Back from the first 400 of the year, and am being told about it in No
Uncertain Voice by bits of me that Heineken daren't mention. Herewith
some STULL:
The major topic of discussion at the start was the weather forecast. I
chose to ignore it, on the Michael Fish Principle and instead spent the
time eating biscuits and debating whether to wear my gilet or not.
I didn't.
Off we go zoom zoom and everything is Jim, or even Bob, Dandy until we
reached the foot of Ide Hill, atop which some uncaring soul had chosen
to place an Info Control after what The Mgt said was 6 km and I reckoned
was 7.5. Such discrepancies were not uncommon throughout the ride, and
I'm sure I didn't imagine Maidstone moving 13 km to the east while we
were grovelling up Hollingbourne and White Hills.
But anyway.
For a while after that we were following the latter stages of the
Invicta 300's route, but soon went into uncharted territory. And very
nearly into the front of the bin wagon ascending a 14% hill down which I
was proceeding at Grin Factor 9. Across some gently rolling territory
to the first control at Peasmarsh, where feasting on ham rolls and
coffee was the order of the day.
davek had left not long after I arrived at Peasmarsh, but I caught him,
soon after spotting a dead badger (which elicited such a cry of pleasure
that it caused alarm and consternation among the group I was sometimes
with), while helping a Foreign-sounding gentleman re-affix his front
light to his bicycle with zip-ties, rubber bands and what appeared to be
a bootlace. "Silly fellow", I thought, before one of my DLumotec Topals
fell victim yet again to the Amazing B&M Cheesemetal. This means /Wa/.
Appropriately, it was rescued from the gutter by Dave's erstwhile
companion.
With the delay caused by recovering the errant light and a further one
to don my waterproof when the rain escalated from "annoying" to "very
annoying indeed", I lost track of Dave on the main road section to
Lewes, and he was notably absent at Tesco's filling station. I assumed
he'd been and gone - it only occurred to me much later that he could
have been snacking on roast guinea fowl and a fine claret in the main
store rather than slumming it on a damp forecourt with the pork-pie-and-
a-pint-of-milk brigade.
The run from Lewes out to the info control at Westmeston was enlivened,
if that's the correct word for a Near Deth Experience, when Mr. A.
Twatinafocus decided to pass me approaching a blind crest. It is
interesting to watch ABS working from the vantage point of a low
recumbent, FSVO "interesting". Two other riders were not so lucky -
their tame numpty deciding to drive into them in order to avoid bending
his motorcar. No serious damage to life and limb, but two dead bikes.
The [censored] did a runner, but his number was taken, and the /La/ will be
summoned.
By the time I reached the Highbrook area, it was getting dark, but
finally there could be seen a red blinking light attached to the aerial
of MartinM's motorcar, and soon there was a Great Consumption of hot tea
and Kit-Kat. Thus fortified, I was able to knock off the remaining
distance back to Chiddingstone Causeway with considerable despatch,
although the lack of Scenery on that part of the route probably helped.
Back at HQ there was a leisurely rearrangement of clothing (off with
waterproof, on with arm-warmers and gilet), refilling of bottles, oiling
of squeaky cleats and consumption of Rob Bullyment's turbo pasta, washed
down with a can of BEER I had stashed in the motorcar. Then off again
into the damp and darkness.
Forewarned about the answer to the info control in Under River, we were
able to zoom through at speed, and take in the A227 / Higham Lane
section for the second time on the ride. The latter is downhill,
lightly twisty and well surfaced, and can be taken at an insanely high
speed by a recumbent trike; thus it was that the rest of the group
didn't catch up until I was on the outskirts of Maidstone. This was a
Good Thing, as it allowed safety in numbers passing through the town
centre - at two on a Sunday morning, who though THAT one up? - though as
it seemed a Real Rain had come and washed the chavs off the street.
