In the month leading up to the ride, I hadn’t put my all into preparation it must be said. During the last week of June I went on a ‘lad’s holiday’ to Tunisia during which time I consumed copious amounts of Alcohol, ate shit food and had very little rest. When I returned to England, I immediately caught a cold which kept me away from training for nearly 2 weeks and forced me to give up drinking for one month! Before leaving for Tunisia I promised myself I would reach 1000miles of training rides, and with 700 on the clock, I thought that was easily achievable. By the end of July, my total was a pathetic 820 – way short of my target and way too little for the final month.

Saturday 28th July came all too quickly and – unbelievably – I completed the 100 mile ride at 21.10 that evening. Even now, I’m sitting here wondering how on earth I managed to cycle 100 miles – off road – in one day.

I’m going to try my best to recall what can now – at best – be described as a painful, hazy, nauseous blur of mud, hills, pain and emotion… So sit back, relax, get a cup and coffee and enjoy – I’ve written nearly 4000 words so be warned!

July 27th – 19.01 - Hove Station

Will, Jon and I were on the train to Winchester crammed into a tiny bike space when I voiced my concerns. I was sure I’d forgotten something – but couldn’t for the life of me think what it could be. Jon offered ‘riders pack?’ as a suggestion and bingo! I rolled my head back in disbelief! Great start! I’d even stuck it to the door to remember!

Forgetting my rider number and registration card were the least of my worries I would later learn. Little did I realise I had forgotten my pump too!

July 27th – 22.00 – Winchester B&B

Jon and I found our romantic ‘B&B’ nestling in a 1960’s housing estate after about half an hour cycling in the rain. We were a little nervous upon entering the house – yes house. Our final resting place before our ordeal was two spare rooms in someone’s home! I’m not exactly painting a pretty picture here – but actually the B&B was lovely – as were the owners - and most importantly the beds! Jon and I briefly discussed our itinerary for the day before going to bed, setting our alarms for an ungodly 4.30am.

Our anticipated schedule for hitting each checkpoint was as follows:

• Checkpoint 1 – Queen Elizabeth Country Park: 20 miles – 08.30
• Checkpoint 2 – Cocking: 35 miles – 10.00
• Checkpoint 3 – Amberely: 45 miles – 11.30
• Checkpoint 4 – Steyning: 59 miles – 13.00
• Checkpoint 5 – Devil’s Dyke: 65 miles – 14.00
• Checkpoint 6 – Itford Farm: 84 miles – 17.00
• Checkpoint 7 – Alfriston: 91 miles – 18.30
• Finish Line – Eastbourne: 100 miles – 20.00

July 28th – 05.10 – Winchester B&B

At least the rain had stopped as Jon and I ventured out into the crisp morning air. The owners of the uh-hum - ‘B&B’ – had woken especially for us to make our breakfast in their lovely kitchen. I was really impressed with the service I must say – thoroughly recommended, even if a little strange! We cycled our first 5km of the day to the start line and immediately got lost. I’d cycled the entire route twice with most sections at least 3 times – so I had a pretty good idea of where the start line would be – nevertheless I stupidly followed a pack of other cyclists who had no idea where they were going. A lesson learned not to be repeated!!

Start Line – 06.00

We met Jim and Will and I successfully registered with the Marshalls without my rider pack. After a brief safety check and a warning about the conditions we were on our way.

Checkpoint 1: 20miles - Queen Elizabeth Country Park – 08.30

I’d reached the first checkpoint at my scheduled time, but I was in a bad way. As the Marshall had warned, conditions really were appalling. About 3 miles outside of Winchester the South Downs Way (SDW) passes through a field at Cheesefoot Head and along a footpath no more than 1ft wide. On either side, brambles and stinging nettles protrude over the path forming a formidable wall of pain. I was well expecting this, following previous rides through the path of death, however what I wasn’t expecting was the 6 inches of mud and random, obscured puddles a foot deep now lining the path.

