Round the Bend 2007 - Richard’s Story with apologies for the length
Part 4 - Day 3, East Angular and the South East
Up with the larks on the Sunday morning with a decent brekky (my stomach loves ya, Ugg) and we're sorted and off pretty sharp at 8.10am. It slightly overcast and the weather reports are mixed but we're not really that bothered. We reckon that the least interesting day is behind us and Alan is looking forward to meeting up with his wife, Karen at Hickstead wich is our overnight stop after leaving the coast at Brighton. We were not to know that this was in many ways the hardest day of the trip. We had 2 Landmarks to do at Lowestoft (most easterly) and Dover (bottom right corner) and quite a lot of motorway including a slice of M25. And off we went into the flatness of East Angular.
It's funny how the map makes things look different to reality. When you look at the route for day 3 it doesn't look like it's over 420 miles but it is very convoluted with miles and miles of straight - corner - straight - corner and what made it worse was the weather and the day of the week. It remained overcast and increasingly misty as the day continued which limited our overtaking opportunities even more than the road layout but, as we discovered, each day had it's heaven and hell and today's was cyclists. There was a huge, annual, charity bike day which meant we were constantly being held up because they were being typically inconsiderate by riding 3 abreast, cutting corners and generally being arses and the only reason none were killed by my panniers was because they coming in the other direction and we could see them looming slowly out of the mist. Speaking of mist, I managed to keep the red mist away as we resigned ourselves to slogging through the morass. First non fuel stop of the day was Lowestoft, England's most easterly point where we stopped for a bite of lunch at a building site that was meant to be the promenade. It was not yet sunny but at least the mist had lifted and we were on time.
As the afternoon continued the weather improved and the sun burned off the morning mist and despite a very near miss near Ipswich involving an Italian registered car turning right from the left lane at a roundabout whilst I was going straight ahead (I didn't know about it, Alan shat himself) we were busy having a riot as we headed towards the heavily over populated South East corner of England and our next Landmark at Dover. The roads had opened out into big dual carriageway and the sun was splitting the sky. We'd sort of forgotten that it was nearing midsummer and once the mist had gone we began to boil in our bike gear. This is something that we're both 100% about - All The Gear All The Time (AGATT) - it is so easy to become overly familiar with riding and over confident in your riding ability and begin to think you are invincible. We'd decided long ago, having both had a few minor and the odd major 'off' that we needed to wear the best of armoured gear on this ride knowing that should the temperature rise we'd melt. And so it was, riding down the A12 with the sun in our faces we found ourselves in the recurring hell of "The Big Roads". What we found was that, on a very long trip, you tend to go at the same speed on back roads as you do on the motorways. Admittedly you maintain a higher average on the big roads but you can't mopve around the bike so much, you're trapped in your helmet, so to speak, and after hours without corners you need to stop for longer to recover. On back or smaller roads your average speed is less but you can happily knock off 250 miles without a break because you're using the bike for what it's intended and your mind is active, planning overtakes, carving the turns and knowing your average is less you are motivated to keep the speed up whenever possible and keep flowing. I suppose this is where our concept of Combat Touring comes from.
The rationale of Combat Touring is that you have to make what the Police call 'good progress' which does not necessarily mean slaughtering any and all speed limits but, rather, ride at the edge of your comfort zone which is say 85% of your ability and 95% of what is regarded as safe by the Police for that road at that time. Although we didn't have any occasion to use our pre-prepared excuses, perhaps the definition of that 95% is just within the bounds that you can talk your way out of. So let's take this part of the journey to think about Combat Touring in more detail, safe in the knowledge that all that's happening on the road is that we're bored, hot and getting hassled by lunatic Londoners in BMW's determined to reach the South Coast just in time to have to come home again which seems to be what those living in or near London think Sundays are about.
Combat Touring Rules
Defensive riding styles are a must and should be practiced at all times
headlights should be on with full beam ready for use
Gloves should have extra padding for your flashing finger
Overtake whenever possible - remember, a failure to overtake means 1 more chance of missing the lights or getting held up by 2 cars at the next bend
Have no thought for what other road users think of your riding style, horns are road music. Do not be distracted.
Do not carve cars up deliberately, you'll be doing enough of that naturally
Slow down for horses. No, scrub that, get down to less than 10mph and trickle far past on tickover so the horse can hear you and does not get a shock as you race off again.
Give cyclists plenty of space. They have a nasty disease called 'healthy living' and you don't want to catch any of it.
Do not trust any car driver's signals - they are lying cheating sods who hate us, assuming of course they've seen us.
Lorry drivers are our friends
Most Traffic Police are bikers, be nice and contrite when stopped and they might let you off with a bollocking
Speed: There's a time and a place
limits in town are realistic, out of town are more for guidance. Remember the "Cat and Fiddle" it's a 50 because of the fannies who think it's Brand's Hatch.
