Central London CTC blog

It might have been the alarm that woke me at 4:50am but it could equally have been the rain hammering on the window. A glance outside confirmed metcheck’s forecast - heavy rain… and some. There might even have been animals forming pairs in the street for all I knew, for it was biblical out there.
Bed beckoned. But this was an event. Maybe even a one off. So the urge to clamber back in was dispatched… not with ease, more like tackling Huez on 120″… in a rubber clown suit.
On the plus side, it resolved my clothing decisions - though sou’wester and galoshes seemed more appropriate than pertex and overshoes. After a bowl of porridge, the bike was loaded into the van and off I set to Greenwich for a 6:30 start. Thankfully, the rain was easing off.
It had almost stopped by the time I was in the pen and ready to start. My change of dry clothes and towel all bagged and tagged and deposited into the baggage truck to be hopefully seen in Canterbury in around 9 hours time, if all went to plan.
Cyclists exchanged nervous words with each other as they waited. A TV crew interviewed a rider to my right. This seemed very real all of a sudden. What was I doing? I said something to the guy next to me, he said something back. Neither of us had any idea what the other said.
The starter called us up to the line. I was on the front row of the grid. Please please don’t let me have a clipping in moment. The count down hits one, the sound of 40 to 50 riders clipping in fills the air and we’re away. Slowly. Very slowly. This is kind of relaxing, almost an anti-climax. It’s a saunter through the park… until we reach the gates.
Out on the road, it’s a different story. The chain gangs form and disappear into the distance. My starting group quickly thins out. I find myself on my own and able to dictate my own pace. I move past some riders, but more come past me. And this is how it is to be for most of the ride. A constant ebbing-and-flowing tide of leap frogging riders.
Five feed stations lay ahead on the route at around 38, 56, 72, 128 and 155k. I’d decided on a 2 stop strategy - at 72k and then either 128 or 155k, depending on how I felt. I reached my planned first stop 30 minutes ahead of my schedule and was welcomed by a mountain of malt loaf! I’ve since read reports of food shortages earlier and later in the
day but this wasn’t my experience. I stopped at 3 stations and each was plentiful in their supplies of energy drinks, gels and bars… and malt loaf. You could have built rain shelters with the amount there was, and still have had enough left over to feed a small continent. The final stop was also offering sausage and onion rolls… I passed on those
though must admit to being tempted.

The climbing began in earnest at around the 80km mark, after Tonbridge. There had been shorter tests just outside Woolwich and in Rochester and East Malling but these were just tasters. The climb out of Tonbridge was a stiffer test. I opted for a granny gear and staying seated. Others heaved bigger gears. Both methods got you up, and both where cheered
equally by the watching groups of people. I’ve never been cheered and applauded on a climb before and it is a real boost! Bottle it, and you’d make a fortune. Move over SIS, I have a business plan.
The route then also became less A road orientated as we crossed the lumpy Kent countryside. My average speed hovered at a respectable 24 to 25 kph, more than enough to get me in before the threatened broom wagons. As I passed the half way mark, and stopped briefly at feed station 4 for a refill of water bottles, I unwisely decided I was home
comfortably on time. Pride before the fall? Oh yes, the puncture fairy put me back in my place. Fortunately, it was merely a mild rebuke and the offending sliver of glass was quickly spotted and I was back on the road in no time.

The route was generally very well signed, but a right hander at 145km on a downhill onto a gravelly side road caught a number of riders out. There was much clench buttocked braking judging by the shouts. Of course, I was in control at all times. A brief stop at the final feed station for a glass of water (and the temptation of the aforementioned sausage and onion roll) also gave a chance meeting with Naomi. We compared impressions of the ride so far before heading off.

The route threw one final stiff climb into the mix - up to Farthing Common, or the Côte de Farthing Common to give it it’s more evocative name. At 12%, it was the lesser of the 3 category 4 climbs on the route but coming when it did, after 165km, it was as taxing as any. After that, it was literally all down hill - 20km of fast descent into Canterbury. I lazily turned over a big gear and cruised at an average of around 35 - 40kph, big smile on my face and feeling hugely proud of my achievement.

Rolling into the Canterbury end point, I would have liked some kind of medal (a la London marathon) but nothing could take away the sense of achievement I felt. I was near on an hour ahead of my projected time at an elapsed time of 8 hours 10 minutes, a ride time of 7:35. No doubt the big boys will near on half that but I’ll take my achievement and bank it. I’ll certainly watch with added interest on the 8th - if only to see how effortlessly the pro riders drift over the mere bumps that caused my heart rate to soar into the red zone.
As I walked my bike across to the waiting luggage lorries and buses, I reflected on the ride. There was no doubt that I’d taken part in a well organised event. The registration was effortless (I got there early), the start was efficient, the route was well signed and marshalled, the feed stations were well stocked - did I mention malt loaf? - and the transport back was slick. I couldn’t fairly fault it.

Could it have been better? Of course, events of this size always can. With so many participants, some will have had less positive experiences than others - but I’d do it again no question. Even the rain stayed away for the majority of the ride, and that didn’t look likely at 5am!

The memory of the ride that’ll stick with me is not of my own personal achievement, nor of the organisation, but of the people that came out to cheer us on, wave flags and applaud as we topped the climbs. And particularly of one young lad in Golford (at 120km) who held out his hand and gave me a ‘low five’ as I passed. Their support, completely unexpected by me, turned this event into something quite special.