I was one of the first downstairs on Day 2, having gotten myself organised the night before, as is my wont.  Summer kit and arm/leg warmers + gilet on me, all my other stuff in the bag to be transferred back, and a small bag with gadgets/bottles/food to go back on the bike and in pockets for the day ahead.  The sun was already shining as I retrieved my bike from storage, leaving my still labelled bag there,  and duly loaded up my steed.  Not only had the mechanics oiled my pedals as requested, it turns out that they wiped down ALL the bikes, and they’d even adjusted my brake cables to brutal level!  So far in fact that, as I waited around out the front of the hotel for the others to join me, our mechanic loosened them off a little for me, to get them a little more to my taste.  Coffee and pastries were available in the lobby, it being too early for normal breakfast service, so I got my early morning caffeine fix and ate a breakfast bar I happened to have with me, since no breakfast at all would probably be a bad idea, but then so would pastries!

The massage team and the mechanics were also already up and at it, helping riders iron out the knots, both physical and mechanical, to be ready for the day ahead.  It was pretty warm outside and the forecast was for even better so I nipped back into storage and stuffed my leg warmers into my bag.  Well, can’t have the extra weight making me slower, right? 😉  The event set up around me, with the obligatory photographer capturing every moment.  Stand up straight, shoulders back, stomachs in, right? 😉  Once more I bottled it, and opted out of joining the faster group, as I was too scared to, and besides, our group was a nice friendly one, and I didn’t fancy starting all over with new people.

Gradually everyone else emerged or arrived, although we were a few short as some of our group had decided that Day 1 had taken it out of them and Day 2 would be a step too far, which seemed a shame.  Today’s rider briefing was considerably shorter, and so it was a smaller but fairly cheerful group that set off once again sometime after seven.  There was only a small toot on the airhorn this time, but I bet we still weren’t popular with the more normal residents of the hotel! 😉

Having descended down two hills to get into Guildford, we were all well aware that leaving town would inevitably involve some up.  And before long there was a properly big one, which was one hell of a way to warm up and to realise that the legs were no better than the day before when it came to such things.  Today’s route was due to be a little shorter and about 1/3 less hilly, which was good to know, all things considered.  The views from the top were amazing; you could see all the way to London, which my camera completely failed to capture properly so you’ll have to take my word for it.  If I’d found the hill hard, some were finding it even harder, and we slowly regrouped at the top, enjoying the views and the sunshine, and being overtaken by other unrelated cyclists all wondering what we were up to.  It would appear the sun had brought every cyclist in Surrey out!

It wasn’t the only such hill, though as I slogged up the next one, I took comfort in the fact that the middle section of the ride was due to be fairly flat by comparison, with the exception of today’s hill climb challenge.  Yes, just like every other cyclist in Surrey, we were due to do a loop to take in Box Hill before heading back to Gravesend; something to think about as we once more waited to regroup.  I like Box Hill.  Mostly I like knowing that I’ve done it before so I can do it again.  It’s also nowhere near as steep as most of the other hills we had conquered, it’s just longer and wiggly and prettier.  Oh, and iconic.  Not that I’m into Col ticking or anything 😉 At least we weren’t going to have to cycle up it 9 times, right? 😉

Once more we were set off at 30 second intervals from the bottom.  A little bit of me had wondered if I could maybe do it at a little more speed than usual, but as yesterday’s QOM passed me, any such thoughts evaporated away in the sunshine, and I stuck to taking photos, shooting the breeze with other riders, and enjoying my usual bimble to the top where the National Trust café is, and where our first food stop was.  There were NSPCC folk waiting to clap us to the top accompanied by several families who were presumably there to cheer Daddy/Mummy along, and more than happy to cheer everyone else too, which was nice 🙂

I think we were the first Group to the top but the following Group was overtaking us as we stocked up on water and food, hurtling in one by one all hot and sweaty and competitive.  Must remember what I’ve done with my competitive spirit…I know I left it around here somewhere…;)  Mind you, there’s a lot to be said for knowing your limits 🙂  I also know the routes around here so I enjoyed the downhills afterwards a lot, as ever, but was also ready for the nasty kick up that comes somewhere in the middle of those glorious downs – and I nearly made it to the top out of the saddle, but not quite!  At least I can say I tried 🙂

On the way out of the Box Hill loop our QOM and friend had to stop, and it turns out they’d had a puncture.  Not a problem, the support car stopped with them, swapped her wheel for a new one, and she was with us again before we really realised it had happened.  Very swish!  As the route got flatter, and after yet another stop to regroup along the way, it was clear that we were once again falling into two groups, and some of the slow group were far from happy with having to try and keep up.  So for the next stretch of the ride we were actually allowed to split up, and 5 of us had a very happy fair few miles of flying flat section in the sun all the way to lunch, which was very lovely, very enjoyable, and possibly the longest stretch we went all weekend without stopping.  I was even allowed to lead from time to time, which was kinda cool, though Ian did keep having to rein me in as the speed would creep up without me noticing.  We made a good little group, and I think we all enjoyed it.

Lunch was once again full on, and this time I opted for the tuna pasta bake, rather than the cottage pie.  I may even have eaten some the cake 😉  There wasn’t anywhere to sit so we all sprawled around in the sunshine on the tarmac, not an excess layer in sight by now.  Too much sun for some, who preferred to enjoy the shade inside, which doesn’t happen very often!  One of our number had a dodgy knee; mine was doing fine thanks to being all kinetic taped up, in blue to match the bike of course.  It turns out that due to a multi-rider pile up somewhere back in Dorking, the relevant medical assistance was quite some way away and would have to be waited for.  Then, while that knee was eventually being treated, there was a bit of a palaver as some of the slower riders, who were considering taking a ride in the team car for a bit couldn’t as there was space for two riders but only one bike on the roof, the other one being used by a spare just in case Wilier.  So they didn’t.  But the broom wagon was a long way away too and no-one wanted to wait around for that.  Rather than making a decision, hard though it would have been, the support team were very keen to please all of the people all of the time and to not upset anyone who wanted to finish, and after endless debate, it was decided to carry on all together, and try and keep together – the two groups we had ended up in before had apparently become too far apart, thus breaking radio communication, and the various rules of the road that we were having to follow.  By the time we set off again, an hour and a half had passed…

So we were back to one slower group, cycling at the overall speed of the lowest denominator.  And getting slower all the time as everyone got tireder.  It was getting more and more frustrating, as I don’t think we went more than 5 miles without stopping, making it really hard to get into any sort of rhythm.  It was hard on the slower riders, feeling forced to go harder than they wanted, in the heat, and hard on the faster, forced to go slower and stop all the time.  A lose-lose situation.

When we arrived at the next food stop, all of 15 miles later, one rider had well and truly had enough and bailed.  Being local he decided to make his own way back, his way, and left just like that.  One of the others decided that she’d hitch a ride in the support car until after the two big hills that were ahead of us and then join in again to ride in to the end, which left all of 6 of us.  It was really hot by now, and I resorted to pouring water all over my head, in time-honoured fashion.  It always works, and it did this time too.  It was decided that we should all take some time to recover, and for that knee to be treated again.  Like half an hour.  It only have been 15 miles since the last stop I would have loved to be underway much sooner, and I wasn’t the only one, but ride leaders are there to tell you what to do, and he did, so we waited.

Right, time for the last 15 miles, and those last two long long long steep hills, which came pretty much straight away.  Hard work!  Still, I didn’t walk, I plodded, the knee didn’t hurt, and I wasn’t the slowest.  Those done, and behind us with a sigh of relief, we regrouped for the final stretch, rejoined by the hitchhiking rider, and we wiggled back amongst the familiar Oast houses and the quiet country lanes back towards Gravesend.  We emerged from the countryside to find ourselves practically there, and rounded off the ride with a victory lap of the track, which we nearly raced, but decided to be restrained, aka finish in one piece!  Discretion, valour, etc.  The 5 of us who’d spent most of the ride together lined up, and we crossed the Finish line together, to be cheered in by a welcoming committee, complete with fizz (how very TdF), medals, and generous goodie bags.  Nice 🙂 Day 2 – done!

