Chain Gang Goes Surfing

Washed, dried and oiled. Metal polished, spokes buffed, rims checked. Brakes adjusted, lights charged and rider dressed ready for action. Garage door up and out into the dark, lights and Garmin on, feet clipped in. And I'm off down the road, eager for a hard ride after three days bashing a laptop. Chain gang time - my antidote to too much work and not enough play.

Tom Cruise Is Not The Only Tom Who Can  Be A 'Rain Man' !

It was a classic November evening following a classic November day - gloomy, damp, drizzly, dark and bloody dismal. But the wind was mostly light and southerly, my fresh legs pressed down and the bike moved forward with pleasing ease. I hacked through the traffic to the rendezvous feeling like I could ride all night.

There was another good turnout with twenty riders making the start and four late arrivals tagging on later. The super-fasts sped off in a pack of ten, shortly followed by the fasts in another orderly group that kept a good shape until South Cliff. The drizzle had become heavy rain, quickly soaking through my kit to my skin - luckily, not a cold night but not all that warm either.

As in pro rides, the hills whittle away at groups, sorting riders into bunches of a similar speed. The ten fasts became nine, and then seven as we hit the lower slopes of Spooky Mountain. Peter Buss and I were just hanging on up the slope, chasing John 'Electric Legs' Vidler and 'Young Man' Michael, amongst others. I managed to keep in touch and stay with the group to the roundabout but Peter fell away to complete a short solo TT to the layby.

By now, the heavy rain had eased slightly, having already soaked us as we rode along Bexhill front, Cooden & Herbrand. My gloves were squishy bags of tepid water, my shirts drenched and heavy with chilling water. Why was I doing this? Oh yes, it's fun. No, really, it is. Honest, I love it!

The roads were more water than tarmac. Riding through the spray of the rider in front was more challenging than coping with the rain. Either way, it was hard to see where I was going as my glasses were covered in water droplets and muck, scattering the bright red light of the rider in front into a dazzling, blinding firework display. I peaked over the top of them, squinting through the water running into my eyes and spitting out the grit washed into my mouth. Snot was blown down onto my top, water squelched in the shorts pad. Ah, the glamour of cycling!

This was the time for good group riding and fellow chain gangers did not disappoint. Pelting across the marshes at 19 to 25 mph, a few centimetres from the guy in front, an arm width from the guy to your side, whilst maintaining a smooth, safe line takes some doing. The group rode an excellent through and off the whole way out, coping superbly with traffic, potholes and puddles. I rode my third fastest chain gang without pushing too hard - further proof to me that you'll get a faster ride working together than working alone.

We didn't hang around at the turn, but set off promptly to keep warm, having seen six or so Eastbourne riders head for home. I settled into a swift group of six to seven riders that stayed together for the whole ride to the lights - Simon G, John V, Peter B early on, Young Man Michael, Tom 'Cheeky-Chops' Norris and another whose name I've lost (sorry). It was a great group ride at a good pace, thanks guys.

The usual chain gang buzz was shorter than usual; not less energetic, just a bit damp and quick as riders headed home or to the pub. Time only for a cheery thumbs up from the excellent Stuart Hodd. A night for chatting indoors, not out, drying off in front of a fire and warming up with a hot cuppa. Bliss!

So, I didn't do that, but rode back across the marshes with Peter and Tom, getting splashed all over again as we split the same puddles in two for a second time. The ride back to Bexhill was strangely bright and quiet. A carless Herbrand tempted me to switch off my front lights. I rode along the dark, shiny road, my tyres fizzing through the sheen of water and my eyes picking out the sea anglers on the beach and the fishing boats a little offshore. These are the things I miss when in the brightly-lit, speeding group.

But sometimes it's good to open up to what I'm riding through - the smell of the rain and the sea, the bright fuzzy glow of Bexhill or Eastbourne through mist and spray, the fox at the edge of the road - and connect with the moment. Riding can be too much about getting there and not enough about enjoying the ride.

...Dirty, wet and watery. Metal grimy, spokes dull, rims streaked. Brakes grinding, lights dim and rider drenched. Garage door up and I'm into the dry, lights and Garmin off, feet unclipped. And I'm home, eager to get changed after riding 40 soaking kilometres. I'm also filthy, clothes and skin flecked with what looks like soot or coal dust. But I'm satisfied and annoyingly chirpy as I bustle into the house - the chain gang buzz is a great feeling.

Neil Smith

Nigel Comes Out Despite the Rain,  To Get Away From His  His Java/C++ Programming Deadline Dilemma!