We were split into two start groups. Ours took off from Costello’s Cafe shortly after 10 in mild, dry, cloudy conditions. With a gentle south-westerly drift assisting us, we soon engaged the narrow lanes towards Aston, where single file is mandatory. Unsurprisingly, the usual suspects stuck together, and the group of Damian, Jon, Mike and I rode the course together.

The 100-km course is so well-known to readers as to require no further recapitulation. The helpful breeze encouraged us, and we were well up to the mark at the first and second controls, so took a leisurely break for coffee at Saffron Walden. There, Andrew was already remounting and wondered what had kept us; as a hardened Audaxer, he eschewed our cafe-racer idleness.

Sometime after this, Jon started to fall off the back a bit; this we put down to his choice of winter bike, with its laggy tyres and mudguards with full rain flappage. Certainly, our two on summer bikes had to rein in their speed to stay in the group on downhill pitches (you can hardly call them descents).

Perhaps some 30 km from the end, we encountered John at the side of the road, at a bus-shelter. There was just time for a facetious enquiry, as we flashed by, if he had been taking a nap at the Audax hotel.

The sky darkened as we neared Stevenage, providing a good motive to keep at it, for fear of being caught out in the drizzle that was forecast. But it held off, and a group of local riders faultlessly piloted us in through the Stevenage bike paths, where Damian’s GPS was in two minds.

Our time…I dunno, about four-and-a-half hours? Rolling average 26 km/h or so, but of course that doesn’t count in an Audax.

This popular ride must be one of the biggest in the Audax calendar, and the organizer says it was the biggest turnout ever, with a total of more than 400 starters.

Other Central London CTC riders known to have started: Nick B, Richard, Tom, Christine, Paul & Inez, Jo, Roger & Kay, Andrew, John S, Phil & Rachel, Matt Walters and  Roger Cline.

Down to Haywards Heath I go on a bitterly cold and rattly train, accompanied by tense travellers making their way to Gatwick for an early escape on an easyjet. A soupy mist rising from the fields, I suffer an early morale hit as I realise I’ve forgotten my rubber band and clothes peg route sheet holder – been too long since I did this. My clothing choices are starting to look inadequate as I realise that is actually frost I’m seeing amongst the steaming silhouetted cows.

I get to the village hall at Chailey to register just as the ride is being waved off. A few half familiar faces clocked and a quick hello to Central London irregular Andrew, and I’m off, dropping into a keen and jolly group at a brisk but painless clip. The route starts off lumpy (it is a “grimpeur” after all) and stays that way throughout, lots of ups and downs rather than major climbs, swinging north and then west in a clockwise loop with the downs ever looming to the south as we start off with some Ashdown Forest action.

Cob Lane into Ardley was the toughest hill, not too long but must easily be 25%. I stopped here for a bagel and an espresso. The cold morning had given way to a beautiful day by now, cool, sunny and still, intoxicating Autumn colours doing their bit for the weddings I passed on the route (at least three, they’d gambled with this date but they’d hit the jackpot). The mid point control was a wonder – pancakes prepared on a camping stove and served with maple syrup.

Onwards to the downs, some decent climbs around Hurstpierpoint, past a posh school which brought back long suppressed memories of freezing hands and bloodied knees on a leaf-strewn quagmire of a rugby field, through Ditchling but not up the beacon mercifully (there’s a “hillier” version which takes this in). And finally back to Chailey where I was greeted with a bowl of soup and a hot roll.

Great route, great catering and generally a classy event, I was left wondering if I’d inadvertently signed up for the “premium service” option or some such comfort upgrade not usually associated with audaxes. Or maybe the cat just knew it was one I needed waking up for.

Step forward audax organiser Paul Stewart, of the Willesden club, to fill this gap in the market. The ‘Ditchling Devil’, his 203 km (127 mile) event, was staged for the first time on Sunday 24 July. About 65 riders rolled up for the start on Wimbledon Common, a good turnout considering this had been a late addition to the Audax UK calendar.

After a surprisingly speedy run down to the start from north London – enjoying a deserted West End and empty Mall – I was ready to leave for the coast at 07.50, towards the end of the rolling one-hour start period. I set off in a group of six – or to be more precise, a tandem leading out and five wheelsucking solos. Backed by a small tailwind we made rapid progress on quiet rolling roads through the Surrey hills, only splintering as we approached the first control point at Ardingly, 52 km into the ride. The last time I had stopped in this layby had been on the 2005 London to Brighton BHF ride, a scene of carnage with hundreds queuing for food, water and toilets, tarmac melting in the heat, and overstretched novice riders receiving first aid. This morning was a whole lot calmer: a couple of dozen audax regulars and some London club riders enjoying a leisurely feedstop and chat.

