In the summer of 2017 I rode to Norfolk and back, a distance of 179 miles. While I was happy with my achievement, in the days afterwards I started to think to myself: if you’d only done another 21 miles, you could claim to have done a “double century”. 21 miles isn’t much further, is it?
It turns out it is a lot further, when you’ve already done 179. Every mile in those circumstances feels like 5; they did to me anyway. But more on that later.
So: since 2017 I’ve nurtured an ambition to do a 200 mile bike ride. To give myself a bit of motivation and to help raise money for a breast cancer charity, I started a JustGiving page at:
https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/twohundred
Thanks to the kind donations of some generous people, I raised £352 – not exactly Sir Colonel Tom standards, but I’m glad to have achieved it.
But my ambition started to look like a forlorn hope from 2018 when I injured my knees, and after that it became more important to me because it had started to look like forbidden fruit.
However I’ve made good progress on long-distance riding this last few months, and as the days grew longer this year I’ve started to look at the weather forecast, for a suitable day.
Tuesday this week looked like it. The weather promised to be dry, not too warm, with low winds. A nice early sunrise and late sunset, and in fact the forecast was predominantly rainy for the following couple of weeks, after which the nights start to draw in again. I wasn’t on call.
I felt the Hand of Destiny on my shoulder. And in my left ear, the Voice Of Destiny said: this is it, mate. You’re on. I booked Tuesday off work. I updated the JustGiving page, to announce that I was finally about to make good on my long-overdue commitment.
My original plan for a 200 miler was to ride up to my home town, Hartlepool. But I can’t visit Hartlepool at the moment, in case I knock my 92 year old mum off her perch with the plague.
So I decided on Norfolk and back, again. On Monday afternoon I strolled out to the garage to inspect the Cannondale, which I have been using sparingly in reserve for just this occasion. On close examination, the rear tyre was a bit cracked and past its best. I deflated it to get a better idea of the state it was in, and yep – it definitely needed replacing.
But I didn’t have a spare and I wasn’t going to mess about taking a tyre off one of the other bikes, so I settled on the S Works. I don’t think the riding position is quite as comfortable as my Planet X but it’s lighter, the effort:distance ratio is lower and it feels a bit smoother on rougher road surfaces. I gave it a careful look over; the tyres were nice and hard and in eminently robust nick. Everything else checked out OK.
I went to bed early, at about 10pm. I didn’t actually sleep for more than half an hour at most and possibly not at all, and I got up at 3:00 AM. It was 4:05 AM by the time I’d set off.
I didn’t much enjoy the first 40 miles. I’d kept the layers of clothes to a reasonable minimum to minimise weight and I was cold for the first few hours. Furthermore for reasons unknown, but possibly associated with lack of sleep, my neck was stiff and aching and I had a slight headache. I contemplated turning back after about 35 miles but decided that I’d probably feel better once the temperature climbed a bit. And I did.
I chose a partly different route to Norfolk than last time in 2017; one designed to get to the flat scenery in Lincolnshire in 50 miles rather than 60. It’s a very familiar ride for the first 20-odd miles, part of the usual eastbound route. I did start enjoying myself once I got to the unfamiliar part of Lincolnshire and I definitely chose a nicer route than last time; much quieter and more scenic while still decently surfaced.
I stopped at a shop at Sutton St James for fuel after 80 miles. I’d consumed most of what I’d brought with me already. Bought some Snickers drink, water, a sandwich and a cheese pasty. I had an impromptu lunch on a bench there then continued on my way, over Sutton Bridge and into Norfolk.
This part of the ride was familiar from last time, nice to be there again after three years. After the bridge I went up a busy A road for a couple of miles in search of a Welcome to Norfolk sign, then along Sutton Road to a village called Walpole Cross Keys. My original plan called for me to keep along Sutton Road toward Kings Lynn, but it had recently been resurfaced with sharp gravel and I didn’t fancy it much. I decided to turn homeward, and make the distance up to 200 miles by doing a bit of exploring along flat roads in Lincolnshire.
