The Hell of Herbrand

Hate; hate, hate, hate; double-hate; loathe entirely! My early morning walk to the station was promising - quite warm with a wind to dry the roads. But by the time I’d got home, the south coast drizzle had made the roads wet again. It bugged me, but for the time of year it remains very mild with no chance of ice. After a whole week off the bike (Christmas and family chores interfering far too much) and I was mad keen for a good mid-week blast, the perfect way to start my Christmas break.

So, we all know how it unfolds when the wind is from the south-west: a tough outward leg with a super-charged return. I felt like Mark Cavendish with the wind but rode like an old man with shopping bags on the handlebars when riding into it. And so it proved, with 10 riders starting out into a stiff wind as a single group, with chins on the stem and looking for riders to shelter behind.  The excellent Stuart Hodd suggested I lead out so he could do exactly that; I warned him I would be slow and it wasn't long before he smoothly span past me.

 By the time we reached South Cliff I was at the tail-end of a group of six riders, the ‘super-fasts' having quickly sorted themselves into a rapid, stronger peloton. I knew I would be dropped by the top of the hill and I soon watched their rear lights move away into the blustery breeze. I glanced behind to see a couple of bright lights a few hundred metres behind. I hoped they would catch me but I wasn’t prepared to slow to let them do that, so I pressed on alone, gasping along Cooden Drive and knowing that however tough it was at that moment, the worst was yet to come… If Father Christmas could bring me just one thing, I would ask for a sprinkling of the awesome power with which some club members are able to ride. I guess I'll just have to work harder for it.

In the damp friendless dark, beyond the point at which streetlights are lit and houses line the road, past the rotting wooden beach huts and teeth-like concrete bollards, a ribbon of uneven tarmac lies waiting to extract cold revenge on the riders who dare sully its gritty surface – schadenfreude for the reckless and uninvited abandon with which we skitter along the black, tarry lane. On one side, shingle creeps towards the road edge, pushing you towards sunken drain covers. On the other, a ragged chain link fence hopes to snag your bar-ends or rip your knees. Its ally is the wind, tearing across the sea, hurling lumps of wood, fishing net and plastic bags across your path. I gritted my teeth and ground my way forward, turning at Cooden and then at the station, grimly determined, riding like Bismark with a mix of ‘blood and iron’. The ‘Hell of Herbrand’ awaited me…

Well, I survived of course. I’ve endured worse rides along that road. I think that somewhere along there or near the Star Inn I came up behind a rider in a flapping yellow cagoule, labouring forward alone, his super-flat-back and clicking bottom-bracket giving away his identity as Tom Norris. We rode as a pair to the Pevensey roundabout, fighting hard to arrive first in the final stretch but drawing level and with honours even. The riders behind didn’t catch us but were soon revealed as Simon G and Peter Buss, who had also enjoyed a good pairs ride across the marshes. Somewhere behind them was John Stainsby but he did not show, despite us waiting some time for his arrival.

After the pain of the ride there, we were all eager for the wind-assisted cruise back to Bexhill, setting out again as one group and again splitting early into two similar-ability groups. In the front group of five were Stuart H, Barney and Alex, amongst others. In the second group was Simon G, Peter Buss, Tom and myself – Doner und Blitzen, Dasher and Dancer - but without the fat bloke in a sleigh. We picked up John ‘Comet’ Vidler near Spooky Hill and rode an excellent through and off for the return leg, greatly helped by the wind. We saw John S still making his way to Pevensey, and I think also Dan and one other who had joined the chain gang party rather late. Peter in particular rode strongly, perhaps experiencing for the first time the buzz that comes with fast group riding. This time I competed in the final sprint with Simon G but again honours were shared and there were smiles all around.

Christmas good wishes were duly shared amongst the hardy band of chain gang brothers who had braved the torrid conditions. Peter, Tom and I rode west again, so this time I had some company for the fight across Herbrand. We saw John S on his return leg and talked about our Christmas and New Year riding plans, performing the juggling act that we all must in the holidays between spending longed-for time with family, time eating and resting, and fulfilling the need to ride as much as possible before work returns to rob us of time and fitness, spoiling the mood of the season like a jar of sauerkraut spilling over your Christmas pudding.

 Merry Christmas to all Hastings and St Leonards club members and their families – I hope you all manage to get out on the bike as much as you would like or are able to!

 Chain gang meets again next Tuesday. Come along and fight the podge!

Neil S