The PBP; 21-25 August 2011

The week before leaving for Paris there was much excitement and nervous tension in the house. My last six weeks had been hampered by a chest cold caught on a DIY 300 which meant I hadn't been able to get in another 400 as I had wanted. The arrival of a baby daughter at the beginning of August was a wonderful thing but meant I was going into the PBP already deprived of sleep. Still, if that was a reason for failure then it was a pretty good consolation prize.

Before the Saturday bike check I visited the chateau at Versailles where I stood in line for a considerable time and spent too long on my feet. I then fell off my bike on the way to the check when failing to unclip.

In front of Versailles chateau after the bike check

I was now officially registered and ready to go.

Drew Buck, from Bristol, once again rode a vintage machine from 1900, with a wooden brake that pressed down on the tyres and one massive gear only. He made it back in time. Hats off to him.

Drew's 1900's cycle. Note the spare inner tubes wrapped around his chest and the bottle on the bars.

On the Saturday evening I took a trip into central Paris to meet Gary, who'd I'd ridden the majority of my 600 qualifier (Denmead) with. We went to a great Basque restaurant with a couple of friends of his, one of who, Claire, was riding a recumbent, and her partner who was the official support team and would be putting up a tent in Loudeac for them to enjoy both ways. On the Metro I passed the Eiffel Tower which was adorned with twinkling lights and looked ever so pretty. That night was spectacularly humid and I didn't sleep well and awoke thinking I was tired already. If it had been a 200 back home I wouldn't have bothered turning up, but it wasn't, this was the PBP and everywhere you looked people were there for a once in a lifetime ride, reminding you of what you had signed up for.

Prior to going to Paris a whole new drive train was put on the bike and new tyres and inners. On arrival at the gymnasium for the start I wheeled my bike down the ramp onto the athletics track and noticed I had a puncture. Rear, obviously. Better then than after starting though, so changed it over. Saw quite a few people I had met on the qualifiers including Martin and Tony with whom I'd ridden my 400, and many other British riders, thanks to the excellent Audax England jersies that had been produced which were spotted throughout the ride and made it really nice to see other fellow countryman. I didn't see Martin again until the run-in to Paris and we finished within a few minutes of each other.

Waiting to start

Got through the tampon stamping tent and lined up before the giant inflatable start arch and unscrewed the valve cap to inflate the rear tyre a little more. The valve came off in my hand and air exited at speed from wheel. The announcer said three minutes to go and I was now in a race to change the inner before the off. More seriously, this used up my second spare inner and I now did not have another. After 2 punctures in the whole of previous year I had had two in a couple of hours. I was beginning to wonder if the gods were against me, given that I had already fallen over on Saturday. I changed the inner with the help of an official just in time for the off. My start time was 6pm but due to the numbers involved they set us off in waves. I got away at 7.40pm in the fifth wave.

The start

Three hours after arriving at the start and standing under a hot sun we were off and it was a relief. The first stage to Mortagne was fantastic, breezing along in big groups and experiencing the amazing sight of endless lights in front and behind, snaking their way across northern France.

The locals were out in force to cheer us on and I began to get an idea of how much the French support and respect this great event. At every junction the police stopped traffic, and at every road bridge people looked down from above with admiration.

The first stop was at Mortagne au Perche - not a control, just a feed stop, at about 2am. First thing I did was to buy 2 new inner tubes, then queue for about half an hour to get something to eat. A Canadian guy collapsed in the queue, probably from dehydration as it was still very warm. Although I was not overly hungry I made sure to make a good meal as I knew it would be a long night ahead. I was later glad of this strategy, which I repeated at every control, to have a full meal regardless of whether I felt like it or not. I had read many reports of people not eating through fatigue or dehydration and was determineted not to fail just because I had failed to refuel properly.

The next stage to Villaines I do not remember as being too bad. However, whether it was because as the event progressed everything became hazy, or because it was uneventful, I am not sure. What I can remember is the wonderful reception in Villaines, where the whole town seemed to turn out to welcome the randonneurs. The main street had been sectioned off, and I headed into the control to get my first stamp on the route card. After this there was the choice of a 'breakfast' French style i.e. coffee, bit of baguette and croissant, or the restaurant across the road. I went for the latter and had a full meal at about 7.00am, including  a couple of cans of Coke for the sugar and calories - I normally cannot stand the stuff. The schoolchildren of the town had been rolled out to help and a girl carried my tray to a table - a very welcome touch, and a sign that they really understood what we were going through.

