South Gloucestershire 100km Brevet Populaire

Riders registering at Marlwood School, Alveston

Bikes and cycling equipment loaded in the back of my car the evening before, me and George set off in good time. My first navigational challenge was deciding the best way to reach the start at Alveston, just south of Thornbury. With this being the weekend of the Badminton Horse Trials, where long queues often form on the arterial routes, I was keen to avoid any holdups.

Throwing caution to the wind, we opted to travel via the M4 and M5 following the directions thoughtfully provided. We spent the last few miles of our queue-free journey behind an immaculate Morris Traveller, the driver of which I somehow knew had to be connected with the Audax event. Admittedly, I fully expected him to produce an equally well presented steel bike, but I wasn’t completely wrong, as resplendent in his Union Jack top hat he later started us off.

With a strong tailwind it made good sense to take full advantage, as we would inevitably be pegged back later, but our being unfamiliar with the roads was causing some hesitancy in our cycling.

As we reached the far side of Inglestone Common disaster struck when I allowed my rear wheel to drift too close to the grass verge. The resulting skid on the slippery mud sent me crashing to the ground. Sprawled across the tarmac, pinned under my Reynolds 520 chromoly frame, I heard the sound of a following car braking to a halt. Bracing myself for the impact I was relieved to see that he’d swerved to his right to avoid a collision. Thank goodness for careful drivers!

Drama over, I remounted and made a quick rolling mechanical assessment. Apart from my bottom two gears, which were slipping and grinding, the bike looked to be in good shape. Rather than trying to make some ill-fated adjustments, I decided to be grateful for those I still had left and to press on. I keep reading that modern day bikes are over-geared, but if I had to surrender some, it definitely wouldn’t be the bottom two.

Of less importance, but still worthy of a mention, was my right leg which was bleeding profusely and making grown men wince. My leather-palmed cycling mitts made a poor job of stemming the flow, but they did rapidly change colour. I made a mental note to shove over the kitchen sink in my saddle bag to make room for a comprehensive first aid kit before my next ride. As for my arm, which judging by the holes that had appeared in my rain jacket and jersey had taken some punishment, I decided to ignore unless any significant amount of blood soaked through.

Arriving at Leighterton meant that we were now well and truly on our home turf. In confident mood we arrived at the first control of the day; Café 53 in the High Street at Tetbury, which was doing a roaring trade. I took the opportunity to clean up my leg and we left promising ourselves we’d have something to eat and drink at the next control.

Leaving Tetbury there was a heavy shower, but by the time we reached Oaksey, not that many miles further on, we were basking in glorious sunshine. Turning north towards Coates we were buffeted by a strong crosswind. Riding sandwiched between fields of oilseed rape we enjoyed the pleasant views, if not the onset of a bout of hay fever.

Riders arriving at the Daneway Inn, Sapperton

We found the Daneway Inn at Sapperton, our next control, nestling at the bottom of a fairly steep hill. Descending, I was concerned to see other riders coming up the hill towards us. My fear that we’d somehow taken a wrong turning was soon laid to rest when I realised that the public house was a bit of a dog’s leg and that post-refreshments, we’d have to tackle the climb too.

The Daneway Inn was a real gem. The public bar was as rustic as they come. The well-trodden floorboards were ideally suited to walkers and cleat-wearing cyclists.  The only thing missing was the yokel with a good line in yarns, but I dare say you’ll find him at the bar most evenings if you care to call.

Fortified by a cheese and onion bap washed down with a pot of tea, we attacked the ascent and headed back to Alveston. Unfortunately someone at Ride HQ had forgotten to switch off the wind machine and we were immediately battered by a very unforgiving headwind. Over the more exposed sections it sometimes felt as though we were being blown to a standstill.

Temporary sanctuary from the wind came when we reached Hunters Hall Inn. With the last section beckoning we wasted no time in getting off. Passing the golf course before the exhilarating drop down to Wotton under Edge, I noticed a stray golf ball at the side of the road and hurried to get clear of the danger zone.

The remaining run-in to the Cross Hands public house and the end of our pub crawl had a few ups and downs. In total we’d climbed just over 4,000 feet without any stand-out killer climbs. One thing I’d learnt from the ride was that I can actually get up hills without having to automatically select my lowest gear. I’ll try and remember that once I’ve got a fully-functioning set again.