Introduction
I have never been as exhausted in all my life; the half mile ride up the slight gradient from the promenade to Brighton Station was making every muscle in my legs scream out in despair, my backside felt like I’d passed out in a prone position in the Blue Oyster Bar and my arms felt like I’d been pumping iron for hours on end. If you’d have seen my face though, you’d have noticed a smile from ear to ear, hanging beneath a thousand yard stare that would have scared a Vietnam Veteran. What was the cause of all this?

If you trawl through the archives on Addiscombe Cycling Club’s website (www.Addiscombe.org), you may just come across a comment written by Marco which mentions the search for an offroad route from Croydon to Brighton. It has long been a mission of Marco’s to work out this route and ride it, and one weekday morning whilst the rest of us were working (slacking) away, he worked out a way to do it and set off. In true Addiscombe style, he didn’t eat before he set off and only took enough money to be able to catch the train home so by the time he reached the Downs Link, his energy levels were seriously depleted and he was having to resort to eating berries off bushes, even the ones nearer the bottom of the bushes that dogs had flavoured with their own special garnish. It was not surprising then that he admitted defeat and caught the train back from Christ’s Hospital.

We then move on a few months to the end of summer last year, when night rides were still possible without illumination and jackets weren’t needed to block out the chill. Whilst on the final section of our favoured night ride loop, Joe and I were discussing the above story and decided that we should pick up where Marco had left off and finally see this epic through.

Over the following months, what started from that short conversation grew and grew, with e-mails going out to all the bikers we knew and posts being placed on the Bikemagic and Singletrack forums. A date of early January was decided upon, postponed and then postponed again before Saturday 23rd February was finally decided upon. We now had a date, assurances from a number of people who wanted to partake and a commitment to see the ride through. All we needed now was to decide upon the route and get some long rides in first so that we wouldn’t falter after 30 miles.

The route we decided upon is detailed below, but basically headed out from Croydon and onto the North Downs Way, over Leith, Holmbury and Pitch Hills to Cranleigh to meet the Downs Link long distance bridleway. At the other end of the Downs Link, the South Downs Way was picked up and followed through to Devil’s Dyke, before a long descent into Brighton, the final destination. We were also very lucky in that thanks to James’s parents, we had a support car that would carry our luggage and provisions and meet us at various points on the route.

Come the morning of the ride itself, I looked out of the patio doors into the garden and noticed that the sky was a dull grey and the trees seemed to be adopting a new horizontal position rather than their more usual vertical one. ‘Oh great’, I thought, ‘That’ll be just me, Joe and a couple of others doing the ride then’. Imagine my surprise then upon reaching the station and seeing a veritable sea of bikes. After we’d met up with the Purley contingency, there were twenty-one of us!! My initial thought was to how on earth we were going to keep a group of that size together over such a long distance and time.

More Ups than Downs

Drop-off at Leith Hill

It is possible to hit the trails around Croydon within half a mile of the station and follow these all the way through to the North Downs Way without hardly touching tarmac. Due to the epic proportions of this ride however, we chose instead to ride through to Reedham (it’s still classed as Croydon) on road before cutting onto the trails and our first encounter of the day; some woman had decided to block our way with her car and scream hysterically at us, just because the trail we had used a thousand times before happened to pass through her property. D’oh. Not to be perturbed, we made a slight detour and continued on our merry way through Happy Valley and up onto the North Downs Way above the M23/M25 interchange and into the first large descent of the day, through a muddy field and under the M23. In summer, this descent is a pleasure to ride as you can hold your speed through the whole section but with the rains of the previous week and tractor tyre marks cutting across the trail, it was a slippery, rutted battle to stay in control. Amazingly, all twenty one of us reached the bottom unscathed and rode on to the first of the big climbs, up onto Reigate Hill, which finishes with a near vertical singletrack scramble before topping out opposite the National Trust car park.

Everyone rested for a short time before we carried on along the NDW. Although it was still early in the morning, there were quite a few walkers to be found on the main bridleway and all shared a common trait – utter disbelief at the sight of 21 muddy bikers bearing down on them; it really was quite an impressive sight to see so many people grouped together, chatting amongst themselves as they rode through the mud and wind.

Our route then took us over towards Headley Heath, where there were nearly a few mishaps because of the placement of electric fences over the trails which took a fair bit of eye-straining to spot as you hurtled towards them. From the top, it was a short spin along the tops and then a descent down Box Hill to Ryka’s Cafe at the foot of the hill for refreshments and the first meeting with Momma and Poppa Cushtie – James’s parents and the support car.

