Central London CTC blog

Registering on the Saturday was a nightmare - it was utter chaos. The queues were miles long, it was pouring with rain and there was no shelter, and we queued for over an hour for our timing chips and numbers. Up till then I’d been mentally congratulating the organisers for not wasting rainforests and doing all the newsletters etc via the internet instead of the post. Bad idea guys! Anyway, we just prayed the race itself would be better organised.
The morning of the race it turned out both of us had been awake half the night listening to the rain hammering it down. However 6.00am in South Londonturned out to be gloriously sunny, and after a hearty breakfast of porridge and tea, we set off. The organisation was fine - we just rolled up, loaded our kit into a lorry for its journey to Canterbury, fixed on our numbers and timing chips (slight panic when Jeremy lost his but found it in the grass eventually) went to the start and were sent away in batches of 40 at one minute intervals. Prior to the chip being activated, there was a long descent down through Greenwich Park, which provided the first excitement of the day as a loony alsatian decided to hammer across the road in front of our pack. Cue much yelling & inadvertent testing of brakes.
Once out on the road it was rather odd cycling through in a huge group, with very little traffic, as it was so early on the Sunday. Most of the drivers smiled and waved and let us through, some were grumpy old buggers and got impatient. Nothing new there. We decided to set a steady pace, which meant that every few minutes a group of the really fast riders would come hammering through from one of the groups that had started behind us, then all would settle down again. Jeremy scored our first puncture at 25 miles, annoyingly we were just a couple of kilometres away from the first feed and mechanics stop but we didn’t realise so he fixed it by the side of the road, we ate some flapjack, and cycled on.
At the feed stop we decided we didn’t need topping up, but took advantage of the track pump to get Jeremy’s tyre back up to pressure and pressed on. At which point the heavens opened. Actually it rained on and off all day, in between bright sunshine. Not incredibly heavy rain, but it’s amazing the depths to which any rain can seep when you’re cycling through it at speed. The real problem the entire day was the headwind we were battling against - it just saps your energy, your speed, and on several occasions my will to live.
The next rest stop we fell gratefully on the malt loaf, agreeing that it truly was the food of the Gods. And it was a good job we kept fuelling up as I got the next puncture at around 50 miles, then Jeremy his second shortly after. My second puncture arrived half way up the second of the three category four hills - at least it was an excuse to stop. Jeremy, being a hill demon (as opposed to a hill plodder which is me) was miles ahead but someone kindly told him what had happened when he got to the top and wondered where I was, so he came back down and helped me. He’s a hero.
By then I was fading - but kept going on malt loaf and energy drink. We cheered up on passing the half way mark, and then the organisers had planted signs saying 50 miles to go, 40, 30 and so on. We were having high moments and low moments. For me it was really starting to hurt, but I was determined to finish, despite my knees suggesting it was long past time to stop.
At the final feed stop, which was right by the twenty miles to go sign, we bumped into Arifa and stopped for a welcome chance to chat. We decided that we couldn’t face any more malt loaf, that 20 miles was easy, and were in a great mood, and as we went to set off, discovered my front tyre was flat again. I swore. Lots. Then started to change the tube (I’d luckily bought an extra one from a bike shop in a village which we’d stopped at earlier as they’d set out a stand at the front with water and lucozade for the cyclists). I’d nearly finished when a SRAM mechanic wandered past - we’d thought there were no mechanics at this stop but it turned out they were hidden away. He took the wheel off me and we carried the bike round to the back where they’d finished installing the tube for me and then refitted the wheel. Lovely guys. I gather the mechanics on the day were mostly provided by Cycle Surgery who are now officially a Great Bunch Of Lads.
So, 20 miles, the last category four hill where Jeremy pulled ahead and I never saw him again but it didn’t matter. I’d got my 5th or 6th wind by then (17th? 18th?), and hammered into overtaking loads and loads of people. Arrived at the finish and felt simultaneously knackered and fantastic - I couldn’t quite believe I’d done it. Though there weren’t crowds out on the course, the people that were watching and cheering were fantastic - it was huge lift as you went past. A quick change, the bike got loaded onto a lorry, we got onto a bus, and both got reunited back in Greenwich.
One of the hardest parts of the day was getting back on the damn bike to cycle the 6 miles home. By then everything that didn’t already hurt had stiffened up on the bus journey and was objecting strenuously. By the time I got home I could barely move. I managed a cup of tea or three, a bag of Frazzles to satisfy my salt craving and a long bath before falling into bed about 10.00. I woke up at 11.00 the next morning. Good job I’m on leave this week!Anyway, my official time came through as 10 hours and 20 minutes. My cycle computer says we did 8 hours of actual cycle time. I blame the punctures.
And I shall never eat malt loaf again.