Wednesday Chain Gang - Fast, Wet, Cold, Fun, Puncture, Fracture

Perhaps it was an omen - my ride up and down Galley Hill on the way to the start had an 'oh s***' moment as a runner appeared from nowhere, near-invisible in the dark. Day-glo green does not work in the dark chum, wear something reflective! Anyhow, disaster was averted and I was pleased to share with him some friendly advice on how to avoid being hit by speeding cyclists. Had I had more time, I would have taken the runner to meet Steve 'Gadget' Ferguson and see his flashing arm bands, stitched into the sleeves of his new floral-print cycling blouse. Yes, Steve C has finally passed on the mantle of 'Big Girl's Blouse' to Steve F, the latter no longer up for a second round of the chain gang or any slightly damp riding.

JV's proviz confuses the camera but cannot protect him from a very unfortunate tumble

The beach shelter and road around it filled steadily with riders from 7:10 onwards: having a chat, comparing notes, fiddling with saddle heights, sharing banter - the usual good-humoured exchanges that brighten our working week. In all, 25 or so riders assembled in time for the 7:27 start, with the 'ultras' pulling away first. The rest of us followed not long after they rounded the first bend, keen to make the Herbrand level crossing before the barriers dropped.

Stewart 'Lord' Buckland and I set off at the front against a stiff crosswind, buffeted from all sides as it bounced of the tall buildings on Bexhill front and swirled around the De La Warr. I fell in with John V and we talked about running injuries, my recent running career cruelly cut short before Olympic selection by a nasty achilles injury. We agreed that cycling is far less damaging to the body. But how cruel is fate, dear reader!

Once on the drag along the 'prom', we began riding through and off as a group of four: JV, me, Lord B and Terry. Another group was hanging off us, 10m or so back, as we turned left onto South Cliff and slowed as we worked our way uphill. This gave three of them a chance to catch us and we continued working together along Cooden Drive as the rain began, although it is fair to say that there remained a more experienced group within the group that rode more smoothly. Getting the pace right when on the front is the thing that many of us struggle with, either too fast or slow, rarely just right. Perhaps the riders behind should be less shy about telling the lead rider to slow down or speed up!

On we rode, with a high level of communication between riders with well-matched abilities, willing to hold back or push on as required. The most experienced in the group were willing also to give the less experienced of us tips and lead by example. It was great to take the front and not have to half-kill myself to do it, nor feel like I was reining myself in - a really satisfying ride.

We were a group of seven or so riders by the time we reached Spooky Hill. Alas, I found my legs lacking as the group powered up the slope, dropping first me and then Conrad before the crest. I dug deep, hoping to catch them on the descent, but of course they also sped up, maintaining the gap as we went right and then sharp left around the marsh bends. I caught Conrad on the nature reserve stretch and knew then that I had the legs to get back to the group, so I got my head down and pushed on, focusing on the road ahead.

At this point, I saw a bike lying on its side, the rider just getting up. JV was 'off', slipping on the wet and slightly frosty area of smooth tar in the middle of the road, knocking his levers offline but, more worryingly, nursing a sore wrist. We checked him and then the bike, warned approaching riders of the hazard, pulled straight those bits that were out of line, and watched John head back to Bexhill (with Conrad, I think) to wait for us at the lights. He looked fine, once over the initial shock of riding along and then suddenly finding himself lying in the road. He tells me that he's going for an x-ray this morning as the hand and wrist are rather swollen - hopefully all is well (see PS below).

Now, at this point, accounts differ. I rode on to Pevensey, so I cannot say for sure what happened. Lord B alleges that JV asked for mouth to mouth resuscitation; JV says that Lord B asked him for a kiss, as he found his freshly-shaved chops too tempting to resist, perhaps confusing JV with 'Betsy' the chamber maid or Robert, his favourite sheep. If I have to side with anyone, it will be JV - these landed gentry types are a funny bunch. We are not like your serving wenches Stewart, here for your every whim! Perhaps JV was trying to escape when he slipped - who knows, the details are sketchy.

We set off for Bexhill after some confusion at the roundabout over how many riders remained to arrive. The ultras took it a little easier than usual on the way back, given the uncertainty now planted in all our minds by JV's unplanned 'rest' in the road. The usual pattern returned of a group riding just off the back of the ultras, before they use their extra power on the hills to put more distance between us. The strava 'flybys' facility shows this very clearly, and also the sharp rise in speed as the ultras approach the end of the ride.

Gadget now takes over as wearer of the 'Big Girl's Blouse'

Stewart and I fell in together on the return leg, taking longish turns on the front, rather than constantly swapping the lead. We arrived back at the lights maybe a minute behind Barney, Michael, Alex and the others to find JV looking fine and dandy. All was well, apart from a sore wrist, he said. Perhaps stung by his earlier rejection, Lord B swiftly headed home, leaving me to escort Peter Buss back to the nursing home. It was my turn to mishear him this week: he said he is retiring - I heard 'I am retarded', with which I promptly agreed. Oh dear, confusion reigns. Where is matron when you need her?

I pushed on through the wind to the roundabout, taking care on an increasingly cold road - the grass turning silver with frost and the sleet stinging my face. Just as I noticed what looked like snow settling on the shingle on Herbrand Walk, I felt the back wheel go over a stone. Pop, FWIST, FWIST, Fwist, fwist, fwiss, fiss, fssss. Flat tyre and quickly too, very close to the place I got a flat tyre when last I rode with Steve 'Girl's Blouse' Ferguson (GB to his mates). Would I stop, fix it and freeze, or plough home on the flat? I ploughed on, not keen to get frostbitten fingers and bloody knuckles wrestling with the tyre in a strengthening and freezing wind. Home I rumbled, pausing at Cooden to check for damage.

I checked the tyre this morning for what I was sure would be a large cut in the tread, but found nothing. Two punctures in a Continental Four Seasons tyre is unusual, so maybe Peter B is right to say that cheap tyres are more durable.

Safe riding, Neil

PS JV reports a fractured scaphoid - that's the bone at the base of the thumb, often damaged when someone falls and with an outstretched hand. Eight weeks in plaster... Here's wishing you a swift and full recovery John.