Wow, talk about fortune favouring the brave.
Can't really overstate how amazing it was that we stayed dry. It's amazing any time you stay dry in Wales, but it had been so hideous the day before, and right up to the time I got to the start line, that you suspected higher forces at work. Higher than those that control the weather, even.
I'd stayed the night before in Stroud, about 70 miles away, and was completely prepared not to start - it was raining so hard, and with that in-for-the-day look about it, that I wondered if there was any point investing the £5.10 in the Severn Bridge crossing. But I thought I'd feel less craven if I saw others DNSing as well, so I pressed on.
It was still raining when I got to Bridgend, and continued as I unpacked my bike with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Had to go and cadge some safety pins from the HQ but was otherwise ready to get into the start scrum at about 7.55 when I realised I'd forgotten my eyewear/goggles. So it was back to the car again.
Hooked up with Mike at the start and finally got going about 8.30, to the sound of bizarre Stalinist martial music to match the architecture of the recreation centre serving as start and HQ.
Mike and I got into a good rhythm early on and were flying past those early starters who had lowlier ambitions and talent than the likes of Huw and Hal (both of whom I'd spotted ahead in the queue to start). The first hour seemed to fly by - 20 miles ticked off, and we were still dry; not only that, but visibility was good, and getting better by the minute. Surely it couldn't last?
Mike and I decided to skip the first feed station on the approach to the Blwch mountain road - we were going well and were well stocked up for food and liquid. The Blwch climb itself was, the first time at least, enjoyable - long but not too steep, it didn't fill me with dread of the re-encounter later in the ride. The descent down was mercifully dry but quite cold on the hands.
The next climb - Rhigos - came very soon afterwards; it was slightly steeper than the Blwch but shorter. There we came across a couple more Agreeables (sorry, chaps - don't know your names), which was great to see. Sylvain had passed us earlier on just before the feed station looking in fine fettle. Predictably, that was the last I saw of him.
As we entered the Brecon Beacons, the sun came out good and proper and I felt great about things - the road surfaces were excellent, my new bike was running like a dream and we were making good time. The only thing was that I was now getting a little low on fluid - in fact by the time the next feed station came around, at around 65 miles, I was spitting cotton.
This feed station, at Glyn Neath, was a bit of a shambles. There was a huge bottleneck of riders, and although a couple of helpers were gamely working their way through the throng filling up people's bottles, there was precious little else left. In view of the fact that we were by no means pigeon-tapping tail-end Charlies, I thought this odd (I later discovered that Conor had already been through, which explained everything
) and the 15 minutes or so it took to pass through there had been wasted.
I had a slight cob on about this as I left the FS, and also because I'd somehow lost Mike and Mark McLaughlin, who'd also got caught up in the melee. And as I climbed up to Cray, the weather was starting to look a little iffy, as well.
But in no time the clouds dispersed and we were in sunshine again, and moving along in fine style - we being me and three Aussies I'd hooked up with. At one point I had to stop as my bottle cage was getting a little loose, and as a result was on the lookout for a new group again.
Didn't find one until after the nastiest climb of the day up the Cimla road. This was easily the steepest climb of the day and although the road surface was excellent, it went on far longer than I wanted it to. Here I felt the first - and, luckily last, early-warning signs of cramp.
At the Blwch feed station came across Mike again - he was, by his own admission, feeling it a bit and not exactly relishing the long climb to come. I cracked on and, cheered by the sunshine, the other riders either wobbling up or slumped over the railings hither and thither, and also by the prospect of a fast dash home from the summit, got up there without too much gnashing of teeth.
From here it was, sure enough, an exhilarating burst home, mostly downhill, although one more nasty kick upwards just outside Bridgend provided what ride reporters would call 'a sting in the tail'.
Managed to get caught by about ten traffic lights in Bridgend alone as I sought out the finish line, but eventually beeped over the mat and felt relieved and delighted. I had a total time of 7:40, riding time 7:10 (need to cut that feed station time down) at an average of 17mph. Pretty happy with that.
Came across Hal, Aodan, Conor and later Maria, Mark McL, Chris (minus some skin on his left leg) and Mike at the finish, and after a brief post-mortem (during which I doubt I made much sense), it was back to the car - where I saw Graham O - and away. Not even the realisation that I'd trod in dog sh*t earlier that morning and had worked it into the clutch pedal and mat
could dampen my spirits as I drove back to Stroud to pick up Mrs A - in the p*ssing rain.
The drive back from there was a hideous DVT-inducing affair and it was a mere cast of a man that ate his dinner at about 11pm that night. But it had been a fantastic day - a great ride on a hard but fair course, well signposted and marshalled and liberally sprinkled with the old gold of ACC, which was great to see. The new bike was a joy and had barely got dirty.
Will be back for this next year - can't wait for the next time out: the UK Etape this Sunday.
PS Thanks to Huw for promoting this and for the advice about the pork pie - it worked a treat.