The trip to Brighton: Saturday 27th June. 62 miles covered. 08:10 to 16:00 hrs
I awoke to the sound of my alarm, and got up leaving the duvet’d form of Hannah beside me to roll over and take up even more of the bed than usual. I glanced at the clock, and it read 06:55. I threw some clothes on and walked through to the kitchen to make some coffee and try to rustle up some breakfast, checking the weather outside to see if the Met Office had actually managed to get it right for once.
They had, and it was a beautiful day, the sun pouring down from a deep blue sky into my small garden which abounded with growing vegetables and roses (Long story – but sometimes River Cottage gets under your skin!)
Coffee made, I sat on the patio slowly munching on a bowl of Jordan’s Superfood Granola and trying to remember if I had filled up my Camelpak the night before. A hooligan squirrel ran past on the wall opposite me, and then sat and cleaned his fur. We sat watching each other for a minute or two until I realised that he didn’t give a damn about me being there as long as I left some food out for him. I finished my cereal and walked inside, no doubt leaving the starving hooligan bitterly complaining about his unlucky choice of neighbours.
The plan for the day was to cycle to Brighton, and it was my first longer outing of the year with the Manly Steed. We would be mainly following the Official London to Brighton cycle route, but had cunningly timed our run to miss the thousands of people heading South by a week, thereby guaranteeing us some peace and quiet.
We were not going alone, though. Oh no. Sadly, (or happily!!) Ray was unable to join us he and his good lady had just had a baby.
The Manly Steed and I would be joined by some good friends, all of who had varying levels of fitness and who had refused to cycle the End to End with us last year: that’s right, they are a lot cleverer than we are. We would be joined by Rich, Jerome, and Rachel and Tim.
Rachel and Tim are both athletes par excellence, and although Rach has been out of action for a year after an operation on her Achilles she has, after only 4 weeks of cycling with myself and the Manly Steed, managed to surpass our meagre fitness levels. Tim runs marathons and competes in steeplechases: we don’t talk about him, although as he and Rachel are married they do tend to get on quite well.
Jerome has a nice bike and doesn’t cycle as much as he wishes he could, usually because he is in the gym ‘toning’, and Rich is a wildcard of a man who blows hot and cold depending on his sugar levels. Of all of us Rich and I had cycled the route twice before, while the others hadn’t. Jerome had never been further than about 25 miles before so it was going to be a challenge for him.
I got changed into my cycling gear, and repacked my pannier with a fleece and waterproof jacket just in case, as there had been some forecasted rain. There was a knock at the front door, and I opened it to see Rich standing there with his RayBan Aviators on, looking cool. He came in and I got the rest of my gear together, before kissing Hannah goodbye and going down to the garage to release the Manly Steed.
I had made an error, already. Having left my cycle shoes at work the previous day, I was wearing some trainers and decided to take a quick detour to my office which fortunately was on the route. We pumped up tyres (Rich was riding my old Cannondale BadBoy hybrid) and then began our journey with the sound of green parakeets screeching in our ears (it’s a South West London thing)
We headed along residential roads to Strawberry Hill Station, crossed over the tracks and then down Hill Road to the mini roundabout at the bottom, before heading towards Kingston town centre via Hampton Wick. It was 08:10, and the Manly Steed was almost leaping with excitement at a whole day on the road, having slimmed down considerably since last year: 23mm tyres rather than 28mm, and a new wider saddle. This was good for me also as I have a ‘wide seat’ myself, and was looking forward to trying it out on a longer journey.
Rich was in fine form it seemed, and pushed the pace to get us into Kingston. We stopped at my office and I ran in, changed my shoes to proper ones with cleats, and grabbed my bike lock. Coming back out, the sweat started dripping down my nose and I noticed how hot it had become since we set out. This boded well for the day, and I was glad I had packed my factor 40 sun cream, and took a quick moment to liberally apply some.
We got back onto the steeds and then headed onwards for about a mile before meeting up with Rach and Tim who were waiting for us by the phone boxes in Kingston. After a couple of minutes adjusting the brakes on Tim’s new hybrid, we were ready to set off, and our group was now four of us in total.