We were far too late to join in the optional racing, even had we wanted to, but we were in time to witness the presentations of more K/QOM prizes and also prizes for the race winners.  Having been first out, we were last in by a long way, so there weren’t that many riders or crew left around, and with us all safely in, the event started slowly dismantling.  I had a chat with a few folk, thanked everyone for having me, collected my bag, stashed the bike and so forth in the car, and went and used the Cyclopark changing facilities to have a very welcome shower.  Well, I didn’t want to spend hours driving in the car in that state – not a pleasant concept!  So clean, with a frock on, the Tour of the South East was done, and it was time to hit the motorways and head for home.

So…in conclusion?  It’s a really good event.  Managing Group 1 was the problem, and it was made worse by logistics issues – maybe not enough medics, or bike/rider transfer capacity.  By the time we got in on the Sunday, we’d been out for 9:21, of which only 6:16 was spent riding the 84 miles and 4200 feet that we tackled.  I just wish I’d had the nerve to join the faster group… 🙁  OK, I’d have suffered on the hills, but I reckon I could have managed the rest…but then hey, 20/20 hindsight and all that.  On the other hand I had a fairly enjoyable two days riding my bike in the (mostly) sunshine, totally supported, with everything catered for and to.  I just didn’t quite get the semi-pro peloton experience that I’d been looking forward to, which is partially my fault, and partially theirs.  But then it’s a charity ride and a club rider challenge – and it must be hard to figure out how to be both!  Still, if they’ll have me next year, I would SO do it better.  On the other hand I wonder if they could use a ride leader for Group 1? 😉

Apparently I’ve taken up multi-day cycling.  First the three day Tour of Wessex, now the two day Tour of England NSPCC Tour of the South East.  Who knew?  But this isn’t just your average two sportives in a row.  “The NSPCC Tour of the South East is a tough, truly distinctive, 175-mile multi-stage sportive that offers YOU the ultimate pro-rider experience.  Snaking through the region’s most beautiful countryside, and including timed climbs of Box Hill and Kidds Hill (The Wall!) plus optional circuit racing at Cyclopark, you’ll ride in seeded groups, escorted by motorcycle outriders and serviced by domestiques, with back up from an experienced crew of mechanics and soigneurs.”  On top of that there is an option to pay to attend the “spectacular Yellow Jersey Dinner on the Saturday night with a delicious menu plus auction, presentations and a special guest speaker“.  I think that sums it up better than me, and saves me re-writing it!

I was invited to ride and review it for Cyclosport, so was lucky enough to have a place for both days, at the Yellow Jersey Dinner, and in a room at the Radisson Blu hotel in Guildford for the mid-ride night.  Well, it would be rude not to accept, right?  And unlike the Tour of Wessex, which I was kind of dreading, this Tour was one I was really looking forward to.  Something different, somewhere different.  Even if it did mean a 3.5 hour drive to Gravesend in Kent the night before, and a night in a Premier Inn where the door to the rooms upstairs slammed shut every time someone used it, which was frequently, and which woke me up every time.  *grrr*.

Still it did make for a relatively leisurely start in the morning, with a 5:30am alarm call, and 6:15am departure to reach HQ at Cyclopark, all of five minutes drive away.  I was a bit later than I’d planned since having had one overnight stay already, with kit to sort/wear for the day, a bag packed with clothes for the dinner/kit for the next day, and a bag full of food/gadgets/etc to put on the bike, I managed to totally misplace various essential things several times and had to find them each time, having put them somewhere sensible in a one bag or another but never the one I was looking in!

Since we were all in seeded groups, me being in Group 1, the 12-13mph group, we all also had staggered start times, so there weren’t that many people queuing for registration.  Which is just as well as it wasn’t very organised.  Rather than having one rider pack per rider, each one had to be given their timing tag, number, cable ties, sign a waiver, etc etc…all separately.  It took quite some time…but other than the odd eye-rolling when the eyes of slightly frustrated queuing riders met, all of whom would rather be getting their bikes ready, we all did the British thing and queued in an orderly fashion. I was number 10.  Well I was, except somewhere along my faffing way back at the car, I lost my helmet timing tag, so for timing purposes I ended up as number 19 instead.

Sometime after 7:00am Group 1 were gathered together for a pretty comprehensive briefing which, if you’d read the 30 page manual that came out beforehand, probably was a bit surplus to requirements, a bit like having a presentation where the speaker reads out the powerpoint slides.  I’m sure they had to do it for risk assessment/health and safety reasons anyway.  It did give us a change to meet our ride leader Ian, and our domestic Dave though.  There was one other but he was poached by another larger Group, there being only 13 or so in ours.  As we stood there, the weather was ooming, and the forecast, though improved on earlier in the week, was pretty convinced that rain was likely.  It started spitting a bit as we got to the start line, but I really didn’t want to put my waterproof on as it was pretty warm.  Still, I did the wise thing, and did.  Well, not putting it on has only gotten me into trouble of late as I recall!

With a countdown, and air horn fanfare, we were sent off to do a quick lap of the track before heading out into the Kent countryside, following the arrows and our ride leader.  Riding as a kept together group was weird, and took me a long time to get used to.  Initially I was somewhere near the back, but having to brake for everyone else, especially downhill, was doing my head in a bit as I hate to lose hard-earned momentum, so I ended up much nearer the front where I could at least see ahead of myself and not have to worry about others more (probably sensibly) cautious than myself.  It wasn’t flat either, there were a couple of decent climbs in the first 17 miles to make me realise my legs were still rubbish, and then an easier stretch to follow to get us to the first food stop.  The route was quiet, and pretty, along lots of leafy Kent lanes past what seemed like infinite numbers of Oast houses, but as it was still damp out there, taking photos seemed unwise.  There were various stops along the way, to co-ordinate layer stashing, and to wait for others catch up so we could re-group and carry on.  Some of this was facilitated by traffic lights which, like good, well-marshalled and supported little soldiers, we all stopped at.

My gears were a little out, so I took advantage (not literally!) of the mechanic at the food stop, around 25 miles in, to get them adjusted, which he did in no time flat, and perfectly.  Gotta love this supported riding stuff 😉  The food stop was, as they all were, fairly basic but adequate – with bars, gels, water/energy drink.  This one kind of summed up the route – the posh Surrey world interrupted by lycra louts!  I wonder what they thought of us?  But since we were escorted by a support rider out front, then the ride leader, then us, then the domestique, then a bike and support car, very few motorists seemed up for expressing their opinion on the subject, preferring to do as they were told and giving us a wide berth 😉

Kent is not flat.  It’s quite lumpy, deceptively so.  Lots of climbing without lots of hills, which may make no sense, but some of you will know what I mean.  Climb up through country leafy lanes, arrive at top in leafy trees, go down and repeat.  Rolling, but with some big rolls!  There were however exceptions to the rule, and today’s main exception was Kidds Hill, about 36 miles in.  Having arrived at the bottom en masse we were all then sent off at 30 second intervals to play at chasing KOM or indeed QOM.  As if – do be serious!  And yes, as billed, it was pretty hard work; pretty consistently steep, a bit more so at the bottom and then ramped up a bit again towards the top.  But it was not quite as bad as I’d feared it would be, and realising that, I just sat back and crawled up in my usual way.  A few riders overtook me, but not as many as I’d expected would, and at least one tried and failed, which was amusing.  Half way up the NSPCC team were out, cheering and clapping and rattling things, which was a nice touch.

It took quite a while to get us all up to the somewhat damp top, but the weather was improving and the big hill of the day was behind us, so everyone was pretty cheerful as they waited, once they’d recovered of course!  After a while riding across the top more moor-like area, with views to enjoy and so on, I was allowed to enjoy the descent my way – very fast very fun!  Luckily, as long as I waited up afterwards, Ian, our ride leader, was ok with that.  Which is good.  Though I did get a bit of a reputation for being a demon descender/speed freak.  Who me? 😉

Right, time for lunch.  Which really was lunch.  As in a meal!  I opted for beef lasagne rather than chicken curry, on the basis that it was probably the safer of the two options as I hadn’t told them about my gluten/lactose requirements, and besides which, nothing sits well on rides.  And curry? *shudder*.  The lasagne was very nice, as it happens, and I surprised myself by eating it all.  Maybe I was hungry?

I passed on the cake that came too though – I thought that might be a step too far.  As we sat around, taking it easy, various juggling was going on to get everyone fed, including crew, as faster groups came and went.  Unsurprisingly we were caught and overtaken by faster groups both en route and at stops – there were 4 Groups seeded by speed – and as we were leaving yet another group arrived.  Some of them even smiled for the camera 🙂  At one point I was thinking about maybe joining a faster group and trying it, but with rumours flying around as they do, it would appear that the next group up, Group 2, were caning it, going far faster than the 14/15mph avs billed, and I decided I’d leave it and maybe consider it for tomorrow.

