Wednesday Chain Gang - Laurel and Hardy do battle with the Puncture Pixie

There was a fantastic turnout this week, with 25 or so riders out to enjoy the near windless and dry conditions. It was warm enough too, if you kept moving, but more on that later.

After some disagreement on what time to roll out, the ultras (without the most excellent Stuart Hodd) set off with just five riders, on time and not early this week. They looked over their shoulders rather forlornly for more riders to join them, but the main group looked back at them, then at each other, and clearly thought 'nah'.

Kie returns after a years absence performing in 'Tron'

With Lord Buckland chomping at the bit, the main group of 20 or so was soon chasing up the road after them, stretching into a long line of flashing red and white bicycles as we rode past the De La Warr. Somewhere along Bexhill front, his Lordship asked indignantly 'are we going to rotate then?' This was my cue to make the 'rotate' signal, turning my right hand in an anticlockwise direction; I've been waiting for this opportunity. I nearly fluffed it, such was my excitement, but I stretched out my arm and circled it as if stirring a large bowl of porridge. Very satisfying!

Big Sean Reed helps organise the 'Ultra's'

We rotated neatly and I found myself at the front as we came to South Cliff. Two pedestrians were nearing the junction and so I shouted 'left' to alert them. Our fast-arriving group of seven to nine riders included Peter 'I need a poo' Baker, John V, Dan S, Simon 'groaning' Grogan, his Lordship, John Maltby (strong, as ever) and Nick Sargent. I was quickly through the turn and felt strong up the hill, with Nick eventually taking the front somewhere near the top. We were working well as a group, with smooth transitions and a good overall pace. Nick's rear wheel was making worrying clicking noises and spinning irregularly, the cause later identified as some broken spokes. Lord B and I offered to straighten them with our feet, but he was not keen. We could've saved him a fortune, but money is no object to Nick, such is his property empire.

On we rode along Cooden, with John M taking the bend at the hotel at an incredible speed and angle of lean - his fearless cornering had me wincing in anticipation of the sound of grinding metal and lycra, but he made it round safely. We caught up with John on Herbrand. Then Malc D came out of nowhere and went off the front; we let him go and caught up with him too as we crossed the Herbrand Walk level crossing, the group continuing to work well together as we span along the winding marsh lane to arrive at Spooky Hill. I determined not to get dropped here, so I loitered at the back of the group, saving some energy for the short, sharp climb that so often does for me. Once we hit the hill, I came down the outside with a couple of others, feeling strong and pulling hard - for once, I felt like I had some strength in my legs.

Darren enjoys a few moments of quiet pre chain contemplation

The group was well matched, riding at an even pace and staying together on the descent to the wildlife reserves, maintaining good speed as we rounded the tight left hand bend. It was lovely to make this turn without riding straight into the teeth of a vicious gale and we continued a good group ride right to the end. Some of us could not resist putting in a burst on the sprint section, with a lead out from me giving his Lordship the slipstream he needed to reach the final bend first. His valet sprang from the hedge to give him a glass of champagne and some peanuts, which I thought was rather strange, but I guess being landed gentry can make you a bit eccentric. It's another world...

The return leg continued in similar but not quite as orderly fashion, with more sorting out to do after the mass start. I fell in with a similar group to the one I rode with on the outward leg, which was I think just off the back of the ultras. They pulled away once we got to Herbrand, taking JV with them but leaving us in their vapour trail. We kept them in sight all the way along Cooden Drive, but we couldn't get to them, and JV eventually fell into the no-man's land between the two groups. All in all, it was an excellent chain gang, with good pacey group riding. What a difference it makes not to battle the wind, and was I stronger because I hadn't ridden on Monday night?