We picked up the A2043 to New Malden, cycling along past the Kingsmeadow Athletics ground on our right before taking a right at the large roundabout and heading for Cheam via Worcester Park. Our route took us over the A3, and I was surprised to find that Rich was still pushing the pace and leaving the rest of us behind. We stayed on the A2043 climbing up the hills into Worcester Park, and then pedalled down to Cheam High St, taking a left at the traffic lights there to follow signs to Sutton and Carshalton on the A232.
We were 11 miles down for the day and I decided to stop at a petrol station which appeared on our left to stock up on food for the road, and returned 5 minutes later with 3 Snickers bars. I had already filled the Camelpak with GoGo Juice (a mix of 50% water with 50% Lucozade Sport) and had about a litre and a half in there. Rachel dashed in to use the toilet while the three guys stood outside and I stretched my groin in a manly fashion. Rach rejoined us, and we remounted and were ready to go.
With a ‘yeehaa!’ (from me, receiving strange looks from passersby) we rejoined the A232, following it for a couple more miles before grabbing a sharp right and turning into Harrow Road, which we followed around to the left, before powering up a steep hill and joining Park Hill road next to the Carshalton Beeches railway station. We turned right here, and pulled in next to some shops to call Jerome and find out where he was, being joined by him five minutes later.
Once he arrived, we wasted no time in heading on again, following the B278 through some pretty, shaded residential areas and across a couple of mini roundabouts before the road opened up and we passed the Oaks Golf club on our right and fields of sheep on our left.
I set a reasonable pace, trying to conserve my energy as I had done this route before and there are a few hills which I knew were coming up, and pretty soon we cycled through a wooded section and reached the end of the road, and a T-junction with a mini roundabout. We turned right onto the A2022 and then took an immediate left next to a signpost for Organic Lavender (I decided I was ok without it) rejoining the B278 and heading into Woodmansterne up a deceptively long hill. The air was hot but the road we cycled up had hawthorns growing in the hedgerow which gave us some pleasant shade, and after five minutes or so we reached another T-Junction opposite a church and next to a large sculpture of a hand that someone had made from a fallen down tree. I turned to the group.
“This is the point of no return!” I said dramatically. “Anyone wishes to turn back do so!!”
“Shut up!” came the reply. “And get moving!”
Somewhat miffed, the Manly Steed and I turned left and led the group onwards into glorious shade and down a long steep hill in Chipstead, pausing at the bottom until the others caught us up (they being a lot lighter and not having the momentum inducing ‘heft’ that I do).
“We turn left here,” I said, “and then it’s another immediate right up Hell Lane.”
“Hell Lane?” asked Rach.
“Yep.” I replied. “It’s actually How Lane, but Rich renamed it Hell Lane. It should actually be called ‘How steep is this f@#king hill’ Lane.”
They chuckled, Rich and I looked at each other, and then we set off again. As soon as I turned onto How Lane I beckoned everyone forward to overtake me.
“I’ll see you at the top!!” I said, and gently immersed myself into the personal hell reserved for the unfit man cycling up steep hills. I passed Rich after about four minutes and with a friendly word of encouragement from a septuagenarian couple who were walking downhill I finally reached the top and paused for a quick breath while we all got ourselves back in order. I realised a little further on that I had forgotten the map as well, so we were really quite lucky that occasionally there were signs from the previous week’s cycle.
We carried onwards on the High Road passing beautiful houses as went, a pub on our right and then a village pond on the left. The sun continued to beat down out of a deep blue sky, and we made good time until we reached Markedge Lane, where upon we took a left hand turn and followed it until we reached the delights of Fanny’s Farm Shop.
Here, we stopped for a coffee and a piece of her famous Carrot Cake, and I took the time to apply more sun cream and go and visit Bert and Ernie the Vietnamese Pot-Bellied Pigs. Having given them a good scratching I was aghast to find that I had left my wallet behind. Fortunately everyone offered to pay for me and I decided that I might try this tactic again sometime.
We remounted once more and Rich and Jerome were feeling particularly good having got some sugar and caffeine into them. I told them that the next stop was 10 miles away and they decided that we should carry on for another 20 before stopping once more.