It was whilst we were renewing our energy levels with sugar licks that Tom noticed that his back wheel was not how it should be. Not only was it missing a spoke or five, but the ones still attached to both the rim and the wheel were so loose that it was amazing that he’d made it as far as he had. The good thing about a group of that size is that it’s guaranteed that at least one person will have the nouse about them to be able to tighten spokes and true a wheel and in this group, there were quite a few. From looking across, it seemed like about 6 people were all working on the bike at once but it was Joe who finally took charge and got Tom mobile again.

Refreshed, we set off again and headed under the A24 and up the long, steady climb onto Ranmore Common, 30 miles already under our belts. Upon reaching the top however, we noticed that the group had shrunk somewhat so it was decided that we’d split up and meet in Westcott outside Nirvana Cycles. Unfortunately, the ride was proving too much for one of the riders (Fabricio, a Brazilian lad on his first ride out with us) so upon reaching the top of the hill, we pointed him back down with instructions on how to get to the station and congratulated him on battling the crappy conditions as far as he had. With Fabricio gone, the rest of us set off along the road through Ranmore Common and dropped down a slippery, steep and rutted chalky descent that leads into Westcott, where we met the others.

What faced us now was the biggest and longest climb of the day – Leith Hill, and the route we took meant that we’d climb, descend into a valley bottom and then climb the full height of the hill again on a rough and rutted trail that seemed to go on for ever. By the time we’d all reached the top, it was obvious that the ride was beginning to take it’s strain on a few people and talk of calling it a day was getting more common.

Whilst punctures were being mended, bikes fettled and food consumed, we managed to talk everyone into continuing for the time being, all apart from Pete who wanted to get home as he had chores to do (ball and chain dragging behind him. Instead of the regular route to the car park, we picked up one of the myriad singletrack trails which litter the South of the hill and proceeded down it into one of the drop-offs, which only Marcus was expecting, proved by the fact that James decided to leave his bike at the top and tackle it on his chest instead! When we’d all stopped laughing, we continued to the car park, said goodbye to Pete and continued on our way down the rocky bridleway (the Step Mother) towards Holmbury Hill.

The Missing Link
The original idea was to skirt Holmbury Hill and press on for Cranleigh and the Downs Link, but due to a mysteriously disappearing bridleway, we ended up climbing most of the hill on the road before picking up a special bridleway (if you know what I mean) that took us over to Pitch Hill. Funnily enough, when I was first sussing out the route for this ride, I had planned to take the bridleway up and over Holmbury, before connecting with the disappearing one. It was only when looking at the map the day before the ride that I realised that this route would have included the Widowmaker! Now I am a fan of the Widowmaker and think that it’s sometimes mentioned status of unrideable is laughable (regardless of the conditions, as we’ve proved), but I dread to think of the carnage that would have occurred if I’d have attempted to take so many people down it without warning!

Anyway, I digress. From Pitch Hill onwards for the next few miles, things all went a bit Pete Tong. We turned on to what started out as a well surfaced wide bridleway and were making excellent progress when all of a sudden, James was missing; he’d been struck with a puncture and knowing what he’s like at fixing them, we settled down to a long wait. Tom also announced that his back wheel was once again in need of repair, especially as it was now missing six spokes. Whilst these essential repairs were taking place, the high winds were joined by their good friend Mr Hailstone, and we were subjected to a 20 minute ice cold peppering. Nice.

Once all repairs had been made, we set off again through a field which got boggier and boggier by the minute until the point where we were all pushing our bikes. A quick map check and a change of direction and we were once again on a wide bridleway, although the full width of it was constituted of thick, sticky mud that made progress through it a losing battle; it was a relief to hit tarmac again (and you won’t often hear me say that). We cleaned the worst of the mud off the bikes and began the search for the elusive Downs Link, which I reported to everyone had moved location as my map reading skills couldn’t be wrong. Five miles of road followed in our search, before we eventually found someone to ask and discovered that we were only half a mile from the damned thing.

Now when I was suggesting this ride to people, I had reported that the Downs Link was well surfaced and flat as a pancake for it’s whole length, so it was with shock that the first thing we did was climb up a steep hill, descend the other side and ride straight into a quagmire that hardly let up for miles.

Our next meeting place was in Southwater, situated just south of Horsham and fifteen miles before we’d reach the South Downs Way. Without noticing, the group had split into three groups and were quite spaced out. The first group reached Southwater, bought provisions from the shop, got supplies from the support car and settled down for a wait. What we didn’t know was how long a wait it would be; it seems that some of our party had bonked a few miles back and were now struggling to get to the rendezvous.

