A thousand considerations

When cycling in London there are so many things to consider as you pedal about town.

Has that cab seen me?

Is that road two way for cycles?

Is that pig on a racer going to get out of my way or continue to attempt an overtake on someone going the same speed as him?

Why do people not notice my bright yellow reflective belt?

Why does that guy look familiar?

Who is he?

Oh, is it the police biker man from the night rides?

It is!

Hello!

It was indeed one of the night riders from my beloved FNRttC. We cycled together only briefly but it was lovely to see a familiar face. It was also fitting that we parted at the turn off to Hyde Park Corner, where our night-time cycling adventures begin.

Among cyclists there seems to be less of the awkwardness associated with seeing someone you know on public transport. If one person is really not fancying a chat they can just pedal harder an say they're in a rush. On a train you can be sardined next to someone for hours and when the small talk dries up, it can get awfully quiet.

Luckily, Mr Policeman and I were at an accord and both pleased to see each other so we matched speeds and had a quick gossip while still getting to our destinations on time.

Lovely.

Gorgeous George and a Friday disaster

On Friday morning I picked up a beautiful and marvellous machine.

After the March FNRttC's tandem success CC and I were keen to give it another go. Charles had lent us the last one (Miranda) but he was prohibitively far away to collect and drop it off.

The lovely Bicycle Slut had responded to my question of whether she knew of a tandem I could borrow with the response 'Of course!'. Her equally lovely partner the Lady Julian has parents in Harrow and they were willing to lend us their Dawes.

I set off to their house full of hope and they didn't disappoint. I arrived to see a red and black beauty sitting in the drive with huge puffy tyres and sit-up handlebars on the back. J, Julian's dad, talked me through the various bits and bobs before announcing he would drive me home with it. Reeling from the shock of the niceness I climbed into the car and we headed off.

Not only is he cool enough to own a tandem, he also keeps bees. What a guy.

Back in Ealing I took dad for lunch and then cycled the newly christened 'George' to my house. It was surprisingly easy to maneuver and balance.

That night the signs were not auspicious. It hammered it down at around 9pm and then drizzled. At Hyde Park Corner I was dubious. CC arrived looking bedraggled having been drenched as she left the house. The rain eased and we decided to go for it. George is a comfy ride and we set off with aplomb. It's a fairly flat route and, frankly, apart from a heavy shower as we left London, the ride went without incident until we neared the halfway point.

There had been an accident. A shunt had a domino effect and A2 was the final victim. He smiled bravely and waved us on. We waited for him at the service station.

He arrived and said he was ok, we iced the right elbow he'd fallen onto and we had coffee. But then it happened. The colour suddenly drained from his face and he looked very unwell indeed. I decided to get bossy and ordered him to lie down. We found a quiet spot and raised his legs. I went to get ride leader Simon and the decision was taken to call an ambulance.

They came quickly and Simon called the rest of us to attention. We would continue under the co-leader's direction. CC came over. She had decided to go with Andrew as I could pilot the tandem alone and, as she didn't have a bike, she could take care of A2's and get him home.

We said goodbye and I joined the rest of the group. Many calls of 'Where's your stoker?' were answered and we set off.

I had forgotten about the big hill. The Bread and Cheese is steep and nasty with a false ending that fools you into thinking it's over before going steep again. A charming policeman took my pannier and we set off. I made it. I even passed someone.

The back of the ride broken I was able to get George to Southend with only a couple of hairy moments, mainly involving tight turns. I wolfed a hot breakfast and thanked all I could for their support. I'm fairly sure a few of them had stuck with me to make sure I'd be ok.

Luckily, Bicycle Slut and the Lady Julian were also on a tandem (a hugely swanky custom build) and, as they live near me, we decided to head home together.

Getting two tandems on a train is tricky but, apart from a very drunk rude man (he called us Conservatives, the very nerve), we had a nice train journey home chatting about all sorts. Back in London they led me in convoy with another bike back to Hyde Park where I decided to take the train from Paddington rather than cycle home.

The final challenge was carrying George down the stairs at Hanwell, it sapped my last bit of energy and, once indoors, I stepped into a hot shower before sinking into the bed with Mr Handsome purring along side.

It was a challenge I rose to, but when Mr Weenie arrived home and decided to get into bed with me for a nap, I was glad it was over.

The tandem: Pictures

At the top of Ditchling it was beautiful. Well worth the climb (almost)











Those of us who were already at the top took a well-earned rest waiting for the other riders.












The pink avengers on the sea front, proof that CC is always photogenic as no one should look that good after a ride of that magnitude.

The tandem: Ditchling, the final frontier

Refreshed and full of KitKatty goodness, CC and I decided to go for it.

CC hates getting off her bike and has an amazingly stubborn attitude about hills, she successfully conquered Ditchling on her first go in June last year. I just wanted to prove the doubters wrong but, secretly, was terrified I'd let CC down. On the same ride that she'd mastered it, I'd had to give up before I'd even seriously begun because my knee hurt and I just didn't think I could do it.

