www.dadswell.co.uk Mostly cycling records, mostly on three wheels
Graunching up the Gradients
Ralph Dadswell Sep 2010
For 2010, I had
planned something slightly more ambitious than Pembroke to London, but
as the summer drifted by, I realised that if we didn’t submit paperwork
for ‘something’ soon, we might get to the end of the year without doing
a record attempt. And we
can’t have that, can we?
So I carefully
measured out the route and prepared a schedule to beat the
Pembroke-London tandem-tricycle record set by Pat Kenny and John Taylor
back in 1977. They had
taken 11h 42m 5s for the 240+ miles.
I was fairly sure we could beat this time, not least because in
1995 I had taken 11h 33m 58s on a tricycle on my own.
The distance in 1995 had been 243 miles, and so it was strange to
discover this time that it appeared to have become 245.5.
But no bother.
The “we” in
question refers to my partnership with Paul Mace, with whom I’ve done a
number of time trials and a place-to-place record ride in each of the
previous two summers. As
has been documented previously, Paul used to live a few miles from me in
South Bucks, but his RAF role took him to Northumberland a couple of
years ago, which made regular tandem riding a little difficult.
In fact, after dismounting in Edinburgh in August 2009, the next
time he climbed aboard was in Pembroke on 14th Sept 2010!
But I’m getting
ahead of myself. From
mid-August, we were watching out for the chance of West‑North‑West
winds. We could really have
done with West‑South‑West to start with, becoming West‑North‑West after
a few hours, but getting the timing right for that could be tricky.
On Friday 10th
September, I saw that there was a chance for early the following week.
So I checked with Paul, provisionally booked some time off work,
and maintained a vigil around the Met Office website.
On Saturday, it was
apparent that Tuesday was promising, and so I notified the Road Records
Association, booked Audrey Hughes as Observer and start Timekeeper,
Scott Paterson as driver, feeder, mechanic, psychologist etc, and
arranged for Frank Cubis to time us at the Finish point.
With the personnel
sorted out, it was then a matter of getting the tandem ready, preparing
food, drink, clothing etc, and then kinda relaxing.
On Sunday, I rode around Windsor Great Park with my son Henry.
Easy stuff, no hassle.
I imagined that Paul would also be resting up.
After an early
breakfast on Monday, Paul was aboard a train for London.
He arrived at Princes Risborough just in time for some lunch, and
we set off for Wales. Just
as we drove off, we had the usual “have we got everything?” session.
The only remaining query I had was to check that Paul was still
using the same style of pedals as last year.
Suddenly it was
time to panic! Over the
winter, he’d moved to a different pattern, and so the cleats on his
shoes became instantly incompatible with my pedals.
What to do?
We had several
ideas, but rather luckily we were able to hastily arrange to borrow some
compatible pedals from Gordon Wright – relief and gratitude in huge
quantities. Having
initially hoped to leave at 12.30, but expected it be more like 1pm, we
had now travelled 5 miles by 2pm.
Get on with it!
The course is
almost exclusively on A40, and so we drove ‘backwards’ over the route
that we were to ride on the following day.
It’s handy to be reminded of what to expect, but some of those
hills are quite hefty! We
arrived in Pembroke at about 6pm, checked the start was as I’d
remembered, and went off to our digs at nearby Pembroke Dock.
Ideally, we would
have eaten pasta for our pre-race meal, but the only credible eating
house in Pembroke Dock was an Indian restaurant.
Could we be bothered to drive in to Pembroke and find somewhere
there? Oh, well, no
we couldn’t. So, curry it
was, and I just had to choose my options in a considerate manner.
It did seem to be quite a good meal – but is it the right stuff
to eat?
Anyway, we slept;
the alarms woke us; we tried to consume some of the rather minimal
Travelodge Breakfast Bag offering; and we made our way to Pembroke, to
the start point outside the castle.
We set off on time,
at 0700, after a very brief ride up and down for Paul to prepare for a
day sitting on the back.
