Great day out yesterday - really enjoyble ride in excellent company and weather to match.
The weekend lasts so much longer when you get up at 6am, don't you find? This I did in order to get to meet Andrew, Ed, Mark and ? (sorry) at West Wickham at 7.15. In the event I grossly underestimated the distance there from my house and made them wait. Sorry, chaps
As Shane once sang, 'The old town, it was chill' early on, but we arrived at Knockholt in bright sunshine and things were looking promising. The air in the already-bursting 'sportive HQ'
was thick and fetid with up-too-early-and-coffee breath, but after an initial swoon, I pulled myself together, hooked up with most of the other Agreeables on duty, got my sociable 9.08 start time and scored a cup of tea.
The runaway lowlight of the day came before we'd even turned a pedal in anger: the grim half-hour wait for the distinctly unappealing lone toilet (or khazi - Andrew, take note). It may have been the stink causing me to hallucinate, but I'm sure I saw Huw disappear into the toilet, never to emerge
. This only made it the more reminiscent of that scene from Trainspotting
.
The delay meant that Mark and I missed our start time and had to catch our group up, but luckily Paul and Andrew made a pit-stop atop Toy's Hill, so we were all back on board pretty early on.
The next hour-and-a-half passed amiably enough in a relatively leisurely punt round the lanes. The fact that so many Agreeables stopped and waited for Jonathan's puncture gives you an idea of the relaxed vibe that was abroad. All those yellow jerseys at the side of the road must have been a welcoming sight - only Keith and Michelle resisted the siren song and declined to tarry awhile in the sun. When we eventually got going again, Jon and Snoop had swelled our number.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Kidd's Hill (now rebranded The Wall
) marked a turning-point, and after the control point at the top, our group became a little strung out. I was still feeling happy enough but was unable to keep up with Andrew and Paul (the latter going great guns despite being a graduate of the same school of descending as me) on the long descent down to the foot of Groombridge, and unwilling to play silly b*ggers with Medway Velo and their elbows.
Did catch them up again by the top of Groombridge, but back on the flat (such as it was), they edged away again. Andrew's diagnosis is spot on - this was the first ride of any distance I've done since before Christmas, and I just didn't have the stamina to keep pushing. Still, Ide Hill didn't present too many problems - at least, I was able to to maintain a conversation with Andrew going up it. Well, he talked, and I listened
I'd imagined that we'd drop straight off Ide and have a bit of respite before the drag up to and final climb over Star Hill, but instead there was a 'diversion' through Otford. So the wait to start the final climb seemed interminable, alone as I was at this point. Still, the pain of last year didn't ever really materialise, and though I wasn't able to manage the sh1t-eating grin for the photographer that I had earlier in the day (compare pages 1 and 5 of the blue-jerseys photos, if you can be bothered - and why would you be?), I got up and over without too much fuss, and skulked back into the HQ to be given a certificate, a Vulcan-death-grip handshake and a time of 4.34. Hmm - 'kay.
The air quality in the clubhouse hadn't improved in the interim - in fact, the whiff of hundreds of smelly post-ride riders made for a heady cocktail, and not the most propitious luncheon environment. Even so, I wolfed down sausage rolls, brioche rolls, bread pudding - basically, anything I could get my meat hooks on. I had the usual slightly dazed conversation with the others, and looked on in bemusement as the Rapha people were handed out their musettes. The flunky charged with this solemn task was a Dutchman, and I considered asking him if he had any spare ones. But I remembered my dignity and pride just in time and went for another cup of tea and a sausage roll instead.
Just before we left for home, a rather battle-weary Snoop came in - I decided that this perhaps wasn't the moment to ask if he'd remembered to bring my copy of the Christmas CD
Missed the Croydon turn-off on the way back and flew down the hill towards Bromley with Paul before realising I needed to turn back up
. This meant I'd now lost Andrew, Jon, Mark, Jonathan and ? (sorry), but at least the end was in sight. Lost a few style points going up Anerley Hill to Crystal Palace, but it really is all downhill for me from there and I arrived back at Ashworth Towers - in the last of the light - in good humour (despite having got my bike all dirty) and satisfied with my day's work.
Total mileage for the day was 102 for me. Like last year, that's the cobwebs blown away - the cycling year can now start in earnest.
Once again, great to see so many Addiscombes out - well done one and all.