As we began the ascent we passed a group who had stopped at a layby before the hill began, we could have stopped there but decided an uphill start on the tandem was just not a good idea. A few of the bystanders cheered as we passed before the trees either side of the road closed in and we were encased in a steep green tunnel.

Although alone to begin with, there were others on the journey, to our shock we passed a couple and then we saw some walkers. Ditchling curves so you can't see where it ends and each corner is a fresh mini-hill. You can start off optimistic and quickly lose hope. I was a walker last year so steered clear of them, and would never have mocked. CC and I were forced to call out to one walker though as she veered in front of us as we climbed. We had announced our presence but had to call repeatedly for her to move.

If one of us flagged the other would encourage and that's how it went for the whole climb. As more people abandoned their bikes to walk we start to overtake larger clumps of people and many of them cheered us on and shouted encouragement.

At this point I felt like someone had thrown a cup of brine in my face as the sweat was so heavy, sexy in the extreme, I'm sure you'd agree.

There's a sign with a horse on it on the last curve and we kept our eyes glued to the horizon willing it to appear. When it finally did I nearly cried. That last corner was murder and it was only a shout of 'It's the tandem! And they're still on!!' that kept my legs going. As we crested the hill it was all too tempting to just stop dead in the road but I was determined that we would glide to a stop in style. A gorgeous dog was ahead as his owner was chatting to some of the riders. My aim was that we would stop near it so I could pet it.

We had made it. After CC and I had laid Miranda gently down and hugged in an overly emotional manner I rang my mum, who had texted to check I was ok. I proudly announced that CC, the tandem and I were at the top of Ditchling, 'Did you push it?' was the reply.

After Ditchling there are a few more dips and swells before the descent into Brighton and it didn't take long for the adrenaline high to wear off. Yes, we were nearly there, but we were also exhausted. Talk was of breakfasts and we spent the last half hour detailing what exactly we would eat. It was the smell of the sea that enlivened us and, as we swept onto the sea front, CC even took her hands of her handlebars to do jazz hands as we came to rest at the Madeira cafe. We stuffed ourselves with fried tasties and regaled our experience to Charles, owner of Miranda.

As we prepared to leave we went to say goodbye and thank you to Mr Fabulous for yet another great FNRttC. It's a bit like getting an audience with the king as there's always a queue. We thanked him and received the highest honour possible:

'I underestimated you girls, I thought it would be a disaster and didn't think you could do it. You've proved me wrong, I've never seen such commitment.'

With the equivalent of a cycling knighthood ringing in our ears we headed for the station, CC on Reg and Charles and I back on Miranda. We thanked Charles profusely for lending us his fabulous machine and got on the train home. We ended up with bicycleslut (owner of the penny farthing) and J (a fellow Uxbridge Roader). They own a tandem and a prior conversation with them was part of my inspiration.

What better way to end such a weird experience than to sit next to a penny farthing?

I got home and showered before settling down for a nap with Mr Handsome. As I dozed off I reflected on our achievement and sent CC a text:

We are actually certifiably mad.

Then I slept and dreamt of Miranda.

The tandem: The magical KitKat

CC and I had arrived at the halfway scout hut against many people's expectations and the surreal nature of the challenge started to sink in.

I didn't mention it in the first post but joining us on the ride were a full-size penny farthing and a double height bike. I shall endeavor to find pictures!

Having decided to name our trusty steed Miranda we had begun to talk about her as if she were another person on the journey. Even more surprising was the realisation that we were nowhere near the back of the pack, and we watched those arriving after us join the food queue with a growing sense of pride.

Climbing back aboard we faced the problem that plagued us throughout the ride, namely that people refused to let us on the road and we were cut up mercilessly and repeatedly.

We tootled without incident until we hit Turner's Hill. It's a nasty and sharp shock that's steep and vicious but short. We got a decent run up and went for it. We passed several people as we made the ascent and, at the top, were rewarded with Mr Fabulous's comment that he knew experienced tandem riders who wouldn't have made it. It was just a comment but I was greatly cheered by it and we led the cheers as the guy on the double height bike made it up.

It should have been a great stretch after this but we finally hit problems. The claustrophobia of the stoker position started to tell as CC became convinced we were on a tilt and suffered something a lot like vertigo. Having already decided to be sensible on downhills we went at a snail's pace and stopped a couple of times to ensure she felt able to continue. Then, as we re-established our rhythm the pannier rack went weird and the pannier caught on the rear wheel. We had to stop and, for the first and only time, needed the assistance of the rear riders to get going. The pannier was put in the sag wagon and we were ever more determined to finish.

What we failed to realise was that the pannier contained all of our emergency rations and, as we approached Ditchling Beacon, this came as a nasty shock.

For those of you unfamiliar with Ditchling, it's horrendous. Around a mile of solid uphill that never seems to end. CC had managed it solo before but I hadn't and was dreading it. Even experienced riders often fail to get up it on-bike and many believe doing it on a tandem is even more difficult.

