Without getting all Henry V on yo ass, those that didn't go shall think themselves accursed. My original plan was to ride to the start, but a combination of running short of time and a game of hunt the wallet meant I caught a train from Gatwick.
The start was thinly populated, and a bit of snow started falling just before the off. Mike Morely waved us off and I was soon out the back of the pack, feeling as rough as a fence post as we climbed up to Ranmore. I was in half a mind to pack it in, but cheered up (and warmed up) by the top and then enjoyed the descent into Dorking and I caught part of the field. We were soon climbing up Coldharbour Lane, which was fine, and then right into Logmore Lane, where the surface was terrible. Chatting to another rider, we decided, as we rolled past the 5 bed mansions, that we were obviously in an area of social deprivation.
Onto the A25, home of the impatient driver, then back onto the lanes. The sun came out for a bit, the roads were quiet and mostly well surfaced and liberally coated with chevrons - that climb up Sheephouse Lane is always character forming. By now I'd hooked up with Don from Weybridge on his carbon MTB, with gears low enough to climb a wall, and we stayed together round the rest of the route. His big tyres were a good choice for the roads too. We'd been tailing a bunch from VC London for a while, but my navigation skills saw them depart in Holmbury St Mary when they went the wrong way. Hah! Score one for remembering the route.
We were soon at the turn in Ewhurst, spinning up Pitch Hill, with some rubbish ovetaking from a Volvo driver to keep us entertained and VC London overhauled us, having got themselves back on track. The descent past the Scout camp was, as ever, a delight. A long gentle slope, so I gave it some beans, easing off a bit as it started to rain a bit. The road surfaces started getting manky again, and Hoe Lane was like some one had treated it to a horticultural instrument of some sort. A rotovator probably. White Down was calling, so water proof off, engage tiny chain ring and head down. We were at the top without too much bother, then along the rolly bit of Ranmore, sadly devoid of the coffee van.
More beans as we dropped down to Kate Westhumble and then a whizz up the zigzags in the sunshine, which lasted until the top where Mike was waiting to greet us. Don shot off back down the hill while I dithered, scoffed a pasty and chatted to a couple of riders. Finally it was down hill time, heading for the station again, as I was tired and cold. A pint of Falls Gold in the Lincoln (A superb golden ale with a soft fruity nose. A bitter apricot front is followed by more soft fruits and a charming light hoppiness) and then up the stairs to wait for the train.
A Good Day.
.)
