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The Longest Day by Guest Writer Laurence Arnold

2.40am, outside Bar Italia in Soho, the streets are awash with the dregs of society, drunk girls stumble across streets, oblivious to passing traffic, especially cyclists, cabs roar past and scythe across to stop when they spot a fare and bemused tourists haven't a clue which way to look. I'm drowsy, I didn't get a chance to sleep, my plan for the evening went to Hades in a speedboat, I ate too late and hunger set in before I took to the streets, delaying me further as I scoffed a powerbar. The trip through Richmond Park woke me up, the darkness wrapped around me, my lights tried in vain to cut through. The road and grass merged as my eyes strained to differentiate the two, relying on my ears to help, listening for the crackle of stones to denote the verge was near. The blinding lights of the film crew (at least that's what i think it was) hadn't helped, dazzling me just as I was adjusting. Less than a minute after them I was scrabbling to stay upright as I hit a horse track instead of the road. Slow down. Silence, save for the whirr of Stradius Pros on tarmac. A rabbit scurries across, caught in my light beam, seconds later something bigger, the white and fawn of deer jump from my path. I begin to wonder if this was a good idea. Up to White Lodge and the sound of bats, how I'd love some echo location now. Out into streetlights and onwards, the early morning air still warm, but I'm wrapped up anyway. Now I'm starting to chill and tire as I wait outside the Italian cafe. Motorbikes rev up, as do the people. A couple of cyclists appear. I chat to one, they're here for it too. Some more bikes, starting to feel better now there are more of them. A familiar face, Marco.

He tempted me here, I'd dismissed it before, but in the haze of a summer afternoon the idea sounded fun. It's 3am and I'm flagging, I want to ride, but have to wait. A slight commotion, bells ting, cycling ears picking them out from the hubbub. Around the corner they come and keep coming. I'd figured there'd be 20 or so. Instead the street is full. cars beep and voices are raised as the bikes swarm in. Motorbikers burn up tyres for our amusement, their engines cracking as the rev limiters kick in, burning rubber fills the nostrils. Party time. The cafes do a roaring trade in espresso as the cyclists tank up, then the bells ring again, we're off. twisting around the streets of the west end, the line broken as red lights stop sections of the gang. Few cars are around now, but the pavements are still busy, fights, kisses and anything inbetween take place there. We cruise along, the sky lightening already. A car objects to the intrusion of us into 'its' road, beeping furiously. Lights turn to green, but no one moves, the two wheelers blocking the way. He beeps again, but to no avail. Next sequence we move off and he screeches away, feeling macho. fanning out across the closed park roads we chat with friends we've never met, swapping stories of miles travelled to get here. Those two girls always seem to be in our sight too, dunno why. We duck down paths and head for the hill, bikers storming along the uneven footpath, some taking to the grass, not always by choice. It goes upwards, so I stand and kick, wanting to 53 it. Ducking by slowing riders i charge up, in my mind i'm a pirate. Rear tyre slipping on grass i still keep going and pant heavily when i reach the top. That felt good. Marco isn't far behind, despite his injury, he took it steady, but faster than most. Our bikes lay on the grass as we take in the view. The top of Primrose Hill is filling up, bikes litter the peak and the riders unpack food and drink, sit on blankets and prepare. Watches live up to their name. Soon we see a marvel of nature. We can't quite believe it either, marvelling at the sight as it unfolds before us. Cheers go up and the finale is met with a huge ovation from all. And it's still 20 minutes to go before the sunrise. Our pre show entertainment was a trio that emerged from the long grass further down the hill. Their drunken/stoned menage had coincided with the arrival of close to 100 cyclists. They emerge from their dream into a nightmare. The girl is braver than the boys, she wraps a blanket around her and marches up, "who are you what are you doing?" she demands as the laughter grows all around. the two men duck into the grass. There is now two full moons to compete with the half one high above. She continues demanding to know what we are doing here and wants us to go, but the laughter increases. She sashays back and rejoins her men and they decide to go, them in boxers and her in the blanket. A round of applause breaks out a they head away... now we can concentrate on the real show. Behind the trees the sky is orange, oh for a chains. Some people move down the hill, to be clear of the branches blocking the line of sight. I shimmy down, cycling shoes slipping in the dewy grass. It's time. Brighter still now, but where is it? A cheer goes up, a small group to my left are toasting something. Others, including me, bound over... yes, there it is. Millions of miles away she may be, but it doesn't mater. The ground we stand on slowly revolves as we watch, the orange disc rises above the trees and buildings. The small blob takes shape, the curve can be seen, then more. Still the earth moves for us.

 
A semi circle now... growing larger until the fireball rests n the surface of our world and breaks free into the sky. Yesterday it did the same thing, but later. Tomorrow it will repeat the trick, but later. Today she will stay above us for the longest time all year. That's reason to celebrate. We return to the hill top. Locals have wandered along, clutching cups of tea and bemused looks at the gathering. The skyscrapers glow orange in the capital and the birds start their chattering. The air is colder now though, even with fire in the sky. Through the trees she continues to climb, but we must descend, out of the park and back into the streets below. The radio mast in the distance is Marco's destination, mine lies behind the buildings on the right. We blast through the still streets, me struggling to keep up as fatigue hits, I needed that nap last night, why didn't i take it? Parting at Victoria I head along to the river, to follow its path south west. Few cars are around and I turn on autopilot. My calf muscles object to the cold and my body starts to ache as hunger now joins in. The energy bar hadn't been enough, not even two. Back to the safety of Richmond Park, still closed to traffic. The climb to White Lodge hurts, but once it is over I feel better, another hill over. On the last few miles to home, the last small climb gone and I churn the gears... I want my bed. Speeding through the deserted streets I am on a mission, to sleep. The last of my energy is taken up removing my cycling kit, I slump into bed, I won't be up until the half way point on the longest day.