Exhausted and with Cathy still suffering vertigo-like symptoms, it looked bleak. Then a realisation dawned: I had a KitKat in my jersey pocket. I straightened in my saddle at the thought and an ill-sounding CC enquired as to my shift in position. When I told her we both near-wept with joy. It sound ridiculous but it's true.

At the last stop before the ascent we pulled over and shared the four-finger bar. Our spirits lifted and, suddenly, we knew that we could do it. We set off with purpose and decided we going to get up that hill even if it killed us.....

The tandem: An inauspicious start

Eleven pm on Friday night saw a nervous weenie standing alone at Hyde Park Corner.

I was waiting for the tandem to arrive. Charles had agreed to lend it to CC and me and we were going to attempt the Brighton FNRttC on it. With only an hour to practice, I knew we were pushing it, but the contingency planning was in place. If we really didn't get the hang of it Charles would ride it with us taking turns as his partner, he would be on the ride (on Reg) the whole way so would be on hand in case anything went wrong and, as he was riding Reg, I knew we had all the repair kit for both bikes.
This ride involved a LOT of novices who were raising money for their local hospice so the pace was fairly light. Plus we had a 'sag wagon' in case of disaster. All good.

More importantly, we both had our matching pink jerseys on.

Disaster struck early on, he was late (trains, eugh). He arrived at about 11.20pm and we got to work. I tried both positions but I had already decided in my head that I wanted to go on the front (the term is 'be the captain'). It was, however, good to give the back (or 'stoker' position) a go so that I could help Cathy when she arrived. She got there at 11.30pm and we did a couple of circuits.

Then ride leader Mr Fabulous arrived, and he was NOT happy. He thought it would be a disaster and we were treated to stern words and a glare as we headed to sign up. CC and I were determined that we would not cause him problems.

The hardest part of the ride for me is getting off Hyde Park Corner. On this ride there were close to 100 cyclists and I hate pack cycling. This, combined with the turning circle of a boat on an unfamiliar machine, was a challenge. We smacked it. We held our nerve and sailed through. Keeping up communication with 'stopping', 'braking' and 'changing gear' being shouted frequently, we set off into the night, establishing a good rhythm from early on.

We headed through London and were soon feeling like pros. Aside from a hairy moment while squeezing through a small gap to get onto the road off Mitcham Common, we were fine. And this was lucky as we soon hit the first on the hills. It's not a steep one but it goes on FOREVER.

Hilariously, we overtook several riders on out way to the top. Once there, we discovered part of why Mr Fabulous was sceptical. What goes up must come down, and down and down. Reigate Hill is very steep and the combined weight of two people on a tandem means you pick up speed VERY fast. Again, CC and I were of a similar mind: we'll ride the brakes, life is better than speed.

We cautiously made our way down. On the front I could see everything and knew we were fine but CC was the brave one as, riding blind, she completely trusted my instincts and we reached the bottom intact and still friends.

After this excitement the rest of the ride seemed uneventful. Our main problem was being cut up by other riders and, at the rest stops, no one would let us out so we were often left battling to get back to the middle from the back.

The halfway point was a scout hut in Horley where sandwiches, hot tea and cake were on hand to greet us. We ate, drank and felt refreshed. At the last minute, a tray of KitKats was passed round. Despite being full and having food in our pannier I tucked one into my jersey pocket. Little did I know that this decision was the difference between success and failure.....

Tandem

I didn't announce in advance in case we backed out but, on Friday, Cathy and I attempted a Friday Night Ride to the Coast on a tandem.

It was the Brighton run (the hilliest one) and neither of us had ever been on one before. I will blog about it at length but it'll take time to find the right words to describe what was a bizarre but amazing ride.

Keep your eyes on the skies.....

The wettest ride..... ever

On Friday I set off for Brighton at midnight with nearly 50 coasters. We were in good spirits. Sure there was rain forecast but hey ho let's go.

We made very good time going through London on this ride and the roads were clear of traffic. I thought nothing of it, at no point did I think 'hmmmm I wonder if everyone's staying in in case it wees it down', at no point did I wonder why the streets were eerily clear of the usual rowdy drunkards that give us all a giggle and the occasional thrown missile. They were probably at home battening down the hatches.

The Brighton ride was my first FNRttC back in June/July so I knew a bit of the route although this one had been altered to be weather safe. The enormous hill heading out of London that seems to go on forever was one of my sharpest memories and this time I was ready for it. I shuffled Reg into a comfy low gear and pootled my way up. Last time I didn't realise I'd be on an upward trajectory for so long and grossly misjudged it, but not this time.

We headed out of London and I stayed near the middle of the pack with A2 hanging out nearer the front with some colleagues he'd roped in from work. We were, in fact, doing really well until 2.40am when it began to rain.

Ok so it had started to rain a little at about 12.40am but it had been small, light patches, in short, usual commuter fare. But this was biblical flooding of the lands, build yourself an ark because damnation is on its way rain. Going down a steep hill it felt like someone with a pea shooter full of marbles was aiming for my eyes. At one point I abandoned all hope of looking forward where I was going and just focused on the white lines to stay in the right place.

