Poetry in Motion – Wednesday Chain Gang

Last night was the smoothest and most disciplined chain gang I’ve ridden in, from start to finish. Conditions helped; although it was cold, the moderate wind was mostly across us and the roads were dry. Group sizes were also about ideal, with 9 riders in the super fasts and 8 in the fasts (or wannabes, as some would have it). It was good to see Tom Norris back, as well as the usual smattering of regulars.

The ‘supers’ went off first and were soon clear of the rest of us, before all were caught at the temporary lights at the De La Warr. The fasts kept a respectful distance as the ‘supers’ practised their track-stands, their awesome power crackling through the night air, a small herd of racing fillies waiting for the rope to fly up at Epsom. Meanwhile, a few cars back, the Clydesdales and Shires huffed and puffed, looking for hay and sugar-cubes…

As is the norm, we rode mostly single-file until clear of the worst of the cars on Western Parade, and then started properly rotating the lead. Seven riders took turns, with a rider hanging on the back to improve his fitness, quite properly calling us through.

And so it stayed all the way to the roundabout at Pevensey. Nothing much to report – we took turns, everyone called ‘last man’ or ‘clear’ and the pace was maintained – it was lovely locomotion. The group showed only a slight sign of strain after climbing Spooky Hill, but quickly reformed. Quick, smooth and efficient, we could have kept going like that for some miles more. It was almost, well, boring, but it takes concentration and some skill to accomplish that. The thing riders seem to find most difficult is easing off when taking the front, me especially, but I took advice and went up a gear and found this a good way to match the speed of the group.

I tried pepping things up with some carefully directed swearing. A few well-chosen words were passed to Peter B in the hope he might bite back. Nothing doing. I tried again. Nope, nothing at all, not a flicker – he was a model of self-control. I moved on to Stewart B. No joy there either. I abandoned my childish game, the grown-ups having won 3-0. Killjoys!

After brief congratulations at the layby, we were quickly on our way again. I threw caution to the wind and set off after the ‘supers’ in what became a pathetic attempt to live with the Kings (and Queens) of Speed. My breathing was soon ragged and I was dropped within a kilometre of the restart. Oh the shame of it! I pressed on, the wind more against me than with me on the return leg, and waited for the others to catch me.

Before long, I was riding with John V, John S and Simon G. We experienced another perfectly executed chain gang ride all the way to the lights (well, nearly – I found myself at the front with 100m to go and went for it, only to have that scoundrel Simon sneak up the inside). More congratulations were shared and we all felt pretty pleased with ourselves.

As per usual, I rode back to Normans Bay with Peter B. We talked about cycling-related books we’ve read lately. For amusement, my literary colleague and I recommend ‘Gironimo’ by comedian Tim Moore, in which he rides a 100 year old bike around the course of the 1914 Giro D’Italia, reputedly the toughest ever tour race. He’s very good at swearing. I’d also recommend ‘One Man and His Bike’ by Mike Carter, describing his often funny experiences riding 5,000 miles around the UK coast. Both are a good read, although we noted that our partners were often less than amused by our constant chuckling.

A highlight for me of any night-ride is a clear sky and a full moon. Last night was a beauty, especially on Herbrand Walk, where free of the need to stare at the bike in front I could soak up the moonlight, shining onto the road and bouncing off the sea like a night-sun, too nice to rearrange.

 

Regards, Neil