Shirley is 'glowing' in her new winter gear

The second lap began with just Lord B, and me, but we were soon joined by Shaun and Steve F. Pootling along Herbrand, both Steve and I hit a large stone at the edge of the road. My rear tyre deflated - damn. Shaun rode on once he had made sure I had the kit to fix the puncture and Steve stayed with me to see 'how it's done', having never had a puncture! How is that fair? Anyway, with much swearing and 'assistance' from Steve, I got the new inner tube in place and stuck the CO2 cylinder on the valve. Up went the tyre in an instant; Steve was very impressed - 'what's that then, mister?' The only problem seemed to be a strange bulge in the valve area, but after some pinging and popping, the tyre settled down and was ready to ride on again.

Having not really planned to do a second lap, Steve turned towards Bexhill, riding about five metres before declaring 'I've got a puncture!'. I said 'oh dear' and started riding towards Pevensey - well, I was getting cold! Decency prevailed and I took pity on poor Steve, but first I asked whether he had a gadget for fixing punctures; apparently not. We were both getting colder. 'Let me do it, or I won't learn' said Steve. I did wonder if now was a good time, but I kept silent.

He had the bead over the rim in a jiffy, and then pulled out the mangiest looking inner tube I've ever seen. It had several twists in it and appeared to be made from liquorice. WTF? Steve pulled out the replacement tube and frankly it did not look much better - it too had several twists in it and looked like something you'd get from a market sweet stall. He started feeding the inner tube under the tyre, tucking it in as he went. Three turns of the wheel later and he was no further on, the tube determined to flop out of the rim as he went around. We were now both shivering.

Eventually, we decided to put some air into the tube. 'How much should I put in' asked Steve? 'Enough', I answered. 'How much is enough?' he said. Resisting the urge to strangle him with the inner tube, I said (with infinite and divine patience) 'THAT'S enough, stop NOW'. The tube now tucked neatly into the rim, but strangely it seemed as if the tyre had grown - it no longer fitted the wheel.

'What the f*** have you done Steve? You've stretched the tyre, haven't you?' I mumbled through numb lips.

'No, I never, I done nothing', he spluttered through chattering teeth.

So happy to get to ride a dry chain-gang for a change!

'You've stretched the tyre and now you must do the walk of shame or, worse, call your missus for the lift of utter humiliation' I cried, 'AND we're going to freeze to death!'

'I'm only here because you made me come, you selfish b*****d', he said, dribbling. 'I was going to go home, but you made me feel guilty, now look at us', he wailed.

This was all true. I decided that if Steve succumbed to the cold before me, I would bury him under a cairn of beach stones, as a mark of respect, with his bike perched on top, as a roadside shrine. Future chain gangs would slow as they passed it, offer a squirt from their water bottles, making the sign of the cross and mumbling a prayer. Building it would also warm me up before I rode home.

'Ok, let's try again - give it here' I said, snatching the wheel off him. Truly, the tyre was now large enough for a 30" wheel, if such things exist. When in doubt, start with what you know, and I knew that the tyre bead should be on at least one inside edge of the rim before levering over the other. Gradually, I worked the tyre onto the rim and, magically, it shrank back to its original size. 'Look at that, you see? It just needs the grip of an experienced hand' I said patronisingly. 'How did you do that?' said Steve, marvelling at my technical prowess. Frankly, having done it with numb hands, I was impressed too. 'I'll do it now!' Oh God, I thought, but it went well enough, if slowly, as we froze to the shingle and dripped snot everywhere.

A 'few' post chain drinks at The Standard for Ivan et al

'I hate cycling'.

'Me too, I'm finished with it, this is rubbish'.

'I'm going to burn my bike'.

'Me too, burn it, warm up - got any matches?'

We rode back to Bexhill as fast we could, desperate to generate some heat. It was not working; we were too cold and the faster we went the colder the wind felt. It was miserable and I was glad to get home. The garage felt like a tropical greenhouse and the kitchen like a furnace. The 30 minutes we spent on Herbrand fixing the punctures felt like an age - the colder we got, the more slowly time passed.

'Good ride darling?' asked my wife.

'Yes dear, lovely - bit chilly perhaps', as I headed straight for the microwave to warm up my hands...


Safe riding, Neil