With some 800 cyclists trying to traverse this path of death, it was no wonder a huge traffic jam ensued and we all struggled just to get a few metres in front of us without getting stung or falling off. We hit a similar path of hell about 15miles in – at the top of the first nasty hill; Salt Hill. The climb alone was bad enough, but with the addition of wet chalk boulders to which my tires gripped like they might to oil coated glass, it was perilous. Once at the summit, the path thinned to a width of a few inches and a mud depth of a foot. It was a torrid experience, made only worse when I later found out I could have carried along the road and cut it out completely, saving about 20minutes, cuts and bruises, and still reach the same place at the Sustainability Centre.

The result of all this mud was a complete and catastrophic failure of all gears. My rear 9 had been reduced to a jumping, clattering 3, and front 3 to the single middle cog. I stopped to fiddle for a few minutes before asking a nice looking chap, spread eagle on the floor panting for air, for help. We stripped the cabling down to grease the wires which were being caught in the tubing by copious amounts of filth from the ride. After some 30 minutes we’d managed to get all 27 gears functioning again and I was back on my way.

Checkpoint 2 – Cocking: 35 miles – 10.20

I reached the Cocking checkpoint absolutely exhausted. This had been the end of one of our previous training rides after nearly 6 hours but I’d done it in 4hrs 20mins. Still, I was 20 minutes down on my desired time and to my horror 30 minutes behind Will and Jim. It was here I found Jonny had withdrawn from the race with Mechanical failure after only 3 miles – in the path of death. What a bummer.

The 15 miles between QECP and Cocking had been fairly un-eventful – apart from my front wheel coming lose on the descent from the Queen Elizabeth Country Park, and getting lost in a wheat field full of Rabbits, trying to avoid the erosion of Beacon Hill, I had nothing to report. I had started to develop a rather painful stomach cramp however, but pushed on regardless.

Checkpoint 3 – Amberely: 46 miles – 11.50

I reached Amberley to the sight of a guy gasping in pain in the back of an Ambulance, which kind of put my weak pains into perspective. The lady at the checkpoint said he’d come off at quite some speed on the rutted chalk track leading to the checkpoint and had a few suspected broken ribs. At least he was in a good place and not stranded with help 5 miles in either direction.
Between Cocking and Amberley had been hard. A real test, although the terrain was probably the easiest of the whole SDW. My stomach cramps had become unbearable. I had to stop several times to stretch them out while caring cyclists stopped to ask if I was ok. (Nice bunch they were!)

On the edge of Charlton Forest, a tractor shot up my arse and scared the shit out of me. The farmer stopped a short distance ahead, jumped from his cab, walked up to the guy cycling behind me, grabbed him a started ranting at him like he’d just committed a cardinal sin! ‘You, ya little shit’ he shouted. ‘I saw you’ ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t knock you out’. ‘I live and work around here and you treat this place with something something…’ (I turned the corner so lost the conversation).

Checkpoint 4 – Steyning: 59miles – 14.00

I’d quite enjoyed the ride up from the Arun and the A24, although Washington Hill was the last hill I tackled without walking. I met a guy from Horsham whose mum lived in Moulescoomb and we had lunch together at the top of Chanctonbury Ring (one of many nameless friends of the day!) I had forgotten a fork so ate my pasta with my mucky fingers. I felt like an animal and was coated in filth, so it was quite apt I suppose.

When I reached Botolphs and the checkpoint at Steyning, I was now an hour behind my time – and still had the horror of Beeding Hill, Truleigh Hill and the 3 Devil’s Dyke mounds to go. I stopped briefly to take on some more water and enquire as to Will and Jim’s time – they were now 1hr 30mins ahead. How!! I trained with these guys weekly and regularly led the pack. Maybe all the Facebook ‘I can peddle faster than Coats’ banter had had a psychological impact?

Checkpoint 5 – Devil’s Dyke: 65miles – 14.50

I arrived at Devils Dyke just before 3pm and was now ready to give up. This was as far as i’d ever cycled off-road in one day and I was dead. I’d been practically on my own for 9 hours, apart from brief encounters with random cyclists and crazed farmers, and was in desperate need of encouragement. It was almost as if someone had heard my prayers as, there at the checkpoint sat Martin, a chap whom Jim and I had met randomly on a training ride a few months back. Martin’s family had been waiting for him at Devil’s Dyke so I sat with them for a short while and had a nice cup of tea. Just that simple 15 minute conversation with friendly people inspired me to continue. Their words of encouragement, and possibly the brew gave me new energy to push on.