On leaving the control the South Downs ridge soon loomed ahead as we entered the shady lanes between Haywards Heath and Streat. Then it was onto Ditchling Beacon, one of the two major climbs from which this event takes its name. I’ve always found this to be an overhyped ascent, and indeed the most difficult aspect of the climb was the unpleasant smell of vehicle fumes and burning rubber as Sunday motorists competed for space with numerous cyclists out for a spin. However the views off the top are often spectacular, and today the fine clear weather opened up views as far as the North Downs and Seven Sisters. A slight crosswind on the descent gave more time to enjoy the scenery, before the plunge down through the suburbs of Brighton.

Respite was brief as the climb back up the Downs began almost immediately. Warned about the steepness of Tongdean Lane, I summoned all gears into action for a brutal if short stretch. Once beyond the houses the climb up continued up Devil’s Dyke, something of a grind into the wind but mainly a moderate gradient. The reward was more fine views, this time along the coast to Shoreham and Worthing.

After a scenic if flint-ridden section under the Downs, the lunch stop at 102 km was in the pretty village of Upper Breeding, where the catering was generous. The afternoon section then rolled on across West Sussex to a tea interval in the sports pavillion at Chiddingfold, just over the Surrey border. Home-made scones went down very well.

The remaining challenge was now the North Downs: Coombe Lane (at Shere) is not a long climb, nor particularly steep overall, but the last left hand bend kicks up viciously to a double figure gradient and the whole hill demands respect, especially after 165 km. Once up, the long descent towards East Horsley and Cobham was a delight. Yellow signs advertising an August rehearsal race and the excellent surface conditions were a reminder that these sections will be on the Olympic road race course next summer.

Now came the final run in – fast and furious via the A307 to Esher and Hampton Court. The continuous stream of traffic rather took the edge off the last hour’s riding and it was a relief to enter Richmond Park for the final 6 km on the circuit road, to reach the finish at the Roehampton Gate cafe. Given the 2700 metres of climbing on a continually rolling course, and the number of stops to enjoy both the well-stocked controls and the viewpoints, I was happy to be round in about 10 hours. Hopefully this excellent day out will become a regular fixture in the calendar.

The départ, as ever, is at Manor Farm, Ruislip, though event HQ has moved from the ramshackle hut in the car park to the pleasant tea-room in the adjacent park.

The route out of Ruislip threads through the outer suburbs to cross the Grand Union Canal just beyond Harefield and on towards the Chalfonts. As the Willesdens disappeared off up the road, Nick and I tooled along chatting about selling vintage bikes, refurbishing sash windows, and the likely fate of the euro.

Reading from the route sheet, Nick called a right turn (the wrong one as it happened) and my shout-out of ‘Gravel!’ was just too late. Nick’s rear wheel went out from under him and he ended up in a heap. He was not much hurt, but said that as he wasn’t feeling great anyway he was going to abandon.

By now we were a long way behind the keener riders. I didn’t much fancy a day of solo navigation around the mazy Chiltern route, and the weather was cloudy and chilly. In the circs, the mutual abandon was a no-brainer; and only civil, after all, to see Nick back.

We retraced our route to the start (bit of a head-scratcher, reading the route sheet in reverse), had a coffee in the courtyard cafe among the young mums, then sloped off back to town.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the phone rang on my desk. It was the organizer, Rocco, checking I was indoors. He expressed his sympathy for Nick’s off, and kindly offered to carry my entry fee forward to any future event I might put in for. What a gent! I think I shall.

Three Central London riders entered the longer (210km) version of the Windmill audax on 26 June this year. We were one veteran of a few (shorter) brevets populaires rides and two riders completely new to audax, but not wanting to bother with the easy stuff first.

The theme of this annual ride, run by our colleagues at Essex CTC, is of course windmills, and there are ten of them to spot on the way.  It was the longest Sunday of the year and it turned out to be the hottest too.

We left the start at the Chelmer CC hut at 0830 (the rest of the field left at 0829, taking us by surprise) …

For the morning we managed to keep pace with some regular audax riders, forming a loose peloton of six.  It was slightly cloudy, though rather warm. We sped quiet rapidly through our regular haunts (two star rides are mostly in the Chelmsford area this season) such as Great Barfield and Finchingfield (where a bit early to stop but the motorbikers were already out in force) and then on into unknown territory.  As the sun became stronger we sped though beautiful Suffolk villages and then past the stud farms into Newmarket where the other riders left us for a very basic lunch at the café by the clock tower in the centre of town.

The early afternoon stretch seemed more of a challenge over the quiet and scenic rolling hills of South Cambridgeshire and on to Saffron Walden (where we the shops close at 1600; we arrived at 1601). Fortunately Starbucks was still serving, so time for some extra tea and cake outside.  It felt just like a normal Sunday ride (except we had just done two of them back-to-back and had one more to go).