Arrival at Villaines

I was now ready for a sleep and so pushed my tray away and got my head down for 15 minutes. This was to be par for the course over the next four days; I did not have a specific sleep strategy at the beginning of the ride as I did not know how long the controls would take, nor how tired I would be. My strategy evolved into sleeping whenever I could so long as I was back on the road by the time the control would have closed had I actually started at 6pm. In other words, I always had a 1 hour 40 minute buffer in case of problems. I awoke feeling amazingly refreshed, considering I had covered my fastest ever 200km, had two full meals and a sleep within 12 hours!

Kipping at Villaines (pic by Lee Hargreaves)

The next stage to Fougeres is a bit of a blur but I do remember it started to rain as I arrived at the control at about 12.30 pm. The facilites were well spread out and I made the mistake of parking the bike and walking to the control, when I should have cycled. Probably added 10 minutes which is not a lot but it all adds up. The canteen was OK although a bit of a queue and they served up a good omlette and chips, with fruit salad I think. The cost as usual was about 10 to 12 euros. People have complained about the cost of meals but if it is convenient then I do not think £10 per meal is too bad. I didn't sleep at Fougeres but continued straight on to Tinteniac, and rode a lot of this with Els, who was great company, arriving at about 16.30 on Monday.  The food was pretty uninspiring but I ate what I could, then slept under a table for half an hour. Again, this made a great difference for the good. Rob McIvor, the supplier of the aforementioned excellent jersies, had a kip here too under an adjacent table.

The first of many roadside stalls. Orange slices, chocolate, banana and coffee.

Leaving Tinteniac I teamed up with Alex, who was riding fixed, and we made good progress to Quedillac, the secret control. I was sorry to stop here as we were going well and momentum, once gained, is all too easily lost. However this was a great little control although, being French and loving bureaucracy, they were a bit funny about their payment systems. You had to buy a token for a specific item and got a coloured ticket in return, the colour relating to the item you had requested. You then took one step to the left and handed the token to the person standing next to the person from whom you had bought the token, and received your item of food in return. I needed to use all my charm to convince the person selling hot drinks that it really did not matter if I had a coffee or a hot chocolate (I had a token for the former and wanted the latter) as they cost the same. I got my hot chocolate and the sky did not come crashing down on their heads.

The rain did however, with some very heavy downpours and thunder and lightning, meaning we stayed at the control 15 or 20 minutes longer than we intended. When we left the skies had cleared but we put on our heavy weather gear, and a good thing too, as after about half an hour an almighty thunderstorm broke right over us. We took refuge under a tree, just as the vedettes, the very fastest riders, passed us on their return from Brest. Not for them rainproofs, just a desire to get back in a quick time. These were the guys that got back to Paris in 44 hours with no real stops and at each control they had helpers feeding them, massaging them and applying soothing lotions to hurting parts all at the same time in order to save time.

The English way (a gross generalisation follows) is to ride the PBP unsupported, carrying all the kit you think you might need (and usually a lot you will not need) in a saddlebag (normally a Carradice) and on a steel bike with mudguards. Many many riders had stripped down racing bikes and obviously had helpers on the route who would cook up meals and give a bed in the camper van, or they would stay in pre-booked hotels en route with pre arranged bag drops for clean clothers. Nothing wrong with this, just a difference in approach. For me, it was a personal challenge against the distance and against the mental gremlins that would appear with increasing regularity as the ride went on.

An astute observer has remarked elsewhere that the ride may actually be harder having supporters at every turn throughout the ride, as the temptation to pack comes every 4 hours or so in a warm camper van, whereas if you're on your own you basically don't have a great deal of choice.

