24-Hour London to Paris Cycle - 24/25 July 2015

Total: 240.2 miles
Challenge: 236.0 miles

London to Newhaven: 92.7 miles

Dieppe to Paris: 143.3 miles

Paris lap of honour: 4.2 miles

Time in saddle: 14 hrs 08 mins

Total average speed: 16.7 mph

Numbness rating: Feet 7/10; Hands 9/10;  Arse 10/10

 

I am really pushing it. My legs are pumping like pistons, my feet are soaked, my right shoulder hurts, my neck aches and my fingers feel numb as they shift my bike through the gears - maintain your cadence, maintain your cadence. My breathing is deep but controlled and I stare down at my front wheel watching the spray disappear under me, keeping my face low to avoid swallowing the road water coming at me from the bikes in front. Red lights reflect on the wet road and the dark shadows of shuttered houses, closed against the night, pass by among the whirring of wheels and the drumming of wind-blown rain jackets. 120 miles to go. Half way there. I will never forget this.

It is a week since I set out to ride from London to Paris in 24 hours with 26 other cyclists. I was among about 10 who had joined this group as independent riders after our planned cycle a month ago was cancelled for lack of numbers. The majority of riders here were cycling for Action Medical Research. I was doing it for fun. How naïve.

I am a keen and quite serious cyclist but have never raced. Most of my cycling is commuting 40 miles a day in and out of London and I like to do a longer ride at the weekend. Cycling is mostly a solitary exercise for me, a chance to be at peace and to live completely in the present, to test myself both physically and mentally, although I do love group riding with about 4 or 5 others. Two years ago I rode from Land's End to John O'Groats in 11 days, also organised by DiscoverAdventure. Commuting was perfect training for having to keep getting back in the saddle each day. London to Paris was going to be a bigger challenge - to ride 240 miles in 24 hours. My biggest ride to date was a 157-mile ride from Kenilworth in Warwickshire to Downe in Kent this May. London to Paris was a big step into the unknown for me and I admit to doubts. The challenge felt epic in every way, and became more so as the weather turned on us.

At the time it felt like the ride would last forever. Now it feels as if it passed in a flash. I have lots of snapshot memories, some extremely vivid. I want to knit them together before they fade.

Packing for such a trip is a complicated business. We needed to have separate sets of gear as we would have varying levels of access to each - a bag that would go straight to the hotel in Paris with our clothes and belongings; a day bag to travel with us on the support van with a change of cycling clothes and a rain jacket (should it be needed), phone and Garmin (bicyle computer) chargers and so on; and the pockets of our cycling tops stuffed with bike tools, spare tubes, passport, insurance documents, phone and energy bars and gels. Reluctantly, I had to compromise the sleek profile of my Cervelo R3 by attaching a small saddle bag. This, with a spare tube and bike spanner inside, doubled the weight of my bike. On at least 5 occasions in the 24 hours before the ride, I took out all the contents from each and swapped them around and then swapped them back again.

At 11.00 on the morning of the ride, my friend, Nigel, dropped me at the front of the Clarendon Hotel in Blackheath for the start. As forecast, it was raining steadily and by the time I had put on my overshoes, my cycling shoes were already wet. I would have been trapping the water inside, only my overshoes were a last-minute purchase the evening before, £12.99 from a well-known high street store that is not a specialist bike shop and has Direct in its name. Their lack of quality may well have helped some of the water escape.

Inside the hotel I was confronted by 26 other cyclists who all looked fitter, stronger, faster and much more professional than I. This is an old problem of mine from when I was a runner. Nerves and self doubt used to plague me before races and my response was always to want to lie down and go to sleep on the starting line. All the armchairs were occupied so instead I kept myself busy registering for the ride, going to the loo, checking my water bottle, checking my Garmin, going to the loo, checking my luggage, checking my Garmin again, stretching my legs, going to the loo and chatting nervously with a few other cyclists.

Cycling events like this can be quite intense experiences with people you hardly know and may never see again but you share a bond through an ordeal that is often only punctuated by brief conversations. I remember meeting Dave from South Wales and we discussed the longest rides we had done and Peter from Eastbourne who joked with me about which bikes we might choose from all those stacked up in the porch.

