Record start To The Weds Chaingang Season

Record Turnout Of 29 Riders!

A still and balmy evening greets the massed ranks of the first Wednesday night chaingang of the year. The redundant wind shelter meeting point stands quietly along side us, a threatening spectre of what we have begun. Soon we will cower and huddle under its roof, dodging the hailstones with numb hands and feet before braving the snowdrifts and darkness. Tonight though, twenty-nine glistening riders roll out towards the marshes into the setting sun.

It’s wonderful to see so many clubs represented, with friends from Eastbourne, InGear, WyndyMilla, ASL360, Giant and others joining the Hastings fold.

Steve Curtis leads the Light Brigade down through Bexhill and by South Cliff the pace is beginning to be injected by the leaders. Unlike others, the Hastings chaingang is more like breakaway training rather than a traditional through-and-off chain. Riders reach the front and push on as hard as they can before flicking the elbow and beckoning the next rider through. Like a breakaway, if you find yourself in a splintered group going down the road it is good form to take your turn at the front, even if it’s only for a short spell and serves only to keep the rhythm. If you can’t come through then you’re welcome to come along for the ride, but don’t try to out sprint the ones who have pulled you down the road. This is poor form. As often happens, particularly on dark winter nights, a group will get away before reaching the marsh road and a chase group will form, having to work together to close the gap. The beauty of the Hastings chain is that riders of a similar pace naturally gravitate together and everyone gets something from the ride. We reconvene at Pevensey Roundabout and regale one another with our own particular tales of joy and suffering.

Tonight the lead group consists of around ten riders. We’re holding a decent pace along Sluice Lane. I find myself towards the rear of the group and notice that most of the pulling is being done by only a few riders, the rear guard not getting through. I need to move up of my own accord. I pick Spooky Hill and ease up to the lead over the crest before putting the hammer down on the gradual decent. When spent, I find the ever-present Stuart Hodd ready to come through, he hits the front and pushes on hard. As we approach the final turns before the roundabout, after which is the traditional little sprint, I enthuse him to carry on his superb leadout. Barny Willard, Nathan Fletcher and few others, some of whom I hadn’t seen at the windy edge of the pack, get on the gas early and come past for a nice roll to the stop in the hard standing in front of the gate before Pevensey roundabout.

Max returns After a year's Absence

After a brief flurry of conversation, including tales of Barny’s superb second place at Preston Park Velodrome on Monday having gained a lap on the field in a three-man break, some drink and food is taken onboard. Soon everyone has arrived and we turn around and head for home. The light is now fading, but it is still pleasantly warm. If anything there is a slight tailwind and light of foot we whip along the flats. Taking care around the tight turns and bridges a lead group of around eight or nine reach Cooden beach and begin to crank it up for the run into the traffic lights by Bexhill Library. I’m planning to lead-out and pick the rise past South Cliff to hit the front, Barny has the same idea, so I fight to hold the wheel up the hill and hit for home with everything I have over the crest. Sir Wiggins talks about longing for ‘the open road’. The moment when all the jostling and jockeying for position is over and all you have is tarmac in front of you. That time when the preciously preserved glass of water that is your energy, carefully sipped from, not wanting to waste a drop can suddenly be turned upside down on your head. Let it all out. It’s comforting to know even Tour De France winners still get nervous riding in big groups. I see the lights in the distance and give it one last drop before being passed by four or five riders with fifty yards or so remaining. To me the Wednesday chaingang it’s not about who arrives first but the style with which you get there. Ride well, take your turn, maintain form, and above all be safe.  

Here we again reconvene by the traffic lights before some go their separate ways and the chain begins to break down. Back past the now lonely shelter, returned for another week to jam sandwiches, flasks of tea and rough sleepers. As we climb Galley hill in the twilight the sea is a lightly rippling millpond. My jersey is still unzipped to the waist.

As darkness falls, so does the curtain on the first Wednesday night chaingang of the year. It’s like being reintroduced to an old enemy, seemingly mellowed with age, benign and forgiven, yet inevitably and all too soon, will again show its true icy colours.            

Trevor Deeble.