Audax rides

So this was our (me and @Elgonzo ) first 600, the last of his PBP qualis and the 600 I needed for my fixed SR.

First thing’s first, which is that I couldn’t have done it without Elgonzo, because 1) having a riding buddy was a (pretty fucking sensible) condition of audaxing laid down by my partner, and 2) because he’s wise and fun to ride with and just overall Totally Down but most importantly in this instance dragged me through the first 400km and without him I would have scratched somewhere in the Brecons at 9pm on a Saturday night. Bad. To misquote Marcus Burnett from Bad Boys that the weekend, he was the shiny Porsche 964 Turbo and I was the balls, just draggin’ the fuck along.

We rolled out from Greenwich at 4:45 Saturday morning to make it to Wimbledon for the 6am rollout. I had hammered it on my geared bike with a too-high seat in the last week which overextended my knee. I ended up being on paracetamol the entire weekend. By Sunday afternoon it was better though, I think all the fixed riding cured it. Anyway Kingston Wheelers are good people / organisers, and had the ebrevet thing going which I was big fan of as it really helped reduce faff. Saw some forum people at the start, and we all rolled out on time. Not much to report to Wallingford other than he was cruising and I was stressin about my knee. Once I was on the painkillers though it’s like someone flicked the TV from black and white to colour and my world brighten up and everything seemed prettier, nicer, more real and I was finally glad to being doing it. Saw another OG type fixed, although he normally rode SS which seemed crazy. Julian (aka Cincelli Man) wherever you are: stick with fixed my man. Saw him off and on until Chepstow actually. Anyway clicked in at Wallingford and kept moving. I have no memory of that place.

But the roads from Wallingford to Stow-on-the-Wold were wonderful, getting Cotswoldy and then Elgonzo rang ahead to place our baguettes order without having to queue in Stow - absolute power move. By now it was getting toasty as it had been mercifully grey although warm, lots of bulbous cloud cover but the sun came out for real at Stow. We were bouncing back and forth through different groups, nice seeing the weirdo audax masses trundle through the villages force-feeding meal deals. I was rolling ok but elgonzo was still twiddling his proverbial thumbs although still hanging around just ahead, god bless him. After Stow were some off-the-chain villages, unbelievably picturesque, nestled into streams and honey limestone bridges, I mean so nice they made Stow look like the Heygate Estate. Then we were filtered on a smooth lane at the bottom of a valley and through one of these fantasy villages and what have we here but a cricket match in background field next to a clubhouse with a thatched roof. Dappled rolling roads and every view was good. This is what we came riding for.

Rolling to and after from Worcester to about 230km was even better, the hills are folded on top of each other really tightly, like five ridges high and emerald green. Quiet roads. Fuck-off big cows. This bit was hilly though and now there was some cumulative effort stacking up and it was still hot. My man up ahead cruising and I don’t want to say soft-pedalling but my man was chill about the hills. I was suffering but in a nice fixie hill climb way which I like and why I remain on The Scene.

To Ludlow and nearing the Welsh border things started to slow down for me. Elgonzo revealed outloud that he was on a blinder. Yeah no shit, it's 300km and I can see you Remco nose-breathing up the 1 in 4s.

Here to Hay-on-Wye and beyond you get the high, thick bracken/fern hedges that make it hard to see around corners and you lose the horizon and a bit of the pitch of the road. I had been waiting for a morale boost to say to myself I rode to Wales but felt nothing once finally over the border. Legs were becoming crap. Getting dark. Hills through Hay-on-Wye and further nearing Brecon. Now I'm fucked.

And then a big A road, the quintessential Blueprint 2: Gift and Curse of audax. What do I want? The absolute easiest, fastest way to get to the next stop and here it is, exactly what I want when I need it. And yet the gift is a massive ugly piece of shit road with terrifying driving through the dusk. I'm on the perfect road and I also wish I was on almost any other road imaginable. The organisers really fucked with my head at this point. Anyway the elastic snapped and elgonzo shoots off to Brecon. I roll in 20 or 30 mins after? Brecon is scary, feels unsettled and fighty, I want to scratch because this is an all time nadir. But we're only 70km to Chepstow and Elgonzo's waited. No idea what he's says to me or how I get back on but we it over the pass and to Chepstow for 1:30am. All I know is the Ginster was a bad choice.

I'll spare you the nudity and instant porridge in a mug that the M40 Severn Bridge Travelogde allowed us to share between 2 and 5am.

Back on the road and wow I feel better. It's hilly and I walk a sharp section or two but we find it easier to work together. Rolling OK, working together, Elgonzo had gone human again. Geo is scenic but not exceptional. There is creeping Global Aggregate Exertion after the hilly bits to and after Whitchurch. The route has some lane overlap with our 400 a few weeks back, including this giant white horse carved into a hill and I relived some of the success of making it around the ride. The wheat is green and waving and at a distance looks like a soft pillow. I am getting tired.

100km left. Finally after 1400km of audaxing we finally had a conversation about our backgrounds and got to know each other a little better. Men. Eesh.

Other than the talk I would happily delete all the roads to Ascot which was an interminable samey bland flatoutskirts of Reading 65km leg. Finally in Royal Ascot Tesco after Bracknell (what a SHITHOLE) and I feel toast and done for.

"How many km until the end dude?"
"55km."
"...."
"Ha just kidding 35"

I almost put his head through the fucking window for that joke despite it being funny.

A Redbull and two lucozades to me in the rain started and and as I had mudguards I dug as deep as possible jumped on the front to nail it back to Wimbledon in just over an hour. Worst roads ever, Ascot area at 5:30pm on Sunday was purest misery, gopping horrorshow of close passing dickheads. But there we were, one street away from the finish. I well up. I think he's welling up too. We made it. I miss the final turn which kills the mood and all the emotions get checked. We finish, get off and hug and and get the cards stamped, get a beer and some warm food. I well up again. It doesn't go away this time.

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