I loaded my luggage onto the van. Confusingly, given the preparation, my bag for Paris and my day bag were placed in the same van. We were all called to the basement and Mark from DiscoverAdventure welcomed us and gave us our pre-ride briefing. His announcement that he knew it was raining and we were about to cycle 240 miles but we should feel assured that his team would be working just as hard, bonded us all instantly as the boos of derision rumbled through the room. Mark's team did indeed work phenomenally hard in very difficult conditions ... but we worked harder.

Team photo before the off

Outside the Clarendon, I joined the line-up for a team photo, all nerves gone now and just keen to get on with it. My Garmin was still searching for my position when the call to go was announced which induced a small moment of panic. No-one moved. It took about 3 calls of 'Go' to get anyone to shift as we all just stared in the rain at the puddles, not wanting to be first out. My wretched Garmin was still searching and I was not going to move until it found me. Just as everyone moved there was a satisfying beep and we were in business. My friend, John, persuaded me to get the Garmin and record my rides on Strava. Now I am obsessed and cannot cycle half a mile without recording it.

The first twenty miles covered familiar territory for me and took in several roads that are part of my daily commute. I was able to lead the group through south-east London out towards Bromley and Tatsfield. A line of riders in high-viz jackets with red and white flashing lights snaked its way slowly along rain-spattered roads. Richard from Exeter was another early acquaintance on the ride and told me as we cycled up through Hither Green that he felt reassured at having a local rider with him who knew the way. At that moment I was wondering, "Is it the first or second left on the South Circular?" I remember talking to Paul Berry in Downham, another local to south-east London, and I remember Jeremy pulling alongside me in West Wickham to ask about my bike as a friend of his was interested in the model. At the time I was fiddling with my brake caliper which was rubbing on the front rim and we agreed it wouldn’t be a good idea to ride to Paris with the brakes on. I was later to do a lot of riding with Jeremy in France and the following day, to visit the Musee d'Orsay and watch the end of the Tour de France with him - in the rain needless to say. Out on Layhams Road I had a nice conversation with Kirk about families and choosing schools for our children - a slightly random chat given we had just met.

Near Tatsfield we turned left into Beddlestead Lane. This starts with a steep descent which can take you to 40 mph very quickly if you are not careful. At the bottom, the road twists and turns and you cannot see the traffic coming the other way, and quite often there is gravel spread across the road. I peeled back from the group to warn them of the hazards. As we got near the bottom, at 35 mph on the brakes, a huge John Deere tractor was coming the other way occupying the whole road and seemingly unwilling to slow down. Every cyclist got through unscathed. At first, I felt glad I had warned everyone but I got to know, as the ride went on and the conditions worsened, that I was with some really accomplished cyclists and my advice was probably unnecessary.

The first water stop was at Penshurst, 30 miles in. The pace had picked up slightly once we were away from London and the group split. I was riding with John from King's Lynn. John is a time triallist and a super quick rider. A couple of drivers came very close as we headed along the B2027, one maliciously (bloke in a BMW), the other through incompetence (a woman who slightly clipped John as she passed).

Seeing my son at the water stop really gave me a lift although he looked annoyingly warm and dry

Little did we know that Penshurst village hall was the last building, apart from the ferry port, that we would step inside until Paris. The hall was freezing and I was shivering. I felt pretty miserable to be honest. Chris offered the optimistic "We're a third of the way to Newhaven," but all I could think was ,"Another 210 miles to go in the rain and wind." Just as we were getting back on our bikes I heard a shout of, 'Angus', and turned to see my wife and son walking towards me with big beaming smiles. It lifted me no end.

Penshurst - heading into the deluge

I will never forget the next water stop at Netherfield, about 60 miles in. We had been drenched since we left Penshurst and had been riding up and down some tough hills on quite dark roads, especially in the wooded areas near Groombridge. As we arrived, the sun peeped through the clouds and I joked with Jen from DiscoverAdventure about it being time to take off my rain jacket. Within 5 minutes we were peering out from under the gazebo at the stair rods coming down from the skies, stuffing peanuts and fruit pastilles into our mouths with a lot of nervous energy. There was much discussion of the weather warnings earlier that day - "Do not make any unnecessary journeys," quoted Paul Neale - and we all agreed it was worse than predicted. 

