This was the last time that the WCW was to be run - no disappointment to me as I would never ever attempt this ride again.
True, I had had a cold for the week leading up to the event. True, I still had a chesty cough. True, on the day before I had coughed myself awake at 4a.m. and hadn't managed to get back to sleep. True, that day had been extremely busy and I didn't get to sleep until 1a.m. (and on hard floor in the Kidderminster Scout HQ) and had to get up for the start at 4.30 a.m. But this was a hard and very boring ride - the only relief from the boredom was the excitement of nearly being caravanned to death on the busy roads!
I set off with Dai in the bunch for the first leg down to Stow-on-the-Wold at 6am feeling tired but quite excited on my first ever 600km ride. The problems started after 4 miles when the rain tipped down and then again 2 miles later when Dai and I dropped off the bunch when we stopped to put our rain gear on. The run down to Stow wasn't too bad as we had fresh legs, but it was heads-down stuff into the wind all the way with nothing to see. At Stow (77k) I was feeling wet and cold and looking forward to a cup of tea, but Dai wanted to press on - which he did. I felt much better after my tea as I set off for Marlow, but this leg was the longest at 91k and it was still raining. It was mostly a miserable ride as I was on my own and there was nothing to see: either the ride was flat, or when it was not (and there are a few big bumps - the Chilterns?) visibility was very poor. The one enjoyable part was at Islip which is a small village with a pretty green where I stopped for a rest - it being halfway to Marlow from Stow. I'd seen and bought a small lightweight FM/AM radio in Boots. Only £10, and it's about the size of a packet of cigarettes, but only about 5mm thick - a nice thing to have at a time like this: the rain had abated to drizzle so I sat there on the green clad in my purple gortex suit listening to my radio while I munched some flapjacks and had a fag or two. The amusing thing was that there was a wedding going on in the church on one side of the green, and so there was a continual stream of men in their morning suits and women in their best frocks I got some funny looks as you might imagine!
I plodded on to Marlow (another 77k) where there was a really well-run control: all the right things to eat, and plenty of them. I was heartened somewhat by this, but somewhat demoralised by being right down at the end of the field. (I guess I was in the last 10.) I did have about 2½ - 3 hours in hand, but I wasn't feeling at all fit and was worried about what time I would get back to Kidderminster. Sure, I could complete the first 300 (336k in fact) in the time allotted, but it wasn't at all clear I would have time for much sleep, and then of course I had another 300k to do...
Another long plod, again on my own, again in the rain, back to Stow. My radio wasn't a great deal of use because the reception varies so much with the direction one is travelling in, and with the terrain. It was nice to have when I stopped at Islip though. I got into Stow (259k) at about 7.30pm with about 4 hours in hand, but I was still feeling weak and concerned about sleeping time later on - I still had the 77k back to Kidderminster to do. However, I'd met up with a nice chap called Roger and chatting helped the miles go by. The control was at a Little Chef where I had a good feed: they do great burgers, and I had a milk shake, a pot of coffee and a pancake stuffed with cherries - great for morale, but terrible for indigestion!
Finally! The rain stopped. Roger and I had a very pleasant ride into Kidderminster in the evening sun. We didn't leave the Little Chef until after 9, and got into the control at 00.50, and I was not feeling at all confident about having to do another 300 (albeit a short one) in about 3 hours time. However, I had managed to shake off earlier thoughts of packing and so I resignedly crashed out at about 1.30am on the floor of the scout hut. (One good thing about starting a ride in the middle was that I was able to take loads of stuff and leave there for my return, so I had plenty of home comforts like a complete change of clothing including fresh, dry cycling shoes!)
Getting up at 3.30am was tough. The previous night I had had about 4 hours in hand and I had 264k to do, thus: (264/15+4) = 21.6 hours for the 264k including some sleep - easy! But what I didn't realise initially was that the first control at Prees Heath (80k) closed at 9.56am, so I had to recalculate: 80k at 15kph to arrive by 9.46 meant a start at 4.36am. of course, this meant having to get up an hour earlier to have breakfast, get ready, and to be on the safe side - and I certainly didn't want to be out of time after over 400km of grueling riding!
Fortunately Sunday was a much drier day so at least rain wasn't a problem when I set off into the dark at about 4am after 2 hours sleep. I was still sleepy though and quite stiff, so the climb out of Kidderminster was a real grind, although I did feel a little better than when I'd arrived at the control the previous night (earlier on!)
Dawn was fully underway as I went past Bridgnorth - rather scenic from the main road with the mist in the valley, although rather cold. I'd set off with a friend and his girlfriend, but they stopped for something (a quick roll in the hay if rumour is to be believed!) and once again I found myself on my own. Passing through Nantwich and Middlewich I became very sleepy - quite dangerously so - so I had to pull over to close my eyes for ten minutes. A headwind had appeared and grown in strength further sapping my energy levels.
