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@Wrongcog
I fail at bikes.
I decided to ride solo to Brighton on Saturday following this route https://maps.google.co.uk/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=215086113944960465292.00048167d077a174c2ce3&z=9 which, if memory serves, may have been posted hereabouts by TheorySwine a while ago. It's a lovely route and I recommend it's pretty, rural awesomeness to one and all.
Sub 60 miles isn't a problem for me at all these days. I'm poor in a headwind and I'm no lover of hills but the rolling lanes of southern England couldn't be too much for me could they? I mean this was London - Brighton, the traditional spring challenge of fair weather riders and once a year charity adventurers. Ok it was hot... really fucking hot! But Wrongcog y u so shite? A friend said he had to keep stopping on Saturday to check his brakes weren't rubbing such was the lead in his legs. I really know what he means!
I'd done alright. I felt permanently dehydrated from the off but I kept rolling on, I rode with a couple of lads on much lighter and slicker machines than mine through Ardingly, getting jealous comments as I noshed on a choc ice. Then I put some pace on / took a bit of a different route to them and must have arrived at the foot of Ditchling Beacon before them. Tired and as I said, no lover of geology I glanced up at it and thought come on old bean, you'll hate yourself if you dont drag yourself up there... I got half way and ground to a painful wheezy halt. Caught my breath, climbed back on and went another 200 yards - and that was it. I was fucked. I had to walk. Shuffling up the hill hoping the ground would swallow me up. Then from behind comes the unmistakable whisp of tyres on Tarmac. One of my road chums from Ardingly spun past on his granny ring. "You shouldn't have had that choc ice" he said. How charitable of him to assume that was the source of my humiliating weakness. As we chatted on the top minutes later he offered more solice. "That's a pretty heavy ride to drag up there mate! And your gearing is pretty unforgiving" (yes forum I was geared and I still couldn't do it). I smiled, but I was pissed off. I recalled Digger's advice when I asked him about fitting a bigger cassette to my bike to prevent such humiliation. He just said "push down harder on the pedals". Sage advice.
Curse the heat, curse my shitty lungs and my pathetic legs, curse my alcoholic, tobacco consuming 20s, curse my neglect of bike rides and two wheeled adventures until two years ago. And curse Ditchling. Curse every other fucker who arrived at the top of that hill on two wheels as opposed to clicking along on their cleats. Bollocks bollocks bollocks!
As I rolled to my destination somewhere near the 7 Dials I felt properly narked! How can so many find slopes so easy? Back to the forgiving Essex villages for me. A future of touring on a triple around Norfolk and Lincolnshire for me.