The majority of countries had national jersies and it was great to see so many nations represented. A surprisingly high number from the far east, such as Japan and Taiwan, who each had hundreds of riders.
The weather between Qudillac and Loudeac was foul and I was glad of all my wet weather gear. The route seemed to climb quite a lot, with wind turbines putting out flashing red lights, which in the lightning and dark, together with my sleep deprivation, made a surreal experience that at the time made me think of a giant 'ET phone home' device. We made it to Loudeac without being abducted by aliens however, and having dealt with the assault course that is the route into the control with barriers making sharp turns all over (which you can really do without after 24 hours in the saddle) and realised why this control was always regarded as a bit of a nightmare. I reckon about 2000 of the randoneurs must have been here at this time, although in fairness the restaurant was not too busy. After controlling at 23.30 I went to feed, and then sleep, in the restaurant, and had an hour's sleep, the most I got all trip. At 1.15am I got up and went outside and felt incredibly cold and very short of breath. I think I must have woken up in the middle of a cycle (a sleep cycle that is, not the middle of a cycle ride) and it took time to wake up and get going.

Carhaix Plouger was somewhere we had visited at Christmas and I sort of knew what to expect afterwards. I was helped on the road there by four Swedish riders who rode at a good pace and who helped greatly; the thing about the PBP is that there is normally a group at your pace. I felt strong on this stage and we made good time, getting to Carhaix just as it got light. Normal form on arrival, a meal and a quick 20 minutes sleep at the table, then up again, excited that the next stage would see me at Brest.

Many have said that it is important to see the ride as individual stages, not to think of the overall. I did often think of the overall, but tried to do so only in a positive way, such as 'quarter done', 'half done' etc, rather than 'another 900km to go'. Other than that cursory thought to the whole I tried to restrict myself to getting each stage done, and this somehow worked, however tired I was. Some stages were easy, some were hard; some started easy and ended hard; others started hard and ended easy. There was no real logic to any of it. The stage to Brest was unfortunately hard all the way. It was not helped by the weather which had closed in and was miserable. The road to Huelgoat seemed interminable and the climb up the Roc Trevezal was spoilt by an inability to see due to mist and rain clouding my spectacles, and a headwind. After cresting the Roc, the wonderful vista we had seen in December was shrouded in mist and the descent felt like a climb due to the headwind. Past Sizun, the route went on and on and there was a pointless detour (the route was over distance so there was no need to make up distance) around the houses to get to Brest, then an uninspiring route through the docks and back though the town centre to get to the control, which was the worst of the lot with no proper food. This 30km into Brest was the low point of the whole ride for me; although not the hardest bit physically, it was difficult mentally as in my mind I was already in Brest, yet the arrival took forever.

I thought I'd have a beer to celebrate the half way point but after one sip I could feel it, so gave it to a very happy German sitting opposite me. I had a ham baguette and a quick 20 minute sleep, then checked out the showers which had a endless queue so though better of it, and got back on my bike.

Arrival at Brest

Back to Sizun was OK and I stopped here for coffeee and chocolate from a shop.

Sizun on the return.

Along the way local children handed out flowers which I put on my stem. The climb back up the Roc was easy, the weather had improved and the gradient was nothing too hard. It went on a bit to Carhaix, and again I had a power nap of 15 minutes here.

Climbing the Roc Trevezal on the return (pic by Deano).

Someone knew I was coming

Carhaix to Loudeac was a delight and for a strange reason the force was with me. There was a delightful roadside stall at Merleac where the baker's wife laid on coffee and fresh galette au buerre. Just what was required!

Roadside stall at Merleac. These are one of the things that made the ride special.

I had always reckoned that Loudeac on the way back was the watershed and once there I was two-thirds of the way to Paris. Loudeac was the same shambles on the return with far too many there (although less than the way out). I tried to sleep in the cafe (most controls had a choice of a cafe for coffee and croissants, or a full restauarnt) but there was big draft whenever the door was opened so I moved to the restaurant and had a proper full-on sleep for 20 minutes.

I cannot really remember the stage from Loudeac to Tinteniac. There was a scret control where I slept for half an hour but rest is a bit of a haze. I was glad to arrive at Tinteniac and have a shower and I know I wasted a bit of time here but it was a beautiful morning and I left at about 1040 having stopped two hours here. Still, a shower and brushing the teeth made me feel a new man.

Not long after the 'flowergirl' came past as I drank coffee at a roadside stall.

1200km on a sit up and beg bicycle.

