A very proud gang indeed

Lance Armstrong says that one of the proudest feelings he has on a bike is when he's out training in weather no one else dares go out in. Every mile is a mile gained on those who chose to stay at home. Every turn of the pedals a break away. Tonight the depleted chain-gang of six were a very proud gang indeed.

We pushed out along Bexhill promenade and very soon I found it difficult to keep my eyes open. It was as if I had dustbin lids for eyes. It seemed not a single icy rain coated lump of grit wasn't destined for my retinas. Scything straight through my corneas at great velocity off the wheel in front. Stuart Hodd, Barny Willard, Simon Newall, myself and (apologies) a couple of Eastbourners whose names I missed, made good time along to Cooden and were surprised and pleased to find Herbrand Walk has had a little new tarmac laid. Stuart exorcising his demons having impact punctured on this very patch before the repair a couple of weeks ago.

With six very evenly paced riders we made a very efficient six man break away. Each man came through strong and took his turn at the front as we made our way to Pevensey, aided by a slight tailwind. We reached the roundabout together and said farewell to our Eastbourne comrades. I recounted tales of cobbles, Cancellara and riding the famous concrete velodrome as the hazy sun came up on my recent trip to Roubaix. Barny amazed us with his seventh place overall in his recent Tour of Crete, elbowing Italians over dusty mountain passes. And with those heady clement moments now seeming but distant memories we performed a hasty turnaround and headed back into the fierce night towards Cooden before we took on any more water.

Into a stiff headwind and driving rain the four of us again showed good pace and rotation. The wind was brutal and stopped me in my tracks on a couple of occasions when taking my turn at the sharp end of our plucky quartet. Soaked to the skin we were soon onto the final sprint to the lights. Barny pulled alongside me at the head of bunch, and it seemed the group was stalling, preparing for the sprint, positioning, breaking ranks. Having toiled like a band of brothers along the marsh road now we were about to betray and deceive our own kin. Stuart went first, closely followed by Simon, Barny and I responded. We regrouped. Barny attacked and I just managed to hold his wheel, as he seemed to fade I tried to capitalise and went myself. As Stuart and Simon came back at me, Barny launched another surprise attack shooting past us all and opening a bit of a gap. My lungs burst to stay in touch. As we neared the lights Stuart came through strong with Simon tucked in behind.

We didn't hang around and headed straight back to Hastings as the weather seemed to deteriorate further, giving us a good hiding up and over Galley Hill. Stuart and I who are suckers for an incline had a nice tussle up the slope, to keep warm if nothing else. Along St. Leonards sea front I took my final turn up front, using the last fumes of energy I had in my legs to give my team a little tow before I peeled off up Maze Hill. As I heard them hiss and slice off into the night my steaming breath bellowed from my lungs.

A very proud gang indeed.       

Trevor Deeble.