Wheels, Pedals, Person

On Saturday night I did the legendary Dunwich Dynamo ride; a yearly 'turn up and ride' event which starts at London Fields in the east of the city ending up around 120 miles away on the Suffolk Coast at Dunwich. Legend has it that it was a group of messengers that had a few pints in London then decided to ride to the coast. It's a lovely story, but apparently a myth, although the Dunwich Dynamo is one of those mythical rides...so who really knows.

After eating a spectacularly large plate of spaghetti on Saturday afternoon I leapt into my bike kit and headed off to meet friends at Look Mum No Hands cafe. Enjoying a double espresso, a can of San Pelligrino and a slice of vegan chocolate cake (although I know I'm not doing the stereotype of a city-dwelling cyclist any good here) we chatted excitedly about the evening to come. When we arrived at Look Mum it was quite busy but slowly, as if guided by a silent and subtle signal, cyclists slowly left the cafe leaving it more empty than a regular Saturday evening—even the workshop was closed! Ensuring our jersey pockets were filled with energy bars and inner tubes we headed off to the meet point at London Fields. Once there we signed in for our coach trip back, kindly organised by Southwark Cyclists, and stood around nattering and bumping into friends and fellow cyclists we knew.

Soon it was time to head off so we joined the steady stream of cyclists leaving London Fields, the way sand leaves an hourglass. There followed a bunch ride out through London in which we had to negotiate lots of vehicles and traffic lights but soon we were out of the city, whizzing through Epping Forest with excited voices all around and blinking bicycle lights streaming up the road ahead of us into the distance as far as we could see. Heading up past the forest and through the town of Epping we passed the first of a few people sitting out on the street on chairs, next to them a track pump if passing cyclists needed to use it. I thought this was so touching and said thank you as I passed; they replied "Good luck!" to us all as we rolled off into the darkness, past a young boy doing Jedi moves in a front garden with his lightsabre and on towards the first pub stop of the night. Once there people took different approaches, some buying booze and some snacks. I opted for the latter as I really fancied some salted peanuts and I sat, very contentedly, with my bike shoes off and curling my toes and relaxing.


Heading off again we entered the darkest part of the ride, in terms of light rather than mood, which flowed around winding country lanes and off across flat countryside. Unfortunately there were a couple of falls at this stage but nobody was badly hurt, at least not that we heard about. Whenever I see or hear of a cyclist coming off their bike it always makes me really feel for them as I know how horrible it is, having come off a bike on too many occasions. We hoped for a safe ride for all. We kept rolling through the countryside in the darkness, our little group concertinaing through the dark fields lit only by the occasional very beautiful tealight in a jar that the Dunwich Fairies had left out for us to mark our way. Whenever I stopped to bunch up our group (as I occasionally got over-excited and got involved with a little breakaway), riders would pass me by in the darkness just illuminated by little flashing lights and a 'whoooooooossshhhh' of wheels on the tarmac. It really was quite a beautiful experience.

We were soon stopping for our second break and a chance to all catch up and enjoy a cup of coffee, a bit of a stretch and a chance to chat about how we were getting on. It's around this time of night that people start to realise the size of the ride we were on but we were all feeling really fine and although it is a long ride for some, I'm used to long rides. Heading off again we passed through numerous small towns in the darkness including one with three drunk people walking up the middle of the road, shouting. For a split second I was a little concerned at this and wondered what might happen but then I realised they were shouting "We love you, thank you for visiting us!". Although walking in the middle of the road as cyclists hurtle past might not be the best approach, we definitely appreciated the sentiment.

The Dunwich Dynamo really is a ride of stages; leaving the city, through the forest, the dark roads, the empty towns and then came the 'Dun Run CX stage' which was an entirely closed road. As there were so many cyclists there was about a 30-minute wait at a pedestrian bridge to circumnavigate the closed road. But nobody minded and we all stood around chatting quietly, shuffling up the road. Soon after was the mid-point stop at a village hall but we decided to just use the toilet and grab a quick snack before heading off again; the queues were epic and while the people there were doing an amazing job, we didn't really want to wait for such a long time as we all had food with us.