 
There was a bit of debate as to which way we needed to exit, as we couldn’t see the usual arrow from where we were.  There was a sign though 😉  We were grouped up, led out, and escorted on our way again.  At which point I spent about an hour being very aware that lasagne was sitting heavy…I’m not used to riding after meals!  And since I usually sound like a steam engine going uphills, it amused me when one actually passed us going the other way…;)

Although I was dropping like a stone on every hill, I wasn’t the slowest up them by far, and when it came to the flat/down, as I may have mentioned, I was possibly the fastest.  We sort of fell into a 50/50 split.  Half of us would have like to be doing a faster speed when possible, half of us couldn’t, but we had to stay as a group, or at least not too spread out a group, to maintain the radio mike communication between all the crew, and also to stick to their rules and regs, which was a bit frustrating.  I made the most of the patches when I could do my thing, and waited as instructed, which was better than nothing.

The sun was out by now, and as we waited once more, this time outside The Star Inn, the thought of a cold pint of lager later was motivational; I’m very reward driven 😉  There were more country lanes, more bimbling, getting more and more strung out as people got more tired.  Uphill my legs were killing me, as all last week’s training was still in them, but it was all very pleasant really.  Just like a weekend ride with mates, since our group had turned out to be a pretty sociable bunch.  And as long as I focused on that and stopped wishing I was playing pretend-pro, the miles just kept on passing by.  At least all the stops meant I was eating and drinking regularly, right? 😉

Here we all are, at the third and final food stop, ready for the final last 15 miles into Guildford.  And there’s Ian, our ride leader, looking pretty pro, which he may well be, unlike the rest of us.  Having lots of riders in their free Tour jerseys was nice though, it made for a certain conformity, and looked good out there on the road 🙂

There were a couple of nasty stinger hills before we reached our final destination, which came as an unpleasant surprise.  At one point yet another well-organised peloton caught up again,  and we were instructed to wait to let them by.  I’m sure their “well done guys” comments as they flew by were well meant, but I’m afraid they did come across a tad patronising!  Luckily we chose just to find it very funny *grin*.  I did feel a slight pang though…should that have been me?

I was a bit concerned about negotiating Guildford, as I recall it being busy and having traffic, but as it turns out we didn’t have any problems.  Once those climbs had sapped the legs it was a relief to discover we were the right side of town, with no distance at all to do, and we just rolled down into town and straight into the hotel area, just like that!   Day 1 was done, and around 90 miles and 6,300 feet of climbing were behind us.

The hotel turned out to be lovely, though it being 4* and swish, they seemed a tad (politely) bemused by all of us wandering around in grubby lycra.  Everything was organised.  Our bikes went into secure storage, our overnight bags were ready and waiting for us, and masseurs and mechanics were on hand for those that wanted/needed them.  What I wanted was to check in, get to my room, have a shower, put normal clothes on and then buy myself that cold lager I’d been dreaming of.  So I did.  Though since a 330ml bottle of Perroni (“we don’t have draft lager”) was £4.85, it was possibly the most expensive pint ever – ok, 660 ml – but you get the gist!

I was joined by some other riders and we killed time talking cycling as the time to dinner ticked down.  It took us a while to recognise each other in civvies!  There were some from my Group, and also a posse from Woking CC including Klem, who I’d already “met” pre-ride, but only on Twitter.  He insisted on tweeting a photo of the pair of us which probably isn’t massively flattering, but the fact that he wanted to kinda was 😉

The dinner started with free fizz and mingling, followed by a sit-down three course meal complete with compère and inspirational speech by Paralympian Mark Colbourne.  Again, not my usual fodder, but I figured I needed the fuel.  Tomato soup, bangers & mash, apple crumble & custard – stuff to stick to the ribs.  The white wine was no cheaper than the beer (ouch!), but it was at least properly cold and really quite nice.  There was also a raffle and various awards, including those for the KOM and QOM up Kidds Hill in each Group, which was a nice touch – since interGroup competition would never have worked!

Things wrapped up at a reasonable hour so I hid out at the bar for a little longer, since early nights don’t mean early sleeping for me.  It was nice just to enjoy some peace and quiet for a while.  Oh, and a little more white wine of course – for sedative purposes 😉

Here I go again.  But not on my own 🙂 Whatever today’s lineup was due to be, and whatever their plans, Sean, Guy and I were for the short route.  Which didn’t make the alarm clock’s siren call any more appealing, or the usual porridge any more appetising, but did mean my spirits were a little higher than they might have been otherwise.  Other than that, the morning was pretty much an action replay of Day 2, up to and including parking outside Edgar Hall and its admirable toilet facilities.  This time we actually met Guy in the car park, so it was a trio of riders, nay musketeers, that headed for the final countdown.

Day 3 of the Tour of Wessex is always slightly quieter.  There are less riders all together.  Those with the long day, and it is a long day, ahead of them are well aware of the fact, those of us doing the short route know that it’s only 57 miles, and by comparison a walk in the park.  Or a cycle in the National Park 😉  I keep having to remind myself that, for all I’m not on form, for “normal” people 57 miles is not only 57 miles, it’s actually quite long way!  I’m trying to learn to compare myself to my own standards not other people’s, so just for my record, I’m better than many, if not as good as those I’m lucky enough to cycle with 🙂

So, another day, another wait at the start line, and another weather forecast not quite living up to expectations.  Rather than being the best of the three days as it originally suggested, it was looking like rain…albeit warmer less windy rain.  Good thing I was going with the same strategy as Day 2 and that the waterproof was already on then.  The commentator was still being impressively cheerful, not entirely sure how, but then again, he’s paid to be cheerful, we’re not.  And a morning on the start line wouldn’t be the same without the usual grumpy old man interjections from Guy.  He still isn’t a morning person ;). Martyn, who had joined us, was looking remarkably spritely for someone two days into the long route though – most impressive!

However knowing I was doing the short route was pretty good for the PMA.  Even I should be able to manage that, right?  And having looked at the route, there was only one really big hill to be dealt with.  Let’s ignore the fact that any sort of incline is a problem for me, and focus on that, right?  Either way, I was feeling pretty cheerful.  Even when we set off and the rain started…we just headed West, hoping it would be peaceful there.  Yes, there were the odd drags up, but that did mean I got to go down too, and that’s about the only time I can ever drop Guy and Sean, so when I could I did.  Only to be caught as it went up again.  Fair enough 🙂

I know these roads quite well and after the first few miles of that, it’s fast and flat, and ok “fun” might be pushing it, but I knew I could do it.  We worked mostly as a group, got occasionally peloton-ed, as groups of the more ambitious went by, one of which swept Martyn away with it.  We got a little damp but not too much, the miles passed, and we were headed for the delights of Bridgwater.  Not my favourite place, and the wiggling route through it, including an interesting dual carriageway crossing, wasn’t much fun either, but at least the residents weren’t up and at us yet!  There really isn’t any other way to get to Exmoor, so let’s call Bridgwater a necessary evil, rather than some of the more impolite things I might sometimes call it 😉

We’d spread out a little as we left town and headed for the hill(s), so it was just me for a while.  An ambulance hurtled past me which is rarely a good sign, but since the motorcycle outrider who kept me company for a chat for a while knew nothing about it, hopefully it was a non-cycling related emergency.  I appreciated the chat too, very sociable.  I wonder if he talks to everyone or just the girls? 😉  Besides, I knew what was coming, and I wasn’t in any hurry to get there even if the weather was a little drier.  I was pacing myself, that sounds better than just being slow, right?  