Ditchling Beacon – 72 miles – 16.55

As a true tag along friend, I met Martin’s family once more 7 miles later at Ditchling Beacon, where we stopped for a short break. With mucho supporto from his lovely family, Martin and I decided we would carry on together to Itford Farm, to what would be almost certainly our last checkpoint.

Now I think it’s important to add here for the sake of clarity – Itford Farm was the do or die point. Riders reaching Itford Farm after 18.30 would be asked to retire. Riders reaching Itford Farm before 18.30 could carry on and finish the race. Itford Farm is also the final railway station before Eastbourne - Southease. If I went any further on from here, I would have no way of getting back to Brighton, other than in Eastbourne.

We had 1hr 30mins to make the 12 miles…

Checkpoint 6 – Itford Farm: 84 miles – 18.17

We arrived with 13 minutes to spare.

I’d been telling myself the whole 12 miles ‘i’m giving up and getting the train from Southease’, but now I was here I wasn’t so sure. Martin swiftly declared he had had enough. He was out, and he left.

I sat, cross legged on the floor, with my head in my hands feeling very alone and all of a sudden very emotional. I just didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had nothing more to give and couldn’t possibly push myself a further 16 miles – especially when the last 16 are easily the hardest.

Let me paint you a picture of my position: Southease is at sea level, with the River Ouse carving a huge valley between the South Downs. Itford Farm nestles at the foot of the Firle Beacon transmitter towers, which sit at 217m above sea level. Further on, the Cuckmere carves another valley between the downs, meaning a further 2 hills of 214m and 201m would need climbing before reaching Eastbourne.

Leaving Southease for Eastbourne would mean and ascent of 632m. Leaving Southease by anything other than Southern Railway’s green electric cattle cars would mean climbing THAT HILL towering up in front of where I sat, panting for breath, fighting back the tears.

Checkpoint 7 – Alfriston: 91 miles – 19.50

With my voice cracking with emotion I announced to the guy at the checkpoint I would do it. I was heading for Eastbourne. The guy had come to sit with me to ask if I was carrying on and told me I could make it if I left now – so I did.

I just couldn’t face the thought that I’d gotten so far only to have given up and gone home without my medal. I couldn’t deal with telling the world I had failed.

Needless to say – I pushed the bike up Itford Hill – not a chance of cycling! I concentrated hard on my breathing and didn’t look back. As the field levelled off, I slipped back on to the saddle and peddled slowly toward Firle Beacon.

My reactions were such that, when I saw a rock, I couldn’t steer so just bobbled over it. I started to notice each rock I passed felt harder and harder. Riding over the grass was getting harder and harder – like something was pulling me back. Fuuuuuuuucckkkk! I had a flat … and no pump!

I stopped just shy of the cattle grid leading to the field with the giant masts and popped the tyre off. I couldn’t find anything which might have caused the puncture stuck in the tyre, but was too tired, emotional, alone and scared to really concentrate. The wind had picked up and the sky had turned grey. There was no-one in sight apart from a few cyclists heading in the wrong direction – away from me toward the finish line. I sat contemplating my fate for a few minutes and looked back longingly toward Southease. Why had I carried on!!

Then, over the brow of the hill, a lone cyclist appeared and sauntered toward me. As he reached my upturned bike he asked if he could help before I could draw enough breath to muster even a ‘hello’, let alone a ‘can I borrow a pump’. He pulled over and we struggled for nearly 10 minutes to get the stupid tyre back onto the rim. Finally, we managed to get it back on and I could get away.

To my knight with shining bike pump – thank you – I owe you my medal that’s for sure!

I arrived at the final checkpoint in Alfriston with nowhere to go but Eastbourne. No train – no-one to meet me – no get out clause – just the two huge Hills between me and the finish.

Finish Line – Eastbourne: 100 miles – 21.10

The ride information made it very clear the finish line closed at 20.30. Riders arriving after this time would not receive a medal. At Alfriston, at 19.50, I was sure I’d lost it. 40 minutes to travel 9 miles – almost impossible.

