Slav joined the group somewhere around Marina Court (I hope I got your name right), making nine for the night: he joined the fabulous Stuart Hodd, Barney, Peter B, Ruth S, Suze, Steve D, me and that rascal Tom Norris. That is the first time we have had two female riders on the chain gang this season, I believe. We rode in a restrained manner along Bexhill front, two-abreast for the most part. The traffic and wind was light and the road surface damp with salted water.
The stronger riders didn’t seem to be going that much slower than usual and soon pulled away on Cooden Drive, leaving me in a group of three with Peter B and Steve - must try harder. We rotated the lead across the marshes, avoiding the icy edges. In truth, the road surface was fine. The road had been gritted and the temperature was still, I think, a little above freezing. Three of the group had ridden this part of the route on their way to the start and reported it as clear. I had also driven the route in the afternoon, checking in particular the parts of the road that are often wet and that might therefore freeze. The only ice was in the gutters and potholes, with the south side of the western descent from Spooky Hill the worst. Keeping well out from the side of the road was the sensible precaution to take, as well as taking it steady on the bends, as you would on any damp ride.
But sometimes these conditions play tricks on you. Did I sense a bit of back wheel movement on Herbrand, or was that my imagination? You know it takes just a small patch of ice to unseat you, so you ride on tenterhooks. But riding too cautiously can be as bad – you need also to ride with confidence and keep things smooth. The spouts of water drops shooting from the front wheel reassured me that the road was not frozen and so I pressed on, making reasonable progress in the three man group. Well rested, Steve decided to pull away early, perhaps mistaking our location. I dug deep and pulled past him to the layby, the super-fasts already in place, chatting, steamy breath rising into the cold night air.
It was not a night for dilly-dallying; Stuart soon had us whipped into shape and we were ready to make the return leg. The super-fasts again pulled away but appeared to slow so that Tom, Steve, Peter and I could catch them. A message came up the line that Peter was feeling unwell, having been ill for a few days but determined to ride the chain gang. He was heading home at Normans Bay.
The shelter of the group gave me fresh legs. I tucked in behind Barney and Stuart, the latter shouting that ‘we won’t go too fast so try to keep up’. I resolved to do my best but I know that their moderate pace can still be 1 or 2 mph too fast for me. I hung on up and down Spooky Hill, past the Star Inn where I took a turn at the front, through the level crossing and along Herbrand. Slav went off the front again and I tried to pull past Barney and Stuart to take another turn at the front. I didn’t have the legs, apologised to Barney and pulled in behind. A stitch started in my ride side, stapling my right lung to my ribs, shortening my breath. And that was that – the guys pulled away and Ruth overtook me to join them. They rode smoothly but steadily away, with Slav turning at Cooden to ride back to Eastbourne.
As I climbed the short slope from Cooden I became aware of a light behind, bright and flashing. I recognised it’s frequency and shape as belonging to the ‘Bianchi Bomber’, that sturdy steed ridden with determined zeal by my arch nemesis. Yes, Tom ‘Red Socks’ Norris was catching me up. I let him, knowing we would rotate our way to the traffic lights, cooperating with most of the way, before trying to get the better of each other by the finish.
We took turns along Cooden, playing cat and mouse, pulling past but not easing off too much, making the other rider work that bit harder with each manoeuvre. Tom pedalled hard up Cooden Bump, but I hung on grimly. He seemed strong and I thought I’d do well to keep on his wheel at this rate.
We swooped down the other side and Tom was still riding hard, despite my bike generally being faster downhill than most. “Crap” I thought, “I’m glad I caught the bugger but that’s all I’ll do from here.”
He kept pedalling hard but somehow I kept in touch. We rode fast past the crossroads, keeping our speed, no chat, just serious endeavour, determined riding, and hard cycling. The road rises slightly at this point and I was still holding on, but only just. Tom still seemed strong, pushing himself lower and longer over the bike. And then came the classic Norris tactic of crying out as if wounded, as if he has blown.
But I know of old that this is a ruse, a deception to lull rivals into thinking you’ve got him beat and make you hesitate for half a pedal-stroke, only to see him pull away again with fresh energy. I really thought he might. Did I want to be beaten, I asked myself, so close to the end of the ride? Was I going to let him beat me mentally before I’d given my all?
“You bastard”, I thought, “I’ll get you Tom Norris!” I went for it, urging myself forward.
For those few moments when the road slopes gently downward and the lights come into view, I hated him, deliberately and cruelly. “I’m going to grind your bones” I said to myself. I dug deep, pressed harder and faster on the pedals, sucking in as much air as I could. I found I was gaining on him - yes! I pulled to the right to pass him and cycled harder still, ready to bust a gut to get past.
I was sure he’d match me, find some extra pace with which to hold me off, but no, I was pulling away, ‘through and off’, holding the front, Tom’s curses ringing out behind me as I put the final stamp on my ascendancy, before braking hard to pull into the roadside outside the brightly-lit estate agents. Tom pulled up to my right, put-out his hand and we shook – my hatred only temporary and purely for the purpose of motivation. Tom and I remain as we have all year: close rivals on good terms, respectful of each other but keenly competitive.
We rode back toward Eastbourne with Ruth. By the time you read this she will have competed in her first Cat 3/4 road race, for ERCC I think. She should do well, judging by her performances in the chain gang. My ride home from Rock Cottage was through increasingly cold air but I don’t think it ever quite reached zero and there is a noticeable rise in temperature as you enter town.
No doubt, many of you will wonder why we rode on such a cold night with the risk of icy roads; I did too! There was a fair bit of debate on whether to ride or not but ultimately we all made an informed decision and, as reported above, the route was checked and then ridden with appropriate care.
And so ended the 2014 chain gangs. We’ve had some great turnouts and many memorable rides. To me, they’re all memorable! The New Year brings new training aims, first of all for me is to lose some weight. Second, to see if I can stay a bit longer with the super-fasts…
See you all next Wednesday for the first chain gang of 2015.
neil
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