The South Downs Way is classic – a hundred miles right across the South of the country, it rewards walkers and riders with fantastic, unbroken views at almost every turn. Living in Brighton, it represents something of a home fixture, the artery to most of my local riding. I get to see it when its bone dry, wet and claggy, covered in flowers and on the odd occasion even in snow but no matter what the scenario, I always enjoy it. Being the type of person who likes to go long I have ridden the route one way a few times but in the background there has always been this great big looming challenge of going both ways – doing the Double.

Late spring represents something of a window for the double – potentially dry, wind light and trail not too overgrown, the challenge is clearly capturing the imagination of more and more riders who get kicks from going and going and then going some more. I was planning to do it last year but things got in the way so this year it was a priority. As such the months leading up to it involved one-track conversations when riding with friends: the weather conditions, when to start, tyre choice, what to take and most prominently – how fast could it be done? In the weeks leading up to the double my form was strong so sections were trained on and gates practised – the racer in me had split times written on stem mounted stickers, preparing for the challenge.

I decided that with long daylight hours, night riding and the potential for mistakes could be minimised. However I didn’t want to finish in the dark so decided to start just before dawn at 3am. People close to me know that if there is one thing I enjoy outside of riding it’s beer, so I had given myself the added incentive of missing last orders if I missed the record – I had to make it in. That said this decision would mean a strange body clock as the day of the double was a pretty normal one albeit with a long end! I travelled up to London for work and then once home it was final preparations; faffing, concern and excitement. I decided to run a small Karrimor Kimm Sac as it was over a kilo lighter than a Camelback rucksack when empty. I packed the following: three chicken sandwiches, 4 bananas, 10 Torq Gels, 4 Clif Bars, 6 Powerbars, a bottle of energy drink mix, a bottle of protein drink mix and a packet of gummy bears for if my head decided to go doolally! I took no extra clothes as I like riding cold. I also packed a few light tools and my usual Pepto-Bismol in case of energy stomach blues.

At about 10pm I lay down for my two hours planned shut-eye but quickly realised that I wasn’t going to go to sleep. So it was through to the lounge to get what I believe they call in the trade “focused”. With a large pot of coffee next to me it was not quite in line with what the experts recommend – within minutes YouTube Tomac clips and Rocky training montages were being fired off to get me psyched, then it was down to some emergency brake pad juggling as I realised that the front ones were pretty much on the metal.

It’s an hour and half to Winchester and as I headed out the roads were empty. It was a weird feeling loading up at this time and I drove with window open and music loud, but this was it, heading out for the double.

In Winchester I had arranged to park at Lydia Gould’s house. Living just a few minutes from the famous statue Lydia is probably the hardiest rider I have ever known and also the only woman to have completed the challenge. I had asked if she would see me off to make it official and she had jumped at the chance to be woken in the small hours!

There is something mighty strange about kitting up at 2.30am outside a residential house and it probably looked even stranger to those in Winchester who saw me pass as I made my way to the statue. I had always imagined a peaceful scene by King Alfred but it turned out to be awash with drunken people! Yet I knew that within minutes I would ride away from this stumbling scene and into my own quiet world of night.

I was as nervous and excited as any race. Not helped by the relentless caffeine injection it was at 3.03am that I pretty much buried myself off the line and within two minutes was big-ringing up what I thought was the first climb. This was it – just me, a trail my bike and a great challenge for 200 miles – perfect. But within five minutes that excitement had turned to frustration and annoyance. The legs didn’t seem to be there and I had ridden up the wrong climb. After descending back on myself for what seemed like ages I was almost at the statue again and this time I turned properly onto the South Downs Way.

At 3.25am I hit Cheesefoot Head, greeted not only by Lydia but by streaks of light away in the east – I knew then that this was going to be one long all dayer! I started to find some rhythm – although the legs didn’t feel pin sharp they were turning nicely and the trails were dry enough for my favourite fast tyres to start whistling. Then after 35 minutes a squish from the rear tyre and together we were deflated. Pumping vigorously with my old pump I thought all would be fine and I remounted. Two minutes later: Squirm. I wanted to forge forward but I had split the tyre and it was too much for Stan’s to sort – I’d have to tube up. It was at this point I realised that the Kimm sac, for all its light weight, was an organisational mess. Only one thing for it – pour everything out and hunt for what was required! After what seemed like an age I headed on. The double wasn’t supposed to start like this! Yet long rides have so many twists and turns, I told myself to keep calm. A message on my handlebar reminded me that not only should I push but also I should enjoy!

Butser Hill arrived without incident and a sketchy, exhilarating top gear race down the dew covered grass slope ensued. With all the drama of the first section I was now behind my schedule. Lydia popped up shouting me on and I pushed on for Harting Down. I finally started to get that lovely clockwork groove going, it was just me, a huge long trail and my Indy… Nothing better. Cocking arrived at 5.50am, by now bathed in sunlight. I’d knocked out the previous 12 miles in 48 minutes, I was back on track. A heh to Lydia, armwarmers off and a water fill up and then it was toward Amberley and on to what seems like home turf. I had still seen no-one on the trail and I was almost 40 miles in – just the morning sun and lots of deer.