I made my way up the dark, wooded, rutted track from Alfriston and out into the incredible right hand bend toward the top of Windover Hill. The view from here is amazing – a view I’ve admired many a Sunday afternoon after 30 miles. Today, after 93 it was torture. One long never ending hill after another.

On the other side of the Hill is ‘The Long Man’ – a mysterious human figure carved into the chalk, the origin of which is unknown. I walked up the hill saying its name over and over in my head. I swear I was going insane. ‘The Long Man’, ‘The Long Man’ I wonder what he looks like? I wonder who he was? It wasn’t the first time either. Earlier, I hadn’t been able to get the name of the footballer ‘Babayaro’ out of my head. Babayaro, Babayaro. Who does he play for – Babayaro.

I had an overwhelming desire to see him. The Long Man – not Babayaro. FOCUS!

I was joined at this stage by a pack of around 6 other riders. We were all knackered and said very little to each other. One asked me if I knew the way, to which I kind of grunted a ‘yeah’ in reply. They followed me up and over the top of the field toward a gate and the downhill through the woods to Jevington. Since the guy held the gate for me, I thought it only courteous to wait for him at the intersection as I could tell he didn’t have a clue where he was going. I was right – none of them did.

By this time the weather was turning and the light was becoming really bad. I led the guys down the rutted forest path to the sharp right turn, which is poorly signposted and almost pitch black. Here we met another Randonneer coming up the left hand path in the wrong direction – also clearly lost! I waited until everyone had assembled at the turning and led them on – amazed – and slightly concerned that I was the only person still aware of where we were. Was I in some confused state taking others down with me?!!

We arrived in Jevington where I continued to lead the pack to grumblings from some of the other guys ‘I don’t think this is right, are you sure we were meant to turn right.’ ‘YES’, I snapped – partly because, by this time, my lungs were hurting so much I could hardly speak, partly because I thought I was going to burst into tears and partly because I knew it was the right way and was in no mood to be questioned!

We started to ascend the final hill.

I felt dizzy and extremely nauseous. I hadn’t stopped for food since Southease and could feel my stomach twisting. My mouth was wet with that pre-sick dry saliva welling up around my teeth. I pulled over at the side and told the guy in front to go on. I gagged for a bit and tried to steady my breathing. It was starting to rain and was now almost fully dark. I thought for a while it might be nice to just curl up in the bush and snooze but the waves of sick kept knocking me back to reality.

The final guy of our pack caught me up so I knew it was time to push on. I breathed hard and just watched one foot go in front of the other. We reached the top of the hill, shortly after the signpost, and saw Eastbourne on the left, illuminated by a million Sodium lamps. I let out a whoop of delight but knew it was still a few miles yet until that finish line. We were all riding in a close pack again and started to slowly congratulate each other on the feat we had just endured. We swiftly passed the Golf Course, crossed the road and flowed down the hill to the finish line at the Brighton Uni Sports Centre, where several people cheered us through the gates.

I was now dripping wet as the rain was coming down pretty hard so I took my shoes off and kind of wafted up to the desk to collect my medal – barely able to lift my feet. I found a seat and sat contemplating my achievement before phoning Jon. I asked where he was – thankfully still in Eastbourne in a pub near the station, and quickly ended the call as I was properly crying now – tears rolling down my cheeks. Don’t ask me why! I had been fighting it back for 3 hours but had no need to anymore. Strangest feeling I’ve ever had. There was nothing wrong with me whatsoever – just pure emotion getting the better of me. Odd Human Brain ey! An elderly chap came up to me, shook my hand and asked if I wanted anything. I just blubbed ‘my bed!’

Back out in the rain, I picked up my bike for the final time to roll to the pub where the guys were waiting. As I did so the Sweeper (guy employed by the British Heart Foundation to round up the last people from the course) came in. Once the Sweeper was in, that was it. No medal. I’d made it by about 10 minutes. I rolled to the pub where Will, Jon and Kelly gave me a big cheer. I kind of babbled something in between holding back the tears and Kelly gave me a huge hug – which made it even worse! I managed to get a few words in to my Mother before my phone battery died and sat shivering with a pint of coke in my hand.

