The good (my first century), the bad (solo), the ugly (me for the rest of the evening)

With the Paris trip looming on the horizon it looked like only a weekend filled with misery and suffering would pave the way to a successful journey. I’m not talking about a Desperate Housewives boxed set or an afternoon watching Beaches, I’m talking about manly miles, on the road, in the heat.

One of the nice things about having a forum with the guys from the London to Paris trip is the ability to chat and get to know each other before the big off. One of the not so nice things is seeing all the mileage that others are clocking up and feeling inadequate. Information brings it’s own pressure…

I had decided that I wanted to complete a century ride in the hope that it would take away some of the anxiety I was feeling.
The route I planned was a quiet, country lane route down to Shoreham and then along the coast towards Brighton and back up and past Charlwood onto a reverse of the “club run” route. I figured that seeing familiar roads towards the end of the ride would spur me on.

I loaded up with plenty of snacks and set off at a relaxed, steady pace of around 17mph on the flats and less on the hills. No heroics, no out of the saddle efforts and the granny ring for any climbs to conserve energy.

By the time I got to Shoreham after 50 odd miles, I was feeling pretty fresh. It was pretty warm and I had been looking forward to an ice cream on the seafront for miles but arrived to find the only part of the UK coastline that prides itself on it’s industry. I ended up sat on the floor outside a newsagent eating a mini tub of Pringles.

Pushing disappointment aside, I carried on and started the climb back up onto the South Downs towards Devils Dyke. I then proceeded to take a wrong turning into the A27, down the big hill I’d just climbed and then looped back up, going 3 miles out of my way. Words can’t describe how low I was feeling at this point.

Coming off the Downs was a nice respite and I saw over 45mph on the speedo as I descended. My shorts almost saw similar trajectory speeds as tipped the bike in for the left hander at the bottom of the hill.

Miles ticked on and on as the route looked like it was never going to end. Riding solo is definitely a real challenge. The boredom is something that you just have to get used to. I found myself making a rhythm out of my pedal revolutions as my mind failed to think of things to amuse me.

70 miles was another low point. I guessed that I still had 40 miles to go and by now the heat was a nightmare. If someone pulled up in a car and offered me a lift, I’d have taken it.
The day progressed and as I got closer to home, it became beyond the point of quitting. What’s the point of giving up at 80 or 90 miles?
When I reached Charlwood, the familiar roads did help and I managed to carry on until the end.

I passed the 100 mile mark just after Reigate. I didn’t really know what I was expecting but the odometer clicked past 100 without celebration. What was I expecting? A bottle of Champagne to parachute down from the sky? My phone to ring and a personal “well done” from the Queen? I’d have settled for a little tune from my speedo but Garmin can’t even manage that…..

In total, I rode 112 miles and feel happy that I can now consider myself a proper cyclist….