Netherfield water stop with John

The view as we contemplated getting back on the bikes

We could not hang around any longer and took the plunge back onto (into?) the B2096. Half an inch of flood water flowed across the road and the Friday afternoon peak hour traffic rushed past, spraying us as it went. Within a minute of getting back on the bike, the road veered right and descended a sharp hill and my immediate concern was staying on the bike as my front wheel was wobbling all over the place. I looked several times to see if there was a loose spoke, only to realise that it was wobbling because I was shaking with cold. I have never been so glad to see a climb ahead when I could get out of the saddle and really push hard up the hill in order to get warm.

The pace picked up further as everyone wanted to get to Newhaven. I rode with Ironman Phil, who is as strong as an ox, John, Jeremy, Paul and few others in a group and we rode steadily over the South Downs, occasionally peering up through the rain to think what beautiful scenery it must be when you can see it, before we hit a big descent into Seaford. We were travelling along at about 23 mph when we were approaching a pinchpoint with a bollard in the centre of the road. A car was hesitating to overtake and came a little too close so I signalled for it to slow so we could go through the pinchpoint. The driver complied and I thumbed up to say thanks - all as it should be. A driver coming the other way leaned out of his window and shouted, "Wanker!". Another then blew his horn at a rider further back. Welcome to Seaford, a place about as attractive as Newhaven, although without the ferry to escape.

At 5.50pm we pulled into the lorry park at the ferry port in Newhaven after a 4-mile blast into a screaming headwind and driving rain along the south coast. Each one of us was drenched and our beloved bikes were filthy. We had completed just under 93 miles in atrocious conditions. There were smiles and puddles all round. Small groups drifted over to the terminal to try and get dry and put on fresh clothes. The gents' toilet was quite a spacious room and was commandeered immediately. I will never forget the looks on the other holiday-makers' faces, happily minding their own business as they popped into the loo only to be confronted by a dozen sweaty cyclists' arses and wet clothes strewn everywhere. The dry clothes felt fantastic but I kept the wet socks and shoes on until the ferry. We had to go back out into the weather and back to the lorry park for our black-tie, candlelit dinner in the gazebo by the vans.

L2P was nothing if not romantic: dinner in the gazebo in the lorry park at Newhaven ferry port

Sausages, pasta and garlic bread hit the spot. The gazebo could not contain everyone but I managed to find a sheltered spot near the soup pot to keep warm. After a long wait back in the terminal, which gave me a chance to phone home and charge up the Garmin, all cyclists were requested by the port staff to go and stand with their bikes in Lane 3. Outside the rain was lashing down so we said we'd really rather not. One of the Discover Adventure reps requested a large room for us to wait in and we sat in there for over an hour while our bikes stood outside in the rain. This was a difficult situation for me. My bike does not normally spend more than a minute in the rain but to this point it had racked up 9 hours and 15 minutes.

In the waiting room I sat with John, Chris and Paul Neale and we put the world to rights. Paul's dry sense of humour was becoming apparent to me now and I really enjoyed his company. We are of similar cycling ability and we too spent a lot of time riding together the next day. After almost 5 hours at Newhaven port we were ushered onto the ferry. 

About to board the ferry. At least it would be dry in Dieppe. (Picture by Paul Neale)

The first thing I noticed was that the rain had washed my bike and it was spotless. We were then lectured by ferry staff for taking too long to walk our bikes to the ferry. An enormous huddle of bikes, some ours, some belonging to other groups, was corralled near the front. I placed mine as close to the outside as I could as I didn't want 50 other bikes leaning on it.

I found a seat with John and tried to get some sleep. We were convinced we had come through the worst of it and that it would be drier in Dieppe. I changed my socks and nodded off but slept fitfully. The teenage French boy who sat in the seat next to me regretted it as I leaped up in my sleep and elbowed him. Comfortable it was not. Frustrated announcements from the captain for "Meessiz Burnss" to go to Reception punctured my sleep while another passenger kept rustling a plastic bag every 5 minutes. Odd dreams came and went and then suddenly saxophones started playing and the lights came up. First thought? Look out of the window and check the weather. It was pitch black still. There was water all over the window but that was probably just a bit of sea-spray.

