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My First Two Reliability Rides,
by Chris Colford (aged 108)
They say you're as old as you feel. By the time
I got back from my first reliability ride, I felt over a hundred. A
reliability ride is a means of 'getting miles into your legs'. There is always
a strong temptation to give up/go very slowly on a long ride. Reliability
rides discourage this by getting you to sign up in advance for the time and
distance you intend to do, and making you pay for the privilege.
Psychologically, it works something like this: "I paid £3 for 60 miles
of pain, so I'm damned if I'm giving up after 40. That would be a waste of a
pound."
The first reliability ride I went on was the 14
January Old Portlians ride from Halstead. Paul Tunnell put me on to it, and
was the other Addiscombe rider in my group. Hannah from Cycling Weekly was
also there, but in a different group. Other Agreeables were conspicuous by
their absence.
When you arrive at a reliability ride (normally
at about 9.00 am) you are faced with a short multiple choice quiz:
1. Do you want to: A - ride 30 miles B - ride
60 miles C - really want to ride 30 miles but are too embarrassed to say so D
- go hom now. It was all a terrible mistake
2. Do you intend to: A - finish in 3.5 hours B
- finish in 4 hours C - finish in 5 hours D - finish in 3 weeks, in which case
you will naturally choose B, because it would be embarrassing to choose the
easiest time
My answers were C and D respectively. Paul's
were B and B, so we set off in the same group. Paul punctured after about an
hour, so we got a bit behind schedule, and pressed on as a pair. We slogged up
a few Kentish hills, got further behind schedule, and ended up at the
checkpoint in Ashdown Forest. We had a free cup of tea and a biscuit, and
worked out without the aid of a calculator that, in order to beat our time
limit, we'd have to increase our speed by approximately loads of miles per
hour.
Here I should point out that Paul Tunnell's
body should be devoted to medical science when he dies. The further he goes,
the better he feels. He set off at the requisite pace, and I followed. To cut
a long story shortish, we signed back in at Halstead Village Hall with a good
5 seconds to spare, and picked up our certificates. I was completely
nauseated, but felt better after a cup of tea, ham sandwich, can of Coke and
two flapjacks. I was assisted back on to my bike, and we set off back to
Addiscombe. When I got home I'd done 89 hilly miles at a computer average of
15.7 mph. Most of you reading this won't think much of 15.7 mph, but the only
other time I'd done more than 60 miles, my average was 11 mph. The sense of
achievement was narcotic.
That at least is my excuse for having the poor
judgment to go out in the rain the following week for the Bexley CC
reliability ride from Horton Kirkby Cricket Club. Here's how to go out for a
long ride in the cold and rain, when you know perfectly well what a silly idea
it is:
Step 1. Call Paul Tunnell. He's as much of a
loony as you are, and will do all he can to assist.
Step 2. Agree with Paul that OF COURSE you
won't ride if it's raining, but you might as well drive out to the start of
the ride anyway. It may well have cleared up by then.
Step 3. Completely ignore the weather forecast,
which says that the rain will probably only last until mid-day, when it will
be replaced by sleet and then heavier rain.
Step 4. Arrive at Horton Kirby. Observe that it
is still raining steadily. Agree that it would be a shame to come all this way
and not ride.
Step 5. Pay your money (only £2 this time -
bad weather discount presumably).
Step 6. Continuing to keep the weather forecast
in a part of your mind unconnected with the decision-making process, choose
the 60 mile route.
Step 7. In a triumph of common sense, don't go
for the 3.5 hour time limit, even though you secretly believe that this is
achievable on this slightly flatter course, especially taking into account the
enormous fitness gains you must have made last week.
Step 8. Get on your bike.
In fact, once we got on the bikes, it wasn't so
bad. After 2.5 hours we were well ahead of schedule. Then we turned down a
narrow lane, slowed down because the left hand side was covered with thick
ice, went down the right where the ice had melted into a big puddle, and soon
found ourselves sitting in the puddle realising that not ALL of the ice had
melted on that side.
We weren't hurt but we were now colder and
wetter. The next part of the ride was the only big hill. The higher you got,
the colder and foggier it was. The check point Charlie freezing his knackers
off at the top (hats off to him) told us we were the first to arrrive, and to
be careful of the sludge along the top of the ridge, caused by the snow that
we now noticed was falling. Because of the fog and snow, we couldn't go
quickly, so we couldn't get warm. When we eventually arrrived at the junction
of the B269 opposite the top of Botley Hill, we were cold. I punctured. Fully
15 minutes later I had fixed it, and we were very cold. Once we'd suffered the
windchill descending Botley Hill we were very very cold, and still rather wet.
The last half hour back to Horton Kirkby was seriously unpleasant. I'd
forgotten about the time limit. Paul hadn't.
Paul: "How long have we got left?"
Chris: "12 minutes." Paul: "We can make it." Chris:
"No we can't."
The last sentence was spoken to thin air.
Demonstrating again his bizarre physiological tendency to get less tired the
further he rides and the less he eats and drinks, Paul towed me back to the
finish line (apart from one stretch where he dropped me without noticing) with
one minute to spare. When I say one minute to spare, I mean that it took us
four hours and 5 minutes, but if it had taken four hours and 6 minutes, Paul
would probably have been unable to persuade the timekeeper that we were close
enough, and had indeed just about made it according to his own watch.
I mentioned before that the Old Ports had given
us a certificate for finished their reliability ride. The Bexley system is to
send it to you afterwards. Judging by the Old Ports certificate, the Bexley
one will doubtless say something like, "This is to certify that Chris
Colford completed a course of 60 miles within a time limit of 4 hours."
If it does, I'll send it back, and ask them to sign this:
"This is to certify that Chris Colford
completed a course of 60 miserable miles through wind, rain, sleet, snow and
fog, fell on his arse in an icy puddle, and only carried on because there
wasn't a taxi around. He didn't quite make it in the 4 hours, but the nice
lady at the final time check took pity on him and gave him a time of 13.00
hours, when it was cleary 13.05, God bless her. Next time, it it's raining and
below 4 degrees, he'll know better than to get on his bike."
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