Fougeres and Villaines? No memory of this bit, other than stopping at a great roadside stall for crepes, where all they wanted in return was a postcard from your home town.

The famous crepe stand at La Tanniere

And a 15 minute sleep at a picnic bench by the roadside. Arriving to a heroes welcome in Villaines, like on the way out, the whole town had turned out and was cheering us on. Again, people were there to carry my food tray and after eating I found a quiet spot and slept for 15 minutes before setting off in the evening light. Villaines to Mortagne I had down as an easy stage; I will not make that mistake again. The first bit was, but then it started to go up. It probably wasn't that steep, but it seemed it, and the road rose for 25km non stop. Els kindly snapped me snoozing at St Remy du Val where we stopped for coffee and I fell asleep in a deckchair for five minutes.

Asleep in St Remy du Val

This night was my nemesis, the clock was seemingly getting close and the road went up. That said, from Mamers I climbed with two Spanish guys and we tanked along at 25 - 30 kph and I even dropped them. Blimey! In the end I arrived in Mortagne with a full two hours to spare over my original time (plus 1h40 for the extra it took to get to the start) so there was nothing to worry about. At Mortagne the village barbeque was still going and I got a baguette with two sausages, just what was required, then a lot of fruit from inside. Did I sleep here? Not sure.

After the hard stage to Mortagne more of the same followed. It was dark, so I did not know what we were climbing and could not see how high or far it was. There must have been five good hills and by the end I was well and truly knackered; it was interminable. It was up there with the needless detour going into Brest as the only other place I had a sense of humour failure and wondered what on earth I was doing being there. My little girl had drawn a picture of me on a bicycle with the words 'Allez Daddy' and I kept this in my brevet card holder. When I was feeling down it was a great help to look at this and think of the folks back home willing me on.

The only way to keep going was to follow the white line in the middle of the road and on a couple of occassions I knew my eyes had been closed longer than they should have been. I was being passed by every other cyclist and was hallucinating.The road seemed to be composed of colourful paintings, but the best sight I saw was Scooby Doo standing at the side of the road. I had a serious attack of the dozies and had to stop and slept on the verge for ten minues, although I dropped my camera here.

My bed for night 4

Luckily I realised and came back in the car on my way to the ferry to pick it up. As soon as I woke up I was out of the forests and into the wheatfields with open vistas and as the sun rose this made a great impact on the spirits. The Dreux control was fantastic; everyone happy as they knew they had all but made it to Paris.

That said, my behind was in some pain and this made progress slow and so for the first 40 km of the final stage I found it very hard going. Suddenly, from hardly being able to turn a pedal, I found myself powering along. This was not just because the end was in sight but was a regular occurrence throughout the ride; suddenly things would click and you would feel fine again having written yourself off five minutes earlier. The final 25km were a joy, pseudo-racing with young boys on carbon frames and beating them. What had seemed to pass quickly on the way out took a bit longer on the way back, but all of a sudden we were in Paris and in St Quintin; the final roundabout was reached with many people cheering and shouting, a great arrival, very emotional.

Afterwards it was nearly impossible to remember anything in any sort of logical order. It took about a week for the memory to sort itself out. I still cannot remember many of the names of the people I rode with, although I had long conversations with theam and can picture them. Physically, I was not in too bad shape; the ends of my fingers and toes were numb and my left achilles tendon hurt, but my shoulders did not hurt and I did not get too serious a bout of hot foot. The fatigue was very deep seated though and all I could do was sleep for a few days.

Looking back at my objectives last year:
1. To lose weight: a bit lost but not a lot. I feel I will always be built for stamina not for speed. Look at the photos if you need evidence.
2. To give up tobacco products: achieved (although I did have a large cigar, one of Mr Castro's finest, on my return home).
3. To do something special before I was 40: for sure, the PBP was, and is, something special, worth the investment in time and effort, something I will do again. It's not about the bike. It's about the people along the way and the atmosphere and experience that they create.

Until 2015!

1230 kms, 88h48m. Sleep 7.75 hours, 63 hours cycling. Which means about 1 hour per control feeding, getting validated, getting water, changing clothes and queuing.

