As The Crow Flies: West to East
There’s one challenge that’s been simmering in the back of my mind for over 10yrs, cycling from home in Winchcombe to my folks in Norfolk. When you have family in different parts of the country you become familiar with the routes to see them and I often wondered what the non motorway/A road route between them and home are like.
I planned the route on OS maps using the snap path feature, plugged in the start and finish and lo and behold a route straight across the country, 180miles. The timing came right and I floated the idea to my wife, Dan. Her response was, broadly supportive…
Context is key. I felt I needed to take on something really hard to help prepare me for an even harder thing, running my first 100miler at the end of October.
This was a calculated gamble, I knew I would learn something whether I completed the ride successfully or I didn’t. We were headed to Norfolk anyway and it wasn’t a goal I was gripping so tightly that I would make bad decisions, like carrying on instead of stopping. With Dan heading over that way Friday evening anyway, the worst case scenario would be donning all my layers and sleeping in a field.
Challenge accepted.
I planned to set off on a Thursday after work, ride as far as I could before I felt I needed to stop, or best case ride straight on through.
What this won’t be is a mile by mile account but more a selection of highlights and lowlights from the ride.
17:33 – 20:42: Hills, Traffic and One Bridleway.
I’d chunked my route up into roughly 10-15mile sections which I reckoned would take me an hour to complete but the amusing nature of the route on OS was that it looked like almost of the elevation would be done and dusted by the time I left Gloucestershire. For the Winchcombers reading this you’ll know what that hill is like. For those from further afield, people are often seen walking bikes up as it’s long and steep. I wasn’t expecting cramp so quickly!
This was the part of the route I would know the best and the only genuine off road section I’d encounter throughout the whole ride. Once I’d got up and over to Stumps Cross, complete with some more tasty cramp. I sent my first check in message to Dan. It wasn’t long afterwards that I encountered a tribute outside of Snowshill to a cyclist who had passed away, fresh flowers at the roadside along with a picture of the rider. A sombre reminder to take care, but also an affirming moment that life is for living to the fullest.
There were rain showers floating over which made the descent down into Chipping Campden a tad more interesting but other than that some lovely rolling with tumultuous clouds overhead and, plenty of traffic around me as well. Through Shipston on Stour and it’s faulty four way traffic lights. Before I took on the climb up Tysoe Hill I mashed a cheesey, bacony rice cake into my chops and then ground my way up what I thought might be the last challenging hill, the cramp came again. Every hill was met with the mantra “granny time”, drop the gear as low as I could early and cadence, cadence, cadence it up. I was hoping this wouldn’t become a theme for the whole ride. The highlight on the way to Fenny Compton was a magpie on the back of a sheep, a Cotswold version of the crow on the tiger in K-Pop Demon Hunters.
20:42 – 01:56: The Light Tunnel Begins.
The thing about the back end of August is that the light tends to fade earlier than you expect it to. The point at which you turn on front lights (I’d had a red flashing light on my back for the duration) is when your visible world becomes smaller. A tunnel of light illuminated in front is all that you can focus your attention on when going between towns and villages. Focussing on the metre of road in front of you to check for potholes. This was also the section with in no uncertain terms the worst roads. Concentration left everything else a bit blurry. By now it was all quiet on the roads, the few cars I did see giving me a wonderfully wide berth. I also saw my first badger of the ride scuttling across the road, accompanied with a noise like a demented tap dancer.
I passed through a section of new road infrastructure (presume HS2 related?), bloody hell that was some smooth tarmac, the gliding feeling felt amazing after some of the rough road I’d encountered so far. Road closed. Surely not, in Winchcombe the roads are rarely fully closed, I’m sure it’s the same here. It wasn’t, but I did have a close call when my front wheel caught the sand bank in the middle of the road and threw me around a little. I was fully awake.
As I got into Northamptonshire proper my thoughts turned to thinking about refilling my water bottles. I passed a few pubs, one barely open at all, the other overflowing with people revelry and the sound of laughter. I kept on. I was hoping to refill at a village church. It turns out the people of west Northamptonshire were either largely not god fearing christian folk, or their churches weren’t visible. I wasn’t desperate enough at this stage to stop. I’d got 4.5ltrs of water on me in my bike bottles and soft flasks in my race vest so it wasn’t urgent. Bar one church at Cold Higham, which was lit up like a belisha beacon. I stopped and had a walk around, no tap. There were more short sharp hills in this section but thankfully the cramp had gone, my body had accepted what was happening. On to Pattishall.
Time to refill before what I thought would be tricky section navigating around Northampton. A great landlord refilled my water bottles and let me get rid of my rubbish. I restocked from my race vest and carried on. Little gilet on. In hindsight my refills weren’t quick but I wasn’t racing anyone.
The cold hit me immediately after the pub and I was pumping the pedals to get warm again. Nobody else was out on a perfectly cool and clear evening even in the southern suburbs of Northampton. I didn’t see a soul. Until I got out on the south east side of the city where I had one of the few odd encounters. I’d just stopped for a wee in a rubbish laden layby on a lane, not wanting to hang around too long I got moving quickly and as I rode on I came across a young man singing out loud as he walked along a lane completely in the dark. His look was more quizzical than mine.
Straighter, flatter roads were becoming the norm and until this point I was fizzing along but I’d started to lag slightly. Youths in Bozeat shouted something unintelligible. A tool on a whiney motorbike doing laps up and down the road. Head down, just keep pedalling. A skinny looking fox and I shared a look.
