Neil Newell at Cocking – some way to go yet

It was a couple of years ago when, after riding the South Downs Way end-to-end yet again, the inevitable “What next?” question reared its ugly little head. “Both ways, in a day” seemed a pretty reasonable answer, and I started thinking about what it would take. At the time I was completely unaware other people had already done the SDW Double. But ignorance is bliss, plans were laid, and when I casually
mentioned I was going to try to ride it twice in a day on a local club ride, I was swiftly pointed at the Bikemagic reports of Ian Butler and Mike Cotty‘s impressive shenanigans.

Well, I couldn’t let all the planning go to waste, and now I’d opened my mouth I was going to have to go through with it. My aim was to complete the ride in under 24 hours, if possible. I certainly wasn’t planning a record-breaking performance – people like Mike and Ian are way fitter than me. But poring over the reports of their rides, I realised I had the advantage of local knowledge (since I live close to the mi point) which I hoped would give me an edge.

Also, I had Jim as support – my secret weapon! We’ve worked together for 15 years, and we’ve had a lot of practice communicating under pressure! I convinced him to take a day off work and two nights away from the wife in kids in return for a pair of old MTB wheels to commute on – hardly a fair exchange, that, so Jim, I owe you!

So, after a couple of years of planning, scheming, studying Atlantic pressure charts and tables of sun and moon rise and set times, I found myself screaming in terror as the in-car GPS calmly got Jim to drive the wrong way down the A31 towards Winchester. We lived,
good thing traffic is so light that time of the morning.

After that, the actual start at 04:03am from Winchester was pretty undramatic. The rain stopped, we shook hands, I hit the lights and pedalled off into the darkness.

Up the wrong road. Ooops. An inauspicious start, but it hardly seemed to matter with 200+ miles to go. I found the half-remembered way out of Winchester and on to the SDW proper. Within the first couple of miles I had my first near-miss of the night as a massive
stag bolted down the trail towards me before leaping into the darkness.

At the first road crossing it was a reassuring sight to see Jim parked beside the road. I had a problem with a leak from the tubeless front tyre valve. No spare either, but a fiddle, a faff and a pump seemed to fix it.

Soon we settled into a routine – I’d programmed the on-bike GPS with the points where the SDW crosses main roads, and Jim had a matching list. Additionally, we’d put a fat battery under the saddle so I could keep the GPS backlight on – I hoped that’d let me spot if I went off-trail.

As I blundered through the darkness, Jim was having some fun on his own – the police pulled up as he waited down some country lane, in the early hours of the morning, in a car containing a large number of packets full of fine white powder. He’s so solid they just took his word (“it’s, uh, energy drink powder, Officer”) and buggered off.

Sunrise came 20 miles in. I’d already decided to ride a harder pace in daylight, as I wasn’t too sure what state I’d be in come the second night. But almost immediately I lost a lot of time due to loose spokes in the rear wheel, which demanded immediate retensioning.

Barely 40 miles in and I was way behind schedule now, and had the iffy front valve and a dodgy rear wheel to worry about. The front valve problem soon got solved – on the fast descent off Bignor Hill I hit a rut badly, and the front tyre blew out at around 25mph. It’s scary trying to stop at speed with no air in the front tyre, and I was very lucky not to go down – it wasn’t a good surface to fall on. I ripped out the valve and rimstrip, and replaced it with the single spare tube I was carrying (hey, you don’t get punctures on tubeless, right?).

Amberley came and went. I refilled at the tap there, and thought about time. This was the quarter-way point (50 down, 150 to go) and my progress so far had been dismal. Did I have any chance of completing in less than 24 hours? Maybe…

I was hoping for better luck on home turf, and I got it. Knowing every lump and rock in the trail for the next 30 miles meant I could really go for it. As I overtook another rider (the first
I’d seen since setting off) I found Chris from my local club (Brighton Explorers) beside the trail taking pictures. He told me that people were following my progress, no pressure then! He understood why I didn’t stop to chat – in seconds I was off again and skittering
down towards the Adur.

Things were looking up. I was still behind schedule, but the sun was out, the bike was running well and the trail to Eastbourne and back so familiar I just pretended it was a local ride, and rode it at
a local pace. Caught up with Jim at Lewes on schedule, grabbed a spare tube, food, had a swig of coffee and after that the the big climbs on the Eastbourne approach just flew by.

