A 4:45am alarm.  Well, it would have been if the combination of the storm outside and the turmoil inside hadn’t removed any ability to fall asleep naturally, so I’d had to resort to a little white pill, on the basis that riding around Exmoor for the day on no sleep at all seemed like a really bad idea.  It worked.  It also meant that the alarm took 12 minutes to get through the many layers and drag my consciousness into the light.  Well, not light.  It’s no more light at 4:57 than it would have been at 4:45! 😉

Still, as always, I had pretty much prepped the night before, so all I had to do was dress, eat cereal, and wait for Chris to turn up and load my rather dirty winter bike into the back of his car.  To give me some credit, I had warned him about its state, and what with it being dark, maybe it didn’t look as bad as it really was.  This is however the man that couldn’t bear to let me ride the Quebrantahuesos with my cassette the way it was, and insisted on cleaning it to within an inch of its life for me before I rode again.  He did a very good job of not commenting though as the bike, and various bags, were loaded up.  Probably because no-one is that chatty at that time of the morning.  Robin Williams had it right, OMG it was early!

HQ for the Exmoor Beast used to be at Butlins in Minehead, a town that can be somewhat tricky to get to thanks to the joys of the A39.  It now starts from Tiverton, in Devon, which is beyond easy to get to.  Straight down the M5, and you’re practically there.  In fact Guy was there well before us, stayed ahead of us all day and was never to be seen.  Well it’s hard enough to find an individual cyclist at an event when it isn’t pitch black and everyone is wearing matching or co-ordinating shades of luminous whatever!

Parking up was easy.  We were marshalled on to the sports court along with everyone else, in plenty of time to head for registration, via the facilities.  There was no queue, other than us two making our own of two, both being Ts!  I’d been a bit worried about that as there were time limits in place for getting everyone away and so on, and queuing could have cut into those.  But no problem, here’s your envelope, go over there to check it works, and you’re done.  Alright then.  We were done.  We bumped into Gaz on the way back out to the car, though unlike Guy, we were destined to see him at least again!  We then faffed so efficiently that it probably can’t even be called faffing really.  In no time at all we were heading for the start, and marshalled into what was probably the third pen to be let go.  After a bit of hanging around, presumably to allow time for the previous pens to spread out a bit, we were given our briefing and sent off into the damp Devon countryside, a little after 7:00am.

The Exmoor Beast has a fairly fearsome reputation.  Not only is it pretty lumpy but the weather in October frequently ain’t great, which tends to make the whole thing even more challenging.  I was supposed to do it last year and had to bail due to ill health, so it was my last remaining unfinished business ride, having got the Magnificat out of my system earlier this year.  Predictably the forecast was horrible.  In fact that being the case was so predictable that I wasn’t even troubled by it.  Rain, wind?  Put on the layers and stash the waterproof – just like the last few rides in fact.  It was still due to be fairly mild to go with it, which always helps and, let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ridden around Exmoor in miserable weather, and I’ve survived so far!

As we set off it was, as I believe I may mentioned, dark.  It’s a good thing my new pair of Knog strobe lights turned up on Saturday morning.  A stream of flashing red lights illuminated the road ahead and it was, for those of us that don’t commute, a fairly novel experience.  Somehow the miles seem to pass faster, even when going uphill as things started to do fairly quickly, when you can’t see where you’re going and have to concentrate on the road.  It was damp under wheel, and behind wheel, and occasionally from above, but there wasn’t much of it and it was definitely too mild for the waterproof.  There was quite a lot of up to make you warmer too, but I don’t remember any of it being more painful than usual.  Maybe I should ride in the dark more often?

We kept going up, and the sun came up too, or at least it must have done to make it light.  I climbed the hills at my usual sloth like pace, but mostly I kinda liked them, in so far as I ever like hills.  They were long and not that steep and just plod alongish…while Chris practiced his low cadence high resistance work to give him something to do whilst keeping me company.  The weather deteriorated though and being as I was already damp, I started to turn into also being cold, and the rain was getting heavier…  So as we neared the top of wherever, which may have been Wimbleball Lake, we stopped, I put the waterproof on, and we both grabbed a bite to eat.  I seem to recall not wanting to go anywhere near this place again after the last time, but then I swore I wouldn’t do the Tour of Wessex that took me there again, and I’m going to!