The next stretch was the hilliest but took us to the best windmill of the trip (Chishill, pictured above) and then to a welcoming second tea stop at the Victoria CC hut at Henham, a regular audax venue.

Two of us were a little fatigued now (“oh no, not another windmill”) but for the last 40km we were back again into our familiar territory. After being tracked by an escaped dog in the last village (fortunately caught by a passing dog lover) we returned to Chelmsford just as the lights were coming on.  The Essex CTC folk were waiting for us still to take our cards and give us more tea. Although last on the day, at 12 hours 50 minutes we were well inside the cut off time and, of course, audax is not a race.

Although rather stiff and very tired (except one of our number, still fresh on her new cycle), we felt proud to have achieved a distance that was our personal best and resolved to try a brevet de randonneur (200 km +) audax again, although maybe not straight away.

Level One – minor inconvenience when I discovered that the chain rattled every time I put it on the biggest sprocket so I could not use the lowest gear efficiently. That was why I got up Toys Hill, the first climb of the day, so rapidly. It was probably the beginning of the downfall although my descent through the other levels did not begin until almost two thirds of the way around the route. I managed to climb the “Wall” through Ashdown Forest and the “Col du Groombridge” (Groombridge Road) with little difficulty.

Level Two – the humped backed bridge. It was just a little bridge over a railway line and it was one that I should have been able to take in my stride. Jon and Charlie were a little ahead of me but I was still in contention. For some reason though I found myself having to stand up on the pedals and extract every ounce of energy to climb over the bridge. If I was having this much trouble on a small hump, what would the next hill be like?

Level Three – the long climb. I soon found out as I struggled up the next climb (Bayley’s Hill). Ahead of me another rider, more damned than myself, was pushing his machine laboriously up the hill. I focussed on him as I heaved myself forward. Surely I should be able to catch him up and pass him? Surely he must be slower than me? And yet he seemed to hang there ahead of me as I slowly, slowly closed the gap and slowly, slowly passed him. Once I was beyond him I checked back, fearful that I might not be able to pull away from him. Gradually, though, the poor benighted soul disappeared behind me. At least I had bested him

Level Four – profanities. The next stage of the ride to the final control undulated and it was impossible to get into a rhythm. As soon as I had descended it was time to haul myself up the other side. And at the top of each climb I thought surely the control must be nearby but it was still as far away as ever. At this stage I began to curse my legs, my bike, that sprocket, the hills, the weather (it had turned colder now and was overcast) and, rather unfairly, Catford CC, and Jon and Charlie. The air was certainly a deep shade of blue around my head, much to the surprise, no doubt, of the rider who suddenly passed me.

Level Five – temptation. Jon and Charlie had nobly waited for me at the final control but had been there for sometime before I arrived. They were getting cold so I told them I would take a breather and meet them at the end. I collapsed on the ground wondering what further torment there could be. Suddenly I heard a voice. “The broom wagon has just arrived. If anyone would like a lift to the finish, let me know.” For a moment I was sorely tempted. But no, I was going to avoid this particular level of hell and struggle on.

Level Six – Rain. Cold.

Level Seven – the final descent. Except that it wasn’t … a descent. Star Hill was when I finally cracked and like that poor soul earlier found myself pushing the bicycle (or cross training, as I like to describe it).

By now, however, I was aware there were only a few more miles to do and, once back on the bike, my legs seemed to gain a little extra to see me through until I finally heard the beep of the transponder as I crossed the mat at the finishing line.

It was definitely a challenging day. With well over a thousand metres of climbing in a hundred kilometres there is barely a flat stretch on the ride. But I managed to complete the circuit and in a slightly faster time than two years ago. Thanks to Jon and Charlie for keeping me company (when I was able to keep up) and to Catford CC for their excellent organisation.

As usual, this event attracts a mixed bunch – the local clubs on winter bikes, PBP hopefuls, the regulars and the curious. And the inevitable tandem. There’s little room for snobbery, the clubmen know too well that often the steady rider gets to the cake before them. So I find a suitable group and tuck in, exchange a few words, take my turn at the front. We keep together through two info controls, but just as some tricky directions come up, the group is split. Twice on the same narrow lane dumper lorries push towards me, forcing a dismount. On my own, I slow down, wary of missed turns. After a few minutes, I’m safe on track. And ahead I can see purple raincape,  who I was following before. A few more lefts and rights, round the blind corner  under the bridge, and I’m back. up through squelchy mud to the ‘Ut, time for T&P’.

The trouble with figure-of-eight events is that you are at the end halfway round. The rain is constant, the wind is persistent. I could just have another Eccles cake and head home. No one would care. No one would know. Why not?