The first dozen miles are rather like the road from Land’s End to
Penzance – twisty, lumpy and hazardous in semi-darkness.
(startline photos by Scott Paterson)
But we negotiated
the hazards, and were soon on the long descent from Red Roses to our
first checkpoint. We were
equal to the schedule at that stage, which was good because the schedule
was aimed at 11h 15m, which would be a 27 minute beating of the record.
We were then on to
a nice section of modern dual carriageway.
So why weren’t we going fast?
After a while, we adjusted to the cross-wind, the spray from the
wet roads, and the heavy traffic.
As we rode along toward Carmarthen, our speed was pretty good,
and when we had done a few more miles on smaller roads, we reached the
Llandeilo checkpoint about 5 minutes up.
We then had another section with a direct tailwind, taking us to
Llandovery with 6 minutes advantage.
But now the work
begins. I had been noting
our times every 5 miles, and the segment from 60-65 was all uphill.
The road was, however, pretty good, and I was impressed to find
that those 5 miles were delivered in just 16 minutes.
Not that we were done with the hill by then, as you have to climb
for several more miles until Sennybridge, where things level off.
We reached Brecon still hanging on to a 4 minute cushion, but we
then made a brief stop which will have handed most of that back.
With a couple of
exceptions, the next sector was a downhill run.
We reached Abergavenny with our 4 minute margin restored, and
passed the 100 mile point in 4h 20m.
There had been some dry roads on the descent, but we were back to
dampness as we emerged onto the dual carriageway run past Raglan to
Monmouth.
(Abergavenny photos by Philippa Wheeler)
Shortly after
getting a fresh set of drinks, there was a muffled bang followed by a
slight wobbliness. We had
broken a spoke in the nearside rear wheel.
That wasn’t going to get us to London, so we waited until the car
was back in sight behind us before stopping on the hard shoulder to get
a wheel change. We were
fairly slick, but it will have been a couple of minutes between stopping
and starting again.
We now had one green and one black rear wheel.
One yellow rear tyre, and one red one.
Almost immediately
after restarting, we found we had another problem.
A noise; quite a nasty noise, and one that would normally mean
that you’d head for home immediately.
The kind of noise that says there’s no grease in these bearings,
but there’s plenty of grit.
Ho hum. For most of the
final 6 hours of the ride we were accompanied by the sound of mechanical
unhappiness. But what is
there to do apart from continue?
We did that, although it wasn’t a great accompaniment.
We were still in
touch with the schedule at Monmouth, and were slightly ahead at Ross.
We were then onto a sector of single carriageway twisty roads,
with two nasty summits to cope with.
Once over them, we rode quite nicely down the hill and along past
Gloucester. Traffic became
a bit heavy here, and it was no surprise to find that we were a couple
of minutes ‘down’ as we made our way across Cheltenham.
Once away from the
town, the next few miles were rather tough, as they took us up the
Cotswold escarpment. I
don’t think we were climbing too badly, but the end result was that when
we finally reached the top (admittedly after another quick stop), we
were supposed to have reached the next check at Northleach.
Accordingly, we were an alarming 11 minutes down.
We did then manage to pull some of that deficit back, being 10
minutes down at Burford, 8 down at Witney, and just 6 adrift at Oxford.
We were starting to
see some familiar roads, and there were some familiar faces beside them.
Most were well dressed up against the dodgy weather, meaning that
I would often have travelled past them before recognition cut in.
We were getting tired as well.
(Oxford photos by Howard Waller)
As we laboured
along towards the Chilterns climb, Paul had a confession to make.
“I didn’t like to mention it before, but on Sunday I did 102
miles training”. Oh,
and is that your way of telling me that you’re dead meat?
I hoped not, because I’d been suffering with some strange pains
in my left leg, and wasn’t looking forward to the climb at Aston Rowant,
to the Chilterns summit.
(Aston Hill, by Spud Murphy)
As we started the
climb, I checked my watch, discovering that we were already late for the
next checkpoint, which was a mile after the crest.