Then came the 'before dawn' stage where we paced really well along the route, heading towards a gently brightening sky. At this point we had a discussion about 'loaming in the gloaming' but I'm not sure what the conclusion was; it was funny though. Most of the way around we nattered and then had some quiet time, then nattered again. I suppose about 30/40 miles from Dunwich we passed through a bit of a driech patch of rainy mist which I thought reminded me of home in Northumberland. But at this point also my rear derailer started making a teeny, tiny squeak, like a teeny, tiny field vole in the distance. "That's going to piss me off" I thought as I like my bikes to run as silently as possible, but it stopped after a short while. Continuing on we eventually stopped for breakfast and I really enjoyed my veggie roll and coffee, with quite a few spoonfuls of sugar which was served in a discoloured mound on a paper plate. At least it looked like sugar. :) Had a lovely chat with the lovely people serving breakfast, sat in a yurt and listened to a really funny story a guy was telling about somebody that—when starting off part-way up a hill—gave it a bit too much and managed to perform a back-flip! The giggling that this story was causing set me off giggling too, not sure if it was just sleep deprivation or one of the funniest stories I've ever heard, I'll let you decide...

The last part of the ride was coming up and by this point it had got pretty light so we headed off towards Dunwich passing grass verges on which bicycles were laid with rear lights still flashing while their rider slept beside them. Past the last tea and coffee stop we kept riding and by this point, as we were quite close, I fancied stretching my legs a bit so pushed on, following arrows on the road. After a few moments I realised there was nobody ahead or behind me and that I might have taken a wrong turn, but I was following the arrows. Soon I bumped into a guy—I think called Phil—and we decided at least to stick together so we had a really nice chat on the way to our destination. By all accounts he'd had a very event-filled ride with two crashes! An increasing head-wind combined with the fatigue after these crashes and he was a little tired so I suggested he picked up my wheel and I rouled towards the beach.

A really lovely group of people were cheering everybody at the end so I stood and waited for my friends to arrive and joined in the cheering; ride done! A couple of us had a swim in the sea before starting to make plans to get home again but I have to admit I was very envious of the people who had camper vans and who were by now sitting out of the wind with a cup of coffee. Think I can see myself in a van one of these days...

It's not an easy ride, especially at night, and I have a huge amount of respect for everybody doing it. I know some found it hard, and some found it ok but I'm sure everybody will walk away with at least one magical moment from it; even if that magical moment is getting back home and enjoying that first shower.

Following is a section from Doping at the Tour de France from Wikipedia:

In 1924 the journalist Albert Londres followed the Tour de France for the French newspaper, Le Petit Parisien. At Coutances he heard that the previous year's winner, Henri Pélissier, his brother Francis and a third rider, Maurice Ville, had pulled out after a row with the organiser, Henri Desgrange. Henri Pélissier explained the problem - whether or not he had the right to take off a jersey - and went on to talk of drugs, reported in Londres' race diary, in which he coined the phrase Les Forçats de la Route (The Convicts of the Road):

"You have no idea what the Tour de France is", Henri said. "It's a Calvary. Worse than that, because the road to the Cross has only 14 stations and ours has 15. We suffer from the start to the end. You want to know how we keep going? Here..." He pulled a phial from his bag. "That's cocaine, for our eyes. This is chloroform, for our gums."

"This", Ville said, emptying his shoulder bag "is liniment to put warmth back into our knees."

"And pills. Do you want to see pills? Have a look, here are the pills." Each pulled out three boxes.

"The truth is", Francis said, "that we keep going on dynamite."

Henri spoke of being as white as shrouds once the dirt of the day had been washed off, then of their bodies being drained by diarrhoea, before continuing:

"At night, in our rooms, we can't sleep. We twitch and dance and jig about as though we were doing St Vitus's Dance..."

"There's less flesh on our bodies than on a skeleton", Francis said.

Francis Pélissier said much later: "Londres was a famous reporter but he didn't know about cycling. We kidded him a bit with our cocaine and our pills. Even so, the Tour de France in 1924 was no picnic.

Henri Pelissier, 1919

On Sunday a group of us met up in London to ride 100km as part of Rapha's Women's 100 challenge. The challenge was to encourage women to ride 100km in a single ride all on the same day and thousands of women took part with 1,716 participants on Strava alone.