There were some nice descents to be had during the day, although I was grateful of my winter tyres and my natural tendency to be somewhat over-cautious when I can’t see what’s coming next.  A couple of times my rear wheel hinted that it might like to be somewhere other than where I would like it to be, but never more than that.  I gather there were some that weren’t so lucky, and on the long descent towards Dunster there was one nasty bend which I bet caught some out.  I was being careful and as I went around slightly wide nonetheless, found the road was blocked by a group of riders going down and a car that had presumably stopped on meeting them, coming up.  It looked like there had been an accident…but there hadn’t, so I’m not sure what was going on there.  A near miss presumably?  There nearly was an accident as we, and others behind us, came around that corner and nearly piled into them all though.  One descent where a few “CAUTION” signs or a flag waving marshal would have come in useful, and it wasn’t the only one.  There were a few “SLOW” signs dotted around en route, and I gather the residents are quite keen on removing signs, but even so, I think a few more would have been good today, especially when the roads, though generally pretty good on the surface front, were wet and covered with whatever crap the recent bad weather had brought down.

one rider Conquering the Beast… 😉

Maybe these hills would have troubled me more if I hadn’t known that the real killer of the day was still ahead of us, so there was no point protesting too much…  Maybe there’s something to be said for having low expectations.  If you expect it to be a crap and miserable day in the saddle and it isn’t actually as bad as it could be, well, I guess that has to be quite good for the PMA?  Whatever the reason, I was actually feeling pretty good about it, which I hadn’t been expecting to be the case at all!

Around halfway through the ride came the first food stop, by which time it had actually brightened up considerably and, having just gone downhill for quite a while, so had I ;).   Talk about well equipped.  As well as a row of portable toilets there were several tents dishing out water, Accelerade, even hot soup!  There were also little lunch bags for everyone which, though it sounds like a good idea, was proving to be quite wasteful.  Each bag had a banana, flapjack, piece of cake, and a sausage roll, and a lot of folk were just taking the elements of choice – a banana in my case – and jettisoning the rest, which seemed a bit sad after all the effort that must have gone into bagging it all up.  I think there was mechanical support there too; there certainly was at HQ and there were outriders and medical support on the route too.  As we milled around, we found Gaz there, as well as lots of other riders variously stripping off as the many layers being worn proved altogether superfluous.  I joined them, stuffing my waterproof and gilet back in the saddle bag.

After chatting for a bit, it was time to head for the roads around Minehead which, thanks to having ridden around here before with Gaz and also for the Exmoor Beast preview ride last year, are quite familiar.  So I wasn’t going to be pushing it, as I knew what was coming all too shortly!  Having done my fair share of climbing already it became clear that life was getting a little more painful and some shiny pills might be a good idea.  I managed to drop my bottle whilst failing to co-ordinate washing them down with being distracted by two riders going past me and suggesting my back brake wasn’t down.  It was!  I’m still bemused by that one…  Having left Gaz a little way behind he was perfectly placed to pick it up for me though – ta! 🙂  Right.  Dunkery Beacon here we come.  *gulp*.  I’ve ridden the first section before which did mean I knew that bit at least could be done, but I was still a bit apprehensive about it.  There was a marshall guiding riders over the matting covering the cattle grid at the bottom and I had my heart in my mouth riding so slowly over it, but I did manage to stay upright.  The road loomed up ahead – steep, wet, and with plenty of other riders around to add to the challenge.  Avoid the walkers, the zig zaggers, the cars having the audacity to use the road at the same time as us, feel the front wheel lifting, adjust balance, and just keep going…

It’s a hill of two halves.  There’s that bit, familiar, now under my belt, going up through the trees to the fork in the road.  Where she chose left, not down.  Not that there was any choice, I do what I’m told and that’s what the arrows said, however much more down might have appealed.  There’s a brief flatter bit here, time to catch your breath a little, and then it starts all over again.  Constantly steep, climbing out of the trees, able to see far too clearly what lies ahead of you, and it just goes on and on and on.  But I wasn’t going to walk.  I knew that Phil (of sportivephoto fame) was going to be immortalising us all at the top, and could in fact see the flashbulbs firing in the distance.  I may have jested with him last week that in that case he could take photos of me walking, but there was no way I was going to let that actually happen.  So I kept going, unlike many which, like it or not, is good for the ego.  I knew where I was aiming for, I had company, and something to laugh at – watching Chris trying to ride as slowly as me is actually quite amusing.  And it’s only a hill right? 😉  I hailed Phil as I went past grinning, and he said if I was still smiling it couldn’t be that hard ;).  That was a smile of achievement that was, but somewhat impressively still a smile, not a grimace.

