The 'super-fast' group left first, captained by the excellent Stuart Hodd and the awesomely powerful Barney, with seven riders willing to ride together at a 'super-fast' pace. However, last night was not as super-fast as it might've been as there was sufficient wind from the north-west to put a dent in all our efforts. The merely 'fast' group of 14 riders set out a couple of minutes later, having been shouted at (in a friendly way) by Chris, John V and me.The aim was to ride through and off as a single group for as long as possible, with John and I corralling the riders into some sort of order. It didn't start too well... 'What speed we going?' was the entirely fair question. '19 to maybe 22mph' I replied. 'How does 15mph sound?' Slow, frankly!
Not surprisingly, with such disparate intentions, the fast group split early in the ride, I think by the end of Bexhill front. It wasn't helped by someone taking a turn at the front and buggering off into the distance, despite shouts of 'ease off'. Perhaps he misheard that as 'piss off..?' He was then followed by someone who knows better but who will remain nameless, even though I know their name and could name AND shame them. Yes, you matey - it's a chain gang!
John V and continued to shout after the terrible-twosome but gave up, deciding instead to concentrate on getting the rest of the group of nine or so riders into order. And things went well! I felt a bit of a prat shouting instructions at grown men but I felt it was in a good cause. Most managed a turn or three on the front, before the ever rising pace (thanks John) saw a few riders drop off the back. I went on the lower slopes of Spooky Mountain. I know it's just a bump but last night my legs really didn't have the oomph to power me up and stay with the group. It felt like Agony Hill. Ugh!
I was blowing hard so I settled for a steadier ride, eventually catching another rider with whom I rotated along the rest of the road to Pevensey roundabout. The air was crisp and cold, without being painful, and the roads were mostly dry. What's not to like?
After a good rest at the turn waiting for the 'moderately fast' riders (the 'mods' to the super-fast's rockers..), we headed back as we saw fit. Chris encouraged me to ride with the super-fasts, which was fun until again Spooky Mountain did for me. I was gasping! Must be the altitude. From there I rode a solo until I reached the level crossing and pushed on down Herbrand Walk. The full- moon was shining a silver path across the sea, lighting a route you can only sail. The lights and shouts of the approaching group became ever brighter and louder, and I allowed them to catch me near the beach huts.
From there, with a few hiccups, we rode in a good formation all the way back to the lights and at a fair pace. We met a Gritter on Cooden Drive and the ride was suddenly accompanied by a gentle crunching as if riding over rice crispies. My tyre tread turned white as they picked up the salt. I shouted at someone for going three-abreast and they dropped back. Sorry about that! I'd make a terrible traffic warden - a tiny bit of authority and I turn into a cross between Captain Wainwaringand Hilda Ogden. Picture that on a bicycle, if you can...
I swear the ride ended with 25 riders or so; Chris says 29! Where the extras came from I don't know. There followed some lively discussion in some quarters on the importance of riding predictably. Clearly, a manoeuvre near a junction had caused some consternation but the issue was discussed and resolved amicably. We had a few new riders - some friends of Dan Selmes I am told - welcome chaps!
My circuitous ride home was romantic in a moonlight, smell of burning and fireworks sort of way. The ride was a lovely way to enjoy the pleasures of the season. I got home feeling knackered and saw my inhaler in the garage. Ah, I forgot to take it before sucking in the cold night air! Peak flow was down 100 - well that's this week's excuse anyway!
Cheers, Neil
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