It was going to be an early start so as I woke at 6am on Sunday morning I checked the event page and saw photos from complete rides already from women in the Southern Hemisphere. It was fantastic to see groups of women coming together all around the world. But I had to get on and do our ride so after getting a cup of coffee and bowl of porridge down I set off to meet a friend then down to the meet-point.

The roads were lovely and empty on the way to Dulwich Park, where we were meeting, although I noticed a haze of pollution in shafts of light coming through the trees in the early morning sun. Made me realise how polluted London is and how it'd be nice to get out and get some fresh air. Soon though we were at the meeting point, applying more suncream and heading off on our route, planned by Hannah who'd actually recced the ride the weekend before; well above the call of duty!

Heading out of London we joined the country roads forming part of the Dulwich Paragon club route, stopping at the southerly point near Titsey Hill to look back at London in the early morning sun. A snack and back on the road heading east we enjoyed a long descent until we stopped at a small town for some more water; it was already getting very hot! We continued on to our lunch stop in West Malling where I enjoyed probably the nicest iced black coffee I've ever had—although this could be something to do with the heat we were slogging through.

Back on the road after lunch we headed through Aylesford we carried on to Detling and on to the Pilgrim's Way with quite a few good climb sections on the way! Although we were still making good progress we had a brief stop at The Black Horse Inn in Thurnham. This turned out to be a really good idea as I laid in the shade on the cool concrete for a while and let my body cool down a bit. I was starting to feel like I was suffering from the heat (I'm better in the cold) so it was good to be able to cool down. In fact while riding it was so hot that I was often pouring water from my bidon down the back of my neck to cool down. It was bliss, I tell you!

After a short break we continued on towards the coast and made really good progress on some beautiful roads, skirting wafting fields of corn and through green tunnels formed by trees leaning over to touch each other over the single-lane road. Soon we were in Kent's fruit growing area and other than getting bitten by a yapping farm dog (though it just bit my shoe) it was a beautiful ride towards our final destination. The last 30 or so kiliometers I was just dreaming of a large portion of chips from a chippie when we got there but occasionally my attention would be drawn to the most beautiful smell of strawberries, hanging in the air, thick and sweet. It's such a shame, I thought, that drivers don't smell this.

Soon enough the roadsides started to get a bit more dune-like and sandy and suddenly we reached the sea wall and could see the sea! A quick photo and we pressed on to Whitstable where we arrived, pushing our bicycles across the pebbly beach to sit down and enjoy the beautiful setting. 

A quick trip to the high street and I had my chips and mushy peas.

Enjoying a drink on the beach we chatted until it was time to catch our train back, slightly pink from the sun, tired and really happy.

• Total moving time: 5:26:47
• Distance: 124.0km
  
• Climbed: 1,074m
  

UPDATE: I won 2nd place for Best Story! To say I'm absolutely blown away and so proud would be an understatement!

Although I've done my target I decided to have a quick 30km blast to loosen my legs up and also to enjoy the last day I'm going to get to cycle in Northumberland for a while.

After uploading my latest ride data, I worked out the stats.

• Rode: 604km
• Climbed: 6,366m
• Time: 27h:14m
• Average Speed: 22kph
• Energy expended (estimate): 10,616kJ
• Average per day: 75km
• Overall rank: 585 / 12818
• Other cyclists seen en-route: 2
• Mentions on BBC 6Music: 2 ;)

The Festive 500 was an amazing experience but also one of the toughest experiences of my life. The rides themselves varied from around 30km to 143km, although riding every day and in winter conditions really takes its toll. There have been some amazing moments and some moments that I've been reduced to tears, slogging through wind and rain. I've worked hard for every km, doing the entire challenge on my own, and my poor bicycle needs a complete strip, clean and re-build. [Update: My 'Flood' photo also made the Rapha blog.] [Update 2: Very proud to be told I've been mentioned in the Rapha Best of Festive 500 on their blog. Thanks folks! :) ]

But I can say I've done it.

I've done it!