Drink water and food in small amounts and regularly. Too little and dehydration will slow you down, too much and you'll be pissing for Britain. Beware the Dambuster - that first pee after a long break which means you'll then be stopping every 20 mins for 3 hours.
Just keep going, bodily functions are for the weak. If you have to stop then only a splash and dash is acceptable.
Back to the hell that the A12 became. It was clear that we were still suffering from the sheer time spent on the bikes. Shoulders were aching, necks were stiff mainly as a result of the The Big Roads and it was now roasting hot and we had made the elementary error of drinking too little. We had lost our place on our mental map and dehydration led depression made us think that we still had 2 hours driving before we reached the M25 which presaged our entry to the South Coast and the knowledge that our next stop was on the horizon. It is an odd thing to contemplate now but at the time we did not feel that our entire existence was bounded by simply getting to the next place. There was certainly a large element of it on the hard days with lots of big roads but in between think about how far we still had to go, we simply delighted in existing, being there, enjoying the journey without let or hindrance. There was a purity to the experience, one which simply increased as the days went on, that of the destinations being the journey. It is a hackneyed phrase, being at one with the bike, but we really did and how much improved we were did no become clear until later in the week when we met up with other riders and found that their 85% was our 30% which highlighted the danger of getting bored and pissing around which would almost certainly result in an accident if it went on too long.
There was no option, we had to stop. At the next lay by Alan flaked out after drinking half a litre of water and snored gently whilst I had a 5 minute power nap then expressed my frustration by fidgeting with my GPS whilst I tried to reconcile the reading with the roadmap and figure out just how far behind schedule we were. After 15 minutes I couldn't stand it and woke Alan up who, feeling miles better was soon raring to go. I'd discovered that we were only 10 miles from the M25 and therefore about an hour ahead of schedule despite our wee stop so we set off again, this time enjoying playing with the traffic. Soon enough we reached the M25 and I engaged in my motorway boredom avoidance activity of irritating the BMW drivers. I found a likely one who showed his hand early by trying to overtake me on the inside as I tried to get a slow driver to pull out of my way. When he did I made sure that the gap I had left magically disappeared before the BMW had a chance to pull out, but not in a 'slam the door Rossi style' as that would bring him to the boil far too soon. I then passed the slower car no more than 5 mph faster and promptly pulled over to the left lane whereupon I would accelerate briskly to slightly faster than the BMW wanted to go trying to time it so that I had to pull out for the next overtake before he did whilst not cutting his nose off. I would then slow down carefully to the afore said speed of traffic +5mph and repeat. Now bearing in mind that I was not actually causing the BMW to slow, except where the traffic forced me to, nor holding him up in any way I knew that his sad bastard psyche could not allow the fat arsed biker in his blue tellytubby rompersuit to get away with taking the piss so he started tailgating me during overtakes and trying to overtake on the inside but, for the sake of his conscience, he could not actually push me around. This was hugely amusing especially though roadworks (of which there were many) where I would stick to 49mph in the average speed camera'd single lane until he was going mental then speed up to 60 slowly with him following me. The joke? Front facing cameras would clock him but ignore me! All the time Alan kept a commentary of how apeshit this wanker was going. As icing on the cake occasionally I would let him think I was letting him past only for Alan to mug him. Ah, happy memories!
As we left the M2 short of Canterbury, we bade farewell to our afternoon's entertainment only to be accosted by a couple in a Vitara who were intent on getting our attention. It became apparent that not only had they heard of us and seen this very website they had donated (cheers!) and were as delighted to spot us as were to be recognised. An uneventful run past Margate led us down to Dover where we saw Dover Castle, overlooked the Channel ferries and got slightly lost meandering our way down onto the Coast Road proper. At about 4.30pm a longish stop for choccy and fluid was taken at a nasty little service station serving the ferry terminal and communications with Karen and home were attempted with mixed results. Karen was flying down from Glasgow to Brighton and either being collected by my mate Dave or making her way by bus to Hickstead Travelodge. As it happened she arrived an hour before us and being the only passenger on the bus got taken the mile or so off route and dropped almost at the door. This was the first indication that Day 4 - The South Coast would very different than what we had assumed.
A rapid run along the crowded coastal road led us eventually to Brighton where we left the coast for the evening's stop at Hickstead which is about 12 miles inland. Arrived at 6.25pm after a very long 421 miles. Meeting Karen was great although Dave couldn't make it and we had a really funny meal at the Little Chuff and then an early bed ready for what we assumed to be a day of narrow roads, doddery old drivers and heavy traffic. Joy.