So that’s it I guess. The Randonnee. How did I feel after? Surprisingly good! Sunday, I just stayed in Bed most of the day watching the Cricket. Monday I felt fine except for my lungs! I have to say, my lungs where the worst and even now feel like I’d smoked 60 cigarettes. My back is pretty sore too, but otherwise all is fine – especially and most surprisingly my legs don’t ache at all! Oh, also my wrists. They hurt the whole ride and still ache now. But then – I have broken them both in the last 2 years so what do I expect!

Well - I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my waffle?! If you feel like you want to give a little back to the world for my sacrifice, feel free to Sponsor me at www.justgiving.com/davidcoats. I’m raising money for a Children’s Home in Tanzania, Africa called Amani and the British Heart Foundation, who run the Randonnee. Feel free to state which you’d rather your money went to if you have a preference, otherwise I shall just split it 50/50.

As a postscript I’d like to add that Alex Asigno, who put me up to this 6 months ago, didn’t actually take part in this year’s Randonnee. Alex started to experience knee issues during training and will have surgery later this year. I’d like to wish Alex all the best - we missed you on the ride as well as during the training dude! I’d also like to say for the record – I’m not doing it with you again next year!!

Finally – below are my stats for the day!

• Start time: 06:00
• Finish line crossed at: 21:10
• Total Time: 15hrs 10mins
• Total Cycling time (wheels moving): 12hrs 38mins
• Distance: 161.8Km (Approx Mile conversion: 100.53miles)
• Average speed (total): 6.64mph
• Average speed (wheels moving): 8mph
• Max speed: 57kmh (approx 35.4mph)

Consumed:

• Bowl of Jordan’s country crisp for breakfast
• 4 Frusili bars
• 2 snickers bars
• ½ tub wholemeal pasta with sundried tomato pesto (eaten with hands)
• 1 Tesco southern fried chicken wrap
• 1 Cookies and Cream energy Powerbar
• 4 bananas
• Approx 7 litres water
• 1 cup of tea at Devils Dyke
• 1 Pint of coke at finish line

You may notice i’ve added an event manager to the top right. If you want to know what i’m doing, or where I am - you can now follow my calendar! Hopefully it’ll help me organise my life a little better too!

Of course - the other reason I hope I can revive the blog is the amount of interesting stuff i’m doing this year, and interesting places i’ll be visiting. I’m still in training for the Randonnee 100 mile Bike ride across the South Downs, as well as fundraising for my climb of Mt Kilimanjaro which is due to start on 1st September. I’ll also be going away somewhere sunny in 4 weeks and to Dublin in October - So plenty to talk about. That’s when I can drag myself away from FaceBook!

On Sunday we went on our latest training ride for the South Downs Way Randonnee. Will, Jon and I went from Eastbourne to Devils Dyke under a scorching sun on what was the hottest day of the year so far. Here are the lads over beachy head, and a view of the lighthouse above Burling Gap. We cycled through Friston Forest, where I was concentrating way too hard to take photos - but here’s one of Jonny in Friston Forest Car Park. Alfriston was beautiful, as were the many yellow Rape fields along the way. There were plenty of Hang-gliders and cows which gave us something to watch during our many breaks.

Will managed to miss the South Downs Way Acorn at one point and get lost, so while we waited Jonny slept. It was a very tiring ride for poor Jonny whilst Will seemed to have endless energy. Here’s Jonny doing what Jonny does best, and our only view of Will all day - his backside in the distance! When we finally reached the Dyke, we sat down and had a well deserved pint in the evening sun. Perfect!

The air was cold and crisp; the wind stinging my legs - perfect cycling weather and before I knew it we’d passed Shoreham, the old Cement Works, Steyning and Storrington and entered Pulborough - 25 miles in, at a fantastic pace of 14.4mph. I decided to stop and admire the beautiful Sussex countryside, framed by the bright blue spring sky. Pulborough is magnificent. Gemma and I sat opposite a school on the main road and a cricket pitch, nestling under the chalky green of the South Downs. What a place to grow up. Hard to imagine such a peaceful place can harbour paedophilic murderers - and such a shame that is probably the only reason I, and I expect you, have ever heard of Pulborough. Not for its beauty - for its beast.

