We set off as two groups, or at least that was the plan. There was a clump of 10 or so super-fasts that set off more or less together, followed by an indeterminate string of riders that was neither ‘Arthur nor Martha’. Anyhow, we sorted ourselves into a middling group of 7 or so riders, but I think the tone was set in those first few minutes – for the rider wanting the purist chain-gang experience there was frustration as well as satisfaction last night, and a bit of drama too.
Our intentions were honest and earnest: to ride as a group, rotating the front, taking our turns as much as we were able and communicating our intentions to each other. Well, none of us is perfect, and soon our ideals met with the sour crab apple of reality. It started well enough with each rider performing well in the group. Paul Baxter showed great attitude after the lambasting of last week, staying with the group and trying hard to ride to the high expectations of the more vocal riders, if not yet quite getting the hang of easing off when taking the front. Chapeau Mr Baxter, chapeau!
The pace rose on the marsh stretches and so with it rose the challenge of keeping a smooth rotation. As the required effort increased, not everyone was able to make it down the outside and take the front, but getting this message through to the front and middle of the group was not easy. This was clearly frustrating for some and confusing for others, but understandable if you were near enough to the last rider to know they needed a rest
 |
| The Original 'Men In Black'! |
But a good pace was maintained, even if it was not ridden smoothly. I’m not sure what happened next, but somewhere toward the end of the outward leg there were words. Harsh words. Words you would not use if Granny were in the room. One very naughty word indeed. My blushes were lost in the darkness and I instinctively hunched over, ducking to avoid the flaming tirade. Blimey, that was a bit strong – steady does it!
A sort of hush and forced politeness fell over the group and we made it to the turn without further incident. I did a lap of the roundabout and rode into the layby, the protagonists in the exchange engaged in conversation. I think there was a misunderstanding. I think also there was something in the stars last night – we all seemed rather pumped up and on a short fuse. Perhaps Mars was in Venus, or Saturn was in Uranus, but I thought the expectations of a very mixed group were higher than most could live up to. Happily, kinder words were spoken, explanations made, hands shaken and water bottles drunk from as we waited for the later arrivals.
The return leg is always more freeform, and so it was last night. I abandoned again any idea of riding with the super-fasts and instead rode with a group of four – Simon G, I think John S and another – across the marshes, picking up Ivan along the way and making good time with the west wind at our backs. Some bloke with a beard was in a gateway and he too joined us, to be revealed as John V, clearly just returned from an expedition to somewhere colder than the south coast. It transpired that he had been late leaving home and had ridden like fury to join the gang, ruining his legs in the process (nicely shaved this week John, unlike your chin).
This motley crew rumbled on, catching and carrying Mr B nearer Cooden, becoming quite a rapid mini-peloton as we saluted the club president on Cooden Drive. Onward we swept, past the chequered board, propelled by the wind and the adrenaline of the ride toward the lights. A few of us broke away to make a final fast arrival, enjoying the buzz of riding at full-throttle.
I rode back to Cooden and then Normans Bay with Stewart B (note spelling this week matey) and Peter ‘Potty-Mouth’ Buss. We discussed some of the random followers we seem to get on Strava. Peter collects all the totty; I get hairy blokes. Life is unfair but I guess it’s mostly about how we deal with the disappointments and disagreements that matters more (shut the **** up Neil, you patronising %£$@%!).
As is my habit, after bidding Peter a good night, I rode up Spooky Hill to Rock Cottage, into that sharp cold wind, before turning to pelt downhill and ride hard with the wind behind me, back to town. It was a beautiful night. The clear sky was full of stars, with the moon over half full and shining a cool silver light that made the night feel colder, gleaming on the bike’s salty-white tyres. Jupiter shone to the east of the moon and the Plough made crooked progress across the furrowed firmament. Life felt good, as it so often does after a chain gang ride, but I was also cold. I realised that I was not really sweating. Time for the well-earned warmth of home and a hot dinner!
Regards, Neil
No comments:
Post a Comment