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Well, that might have been fun on a warm, moonlit summer night. As it was, for the first 30 miles or so I was glad I hadn’t let the weather put me off, but vowed that I would never do it again in those conditions. After 40 miles (or 50, including the ride from home) and changing a tube at 02:00 in the rain, I was starting to seriously regret the decision to ride.
My new GPS (Garmin Venture Cx) performed magnificently. With the weather set to turn route sheets and maps to papier maché, I wouldn’t have stood a chance without it. It was no use in Cheddar Gorge, where it could only see two satellites, but it’s not as if I could get lost going down Cheddar Gorge. There were a few junctions in Bristol where it would have been useful for the arrow on the compass page to have indicated my turn earlier, to tell me which lane I needed to be in, and there were a couple of places where it wasn’t clear which way I needed to go at a fork in the road until I’d ridden for a few seconds in the wrong direction, but overall I was very pleased with it.
With a severe weather warning having been issued, I kept a close eye on the forecasts for Bristol, Taunton and Exmouth throughout Saturday. It looked like we should get away with nothing more than light drizzle until about 06:00, after which it would turn nasty. I chose to ride into Bristol wearing Bikesters and my GB team winter gilet, which isn’t waterproof but takes quite a while to soak through and is reasonably windproof. I had a cycling cap on my head and a Gore-Tex covered helmet strapped to the rear rack in case it got really wet and windy.
I left home in light drizzle, but as I headed into the city the rain got heavier. As I sat at the pub waiting for the ride to start, it didn’t ease. I considered donning my Gore-Tex before the start of the ride, but decided the weather was still too warm for it. So I stuck with the gilet, but added arm warmers and replaced my cap with a breathable waterproof hat.
The ride itself was due to leave the pub between 21:30 and 22:00. I wanted to be among the first to leave, so decided to head off about 21:35. I was rather caught out by the majority of riders deciding to head off between 21:10 and 21:20, with the result that I was among the last to leave.
I set off alone and stopped at Clifton suspension bridge (the official start of the ride) to reset my trip distance. At that point I had ridden 10.5 miles since leaving home.
I got less than 2 miles into the ride before being soaked to the skin by an oncoming motorist as I rode through a flood. I loudly uttered some choice obscenities – I should have been able to ride another 10-20 miles before the rain soaked through my gilet.
10 miles in, as I crossed the M5, I saw what looked like a bike light in my mirror. A few miles later I was caught by two riders, the first I had seen since the start. I rode with them for a while before stopping for a comfort break.
By 15 miles I was starting to occasionally feel a bit chilly and felt that it might be time for the Gore-Tex, but really didn’t want to put it on before climbing Burrington Combe. I had it fixed in my head that there was a water stop at the top of the Combe and decided that I would stop there to put on a dry jersey and the Gore-Tex.
I climbed Burrington Combe with no problems and at the top (23 miles) started looking for the water stop. This was where I found the down side to not having to look at the route sheet – when I eventually stopped to look at it, I realised that the water stop was at the bottom of the Combe. Oh well, I was reasonably confident that I had enough water to make it to the tea stop at 49 miles.
Soon after that I developed a worrying rattle that lasted the rest of the ride. I wasn’t able to definitely identify it, but I think one of the hooks of the cargo net holding my helmet to the rack was rattling against the rack. When I stopped to investigate I also discovered that my right cleat wasn't disengaging cleanly from the pedal. For the rest of the ride I had to make sure I got my left foot on the floor before trying to disengage the right.
Between Burrington Combe and Cheddar Gorge it was windy. I wanted to stop and get changed (and also to put my helmet on), but as long as I kept riding I was at least warm. If I stopped and removed clothes in that wind I would very quickly get cold, and my dry jersey would be soaked by the driving rain before I was able to get the Gore-Tex over the top. I decided that I should be able to find a sheltered lay-by on the descent of Cheddar Gorge, then thought that perhaps it would be better to stop in the lee of a building in Cheddar itself, since I wasn’t planning to descend quickly anyway (I knew that my Lumicycle battery could power the 5W light all night, but with my dynamo playing up I couldn’t risk using the 20W light to let me go faster on the descents).
As it happened, soon after starting the descent I saw two riders in a lay-by fixing a puncture. I stopped to check that they were OK (they were), then decided that this was a nice sheltered spot to get changed. No sooner had I laid my bike down than another group of riders appeared and stopped. They waited while the puncture repair was finished, by which time I had finished changing. It would have been nice to ride with a group for a while, but I needed to have something to eat before continuing and I didn’t want to keep them waiting. So I said that I’d be a while and that I’d be OK if they went on without me. Those were the last riders I saw.
The clothes I had removed may have been wet, but they were at least warm and wet. Despite my dry jersey and Gore-Tex, I got cold on the slow descent of Cheddar Gorge. I was still wearing wet Bikesters and, when I started pedalling again in Cheddar, my knees started to ache. After leaving Cheddar I stopped and stretched by the side of the A371, which helped.