We moved down to the vehicle zone to collect our bikes, pausing to see how the French lorry driver might react to the complete absence of vehicles around him apart from the car immediately in front of him whose driver was nowhere to be seen. And then we saw outside through the front of the ferry. Squalls of rain lit by dim orange lights flew back and forth. The wind was deafening and the sky was as black as coal. No point in hanging around. We walked the bikes off the ferry, our dry clothes becoming drenched, showed our passports to a customs officer with limited job satisfaction and waited at the alotted roundabout for the DiscoverAdventure van to clear customs. We waited and we got wet. We waited a bit more and got wetter and colder. We huddled like penguins, next to a road sign that sheltered our upper bodies but funnelled rain onto our legs. Bikes blew over. Cyclists wisecracked. The van still didn't show up. For half an hour we stood in the dark on the roundabout in the storm waiting to ride the remaining 147 miles to Paris.

Dieppe: the longest I ever want to spend on a roundabout (Picture by Paul Neale)

At 5.30, a half-hearted cheer announced the van's arrival and after a 2-minute briefing we were on our way. A zigzagging road took us up the hill from the port with the gale force wind behind us. What a feeling. I could have done with a sail. This and the novelty of riding on the right hand side of the road took my mind off how difficult this all was, until we turned right for a short stretch and I was nearly blown off the bike. We cycled through an inch of water down very dark streets. 4 of us took a wrong turn for about 200 metres and had to turn back. I was grateful for this later as it took my mileage for the ride over 240!

From Dieppe we headed south-east through sleeping villages. St. Martin Eglise, Dampièrre St. Nicholas, with its beautiful farmhouses and Osmoy St. Valerie passed at speed as we made our way towards Neufchâtel-en-Bray, the halfway mark, for a much anticipated breakfast, hopefully in a nice warm, dry room.

DiscoverAdventure had done a brilliant job of way-marking - we followed the orange arrows right to Paris and through the outskirts and centre of the city without ever needing to consult the maps. The roads were fantastic. The patch-and-go policy on British roads had made for a bumpy ride through Kent but the roads in northern France were smooth and almost devoid of traffic. The countryside was rolling rather than hilly and from the off, at Dieppe, we rode at a quick pace, keeping to 24 mph on the flat. Peter scared the bejesus out of me (and doubtless himself) when he hit a traffic calming kerb at about 22 mph right next to me. He did extremely well to stay on his bike and ploughed on regardless.

Breakfast at Neufchâtel-en-Bray was under a road bridge. It was almost daylight but the light was a deep grey. A cold wind that blew straight in from last autumn howled through the concrete pillars. Real coffee and a bacon and egg roll went down really well, as did a couple of extra sneaky rashers of bacon, but I got back on my bike feeling as if I had not eaten enough. I was freezing and did not want to hang around.

We pushed on through countryside that would have been lovely on a normal day, through Sainte-Geneviève, Fry and Nolléval and stopped for water in a forest near La Feuillie. At last the clouds were lightening and the rain was now more intermittent. It had only taken 145 miles but we may now be in for some dry weather. 

Water stop near La Feuillie: rain easing, pain increasing

A small group of Phil, John, Paul, Jeremy, Rich and me rode together for much of the time but towards the end of each section Phil and John would start to pull away. The remaining 4 of us rode together until Paris, occasionally splitting into twos. We stopped briefly to investigate coffee in Lyon-la-Forêt, but Paul and I decided it wasn't worth the wait and headed on. 

Lyon-la Forêt coffee stop

On and on we went, a bit like this blog. Paul really helped me from this point to lunch. We rode at a steady pace conserving energy and not going crazy on the hills. We started to look forward to the 10km descent promised in the route notes but it never quite materialised. I was starting to feel the miles. My legs felt fine but my head was getting a little light at times. By the water stop at 180 miles I was starting to feel quite depleted. I ate and drank what I could and we headed on. 

180 miles in - feeling depleted and not yet brave enough to remove the rain jacket

Lunch was at Valdampierre, 190 miles in. My goodness did I eat. My plate teetered under the load of ham, pork pies, green salad, potato salad, rice salad, another salad, couscous and anything else I could get my hands on and I ate like it was going out of fashion. Then it was time for flapjacks, rocky road, chocolate brownies and fruit. I went back and had 2 pork pies, some more ham and more rocky road. I felt transformed. Phil gave me a couple of energy gels (rhubarb and custard flavour - very good) and I got back on the bike and felt better straight away.

