HSLCC Chain-Gang Musical Bikes

Bush, bash, bosh - another tasty chain gang with a good turnout and in good conditions, for November. The thermometer might have said 4 degrees C, but we all agreed it felt warmer, despite the westerly breeze, and also agreed that dry conditions are prized above all.

24 riders made two groups of roughly equal size viable. We formed up and hunkered down into that westerly wind, although it was not too strong. John Vidler and I resolved to ride with the super fast boys (and girls, sorry Ruth!) and this group made good progress through Bexhill. Our rhythm was broken at the South Cliff / Cooden Drive junction by a car, just like last week, but the group was not quite as stretched this time as it sped up and pressed on towards the turn at Cooden Beach.

Dry roads make for tighter, faster turns and the group swooped down and around the Cooden bend, taking the Herbrand turn wide but safe and upping the pace as it skirted the shingly fringe of the private beach. My turn came for a turn at the front, towards the huts before the downward slope. I was struggling but I eventually made the lead a little before the level-crossing, a bit on the limit for me.

Perhaps because my pace was ragged, the group lost shape and riders overtook around the crossing. Then a car came towards us. A rider cut across me to make safety, not realising that I had nowhere to go, as the road at that point narrows and the gutter is littered with potholes. Braking meant I lost touch with the group.

Ok, these things happen, but car lights are easily seen and he could've dropped in behind me. I was not happy. I thought of a few choice words to share but decided I'd bite my lip - I was likely to say more than would be wise. Maybe next time though.

So, I rode on alone, finding the wind was rather more westerly than I had thought, whistling straight into my face as I rode the lanes past the Star Inn and the station at Normans Bay, honking up Spooky Hill and past Rock Cottage. What a dark and desolate spot that is, sticking up into the worst of the weather as it blows in from the English Channel.

Cars came and went as I wove around the marsh bends, bringing with them a pool of light and a blast of air. What do they think when they see me? 'Poor bastard is miles behind' if they're coming from Pevensey roundabout, having already passed the super fasts; or 'Blimey, he's miles ahead, that must be Wiggo!' if they've come from Cooden and passed the fast group. Perhaps they envy us or think we're crazy.

I was caught a couple of turns from the last straight by a group with Michael and, I believe, Ivor in it. I hooked on to the tail and stayed in touch (well, mostly) to the last bend where the swifter riders were already chatting. The marvellous Stuart Hodd was keen to start the return leg, but just as we were to set out more riders appeared, Steve C and Chris among them. A car added further interruption and Stuart forged ahead, keen I later learned to have a more spacious ride than on his outward leg. I teamed up with another rider to try to catch him, but this was folly - Stuart was turning his pedals clean and fast and even with the wind behind me there was no way I was going to catch him.

Some riders pulled past me and I settled into a smooth rhythm, not pushing too hard and fully expecting to be caught by the usual crew somewhere along Herbrand. But to my surprise, they caught me on Spooky Hill, clearly on a mission! I dug in and hung on as Tom 'how low can you go' Norris, Simon 'True Grit' Grogan, Kevin 'Bionic Knees' Hill and one other (I think) performed a tidy group ride all the way to Cooden.

There we caught a rider abandoned by the super-fasts. I shouted to him to join our group, which he did, but he then went off at his own pace. 'What's he doing?' asked a group member. 'Leave him to it' I answered, deciding we were better off carrying on as a group. And so it proved, with the lone-wolf rider soon caught again by us as we made better collective progress. We rode smoothly and efficiently, pulling hard but keeping the group together. Very satisfying.

A final effort towards the end of the leg saw Tom and I pull away for a short but controlled contest. However, honours were even as half the road was blocked by a Clancy-Docwra crew resetting a drain cover. Tom believes he was going to catch me, I believe I was holding a little back. We will never know, but I know I was clearly away and uncatchable. And I'm writing this report, so I get to say what I want!

Simon G reminded me that I'd said last week I'd ride with him and the others from the off. In truth, I fancied I would have a fast night, but of course the wind helps all riders. Ok, next week guys, I'll ride with you the whole return leg, unless optimism again gets the better of me.

I rode back with Tom as far as Rock Cottage, having stood guard of his bike whilst he made an emergency battery stop. Get some rechargeable ones Tom! We found the wind suddenly stronger and colder than on the first outward leg, both taking long turns at the front, limiting our chance of a chat. We did manage to discuss how hard we find it to ride significantly faster than we did six, twelve or more months ago. The necessary training takes more free time than we've got, what with work, wife and kids. Whilst we wait for the opportunity to begin our full Olympic and Tour training regime, we will continue to ride the chain gang, doing what we can to go faster or, at least, go no slower...

The moon again lit my way along Herbrand. This week, the fishermen were offshore, casting from the rocky flats uncovered by a long low tide, their rods lit last night by head torches. I rode on, no cars for the whole length of the road, the only sounds the swish of my tyres, the tick-tick of the crank and a muffled rattle from the tiny saddle bag over rough roads, the wind no longer roaring in my ears as it pushed me along.

This is the musical onomatopoeia of cycling, the soundtrack accompanying our rides - sometimes an irritant, other times reassuring - a combination of rhythms and breathy tunes that travel with us whatever the ride.

Neil Smith