Tim H's 103 Mile Ride

A stray bull calf in the road near Alderton brings our peloton to a halt.

Portishead - The Fall and Rise

They say that self-praise, is no praise at all, but I couldn’t help letting slip a small smile of satisfaction when the sub-title to Sunday’s epic 103 mile ride came to me.

For those unfamiliar with Portishead, our intended destination, it sits on the Bristol Channel at the mouth of the Severn Estuary. The River Severn boasts the second highest tide in the world.

The 19^thcentury saw a rapid expansion around Portishead’s dockyard. This continued into the 20^th century when a power station and a chemical works were added. The town’s fortunes then slumped during the 1970’s, but today there’s a smart new marina and exclusive apartments. Things are once again very much on the ‘up.’

It was on a bleak winter’s evening at one of the weekly Wednesday get-togethers, that Tim H first mentioned his intention to organise a 100 mile ride, with lunch provided, at his mother’s house in Portishead. True to his word, and much to his credit, he did exactly that and months later, there we were on a sunny August morning, 10 of us riding out of the Cross Hayes car park.

A few special mentions are in order. Max, for driving from South Wales to join us and the usual Clarion welcome goes out to Steve, who was riding with us for the second time. (I’d forgotten his name the first time)

The earlier start of 8.30am had a good feel and being a Sunday, the roads were relatively quiet. This allowed us to comfortably ride two abreast and meant that the pack was frequently being shuffled as riders circulated up and down the line.

Somewhere west of Chipping Sodbury, at the approach to a roundabout, there was an unfortunate touching of wheels, which resulted in two riders getting better acquainted than perhaps their respective partners would have preferred. Once untangled from their embrace, we were soon on our way.

It was around this time that I detected the first unmistakable whiff of a smell that always evokes happy memories of childhood holidays spent at Weston super Mare. No, not the sweet smell of candyfloss sold on the pier. It was the faintly sulphuric odour of wet mud being carried on the brisk headwind.

Not too far from Severn Beach there was further drama when one of the participants in the earlier incident had to take avoiding action. This involved mounting the grass verge, which then resulted in them disappearing down a deep ditch, the bottom of which was filled with water.

A motionless body with its head and limbs arranged in an unnatural fashion immediately filled me with dread. It was a huge relief when I heard them answer my call. Unbelievably, once their bike had been lifted off of them and the vegetation cleared from their face, they were able to stand up.

This particular rider was proving to be indestructible and although in some discomfort, was still eager to saddle-up and complete the ride, if possible.

Leaving the industrial sprawl behind us, we crossed the Avonmouth Bridge over the River Avon. Looking down into the gardens 80 feet below, I spared a thought for the four poor brave souls who plunged to their death in 1999 when a gantry they were using collapsed.

Having reached the other side and worked our way through a housing estate, we broke out into the countryside and enjoyed the pleasant views around Easton in Gordano. A narrow lane along one side of the shallow valley allowed us to make good progress.

Riding through Clevedon’s town centre we passed the Curzon Community Cinema, which is one of the oldest continually running purpose-built cinemas in the world.

A scheduled stop was made at the Salthouse Public House, just off of the seafront.  Perched in an elevated position, with the bay spread out before us, we relaxed in the sun whilst quenching our thirsts with a variety of non-alcoholic drinks.

All smiles at the Salthouse as we relax over drinks.

The time was also used wisely to repair a puncture. This took two attempts after some over-enthusiastic pumping resulted in the valve of the first replacement inner tube being snapped off. The old saying about things happening in threes had proved correct, as the unlucky recipient of the puncture just happened to be the member who had already suffered two falls.

With empty stomachs beginning to rumble and the promise of lunch not too far away, our peloton threaded its way along the promenade, past the Victorian pier and out of Clevedon on the coast road.

Clevedon's bay.

The coast road was a little lumpy in parts, but the sea views more than compensated for this and we were rewarded with a long, fast running descent into Portishead. 

Tim’s mum had a very welcome selection of cycling food waiting for us. We eagerly devoured the bananas, fruitcake, flapjacks etc on offer. Fed and watered, the idea of a quick nap was an attractive one to some of the older riders, but with a table booked for 7.30pm at the Europa Italian Restaurant, we had to press on. A big thank you to Tim's mum for looking after us so well. 

   

Gary attacking the curve of the Avonmouth Bridge. It's not as flat as you might think.

We headed back to the Avonmouth Bridge and retraced our steps along some of the morning’s course until we changed tack and rode through a swathe of countryside that reminded me a little of the Somerset levels. 

The wind, now behind us and the distraction of unfamiliar surroundings, made cycling easy.

Inevitably, we had to gain height if we were ever going to see Malmesbury again. After a particularly punishing climb, we regrouped at the top and with 83 miles under our belts we split into two groups of 5.

Having conquered at least one more ascent we reached ‘Clarion Country’ in the form of the Badminton Estate. There was by now a real feeling of being homeward bound. Glancing at our watches we realised that we needed to get our skates on if we were going to get back in time for our meal.

Presumably someone had forgotten to put out the podium, the brass band couldn’t make it and the Mayor was otherwise engaged, as all were missing from outside of the Town Hall to celebrate our triumphant return. 

Later, 7 riders ate heartily whilst longing for their beds, accompanied by three wives and a husband - providing a perfect end to the day.

The makings of an annual summer 100 mile ride? I certainly hope so.