At the halfway point in Eastbourne the turnaround took a while. The GPS had to be downloaded into a laptop so we could clear its memory for the return leg. Almost before I knew it, I was screaming down
Itford Hill at silly speeds though I screwed up at the bottom and my calf hit the rear disc rotor; it was hot enough there was a puff of smoke and a neat 160mm rotor brand on the back of my leg. That hurt (a lot), but strangely it came in useful later…

I’d hoped to be back at Amberley for sunset, but clearly I was going to come up 10 miles short. That meant something like 60 miles of night riding lay ahead – this was going to get interesting! At Botolphs Jim fitted the lights ready for my second night while I tried to eat something. Off into the sunset, and leaving my local patch; by Amberley it was dark, I was at the three-quarter point and not feeling too shabby, despite some odd twinges from my knees.

Close to 160 miles done and I was feeling fine, mentally alert and physically OK but my legs were losing power. That was expected, but the twinges around my knees were turning into real pain. It was getting hard to get on and off the bike for gates, and when I tried to walk across a road I knew I was in real trouble – some muscles around my knee were telling me in no uncertain terms they’d had enough of this silly game.

Jim was there, solid as ever, as I rolled into Cocking. Just then the GPS crashed hard and the display froze, showing junk. We sorted it out by pulling and replacing the batteries and it sputtered back to life with a bit of coaxing. And while we fiddled, my legs burned – I could stand, but I couldn’t walk and it was getting worse. I could still cycle though, so off into the darkness I went…

The next rendezvous was at Queen Elizabeth country park near Petersfield,with only about 20 miles left. Apart from the pain, my legs were on reserve power and there wasn’t a lot of it – the smallest hill was a challenge and now I was just going for the lowest gear at any sign of a upslope. That made some of the climbs so slow I could safely kill the lights and ride by moonlight alone – and remind myself I was doing this for fun, and to enjoy the ride!

When I reached the park, we checked the time and it looked like if I could maintain my current pace I was going to be back at Winchester in well under 24 hours after all. But while the riding is a lot easier in the last 20 miles, my legs were no longer part of me – I was having trouble clipping in, and I couldn’t coast as restarting pedalling was too painful. Standing on the pedals was out of the question too, so I was really getting beaten up on the bumpy bits.

And then there was my nemesis, the thing I’ve been dreading for the past couple of hours. Butser Hill. It’s a big old climb and I normally ride it in bottom gear anyway, so this was going to be unpleasant. And the gotcha was if I couldn’t ride it, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to walk it.

I made it halfway, but at the steepest bit, some tussocky grass was my undoing. I toppled over, and lay there for a bit. I’d asked Jim to wait and check I made it before going to the next checkpoint, and now it looked like I was going to be out. DNF after 180 miles. What
a loser. What was left? Crawl! Of course… I zigzagged up a few feet past the tussocks, dragging the bike behind me. Remounting was hard, I had the bike sideways to the slope and I knew this was going to hurt. Nothing for it but brace for the pain hit and GO! Couple of wobbles, but I was moving again and pointing upslope. And I made it – 10 minutes for a lousy 450 foot ascent and yes, it did seem a lot longer at the time!

The road section after Butser was like gliding on silk. I only had a very small hammer left but I put it down just as hard as I could, figuring I had to make time on the level and downhill sections since the few remaining climbs were going to cost me dear. I’d been playing games with the pain for a long time now, and had discovered that if I focused on my disc-burnt calf it took my mind off the more serious problem with my knees. And when the burn stopped hurting, I could
use the pain in my hands and butt instead, anything to ignore the protests from my legs (while still giving them the order to keep turning, dammit!).

At the road crossings Jim knew better than to ask if everything was OK. I grunted, “See you in Winchester” at the final one and rolled into the final section, praying as I went I hadn’t forgotten a
hill. The GPS was telling me I was going to be at the statue at 02:39, but the numbers came down as the speed picked up. I couldn’t believe it, but I was starting to think taking the record was a real possibility!

The sensation as I crossed the M3 into Winchester was indescribable; I’d made it. GPS glowing orange and now telling me I was going to be back at 02:24! Moments later I could see the final
roundabout ahead, with the statue just around the corner. At it come into sight Jim was there and waving like mad, I coasted in grinning like a very mad thing. I didn’t dare punch the air though,
I thought I’d fall off if I tried!

Good thing Winchester was deserted that time of the morning, I circled slowly to a stop and fell off in the middle of the street – my legs were far, far gone. Jim kept congratulating me, I kept thanking him, it was without a doubt one of the very best moments of my life!

So that was it. After two nights and a day in the saddle, over 200 miles and so many little incidents, big views, near misses and lots of pain I’d done it, a personal challenge completed and five minutes inside the record too!

And 15 minutes later, in the car, that ugly little question came back: “What next?”

At the time of writing we’re still not sure if Neil and Mike Cotty rode exactly the same route – if people keep going for this record someone’s going to have to come up with some “official” guidelines. You can find out more about Neil’s ride (including the complete track from his GPS) at http://hazeii.net/sdw/