I’m still alive!
It would be a bit remiss of me to not blog about the Surrey 100 after months of build-up. So here goes.
Before I knew it the fateful weekend was upon me. Nick rocked up on Friday night full of his usual unbridled enthusiasm for cycling. I had taken the day off work to prepare but unfortunately had slipped back into denial about the whole thing. All I had to show for my ‘preparation’ was a handful of energy gels, the wrong shoe covers, miss-fitting mud guards, an empty fridge and a pair of sparkly high heel shoes. Nick had pre-empted my incompetence and brought me a waterproof and new brake pads for my bike and ingredients for a suitable meal for dinner. I was too hungry to be offended by this (and it is hard to be offended when I had proved his low expectations correct).
A fitful night’s sleep later and it was time to head to the Excel centre for registration. By this point I was actually feeling ill with nerves. We swung past Evans on route and I spent even more money on cycle kit, including some proper mud guards which turned out to be a very good investment. We also popped past Nick’s parents on route for a quick cuppa. I was fairly quiet due to increasing sense of dread. I hope they didn’t think I was being rude.
We arrived at our ‘Budget accommodation’ around lunchtime. Budget really was a very good description. Forest Green is not the most illustrious of areas and the Forest Gate Hotel was very much in keeping with its setting. We were directed up a stair well to our dingy box room above the old boozer. The land lady kindly let us keep our bikes in the room, but it was tricky negotiating them up the narrow hallway, over the cat shit on the carpet and into the tiny room. Still we were only here for half a night and it was in a good location for the start. By the time we had squeezed all of our stuff into the room I was catatonic with fear. Poor Nick, all he wanted to do was share his excitement over this wonderful event and he was stuck with me who was acting like it was a death sentence!
We made our way across town to the Excell centre for registration where a party atmosphere was in place. Thousands of people were there all happy and smiling. We were directed to our registry point with military efficacy and before I knew it I was holding my registration pack and was ready to go. I was amazed by the organisation, over 20,000 people and not a single que! After collecting our packs we joined the masses in the cycle stools. This gave me a good opportunity to look at my fellow participants. I had feared I would be in a sea of spandex clad 20 somethings at the peak of their fitness. I thought I would feel like an underprepared fraud at the start gate. But no, the majority of people were perfectly normal. In fact the average age was around 40 I recon. Some people looked like they had never even seen a bike, let alone know how to ride one. I overheard many conversations asking ‘do I need these shoe thingies?’ reminding me that I am not alone in my cycling nativity. Suddenly my fear dissipated and I was able to relax and soak up the infectious party spirit. I was so caught up in the atmosphere I even purchased some unnecessary prudential ride 100 socks and two water bottles much to Nicks horror. There was plenty of non-branded merchandise available but I actually wanted something cheesy to commemorate the occasion. All of the merchandise was on sale for a good price and there was a near frenzy near any waterproof jacket on sale. Clearly I was not the only one unprepared for Hurricane Burther due to arrive the next day.
We were due to meet Nick’s Zappi friends, Hue, Jon and Jon at the registration. However, via a series of comic errors they were stuck in traffic in London and we received a frantic call from them saying they might not get to registration before it closes. Keen to have the rest of his team to cycle with Nick and I went back to registration to see if there was anything we could do to help. Nick went to a registration point and got a swift ‘sorry but tough luck’. I went to the help desk, who were indeed more helpful. After explaining the sorry situation, fluttering my fake eyelashes and possibly flaunting a little cleavage I convinced the lovely Colin to let me register for the Zappi team on their behalf. Problem solved. The other guys arrived in time to give us a lift back to the budget hotel and I enjoyed the light-hearted in-car bickering on the way back. A nice carb loading meal at Strada followed.
Alongside my general fear of non-completion was what to do in the morning. The guys had an earlier start time and were due to set off for the Queen Elisabeth Park at 5am in the morning. I was not due to start until 7.45 am and did not relish the thought of spending nearly 3 ungodly hours in near hurricane conditions. But I have no sense of direction, no map and no i-phone so getting myself to the venue under my own steam at a more sensible time was equally unappealing. Thankfully the solution to my dilemma arrived just before bed time when we bumped into another resident at our hotel that was competing. As chance would have it she had the same start time as me in the same zone. I almost through myself at her feet asking to accompany her to the venue the next morning. She seemed equally relieved to have a cycle partner and so we agreed to meet by the cat poo at 6.15 am the next morning.
OK I realise I am really stringing this out so I should get on the actual cycle.