Distance: 32.6km
Overall: 604km
Strava Ride Data

Stages:

 

• Stage 1: The Coastal Castles
• Stage 2: The Harbour
• Stage 3: Cragside and Dark Northumberland
• Stage 4: Rest Day
• Stage 5: The Borders
• Stage 6: Coals to Newcastle
• Stage 7: The Reservoir and The Romans...and Vikings!

The last main day of my challenge was today with 72km remaining, so I decided to smash it with a 143km ride. Never one to do things by half, me. The main reason for this was that I planned to ride around Kielder Reservoir and the only route that I could find was 143km. Another route is possible covering a similar sort of distance, 110km, takes you into Scotland and near Hawick (pronounced 'hoik') and then back across Carter Bar, although this slightly re-traced my route up to Jedburgh the other day so I decided to loop around through Scotland, into Cumbria and then back into Northumberland. Today's route not only took me past Kielder Water but also the return leg runs alongside Hadrian's Wall and a few Roman Army camps along the way. In fact it was while slogging along a dark, windy and cold road that I smiled wondering what these Roman citizens would have thought about leaving a warm country and ending up in Northumberland. Although many of the Roman army and citizens were natives anyway and became citizens of Rome.

I parked the car in Wark (pronounced 'waahk'; rhyming more with 'spark' than 'cork'), a small village in Northumberland so-named due to the Viking (I pronounce the word 'vih-king' rather than 'vye-king') word for earthworks referring to a mound at the south of the village where a meeting hall once stood. The meeting hall was used as a main meeting place for the Clan Chieftans and even though it is a small place, Wark was once the capital town of Tynedale and has a Town Hall rather than a Village Hall. It's always very special for me to be in a place with this kind of heritage because being Northumbrian, this is my heritage.

Riding up to Kielder Water from Wark there are a good few hills and the wind was so intense even going downhill I had to work hard in a very low gear. It did make me smile that the gear I used to climb Mont Ventoux a couple of months ago was the same I used to go down a hill in Northumberland! But I pretty much had the roads to myself and in fact I probably saw only a handful people all day. 

Riding up past Kielder Water the road is wide and lined with huge trees towering over you. It's a little like riding a bicycle through downtown Manhattan! Heading out past Bakethin reservoir (at the north of Kielder Water) you're taken along a little winding road up into the borders of Scotland again and then into Scotland. There are a few sheep around in this part of the world and seem to be pretty confused by a bicycle coming past so just as I was heading to the Scottish border a couple of sheep in the road started sprinting off through the border! So I'd accidentally chased two sheep into a different country! When I passed them I told them to go back though.

This part of the route was directly into a headwind. I'd decided I would loop around anti-clockwise so I'd benefit from the tailwind on the return leg (and the outward leg is a little more sheltered anyway) but the headwind all the way down and past the Scottish town of Newcastleton was phenomenal. Spending hours cranking into a headwind really isn't a huge amount of fun and sometimes a bit dispiriting when you reach a downhill section only to still have to pick a low gear and pedal hard to get down it. But soon I turned off back to Gilsland and Greenhead and entered Cumbria. At this stage I had completed the Festive 500 distance so a small 'fist clench' was my celebration. My 'reward' for completing the distance was an approximately 1km, 1:10 hillclimb out of a valley. Seemed appropriate.

The remainder of the ride was gritting my teeth and grinding up and down the hills back across Northumberland and towards Wark. It was at this stage, around 110km, that I had a few tears but soon felt a lot better and got on with the task of riding my bicycle. I had to push the recurring thought out of my head that I kept having: "What if I get a puncture now?" went around my head. Although I had enough spares to fix a puncture, it would have been pretty crushing to have to stop by the side of the road in the dark and rain to fix a blow-out. But thankfully this didn't happen and I made good progress back to the car. In fact the hill outside Greenhead was a proper killer but soon I was back in Northumberland National Park and counting off the miles. I didn't  check my computer for my milage for about 30km as it became just all about turning the pedals and making progress. It didn't really help too much that I couldn't really see too well either as it was getting a bit dark, but I could see enough to ride safely and was pretty happy. 

