I'd given up on guestimating the time/distance (partly becuase it eas too dark to read the speedo, but mainly becuase I no longer cared). But after all that toil, we'd finished in 11 hours dead! ("Dead" being the operative word :-) I felt so pleased. Even more so when I was told that only 25 of the 90 starters had got back so far. In fact, in the hour I was hanging around eating hot soup and bantering, there can't have been more than another 10 riders arriving. There will have been some really cold, tired riders that night I'm sure. I was very pleased that I had a hot shower and warm bed just a few miles away many of the riders had a long drive before they could do the same.
Stats? Overall average: 18.5kph/11.5mph (with which I am pleased for a change!) Rolling average: 13.7mph Climbing: None worth mentioning (two hills = 400m total?) Bike bits/Personal possessions lost: None (again a pleasant change)
Would I do it again? That particular ride at that time of the year? I think not. Mainly becuase it was so flat - there was nothing to see.
© Kilgore's Enterprises February 1997