This was pretty successful – I pursued some long detours using the map display on my Garmin eTrex until I’d added the requisite distance, and I explored some pleasant cycling territory.
I stopped at a bike shop, converted from an old petrol station, somewhere near Spalding after 115 miles. I tried to buy some AAs but they didn’t have any. I’d brought a front light that takes a single AA, but I’d left it empty to save weight. So I bought a new LED torch type front light instead. I was definitely going to need it; by this time I’d realised that I wasn’t going to be back until at least two hours after sunset. I carefully socially distanced myself from the guy behind the counter, mainly because he stank of alcohol. I left the shop wondering if airborne virus particles travel as well as beer fumes.
After 150 miles I had improvised the necessary distance to make it home on 200 without the risk of encountering an unwanted steep hill, something which is not possible east of Manthorpe, where the flat lands of the Fens meet England’s more usual terrain – and where I rejoined my intended route, having merely flirted with it over the previous 50 or so.
I was starting to feel a bit weary of operating a bicycle by this time and my knees had started to hurt, most noticeably just after rest stops. But the sun was still up and I was still in good spirits. I was really starting to feel tired a couple of hours later though, after sunset. While it was still light I kept consulting my bike computer for the distance to go and typically, I’d managed to grind out about half a mile since the previous time I checked it. I forced myself to stop looking at it on the watched pot principle.
The temperature dropped fairly quickly after dark and the last 40 miles were a real slog. It’s not a lot of fun pushing yourself forward in the cold late at night when you’re tired and low on energy. I was in a dark place, figuratively and literally. Returning to more familiar territory west of Melton helped lift my state of mind slightly, but every mile was hard won.
On top of this I was starting to feel sick from the quantity of flapjacks, gels, Snickers drink and chocolate that I’d ingested to keep me going.
I heard church bells ringing softly in the distance as I rolled back through the pretty little village of Cotes in the still dead of night, but I wasn’t sure what time it was. I couldn’t see my watch and I’d stopped operating the display on the eTrex to save its batteries (it was recording the track). I was 15 miles from home and I knew I must already have beaten my previous distance record by a few miles, but I was struggling now. My neck and my arms were aching and I was running on empty. I had to force myself to get on with it. I stopped at Whitwick to rest against somebody’s garden fence under the cold glow of a lamppost for a few minutes, and I was actually having to concentrate to stay on my feet. But I summoned enough strength and courage to grind out the last four miles and I arrived back at my garage door at 01:40, on 200.7 miles.
Just unfastening the velcro on my cycling shoes was an effort.
I have thought about the logistics of a 200 mile ride many times, this last three years. I’d sometimes imagined that I’d wait for absolute ideal circumstances, involving warm weather and a meticulous plan, with perhaps a rest stop at my brother’s place in Stamford on the way out and the way back, so I could pick up warmer clothes and supplies for the last few hours without having to propel them along with me for the whole ride.
In the end the circumstances I imagined were compromised somewhat. I hadn’t had enough sleep and I wasn’t feeling 100% even when I set off. I wasn’t on my first choice of bike and temperatures were lower than I wanted in the early morning and late at night, forcing me to wear heavier clothing. Furthermore I couldn’t stop at a cafe or a pub, as I normally would on a long-distance ride. I had to make do with cold snacks on a bench.
But I had my DAB personal and an ultra-lightweight MP3 player, and I listened to 6 Music, a Deniece Williams album, more of my Beatles bio audiobook and the news on 5 Live.
And I got away with it. I’ve achieved something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.
But more than that – I have exorcised a ghost. Every time I’ve increased my distance since my knee injury, I’ve worried that I might damage them and give myself a setback. This ride was 85 miles longer than my previous post-injury distance. But they are fine. A year ago I would have suffered slightly climbing the stairs the day after a 40 mile ride but on Wednesday, although I could certainly feel that they’d cranked out some serious miles, I could get up and down the stairs without any bother at all.
I don’t feel a need to do more than 200 miles again in this lifetime, so that feels like closure. Redemption, even. They are not a limiting factor and I won’t worry about them again.