We were guided into a tunnel for five minutes' rest while punctures were repaired and we were off, sloshing into the darkness. Puddles and mini-rivers formed at our ankles and a highlight was a small fjord-like body of water that I hit without seeing it while cycling pretty much alone. I felt a bit stupid until I heard the combined squeally groan of the group behind me two minutes later.

At this point everyone was wet and cold. There were no longer divisions between those in Assos and Altura and those in Lidl gear, no one was dry. I had bought a weird-looking strip of material to cover my ears and some peanut butter Clif bars on my way home from work and my God was I grateful. I scoffed my way through my bars and praised my ear warmer repeatedly.

We reached the halfway stop and a chaotic scene was there for any bystanders. Haggard-looking bikers sat in puddles of muddy water and dejection. At this point one of the regular leaders offered to take anyone who wanted to head home to the nearest station. We only lost about three riders and I'm sure I wasn't the only person looking at their arms in disbelief as they refused to rise and be counted as someone going home.

When we left the cafe the rain had stopped but the wind and an hour's sit-down meant it was very hard to get going. At one point I was convinced that my hand and feet had been lost somewhere on the journey. We pushed on until a guy in front of me got a puncture.

I lent tyre levers and was one of three who stood by offering light. Disaster struck when an integral bit of wheel bounced off into the night, I was sent to bear the news to the front of the ride. I'd never done a 'back to front' before and it was HARD.

I passed several wayfinders and eventually got to the front only to find out they'd since found the part and were heading in. We then headed off again while I continued wheezing from the lack of stop.

As the light at the end of the tunnel got closer we all became impatient to finish. We were freezing at this point and the continued puncture stoppages were starting to niggle. The last couple of miles seemed to take forever and I wasn't the only one to spontaneously cheer when the signs for Brighton started to crop up with increasing regularity.

With the cafe in sight I was near tears of relief and I and several others insisted on sitting outside to eat breakfast as we'd fought so damn hard to get there. Never mind that two minutes in the wind rendered our tea and breakfast stone cold, I needed to believe I'd actually made it.

Not a soul cycled back as far as I'm aware and so the trains were packed with very tired cyclists. I helped four ladies from Hull negotiate the tricky Victoria one-way system and got them pointed in the right direction before heading for home, bath and bed.

I don't remember much of the journey from Paddington, the next clear memory is lying in a very hot bath enjoying the smug sensation washing over me and watching the cat sniff my shoes with a look of utter disdain.

I have, in the past, been a quitter when things got tough and, believe me, I was sorely tempted by the turn back option at the cafe but I had made it.

This morning Mr Weenie offered me a lift as it was raining... 'Ha!' I cried, 'Compared to Friday this is practically tropical, bring it on!'

Whitstable.... soooo tiring

So on Friday night, before the lergy set in, I headed to Whitstable with the Friday night crew. The omens weren't good. It started weeing with rain as I left Paddington and cycled through Hyde Park. I get hot at the mere mention of a waterproof jacket and as I and a couple of other early birds took shelter under the Hyde Park Corner arch we were sceptical. More and more lights blinked towards us and soon a sizable number of regulars had arrived, including the lovely Andy on this:

Yes, it's a two-wheeled recumbent with a ghost on it. I knew it was there but on dark country lanes at 3am I defy anyone not to jump a little bit when it veers into view.

Anyhoo, we gathered and had the usual safety talk from Super Simon and swung onto our bikes. As we set off it stopped raining and I'm pleased to say it remained dry until the very end, when we pulled into Whitstable bay.

We were plagued by the p******* fairy even while still in London. One of the lovely regulars went over a beer bottle at London Bridge and tore a new tyre. He was visited twice more over the ride and our total for the whole ride was 10/11 depending on who you asked.

All this meant that the first half took far longer than it should have, but, on the plus side, I got to see where the Woolwich ferry is while chatting to the lovely Mike who had his bike rigged up like a Christmas tree. I know I keep saying lovely but they just are.

The air was cool and crisp with the full moon slowly revealed as the journey went on.

The cafe stop in Rochester was more than welcome and I have discovered that there's nothing quite like a fried egg baguette to perk you up. Having opened specially for us, the owners were a little put out when a couple of revolting teenagers turned up and tried to make trouble. In the end and irate female owner and the sight of 50 weary and lycra-clad bikers forced a retreat.

We headed into the countryside proper and it was beautiful. Empty fields and minimal traffic, cold clean air and good company. Bliss.

I was promised the phenomenon of 'misty sheep' at one point. Apparently, this time last year the mist was such that all you could see of the sheep were the tops of their heads. The mist had burned off by the very end but I did get the bleating from within the fog at one point.

As we arrived in the bay the rain returned in spitting form and the sight of bikes that meant 'Cafe stop!' was massively welcome. The final destination was a fabulous cafe with a large terrace to look out over the sea. It was too cold to sit out for me but a few hardened nutters sat out there just to say they had. A few even harder nutters demanded to be served beer when the clock reached 10am.