About 35 miles in I heard my rear tyre hissing. It was dark, it was wet, it was a slow puncture and I might have been able to ride a few more miles and find somewhere with street lights before it became too soft to ride on. Or it might suddenly go completely flat on an unlit main road with nowhere safe to stop and fix it. So I found a lay-by and changed the tube in the rain. I had to remove my “waterproof” gloves, but I didn’t bother to remove the inner gloves because they were soaked through anyway and, having struggled to get them back on after wringing them out at the top of Cheddar Gorge, I didn’t want to go through that again.
I can’t remember now whether the puncture was before or after my second head-to-toe soaking from an oncoming motorist. I was at least protected by my Gore-Tex this time, but the cold water still displaced the warm in my shoes and Bikesters. One obvious thing that this motorist had in common with the earlier ****, along with several others, was that he didn’t bother to dip his lights.
At 40 miles I found a lovely little cul-de-sac just off the main road where I leaned my bike against a lamppost and stopped for a snack. This was when I realised that I had forgotten to pack my flapjacks and Nutri-Grains. I had plenty of energy bars and gels, but on a ride of this distance I really need something oaty to satisfy me. I started to entertain thoughts about giving up in Taunton. I knew that Catherine was looking forward to a day out in Exmouth, but I was sure she wouldn’t mind picking me up in Taunton and driving me the rest of the way.
Over the next few miles, between about 03:00 and 03:30, I caught a glimpse of the moon through the clouds, which lifted my spirits a little. Then the sky started to lighten noticeably as dawn approached. I felt hope that perhaps the downpour I’d ridden through for the first 20 miles was the same one that was forecast for 06:00, that it had arrived early and that I might have fine weather for the rest of the ride. (It turned out be a forlorn hope, there was another downpour between 05:00 and 05:30). I started to think seriously again about finishing the ride.
I passed a sign saying “Burrow Mump”. That rang a bell. I had a feeling the ride went that way, but the GPS was showing straight on. So I went straight on, but stopped soon afterwards to check the route guide. The tea stop was at Burrow Mump car park so, with only half a bottle of water remaining, I turned round and went back. The car park was deserted.
By this time I was looking carefully at every house I went past, hoping to find one with an outside tap that I could access. Fortunately I found one, with an outside sink and tap right on the road. I had about 200ml of water left, which wouldn’t have got me far.
Blagdon Hill should have been easy. According to the route sheet it was the same length as Burrington Combe and less steep. But after riding 75 miles in atrocious weather and with nothing oaty to eat I really wasn’t up to it. I was also suffering serious chafing from riding all night in wet shorts. I justified walking large stretches of it by telling myself that my legs would benefit from some variety in the kind of exercise they were doing. I was probably right.
So much for riding at night to take advantage of clear roads. From about 06:00 to 07:30, starting on the way up Blagdon Hill, I was passed by numerous vans towing trailers with stock cars. Their drivers were, almost without exception, considerate and passed wide. This carried on until I passed Smeatharpe Stadium, which had a sign outside advertising stock car racing. After that I started to see a lot of vans with trailers going past in the opposite direction.
It was along this road, passing signs to Honiton, that I decided to give up in Honiton. The ride didn’t pass through the town, but passed within 3 or 4 miles. My legs might just have got me to Exmouth by about 11:00, but my wet shorts were chafing badly. I phoned home at 07:40 to make arrangements (Catherine’s plan was to have been at Taunton by then, well on her way to pick me up at Exmouth, but it came as no great surprise to find that she hadn’t yet left the house).
I’d never been to Honiton before. It looks like the sort of place where I could enjoy spending a couple of hours browsing the High Street, on a day when walking didn’t cause pain. The really nice thing about it, from the point of view of being picked up there, is that it’s in a valley. Shortly after diverting from the EE course I was treated to a 2-mile descent. Some of it was on poorly surfaced road where I had to take great care, but most of it was pure pleasure.
Once in Honiton I found a car park that I could easily direct Catherine to, then I found a toilet where I could remove my shorts (revealing some nasty sores in sensitive areas), then went and sat in a park for an hour or so reading the magazine that I had with me in case of just such a situation.
I had packed dry clothes in the car and it felt good to get changed into them, although I had to take great care in doing so because of the sores. I made it to Exmouth for breakfast at about the same time I would have done if I’d carried on riding. I think I saw the last few EEers leaving the café.
The Harbour View Café looked like the sort of place that would usually have at least 2 or 3 smokers ruining the food for everyone else. With the smoking ban having come into effect 11 hours earlier, it was lovely to sit down in the knowledge that I would be allowed to enjoy my breakfast. The breakfast itself was a long way from being the best full English I’ve ever had, but with the first mouthful I realised just how hungry I was. I savoured every bite.
I hope to try again next year and complete the ride, but only if the weather’s good.
Stats:
At Honiton the GPS showed that I had ridden 79.9 miles from Clifton, 90.42
miles from home. From Clifton I had been moving for 8 hours 15 minutes and
stopped for 2:27. My moving average was a depressing 9.7mph, overall 7.4mph.
One of the group in that lay-by at Cheddar Gorge (Stewart Nightingale) was taking photos. I can be seen in the background rummaging in a pannier for my Gore-Tex, having just changed my jersey. Thanks Stewart:
Danny
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