St Neots was a turning point. From a distance it looked like a huge crane filled building or industrial space. The darkness and terrain obscuring what it was until I was directly by the town sign. I knew this would be my best chance for a fill of garage food until Cambridge. I reached a cross roads and pulled out my phone. Two garages up the road, one 24hr. Please be open. I need something more than rice cakes and gels.
Coke, double deckers, two pasties and two packs of salt and vinegar crisps. Cheers!
01:56 – 05:33: The Witching Hours
This section was largely a blur, the witching hours and my vision fully tunnelled in front. Riding parallel to the A428 and it’s thundering lorries. A 2nd badger. My next big tick off was Cambridge, the one place where I’d altered the route to take in the Cambridgeshire Guided BusWay. What a revelation, 7miles of flat smooth bike path. Bliss. It was odd to see a few people wandering around Cambridge and giving them a wider berth, they probably did the same with me.
I knew the end of the BusWay was a little loopy but it took me a while to find how to get off, whilst a group drunks commented that I looked lost, at that moment I felt it. Sign for Bottisham, follow the sign. Watch says no.
Turn around, watch says no.
Fuck the watch and follow my nose. Through a car park and away I go. I dropped Dan a message to let her know I’d reached Bottisham. Turns out I was still 5 miles away. The morale took a severe hit here. As was, politely, any part of my body in contact with my saddle.
I found Bottisham in the end and sarcastically congratulated myself. I was still up on my very conservative 10mph per hour estimate. My legs were starting to feel a bit sore at this stage, 125miles in was a reason to celebrate again. The furthest I’d ever ridden up until this point was 100miles.
I couldn’t get bogged down, stick to the chunks. A cat with a cone on it’s head miles from a town brought a surprised chuckle.
One front light was beginning to tell me it was going to die, perfect timing. A beautiful sunrise marked a huge point in the ride but the onset of…. Commuters. I was skirting around Newmarket now and recognising more and more place names but with my onward progress came the slow creep of sunlight
I reached Chippenham, yes I’d picked it as a chunk point because it amused me that there was one in the east, and stopped to have my 2nd pasty and gather myself for what I wanted to be the last surge.
05:33 – 09:15: Soul Sucking Chippings and The Pakenham Paradox
As I got closer to Bury St Edmunds the road surface changed. The rolling resistance increased and the myriad winding flat roads of Suffolk and Norfolk ground away at me. I’ve never felt such little movement forward from, what felt like the same relative effort. It probably had more to do with the mileage I’d covered but I felt better channeling some energy at cursing the road. Recognising place names initially galvanised me: Great Barton, Pakenham. Both places we pass every time we drive to my folks. What you don’t appreciate when driving a journey, compared to moving yourself, is that distances in a car are easy and quick. I stopped to have the 2nd double decker at Pakenham and navigated a tricky junction. I couldn’t be far now my mind told me but I was still 25miles away. The Pakenham Paradox had hit me.
From here on I was slightly in survival mode and having to stand up on the pedals regularly to ease the pressure on my knee, just keep moving forwards.
Check OS to see if I could navigate a different way from all these busy roads but no better option exists. How can the roads be so busy I wonder?! It will get worse before it get’s better.
I ride away from village names I recognise to a whole group of which I don’t. And the realisation of how busy the A143 will be hits me, and some fear but mostly tiredness. My attention to detail on eating and drinking has dropped, classic end of challenge mistake. Keep piling it in until you finish. The puncture fear was rearing it’s head, not now please not now.
Eventually after what felt like someone showing me a picture of the same village over and over I’ve got 5miles to go. I know that I’ll need to concentrate on the A143, it’s busy at just after 09:00. One hill and I can roll on to the lane which marks Mum and Dad’s. Ah there’s another hill, legs you’re welcome for more stimulus. I again feel like I’m flying but that’s through the fear of lorries passing me whilst indicating and not moving an inch from their original path. Eventually the church and the turning.
I roll up to my parents and both a huge sense of satisfaction and accomplishment are slightly overwhelming. I was hoping to catch my parents, daughter and nieces before they headed out for the day. I’d missed them, but had thought to bring a key. I ate like a man possessed. Crisps, apple, tea, biscuits. You name it, I ate it.
And then looked at my face in the bathroom. Swollen from being in the wind for so long and a huge rub on my forehead from my helmet and cap. Lay down and fell asleep watching highlights of the cricket.
Worth it?
180miles, 8316ft of elevation, 17:33 – 09:15. No punctures. Three badgers, one fox. 10x Rice Cakes, 1 bottle of coke, 2 double deckers & Cornish pasties, Not enough water and too many gels.
The look on my daughters face when I came downstairs into the kitchen when they got home at 14:00 was priceless. And so was the ride. I’d barely done any cycling but managed to ride across the country in one go. I had more in the tank mentally and physically than I thought. And it had scratched an itch that I’d had. Starting something I wasn’t sure I could finish.
One of the key things I try to get across to the athletes I coach, is that consistency trumps “hero” sessions. By that I mean, doing regular runs, gradually building intensity and volume is more valuable than trying to shortcut things by doing flashy, hard, over the top sessions that at the time feel like you’ve worked really hard but actually take you longer to recover from.
I decided to ignore all of that in the pursuit of a big challenge and it’s a calculated risk that’s paid off. I had no issues with my legs once I was off the bike and ran two days later. I feel a confidence now in myself going towards the 100miler that I hadn’t before.
As The Crow Flies: North to South has been planned.
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