The last 50 miles was more of a chore than an ordeal. We had a water stop with about 30 miles to go but didn't stay long. My legs felt fine although my hands were so numb from the hours on the handlebars. The outskirts of Paris seemed to begin far too soon and went on forever. Time slowed down as we were stopped at every set of lights. A loud, bellowing woman in a horrendous purple tracksuit leaned out of a car and hollered to our group, driving alongside us and clapping and cheering. She seemed quite supportive in a crazed way which was a novelty when your cycle commute takes you along the Old Kent Road.

Our finishing point was the Parc Monceau. Paul and I arrived together, followed shortly afterwards by Jeremy and Rich. Phil and John were there waiting. I had completed the 236 miles in 14 hours and 8 minutes. We ate ice creams and drank water and over the next hour and a half the other riders appeared.

I felt desperately sorry for one chap, Chris I think, who last year had attempted this ride only to realise when he got to Newhaven that he had left his passport in Blackheath. This time he collapsed with exhaustion on the outskirts of Paris and had to be taken to the hotel. He was still looking quite green at breakfast the next day but the colour had returned to his face by the time we boarded the Eurostar in the evening. He was in Paris when he collapsed, so as far as I am concerned, he has ridden from London to Paris in 24 hours.

Mark, from DiscoverAventure, who had worked very hard over the past 24 hours (but not as hard as we did) gave a congratulatory speech and informed us that we were the quickest group they had seen on the London to Paris ride. This I am sure is because we spent so little time at the water stops and just kept moving. His team were really excellent. The weather had caught them by surprise too and they improvised really well.

Paris convoy (picture by Paul Neale)

We then formed a convoy and headed as a group for the sights. Around the Arc de Triomphe we cycled and I hung on desperately to the wheel in front as I did not want to be on my own in that tumble dryer of traffic. We headed down the cobbles of the Champs Elysees and across the Seine, along the Quai Branly and up to the Eiffel Tower. 

Champs Elysees: a bit slower than Chris Froome (picture by Paul Neale)

Around 200 other riders on a 4-day London to Paris ride were already there and many cheered and hollered as we did a lap of honour around the roundabout. This felt good. Several of us did another lap. We took photos and chatted to people nearby. Paul was wearing a yellow jersey and Paris was in the grip of Tour de France excitement. An American family asked if their daughter could have her photo taken with him.

Job done: with Paul Neale

We took a slow ride to the hotel and at last we could get off the bikes and hand them over. Paul and I were stopped in the lobby by a concierge who asked if we were in the Tour. God, it was tempting. We would almost have believed it ourselves. What a relief it was to have a shower and what a shock it was to see the colour of the water after I had washed my hair. That evening John, Phil, Jeremy, Paul, Rich and I went for dinner, at a restaurant that was thankfully, only 50 yards up the road. We had a 3-course meal and I left still hungry but I put this right at breakfast.

Chris Froome completes his 2nd Tour de France victory (picture by Jeremy Bacon)

Jeremy is a Garmin geek too. He and I went to the Musee d'Orsay in the morning and then walked half of Paris to get the best vantage point in the Place de la Concorde to watch the end of the Tour de France. We stood in the rain for about 4 hours with wet feet and tide marks of rain half way up our jeans. By the time we had had dinner and walked to the Gare Du Nord to get the Eurostar, his Garmin had registered that we’d walked 11 miles the day after cycling 240.

With Jeremy watching the finish of the Tour in a cafe bar next to the Gare du Nord (picture by Jeremy Bacon)

We were back in St. Pancras by 10.30pm. I picked up my bike, put the lights on and climbed aboard. It didn’t feel too bad. A 20-mile journey home, uphill into a stiff breeze carrying a huge pack of wet gear brought the weekend to a close for me. It rained and I got drenched.

Links

• Kirk Pattinson's blog of the same 24-hour London to Paris - 24/25 July 2015

• My blog of the ride from Land's End to John O'Groats - 24 September to 05 October 2013