Riding back through the National Park I passed Housesteads Roman Fort which was an auxiliary fort on Hadrian's Wall. In fact this was the closest I'd been to Hadrian's Wall during my rides this week, spending the rest of my time in the more northern 'wild lands'. Although there was a more northerly Roman Wall; the Antonine Wall through what is now the centre of Scotland although this wall was abandoned after only 20 years when they moved down to the more southerly Hadrian's Wall.

Seeing the sign; 'Wark 5' was fantastic and rolling down the last few hills to the finish was a real relief. Arriving back at the car I was absolutely soaking wet but thanks to my decent cycling clothes I wasn't too cold; although I took the front wheel off and threw my bike in the back of the car and leapt inside to get out of the wind, turning on the heater to get some warmth through me. In fact I drove a few miles back, still wearing my bike gear, before I was warm enough to stop and change into some dry clothes.

Distance: 143km
Remaining: 0km
Strava Ride Data
Glad I had: Rapha Neoprene Overshoes

Next: Festive 500: Epilogue

The phrase 'taking coals to Newcastle' (or pointlessly taking something to a place where they already have plenty) is fair enough unless you're in one of the places that actually did take coals to Newcastle. 

Today I thought I'd take a ride down to one of the coal-producing parts of the north east, a place that fuelled the industry and manufacturing in the area. Of course, today, the area is a much different place and the colliery that I rode past is now a tourist attraction but it's nice that the mine still looks something like it used to. 

The ride down there was a real slog, into a headwind with icy rain in my face all the way. It was one of the few moments during this challenge that I've wondered what I was doing and wondering why Dr No on the telly and a sofa wasn't a better option, but given I'd done all the hard work getting down there the ride back—with the wind behind me—was quite fun! So, I swore a bit, gritted my teeth and put my head down and eventually got to Woodhorn. Although the road I spent most of my time on is much more busier that I have been used to in the last few days. 

The museum at Woodhorn Colliery is in Ashington in the south of Northumberland, near the coast. The museum has an amazing array of archives and buildings including 'headframes', a winding house, a steam winding engine, stables, blacksmiths and joiners shops. But Woodhorn is not just a museum but a art space for the Ashington Group—a group of artists, mostly miners, with no formal art training.

There is still some industry on the coast with the Alcan aluminium manufacturer but the power generated in the area now comes from Lynemouth Wind Farm who's huge wind turbines tower over the original mine workings of Woodhorn.

Distance: 74.2km
Remaining: 71.8km
Strava Ride Data

Next: Festive 500 Stage 7: The Reservoir and The Romans...and Vikings!

Yesterday was quite a short ride, mostly because I'd been planning a longer ride today. Forgoing some of the booze the night before, I got an early night but found that I couldn't sleep anyway. I'd been planning a ride over Carter Bar and into Scotland but I was a little worried about being in such a remote location on my bicycle by myself. So I managed to fall asleep about 1am and then wake up again at about 5am. But as my alarm went off at 7am I found myself being able to jump out of bed and eat a big breakfast before getting ready and press-ganging my brother into giving me a lift over to near Otterburn in the Northumbrian Borders.

Arriving at Catclough Reservoir it was pouring with rain, and grim. Dreich, it's called in this part of the world. So I put the wheels on my bike, put on my rain gear and set off up to Carter Bar with my wheels sucking at the standing water on the road. Turning round to see my brother making a joke about me probably needing to cycle a bit faster I wondered for a second why I was doing this, but it only took me a few minutes to really get into the ride. Sometimes I'm not really into it but today I immediately loved the crank up the slope to the border of Scotland and even the snow on the hills didn't even make me feel cold, although I didn't stop long on the top to take a photograph!

Speeding down the other side into Jedburgh I only shared the road with a few cars, all of whom seemed to pass nice and slowly, although I suspect it was because I was descending at a decent pace. I really enjoyed the hairpins on the descent, weighting the bike nice and low and leaning into the corners. Because I was descending and not breathing too heavily I pulled my neck roll over my face to reduce the impact of the stinging sleet.

I had planned to photograph the old tree near Jedburgh but my desire to find a loo must have meant I forgot to look properly and I was soon at the salubrious location of the tourist office using their facilities. But soon I was off on my way up towards Bonjedward and from there to Yetholm and around, back into England, and past Wooler. 