I told them that we would see how we felt.
We followed the road onwards and passed under the M25 having shot down a wonderfully steep hill (wonderful if you are going down, rather than up it...)
We turned right onto Gatton Bottom and then left onto Rocky Lane passing the Royal Alexandra and Albert School on our right as we went. The road then took a downward turn and we flashed along a single track road bordered with high hedges before reaching and then crossing the A23, getting onto Battlebridge Lane and going under a railway bridge and following it through some residential areas until we reached another roundabout. Here we took a right and got onto Nutfield Road which we proceeded to follow past a hospital and out into the open countryside with Rich and Jerome leading.
We pushed onwards up Church Hill and Richard’s hangover kicked in mightily, but we made it regardless and carried onwards following Coopers Hill Road as it turned into Prince of Wales Road. The weather continued to be hot as we passed through pleasant countryside to Outwood and into Smallwood, and we turned left onto the B2037 Effingham Road following it for a mile or so before pulling in at the Hedgehog Inn. Rich and Jerome decided that they would take a break with us rather than carrying on for another 10 miles, and we were 30 miles done for the day.
After Cokes and water, and Snickers bars all round, we headed on again down Effingham Lane next to the pub. Jerome mentioned that he was starting to feel pain in his knee and we decided to stop if it got worse. After a small error with the navigation (surely not my fault!!) which led to a detour into Felbridge (it has a lovely service station) we got back on track and headed onto the B2028 Turner’s Hill Road. We stopped briefly to adjust Jerome’s saddle and then Tim took the lead for a while to give me a chance to draft behind him into a fairly strong headwind.
Tim, as I have mentioned before, is superfit. We need to get him a rear-view mirror however as his idea of a medium pace is my idea of a fast one, and soon we were calling him back to allow us to keep up. This then caused some bickering between the married couple and I took the lead again if only to try to get away from it...
Turner’s Hill is steep, but do-able. We fought our way up there (well, Rach and Tim seemingly sauntered to the top while I puffed away and Rich and Jerome fought tooth and nail to make any ground whatsoever) and we sat at the top in a bus stop talking to an older gent dressed entirely in khakis looking for the world like he was hunting big game on safari. We carried on as the bus arrived and I didn’t fancy being knocked over by it, and followed the B2028 through Selsfield Common, Ardingly, and into Lindfield. We grabbed a rest here for five minutes or so and had done just over 40 miles, and Jerome was starting to bonk seriously while Rich’s hangover was letting him know that a bottle of rosé the night before might have been a bad thing.
I gave Jerome my remaining Snickers and he shared it with Rich. We found out later that he had hardly eaten all day and, never having cycled this far before, was struggling to get his energy levels up.
We carried onwards up Black Hill (it didn’t seem so bad to me) the road turned into the B2112 and took us into Haywards Heath. We passed through and cycled down Fox Hill, eagerly looking for the pub which would herald our lunch stop. We passed from East Sussex into West Sussex and cycled through Wivelsfield, and just after 45 miles of cycling we grabbed a right into the very quiet beer garden of a roadside pub.
Which turned out to be shut.
I looked at Rich and Jerome as they lay brokenly collapsed on the grass looking like they would collapse further if only they knew how to, and wondered how we were going to get them to Ditchling, as that was the nearest pub that I knew of. I shouldn’t have worried. Tim decided to ride right behind the two of them and chivvy them with constant encouragement, culminating with “Look, if I’m annoying you” (He was, and very much so) “then just peddle faster!!”
Tim comes from the old school of fitness living by the mantra ‘Pain Is Just Weakness Leaving The Body.’
Rachel and I had left them behind so as to get a table and some drinks for when they arrived, and as we pedalled I started to feel the unpleasant signs of a good bonk coming on myself. I had given away my food to those in more need earlier and was running on empty. Rach took the lead and I followed her into Ditchling town pulling into a pub and then collapsing in the beer garden.
The guys arrived after five minutes or so and we ordered food and drank copious amounts of water and Coke. I looked up and could see my nemesis in the distance: Ditchling Beacon.
I had never managed to get all the way to the top without stopping, and I hoped to do so that day.