How nice was it to have that behind me?  Very!  Especially as after a bit more of a climb around Exford, it’s pretty much flat and downhill from there all the way to the end. 20+ miles of fast?  Don’t mind if I do :).  I’d like to pretend it was all going so well that we were tempted to take the longer route when we reached the route split, but I’d be lying through my teeth.  Given a choice between 20 more miles or 60 it was, again, no choice at all.  The 100 mile route never had appealed, and it still didn’t.  Since it was going well, there seemed no point pushing that envelope.  T’aint broke, don’t fix it!  Time to sprint for the finish.  Kinda ;).  I even took my turn at the front from time to time.  Chris reckons that’s because I like to be the one at the front as we go rabbit chasing, and he may have a point… ;).  There wasn’t much left in my legs on the climbing front, so on the odd couple of occasions where we did hit an up, I went backwards as usual, but that did break up the competitive mini-peloton that had formed around us and which was pushing me just that little bit more than I wanted, so it was all good.  Other than that, and getting a little tired towards the end, it was an absolute blast!  Exmoor was looking pretty, the skies were at least partially blue, and considering the day had been supposed to be hideous, we were getting away with it.

I think the locals had been at it again on the way back into Tiverton as just towards the end the signs vanished.  Luckily Chris has done this before and knew where he was going.  I haven’t, but I know how to follow Chris!  And there we were, back at HQ, rolling over the timing mat and into, yes into, the sports hall.  We dismounted as instructed, shook hands, and the tannoy lady announced our arrival, which nearly made me jump out of my skin!  Welcoming everyone in was a nice touch though.  Almost as nice as the free Exmoor Beast tankard to be filled with free Exmoor Beast ale to be drunk as we hung around and kicked back for a bit.  We also printed out our times, to discover we’d scraped in under 5 hours by the skin of our teeth, which was oddly satisfying.  Guy was already on his way home, and after a while Gaz arrived back and joined us.  We were frequently reminded to drink responsibly, which we did.  I was responsible for drinking and Chris was responsible for getting me home in one piece! 😉  Free beer with a chauffeur?  One way to guarantee a post ride nap when you get home!  More sensible folk were eating, or having a massage, or admiring the shiny kit and bikes on offer.

After a while the hall filled up and as a result warmed up, but we were inevitably starting to get a tad chilly, and much more Exmoor Beast would probably have been ill advised.  It was time to load up the car, change into something marginally more presentably but much warmer and drier in the Ladies, and then be driven all the way home.

Cycling time: 4:37 hrs.
Official time: 4:59 hrs
Distance: 66.1 miles.
Avs: 14.3 mph.
ODO: 16672.9 miles.

I know this is going to sound weird, but it just wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be.  That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard work, as it was, but actually it went pretty well, and I think I can even say I enjoyed it.  Mad.  Who’d a thought it?  Unfinished business – finished!  Many thanks to the ever-patient Chris for the ride there and back, and the tow around :D.  Only one more sportive to go this season, and he’s stuck with me for that one too! *grin*.

I have to admit to having my reservations about women only cycling events.  I think sportives should be made more accessible/welcoming to all, rather than there being an alternative just for women.  You’ve never seen a men-only sportive have you?  Even if it feels like it with only 5% of riders being female on average.  Going down that route feels a bit on the exclusive side rather than the inclusive.  But you shouldn’t judge things about which you know nothing, so when I was asked to review a Cycletta, it seemed like a good chance to see what they were all about.  I opted for the Cycletta New Forest because it’s one of only a couple of their events that has an 80km route. Most of them offer three routes – c.20, c.40 and c.60km tops.  In supermodel fashion, I’m not getting my arse out of bed and driving 2+ hrs somewhere just to ride for a couple of hours and then drive home again.  Besides, 60km would barely tick the two hour rule box.  But since the New Forest is pretty, and pretty flat, I figured 50 miles was just about worth it.  Ooh, get me, cycling elitist ‘n all ;).

