And whistle by we certainly did! Conditions were very good last night with the warmth of the day still evident and a helpful east wind that did not overly hinder the homeward leg. I counted 30 riders at the start and others joined along the way, eager to make the most of a lovely evening, perhaps for the first time this year leaving the fleece-lined long trousers at home... The ultras made good speed on the outward leg and would have been faster still were it not for bothersome traffic lights at the De La Warr (why is it taking sooooo long?) and numerous traffic interruptions.
Pausing at the lights, we were aware that the next group would likely catch us. I looked round to see a mass of flashing front lights as they came past ‘The Italian Way’, but then the lights turned green and we were off again, eager to put some distance between us and the followers. The light wind at our backs was helpful without being too strong, making the pedalling pleasantly powerful and the pace brisk. Once clear of more messy traffic at the start of Western Parade, we increased the pace and rode in a tight group of 12 or so, holding a good line around South Cliff corner before powering up the slope, down the other side and on to Cooden Drive. I was riding behind Stuart Davis on his fluorescent orange bike, watching some doo-dad spinning on his rear hub. I decided that the bike was brighter than usual and the control panel on his handlebars must include a brightness dial, a theory later confirmed as he rode back to Bexhill in a pool of luminous orange light, his wheels floating an inch above the road as he engaged hyper-drive…
Traffic from the right split the group, but those of us who had made it through the turn waited for the others to re-join before accelerating again to the turns at the hotel – the left bend just before the short hill, then the 90 degree right and 90 degree left onto Herbrand. I gave Neil Shier some abuse at this point, for no particular reason other than it is good for him, and then hopped up out of the saddle to keep in with the main group. I was working hard but making good progress and a grin forced its way onto my face.
We were all eager at this point to up the pace further, but as warned by Major CJ Parker the road was quite badly covered with shingle, spat onto the road by cars that park at the top of the beach. Some made it through without losing speed, but I and others slowed down, the stones too numerous to avoid and potentially big enough to send your front wheel out from under you. Hazard negotiated, the group reformed and again built up speed. Even with this interruption, I was only one second off my personal record time for Herbrand. We were very much ‘on it’ last night, averaging 26mph along this stretch and pushing 30 mph in other spots.
On we sped, over the level-crossing, hacking around the bends and past the Star Inn, meeting more traffic as we rode to Normans Bay. The pace stayed high around the right hand bend and we flew up Spooky Hill, in stark contrast to many of my efforts over the winter. I stayed with the group up the hill and down the other side, hanging onto the tail of the group by the time we got to the bends by the nature reserve, but hang on I did with some space only opening as we got near the final straight. I think I saw two go off the front and the others gave chase, but I was happy to ease past one rider and make claim that I have, finally, ridden the whole outward leg with the ultras. Hurrah!
The return leg began in a straggly manner with a few riders heading off early and a few giving chase, me included. I became aware of a rider following close behind me, grunting and growling. I admit I was a little disconcerted, but I rode on, trying hard to reach the group ahead. The ultras-proper swept by – sleek, slick and swift – so my grunting companion and I tagged on. The effort required drew more grunts from him behind, some snarls and an expletive too. Aha! I recognised the native tongue of a Normans Bay resident. It could only be Peter B, clearly meaning business as he thrashed his pedals harder and harder, determined to stay with the big-boys. Alas, neither he nor I could keep up beyond the top of Spooky Hill – my legs were 90% lactic acid after the outward leg, and Peter’s legs were, well, feeling their age shall we say?
But no matter, we rode a good two-up back across the marshes and back to the sea, passing John V fixing a puncture. I glanced behind at the end of Herbrand Walk and saw a group of wobbling, flashing front lights coming closer. As Peter and I rode up the Cooden Corner slope I tried to warn him:
“The pack is gaining Peter!”
“Whaaarrrrr?” he roared (clearly not wearing his hearing aid last night).
“THE PACK IS GAINING PETER!” I bellowed.
“AAArrrr? Snaaarrrr! Bleeerrrrrraaaarrrrrgghhh!” (no translation available).
I upped the pace, hoping to lose Peter as he was obviously undergoing some sort of transformation, like Harry H Corbett in ‘Carry on Screaming’. What did he have in his water bottle? But he was hanging on like a limpet, riding in a deranged and manic manner; I could not shake him.
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| Nick Feeling Fit After Paris Ride last Week |
Salvation came as the following group caught us and a very polite gentleman on a nice powder-blue steel-framed bicycle took us in hand and disciplined the group. I think we were seven in all, including the excellent Tom Norris on the Bianchi Bomber. We rotated up and down the Cooden Bump, the speed rising all the while, and with Peter still very much in the mix. Tom hit the front and went for it, chin on the stem, legs pumping furiously. But I was tucked in behind and feeling strong, waiting for the right moment to pounce and beat him to the lights. Half a kilometre out I made my move, flicking to the right and powering through, spinning the cranks as fast as I could. Tom let out his war-cry, Peter howled like a werewolf and I pressed on harder lest either of them caught me.
Pulling in to the kerb in a controlled and calm manner, Tom and I shook hands after a hard-fought ride. Peter was on the pavement, coughing and spluttering as the effects of his potion wore off and he returned to ‘normal’. I waved nervously and his eyes registered dim recognition. He would be alright.
“Good ride Peter?” I enquired.
“Oh yes, splendid, thank you, really spiffing. I’ve got my bestest wheels on the bike tonight and I gave the tubes a jolly good polish before I came out” he gushed.
I smiled nervously, not really sure which Peter I preferred. Tom, Neil S, Ruth and I shepherded him home and waved him off near the entrance to his cave, his little face aglow with the pride of his achievements. Well done Peter!
Neil Smith (yes really this week – I didn’t ride the chain gang last week…).
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