Anyway. Gemma and I carried on through the delightful countryside, on past Midhurst and along the best bit of all - a long stretch of perfectly flat straight road across the Hampshire border through Petersfield and toward Winchester. I stopped at Cheriton - a small hamlet outside of Winchester - 60 miles in. It was 1pm. I was still averaging around 13mph but was really starting to feel the heat. For the first time in about 5 hours I spoke to someone; the owner of a house whose driveway I was using as a parking bay. He seemed oblivious when I told him I had come from Brighton and was halfway through a 120 mile trip, but instead seemed to be more interested in the manner by which Gemma was leaning against his wall! Fascist. I wasn’t bothered as it had dawned on me - I was halfway - mint!

The happy halfway feeling had all but evaporated upon reaching Winchester. Not only was the 5 mile route from Cheriton one big hill after another over a horribly hectic main road, but I got completely lost! This time, a far more congenial Polish passerby with whom I next conversed was suitably impressed with my feat and even stepped back in shock when I enquired ‘which way to Warminster?’ ‘You’re not gonna cycle there are you mate?’, he enquired in reply. ‘You’re crazy’. Maybe Mr. Just Maybe!

After a short break for refreshments, Gemma and I left Winchester on the A338 Stockbridge Road with Warminster and Bath in our sights. We soon regretted ever starting the stupid ride. The road consisted of one steep hill after another, 6 minute assents followed by 20 second descents. I reached the foot of a valley between two of the thousand hills and entered a National Heritage car park in which to have a short rest.

This was where Gemma became real. The sun was so hot, the hills so tiring and the lack of company so dull that, without even realising, I had been having an out-loud conversation with some Rubber and Aluminium for 10 minutes. We decided, during this conversation, that actually, we weren’t in a race, we could give up whenever we wanted. Just jump on a train. What did it matter? We read the map, then tore the map (accidentally) then spilt water on the map (again, accidentally) before deciding Salisbury, not Warminster let alone Bath was far enough. We would give up there.

The first hill after Stockbridge, 80 miles in and, if i’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, typically they did. The last remaining strap on my bag broke (did I mention the first snapped as I passed Hove Lagoon 2 miles in?!) I’d just reached the A30 - the nastiest road of them all. Perhaps it was just the time of day, or simply that the roaring of passing traffic had yet to get to me, but I suddenly became very aware of just how scary vehicles travelling at 70mph a foot away was. Lorry after van after ignorant-car-driving-bastard-not-eff’ing-moving-over was doing my head in!

I pulled over once more to sort out the bag and found there was no alternative but to tie the bag around my neck. I continued, half asphyxiated, seriously overheating, sunburnt, out of water, my face covered in salt from 8 hours of profuse sweating, legs like lead weights, frustrated at not being able to complete the challenge and, with every passing car, scared shitless that I would be splatted into fleshy pulp like the 20 dead badgers I had passed at the side of the road during the day.

I neared the end of the A30 and the section I had been dreading the most all day - the dual carriageway before Salisbury. 90miles. 5.30pm. Rush hour before a bank holiday. The traffic really was as bad as you might imagine. Not only was the dual carriageway busy and very fast, but it began at the foot of a steep descent and continued up a long steady incline. This of course meant the cars gathered speed going down the hill and roared up the dual carriageway past us - while we struggled to travel at 5mph on the assent. The fear at this point was overwhelming so I gave up, climbed the grassy verge and pushed up the hill for about half a mile until I reached the end of the dual carriageway.

Finally, with a mixture of frustration and relief I reached Salisbury train station - 94miles and 9 hours after leaving sunny Hove. My average speed had been 10.4mph. Satisfactory but not great. I do wonder now if I will ever make it? If I had company other than Gemma(!), a decent bag and a slightly longer, cooler day I think i could. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to try again - mainly thanks to wanker car drivers who don’t move over - but there’s an overwhelming sense of ambition which tells me i will definitely be trying again!