This was easily the most knackering ride I've done but my God it was fun, more pics to follow.

FNRttC to Southend: the report

What a weekend.

I headed to Hyde Park Corner (or HPC for those in the know) late on Friday night and was rewarded almost immediately when a beautiful young fox decided to accompany me some of the way to the station. When I got to HPC I wasn't the first person there, hurrah! Not only that but I saw my first recumbents in the flesh. Two trikes and a two-wheeled one. Just when I thought it couldn't get more exciting the tandem turned up. It was a specially built one with an upright on the back and a recumbent up front.

I'd put on cyclechat that it was my first ride without friends and, given the friendly atmosphere the last two rides, I wasn't at all surprised when quite a few people came up and asked if I was weenie and said hello. We set off without the ride leader when he couldn't be traced (our usual fearless leader who was meant to be taking a break took us) and headed for parliament, arriving just as Big Ben chimed 12.15am.

We headed off through London with the only unfortunate incident being an idiot throwing a bottle filled with a substance we decided not to check at a group of us. Luckily no one was injured and we turned the other cheek. We checked out the Olympic site (it's huge!) before heading to the Dartford services for coffee and cake. An hour in, an exhausted looking ride leader arrived having slept past his alarm and chased us all the way to the halfway point, which we'd arrived at half an a hour early.

As we set off for the second leg I became increasingly appreciative of my new long-sleeved base layer. I spent a little more to get a swanky merino one that was on sale and my God it was worth it. I was warm and dry throughout without getting overheated and as we left the city behind it got ever colder.

We swept on threough deserted country roads, the only sounds being the whirr of freewheels and the periodic shouts of 'Easy!', 'Hole', 'Glass' and 'Bollard!'.

The route was relatively flat and pace sedate so there was much chatting and we went. We even stopped for a lecture on Czech architecture outside an old boot factory. Near Southend we found a viewing point to watch the sunrise with the castle in view. Mr Weenie's text at 6am asking where his gumshield was provided much giggling before we headed for breakfast.

About 20 minutes in, the level of chat started to dip as knackeredness set in. A few fried breakfasts later it resumed with me being goaded into the cycle back. I resisted but agreed to cycle home from Liverpool Street instead. On the train myself and a fellow rider ended up moving our bikes continually to let people on and off (I say we, she did most of it, thanks again Kate).

I cycled the 12 miles back from Liverpool Street, got home, did the mountain of washing up, ate hopmemade soup with bread and butter and showered. At 12pm I lay on the sofa to watch TV. At 4pm I woke up withn a contented Mr Handsome asleep on my lap.

I then cycled to a local pub for a pint with an old friend I haven't seen for ages. Went home again to a similarly exhausted Mr Weenie before having a takeaway and going to bed.

On Sunday I went for an enormous curry lunch with my parents, sister and cousin. As I ate my second helping of muttar paneer, ginger chicken and tikka, washed down with another mango lassi my family could only look on in admiration, no one eats quite like a cyclist whose done more than 80 miles of a weekend.

I shall post pictures when I get them off my phone!

FNRttC to Southend

Tonight I'm heading to Southend with the night ride crew and I'm quite excited and a little nervous.

Given the colder weather I've invested in a nice long-sleeved base layer and will be wearing leggings. I have waterproof socks just in case, I got up very early and am leaving work at about 4pm so I can go home and nap beforehand. I even came in with Mr Weenie this morning instead of cycling to rest my legs and hip. My only source of apprehension is that I'm going alone. The other two rides I've always brought someone, A2 or CC. This time it's just me.

From a social point of view I'm fine, the boys and girls on the ride are lovely and even if I went all sexist about it around a third of the riders are female this time, a record for the group. Even though A2 came with me last time he's much faster than me and soon sped off into the night (with my permission) while I hung back with the very amiable Wowbagger and others until the next rest stop.

I had many an interesting conversation with people I'd never met before and found a guy willing to lend CC and I a tandem (if we ever get a free weekend, sigh).

No, my real concern is that I might make a tit of myself with no one there to explain away my behaviour. When I fell off at Hyde Park Corner last time A2 stayed with me, fended off others who enquired as to my welfare and shielded me from attention until I was less embarrassed and able to see the funny side of a hilarious accident. Who will do that for me this time?

Perhaps I should just try not to fall off?

Midnight ride to Bognor - Finishing

When we stepped out of the halfway cafe it was freezing and I was in two minds about putting on my leggings. The sun still hadn't risen and I decided to just pull up my knee socks in case I got too hot. I forgot to put on my gloves but A2 got them out of my pannier for me and I was all set.

Everyone was a bit chattery and we were anxious to get going. We set off into a dark blue sky and prepared for the sunrise. It wasn't a disappointment. The mist was low on the fields and the only way you knew there was anything around was the occasional bleat of a sheep hidden in the foggy depths. The sun came up red and gorgeous and it was hard to focus on the road as I kept wanting to turn and look.

Our calls of 'Left', 'Right' and 'Hole' became 'Bunny', 'Roadkill' and 'Tractor'.