The welcome home

Devon hills and Somerset rain

Plans change and my trip to the Alps has been cancelled due to the impending arrival of a baby, which is sooner than we thought for various reasons. Thus the Raid Alpine, which was meant to be my last major fitness effort, is no longer. So I knocked out a DIY 300 which took me west into Devon over hilly ground to Honiton, then followed the Valley of the Roacks route up to Lynmouth. This is a beautiful ride and the route cannot be bettered so I had no compulsion copying it.

At Lynmouth I turned right up a staggeringly steep hill which then took me all the way to Bridgwater along the A39. Not a fun road, won't ride it again. Especially as it had started raining and was getting chilly.

A quick nip up to Weston super Mare to get the distance up was followed by a flattish run home to finish at 12.15am in the cold and wet.

320km in total but nowhere to control at the finish so this one will go unvalidated.

Subsequently went down with a cold following the miserable weather on this ride.

Keep the legs turning

Now that qualification is complete the last week has been spent constantly checking the Audax UK website to see if my brevet numbers have come up yet. These are needed to complete the PBP registration so that the Audax Club Parisien can verify that I have actually done the qualifiers.

These have finally come through and so my place is bought and paid for. The panic that has kept me occupied since about September, that all places would be sold out and I wouldn't get a place, never had any basis in fact. As it happens there are about 70 places left to GB participants and the process has been open to the general public for over a week.

With two months to go I must keep my motivation up and not think that just because I've qualified the job is done. More work needs to be done to avoid the process of 'reversibility', otherwise known as getting fat and unfit.

Yesterday I did a DIY 200km from home, which although it was pretty flat, had some long gentle climbs to keep the pressure on. It was my fastest ride ever over this distance. Next weekend there is a 200km from Winchester, and coming up at the end of July is the Raid Alpine from Lake Geneva to the Med; this has always been my planned final intensive phase before PBP after which I will taper and concentrate on shorter distances of up to 50km but ride them as fast as possible.

Super Randonneur. It's official. And PBP qualification complete.

A first 600 for me and quite an experience.

Decided not to stay the night before so 3.30am start. In the scheme of things I didn't think an hour would make much difference.

Started the ride with Tim from London and Gary from Winchester. Although the pace was OK for the first 100km it was just 1 or 2 km per hour faster than I was used to. So I could keep up, but felt the effects later. Lesson No. 1 learned. Round about the 100km mark I had a crap period as I made the mistake of thinking I had to do the same thing 5 more times.

Followed the usual Denmead route to Bishops Waltham, south of Winchester and into the Test valley to the first control Wilton; quick service and beans on toast. What more can you ask for? Then a pretty meander up to Bradford on Avon through some nice countryside, where there were a few riders coming back towards us and we wondered if we'd got it wrong, but they were on the Avalon Sunrise 400. All had that 'been up all night' look which we were working on.

BoA to Cirencester was not particulaly enjoyable. At Castle Coombe circuit there was a 'Bike Safety Day' with motorcyclists ripping it up around the circuit, then tearing round the roads afterwards. There was a bit of other traffic trying to see how close it could get to the end of my bars, and overtaking on corners when there's someting coming the other way just as a giant pothole approaches.

Lumpy around the info at Wootton under Edge and then a straightfoward run-in to Cirencester, except for my only punct*re of the qualifying campaign. Glad to get to sit down in McDonalds. Getting colder now at about 8pm so layered up and fixed lighting in preparation rather than stop again - lesson learnt from earlier audaxes.

Hilly work to Sutton Scotney; first bit flat then 'Lambourn, valley of the racehorse'. The village sign doesn't say it is unique in being a valley on top of a monster hill. In the distance was spectacular lightning and the top of the Membury transmitter to guide us. It felt the only hill in the area missing on the routesheet was Inkpen.

By now I'd had enough. The hills, the organiser and everyone was being gratuitously cursed for my state of tiredness and I was wondering how I was going to keep going for another 18 hours: it's hard not to think of the overall distance but I was more knackered at this point than the end of my 400. Gary was a star and shepherded me to Sutton Scotney for just before 3am, where I was attacked by 1. a rude garage assistant who was too busy talking to his mates on the phone to refill the coffee machine and 2. a huge flying beastie, clearly attracted to my hi viz.