And then the A41. I guess there must have been 25 if not 30 miles of this - busy, lots of big lorries and an interminable head wind with no shelter at all: I just ground to a halt after about 10 miles and slumped at the side of the road. At that moment I felt like picking up my bike, chucking it into the hedge and walking off into the sunset, but as there was neither a hedge nor a sunset I was obliged to opt for Plan B: wait for a passing group of cyclists. When one came along I tagged onto the back but I had to apologise for being unable to help at the front as I had nothing left after trying to press on on my own.
The road to Prees Heath just went on and on. And on. And on. What made it worse was that all the signs were to a place called Whitchurch which was not on our route, nor did we know how far it was from Whitchurch to Prees Heath was. A real cyclist's hell. It was on this leg that I decided not to do PBP - I mean: why? Why put oneself through all that agony? Isn't there supposed to be some fun and enjoyment in doing these things? I thought: Right: I'll finish this ride so I'll get my Super Randonneur status, I'll get my 5000km tally for the year, and I'll be happy with that. Sod the PBP! Sod the Daylight 600. and as for the Great Eastern and Brevet 5000 - sod them.
What a relief it was to get to Prees Heath! Although it did not have much to endear itself to us apart from its existence. As far as I can see, Prees Heath is not a place as such, but a conglomeration of trucker's cafes, and the one we used was the worst of the bunch: a real "greasy spoon" with all the natural ambience of a disused warehouse.
Glumly then, with a couple of hours in hand I set off for Knutsford - the final 53k to what was from a psychological perspective, the turning-point of the ride. Hopefully the wind wouldn't turn so I'd have a tail-wind home. This leg wasn't too bad as we had some lanes and the wind wasn't a direct head wind any more, but I was stiffening up and my saddle was getting uncomfortable - I could feel my sit bones on the hard plastic shell of the seat. At least I had the company of some friends which made a pleasant change after all my solo riding. (I hadn't seen Dai since he left the first control other than when he passed me going in the opposite direction - he was about 4 hours/40 miles ahead of me.)
Knutsford was another disappointment though with no-one to welcome us. For the people who had started at Knutsford it must have been terrible to finish like that. As for us we got our cards stamped at the filling station and munched a sandwich in the forecourt before setting off promptly - no reason to hang around. After a while my friends decided to chase after another friend "for something to do", and as I didn't want to try and keep up (or in fact catch the friend in question - a really loud-mouthed woman who winds me up), I plodded along on my own again. Prees Heath was just as depressing as before, and to add insult to injury (1) they'd run out of apple pie and (2) the cherry pie I'd ordered instead didn't arrive. I was so pissed off that I just left.
And so to the final 50 miles. The tail-wind I'd been hoping for was present for about 8 miles and I bombed along feeling great, but then the wind became a side wind and my energy levels dropped to zero. But the traffic! If it wasn't a lorry's slipstream yanking me out into the middle of the road it was a caravan passing me with literally inches to spare. I did get off the road once or twice to rest and compose myself, but I was in danger of being arrested for carrying a bicycle pump with intent! I was really really stressed by the A41 - there was just nowhere to go for miles and miles, and I was forever worrying about the time - I really didn't want to have to have gone through all this agony to not make the final control on time. In retrospect I don't think there was ever a danger of my not making it (unless I was caravanned), but at times my estimates were getting worryingly close to 40 hours and I was so tired.
Eventually I did get off the A41 and had a brief respite on the Bridgnorth road. The sun had come out so I had the opportunity to relax in the sun with my radio for a while, but I can't say I felt very comfortable: the phrase "shell-shocked" comes to mind. I was aching all over - especially in the bum, hands, forearms and neck, my leg muscles stiffened up if I didn't use them for 30 seconds (e.g. after freewheeling), and I could barely keep my eyes open. I had a headache from the lack of sleep and I didn't feel I could really relax in case I fell asleep. I did feel a little pride that I'd cycled 550k more or less in one go, and was comforted by the fact that I had about 5 hours to do the remaining 50k, but the main feeling was that of how unpleasant the whole business of real long-distance cycling really is. (Later, when Dai told my friend Anne how it was a pity that he couldn't get time off work to do the Great Eastern (1000km), she said "That's lucky" :-)
Back on the A422 for the final 50k. This was the most dangerous riding I've done as it was very heavy and fast traffic on a not very wide road. The weather was also quite hot which didn't help. I was so strung out that I seriously considered cycling with my pump in my right hand so that I could smash it into the sides of caravans that passed me with only inches to spare. I also considered getting off the road for a couple of hours to let the traffic die down, but that would have put me right on the limit time-wise, and by this stage I was absolutely determined to get in on time, so I pressed on and arrived at the final control at 7.30 with 2½ hours in hand.
The finish was a bit of an anti-climax as the organisers were winding the whole thing down by the time I arrived - there was only tea and a couple of cake scrag ends to be had, but the combination of exhaustion and personal satisfaction were enough to compensate for that. Dai, David Lewis and Anne were all there and congratulated me - it made me feel as though I had got a toe-hold in the ranks of the elite. And of course, my new 600 medal is the source of some pride for me!
After feeling so dejected about the whole long-distance thing, you will be pleased to hear that I have not sold my bike and burned my shorts, and, inevitably, I feel like I had a really great time and can't wait for the next ride... :-)
© Kilgore's Enterprises February 1997