And the climb up Crowcombe Hill, albeit from the lesser side, was, as I remembered, a doozy.  The first section is the worst, but even after it stops being quite that steep it’s steep enough and it goes on for a very long time!  But it was pretty, not too busy, I’ve done it before so I knew it was doable, the odd rider chatted to me, and the recumbent overtaking us all provided novelty value!  Finally I reached the flat moorland section across the top, which gave me time to catch my breath and enjoy yet more scenery, before nailing it on the descent the other side *grin*.  I remember it being worse, wigglier, more difficult, scarier?  Last year there were nutters hurtling past me on the outside.  This year I guess I was the nutter *grin*.  Oh but man, it was fun.  SO much fun 😀 Still didn’t make it over 50mph though, sadly I was being a little cautious and it’s not that long.  One day…

I was a very happy bunny when I reached the food stop shortly afterwards and met up with Sean and Guy.  Not only was I halfway round, I’d made it up the hill without walking, and I was halfway closer to the pub!  Plus the sun was practically shining.  What’s not to love?  Well, the very cheap pasties and mini scotch eggs since you ask. The latter were tolerable, but the pasties?  No idea what the little they were filled with was, but it wasn’t pleasant!  At least the hall was open this year and I nipped to the loo while Sean and another Cyclosport rider James caught up – I’d seen him on Day 1 and it was nice to see him again.  Practically a reunion 😉

My buoyant mood carried me for quite a few miles after that and we had some fun doing the fast (ish) thing.  Well I did anyway.  The weather was brighter and so was I!  Not that this would last, I settled back down to average fairly shortly, a girl can only keep such things up for so long.  Sean got further and further ahead and eventually the elastic snapped and he was off completely, leaving just Guy and I to negotiate the country lanes home.  There wasn’t much to trouble us really, the odd up that he probably didn’t even notice and I probably did.  Nonetheless he stuck with me, waiting as necessary, which is just as well, since when the right turn in East Lyng was missing and we found ourselves nearly at Athelney, it was nice to be lost in company, and to have his gadget to tell us when we took the right that seemed right and rode for a bit that we were back on the right route.  No Somerset is not flooded anymore, contrary to public belief, though the three folk opportunistically collecting for “the flood charity” at the traffic lights there weren’t deterred.  I’m not sure they were entirely legitimate either!

Not far to go now, on still quiet roads, since even the very fast would be hard pushed to have done the long route and made it back to us already.  And knowing we were nearly done was good.  There are three nasty drags on the road back from Langport to Somerton that just can’t be avoided.  They didn’t hurt quite as much as last year, but then there weren’t so many miles in my legs this year.  3..2…1…  They still weren’t fast though!  But that’s ok, we were nearly there, and the Finish Line was mentally in sight, and then literally in sight, and then I was over it, to meet Guy who’d unsurprisingly got there a little before me on the other side, and the Tour of Wessex was done for another year.  Or the final year, as Guy, the Stephen Redgrave of the Tour of Wessex, would have you believe ;).

Cycling time: 3:47
Official time: 4:03
Distance: 58.7 miles
Avg: 15.5 mph
ODO: 4933.2 miles

Guy and I found Sean loitering in the food tent, and I had another very good “short” americano, as Claud the Butler had now christened such less diluted espressos.  Well short route, short coffee, right?  😉  We collected our medals from the table at the end, though we could have been anyone (no-one checked), and generally wasted some time.  However just like last year, the event was packing away around us.  Already.   And we were on the short route!  There was no sense of…fanfare, ceremony, achievement…oh, I don’t know, the word escapes me.  Maybe I’ll come back and edit this when it occurs to me*.  Or not – so you choose your own word in the meantime.  I just feel that if you’ve done three days riding, you should have a welcoming reception committee, a special medal, anything to gild the lily.  Everything should all be there and still happening.  You’ve paid enough and worked hard enough after all, and I’m sure many felt a distinct sense of anti-climax when they finished, especially on the 3 day long route, which is such a shame.  It all seems to be cut off too soon, a bit like the timing mat each day!

Anyway, enough of that.  Tour of Wessex Day 3 done.  Even if was the Tour of Wessex “Lite” by some standards.  I’ll have you know that’s still 220 miles in three days, which is not to be sneezed at I reckon.  Not when you consider the year I’ve had.  And it’s all good training for whatever is to come next too…miles in the legs etc…so it’s all good. I got to ride my bike for three days with friends, and that doesn’t suck.  I was expecting to feel bad about letting myself, and others, down, but you know what?  I didn’t, and I don’t.  I did ok, and ok is good enough 🙂  And no, I’m not doing it again.  Please remind me I said that 😀

*sense of occasion…that was it!

Welcome to Day 2 of the Tour of Wessex.  Just for once I’d managed a decent pre-sportive night’s sleep, and I wasn’t all that thrilled by the 5:45 alarm call…but hey, who would be?  Still, time to get up it was, so I did.  Sean and I consumed various incarnations of oats, in traditional cyclist stylee, before loading up the car.  I had warned Sean what state my bike was in, but it wasn’t until he transferred him from my car to his that he realised I wasn’t dissembling, and that he would now have to wash his hands!  Well, everything else got washed last night, I just couldn’t face washing the bike too!

We set off on time, with me playing navigator as Sean was driving and doesn’t know his way around here.  After not squashing lots of early morning bunny rabbits, and a bumpy but uneventful drive we arrived at Somerton, and were marshalled not onto the playing field, which was apparently no longer up to playing parking lot (more of a quagmire I bet!), but into a nearby industrial estate, passing Guy leaving on his bike already, where we were parked up outside a Somerton Town Council owned building.  Hard standing has it’s upsides though – no grass in your cleats!  It also meant access to indoor toilets without any queues – result!

The weather was much nicer this morning, as was the forecast, but after Day 1’s antics, I really wasn’t sure whether to believe it or not, or what to wear.  Nothing new there then!  I decided to wear somewhat less, partially because half my kit was still at Chris’, but really because it was supposed to get something approaching warm later.  So tights, toe covers, s/s jersey, arm warmers, fairly heavy Maratona gilet, and my waterproof over the top to keep the chill/wind off until I’d warmed up.

It was, according to Guy, 0.9 miles flat ride to the start, but far too flat to really see how the legs were feeling.  Actually getting to the start involved going around HQ and through all the parking/camping etc, which had an element of cyclocross to it, but somehow I managed not to have to ride on the grass.  There was nothing to do this morning but get to the start line, via toilets that had no queues but seriously needed cleaning!  Today’s line-up had changed considerably.  No Jon of course, but Guy, Martyn, Sean and myself were joined by Gary, Robin and Peter, all of us with different plans for the day.  Having removed any self-applied pressure do to the whole 335 mile three days yesterday, I still hadn’t really decided what I was doing.  After all, today’s long route was to head South to the coast and back and included one of my favourite stretches of ride, along the coast above Bovington Camp to Corfe Castle, and I was thinking I’d still like to do that.  It’s a lovely climb and it is beautiful 🙂

We joined the start line somewhat further back this time, although still rather too close to a speaker for comfort.  The Start/Finish arch was missing, having blown down the day before, which just goes to show what a lovely day that was.  The commentator did his best to jolly us all along, and since it wasn’t raining, things were already looking up!  One more countdown, and we managed to be away in the first group, off to find out exactly how those legs were feeling.

The first section of the route was lovely country roads, and fairly flat, always good for warming up.  A rolling start, if you like.  I did my best to stay with the group, but it really wasn’t good enough.  Hit an incline, and I dropped like a stone…  And the first proper one of those and they were gone.  Ah well, I’m used to it these days.  Although I’d kinda like it if folk said au revoir before they did so, but such is life.  However on one such up, possibly in Ilchester, I was very pleased to discover Gary waiting for me.  ‘Rah, a friendly face!  Maybe I wouldn’t be on my own all day after all!  I took advantage of the stop to stash that by now boil-in-the-bag waterproof away, and although I was a bit chilly for a bit as I got used to the change, it definitely helped.  I don’t perform well, or rather make that I perform even worse, if I’m over-heating that way!

Gary and I carried on our merry way, with him waiting for me at the top of ups, but still essentially sticking with me.  I checked like a million times that he really didn’t mind, being well aware of the fact that I was holding him back.  However apparently that’s what mates are for however, so I stopped checking and just got on with it 🙂  Gary is, incidentally, at least half the man he used to be and more than twice the cyclist.  Must learn how to emulate that!  Having ridden this route three times before, I knew was a particularly big lump ahead of us, but had conveniently forgotten it wasn’t the only one and that others came first!  At least that meant I’d gone up, and could enjoy the flying section down to the Cerne Abbas Giant.  It helped to know it was there of course, and over-taking people who’ve dropped you on hills is always amusing.  Hey, they’d catch me again soon enough.

In previous years the food stop has been at the lay-by by the Giant, and we stopped there anyway, to immortalise his tumescence once more.  Which is a fancy way of saying big cock but that’s usually Guy’s joke.  However since he spent the whole ride without saying it, it seems I should *grin*.  It turns out that a lot of people were so busy concentrating where they were going that they missed him, which is a shame, since landmarks is part of what makes this particular route so nice.