My 5:15am alarm woke me to a dark, wet, and windy morning.  Not what you’d call motivational, but very typical for a sportive at this time of year!  Still it’s not like I was sleeping well anyway, so rolling over and going back to sleep wasn’t that attractive let alone not being optional.  Having eaten porridge and packed up the car, I was on my way by 6:00am.  I can’t be said to have enjoyed the drive much, especially up a pitch black Cheddar Gorge, and the fog on the top of the Mendips above Shepton Mallet was a challenging touch.  But it was pretty uneventful.  I’d like to say the sun came up at some point, but I’ll stick to just saying that it got lighter, in barely discernable increments.  But at some point night had finally departed, and it was day, and things were a little bit drier…

In pleasing fashion, I beat the satnav’s ETA to HQ. Via a detour into the wrong carpark because I followed everyone else and not the satnav, which will larn me.  But it was a mere bagatelle, and 5 minutes later we were all slowly driving down the main entrance to Beaulieu Palace.  The official car park was off to one side before that for the tourists, by a ruined church sort of bit which was pretty much all I saw of the palace.  Maybe I was just looking the wrong way all day?  Anyway, everyone was parking pretty much in organised but unmarshalled fashion so I cheated and nipped down the first aisle to a little space I could see.  Gotta love having a diddy car :).  That put me right at the front, nearer the toilets than most, but with still a short walk to where I presumed the start was from the general flow of folk.

Being relatively early, the queues were still small, so I nipped to the loo before faffing in the not to be dry much longer.  Definitely layers.  And the waterproof stashed in the saddle bag.  It didn’t take long though, since I drove pretty much dressed and ready, and I headed off, over the cleat clogging grass and gravel, to pootle around the event village a bit.  As I watched the kids doing the Scootathlon the rain started…

But it was a nice idea, and the kids were having fun.  They’d set up a little loop around the paths near the start line, and groups of age-similar kids were doing laps like Ironmen.  Or maybe iron childen ;).   Scooter lap, riding lap, 2 laps of running and then over the line.  Sounds like hard work to me, but they seemed to be enjoying it, along with a fair few proud lycra-clad mums in attendance clapping, and waiting for their chance to get over the start line too.

I still had about half an hour to kill before 9:00am when Challenge route riders were supposed to start. I decided that the rain wasn’t funny anymore, and parked up the bike, put the waterproof on, before nipping to the toilets again. OK, that was the plan, but if you’re going to have hundreds, or even a rumoured two thousand, fully clad female cyclists at an event, four mini toilet blocks (4 in each) and two single toilets, ain’t going to cut the mustard.  Even normal sportives can get that wrong!  Still, we all stood in the queue and put a brave British face on it as the rain continued to get worse.

Marvellous.  Ah well, at least the jacket was toasty.  Ish.  But I was more than ready to get on the bike and get going after that.  The start queue had finally formed and I was a way back as a result of my unplanned delay.  At least I had time to get all the grass and mud out of my cleats so I could actually clip in and out without causing some sort of less than amusing domino effect in my vicinity…  Tip to the lady next to me.  When surrounded by a lot of clearly new, or amateur, or just not very experienced cyclists, standing over your posh expensive bike, all skinny and in shorts, talking loudly about your recent trip to the Pyrenees is a tad de trop.  Just saying.  OK, so the chances were looking good that I might compare favourably with a large percentage of the crowd, but I wasn’t going to be rubbing anyone’s noses in it.

Rain, rain, and more rain, but there was quite an atmosphere of camaraderie going on, and we weren’t downcast.  I’m not used to be surrounded by people who are excited about the challenge ahead, everyone I know, and on the events I do, seem to have gotten rather blasé about what it is that we do.  Slowly we crept forwards to stand at the start line and be briefed and then let away in batches of ten.

Off we went onto wet wiggly country lanes.  In order to maximise and simplify for the organisers, it’s a figure of 8 kind of route. Start with 1 bigger loop. Take a straight section to a shorter loop. Take the straight section back to the Start. And, if you’re on the Challenge route – repeat.  This has its pros and cons.

• Two laps mean you know what you’re in for halfway ’round which, if it was hilly, could be quite a deterrent. But since it wasn’t, and there wasn’t much climbing at all really, it means you know that maybe you could go a bit faster second time around, and that there’s nothing to fear.  
• The figure of eight route means that 2 “treat” stops become four with no effort at all.  Both stops were well equipped with food, friendly folk and mechanical support, putting a very brave cheerful face on standing around in dayglo overalls in the wind and rain all day!

