The SDW and a hot weekend!

I had been monitoring the weather all week, looking over the satellite images on the met office website. It seemed to be coming good – and this was backed up by the TV weather forecasters. No need for mudguards then, and I made a note to pack the factor 30.

Saturday, and my alarm went off far too early for comfort, courtesy a late night following a party commitment I couldn't escape. I had already packed and rescued the tent from the depths of the shed, so all that remained was to bung it all into Karon's car and hang the bike off the back. An hour later and we were on our way to Winchester and the start of the South Downs Way. She would leave me there and then make her way to Eastbourne almost exactly 100 miles to the East, to meet up the next day.

At Winchester an almost full car-park ensured a short game of hunt the parking space. Space found, registration complete, tent etc unloaded and reloaded into the Trailbreak truck, bike unhitched and I was ready for the off along with about 155 like minded souls. Another 15 or so would be starting the abridged ride from Queen Elizabeth Park some twenty miles east.
Filing past the starters each rider 'dibbed' his tag that would record his start-time and progress along the route . Ahead of us this day lay 60 miles of undulating Hampshire and Sussex countryside. Under an already warm sun we climbed away from Winchester and, after a short stretch on the road picked up the bridleway across Fawley Down and Cheesefoot Head taking us onto the South Downs Way. The inevitable bottlenecks associated with so many riders eventually thinned helped by the climbs and within a few miles I was clear enough to ride at my own pace and not have to worry too much about either being held up, or doing the same to others.

Ten miles or so had unfolded beneath my wheels when I reached the first 'watering hole' at Warnford. This early into the ride I didn't need to stop but wanted to adjust the angle of my newly fitted cleats. That out of the way I was back in the saddle and on my way to the first real challenge...the technical climb up the gully between Salt Hill and the inappropriately named Small Down.

Ever since the first time I rode the SDW, some five years before it’s been my ambition to ride it all. Each year my efforts had been thwarted. Sometimes it was a rider in front dismounting and blocking the way but more often it was traction, or rather lack of it. There are a few places where everything has to be perfect if you wanted to 'clean' it. This was the first. I had no-one in sight in front, and the sun and breeze ensured that even in the gully under the cowering trees there was very little moisture on the ground to foil my attempts. All I had to contend with – apart from gravity – was the loose flint and chalk laying in the rainwater channels.

Now I don't profess to be a natural climber. At somewhere between 12 and 13 stone my granny ring is well used and it’s used to being engaged early on. This climb was no different but this year was different. It was hotter and dryer than ever before and, for the first time I had a monster tire (by my standards) on the back – a brand new Continental Vertical 2.3. I dropped into the granny and started to climb. My back tire bit into the soil and I pushed my weight forward as the bike tried desperately to lift off at the front under my efforts to push on and up….with sweat stinging my eyes I broke clear of the trees and the ground started to level out. I had ‘dabbed’ once as a younger, lighter and no doubt fitter rider had passed me but I had not walked any of it. One down, lots more to go.

Next up a few miles down the trail, Butser Hill and the descent down to the A3 underpass. This for me, is one of the most exhilarating highlights of an adrenalin filled day. The short, sheep cropped grass means it’s not technical. The view means you can let go without fear of unseen walkers or horse riders and, if you’re really lucky someone will hold open the gate near the top, so you can build up speed.
If you haven’t ridden Butser Hill you should. Stay off the brakes and you’ll top over 60kph. Unfortunately, this year it was my turn to hold the gate for three or four fellow riders but never the less, my computer clocked 66kph and I had caught and passed one of them before the slope flattened and climbed again to the gate and the more leisurely meander through the QE2 park car-park to our second stop. A banana and further adjustment to the cleats and I was away again. Past the picknickers admiring the fantastic view from Harting Down and on to the A286 crossing at Cocking. Here I had a longer stop and replenished the CamelBack before setting off again.

top

As the miles passed under my tires I struck up conversation with a fellow rider. Our chat was broken by speedy descents and breathless climbs, but over the course of the afternoon we found ourselves side by side now and then and continued our conversation where we had left off. I am sure he told me his name, but it’s never been a strong point with me. What I can tell you is that he’d travelled from Newcastle to take part. He’d intended to ride it with a friend, but a twisted knee had put paid to that. Next he’d tried to recruit his daughter, living in London, to chum him. She had succumbed to a fall and had too many aches to partake.

