Over the past days the group has begun to subtlety split into sub groups who share stamina and ability. Today however, because of the busy roads, we all chose to keep safety in numbers and ride as a group.
This was to be a choice that I would pay for later.
The decision to ride as a group also provided a great opportunity for us all get to know each other a little more. Riding along with 20 like minded souls, swapping jokes, tales and insults was the perfect distraction to the roaring HGV's and so the miles flew by.
We rode a few small hills but for the most part the flat A38 carried us across this new county stopping only for traffic lights and to stretch out the numbness of maintaining a regular and unvaried pace.
The banter continued and for much of the ride we were in stitches. The slightest occurrence seemed to cause another round of contagious laughter. Watching Tommy, a generous and hilarious Phil Mitchell lookalike, take a straight drop to the floor as he forgot to unclip in the layby we had commandeered was funny enough, but seeing him leap up like a meerkat and immediately lean cooly on his bike as if nothing had happened...set us into fits of hysterics.
After much stopping and even more chuckling, punctuated at appropriate times by the sound of Andy's comedy horn, honking the punch line to every comedic moment, we eventually turned of off the main road and entered Somerset proper heading for the town of Wedmore.
I guess all that was about to change...
In the village of Wedmore we met Cheddar Road, spotting its name on a road sign high on the side of a dry stone wall ...the writing was literally on the wall and the flatlands were about to change.
For a while we continued along stream accompanied roads, the view was flat and far reaching. Then, as we swung around a willow festooned bend a new horizon was suddenly upon us.
For 180 degrees all we could see was a great lump of "Mendip". Slumped in the surrounding flat lands like some vast sleeping dog. In defiance of all childhood lessons, we simply couldn't let this one lie.
We crept closer and closer until the impressive hillside blocked us on all sides leaving us nowhere to go
... but up.
And up we went..and up ..and up some more. After so long locked in the horizontal, the shock of climbing again was sharp and brutal. The group opened up as some went on the attack and others resigned themselves to digging deep and winding in the hill.
When we eventually reached the summit, we busied ourselves wolfing down lunch whilst the enveloping mist did an equally efficient job of swallowing the view. Rain was coming.... so we pushed on.
On the descent from the Mendips we suffered our first (and we hoped last) fall. Pete, a tough and weathered scot, lost traction whilst braking in the wet and dropped like a stone. Like a true Scott, he wiped the blood from his skinned knee, picked up his bike and started to mount up. It was all we could do to stop him whilst we gave both him and his bike a going over. Even now as I type this I'm grateful it was Pete who dropped his bike. If it were any of the rest of us we would most likely have given up there and then, I'm looking forward to Scotland even more now, there a hardy lot these Scots.
As we picked our way towards the Severn bridge the rain started to come in. Whilst it wasn't heavy it made navigating a little harder and what happened next would prove to be a defining moment for me that day.
We approached a bend with Matthew in command position, he dropped along a right turn and sat himself up on a terrace overlooking the road, looking for all the world like Simba surveying the Savanna. We diligently followed him around the bend and I took point. As I did I could see a hill in front of me, "thats ok" i thought, "the route notes mentioned a hill at the end of the ride" but the hill soon grew, then grew some more but still the group pushed on panting and in some cases screaming their way up
When I eventually reached the top, I popped out the route notes to settle my mind. Sure there was a hill at the end but we were 20 miles from the end and this wasnt a hill...it was a cliff face!! and a tall one at that.
Turns out, that the entire group had climbed all this way...for nothing.
The thing is though, that to a man (and woman) no-one grumbled, no-one complained, no-one even seemed upset. It was all another laughable chapter in a great days riding with a great group of riders. Didnt stop me feeling like a pratt though and to try to ease my guilt I declared that the team had now entered a elite club, that from now on they were to be referred to as the "High Rollers". It didn't work, I still got a good ribbing.
The approach to the Severn, was ultra busy, huge lorries roared past us at speed and many of the group were frustrated and worried for the safety of the us all. To add to this, the area was deeply unattractive with row after row of industrial units, warehouse and faceless heavy plant works. It was a relief to find ourselves approaching the impressive Severn Bridge.
Crossing the Severn Bridge by bike is a milestone for me and was exciting and frightening in equal measure. Whilst the bridge has a dedicated, safe and free cycle path, if you take a moment to stop mid bridge, you can feel the whole thing swaying and rumbling from the weight of the thundering traffic. It was with no small relief that we crossed, finally...into South Wales.
As we rocked up to the hotel, after 88 hard miles, we were immediately impressed. The hotel was more like a large country castle, with a tree lined avenue approach that made us feel like arriving dignitaries...in lycra.
My wife and two daughters had been driven up by a mate of mine (thanks to Jim for taking such good care of them for me) just to support me and say Hi. It was a beautiful surprise but one cut short by the fact that I had chosen today as a day to hang back with the main group and take my time...the result was that after driving for over 3 hours and waiting another 4, they had so little time left before they had to leave for the long drive home.
Great blog. I shall never forget the contrast of riding along the deafening, wet, ugly, industrial, peak-hour A403 and 20 minutes later riding up the peaceful, tree-lined drive to our overnight castle.
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