Limped back to Denmead for just before 6am. Black thoughts all the way and could easily have packed but kept going because
(a) I've told the whole world I'm doing PBP
(b) a rational thought somewhere at the back of my mind reminded me I would always regret it if I packed
(c) I recalled AndyH's forum comment on the K&SW when he felt the same and his wife told him to man up and get on with it; he lived to tell the tale and complete and I should do the same
(d) might feel better after some sleep
(e) there had been a bit of effort made to get this far over the last year so another 12 hours of pain wouldn't make much difference

Funnily enough the only genuine excuse I might have had, that I came off the bike last week and was pretty sore having trashed hip, elbow and helmet, didn't even enter my mind.

Got an hour's sleep in the car and felt a whole load better. Had my toothbrush which made me feel reinvigorated - definately on the packing list for PBP. Looking back should have slept earlier, when it was dark and I needed it (lesson 2 learned). Next time I'll take a leaf out of Drew Buck's book, who we had passed having a catnap on the verge, and of whom I felt strangely jealous.

It was a classic audaxing scene - bike lain on the ground and rider horizontal beside it, arms crossed for warmth. I'd read about and seen pictures of people kipping anywhere and everywhere, but never seen it myself and this made the whole long distance thing seem real. I'd always smiled before thinking 'look how knackered they are, just sleeping anywhere'. Now I knew exactly how it felt and I could have fallen asleep on the central reservation of the M25 at that point.

The second loop was down to Lymington which was OK and I managed to keep up 20kph average which I was happy with as I was right on the time limit when I left Denmead. Careful not to thrash myself with 220km to go and gradually got some time back in hand.

Lots of cyclists out in the New Forest along with quite a few tw*ts driving too fast in souped up sports cars, black BMWs or camper vans with blacked out windows. Great views of the sailing boats on the solent on stretch from Bucklers Hard to Lymington, where it started to rain; in fact it was now properly pissing down, all the way to Ower control with another nice hill thrown in at Fordingbridge.

McDonalds chips at Ower services have become something of an audaxing tradition in this house and so it continued, fuelling me nicely for the last leg. As always the last 10km seem interminable but finally got in at 8.30pm for a rendevous with the cashpoint control. Had a chat with the legendary Drew Buck, who has done 5 PBPs including one dressed as an onion johnny (complete with onions) on a 1920s bike, and will be interested to see what he rides this year. He explained that on these bikes he cannot draft becuase the brakes are not responsive enough compared to modern ones. Triple chapeau then to do PBP without ever sitting on someone else's wheel.

The drive home was interesting and all sorts of funny shapes jumped out of the shadows and familiar roadside objects transformed themselves into something completely different. The wonders of sleep deprivation. Who needs drugs for a mind-altering experience? All you need to do is sit on a bike for 40 hours.

So that's my Super Randonneur series completed (a 200, 300, 400 and 600 in one year) and more importantly qualification for Paris Brest Paris in August.

Man down!

The glorious weather broke just in time for the Bank Holiday weekend, so I gave riding a miss on Saturday, plus which I wasn't feeling 100 percent.

Sunday, just did a quick 35km in an attempt to get the speed up. So the big ride of the weekend was to be Bank Holiday Monday.

The first 30 minutes went fine, bowling along at about 30 kph. Just past Dorchester there was small hill up, followed by the down. Got my speed up to about 50kph. A car came from the left and slowed at the junction to give way to me, I was on the main road with the right of way. Then it sped up again and didn't give way. I screamed at it and swerved to the right where my brakes locked up, my back wheel overtook me and I ended up bouncing off my hip, my elbow and my head in that order. Helmet fractured in three places so need a new one of those. Luckily the woman stopped and gave me her name and address and will get the bill later.

A bit shaken but carried on out to Wareham and Corfe Castle. Must be getting fitter because Creech Hill didn't seem too bad, certainly not as hard as it was last time I did it a couple of years ago when it was granny ring all the way.

A good run back, 100 km total.

Kernow and South West

Signed up for this online late one Saturday night after a glass of wine too many. However am now going to be a DNS (Did Not Start) as can feel a cold coming on and don't fancy endless hills for two days. Also I want to be sure to pre-register for Paris Brest Paris which opens on Saturday at midnight for those mere mortals who only did a 200km last season and if I'm on the road I may miss my chance.