Right then.  Time for that hill.  A quick wiggle through the pretty village of Cerne Abbas itself, where the residents were looking a bit bemused for us, and several signs showed that they were more concerned that we might upset the horses than vice versa.  Not that I saw a single horse that is.  And I had plenty of time to look around going up the hill.  It’s a long fairly consistently steep climb and I knew it was going to be hard work.  Somewhere near the bottom we passed Sean, puncture stricken but far enough ahead of us to have had time to have practically finished changing it, so he waved us on our way.  Up and up and up and past the drummer and up some more.  Still, as is always the way, later rather than sooner, it was done and behind me.  And man, the views from the top were amazing.  A reminder of why riding up hills is worth it.  That and the lovely down that came afterwards of course.  At some point on one of the downs today my Garmin showed 48+mph…but I’ve still not made it over 50 mph though!  Well, a girl has to have a goal, right? 🙂

The first food stop was shortly after this, predictably full of riders queuing for food and the two portable toilets.  As I arrived, I met Derek again, he of Black Rat Three Bridges fame, celebrating his birthday in typical cyclist style – on the bike.  He informed me he was relieved I hadn’t taken his “you don’t descent like a girl” comment on that day as an insult.  Far from it 🙂  It was nice to see him, and to be in the sunshine once again.  He went on his way, and I joined Guy, Martyn and Gaz in eating food and taking a break – Guy had kindly grabbed me a banana on one of his trips thataway.  Martyn was keen to be on his way.  Peter and Robin also.  Guy asked me which route I was doing…  Well I hadn’t decided.  But it felt like a leading question…and as it turns out, he was considering doing the shorter route.  Perfect.  Because that little “you’re crap” voice in my head had been thinking…  Well, I reviewed the “Long” Tour of Wessex route last year.  For journalistic integrity it would make sense to now review the “Short” Tour of Wessex, right?  I truly admire my brain’s ability to come up with excuses on demand, it’s impressive 😉  And given the chance to do the short route in company?  Sold!  Gary decided to join us, the others headed off, and we set off at my more leisurely place.  We never did see Sean though…and just presumed he’d gone hurtling off past us at some point.

The route split came somewhere around Puddletown.  Just as well as the group of pretend-pros behind us, complete with shouted rider instructions etc, were getting a little annoying.  We went left, they didn’t.  *Phew*!  And don’t towns around here have the best names?  Especially when there were no puddles to make assorted jokes about 😉

The route took us through to Tolpuddle.  Ah, well, yes, it would have done if they hadn’t closed the road for some town street event.  Diversion it said, you can’t come through they said, so we headed off to follow the diversion.  Which diverted us as far as somewhere and then just dropped us there, having lost the route and missed the turning the route would have taken.  We tried to guess where we should go…but since it turns out that that would have been left and we went right, that clearly didn’t go very well…  A little further down the road the guys were once more waiting for me, there having been an inevitable up.  This was good since I needed a comfort stop, and we needed to decide what to do.  As it turns out there was a marshal for another cycling event on the corner, complete with something very old skool – a map!  I reckoned we should head what looked like North ish for Bere Regis.  So did the map.  My geography may suck, but my sense of direction ain’t bad.  We also knew that at some point we had to go through Milton Abbas, somewhere so pretty it was bound to be on road signs eventually.  There was nowt for it but to head off and see what happened.  There has to be a joke about being martyrs to cycling in there somewhere though, right? 😉

It turned out to be very pleasant nonetheless.  We’d picked up a hanger-on, who’d decided there was safety in numbers, which felt a bit weird.  Us three chatting away familiarly and him not. There were long straight green roads, quiet, no riders or traffic, scenery, Forestry Commision land section, fair weather, and fair wind (such as it was it was now behind us).  After another stop by Bere Regis, some consultation with the high tech (Guy’s Garmin) and the low tech (a very chatty dog-walking lady), we found ourselves back on the route and heading for Milton Abbas.  Always nice to see those familiar black on yellow signs, even if there were more cars on the real route than on ours!

Last year Milton Abbas was full of fête and festivity and friendliness.  This year it was really quiet, with little to distract from the considerable climb up through it.  There was one group sat outside the pub who were busy frowning at us upsetting their personal idyll, even after my usual cheerful hello – grumpy s*ds!  You can tell it’s up there on the affluence scale though – the road has been properly resurfaced, none of this silly short term cost saving top dressing stuff, all the way through the village, and the continued climb afterwards – it goes up a long way after the village, and well after you think it should have stopped!  They don’t mind having posh smooth roads, but they’re really not keen on Giant Wind Turbines it would appear.  Which led to much discussion as to what size would actually be acceptable, and to which dimensions qualify as giant.  After all, they’re much smaller when they’re further away right? 😉  I bet they’re quite keen on having electricity around there though, for all the Nimbyism.  To be fair, I gather wind turbines are noisy, and I probably don’t one in my (postage-stamp sized) backyard either.  But then I didn’t really want a reservoir there either (as nearly happened) but am aware that water is a good thing, so was doing my best not to object to that on that basis.

Anyway, where were we?  Round about the second, or third for the long route, food stop.  This one was much quieter – I guess the long route riders probably hadn’t made it this far yet – and we had time to laugh at people swooshing in and out, all style and no substance – very funny. The chocolate flapjacks and jelly babies on offer were lovely.  Well, I thought they were then.  However for the rest of the ride it became clear that my flapjacks, liquid, gels, and theirs and whatever else I’d grabbed at food stations really wasn’t sitting well.  I needed to keep eating and drinking but I really didn’t want to, as I certainly didn’t want to see any of it again!   However I’m pleased it stayed where it was supposed to for all that it threatened otherwise.

We were told at the food stop that it was 26 miles to go, and actually it pretty much was.  It was also fairly rolling with quite a bit of fast flat too and we worked pretty well as a little group, eating up the miles, picking up the odd peloton as well as growing our own from time to time.  Precious few bothered taking their turn at the front though, happy just to be towed home.  Even I was doing my bit – I like to make up for what I can’t do by doing what I can when I can!  By now even my arms were out – not quite a first this year but not far off.  Cycling in nice weather is SO much nicer!  I ride better happier I guess?  Even the last little climb back into Somerton didn’t trouble me too much, and very soon we were back under the now re-inflated Finish Line, with (thanks to the detour) 88 miles or so on the clock.

Guy headed off straight away.  Gary and I headed off to see Claud the Butler who still makes seriously good Americanos, to enjoy a little après ride.  See, he even kept me company for coffee!  Ohana 🙂  And many thanks to both of them – it made the day far more enjoyable.  If you’ve got my back, I’ll go on…  Still, after a while, there was just me.  I’d completely failed to sort out how to rendezvous with Sean, and had run out of money, so I spent around an hour an a half talking to the world on my Crackberry and hoping he’d just turn up.  Robin and Peter did, and popped by and said hi.  Martyn finished but didn’t.  And then finally Sean did – which was a relief, especially considering my house key was in his car!  It turns out that the puncture we saw was shortly followed by another, and of course he then did the long route.  Still, other than the fact that I should have been eating and stretching, there are worse ways to spend such time than sat in a sheltered warm tent in the sun, watching MAMILs posture.  Intermittently highly amusing 😉

Cycling time: 5:51
Official time: 6:21
Distance: 88.7 miles
Avg: 15.2 mph
ODO: 4874.5 miles

Time to ride back to the car park, with bits of me protesting at being back on a saddle again, and to get home for the food I should have been having.  Oddly I appeared to have a ham egg and chips craving.  And what the body wants…  So it was that, once all clean and sorted for the following day again, Sean and I headed up to The Lamb for food.  Way quicker and easier than me cooking, and possibly more palatable!  And hey, a cold pint of lager never did anyone any harm, right?  Think of it as rehydration therapy…or sleep aid…or whatever excuse you need to make up for me 😉

Tour of Wessex Day 2 done.  A much better day for sure, even if my form was still as rubbish as ever! 🙂  Just one more early night and one more day to go.

Right.  Here we go.  Bear with me, this could take some time.