On the downside

• Though being first away for the long route means very little traffic of either sort on the way out, by the time you start the second loop it’s full of all sorts of traffic and you spend your entire time over-taking cars and bikes.  If you’re on a mountain bike slogging along into the wind and rain at no speed at all, being over-taken by me with my head down and going 15mph faster than you, must be a tad annoying/demoralising.  Sorry.  Kinda ;).
• That straight section being used both ways, and for me, twice, meant that there were cyclists of all abilities going both ways down it with plenty of cars trying to get past in both directions.  And sometimes cyclists overtaking too.  Chaos.  I bet the motorists of the New Forest hate “us” even more now, even if they were all generally being more pleasant because we were girls.
• Overlapping the route is confusing because if you didn’t know that was going to happen – if you’re on one of the other routes – it’s quite easy to worry you’re going the wrong way, and there were a lot of temporarily worried faces around.  Luckily there were plenty of marshals to point the right way as and when necessary and reassure the bemused.

There was a mix of terrain. Country lanes, forest, wide open moor land (for which also read exposed!).  Very scenic, in a damp drippy way.  Apart from a couple of stretches of bad surface, and signs warning you of that to go with them, the road surfaces were pretty good too.  Thanks to the marshals at all the main junctions, and the big black arrows on yellow backgrounds it was pretty hard to get lost, though the odd repeater sign would have come in useful.  At least second time around the route you know you’re going the right way!  Down by the coast, around Lymington, the scent of salty mudflats had me thinking of rocks, and crabs, barnacles and anti-foul…Dad will know where I’m coming from even if you don’t :D.

Luckily only the first 10 miles and last 10 miles were really wet.  I stashed the waterproof half way around, on my one and only stop, because life was getting a tad too boil in the bag for my tastes.  By the time the wet stuff started again near the end, I was essentially past caring and more interested on getting to the end as fast as possible.  There was a really nasty headwind on a couple of sections, but the loopy route meant it was also behind you at some points too.  Swings and roundabouts.  A couple of very doable climbs meant that there were even a couple of long downward bits. Nothing excessive, but enough for the odd grin.  Apologies if I went past you very very fast.  I wasn’t showing off, I was having fun.  Honest! *grin*.

OK, I’ll own up.  This was seriously good for my ego.  Don’t worry, the Exmoor Beast next weekend will put me properly back in my place. But to be flying around, overtaking all and sundry, feeling pretty good?  It quickly became clear that I was going to be able to do this and do it fairly well, so I decided to set myself a goal and see if I could do the 50ish miles in under 3 hours ride time.  The mental arithmetic to work out the average speed required took a while too, which handily ate up a few miles 😉 Doing the math has never been my strong point.  Although English was/is so let’s call it maths ;).  It was just bliss to spend three hours being somewhere else in every sense.  Not racing, but at least pushing it to see if I could do it, and just focusing on that.  Plenty of very much appreciated head space and not much thinking at all :).

And I did it.  After some daft shenanigans with cars and overtaking and…*grrrr*…which I made up for by overtaking a group of younger fit looking Rapha-clad women trying to race to the finish.  Tee hee hee…  As eldest would put it – *smug face*.  When I crossed the start line my Garmin said 2:55.  The text I got shortly afterwards informed me that my official time was 3:03.  Strava reckons my average speed was 17.3mph.  Now that ain’t bad.  What’s more I came 7th.  Not just 7th out of the girls, and rubbish overall, as would otherwise be the case.  No.  After all, we were only girls…so I was 7th overall.  7th?!  Did I mention how good this was for the ego?  😉

Having collected my medal and sample filled Liv/Giant goody bag, it was still pouring down, and the outdoor event village was not really somewhere for pleasant hanging around.  The only place properly undercover was the Beauty Event Spa tent.  Yes, there’s a spa tent.  Yes, I’m guessing it is a girl thing *grin*.  There was a choice of (free!) treatments on offer.  Stretching (I’ve been told that’s good for you…but not for me), leg/foot massage (20 minute queue), dry shampoo/hair tidying (as if), and facials.  Why not?  Well by the time we’d been talked through all the stuff to put on our faces, and applied step by step as instructed, at least my face was clean and lovely!  The rest of me was cold, and wet, and only getting colder…  Time to head to the car and do that hiding in the boot contortionist getting changed thing.  At least I could have the engine running to warm the car and me up.  Some form of changing facilities would have gone down a storm after the storm, as it were!