It started to warm up and then would suddenly cool as we climbed and descended hills and then we came to the split point.

To avoid an enormous hill the leader had decided we could go one of two ways. A 'genteel route' that involved turnstiles, a small bridge built by the Gurkhas and an overgrown trail to Arundel or a 'ruft tufty route' that went over a bridleway of flinty chalk and involved more climbing. I opted for genteel and A2 went for rufty tufty so we bade each other farewell and wished each other luck.

The genteel crew were a lively lot and we spent much of the time giggling as we helped one another lift bikes over gates and went over the bridge. The bridge was about the width of my handlebars plus two inches. Not nice. Beautiful handiwork though, hurrah for the Gurkhas. The overgrown bit was a bit scary to someone who has a history with towpaths as it was narrow and bumpy with drops either side. We all made it ok and got onto the road. We were then warned there was 'one more hill'. Hmmmmmmm, a lovely girl on an orange Brompton was with me when we hit it and it was very steep. We were knackered by the top and a passing tractor halfway didn't help with our adrenaline levels.

Then we were in Arundel. I was keen to see it as a friend's getting married there next year. It's very pretty and we all took pictures with the castle in them (see the Bognor pics). Then we waited. And waited. And waited.

Turns out the flint path really was rufty tufty and contributed mightily to the rumoured 10 flats we got on the trip.

We climbed the final hill through Arundel to meet the other lot on the main road (yes they said one more hill at the bridge and they lied) and off we went. Then we stopped. Then we went. Then we stopped. Again, flats plagued us but we went through the country roads and ended up in what looked like a cul de sac. I was non-plussed until I realised that, rather than end in mock-tudor semis, it ended in the sea!

We had made it and it was a beautiful day. The sun beat down and I felt victorious. Unfortunately, our late arrival meant A2 and I had to head straight back to London so we and two others headed to the station. We managed to get some delicious and well-deserved coffee, got our four bikes safely stowed and sank into our train seats.

After getting to Victoria I cycled to Paddington and then cycled from Southall home. I went a bit metal for a moment and considered doing the 15 miles from Victoria to home but, luckily, I realised I wanted to read the paper and couldn't do that on my bike.

I got home, locked up my faithful steed and had a very hot shower before going to bed. The bruises were developing, I was exhausted and my grazes stung from the shower, but it was bliss.

Midnight ride to Bognor - Getting going

After my spectacular fall I was far more chatty to new people than usual. Rather than be embarrassing it was quite liberating. It was a great way to start chatting to people and I heard some great tales of the 'my first tumble' variety.

I also got to chat to a few ladies. Fairly usual you say but I say no. These were all ladies who love to cycle, do so regularly and we were all on the same wavelength. One was the lovely Liz who I got chatting to because I've seen her on my commute. We had a lovely time gossiping about the Uxbridge Road and the Ealing area as we pootled through London.

I chatted to various other people as we went through Clapham and made our way out to the country. Part of what I love about the FNRttC is that it's perfectly acceptable to pootle along and chat as you go but it's equally acceptable to steam ahead for some alone time. As someone said, you can be as sociable as you like. We got the usual jeers and cheers going through Tooting with a couple of enterprising lads attempting to run alongside the pack and we had a policeman call us 'very brave' for going through Epsom at club chucking out time.

The lights started to get farther apart and the riders got more spread out as we approached the M25. I was glad to have my energy drink with me. It tasted of squash made wth sea water but I didn't get cramp this time and my muscles felt a lot less battered. A2 and I stick together for some of the time but he's a fast rider and I assured him I didn't mind if he wanted to go to the front. We stopped outside London and it was suddenly cold. My arm warmers were put to good use and didn't come off again. I also pulled up my bright yellow Primark knee socks. At £1.50 they were £18 cheaper than the leg warmers I nearly bought and my God they were toasty! I ate my tasty cereal and energy bars and was relieved I'd packed a much smaller pannier this time. I also left my very heavy D-Lock in London.

The moon was almost full and Venus was bright beside it, I can't actually describe how beautiful it was as we sailed through the night. We went up hills and down and I was only caught out once. A2 had a puncture and had waved me on saying he would catch up (he did, the bastard) and I ended up cycling with the lovely Wowbagger. He's a pootler and chatted away until we hit a nasty and unexpected incline (17% apparently). I hadn't changed down fast enough and rather than put Reg's chain under strain I got off and walked 20 yards.

I was starting to flag and it was to my great relief that I called out 'I hope we're near the caf!' to a rolling wayfinder only to have him reply 'It's 10 yards away!'

Why does no one tell you that an egg sandwich and hot, sweet tea cure everything? We descended upon a truckers' cafe that had been forewarned of our apearance, and enjoyed a sit down in the warm and some well-earned food. The ladies also peed. Why is it that the boys always have to go several times en route whereas every lady managed to wait until the halfway point and then wait for Bognor? Sometimes I think they just pee behind trees because they can.

Soon the leader called the five minute warning and we stepped out into a suddenly freezing car park. We saddled up, went round the roundabout to wait for the last people and we were on again......

