My main motivation for doing it was simple - Friends have done it in the past and enjoyed it, and Patricia did it last year and, frankly, I was jealous and eager to have a go myself. So we did a deal, and used her priority booking as a result of the money she raised, entered her and then swapped for me.
So I've known since January that I'd have a ride (places are limited, despite there being 27,000 of them), and I've had every incentive to prepare. For I am not a fit man, I work at a desk and I have no idea what most gym equipment does let alone any inclination to use it.
I've been riding most weekends since the end of January, starting with some depressingly short rides but ending up at a respectable 40-50KM in a couple of hours or so. Sadly conditions have conspired to keep me out of the saddle for a couple of weeks now, but I got a little warm-up done last night (and I needed to warm up as I got drenched going to the station) cycling 11KM from Waterloo station to the hotel I'd booked into in what was laughably described as "Wimbledon South" but resided at the end of Balham high street. If you're ever tempted to try this route, a word of advice: cycle lanes are respected in central London but the denizens of the suburbs treat them as parking spaces and 3-point-turn overflow points. Scary stuff.
So I woke this morning feeling a little apprehensive, but quite excited that today's the day. Thankfully the weather had improved - the wind dropped, and the sun came out (so much so I've got sunburnt arms, not that I'm complaining).
I made it through the start gate at 08:53, and saw my first puncture 50M up the road. Poor fellows; that must be disheartening. Over the next 50 minutes I got as far along (via a more triangular route) as crossing the same road I'd ridden up the previous hour, which was dis-heartening. Although the mood of all involved was good - a real festival atmosphere percolated through the day - an hour or more of this stop/start and crawling along drew groans at every new traffic light. We wanted to cycle, not push bikes.
It took me about 90 minutes to get to the same rest-stop as Patricia used last year, at the 18K line. A quick piddle, some phaffing around to raise my sagging seat, a bit of banter with others using the facilities and off I went again.
Things went much better - or rather, faster - from here on. I don't have much to say about the next 25KM other than I enjoyed the ride, it's the English Curse that as soon as the rain stops and the sun comes out the pollen rises and the itchy eyes start, and DEAR GOD why do all these people get off and walk at the slightest incline?
I arrived, a little unexpectedly if I'm honest, at the halfway point (the Hedgehog Inn outside East Grinstead) moments after 12. I was feeling great, I'd done 42KM, the sun was out and the biggest and greasiest bacon cheese and egg burgers you've ever seen were on sale.
Took a nice 30 minute stop here to load up on grease and water and enjoy the sights. Including Batman, Robin and Superman, funnily enough.
Fought my way out of the rest stop, past the crowds of drinkers (really? I mean, I like a pint but with ~30 miles still to go that was never going to happen), and pushed on. The GPS's next waypoint was set to the top of Ditchling Beacon, 29km as the crow flies. The next hour or so wasn't so bad, although it was noticeable that I had less in reserve going up inclines than I had in the morning; the effects of this were masked by the preponderance of people walking up the hills and causing road-blocks at the top where there was inevitably a refreshment stop with accompanying traffic going in and out to add to the confusion.
But after 90 minutes or so - around about 2pm - and as I went through Heywards Heath, about the 60KM mark and notably 8KM past my longest training distance, it became clear that I was (not to put too fine a point on it) knackered and suffering. The old legs weren't playing ball, my arse was in agony from the seat, and the heat was causing a headache despite getting through several litres of water.
Not long after I had one of those fantastic moments of Random Kindness thrust upon me, as an older geezer pulled alongside and berated me for having a badly-adjusted seat. He pointed out the nose was raised, and that must be agony (how perceptive). I replied that I'd tried adjusting it and it only went fore and aft, not up and down. He insisted he knew how to fix it, and pretty much forced me off the road to demonstrate. Out came his surprisingly complete toolkit, and by extensively loosening the seat post bolt he showed convincingly that it's easy to rotate the seat up and down, as well as fore and aft. With the seat now firmly nose-down, and with my eternal thanks ringing in his ears, this made one hell of a difference to my nethers, with blood swiftly returning to parts I'm perhaps over fond of, and the adjusted position aiding my pedalling as a bonus.
However, this effect wasn't a magic panacea, and as the South Downs hove into view I was clear my underlying problem hadn't vanished. The route heads due South from Heywards Heath, and it's mostly downhill until one arrives in Ditchling village. Then it's not, any more. The little and minor uphill sections through and immediately after the village proved really hard work, so at the last stop before the hill I collapsed in a heap, ate half a packet of jelly babies, swallowed more water, and took a good long rest.
But that wasn't going to crack the hill, so eventually I decided to have at it. I got a couple of hundred metres into the hill proper, and then hit my first snag: dropping from 2nd to 1st gear jumped the chain over onto the spokes, twice. Much cursing ensued. I got a bit further in 2nd and then successfully into 1st, only for the chain to slip on 4-5 occasions. This caused a bit of dispair, and I hopped off and walked. After some cursing and percussive maintenance (observed in humour by a very fit but not stupid gent carrying his single-speed racer up the hill), I had another go in 2nd gear. I got another couple of hundred metres, but again attempts to use 1st gear proved futile. That was it, my legs were shot and I was (if honest) somewhat despondent. I dismounted and pushed the bike about 2/3 of the way up to arrive feeling a bit of a failure at the summit.
There's not much more to report: the remaining 12KM or so of the ride from Ditchling to the finish line are all downhill and flat, and the only incident of note was that 7th and 8th gears in top didn't want to play, and freewheel wasn't really working. On reflection, I was resting my bike on the wrong side today - gears down - and I somewhat suspect I've dislodged or otherwise affected the positioning of the derailleur gears.
I arrived at the finish line down on the seafront at 15:42, 6 hours and 50 minutes since starting. It was very good to finish, a little disheartening to do so on my own (we'd agreed that getting wife + kids to the centre of Brighton was, logistically, foolish so it wasn't a surprise). But in glorious sunshine, on a fantastic day, with the marvellous company of similarly inclined strangers I'd ridden twice as far as I'd ever managed in a day, raised a lot of money for the BHF, and generally - despite the setbacks - had a great day out.
Patricia and the girls picked me up soon after, having spent the day on and around the beaches of East Sussex geocaching, eating ice-cream and throwing frisbees. Kate managed the shortest time ever from getting out of a car to showing her father with kisses, hugs and a big bag of Father's Day goodies which was very welcome but a little out of place.
The minor coda to this tale is that, through faulty memory I was sure I'd beaten Patricia's time by about 5 minutes - a technicality really since she cycled up Ditchling Beacon which is a win by default - however on comparing GPS tracks I see I'd badly mis-remembered, and was never in the running: she has a good half an hour on my time; partly through making shorter stops but mostly because she's actually fit and healthy and I'm not.
Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to publicly thank all of the people who I badgered, pestered, annoyed and cajoled into supporting me in this endeavour. Without your assistance, I'm not sure I wouldn't have given in at Heywards Heath, and the motivation of a bunch of people willing to stand behind actual money in their confidence that you can do it is a great push to get one across the finish line. Thank you all, gentlemen and ladies, I really mean it.
Thank you, Shelly. Thank you very much, Dave. Big thanks to Rich not only for the financial support but also for the fantastic advice and guidance and benefit of your experience. Thanks to Tony, to Brian, to Bode, to Nick, to Paul W and Paul P, to Len and to Dave - all of whom go to show that great colleagues shouldn't be taken for granted and will always support you if you ask them. Thanks to Helen and to Simon for showing me that old friends don't mean distant friends. I owe you all an enormous debt of gratitude. Or failing that, beer.
Now it's time for bed.