This Bank Holiday weekend was the Tour of Wessex 2014.  Something which I had, unfathomably, agreed to do again, shortly after finishing the last one.  It can only be presumed that such things work in the same way as labour does, in that the mind must block the pain away somewhere, thus allowing the human race to continue, and cyclists to race (sorry ride) again.  What was I thinking?  I have no idea.  I quite clearly remember saying I’d never doing it again after having done it, since I’d done it, and didn’t need to do it again.  Nonetheless…

Someone asked me last week if I was excited, looking forward to it.  Hm.  I’d actually been giving that quite some thought without coming up with a satisfactory answer.  I think ambivalent probably summed it up.  Looking back I think I was worried I wouldn’t make it at all; that some failure, be it mechanical or biomechanical, would stop me in my tracks.  None of the novelty, trepidation, or excitement of last year, just a sort of background worry…and the weather forecast wasn’t helping any.  As someone on Facebook commented, the weather is never great for the Tour of Wessex, you can practically set your clock by it.  Well, it’s an English Bank Holiday weekend, what else do you expect?  It looked like a reverse of last year’s weather, with nasty weather on the Saturday and better for the Sunday and Monday.  Which for Saturday meant not very windy, but not warm and most definitely wet.  It’s fair to say that the prospect of spending another day getting soaking wet on the bike far from appealed, and that waterproofs were not going to be optional.

Three days of cycling is like faffing cubed.  The front room floor was covered with kit as I tried to cover every eventuality whilst avoiding having to wash everything every day.  But eventually I was as ready as I was ever going to be.  Andrew had checked over the bike on Thursday, Chris changed the brake pads last week, and Karen, my physio, had strapped up my knee that morning.  Nothing left to do but eat and try and relax and get some sleep.  Some chance…

After a restless night, I gave up trying to sleep 20 minutes before my 5:45am alarm clock was due.  Time to go and put on the layers I’d decided on, and put others in a bag full of options in case I changed my mind once there.  It didn’t look too bad out there, but I wasn’t counting any chickens.  Good coffee drunk, bike and bags loaded up, and I was on my way, feeling more than a little stressed.  Still, the drive was ok, down roads I would later be riding on, the weather hadn’t yet arrived, and my music was doing a good job of cheering me up a little.  I arrived in Somerton with time to spare, and parked up on the playing field as instructed, fortuitously right next to Jon who was chatting to Guy who had arrived earlier yet was somehow parked further away.  Our little group had agreed to meet by the children’s playground at 7:30am, and there we were right next to it, early.  Handy.

First things first, to go and collect my registration pack as because I was doing it for work, I hadn’t registered on-line like everyone else.  For those, registration packs were sent the week before, so thus avoiding the need for people to register on the day.  Not that everyone had twigged this, there was a queue of people at the Pendragon tent being told they didn’t need to be there!  I however did, so I filled in the form, collected the pack, and headed back to the car.

I have to say I found this year’s handlebar mounted timing chip much better than last year’s saddle mounted sticky flappy one, and it was the only thing to be attached to the bike, or me, which was nice.  That done I faffed.  Well, what else was there to do?  It didn’t feel that cold, but I knew rain was due, and I was more than usually indecisive.  So – the final score line was long tights, light overshoes, s/s base layer, s/s jersey, and soft shell jacket (it has detachable sleeves so could double up as just a gilet later if necessary).  And of course the waterproof – tucked securely into my saddle bag.  Decisions made and layers donned, we all headed over towards the start, with the inevitable queue for the far too few toilets taking up some of the time to be killed.

No-one else seemed to want to advance into the pen and the start line, so our little ACG posse, by now joined by Martyn and Mark, decided we might as well.  If you see any official photos of the start line – the front row of riders is us!  This amused us more than it probably should have done, but did mean we got to spend lots of time watching the antics of photographers and journalists, all keen to get photos of Michael Eavis and the Aerial Atom that were to start off the event.

By now of course it was already raining intermittently, a sign of things to come.  The nearby speaker played an odd mix of frequently less than cheerful rock, although Chasing Cars was fairly apt, we got damp, and the time ticked down…

Finally after the usual rider briefing, which we all probably know by heart by now, the commentator counted us down from five and we were off, and following Mr Glastonbury Festival in the Aerial Atom out of the gate.  For 10 seconds I led the Tour of Wessex! 😉  Disappointingly the Atom instantly went left where we went right – not much of a lead out train! Ah well, time to stop fannying around and ride the bike then.

Today’s route was never going to hold much by way of novelty for me – it’s my patch, my turf, my backyard.  Even so, and having done it before, we nearly missed the right turn near Butleigh where a sign seemed to have gone amiss.  It’s a good thing someone always seems to have downloaded the route!  I’d like to have taken photos of Glastonbury Tor as we passed by, but it was in the clouds, and I was in the rain, and really, it didn’t seem worth it.  Besides, every time the road went up, I got dropped, and dropping back to take photos would have made things even worse, I’d never have caught up!  This, by the way, was to be the trend for the entire three days.  Keep up on the flat, get dropped on the hills, fail to catch up, and then get dropped completely unless some poor soul took pity and waited for me.

Which, for the first part of this day, the group did, or had to do, on a regular basis.  I did my best though, and enjoyed the downs and the flats when I could, and I was very grateful to them for waiting for me – it was not a nice day to be out there on your own, even on familiar roads.  On the upside, as we went through Glastonbury itself, the Atom reappeared, and I had to undertake it, as traffic stopped it hurtling off as it would like to have done.  Yes, not only did I lead the Tour of Wessex today, I was also briefly faster from A to B than an Aerial Atom.  Faster than a speeding bullet, that’s me 😉

The route sadly included the same horrible road from Godney to the bottom of Mudgeley Hill as last year, with potholes and gravel on either side, which had me holding on for dear life as riders insisted on squeezing past us to gain those extra precious seconds.  One group of them, unlike most, did at least warn me they were coming through.  I warned them that that was all very well but I still wasn’t moving out of the middle of the road – that being the only part of that road that was still road!  It was still raining, quite a lot, I was getting wet and cold, and I informed the group that if it was going to keep on doing that, that I was probably going to do the “short” route.  I just didn’t see the point of putting myself through another day of misery…and to be honest, they were probably quite pleased to hear that I wouldn’t be holding them back all day!

Unsurprisingly the group dropped me going up Mudgeley Hill.  I was doing my best to catch them up by making up time on the drop back into Wedmore when, where the road takes a sharp right turn to drop into the town, I came across Jon and Guy.  It wasn’t clear what had happened at first, other than that something had, but as it transpires, while following Guy down the hill Jon’s wheel had probably hit a drain cover, or something, and whatever had caused it, he’d come down hard on his right hand hip and shoulder.  The bike was ok, bar a little mudguard and brake straightening, but Jon was a little worse for wear.  How much worse remained to be seen…

Martyn and Mark had retraced their steps to join us, and we headed off as a group towards Cheddar Gorge.  Jon was definitely feeling it by now, not his usual speedy self at all, as well as being troubled by a niggling worry that he’d lost his keys when he came down.  Between us spreading out and him dropping back to check his pockets, it was every man for himself by the time we started what is to many an iconic climb.   Today it was an iconic river.  Which is of course why it’s a Gorge in the first place.  I swum up it in my usual fashion, too busy watching the road for rocks and water and other riders to have much time for photos or scenery appreciation.  In case you’re wondering – it’s frequently very pretty!

Somewhere along the top towards Priddy the weather brightened up a bit.  I may have been riding on my own, but it wasn’t too terrible.  I like the Mendips and there were bluebells and I wasn’t feeling too bad since I wasn’t having to keep up with anyone else.  Besides, the first food stop was due, at the Hunters Lodge, and I knew the chances were I would find the others waiting for me there, which I did.  It was a bit of a free-for-all – or maybe even a scrum – when it came to the food.  And the queue for the toilets didn’t appeal at all, though I gave in and joined it, needs must ‘n all that.  In the meantime I gave Jon some of my ibuprofen – I travel equipped – and chatted the future through with the guys.  Guy and Martyn were on the Long route.  Jon was not looking good, and I was for the short route, so Mark decided he’d join me and Jon would join us, and so two headed off and then we were three.

Off and down Old Bristol Road which was a little too congested to be much fun, as a support car had stopped halfway down to help someone needing wheel help.  Luckily I was being cautious at that point, so it wasn’t a problem, and the riders backed up for a bit as traffic going up squeezed past traffic going down.  At the bottom Jon bailed – very understandably – deciding to take the most direct route for home possible, and have his t’other half take him back to collect the car from Somerton.  A very wise move, especially as by now it was raining again.  On that basis Mark decided he’d go back to his original plan and do the long route, and I decided to stick to mine, and to pop in and see Chris for coffee which he’d offered as an option if I needed it.