Poor James had suffered from a puncture and was so tired, he hadn’t got the energy to stop and fix it so had carried on regardless. When he did finally arrive, someone else had to push his bike up the short incline from the old station platform and over the road with him following behind, looking more bedraggled than I’ve seen anyone in a good long time. Super-fit Joe had also suffered slightly from his usual problem of being unprepared, although after he’d eaten about six chocolate bars and four bags of crisps, he was raring to get going on the next section. James, unfortunately, wasn’t. Nor were quite a few more of the group who decided that 60-odd miles was enough for one day and headed off for Horsham station (only to find it closed for engineering – oops).

Night ride with a difference

With thirteen of the original twenty-one now left, it was time to decide whether to back out or go for glory, as there would be no option to drop out from here onwards. By now it was gone five o’clock and despite the perfectly clear conditions and a nearly full moon, the night was drawing in so we attached our lights, packed up the car with our stuff and James and set back out on the link which luckily was in general well surfaced and drained from here onwards, in fact at one point we were averaging 16mph which may not sound too fast, but it was after 70 hard miles which had included a huge chunk of the North Downs.

We pressed on for as long as we could without using our lights before darkness finally forced us into committing our batteries and hoping that they’d last until Brighton.

At one point in this stage I was at the front and looked back down the trail; it was truly a wonderful sight to see twelve sets of lights swaying in the darkness behind me. Even though we were making good process, we were still taking quite a while to get to the junction with the South Downs Way and it wasn’t surprising to see one set of lights dim and then blink out. Regardless of Hannah’s lack of illumination, we pressed on along the SDW and into the last of the major climbs, Truleigh Hill.

Now I have never been the best of climbers and was amazed to get a third of the way up the hill before admitting defeat, but I was still quite chuffed with myself. That was until nearly everyone else rode past me, led by Marcus who was on his singlespeed. With my ego thoroughly bruised, I reached the top and we rode along the road towards Tottington Barn Youth Hostel together to meet James, his parents and the car for one final time before we reached Brighton, which was now seductively calling us with it’s bright lights, far below us. Nobody needed anything from the car so we decided to rest for one minute then press on.

For many of us, this was our first night ride on the South Downs and after normally blasting through the tight singletrack around Croydon, the wide, chalky ups and downs of the South Downs were a welcome treat, the chalk reflecting the light and enabling the rider to see for quite a distance. At least that’s what I thought, until I completely failed to see the quagmire in the middle of the trail and chose that exact spot to cross from the right to the left. Have you ever noticed how everything goes into slow motion when you crash? Well at night, not only does time slow down but everything goes into a strobe like effect. I shot off the bike, slid straight through the mud ending up in a pile on the far left of the track where Charlie was heading; luckily, he’d had time to slow down and only clipped my head rather than squash it like a watermelon dropped from a multi-storey! Luckily, it was only my pride that was injured so we remounted and pressed on and up to Devil’s Dyke, the pub acting like a beacon of tackiness in the night.

Upon reaching the pub, the mood of everyone lifted dramatically as one by one we all realised that the rest of our ride was going to be downhill. Two more people’s lights had died on the last section so we opted for a bridleway which followed the road all the way to the outskirts of town and those without lights paired off with those that did so that no hidden surprises would jump up at them from the trail. We got safely to the outskirts of town and then picked up the pace through the busy Saturday evening streets to get to our final destination, Palace Pier.

I have not often felt as ecstatic as I did when I turned the last corner, rode up to the pier entrance and leaned my bike against a well placed bin; waves of euphoria rushed over me as I realised that we had achieved what we’d set out to do despite all the odds seeming against us. And as I looked around at one after the other arriving, I noticed that I wasn’t alone, we were all sharing in the experience. Saturday night revellers stared at us like we were mental, mothers steered their kids away and security guards eyed us suspiciously. After all, there were thirteen people dressed in hugely inappropriate clothing for such a cold evening, all were covered from head to toe in mud, they were grinning inanely and were all tucking into fish and chips like they hadn’t eaten in months. Not one of us cared!

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Epilogue
From leaving East Croydon Station at 7:35am, we had been out for a grand total of thirteen hours, nine of which were spent in the saddle. We had covered eighty-six miles in total on a route that had led us as far west as Guildford and over both the North and the South Downs in thirty mile an hour winds, rain and hailstones (although we were lucky with the rain). Of the twenty-one of us who had set off, thirteen of us made it to the finish including all three girls who had set off (and yes, they did rub it in that the girls had had a 100 percent success rate).The hardest section was the North Downs, which had been as muddy as we feared and into a headwind which was reaching 30mph at times. We had also climbed and descended seven times along the stretch we’d covered.

Would I do it again? Definitely, although it will be in summer when the trails will hopefully be drier. I would also use the trails closer to Croydon which although adding distance to the journey would eliminate four miles of tarmac from the journey.

If you want details of the route we took, e-mail me at [email protected]’ and I will pass them on to you.

Jason.