St Crispin's Day Night Ride

Right - so who ended up riding this?

After much deliberation about what the night would hold (and sitting, depressed, on the sofa as the clouds closed in and the hail came down at about 10pm), I finally loaded up my bike with headlights, GPS, wine bottle carrier, spare batteries and...er...purple handlebar streamers

I set out with a couple of mates at about 12.30 after standing around politely at the back of a scrum to sign on - wouldn't have bothered usually, but this was the only place to pick up food vouchers for all the 'gourmet treats' which lay ahead. When it became clear that British politeness wasn't going to get us anywhere, it was elbows out with halitosis and flatulence to the fore in a desperate bid to leave before developing frostbite.

The first few miles passed without trouble, and we caught a large group riding up the Enbankment causing car-nage which we promptly left behind as they looked like prime candidates for RTAs (not to mention pulling stunts that had cabbies knawing their steering wheels in anger). Another group up ahead looked a bit more stable, and we followed them up the Mall, where we took a right past Buck House. The GPS on my stem bleeped its discontent at leaving the 'official' route - but the number of red blinky lights up ahead couldn't all be wrong, could they? Making our way up the line of riders, we finally got to the front past the Wellington Arch, where a bearded chap shrugged off suggestions that we missed a turn and said he was heading "somewhere up towards the A4". Not sure where exactly he was thinking, but night riding on the M4 is only something that testers do, to my mind...Either way, a lot of people seemed to have decided to follow him - perhaps the idea of someone with a resolute sense of purpose was more alluring that the teeny, tiny white triangles that passed as route signs.

Anyway, having decided that we didn't want a scenic detour via Heathrow, we went our own way over Chelsea Bridge and met back up with the official route. Back on the 'purple line' (Garmin owners will know what I'm talking about), the GPS chirruped with satisfaction and we made our way down the ridiculously traffic-laden route through Richmond and towards the first feed. I'd actually ridden out to Richmond earlier in the day and it was no less busy - except at this time of night there were a lot more cars wafting smoke trails of wacky backy. Finally the roads decongested as we got towards Pearson, and the welcome sight of friendly shop staff hading out coffee and flapjacks was an oasis in the suburbian desert.

The further out we got, the further apart the street-lights became, and slowly we rode into our own headlight bubbles - focusing on avoiding potholes and spotting urban foxes out on the prowl. The conversation became muted, and I began to sing. I had deliberately been listing to catchy songs on Saturday night as I knew that the ear-worms would be well and truely embedded. What I hadn't wagered on were those ear-worms transmogrifying into 'Saturday Night' by Whigfield and Bohemian Rhapsody. Shame.

(Chasing shadows through the night - those handlebar streamers really do look like you're being chased by two flamboyant squid. Or at least they do at a certain time on a Sunday morning)

The second feed stop had real potential - an 'Italian Deli' and coffee shop. Thoughts of freshly ground espresso and Mortadella ham kept us spinning into the night. Instead we got 'sausage' roll (soggy, with a filling that tasted like the sausage had been pre-chewed - mother bird style) and tea so hot that dragons wouldn't touch it. Disappointed we rode on into the darkness, looking forward to a proper chow and perhaps a hot toddy to warm our by-now-frozen cockles. After riding what seemed like an eternity (but was actually more like 17 miles), we arrived at the bottom of a large gravel driveway - at the top of which we could see some folk milling around. Assuming this was the right place, we ventured up - hoping not to be shot at for trespassing (although I think lyrca-clad cyclists would probably be the least intimidating of burglers).

(Night-time, bright lights, motion, lack of concentration: Ideal photography conditions)

It was here that we discovered the joy of mass-produced pre-frozen food. Fortunately we were some of the earlier riders, so we could at least eat under the shelter of the open barn - the organisers had optimistically set up a series of picnic tables. For reference, here is a picture of slightly later in the ride, indicating the kind of temperature it was:

(This will never, ever, stop being funny - we spent time during university doing whole streets of cars like this. Time well spent, I say)

So perhaps the food wasn't up to scratch (and certainly not in line with the tales of "goulash and wine" pedalled by the organiser) - but at least we all gained an understanding of what it's like to live in an old people's home...

Riding back on the home-bound leg through Thope, we came across a group of riders heading in the opposite direction - they asked us where the vineyard was, and if it was far away. Not wanting to dishearten them, we held off asking why they were heading the wrong way around the route at 5.30am and simply pointed them back up the road...poor buggers.

We missed the third feed through Sunbury as it wasn't open yet - by all accounts we didn't miss much. Getting closer to London we got back onto street-lit roads and with the scent of oiled-up podium girls tantilisingly close, we pushed on through Hampton Court and Clapham, over the final 'hilly' 15 miles and back to the start/finish park.

Sadly, we made it back too early, and the only welcoming party was a bored looking security guard who's presence made the lack of scantily clad women even more keenly felt. Still, probably a good thing as anyone hanging around in a bikini that day would probably have had to accessorise with a tin-foil blanket. And anyway, who needs the opposite sex when the Thames Barrier looks like this:

(*Answer: I do!)

*By the time I had finally ridden home I was running low on sugar and couldn't feel many of my extremities. Wearing shorts and leg-warmers, I also had a nice band of itchy-red skin around the tops of my thighs where the warmers stopped and there was only a single layer of lyrca to cover it. Chilblains, beans on toast and bed was the order of the rest of the day - plus a sense of smug satisfaction after completing my first fixed century and first night ride.

*Chasing the dawn through South London

[ame]http://connect.garmin.com/activity/237815619[/ame]
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