Through Amberley I was now up on my schedule and it felt like a time trial, homing in on my friends in Brighton. It was this thought coupled with my favourite view from Chanctonbury Ring that had me out of the saddle up Amberley Mount and cracking on to Washington. By Botolphs I was picked up for the first time by Rory Hitchens. The ubiquitous Exposure red van could be seen in the distance and there was Rory, the most enthusiastic trail advocate and brightest light maker you could ever hope to shout you on. He was there again at Devils Dyke, tripod set up, recording the moment. Just under half an hour later Ditchling Beacon arrived for breakfast and although the legs now felt a little sluggish, my friends Jon Ashton and Simon Turner, off-road downhilling on a fixie and road bike respectively whilst shouting me on, gave me just the invigoration I needed!

Now it was the flight to the turn, a 28 mile stretch with some majestic climbs and views to the sea which I would recommend to anyone. I know this bit inside out and how long each small section takes. I know it can be done in double-quick time when fresh – however this was a little different to usual as I was over five hours in. The fantastic smell of summer coming started to spurn me on as did the views to the weald but then there on Kingston Ridge was a true site to behold – Brighton legend, one-way record holder and impromptu Hoff impersonator Charlie Eustace, top off and sunning himself down. I quickly changed up through the gears!

Turning was a great moment. It was 8.07am, a touch quicker than my winter one way and not far outside of my optimistic schedule. From experience I reckoned on being about 15-20% slower on the way back. I knew that if I was sensible I could get the new best time. That said it would still be tough. Once I’d turned I was greeted by every South Downs rider’s biggest concern – wind. Within ten or fifteen minutes I was flying down to Jevington when I got that loss of control feeling from the back end. A pinch puncture acted as cue for what can only be described as a monumental period of faffing. I clocked it at 14 minutes of mending, eating and sorting.

I was annoyed with myself for the slackness. In a 24 someone would have shouted at me but now it was all down to my discipline and I was being way too slow. Yet that said these periods of time out can sometime pay unexpected dividends, especially when there are 96 miles more to cover. I decided to break out the iPod for my favourite selection and I pushed on. Within a few miles a real nice surprise. At Alfriston the road had been chalked up, Tour de France style, by friends. The crown logo of Independent Fabrication was an especially cool touch. I was now a way down on the time I was shooting at, but it didn’t matter so much – I was dealing with the wind and I had been blessed with perfect sunlight on my great local trails.

A few hours passed, churning the pedals and opening my top more and more as the heat cranked up. Then at almost 150 miles coming into Amberley I had three more punctures in quick succession. I was now resorting to the puncture repair kit. It felt as though the wheels might be coming off the ride and as I hauled the bike past Amberley my friend Catherine who had been waiting at the top of the hill out of town shouted to me, “You’re late!” Pleased to be inadvertently told to get on with it I checked my stem-mounted schedule and started riding bigger gears. By Cocking it was a quick talc down and there on the hill once again were Rory and Jon shouting me on – they’d finished at USE for the day and were there to see me through to the end. The climb out was superb – I knew that I would make it home.

Whenever I race 24 there’s always a little hallucination – it’s no coincidence that many of the UK’s leading soloists are old ravers! By Queen Elizabeth Country Park I had that cool moment – trees looking like people after being up for 36 hours as I hit the singletrack! If anything’s going to curb that type of mindset it’s Butser Hill – a monolithic grass face which every person taking on the downs has to scale. Once there I was greeted by my friend Will and after some faffing at the bottom whilst he shouted from half way up I went for the beast. Going up that long grassy hill I felt the best I had all day and by the gate I was in middle ring. For me it would be those last 22 miles that would really make the ride. The body went into one of those unexplainable states where it seems oblivious to tiredness. Cadence super high every line was being hit smoothly and I had this fantastic feeling of elation that I had ridden a stupid distance and that the summer was going to be fantastic.

By now I began to really think about time. In QE Park it looked like it would be an 18.30 ride but now I thought that I could maybe make it into the 17s after all. Down from Cheesefoot Head it was ragged riding on the edge but true exhilaration – all the way out and all the way back – fantastic stuff. With moments to go the clock ticked on and I realised was to just miss that magical sub-18. But it didn’t matter. It had been 18 hours of what’s best: hard riding.

I rounded the corner to the statue and Rory, Jon, Will, Lydia and her husband shouted me through. 18:03:12 – I had done the double, taken the record, more than made last orders and most importantly had one hell of a day out. I rode back to the statue to meet my friends whose support had been so special, feeling elated. Within a few minutes a cold beer was in hand, within an hour the pizza was ordered and right now a week later I am thinking of when I might do it all over again!

Big thanks to Independent Fabrication Bikes, Exposure Lights, Tifosi Optics and of course to friends who gave up so much time to spur me on. And of course finally to the pioneers: Ian Butler, Neil Newell, Rob Lee, Mike Cotty and Lydia Gould. It’s a privilege to now be on the list of those to have done it.