In order to add interest to the enrolment, the Audax Club Parisien (ACP), organising body of PBP, have got a system whereby they allow people to register in advance if they can prove they are capable riders, with those who did the longest rides being able to do so considerably in advance - i.e. if you did a 600 last year you could have registered at the beginning of April. Audax UK has about 350 places for PBP and the majority of those have already gone to people who went considerably longer than 200km last season, so I want to be sure to reserve my place tomorrow. Despite assurances that anyone wanting to ride will be able to get a place, I want to be sure.

K&SW seems to be renowned as one of the all time great rides (for 'great' read 'hard') so thought it better not to enter and fail as I'm not feeling great, but to marshal my forces for next week's Denmead 600, which was the original plan anyway before the red wine intervened. So I have been a bit of a pussy and withdrawn, and hope to goodness I don't get struck down with anything serious in the next week.

Denmead 400

Up at 4am to leave at 5am after the usual bowl of porridge. Made good time and got to the start at 6.45 for a 7am start.

Took it easy for the first few miles, no point in rushing. It was a beautiful morning although a little windy. Many of the usual Denmead suspects were there.

The first stage went along the prescribed Denmead route to Bishops Waltham and south of Winchester then north through Porton Down chemical warfare establishment to Amesbury. The Friar Tuck control is something of a legend in audaxing terms and they served up beans on toast in record time. Didn't stop long, about 20 minutes or so, then continued across Salisbury Plain into a headwind. I had cycled this road before when doing a trip from London to Somerset with a friend and knew what was coming. There were a few hills but the real problem was the wind. Was glad to arrive at Frome Sainsbury's for the next control and a sandwich sitting in the car park with my fellow adventurers.

Stage 3 continued in the same vein and it was a bit depressing to be pedalling hard down Cheddar Gorge. The wind was fearsome, but luckily we were shelted from it going up Shipham hill, which was not as bad as it had been when I did it in January . The turn came at Weston super Mare after about 180km, with a control in the Oxford Cafe which involved the 'chef's special' omlette; basically recycled breakfast leftovers which tried to recycle themselves again over the next few hours. It also took about 3/4 hour to arrive, which was too long.

Heading back south east we had the wind behind us and made good time to Glastonbury, then on to Somerton in the gathering darkness, to arrive at Podimore services at about 10pm. This was home territory as I fill up with petrol here on a fairly regular basis as it is only about 10 miles from the office. It tried to rain but thankfully stopped after a couple of minutes.

I pressed on alone past villages I see day in day out with work and had a scary moment when my chain stuck. I tough it might be curtains for a moment, but luckily I disengaged it and all was OK again. This stage got quite hard with a vicious climb up to Cucklington followed by another long climb up to Shaftesbury where we got off for a rest. It was now about 1.30am and the usual drunkards were asking to borrow my bike. We tried to remember where we had been and could not put a name to Weston super Mare. Fatigue was setting in.

I had been warned that this was a long stage and so it proved, continuing west of Salisbury where there was an unpleasant hill going out of Downton. Probably not too bad in daylight and early in the day, but it seemed to go on a bit. Then through the New Forest with an orange moon off to the right, and a cockerel crowing at about 4am to herald the oncoming morning.

Arrived at Ower services hoping for the traditional McDonalds chips but had to make do with a coffee from the petrol station. It was now about 5am and we pushed on - only 48km to go. The first bit from the services on the dual carriageway towards Romsey seemed harder than it did on the 300, then, after Romsey, the route retraced where we had come from the morning before. It was a strange feeling cycling along the same roads, at the same time in the morning, with the same weather, but knowing that we had been going for 24 hours.

As always, the last few km were difficult and it was good to arrive back at Denmead where I had an ice lolly at 7.15am in the morning. A local gave me a strange look and I felt like telling him what we'd all just done.

Completed my card and posted it through the door, then drove slowly to Rownhams services where I had a kip in the car, before getting home at about noon.

A great ride, good to have done it and crossed into new territory. The SR (super randonneur) series is nearly complete, just the 600 to go, which will mean qualification for the Paris Brest Paris.