We climbed steadily, with the speed almost always between 9 and
10 mph. Perhaps there was a
turn of speed near the top, as ‘Cipo’ was there with his camera.
We were 16 minutes behind schedule at Stokenchurch, and had to
stop at the pedestrian crossing.
Darn!
(Cipo catches Mace taking it seriously!)
It is, however, a
good run down into High Wycombe, where again we were seeing excited
faces, and hearing lots of encouragement.
Mind you, if we can’t get people out in what’s effectively our
home town, then what chance have we got anywhere?
I can’t quite
figure it out, but we were 20 minutes behind schedule at this point.
Maybe there were some delays that I don’t remember, but anyway we
pressed on towards London.
The run out of Wycombe is rather stop-start and was quite full of
traffic. Mercifully,
though, the traffic lights were generally kind to us, so we were able to
blend in with the general flow.
By Loudwater, we
were getting out of the congestion, and (aside from the climb to
Holtspur) we were able to get a move on again.
At Beaconsfield we were cheered along by a couple of guys from
the office – thanks Paul and Graeme – and we rode along with renewed
motivation.
We had 54 minutes
left when we passed the final checkpoint at the end of the M40.
This had been measured as 16 miles to go.
However, I was convinced that the ride was only 243 miles long,
which meant that we had 13 miles remaining.
Something was going haywire, and Paul was asking how far we had
to go.
I used the wild
environment of the Western Avenue as an excuse to ignore him for as long
as I could. It was indeed
not for the faint-hearted, with the steady rain and three lanes of
traffic roaring along. When
we got to Hanger Lane, I told him that there were 5 miles to go.
Before he could answer, we were
swallowed up in the ear-splitting world of the underpass.
By now, the traffic
was slower, but visibility was still poor.
We were held up at Gypsy Corner.
It was odd to see a highwayman in this day and age, but
eventually we got through.
A green at Acton, and we were on the Westway.
As the elevated section approached, we swung off, and had a
charmed run through the lights on to Wood Lane.
Shepherd’s Bush was rather busy, but we kept moving most of the
time. Onto Holland
Park Road, and we were riding between the lines of traffic.
Again, not recommended for children.
I noticed a car
ahead that was deliberately moving out of our way.
It was our car. How
did they get ahead?
Apparently they had spotted a sneaky shortcut (Ariel Road, for you
anoraks out there!), and taken advantage.
That was the last
we saw of them, as we soon started using the bus lane when it was
safe (!), and made good progress.
Eventually we had Hyde Park on our right, and we pressed onwards,
knowing that all we had to do was stay upright.
In the end, such was my concentration on the traffic that Marble
Arch actually came as a surprise.
We swooped past Frank Cubis, and gratefully made our way to the
park entrance where we stopped.
We had managed to creep in with just 7 minutes to spare, and the
distance had been 246 miles.
Even further than my predicted 245.5, and 3 more than it had been
in 1995.
Entertainingly,
this meant that the tandem-tricycle record was one minute slower than
the single tricycle.
However, it’s a bit of an unfair comparison, as there are lots of
variables, and of course the single ride was done 15 years ago.
The other
comparison to be made is with the previous tandem-tricycle record.
We had reduced the time from 11‑42‑05 to 11‑34‑58, which is just
1% after 33 years. I
don’t think it can be described as a dominant performance, but we did
what we could. The weather
conditions had actually been pretty good, with the west‑south‑west wind
becoming a west wind, and helping us for the final 80 miles.
It would’ve nice to have been on drier roads, but actually I was
expecting us to get wetter than we did, so in some respects we were
quite fortunate.
There was some talk
that we should’ve delayed the start by a day.
That would have given us a better second half, and much less
rain. But the first few
hours would have been almost calm, which could have left us ‘down’ after
60 miles, and that wouldn’t have been easy to deal with.
No. We said we’d go,
and we went. Not a perfect
result, but a record nonetheless.
When you’re out there, you might have fancy objectives, but
ultimately there’s only one relevant question.
“Did they get it?”