So what do I think of Cycletta now?  Well it’s not really a sportive for women.  It’s a women’s cycling event.  Which is great, don’t get me wrong.  There were all sorts of sizes, shapes, and abilities doing all sorts of rides. Short, long, solitary, with friends, on road bikes, mtbs, even tandems.  The lack of testosterone was refreshing.  Everyone seemed to be having a very good time, a lot of money was raised for charity, and there was an entirely different atmosphere to it, with a lot of family involvement.

But for me to want to do more, it would need a longer route still, and one that didn’t repeat. Which I gather from the post-ride survey is something they’re thinking about.  I quite like the after-ride bonding spa experience – very novel.  So stretch the route, throw in some more toilets and some changing facilities, then yes, I’ll be there.

I’ll add this, in postscript fashion…  Is it ever going to get women cyclists into the mainstream, or will it remain a stand alone thing?  How many graduate from Cycletta to “normal” sportives?  Now there’s something I’d like to know…

Cycling time: 2:55 hrs.
Distance: 50.8 miles.
Avs: 17.3 mph.
ODO: 16580.19 miles.

Today’s sportive was the Southern Sportive.   Whilst not a new event to me, I’ve only done it once, back in 2007 which is many years and a cycling lifetime away.  It starts from Petersfield, which is a non-motorway 2.5 hour drive from here, so I indulged in a night at the Premier Inn before hand so that the morning start wouldn’t be too hideous.  Just for once I let the bike sleep in the car, tucked up in its very own blankets, rather than fuss around getting it out, in and back out again.  After a pretty good night’s sleep myself, I woke up at 6:00am to a variable weather forecast, wet roads, and a distinct chill in the air once I was brave enough to open the window to check it out.  Hm.  Layers then.  Of course the downside to not being at home is that when you unpack your kit and realise you’ve forgotten your sports bra, there’s nothing you can do about it.  At least the one I had with me for the drive home after was fairly simple…and no bra is just not an option. D’oh!

HQ, at Churchers College, turned out to be all of 5 minutes drive away and since I was there a bit before 7:00am, I was one of the first there and so benefitted from parking on site right next to registration and all the facilities.  The early bird gets the worm right?  First things first – off to register.  No queue as they were still really just setting up, and the only real wait was for the lady behind my part of the desk to be briefed on what she had to do!  Find number 673, hand over the bike number and hub mounted timing chip, point me at the zip ties and the disclaimer form to sign, and that was it.  Easy.

Back to the car, and faffing.  The surrounding cyclists and I indulged in the usual what to wear considering the temperature and forecast rain discussion.  Having recently been tempted by an extra 10% off sale prices offer from Rapha, my lovely new rain jacket arrived on Friday.  I was hoping it would be magic and that having spent the money I would never have to use it – a bit like an insurance policy.  But since I had it, leaving it behind would have been both daft and also guaranteed rain!  So, Cyclosport jersey, arm warmers and gilet, Skins tights (can’t tell you how much I love these), toe covers, and new jacket in capacious saddle bag.  While I was faffing, other cars were filing in, and I could have sworn I saw Henry (of past Cyclosport fame) in one of them…and it turns out I did, I did, I did taw a Henry!  He came past on his way to registration, and it was nice to have a brief chat to a friendly face.  Albeit a young, skinny, very fit friendly face who was liable to do the whole thing in half my time and at twice my speed!

I had a bit of time to kill and considered buying myself a cup of coffee.  However the man behind the table was telling the guys in front of me that he didn’t yet have any change and I didn’t think my £10 note would go down well!  Instead I grabbed the bike and headed over to the vicinity of the start line to wait, use the toilets, and wait some more.  Riders were due to start in batches according to route length, though this was more advised than regulated.  Since I was down for the Full route, I wanted to get away as soon as possible, and long route riders were allowed to start first.  There was some discrepancy in the pre-ride paperwork as to when the start time was.  7:30am or 8:00am?  It depended what you’d read.  Well, due to what looked like some difficulties setting up the timing gear, it wasn’t just not 7:30am but a bit past 8:00am when we were finally called to the front line.  Then followed a rather long-winded welcome, and a rider briefing.  We were all standing there, getting colder all the time, just waiting to get going…patience is not my strong point it would appear! Ok, ok, so you all already knew that ;).  Kudos to the guy at the very front who had TT bars and a conehead TT hat too – clearly desperate to do it as fast as possible.  Admirable…or something.