Nick and co left at 5am. The weather was warm and dry outside giving us the glimmer of hope that Burther would not grace us with her presence. I thought it best to wear the arm warmers anyway, and managed to give myself a fat lip whilst battling them on. Not the most auspicious of starts. Sam and myself headed off at a more reasonable 6.15am where it was light enough to see that clouds were rolling in. My fears over getting lost were unsubstantiated. Within 100 yards of the hotel we started seeing more and more cyclist migrating to the park. By the time we arrived at the Black zone there were swarms of cyclists gathered like salmon waiting to spawn. Sam and myself parted company, wishing each other a pleasant ride. Again cheerful organisers directed me to the bag drop off and waiting pen with frightening efficiency. Was this some form of trickery, would they be suggesting a ‘nice shower’. No it was as good as it seemed and I soon found myself in a herd of Black N cyclists eagerly awaiting the start. It was here that I discovered that the rumours regarding Leith Hill and Box Hill were correct. They had been removed due to adverse weather safety concerns. The Surrey 100 was now the Surrey 86. Perhaps I should feel cheated by not doing the whole course, but in actual fact I felt relief. The course was flat, it was only 86 miles, I should be able to complete without incident even in the rain. Herds of cyclist spread as far as the eye can see. The operation was vast. It brought imagery of wildebeest in the Serengeti to mind. Soon we would all join the stampede, the anticipation was palpable the impending weather only added to the excitement.
It started to rain almost immediately before I set off. I was expecting a bolt out of the starting blocks, but most people were being sensible in rain and it started as a slow pace and as we spread out the pace gradually crept up until we were motoring along at 23mph. There were all sorts out. Most were on road bikes but there were some hybrid and mountain bikes as well as once chap determinedly peddling away on his Brompton. Nick’s waterproof was far too big for me and billowed around my shoulders. After only a few miles I felt it was safest to take it off despite the rain as I could not see behind me. I was also getting hot; whilst it was raining it was still fairly mild out. This gave me my fist opportunity to have a drink. Annoyingly I cannot eat or drink whilst cycling so my ride would have to be punctuated by a series of drink pit stops as a result. Coat off and secured to my seat I set off again. I passed countless people fixing punctures, the wet gritty conditions were not kind on tyres.
The weather was closing in in and after a near miss on an unseen drain cover I was acutely aware of my inexperience so I started scouting for sensible riders to nanny me. After a short goldilocks trial: too fast, too slow, too erratic, I found my just right. A tall older chap on a road bike with a red light on the tail was going about the right pace and was giving clear instructions regarding obstacles. I got as close to his back wheel as a dared and let him guide me through the treacherous streets. All I had to do was follow the red beacon of hope.
Richmond Park turned into a bottle neck. The wind and rain was relentless and several riders had gone down on wet roads. We were held up behind an ambulance helping a hapless rider. Luckily I was near the middle of the pack and like a baby penguin I was shielded from the worst of the wind. Here I lost my guide in the stop-starting crowd because I was too incompetent to get on and off my bike which held me back. It did however provide an opportune moment for drink stop two and a banana.
In Kingston the ride route comes back on itself and I saw some of the first riders heading back on the other side of the barrier. I thought I saw a team of Zappi riders though it was hard to tell through the torrential rain. My parents were tracking my online and it turns out that we did indeed cross paths here. Such a shame we didn’t quite see each other - that would have made for an awesome high five!
By West Byfleet we were entering the heart of the storm. Thunder and lightning crashed around us. The wind whipped and the rain fell in apocalyptic quantities. Streams turned into rivers. Water erupted in small geezers out of man whole covers. Where was my ark? The true British sprit will out though and we chatted away, quibing ‘lovely weather’ and ‘why are we doing this again’ to passers-by. Amazingly spectators still lined the streets huddled under trees and bus shelters cheering us on through the driving rain. Their encouragement did wonders for raising our spirits. My favourite spectators were a couple huddled under an umbrella brandishing Champaign in the other hand. So Surrey. My pace was very slow as I literally could not see ahead of me. Eventually I sought refuge under an unoccupied tree and had a tracker bar and a drink of water. The cold forced me back on my bike and once more into the breach.
The weather subsided to a constant downpour which was pleasant in comparison. I realised that I was running low on water. I had cycled pasted several Hubs and I was beginning to think that I had miscalculated my stopping points. To my relief I saw a water station at Pyrford so I pulled up and got the bottles refilled. Another snack bar and an attempt at some flap jack though I felt a bit queezy so couldn’t get much in. Again I started to shiver so felt it was best to get back on the bike and keep going.