The entire country around The Borders has a certain feeling to it, much like many border areas and between the 13th and the 17th centuries some people you may meet in this area would be Border Reivers. The Border Reivers were raiders along the border and included both Scottish and English families who raided the entire border country without regard to their victims' nationality, wearing their shepherd's plaid, the oldest tartan in existence. The name probably comes from the Old Endlish 'reive' or 'to rob'. In fact my surname, Anderson, is a 'Middle March' Reiver name. It's said that due to Scotland and England being at war during this period, people relied on their own strength and cunning and in more modern times the Border Reivers have been glamourised in many folk tales and songs including in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (a song book I learned from while learning the Northumbrian Pipes). 

The Border Reivers really deserve much more attention but I can only ask you to read the links to get a full idea of these people in this wonderful part of the world. Although they were relative late-comers to the area. I also passed through Yeavering on my return through Northumberland which is a small hamlet but the site of a huge Anglo-Saxon settlement that archaeologists say was one of the seats of royal power held by the kings of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bernicia">Bernicia in the 7th century but also evidence has been found of settlements from the Mesolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Age periods. 

Although it was really tough, it was one of my favourite rides I can remember. I covered 112km in 4 hours and 37 minutes with an average speed of over 24kph. It was very moving and special to be in the middle of such a beautiful part of the world; a place that wherever I go is always in my heart. 

Distance: 112km
Remaining: 146km
Strava Ride Data
Glad I had: Rapha Rain Jacket

Next: Festive 500 Stage 6: Coals to Newcastle

Today was a rest day so I took it easy all morning (so easy I stayed in bed until 11:30) and then popped out for a quick ride just to turn my legs over. Thinking I could get some bits from a local bike shop I headed in that direction but as it turned out the shop was closed anyway.

But it gave me a nice chance to go some single-lane quiet roads around Alnmouth.

Was also lovely to see the sea although not sure my bike is keen on the sand and salt.

Back home in the light and warming up on the sofa is nice too. 

Distance: 30.6km
Remaining: 258km
Strava ride Data

Next: Festive 500 Stage 5: The Borders

 

Distance: 103.3km
Remaining: 289km
Strava Ride Data
Glad I had with me: Rapha Hi-vis Gilet

Next: Festive 500 Stage 4: Rest Day

Today I didn't really have much time—what with family Christmas plans and all—so I just had a short but very welcome ride down to the fishing port of Amble; now home to a marina (mostly filled with pleasure boats rather than fishing boats nowadays) and home to the best chip-shop in the world (in my humble opinion), near the harbour itself. The route I followed took me through the old town of Warkworth and home to yet another castle, this one an exclusively Norman castle although there has been a church on this site for around 1200 years. The castle was also the site of a brutal massacre of some 300 local people by the Earl of Fife's men while seeking refuge there from Scottish raiders. Warkworth is a beautiful village with a stunning stone bridge and a very pretty main street with a pretty killer hill too! 

 

Riding through Amble the town was pretty much deserted, although it was relatively early on Christmas morning and pouring with rain. The few cars that passed me gave me loads of space, I think mainly through fear as what kind of lunatic would be riding a bicycle around country roads on Christmas morning in the rain?!? But the space was welcome and it's pleasant coming back up north and remembering that the crazy people in cars don't all want to kill you.

Amble, the 'friendliest port' may have seen hard times with less trade in the port nowadays but it has a real charm to it. Maybe it's because I've spent so much time there as a child but I have a soft spot for the place. And the view of Coquet Island—one of the Farne Islands—from the pier is pretty special. It's said that Amble either got its name from the Gaelic 'am béal' meaning 'river mouth' or the Old English 'Amma's bile' meaning 'Amma's headland' although I suppose nobody really knows.

 

After a brief stop at the pier my ride took me past the huge holiday park on the outskirts of Amble and through the Hauxley nature reserve, again on empty (but wet) roads. Picking up the road back to Amble I made my way back to Warkworth and looped around for a short but very pleasant 30km ride.

Distance: 31.7km
Remaining: 392km
Strava Ride Data

Next: Festive 500 Stage 3: Cragside and Dark Northumberland