Right.  Finally we were off.  I was with the first group away, heading out on damp roads, and glad of my layers.  There was precious little time for warming up though, well, not the legs anyway.  Warming up otherwise came shortly.  After a brief stretch of flat, past swans floating serenely on a misty pond, the first climbing started all of a couple of miles in.  No fair! But I had a pretty fixed mindset for today.  I’d looked at the route times, I’d looked at the distances and considered my form, or likely lack thereof.  The times I’d seen were for the Gauntlet route – which I’ll explain later – but even so I could see it was likely to be a long day.  It was Sunday, I was riding my bike, I had nowhere else to be and nothing better to be doing, so even if it took me ten hours and I suffered, why not?  So uphill I went.  Exceedingly slowly as usual, but without too much strain.  And with that attitude, and the fact that I was already feeling way better than last weekend, I was actually feeling fairly good.  Up hill, down a bit, up more hill…wet roads that suddenly seemed to be becoming wetter.  Drizzle turned into drippy rain, at which point Henry drew alongside for a bit before dropping back to be with his peloton again.  And then the rain turned into downpour and the donning of the rain jacket became unavoidable so I had to stop half way up one hill or another to do so, at which point I imagine they passed me and disappeared into the distance never to be seen again.  For the record, he was 2 hours and 7 minutes faster than me!

There’s a distinct lack of photos for today, because the by now infamous jacket came and went three times, and taking photos in the rain is neither easy nor advisable.  The wet also meant concentrating more, mostly on the road for obstacles, potholes, puddles…all things that tend to imply that keeping both hands on the handlebars might be a good idea 😉  Thanks to the weather today, there were sadly a great many riders with a great many punctures…I think the record may have been the rider who had six, but who wants to beat that kind of record?

A while later the sun came out again, starting today’s trend.  Rain, sun, clouds, wind, rain, sun…you get it right?  At least the wind warned you what was to come…and it went away again when the rain did.  There was lots of up, but mostly they felt like climbs, not hills, which may seem like splitting hairs, but I know what I mean.  The first food stop came around 24 miles in, at which point the weather was looking lovely, making all the waterproofs look a tad superfluous, and there was a lot of stripping off going on.  No toilets though – as with all the food stops – which you all know annoys me immensely!  Incidentally, note to self, if you wear a normal bra, and unzip your top for ventilation purposes, you should remember you have done so.  Cleavage at food stops seems to be a bit distracting ;).

I remember the hill from Duncton Mill to Duncton Quarry.  The names should have given it away really.  Mills are at the bottom where water flows down valleys, quarries are at the top where there’s plenty of space to dig big holes.  Still my kind of climb though.  After the second food stop, 49.6 miles in, I remember the long climb to Goodwood race course, which was the only memory I had of doing this first time around, and the connection kinda made me smile for some reason.  Hey I can go up hill – just slowly! I can tell from Strava that there was actually a lot of climbing overall, but there was also more flat than I was expecting.  And some of the views from the top, especially earlier on, were awesome.  All the way across the rolling green countryside to the sea beyond.  Or is it the Solent from there?  The views were good, but mostly the rolling scenery was pretty but unremarkable.  Lots of the same.  Seems churlish to complain and hey, in the the sun, it might have been a completely different story.  At least all those ups provided a fair few downs which I could enjoy during those patches when the roads were dry.  In fact at the bottom of one of them, coming into a village, I even managed to set off one of those you’re going too fast flashing signs, which may well be a first :D.

Ok, so there were no toilets.  Field stops then, not ideal but proof at least that I was hydrated.  The full/mid route split came quite early on, and I was surprised to see people taking it, since we were all supposed to be on the longer routes but then either they were wimping out, or so fast they’d started later and passed me already!  The writing on the split route signs was a bit small, and without a reminder that I was on the right route I did spend a while wondering if I’d gone the right way.  At least the orange reminder ribbons and signs reassured me that I was on a right route if not the right route.  I love repeater ribbons 🙂  But the miles ticked by and I didn’t reach the end, so I figured I must have gone the right way!  Various groups went past me, and quite a few of them actually said hello as they went past which was a)unusual and b)much appreciated.  Anything that makes you smile on a long ride goes a long way :).

