The inaugural Prudential Ride100 was an experience I am unlikely (and hope never) to forget. For now, it is imprinted in my visceral memory, as my body continues to recover from the exertions it entailed. I will, I think, be reflecting on the experience in the days and weeks to come but for now, I am deeply connected with a sense of having taken part in something terrifically special and out of the ordinary. It was extraordinary. There were sixteen and a half thousand of us on two wheels. Including at least one tandem entry whose riders were doing a fabulous job and maintaining quite a pace when I saw them! The course was tough, but did not feel as gruelling as I had perhaps feared.
The atmosphere was intense. From the moment we unloaded the bikes on Jamaica Road, the closest we could get to the QEOP and the former Stadium, we were in great company. We pedalled with hundreds of others, all up at the crack of dawn (the sun had only just risen, and was not yet high in the sky), eager to get on with the task in hand.
Our 'job' was made easier by the superbly efficient start procedure. Organised in waves, everyone seemed to somehow be in the right place at the right time, and following the simple steps. We were guided through a process not unlike boarding a plane. What we might have appreciated was a few more portaloos!
My tummy started to tell me I was feeling nervous whilst queueing for what seemed like ever... I wasn't alone. I think I have the nerves to thank for my swift start. The first thirty five miles seemed to fly by, and I was at Ripley before I knew it.
The hills weren't great. I can't claim to have enjoyed what preceded the admittedly impressive view from Newlands Corner, and this seemed to be something of a consensus at the first proper pit stop at the top. Again, there were queues to contend with but this was to be expected given the numbers of us out on bikes.
Were I to ever organise a Sportive, I would consider very carefully the refreshments and nutrition available to participants. Without wishing to sound ungrateful, yesterday's offerings could easily have been improved. The numbers involved were confirmed, and therefore anticipated. There wasn't much to choose from, and I made do on water and bananas, steering clear of the alternatives including salty crisps, pretzels and biscuits. I'm convinced there's a gap in the market for the gourmet sportive...
At mile 55 we contended with Leith Hill. Which must deserve the title Lethal. Particularly with hundreds of cyclists on it simultaneously. The ascent was hairy at best. The hardest thing was trying to find and stick to a safe path, made almost impossible by people losing heart and giving up, dismounting right in front of your front wheel. I puffed my way up it, and encouraged a few others to do the same.
The top could not come quickly enough. But come it did. Phew. Box Hill, whilst so often talked about in cycling circles, was nothing in comparison. In fact, I found it rather dismal. It stretched on and on, but clearly deserving of its acclaim as an area of outstanding natural beauty, preserved by the National Trust (who may or may not appreciate the extensive graffiti on the tarmac, designed to encourage loved ones tackling the famous incline), I think of this as a distinctly average climb. I dare say I could do with some more practice, and there is, I'm sure, a more efficient way to get from bottom to top. But yesterday was less about technical brilliance, and more about enthusiastic endurance.
We headed back up towards Leatherhead, through the rolling (rather than hilly) terrain, that confirmed my training schedule to date as appropriately vigorous. What I lacked in experience (having not spent much time in the Surrey Hills), I certainly made up for in spot-on preparation (around the North and South Downs).
What made the ride home particularly enjoyable (apart from the mileometer indicating that we were indeed on the home straight) was the support along the way. Dorking really does love cyclists! A substantial crowd was out, and I cannot imagine that this didn't help each and every one of us, in some small way. I know I benefited from the whoops and woos, the clamorous clapping and the 'Go for it, you can do it!' even if the 'You're nearly there' (at mile 40) wasn't strictly accurate.
That, combined with the incredible energy of my fellow cyclists, was what I will hold onto most firmly (that, and my pleasingly hefty medal) from yesterday. We were all there to have a good time. And many of us were doing a fantastic job representing and (I assume) fundraising for our chosen charities. The colourful array of jerseys were a sight to behold, and captured my attention far more than the steeds people were riding (something of a surprise, given the bike envy to which I am usually susceptible).
The power of the collective is more than the sum of its parts. I cannot do the maths but a lot of miles were clocked up yesterday and, I dare say, a fair bit of money. But more than anything, there was passion out on those closed roads. Passion amongst riders, and goodwill amongst spectators.
At times I felt choked. And it had nothing to do with either hyperventilation or the energy gels I consumed along the way. It was with the powerful reminder of humanity, and the power of it. Us. All of us.
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| I reckon I rose to the challenge... 100 miles done and still smiling! |
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