I ate a chicken sandwich and some questionable mashed potato kindly procured for me by Rich, and then tried to nerve myself up for the big push. We were sat on about 49 miles for the day and had only another 8 to go, but 1 of those miles was steep. The Manly Steed was looking forward to it, but I think it was just sheer bravado.
Rachel, Tim and I got back onto the bikes leaving Jerome and Rich to make their way to the Beacon at their own pace, agreeing to meet them in a field on the left at the top. We set off, and immediately I knew it was going to be difficult.
Cycling up the Beacon is hard work. Cycling up the Beacon with a stitch in your side is another level of that personal hell reserved for unfit cyclists, and I ended up stopping four or five times before gratefully collapsing next to Tim and Rach who had once more sauntered to the top.
Rachel had been unable to change gear properly and so had cycled halfway up berating Tim for not going fast enough before actually coming down the hill a little bit to see if that would shift it. It didn’t, and so she had ground her way up once more.
We took some photos, and then were joined by Rich and Jerome who had decided to walk up. I personally would have done likewise but it still hurts and at least I got to sit down for some of the way.
We left Rich and Jerome sunning themselves at the top of the Beacon and cycled onwards towards Brighton with the worst hill of the day firmly behind us, and followed the Ditchling Road in to Brighton crossing the A27 at Coldean Lane. And then there was ‘The Nipple’ as Rich so elegantly calls it: a small hill before a long run down into the Centre of Brighton and the Pier. We fought our way up this, and then freewheeled into Brighton, and I felt great again.
The new saddle worked a treat and I had been so much more comfortable on it. We stopped at the pier and Rachel insisted on going swimming so I was volunteered to look after the bikes. Jerome and Rich joined us about twenty five minutes later and we decided to go for a much needed pint once we managed to persuade Rachel and Tim out of the water.
I sat watching the waves with my pint of shandy in my hand (well, when in Rome...) and was heartened to Jerome starting to banter with us again – amazing what sugar and time off the bike will do for you.
I looked over at the Manly Steed and I could see a speculative glint in its wheel, as if to say “Shall we cycle back?”
I snorted, finished my drink and we caught the train instead.
I awoke to the sound of my alarm, and got up leaving the duvet’d form of Hannah beside me to roll over and take up even more of the bed than usual. I glanced at the clock, and it read 06:55. I threw some clothes on and walked through to the kitchen to make some coffee and try to rustle up some breakfast, checking the weather outside to see if the Met Office had actually managed to get it right for once.
They had, and it was a beautiful day, the sun pouring down from a deep blue sky into my small garden which abounded with growing vegetables and roses (Long story – but sometimes River Cottage gets under your skin!)
Coffee made, I sat on the patio slowly munching on a bowl of Jordan’s Superfood Granola and trying to remember if I had filled up my Camelpak the night before. A hooligan squirrel ran past on the wall opposite me, and then sat and cleaned his fur. We sat watching each other for a minute or two until I realised that he didn’t give a damn about me being there as long as I left some food out for him. I finished my cereal and walked inside, no doubt leaving the starving hooligan bitterly complaining about his unlucky choice of neighbours.
The plan for the day was to cycle to Brighton, and it was my first longer outing of the year with the Manly Steed. We would be mainly following the Official London to Brighton cycle route, but had cunningly timed our run to miss the thousands of people heading South by a week, thereby guaranteeing us some peace and quiet.
We were not going alone, though. Oh no. Sadly, (or happily!!) Ray was unable to join us he and his good lady had just had a baby.
The Manly Steed and I would be joined by some good friends, all of who had varying levels of fitness and who had refused to cycle the End to End with us last year: that’s right, they are a lot cleverer than we are. We would be joined by Rich, Jerome, and Rachel and Tim.
Rachel and Tim are both athletes par excellence, and although Rach has been out of action for a year after an operation on her Achilles she has, after only 4 weeks of cycling with myself and the Manly Steed, managed to surpass our meagre fitness levels. Tim runs marathons and competes in steeplechases: we don’t talk about him, although as he and Rachel are married they do tend to get on quite well.