Somehow I tricked myself back out. All alone now, get up to speed, concentrate on the instructions. I double-check at a point I went astray last year. Okay, I’m confident. Then a problem. ’1st L $ Gt Canfield’. It’s definitely the first left, but there’s no signpost. Hmm. Stare back down the road, in hope of a second opinion on the way. None. Stare at my map – it looks right, and I think I’ve been down here before. And I’m getting cold avoiding a decision. Onwards. Next sign, I’m right. And then a little group comes up behind. We ride on together, but with 20km to go I drop off the back and take it easy for a while. I’m now retracing, so no risk of detour. My speed picks up, helped by an artic on my tail which politely does not try to overtake – I find a lay-by and pull aside for him.  Over the level crossing, back under the bridge, up the even muddier slope and done. Hot sweet tea.

Next to clean the bike

Out at a good pace, occasional light drizzle clearing to patchy blue. The route rolls, nothing harsh but a few nice swoops down. The wind is there, but helps as much as hinders. Best of all I find myself in with a small group who know the area. Feeling rather smug, I’m back at the clubhouse in just over two hours. Time for efficiency – quick slice of cake, swig of water and back on the road.

And it starts to rain. Gentle, then insistent. On with the showerproof. Turn back? It’s now serious heavy rain, It can’t last. It does. Speed and spirits drop, I’m soaked through, and it’s too late to turn. Then the morning group is with me. As they pass, I jump on. Speed goes back up, and eventually the cloud clears with 20km to go. Then some of the group stop for a puncture, the speedy ones disappear. I decide to press on gently. Wrong. I misunderstand a line on the route sheet, detour 10km and lose 40 minutes. And it’s 106km, not 100k. Hunch to misery. But I can recognise the roads from the way out, and then I’m back, it’s done. Tea and bun.

Now I’ve got a very muddy bike to clean.

About eight of the Purple Peloton turned out including me, Stephen, Keith, Naomi, Phil Magnus, Rogers C and F and Kay (apologies to any I’ve missed).

I arrived at King’s Crustacean to find my seat pack had decided it didn’t want to hold on to the saddle rails any longer, but the cable tie supply at the start in St Evenage persuaded it otherwise.

The weather was superb – almost completely dry and sunny, if a bit windy.

I was in the 10.00 departure group and had my picture taken with the Mayor. I was amazed to get to Hare Street in just over two hours, and even more amazed to get to Saffron Walden before the rush – on leaving Hare Street the queue for the control was huge and hordes more riders were arriving – despite having been passed by the Flandrian Three.

Thanks to the tailwind, I rode the bit from Hare Street to Saffron Walden at an average of more than 25kph.

So, I thought, with that wind the ride back will be slow and painful. Not entirely so.

The next bit to Therfield was hard, including a long uphill drag with a howling crosswind, but I was still in good time.

The last stage back to St Evenage just seemed to fly by, although the weather turned cyclonic for a while and I stopped to get my race cape out (which caused the rain to stop in a couple of minutes, of course) and tell a couple who stopped at the same time they’d missed the Therfield control. There were great views from the tops of the climbs, with superb visibility and huge skies.

After the rain, the sky cleared and the wind dropped. Judging by the wet roads, I’d missed the worst of it.

Coming into St Evenage is IMHO the most difficult bit of navigation on the ride, especailly now that they’ve changed the numbering system for the underpasses, and I came across a few lost, puzzled-looking souls.

I got back to Costello’s at 15.55 – my best time ever for this ride – and was in the bath by 1745. I did 122km on the day in 5h50, not including food-and-faffing time.

Thanks to Jim and all the St Evenage mob (and Therfield WI) for their usual excellent organisation.

‘Twas Charlie, Nick and I – a small but visible presence in our matching club jerseys – among 30 or so, slightly less than usual. No-one was in a great hurry, and amusingly stuck together as a bunch for about an hour, before a few junctions and rises started to split things up. Through the pretty Essex villages on a straightforward route, with the only glitch being an ‘is it / isn’t it’ left turn at the second control with enough sign posts (and other riders) to get us smartly back on track. Finchingfield control being more checkpoint than provision stop, lunch was taken sat on the grass outside an Henham ‘Ut with the bulk of the work done.

Our pace was steady but not strenuous, and we picked up a few others on the last leg, who provided friendly conversation but sadly no Chelmsford cycle-path expertise. We, too, despite care being taken got lost in the final approach, resorting to the nearest road as simpler than the intended park crossing. Old fashioned tea and cake awaited at the finish.

The perfect day – hot sun, just enough breeze to prevent over-heating (and launch the squadron of small insects we were all plastered with). The few ominous drops of rain did not deliver until we were back in London. Not, in the annals of Audax, the most challenging, instead one of those when all goes as it should and a fine day is had.