I hadn’t realised, until I got inside and got coffee inside me, how thoroughly wet and cold I was.  I should probably have put that waterproof on, right?  D’oh!  I was soaked to the skin and freezing cold and shortly shivering.  Luckily Chris has nearly as much kit as I do, so I swopped several of my damp layers for his dry ones.  Some considerable time later, having drunk more coffee, wrapped up warm, with waterproof & overgloves on, and I was as close to human as I was going to get, facing another 40 odd miles in the rain on my own.  Still, warm and wet and better than cold and wet!  Oh, and they were possibly the best cups of coffee I’ve ever had!

Being behind everyone was quite nice in a way, I spent many semi-happy miles reeling in slower riders, as we headed through Shepton Mallet, Bruton and Evercreech, not necessarily in that order.  There was the usual traffic around the Royal Bath & West Showground, and from there on in, lots of diesel on the road – usually on the racing line, making me wonder if the Atom had been through this way too.  It was considerably lumpier than I was expecting, and neither my head, heart, nor body were really in it.  But I slogged along again, options being somewhat limited really.  One day soon I expect I shall mention a hill climb without also mentioning the smell of wild garlic, as the seasons change (they do do that, right?), but not today, as there it was again, damp and ever-present.  England’s green and pleasant land being unpleasantly watered.

Somewhere on one of those long climbs, momentum was interrupted as police marshalled us around an ambulance dealing with a poor soul about to be taken away, rumour has it having required CPR.  Well accidents usually happen downhill not up slow hills, but whatever happened, I hope he’s ok.  It was sobering nonetheless.  Somewhere not long after came the route split.  Go left and do an extra 40 miles in the rain, with the added joy of the King Alfred’s Tower climb?  Not on your nelly.  Nope, I turned right and headed for home.

My world shrank to being me, and my bike, and my music, and getting to where I had to go.  I never really got warm.  I drifted a bit from time to time and had to remember to eat or take gels.  I didn’t stop at the last foodstop, as I had what I needed with me, and didn’t want to risk getting colder standing around.  Believe it or not, I wasn’t actually miserable, but I was pretty focussed on getting it over and done with.  As the time passed, groups of the fastest riders from the long route started over-taking me, which didn’t do a lot for the ego, but at least proved I was still going in the right direction.  At least the odd one had the courtesy to say hi, and the occasional rarity even chatted briefly before leaving me behind.  This is not a good event for such things – far too many pretend-pros, some seriously bad manners, and occasionally some actively dangerous riding!

The country lanes carried me back past the orchards and vineyards around Wraxall, where thoughts of cider and wine were very motivational.  Yet another reason to get home…  It wasn’t hot enough for mirages by a long shot, but visions of a cold pint of lager were quite sustaining!  There were also posters everywhere for a forthcoming production of a “Comedy of Errors” which seemed oddly pertinent…

And then it was the last flying downhill down the hill up which we’d first climbed that morning, and then the slow slog back up to Somerton that by now definitely felt steeper than it is, and then there I was, over the Finish line, and done.  Not much to celebrate maybe, other than survival!  There was definitely to be no hanging around for me though, even if I probably wouldn’t have had long to wait for Guy and Martyn, considering the speed they’d been doing.  I went straight to the car, stripped off as much wet stuff as possible, put on my Skins, loaded up the car, drove gingerly over the now very muddy field to get out, and headed for home.

Cycling time: 5:06
Official time: 6:07
Distance: 73.0 miles
Avg: 14.0 mph
ODO: 4785.8 miles

So Tour of Wessex Day 1 done.  I’d been so wet that all my finger nails had split!  Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman ;).  Many, many thanks to Chris, without whom I don’t think I’d have survived!  It was a relief to get home to an email from a post A&E Jon, battered not broken, though words like “mis-aligned collar bone” were used, and apparently the bruise on his hip was properly spectacular!  Still – it could have been worse, and I’m very glad it wasn’t.  As for me, I had a long hot bath, re-strapped my knee, since all the wet had not been conducive to continued adhesion, put my Skins back on and enjoyed finally being warm again.  Well, apart from the chill that comes from applying Madform muscle cream of course but hey, it helped last year, so I wasn’t going to pass up on that.  Instead I just applied less and more judiciously.  I also washed all my kit and put it on radiators to dry; shoes, helmet and all, and ate jacket potatoes and porridge and the like, while waiting for my fellow Cyclosport writer Sean, due to ride with us for the next two days, to arrive so that I could go to bed.  He did, I did.  I’m probably a pretty lousy B&B hostess, but hey, I’m thinking crashing here is probably one step up from camping down there in the rain and mud would have been ;).

I woke up on Sunday morning, actually excited about doing a sportive.  And it’s been a while since that was the case.  I don’t know why, I think it’s because I’ve had hints of form lately, my weekday rides had gone fairly well, and had kicked my PMA off a bit.  With a lovely weather forecast, no kids at home, it really didn’t matter how long it took, I was going to get to spend a day around lovely scenery, riding my bike in the sun.  That’s never a bad thing 🙂

So, the alarm went off, and ok, I won’t pretend I bounced out of bed, but I was up and at ’em fairly easily, with the sun rising, blue skies overhead, and that general feeling of optimism about the day.  The White Horse Challenge starts from Shrivenham, which is only an hour or so away, and this year was to be my third.  2008, 2013, and 2014.  Numbers to conjure with, like 501 (very Levi’s), being my rider number, noted from the website beforehand, as instructed, so as to make registration easier.  We would see…

As I arrived at HQ, I saw some of the ACG there already, walking towards the hall.  Later than them, I was still early enough to be marshalled into a parking space just around the corner in the little tarmac car park there.  Hard standing is always nice, easy walking distance from HQ is even better.   I decided to go and register before faffing for a change, what with it being so close.  Registration numbers were organised in batches, and since I was in the 501+ group, finding me couldn’t have been easier, and with the usual spiel, “map and cable ties over there, help yourself to coffee”, my timing chip was stuck on the left hand side of my helmet, and I was done.

I spotted the ACG peloton lounging around the stage and joined them briefly, but I wasn’t up to their level conversationally today, let alone on the road, so I excused myself after a bit, and headed back to the car, via a slightly smug walk past the queueing gents to the Ladies – sometimes being a minority is great 🙂  There were portable toilets outside, but if you don’t have to, why would you?

Back at the car I faffed.  A little, not a lot.  Sunny it may have been, but it was still pretty nippy.  However since I was riding for Cyclosport, and I have Cyclosport kit, deciding what to wear had become a whole heap easier than it might otherwise have been.  So, lightweight longs, short sleeve Cyclosport jersey, long sleeve heavier Cyclosport jersey, Cyclosport gilet, mitts, windproof overshoes, and a couple of buffs – neck and head.  Which reminds me I still haven’t relocated one of them, I must have a better look at some point!

No sign of anyone ACG ish in the carpark, or at HQ where I loitered near the start with intent.  At  some point Guy walked past me and then back, at which point we did have a brief chat.  The lads were up for trying for a sub 5 hour time, which was/is totally beyond me.  Nice though it was of him to ask if I wanted to join them, what would be the point?  I’d just get dropped, or let them down, so I excused myself once more.  OK, yes, sure, I was a little sad about it, but hey, let’s be realistic.  A little while later I spotted them all standing all ready and joined them for a bit to wait instead – that I could do.

At some point the relevant time came, and riders were allowed over the start line with very little fanfare.  Well, none actually.  I set off ahead of the others somehow, but it didn’t take long for them to pass me and head off into the sunrise.  Probably somewhere around the first draggy hill which isn’t really a hill I guess but feels like it, as it’s only a mile or so in, and I was a long way from warmed up, unless feeling like death warmed up as I crawled up it counts!

After that things got a little easier.  Things got warmer, including me, though the wind and air were still pretty nippy rushing past me.  The first 25 miles or so are pretty flat, allowing you to get into your stride, so to speak, admire the scenery, and just enjoy being out there.

