Being a soft southerner, I decided against north Wales and opted instead for the Tour of Wessex - a 100-mile jaunt through Somerset - last weekend. There was also a 3-day 325 version for those riders with no family or friends. Starting near the A303 about 10 miles north of Sherborne, the route headed east to Stourhead (famous gardens, NT), then north to Wells (famous cathedral, CofE), west to Cheddar (cheese, mmm), south to Glastonbury (John Peel, RIP) and back to the start.
The ride guide told me that six and half hours would earn me a gold medal. If the wether was ok and the hills not too taxing, I thought this was within my capability. I arrived at the start just minutes before my alloted time of 7.46am - just enough to work out how to fix my timing sensor and realise that I had left my sunglasses in London. Not a problem as it turned out. The weather at this stage was overcast, but no more, and the forecast promised showers, which I felt sure I would mostly avoid.
The first proper climb came after about 15 miles - a short but nasty 20% effort on which I saw the first walking cyclist of the day. As I danced passed him (well, it was early, and I still feeling perky) I saw that he was pushing a fairly full-on time trial bike, complete with aero wheels. Revenge, I thought for all the times the proper TT boys have passed me on the A264; get yourself some Neutrons!
On towards Wells, and I was looking good for a gold, but it was still early in the ride. Up the Old Bristol Road, the first big climb of the day. I have long since learned to look to the tree line, not the road, to see where the top is; trouble was, the weather was closing in and I was going up as the cloud was coming down. By the time I reached the summit, it was fairly torrential, just in time for the bleakest bit of the ride up on the Mendips.
At the most northerly point in the ride we passed through the village of Nemnett Thrubwell. I mention this only because it provides me with an opportunity to mention that Douglas Adams in 'The Deeper Meaning of Liff' defines nemnett thrubwell as 'the feeling experienced when driving off for the very first time on a brand new motorbike'. Excellent!
Down some narrow twisting lanes to Blagdon Lake and through the village; then up the best climb of the day, the mile or so 14%er of Blagdon Hill. By this stage I was very wet and very splattered with road dirt, which in this part of Somerset means mostly cow $hit. It has been said that a mother should not see her son at the top of Ventoux. Nor should she see her son covered in cow $hit at the the top of Balgdon Hill. Mine did though, because this was where the family chose to cheer me on my way. Father pointed out that this was a hill he used to ride on the way home from work, if he was feeling like an extra stretch. On a fixie. And sent me on my way.
It was then downhill to Cheddar, where by now there were torrents flooding down the gorge. Things were particularly treacherous in the land of cheese and caves, and at least two riders had to be swept up by the blood wagon. I hope they were ok.
With 75 miles down, I was still on course and worked out that a 1:17 final 25 miles would get my to the finish in 6 hours - 30 minutes inside gold standard. The Somerset Levels proved to be, well, level and I kept up a steady 21mph or so as I picked off a few Norwood Paragon riders who started before me. The climb out of Glasonbury slowed me down a bit though, and with 90 miles gone I could only beat 6 hours by equalling my pb for a '10'. In the rain. On country roads. Blocked by tractors. And cows. Unlikely, but gold was still within my grasp.
And then it all went to hell in a handcart. By this point I was in a working group of six or seven, but we realised that the roads were looking familiar. In a 'didn't we ride down here 60 miles ago?' kind of a way. And so the next hour or so was spent touring south Somerset and seeking directions from friendly locals as, just like it does in the latter stage of a TT, the clock started to go faster. As the 6:30 point passed, I had done 101 miles, but was nowhere near the finish. A few detours later and I was back at the finish in 7:12:41. A silver medal and mid-table respectability had replaced gold and top-10 glory for my age group.
I had however felt fairly strong most of the way round, especially between 60 and 90 miles, which was encouraging. But my finest achievement - and this, considering the cloud, rain and mud really is impressive - was actually to emerge with a sun-tan!
Now, who's doing the Tour of the Cotswolds on 18 June?