I lost them soon afterwards, though. "Do you know Hollingbourne Hill?"
someone asked. "I've come DOWN it" I replied, nervously. Then, as one,
they disappeared into the gloom. I made up a bit on the descent into
Sittigbourne, though, for hot SOUP and a ham roll. The next section is
getting over-familiar - the stretch along the A2 to Faversham, then the
Goodneston - Graveney - Seasalter run parallel to the coast. In
Seasalter, careful preparation (thanks, Dave!) paid off, and I was able
to detour along Seasalter Lane rather than messing around with info
controls. Seasalter Lane was mostly under water, and contained a very
odd thing: a Fiat Punto. Nothing very odd about THAT, you might think,
but this one:
o had clearly gone head-on with some force into a solid object
o had no suitable solid object anywhere in sight
o had the driver's door open, but no-one inside, and
o had its engine still running
Shortly after this I encountered a drunk pushing a broken bicycle.
There's clearly some very strange people in that part of the world. My
former companions caught up shortly afterwards, and were Confused at how
it was I had managed to overtake them. There was Muttering. It was
somewhere around here too, that I was chased by a Wolf. OK, it /may/
have been a dog, but it sounded:
o fierce, and
o hungry
My sprint would not have disgraced Super Mario. Soon came the ruler-
straight downhill into Chilham. Not steep enough to lead to speed
records, but enough to drop the uprights like radioactive rocks. Heh
heh heh!
With various members of the gang being visited at various points by the
P+nct+r+ Fairy, we somehow managed to reconvene at the info in Wye. The
question being to identify the Local Worthy whose name appears of the
bench next to the Pubbe. "Nice people round here", said one. "It
wouldn't have lasted that long in Sittingbourne." "In Pompey it'd have
been burned after two days" retorted a mud-covered troglodyte later
identified as Mark Hummerstone. There is a limit, however, to the
number of times one say "Percy Kemsley" without being understood, so we
soon set off to assault White Hill.
Which sucked.
As did the stretch on the A20. It was light by now, but the Thoughless
Motor-ists were clearly still asleep. One muppet came close to removing
my earlobe attempting to fit 'twixt Trice and "Keep Left" bollard, a
problem neatly circumvented by Mr. A. Twatinacorsa, passing as he did to
the RIGHT of the bollard. I was getting dozy by this stage, so pulled
off into a bus stop and closed my eyes for about ten minutes. Not into
the bus shelter and out of the wind, though, as that would have seen me
flat out for the next four hours.
Thence back to Hollingbourne and the control at Maidstone services. The
Mgt had been advised that the slip road from the A20 to the services was
technically part of the M20, so we were obliged instead to descend a
steep and Skog(tm)-infested lane before somehow manhandling self+machine
along a steep, wet and slippery footpath into the services. Having
managed this - just - I rebelled on the way out and, full of Scotch egg,
pork pie and coke, went down the proto-motorway with an air of studied
nonchalance, spotting as I did two of our loose bunch coming in via the
same route.
The next section was one of those get-the-miles-in-somehow ones, down to
an info in Ticehurst. The section after THAT was back-to-base-as-quick-
as-possible. The difference being negligible. Both were full of long
and 'orrible 'ills, leading to nervous glances at the watch, as I was
determined to get back in under 24 hours. Peace of mind not helped by
going off-route at the third-to-last junction. But... I made it with
about 15-20 minutes in hand, and happily there was another can of BEER
stashed in the motorcar for just such an eventuality.
Stats:
Distance: 405.8 km
Average speed: 17.1 km/h
Time: 23:44 or thereabouts
Pork pies: 3 (1 standard size, two snack)
Dead badgers: 2 (though I only saw the one)
P+nct+r+s: 0 (for me - Mark Hummerstone had three, including one about
two miles from the end)
Major kudos to MartinM for the tea stop. Not thanks and bollocks to
whoever caused them to close the M25 at junction 2 on the way home :-(
--
Dave Larrington - <http://www.legslarry.beerdrinkers.co.uk/>
Dead journalists make excellent objets d'art.