This is all familiar territory for me.  My in-laws live just up the road.  Well, soon to be ex-laws I supposed.  Out-laws?  To be honest, if I’d remembered that, this sportive might not have been on my list, but somehow I’d sort of forgotten, possibly because I’ve done so many sportives now that they do tend to blur into one a bit, and also because I did remember how beautiful this route is.  Still, as I pootled my way through Purton and Wootton Bassett, sorry Royal Wooton Bassett, and the like, I did have to do a bit of mindfulness, and focus on the now not the then and the what was.  However there was plenty to look at.  Cricklade had its Town Crier yelling as we went past.  The lady Mayor was out in Wooton Bassett, waving us by.  Pretty villages, flowers, thatched cottages, and beautiful countryside, what’s not to love?

The first big climb of the day was upon us – at Broad Town.  I know there’s a white horse on it, but with the sun rising behind the hill and casting it all into shadow, today I couldn’t see it.  I’ve done this climb several times, and it’s one I like.  I like it even more when it isn’t covered in snow, as it was last March!  It wiggles up through trees, isn’t massively steep, and goes on long enough for my crawler gear to engage – all the boxes ticked for me really.  Some others weren’t enjoying it so much, so some of the other hills later on were going to prove a real challenge for them, something I didn’t tell them, obviously!

Once up the hill we turned right, to ride across the top, with views, and fields of stunning yellow oil seed rape, and it was just a joy.  The descent the other side wasn’t so much fun – it’s technical, shaded, with a lousy road surface, but came complete with warning signs and marshals.  Once it settles down a bit though, I got a bit of what I do best, all the way from there to the first food stop, flying along, fast, flat, fun…  Note to others sitting on my wheel – your shadows betrayed you…and it’s kinda unfair to take a ride for a few miles and then overtake me and head off!  Oi – no fair!

Ah well, not the first time, won’t be the last.  I didn’t really feel the need to stop but figured that it’s hard to review a ride properly without experiencing all of it, and I’m glad I did.  Having grabbed a few photos and half a banana, someone called my name.  It took a while to register since, if I’m doing a sportive on my own, I tend to presume I’m going to stay that way and tend to be off in my own little world.  It turned out to be Alex, one of my twitter friends, who I’ve met before, albeit only briefly at last year’s aborted Endura Lionheart.  It was nice to see a familiar face, and even nicer to be invited to join him and his mates to ride for a while.

Well, good plans and all that…  We hung out for a while.  Alex very chivalrously leant me his wheel to sit behind for a while.  His mates mostly disappeared, and I predictably dropped like a stone as we crawled up the A4 past the next white horse at Cherhill, once again a place that holds a lot of no-longer pleasant memories for me.  We weren’t massively popular with the traffic.   All of us heading east, with a time trial going on going west, meant the cars were sort of picking their way through us, and I was glad it was still early in the day and not too busy.  Once again it was a beautiful place to be on a day like this, there were some great jerseys to admire, and once the climbing is done, the flying stretch along the A4 towards Avebury is a blast, which is when I passed Alex and rather than picking him up as I’d meant, kind of accidentally dropped him.  But I was having so much fun, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles, etc.

Avebury always seems to go too fast for somewhere that is so big.  A couple of minutes, quick glimpses of standing stones, and you’re through and heading along the next lovely rolling section.  It would be easy to overdo it here, but I knew the next white horse would be along shortly, so I kept it sensible and spent some time sitting behind an Ireland jersey and conserving my energy.  Oddly for ages I couldn’t quite keep up with him, and then suddenly I’d gone past him and he fell away too.  Well, maybe he’d been pushing it, maybe he didn’t want to sit on a girl’s wheel, unlike some 😉

You can see the whole of the climb ahead of you from a long way off.  Alex was back with me now, and thanks to his reminder I remembered that one of my favourite downhills comes afterwards, which made the climb far more enjoyable.  It’s steeper than Broad Town though, at least initially, and bendier, but it’s more open so there’s plenty to enjoy visually on the way up, to distract you from how you’re feeling.  There were a few walkers by now, to be negotiated carefully, as there were some cars going both ways, and a fair few other leisure riders hurtling down and grinning at us as we went up.

There were a few spectators at the top, complete with cowbells, and a red Ferrari.  I commented on how nice a car it was, he said it was a nice hill, which seemed a little, well, random.  Never mind, time to head for Marlborough.  Man, that’s some fun riding.  Fast, straight, clear…grins from ear to ear :D.  By the time we reached Marlborough I’d somehow managed to lose Alex again, and nearly lost myself.  There were no signs and the marshal who was supposed to be pointing us all to turn left on the high street was deep in conversation with a local, and nearly missed me as I nearly missed him!  Luckily I saw him, just as he got with it enough to wave in the right direction, besides, I was pretty sure I knew roughly where I was going.

Out of Marlborough, left past the marshals with wine gums and cheery chat, to negotiate the country lanes along the valley that we did on my 40th birthday ride last year.  Last year I was in agony, this year I wasn’t, and it was definitely better this way!  There were some lumpy bits and one really steep one that somehow I’d managed to completely forget, no idea how, and it was quite a challenge – proper steep too, or at least it seemed that way to me.  But I’m ok with hills now, I know I can get up them, and this one was no exception.  Hard work, but doable.

Time for the second food stop.  I took photos, stashed my gilet, and grabbed corn chips, a savoury snack that went down really well.  There was one portable toilet, and one growing queue.  Alex arrived behind me, didn’t really stop, just exchanged a few words before heading straight off.  It took me longer to catch him than I thought.  Not queueing was not a wise move, as my bladder decided I should have stopped, and got fairly insistent about it.  The roads just seemed to be dragging now, with wind, and nowhere to stop, and a body totally distracted and not riding well.  Finally, and a little ironically maybe, I came across an industrial warehouse place, called WHS Logistics or some such, and a quiet corner down the side where I disturbed some very cute bunny rabbits before sorting out my logistics.  I took the opportunity to eat and take a gel before setting off again.  And found Alex.

This was the hardest stretch.  Which we did together for a while.  Slow grind, more of the same old countryside, average speed dropping, head drooping, brain zoning out in the patterns on the road…that gel hadn’t come soon enough, but at least I had taken it.  At some point we parted company – again – I think I’d zoned out too far.  I just had to do the pace my legs were doing, not faster or slower, and it just kinda worked out that way.  After a while I started to feel better, helped by the fact that nonetheless the miles were being eaten up, and the end was getting nearer.  I may have felt better but I knew that the last big hill of the day was still ahead of me, the timed KOTH, gratuitous detour, that is Uffington.  Another one where you know the white horse is there but never see it!

And, surreally enough, I enjoyed it.  Done it before, know I can do it, and this time I seemed to be suffering or struggling less.  I just sat back and got on with it.  Took photos for the first time, chatted to the odd bystander and the inevitable photographer, grinned to myself, and yes, enjoyed it.  Mad :).

I must have been worrying about it more than I thought I was though, because even though there was a bit more up and down afterwards, I was feeling infinitely better, and was on the finishing straight, mentally and physically.  I chatted to another rider, who was local, for a bit, and at the 5km to go sign, we pushed off and headed for home.  I sat on his wheel, apologetically but he didn’t mind, the entire way in, at proper speed, and loved every minute of the sprint for home.

And just to round things off perfectly, I arrived back at HQ to roll over the timing mat, the much faster, beat me by about an hour, ACG posse were waiting there and cheered me over the line, absolutely and totally making my day 🙂  Having set off, knowing my recent history and form, and last year’s time, I’d been thinking maybe 7 hrs.  However my official time was seconds over 6 hours.  My ride time was 5:49:09, one second different, and slower, than last year.  I did the hills a little faster, faffed at stops less, and was on my own this year so must have been a little slower where group riding would have helped, and I was just over the moon with it.  Big grin.  And so nice to have friendly faces around me for the après ride, even if I probably did come across as a bit mental *grin*.  I was just so pleased; my longest ride of the year so far and it was so much better than I’d expected.  Yep, I was feeling good :).

There wasn’t much to hang around for now, the ACG having been there forever already were off, and I didn’t fancy sitting on the grass and chilling out by myself – not when I could be heading for home and a pint of lager somewhere.  We all headed our separate ways, and me and my happy face and silly sunburn marked hands headed back to the car park.  White Horse Challenge – done.  Again! 🙂

Cycling time: 5:45 – SILVER
Distance: 89.6 miles
Avg: 15.6 mph
ODO: 4279.9 miles

PS – sorry Alex! 

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.