Jerome has a nice bike and doesn’t cycle as much as he wishes he could, usually because he is in the gym ‘toning’, and Rich is a wildcard of a man who blows hot and cold depending on his sugar levels. Of all of us Rich and I had cycled the route twice before, while the others hadn’t. Jerome had never been further than about 25 miles before so it was going to be a challenge for him.
I got changed into my cycling gear, and repacked my pannier with a fleece and waterproof jacket just in case, as there had been some forecasted rain. There was a knock at the front door, and I opened it to see Rich standing there with his RayBan Aviators on, looking cool. He came in and I got the rest of my gear together, before kissing Hannah goodbye and going down to the garage to release the Manly Steed.
I had made an error, already. Having left my cycle shoes at work the previous day, I was wearing some trainers and decided to take a quick detour to my office which fortunately was on the route. We pumped up tyres (Rich was riding my old Cannondale BadBoy hybrid) and then began our journey with the sound of green parakeets screeching in our ears (it’s a South West London thing)
We headed along residential roads to Strawberry Hill Station, crossed over the tracks and then down Hill Road to the mini roundabout at the bottom, before heading towards Kingston town centre via Hampton Wick. It was 08:10, and the Manly Steed was almost leaping with excitement at a whole day on the road, having slimmed down considerably since last year: 23mm tyres rather than 28mm, and a new wider saddle. This was good for me also as I have a ‘wide seat’ myself, and was looking forward to trying it out on a longer journey.
Rich was in fine form it seemed, and pushed the pace to get us into Kingston. We stopped at my office and I ran in, changed my shoes to proper ones with cleats, and grabbed my bike lock. Coming back out, the sweat started dripping down my nose and I noticed how hot it had become since we set out. This boded well for the day, and I was glad I had packed my factor 40 sun cream, and took a quick moment to liberally apply some.
We got back onto the steeds and then headed onwards for about a mile before meeting up with Rach and Tim who were waiting for us by the phone boxes in Kingston. After a couple of minutes adjusting the brakes on Tim’s new hybrid, we were ready to set off, and our group was now four of us in total.
We picked up the A2043 to New Malden, cycling along past the Kingsmeadow Athletics ground on our right before taking a right at the large roundabout and heading for Cheam via Worcester Park. Our route took us over the A3, and I was surprised to find that Rich was still pushing the pace and leaving the rest of us behind. We stayed on the A2043 climbing up the hills into Worcester Park, and then pedalled down to Cheam High St, taking a left at the traffic lights there to follow signs to Sutton and Carshalton on the A232.
We were 11 miles down for the day and I decided to stop at a petrol station which appeared on our left to stock up on food for the road, and returned 5 minutes later with 3 Snickers bars. I had already filled the Camelpak with GoGo Juice (a mix of 50% water with 50% Lucozade Sport) and had about a litre and a half in there. Rachel dashed in to use the toilet while the three guys stood outside and I stretched my groin in a manly fashion. Rach rejoined us, and we remounted and were ready to go.
With a ‘yeehaa!’ (from me, receiving strange looks from passersby) we rejoined the A232, following it for a couple more miles before grabbing a sharp right and turning into Harrow Road, which we followed around to the left, before powering up a steep hill and joining Park Hill road next to the Carshalton Beeches railway station. We turned right here, and pulled in next to some shops to call Jerome and find out where he was, being joined by him five minutes later.
Once he arrived, we wasted no time in heading on again, following the B278 through some pretty, shaded residential areas and across a couple of mini roundabouts before the road opened up and we passed the Oaks Golf club on our right and fields of sheep on our left.
I set a reasonable pace, trying to conserve my energy as I had done this route before and there are a few hills which I knew were coming up, and pretty soon we cycled through a wooded section and reached the end of the road, and a T-junction with a mini roundabout. We turned right onto the A2022 and then took an immediate left next to a signpost for Organic Lavender (I decided I was ok without it) rejoining the B278 and heading into Woodmansterne up a deceptively long hill. The air was hot but the road we cycled up had hawthorns growing in the hedgerow which gave us some pleasant shade, and after five minutes or so we reached another T-Junction opposite a church and next to a large sculpture of a hand that someone had made from a fallen down tree. I turned to the group.