I tried to spot friends going through Ripley, but I was disorientated as I do not normally go through Ripley via Pyford and missed their house. Never mind I needed to keep going anyway, I had only stopped a few miles before. By the time we left Horsley and was approaching Newlands corner on the A246 I had worked out where I was. Many times I had driven down this road envisioning this moment. Admittedly I had not envisioned drizzle but never the less I was pleasantly surprised to find that the rolling hills were surprisingly easy. In fact I didn’t have to get out of the big gear and could overtake people calling ‘right’ as I did (the pack were generally conforming to British driving rules, slow on the left fast on the right). Soon I was charging down the duel carriage way preparing to turn left up towards Newlands. This was the only real hill on the course. Time to get into the granny ring. The hill hurt, but I slogged on up. Faster than some, slower than others. I saw a Hub stop sign at the top of the hill and thought it was time to have another banana and a breather. I was just about to head back onto the road when the wind and rain picked up again. I knew that the next section was a decent so I decided to shelter for 5 minutes behind a St Johns ambulance waiting for the worst to pass. I managed to text dad my where abouts who dutifully informed me that Helen was on my tail.
The over-competitive daemon then raised his ugly head.
Helen is catching me? That means she must be going faster than me as she started later! Right, well that’s it. It’s on! (Yes spandex really has gone to my head and I am appalled with myself).
I jumped back on my bike and heading down the decent in the pouring rain. Luckily my over-competitiveness had not rendered me suicidal and I took due caution down the hill. There were rolling hills over to Dorking, I did all of them in the big ring, nipping through down the right hand side. I was now in the fast lane.
I gunned it slightly unnecessarily fast though Dorking. The rain had eased up to a mild drizzle and I enjoyed racing through the railings with crowds cheering me on. The Michalem Bends awaited and a started my own cavalry charge taking full advantage of the gentle downhill. One chap desperately tried to race me but there was no chance of catching me now. My flat speed was 25mph I was flying. Exhilarated I sped onto Leatherhead, only to remember I was meant to be having lunch with my parents here.
I stopped outside the library and called them. They were running a little late as my timing chip had failed and they did not realise I was so close. I felt a little foolish as I stood there shivering seeing some of the faces I charged past earlier pootle on by. Wasted energy. By the time I saw my family excitedly trot down the road towards me I was shacking violently with cold. I felt awful but I could not stay with them for lunch. A snack bar, energy gel and slug of water was all I had time for. And after a quick kiss and cuddle I left my clearly worried mother and continued on my way. I felt bad about it. I would have to make it up them later.
Back onto the accelerator imagining Helen hot on my heals. I pushed on through to Kingston, overtaking as many people as possible. Only a handful were overtaking me now. I found a pair of cyclists who were going about the right pace and I hitched a tow of them for a couple of miles. This gave my legs a well-timed break from me pushing them to maximum.
I saw signs for Wimbledon and knew the Wimbledon kicker was coming up. The hill is not huge but after pushing my legs for the past 20 miles they were not happy with me. The sun was breaking and with the added aid of spectators reminding me this was the last hill I battled on up. At the top I stopped to take of my Gillette and crack into another energy gel and some more water. Ok last sprint home.
Now I was really having to work. I refused to let my speed drop below 20 mph however much it hurt. Where I could I battled for tows behind other cyclists before having to push on again into the wind. The mile markers were starting to count down the miles. Other cyclists were also sensing that the end was insight and the pace was picking up. I was going for broke now. It was a battle to stay above 20 and I could feel my energy tank draining. All or nothing. I started chanting encouragement to myself. I was getting overtaken by others who had more left for the last sprint. I even heard myself let out a little animalistic roar when I forced my legs to get me back up to the 20 mark. I think by this point it is clear to see that I have become a peddalist. And then there was the beautiful end in sight. The Mall, bathed in sunlight, crowds cheering banging on the barriers. I wanted to finish in a magnificent sprint, but all I could muster was to cycle across the line in an anticlimactic coast. But I was finished. I had done it.
My time in the end was 5hrs 30 mins. If the full course was open and I extrapolate on my average time of 15.6mph, I would have completed under my target time of 6hr 30mins. Of course it is impossible to say how I would have done had the hills been in the course and it not been in such treacherous conditions. It is not a bad time, but somehow I feel like I wish I had gone faster. Pushed harder from the start. I sound dangerously like Nick!
The transformation from spandex worrier to spandex warrior is complete.
.... now for anyone reading who thinks 'pah but you didn't actually cycle 100 miles in the end did you' please feel rest assured that I had to cycle a further 16 miles across busy central London to get back to the car. So I actually cycled 104 miles once you take into account getting there and back. And yes I did cry all the way home.
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