On to the route options.  The original Southern Sportive was the usual 100 miles long.  T’aint broke, don’t fix it, so the Full route remains.  But to add a little challenge to life, they’ve added a Gauntlet option, which adds an extra 20 miles ish, all of 20km from the end.  I was considering doing it, and when I reached the third foodstop, presumably around 75 miles in, just before the 2pm cutoff, the marshall was walking around asking who was doing it, so that he could take numbers and keep track.  I’m thinking an extra timing mat here and there might have made keeping track of folk easier?  Anyway I said I might be possibly, to which he said if that was a definitely maybe, he’d note it.  I was the only one, and one of the other riders around me was heard to comment as to how that made me truly hardcore.  Funny!

But hey, nothing better to do right?  Good intentions and all that.  And at that point the rain jacket was still back in the bag, and I was feeling ok, so why not?  Time to head off again and see what happened.  Apparently there were two more climbs between me and the end on the 100 mile route, and I have to say that the climb to Butser Hill seemed to pass me by somehow, though it did amuse me to realise I’d been up the other way on the Wiggle Magnificat earlier this year.  At least I think it was that one, I have done a few sportives this year ;).

I spent most of the ride happily on my own, pottering along, and letting the mental cogs go around.  At some point, just before what was the start of the third, longer, rainy patch, I was joined by a very nice chap called Rupert, riding with his brother Humphrey, who had spotted the kit, realised who I was (ooh, the fame!), and had actually read some of my reviews.  Aw shucks, a fan 😉 *grin*.  We chatted for a bit, and then he kept me company for a while too, which was very nice.  He was so clearly faster than me though I started to feel bad about it, and also try to keep up, which is never good for me.  We parted company for a bit when we stopped to put rain jackets on as the rain returned…and then came the final route split and there they were, standing in the rain, trying to decide what to do.  Now quite a lot of me was leaning towards the 100 mile option but…with remarkably little arm twisting I found myself going left and manning up, as it were ;).  And I’m glad.  Sure, it was raining.  But a little bit of me wanted to do the whole thing, just to prove I could.  Although you’d think I’d be past proving anything to anyone by now!  We hung out again for a while, but soon it was just me, happy doing my own thing, going up and down hills in the rain.  The only other riders we had passed were going the other way…and we finally twigged that we were going to loop and then rejoin – they weren’t lost or finished already and heading home!   After a while pootling around on my own, wondering if there would ever actually be a final food stop, or if they’d packed it away already, it suddenly materialised in a wet wood, from where Rupert was just leaving.  Again with the nice to see a friendly face.  I had a chat with the food stop guy, who reckoned there might be all of two guys behind me if they hadn’t bailed thanks to the rain, but the idea of it being me as lanterne rouge oddly didn’t bother me.  Someone has to be right?

Right.  Twenty or so miles to go.  Nearly done, just me to please and nobody else.  So I did.  I climbed my way up a couple more hills before an essentially downhill ten miles back into town.  At some point, eating a bit of bar, something stung/cut the inside of my cheek, which was seriously painful but may well have distracted from the pain of the last few miles!  I felt a bit lost on the way back in, as I went past the same pond again…I was worried I was starting over!  Maybe I should have paid more attention to the map beforehand which would have explained it all…but some nice, slightly bewildered, lady pedestrian reassured me I was heading in the right direction and clearly I was as, around 9 hours after I set off, I rolled into a practically deserted HQ, over the line, and handed my chip in to a team busy packing up to go home.  I grabbed my free cup of coffee, passed on the free muffin, picked up my free orange t-shirt, and headed happily back to the car to sort my life out, where I found Rupert and Humphrey already there, packing up, drinking Costa coffee from the petrol station opposite, and doing sensible things like stretching. B*gger that for a game of monkeys ;).

Today’s sportive was all about Zen and the Art of Momentum Maintenance.  I don’t have a motorcycle, and everyone knows that bicycle and maintenance are not two words that go together if you’re me.  I’m pleased to report I actually wasn’t the last one over the line.  No red lamp for me – believe it or not there were a few even slower than I.  A very few 😉  But hey, you know what, as it turns out, I was the only girl to complete that route.  The Southern Sportive threw down the Gauntlet, I took it, and I won.  I even got a Bronze!  Turns out I am hardcore after all! 😉

Cycling time: 8:26 hrs.
Distance: 117.7 miles.
Avs: 14.0 mph.
ODO: 3709.4 miles.

Note to self – pack sports bra next time!  Whilst apparently comfortable enough on the ride, two days of bruised ribs from the underwire is less comfortable!  Oh, and my new rain jacket kicks ass :D.