“This is the point of no return!” I said dramatically. “Anyone wishes to turn back do so!!”
“Shut up!” came the reply. “And get moving!”
Somewhat miffed, the Manly Steed and I turned left and led the group onwards into glorious shade and down a long steep hill in Chipstead, pausing at the bottom until the others caught us up (they being a lot lighter and not having the momentum inducing ‘heft’ that I do).
“We turn left here,” I said, “and then it’s another immediate right up Hell Lane.”
“Hell Lane?” asked Rach.
“Yep.” I replied. “It’s actually How Lane, but Rich renamed it Hell Lane. It should actually be called ‘How steep is this f@#king hill’ Lane.”
They chuckled, Rich and I looked at each other, and then we set off again. As soon as I turned onto How Lane I beckoned everyone forward to overtake me.
“I’ll see you at the top!!” I said, and gently immersed myself into the personal hell reserved for the unfit man cycling up steep hills. I passed Rich after about four minutes and with a friendly word of encouragement from a septuagenarian couple who were walking downhill I finally reached the top and paused for a quick breath while we all got ourselves back in order. I realised a little further on that I had forgotten the map as well, so we were really quite lucky that occasionally there were signs from the previous week’s cycle.
We carried onwards on the High Road passing beautiful houses as went, a pub on our right and then a village pond on the left. The sun continued to beat down out of a deep blue sky, and we made good time until we reached Markedge Lane, where upon we took a left hand turn and followed it until we reached the delights of Fanny’s Farm Shop.
Here, we stopped for a coffee and a piece of her famous Carrot Cake, and I took the time to apply more sun cream and go and visit Bert and Ernie the Vietnamese Pot-Bellied Pigs. Having given them a good scratching I was aghast to find that I had left my wallet behind. Fortunately everyone offered to pay for me and I decided that I might try this tactic again sometime.
We remounted once more and Rich and Jerome were feeling particularly good having got some sugar and caffeine into them. I told them that the next stop was 10 miles away and they decided that we should carry on for another 20 before stopping once more.
I told them that we would see how we felt.
We followed the road onwards and passed under the M25 having shot down a wonderfully steep hill (wonderful if you are going down, rather than up it...)
We turned right onto Gatton Bottom and then left onto Rocky Lane passing the Royal Alexandra and Albert School on our right as we went. The road then took a downward turn and we flashed along a single track road bordered with high hedges before reaching and then crossing the A23, getting onto Battlebridge Lane and going under a railway bridge and following it through some residential areas until we reached another roundabout. Here we took a right and got onto Nutfield Road which we proceeded to follow past a hospital and out into the open countryside with Rich and Jerome leading.
We pushed onwards up Church Hill and Richard’s hangover kicked in mightily, but we made it regardless and carried onwards following Coopers Hill Road as it turned into Prince of Wales Road. The weather continued to be hot as we passed through pleasant countryside to Outwood and into Smallwood, and we turned left onto the B2037 Effingham Road following it for a mile or so before pulling in at the Hedgehog Inn. Rich and Jerome decided that they would take a break with us rather than carrying on for another 10 miles, and we were 30 miles done for the day.
After Cokes and water, and Snickers bars all round, we headed on again down Effingham Lane next to the pub. Jerome mentioned that he was starting to feel pain in his knee and we decided to stop if it got worse. After a small error with the navigation (surely not my fault!!) which led to a detour into Felbridge (it has a lovely service station) we got back on track and headed onto the B2028 Turner’s Hill Road. We stopped briefly to adjust Jerome’s saddle and then Tim took the lead for a while to give me a chance to draft behind him into a fairly strong headwind.
Tim, as I have mentioned before, is superfit. We need to get him a rear-view mirror however as his idea of a medium pace is my idea of a fast one, and soon we were calling him back to allow us to keep up. This then caused some bickering between the married couple and I took the lead again if only to try to get away from it...
