Wednesday Chain Gang - Double Dozen in Dazzling Dash!

There was a great turn out last night, with 24 riders ready to bravely face a strong south westerly wind. An earlier trip around Bexhill had prepared me for the wind, but we were all keen to get out for our fast mid-week training session, perhaps thinking more about the wind-assisted return leg than the outward grind. The group was in such good spirits that it was too busy talking to notice the time, until the utterly awesome Stuart Hodd called us to order and rolled out with the ultra-fasts.

Even The 'Awesome' Stuart Hodd Can Suffer A Pre Chain-Gang Puncture

The rest of us waited long enough for the smell of burning rubber to dissipate before riding out after them - heads down and teeth gritted for a tough outward leg in which we would need to work together to reduce the pain. The second group made good headway, despite the wind, with Tom 'Iron Legs' Norris forcing the pace along the sea front, up South Cliff and westward on Cooden Drive. It was more than I could do to keep up and, despite closing the gap by the Cooden Hotel, I was soon dropped to make a solo ride across the marsh, chasing the distant red light of another rider dropped from that group.

The wind was a strong and persistent bully. I made myself as small as I could and welcomed any respite I could find - the bungalows and beach huts on Herbrand; the hedgerows leading to the Star Inn; and the flint walls near Spooky Hill. I span onwards up Spooky Hill, reaching the top and being hit by the wind. I dropped back down to the marsh, before turning west again into the teeth of the gale. Bloody Hell.

A big crowd of riders was waiting at the roundabout for me and the other stragglers, chatting and drinking before starting the return journey. Peter Buss and Steve C came into view and the ultras took this as their cue to head back to Bexhill. Right... here we go again, but at least the wind would be with me, a friend now and not a foe.

The faster riders split away near Spooky Hill and I fell in with a small group that I did not immediately recognise. Greatly relieved to have the wind at my back, I rode up the west slope at a decent lick, only to become aware of a ticking-clicking noise growing stronger on my right side. Could it be..? Yes, the flat-back came into the periphery of my vision and I knew that Tom was overtaking me, his dicky bottom-bracket announcing his presence as surely as, well, an announcement. I pressed a bit harder on the pedals, but he got past me, making a 'neeeoooowwwww' noise, such as small boys make when pretending to be racing cars.

It annoyed the hell out of me and, at that moment, I hated him. I shouted that I was 'going to get the little bastard' to Simon G and pelted after him. We reached the flat top of the hill and I waited a moment so that I would have the momentum of the downward east slope before riding past him, leaning into his ear and shouting 'NEEEOOOOWWWWW!!!!'. It felt GOOD! Ha! Tom made a range of noises designed to put me off my pedal stroke, but I ignored him (I know his tricks of old) and kept pushing on, my temper subsiding as quickly as it had flared up.

Great Performance From Newbie Jamie On Only His Second Chain-gang

Tom passed me again and I realised we were now playing the 'neeeoooowwwww' game in earnest, as he again made that ridiculous sound. F***, I'm not having that... So, I passed him again and, yes, made a short, sharp 'neeooowwww' sound as we neared the level crossing. On we rode, alternating the lead in our petty but strangely rewarding duel, with Simon G hanging on as we rode fast along Herbrand. On one pass, I was too out of breath and on the edge of laughter to make the noise - Tom complimented me on my restraint.

I led as we reached the turn onto Cooden Drive, the three of us jockeyed for position as we hit the short climb up from the hotel. I went wide to keep my speed up, but went too far out to avoid the drain cover. Simon pulled ahead with Tom behind him, so I rode to his right to box him in, but he slipped out and made a gap of 20 metres or so as we reached the top. 'Let's get him!' I shouted to Simon, my arch-nemesis from last year, but now my ally against the evil Bianchi Bomber. Tom was riding strongly and we had to work hard for the length of Cooden Drive to catch him, but catch him we did, slapping him on the back of the head as we went by. For good measure, I also eased past Simon. Ridiculous, but fun, and good to feel like I'd worked really hard.

With the drama of the ride behind us Tom, Peter and I rode back to Cooden. Peter had no front light, his tarmac-melting headlamps having packed up after 18 months of near-daily use. He now has just the  'Ebay Special' Moon copies from China, but they are very good actually, although they shine brightly rather than throwing light forward. They are small and cheap enough to buy two, having one in your pocket as a back-up. Bargain.

We paused at the border with Normans Bay, the searchlight sweeping no-man's land and the guards shouting insults in their strange, guttural tongue. We ignored them and admired Tom's new rear light - no more zip-ties, shock! It looks very neat, one of those 'shield' lights, from memory. Peter explained that Steve 'Gadget' Ferguson was not out because he had some electrical problems and did we know a decent electrician who could help him? I suggested that Steve had probably overloaded his RCD board with an inverted power surge, plugging in all his lights, cameras, bike computers and bar-end indicators at the same time. Peter and Tom nodded in sage agreement.

We then listened at length to Peter's complicated pre-BBR and BBR arrangements, and how one was on a Sunday and not a Saturday, the 'special' to Brighton, but that was a one-off, not setting a precedent, and.... I was woken by Tom saying we should head off now as it was starting to get light.

We rode a two-man chain to the roundabout into a strengthening wind and talked about (whispers...) new bikes. Gulp. We are both thinking about something for the winter, perhaps with disc brakes and a loud paint job, perhaps able to take mudguards, perhaps also made from some alien-technology material that makes a frame weighing less than a pound. Then I remembered that there are already frames that weight not much more than that. Just amazing, when you think about it - the weight of half a bag of sugar and capable of bearing a bloke of 14 stone travelling at 50mph down a bumpy hill. Actually, when I consider that I think I might like a frame with a bit more beef to it!

Neil