I wasn’t sure whether I should be riding with this chap. But ride I did and the miles passed by. Sometimes he left me behind and I would pass as he focused his camera on a southern view. Others I would move on from a stop quicker than he. The map, the climbs and descents unfurled, yet after 60 miles we found ourselves together again as we climbed the last 700 foot under the late afternoon sun, up to Truleigh Hill Hostel. By now the heat and distance had taken its toll on my body. Fighting against cramp and wilting fast in the late afternoon sun, I couldn’t reach the finish soon enough – 30 seconds or so behind my companion and 59th in the field of 170.

My priorities were to find a pitch, for I was camping as opposed to sleeping in the bunkhouse, throw up the tent, a shower and change then a doorstep sarnnie that was to act as an interim before the Trailbreak Crew got to work on the evening meal. As I tweaked the tent a friend came over from nearby. He had started at the QE2 park and was among the first to arrive. This was his first attempt but he was thankfull of the twenty mile deduction it afforded. We spent the evening eating, drinking a few well earned beers and recounting the tales of the day. By 10.00pm I was cocooned in my sleeping bag and the day’s efforts ensured I slept like the proverbial log.

Sunday. According to Phil Harrison, Trailbreak Boss and indefatigable organiser today would be even hotter. Drop the tent, pack and load the kit onto the Trailbreak wagon that would transport it all to Eastbourne for me. Breakfast. Clean and oil the chain then wait to register. There were staggered start times based on the previous day’s finish time. 8.30, 8.45, 9.00, and then 9.15…my start time. Another group would set off at 9.30 with the superfast leaving at 9.45.

Not so far, day two – only about 40 miles. But the hills are bigger and the climbs longer…a lot longer. However, only two really steep short, sharp climbs that could spoil my efforts to ride it all, for I had managed to ride all that the previous day had put in my way. Ditchling Beacon, Mount Harry, past the kite flyers and the paragliders dancing and threading their way on the slope induced updrafts, through the Sunday walkers and onto Castle Hill, south west of Lewes where the late starting leaders pass me early into the climb. On through the lunch stop just over the railway, at Itford Farm on the River Ouse. Then the killing climb back up onto the ridge and on to Beddingham Hill. Aloft and aloof above the villages and towns dozing in the hazey heat below. That’s the good thing about day two…once you’re up on the ridge, you stay up for longer. And the views. If you’re blessed with a clear and haze-less sky the views out over the Channel or inland over West Sussex are terrific where early morning mists can submerge all but the tallest trees and steeples, filling the valleys with a milky white tide.

No mists today though, burned off soon after sunrise. The relentless sun makes the long climbs slow and hard but the drop down to Alfriston signals that there are only two more – the long winding climb over Windover Hill and the climb out of Jevington. Now it’s less effort for my tired and weary legs. Skirting the fringes of Eastbourne I know I’m almost done when I catch sight of the golf club flags straining in the sea breeze. Looking across I see the windscreens catching and bouncing back the brilliant sunlight from the Beachy Head car park. One last effort, into the onshore wind and out to the finish at Beachy head.

56th. 12 hours and 50 minutes for 100 miles – almost an hour slower than last year. I put it down to the heat and a less favourable wind. The ‘winning’ time is 8 hours 23 but hey, this is not a race. It’s a challenge. A challenge against one’s self. My challenge was to ride it all, and the same heat that parched my mouth and put stinging sweat into my eyes also dried the trails and took away the slippy moisture that had defeated me in the past.
2004 …that’s the year I ‘cleaned’ the South Downs Way – rode every bit.

Bob Bending, September 2004.

Next year I'm taking my time and taking my camera, so watch this space!