Turner’s Hill is steep, but do-able. We fought our way up there (well, Rach and Tim seemingly sauntered to the top while I puffed away and Rich and Jerome fought tooth and nail to make any ground whatsoever) and we sat at the top in a bus stop talking to an older gent dressed entirely in khakis looking for the world like he was hunting big game on safari. We carried on as the bus arrived and I didn’t fancy being knocked over by it, and followed the B2028 through Selsfield Common, Ardingly, and into Lindfield. We grabbed a rest here for five minutes or so and had done just over 40 miles, and Jerome was starting to bonk seriously while Rich’s hangover was letting him know that a bottle of rosé the night before might have been a bad thing.
I gave Jerome my remaining Snickers and he shared it with Rich. We found out later that he had hardly eaten all day and, never having cycled this far before, was struggling to get his energy levels up.
We carried onwards up Black Hill (it didn’t seem so bad to me) the road turned into the B2112 and took us into Haywards Heath. We passed through and cycled down Fox Hill, eagerly looking for the pub which would herald our lunch stop. We passed from East Sussex into West Sussex and cycled through Wivelsfield, and just after 45 miles of cycling we grabbed a right into the very quiet beer garden of a roadside pub.
Which turned out to be shut.
I looked at Rich and Jerome as they lay brokenly collapsed on the grass looking like they would collapse further if only they knew how to, and wondered how we were going to get them to Ditchling, as that was the nearest pub that I knew of. I shouldn’t have worried. Tim decided to ride right behind the two of them and chivvy them with constant encouragement, culminating with “Look, if I’m annoying you” (He was, and very much so) “then just peddle faster!!”
Tim comes from the old school of fitness living by the mantra ‘Pain Is Just Weakness Leaving The Body.’
Rachel and I had left them behind so as to get a table and some drinks for when they arrived, and as we pedalled I started to feel the unpleasant signs of a good bonk coming on myself. I had given away my food to those in more need earlier and was running on empty. Rach took the lead and I followed her into Ditchling town pulling into a pub and then collapsing in the beer garden.
The guys arrived after five minutes or so and we ordered food and drank copious amounts of water and Coke. I looked up and could see my nemesis in the distance: Ditchling Beacon.
I had never managed to get all the way to the top without stopping, and I hoped to do so that day.
I ate a chicken sandwich and some questionable mashed potato kindly procured for me by Rich, and then tried to nerve myself up for the big push. We were sat on about 49 miles for the day and had only another 8 to go, but 1 of those miles was steep. The Manly Steed was looking forward to it, but I think it was just sheer bravado.
Rachel, Tim and I got back onto the bikes leaving Jerome and Rich to make their way to the Beacon at their own pace, agreeing to meet them in a field on the left at the top. We set off, and immediately I knew it was going to be difficult.
Cycling up the Beacon is hard work. Cycling up the Beacon with a stitch in your side is another level of that personal hell reserved for unfit cyclists, and I ended up stopping four or five times before gratefully collapsing next to Tim and Rach who had once more sauntered to the top.
Rachel had been unable to change gear properly and so had cycled halfway up berating Tim for not going fast enough before actually coming down the hill a little bit to see if that would shift it. It didn’t, and so she had ground her way up once more.
We took some photos, and then were joined by Rich and Jerome who had decided to walk up. I personally would have done likewise but it still hurts and at least I got to sit down for some of the way.
We left Rich and Jerome sunning themselves at the top of the Beacon and cycled onwards towards Brighton with the worst hill of the day firmly behind us, and followed the Ditchling Road in to Brighton crossing the A27 at Coldean Lane. And then there was ‘The Nipple’ as Rich so elegantly calls it: a small hill before a long run down into the Centre of Brighton and the Pier. We fought our way up this, and then freewheeled into Brighton, and I felt great again.
The new saddle worked a treat and I had been so much more comfortable on it. We stopped at the pier and Rachel insisted on going swimming so I was volunteered to look after the bikes. Jerome and Rich joined us about twenty five minutes later and we decided to go for a much needed pint once we managed to persuade Rachel and Tim out of the water.
I sat watching the waves with my pint of shandy in my hand (well, when in Rome...) and was heartened to Jerome starting to banter with us again – amazing what sugar and time off the bike will do for you.
I looked over at the Manly Steed and I could see a speculative glint in its wheel, as if to say “Shall we cycle back?”
I snorted, finished my drink and we caught the train instead.