Bognor pics - 1

Some of the 'genteel' crew in Arundel waiting for the rufty tufties to traverse the flint path.











My knee... waaaaaah!

Bognor pics - 2

At a rest stop














Reg and me on the coast at Bognor

Midnight ride to Bognor - The big fall

So on Friday night I cycled to Bognor overnight and it was amazing. But it was a night of firsts: first time I've been to Bognor; first time I've come off my bike on the road.

We met up at Hyde Park Corner and I was hugely excited. We stood and chatted as people arrived, including A2, one of the people instrumental to my cycling. He and A are the Mr Miyage to my LaRusso. So we had the safety talk about calling directions, stopping at red lights (it's a CTC ride so they're very strict about these things) and we set off. Then I fell over. Twenty yards from the start. In the road. In front of 80 people.

We were riding in a close pack and I'd just had my front brakes changed. Someone came close in front of me, I swerved and braked hard and went over. Apparently it was a 'perfect wipeout'. I also bounced my head off the road but was wearing a helmet so it was only many hours later when I thought the incident through that I even realised I'd done it. More importantly, Reg is fine. I blocked two lanes of traffic but got up and soldiered on. The group and A2 were hugely solicitous and assured me I could go home but I was determined to do the ride. I had grazed my right knee quite deeply and my left inside shin but never mind.

What I couldn't tell the concerned A2 (who is male), was that the handlebar had jammed into my boob and lady bits. My left boob now looks like a baboon's arse and there's black bruising on my pubic bone and right inner thigh. Ouch. It hurt for the first hour but subsided significantly after that and I started to enjoy myself in earnest. The sky was clear, the moon was up and it was beautiful.

I'd fooled myself into thinking not everyone had seen but my illusions were shattered as quite a few people sidled up next to me throughout the ride to ask if I was ok and to regale me with the tales of their first public fall (many of them were first-time cleat users) and the various hilarious things they'd done on a bike. I'm sure they were only telling me to make me feel better and it worked.

When I got home Mr Weenie was remarkably non-giggly when I told him of my injuries but he assumed they weren't too bad. As the clothing came off he was suitably shocked (he'll be the only person to see all of them). But, to be honest, although my pride is damaged it's like everything else. Now that it's happened once I'm less frightened of it happening again. I was in a controlled ride, with people who stood and blocked traffic until I was up and safely out of the way, I wasn't alone, I wasn't in a collision. Never mind.

I shall post pics and more about the ride itself later......

On the train

Reg is having a checkup before the big midnight ride tonight (Bognor here we come) so I was forced to take public transport to work. I so nearly didn't do it but on the last ride someone's faulty bike got him sent home at Gatwick and held everyone else up so I decided to pay the £10 to get his brakes checked and be given the all clear.

I dropped Reg off outside the bike shop and prepared for a 'proper commute'. Buses are, like, well slow and boring; trains are full of coughing people and probably filled to the brim with swine flu; stations are full of bustling, rude people with no regard for anyone else; and it all costs a bloody fortune.

My eyes lingered on the lucky people who sailed past my bus on their bikes and I consoled myself with the the fact that most people had to do it every day and at one point I did too.

I'm always struck with a sense of the surreal when I use the bus and tube to get in. The guy in Ealing Broadway's sandwich shop asked me where I'd been and then, from memory, poured out the medium coffee wth one sugar I drank nearly every work day for four years.

The bagel shop in Hammersmith station was similarly nice and I was greeted with the 'Where have you been?!'

I was lucky this morning as there was very little traffic on the bus route, the train was right there when I arrived at the broadway an I got to see some friendly and familiar faces. Yes, all in all, the commute wasn't as bad as it could've been, it was just not as fun as my bike.

Gloves and arm warmers

I've splashed out and bought some cycle mitts. I've never been a fan as they look a bit posey to me but I'm starting to develop calluses just below my fingers on both hands so I decided to take the plunge.

I bought gel padded ones and they're actually quite comfy. They do look weird but I'm learning to live with it. What surprises me the most is that my hands don't get too hot. I hate having hot sweaty hands and that's prevented me buying gloves in the past but I'm converted. Roll on the return of baby-bottom-like smooth palms.

I also bought some arm warmers. I found on the last midnight ride that my forearms got cold going through the mist but there wasn't time at the rest stop to do a big change of top so I suffered in silence til the sun came up. The arm warmers are like cut-off tights for your arms with a super stretchy bit over the elbow. They're super comfy and I was chuffed with them. Roll on Bognor.

Wait a minute.... something's happening, I feel weird....

My God, it's happening, I'm a NERD!

The midnight ride - part three

On leaving Gatwick.......

By this time the sun was up because of our various delays so we sailed along being able to see all around us for the first time. Unfortunately Reg's chain came off at the bottom of Turner's Hill and his ensuing jumping around and misbehaving meant I walked the last bit. CC had managed to put it back on but he was clicky and irritable for a few miles afterwards. At this point it was all quiet country roads and was stunning scenery when you're used to the tarmac and concrete boredom of London. There was a lot of wildlife but, unfortunately, much of it was squashed and a bit gross on the road.

