Last day of the Wessex was the hardest. Not physically, single speed Sunday in the wind and rain took that honour. But mentally it was tough.
I was so knackered the day before that I had not bothered to check my time and how I was placed. I knew that, given the gold standard targets, getting a gold was pretty much out of the question. So I decided out the outset not to try too hard and treat the day as a tourist ride.
The weather was grey but not too bad through my hotel window, a definite improvement on the day before. I had breakfast and set off on my bike with gears. After a while I became aware of a noise coming from my bike which I identified as being the rear cassette being loose (having had similar in the past). This was a bit of a disaster. Fixing this was easy, but you needed the right specialist tool. I thought I may be able to scrounge one at the event but this would mean missing the start. The days route was long but the first 60km or so were quite flat. My plan had been to shelter in a group for this section then take it easy as the hills started. Missing the start would mean riding solo which would make things a lot harder.
I had a couple of pieces of luck. First was that the weather the day before had played havoc in the field where the event was held. Lots of things had blown down and most crucially the electronic timing was broken. So the start was on hold. Second bit of luck was that I managed to find a very helpful chap just when I was getting desparate because it looked like no-one had the tool I needed. He was sure he had the right gadget, only problem was he did not know where it was. He had a van full of bike stuff and it was only by taking this all out that we finally located the vital spanner. He sorted me out and I offered heartfelt but hurried thanks as I just managed to make the start in time to ride off with the pack.
As I expected the first 60km or so were quite uneventful. We bowled along at a fair pace averaging some 28kph. I was in a huge group of riders and as the route was along wide straight roads it was not too difficult for us to stay together.
Eventually we reached some signs directing us along smaller country lanes and at this stage a funny thing happened..I needed to go for a pee. Now I know this is quite a natural thing to do but luckily when I ride I don't seem to get the urge to go. I always put this down to me losing liquid via sweat etc. Anyway today was different. I needed to stop so put off the urge until a suitable bush appeared and then stopped for a bit of quick relief.
Having dropped from the group I was with I did not feel any urge to catch up. The roads were narrow and twisty so I could not see them to chase and in any case wanted to save energy for the climbs ahead. These included the "highlight" of the weekend, Dunkley Beacon, the highest point of Exmoor with a long (for England) climb of some 300m, much of with a double digit gradient.
I ambled along, enjoying the countryside and the weather. The latter was proving to be nice and reasonably sunny. All went well until I hit Crowcombe. Halfway through a sign pointed right and more importantly up a small road. This led up to the Quantock hills. The climb was immediately tough, as steep as any around Newbury and longer. Then I saw a sign warning(!) of a steep climb ahead....(as if this was not steep enough..) I soldiered on but with huge difficulty. The climb measured 30%+ according to my HAC and though I pedalled up it at one stage I had to resort to a slow tac across the slope rather than straight up.
The top of the climb had a food stop and here I stopped. Previously I had ridden past these but today I was in need of a banana. I pushed on heading quickly downhill and to the coast. I passed through some seaside towns then off west. This bit was a real slog. The road was long, straight and devoid of shelter from the wind that blew straight into my face. I slogged on not enjoying the experience very much and praying for a time when we would turn south and head to Exmoor. Eventually this happened. Just before a couple of riders passed me and jumped on their back to get a tow. At one stage one beckoned to me to take a turn at the front. I declined pointing out I was tired having done the last god knows how long solo. I did not point out that I recoginised the person doing the beckoning as someone from the first day who had been in our group heading to the finish and had spent precisely zero time doing any work for the bunch.
The big climb was a bit of a tease. The route took us right of the road onto a cycle path/byway through a wood. There were a number of false starts when the road kicked up only to drop away after a couple of hundred metres. So I started the climb proper without realising I was on it.
It proved a bit of an anti-climax. It was long but manageable (my triple working sans problems). Subjectively it was easier than the previous Quantock torture, helped by the fact the sun was shining and the views as you went up were great. On the way up I was passed by some Army guys I recognised from Newbury. They were planning to ride the tour de france route and using the TOW as their last training ride.
At the top of Dunkley Beacon were find views and more bananas. Then a fast descent and some small medium climbs. After 130km or so the route profile showed these were over and it was downhill or flat to the finish.
I cycled along quite quickly, roping in a few others to do a bit of work then pushing on. All was fine until we headed off the main road and up an unmarked (on the profile) hill. It was not the steepest or longest of the weekend, but did have some bits at 25% or so. I hated this hill, mainly because it was not meant to be there. I gave up any attempt to go fast and just twiddled up it. When I got to the top I decided to go slow to the end in protest. I kept to this resolution until I was joined by some others and it seemed easier to stick with them, which I did pretty much until the finish (which came later than posted at more like 210km than the 200km that were meant to be).
I reached the finish with a sense of anti-climax in around 8 hours. All there was quiet so I returned to the Marston Arms for a well earned pint (or two)
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