CC and I kept a steady but fairly good pace throughout and remained in about the middle of the pack. We had time to chat and giggle about bottoms enveloped in lycra as we went but were starting to get a bit tired. Then the signs for Ditchling began to appear.

Ditchling. Everyone tells you it's crap and they're not wrong. We stopped before it and could set off when we wanted. Knowing I'd probably have to walk it CC and I set off early. CC was a machine and powered up but my knee went click about 20 yards in. Even walking was difficult but I walked a bit, cycled a bit, walked a bit, cycled a bit and then walked the end. A lot of people did the same and I was never made to feel ashamed. CC went all the way and I was almost more proud of her than she was.

Every person was welcomed to the top like an old friend and a particular cheer was made for the last lady up. She was a newbie but had nearly made it until her chain snapped. We worried it was a problem but, of course, several boys gathered round with multitools and had her ready to go in no time.

A teenager went up and down the hill three times while we waited for the last man but I've been assured he's a freak of nature and a fabulous cyclist so I'm not too insulted

At this stage it was hot enough for me to strip to my shorts and it was in blazing sunshine that we swept down to the sea. There were fields of purple, yellow and green, poppies everywhere and then, suddenly, cars. It felt bizarre to be back in a town. There were traffic lights for the first time in hours and they were on a hill that made stopping a hazardous venture.

We pedalled down to the beachfront feeling victorious (and a little emotional in my case) before devouring a fry-up that helped replace the sleep we'd lost. We then climbed onto the train and headed back.

Why are people so narky about taking bikes on trains? It's permitted, get over it. I take time to research when I can take my bikes on trains an I obey the rules so a big raspberry in your direction. It felt utterly surreal to be heading back in the morning after cycling all night but even the disgruntled mumblings of train passengers didn't bother me as I floated in a deliriously happy cloud of exhaustion and smug.

The midnight ride - part two

Finally, a description of what actually happened.

Having fought my way through Blur fans departing the concert in Hyde Park it became increasingly easy to see where the FNRttC participants were. A beacon of flashing red and white lights grew steadily at Hyde Park Corner and I decided to saunter over. I'd spent many minutes deciding whether the power ranger tights were too much, but on arrival it was clear I was among friends.

CC arrived shortly afterwards and we were given a safety briefing. I's a CTC ride so we were told to signal and communicate clearly on turns, stop for red lights/old ladies in the road and generally behave ourselves. All our names were taken and we had given our mobile numbers in when registering. We were also required to have the leader's number in our phones, it became apparent why later on.

We set off just after midnight and it was like cycling through London at any other time apart from the absence of sunlight. There were lorries, lots of black cabs and rolling wayfinders directing the group through the tangled web of streets. As we came through Croydon it became more raucous. It was club chucking out time and we got many a shout and/or giggle from drunken revellers. They were mainly in good fun and it ws a bit like being on a tipsy Tour de France wth crowds cheering us on.

We then had to climb a massive hill. Fairly shallow but it went on forever and then for a bit more. It was here that the first disaster struck. CC and I both commented at the next rest stop that a chap on a mountain bike looked like he was in trouble. His back wheel was wobbling and there was a regular hiss as his brake hit the tire on each revolution. Our worst fears were confirmed when an organiser swept down to tell us that what looked like a tire split was holding the group up. One of the leaders actually cycled home for a replacement tire and we all waited for news. After a while we were sent up the next hill to wait. It was horribly steep and it was here that I realised the advantage of group riding. I would've normally given up, but stubborn pride kept me climbing.

We then waited a bit more while several male weenies disappeared into the woods for what I hope was some nocturnal weeing. We then carried on until it became clear that some weenies had gone the wrong way! A few phone calls brought them back to us and we continued.

We swept on and eventually found ourselves in dark and misty country lanes. The streetlights became fewer and more far between until they ended completely. CC and I stuck together and admitted to only each other that it was a bit weird and spooky. The wayfinders stand on corners and wait for the last person before moving so even when we spread out we knew to stay on the same road unless directed. Good job too as we were alone for a good half an hour at one point. It was pitch black and mist left us with about six feet of visibility. It was bizarrely liberating not to know whether you were climbing or descending. I looked at one side, CC looked at the other and we followed the road's line markings to know when to turn.

You'd think it would be scary but knowing how well organised it all was we felt completely safe. We started off giggling but it was wonderful to see the red lights emerge at the next rest stop. We had another hang around as a lady had lost her spoke light and jammed her front wheel and then began heading to Gatwick.

Once there we carried our bikes into the departure lounge and the Costa staff were overwhelmed by hungry and thirsty bikers. Several tourists and passengers asked what on earth we were doing there. The rest in the warmth brought the sleep demons with it but massive amounts of caffeine helped, as did a much needed wee stop. The guy with the split tire was forced onto a train home at this point as his wheel had completely buckled. The rest of us climbed back into the saddle and prepared for the second leg..........