Thought I'd leave my story until after this weekend in case I either jinxed myself, or superseded my worst moment (Kiddiminster Killer attempted).
It was the end of April this year. I'd entered a Sportive in
Rutland, same as last year when I shocked myself with how well I finished, but decided to upgrade to the 100 mile route, being yet fitter and still having failed to complete an imperial ton.
Memories of previous spring weather had led me to believe that it would be another sunny yet cool-ish day, with plenty of water drunk, a sun-tan gained, and a positive expectation of a great summer in my heart. As the day grew closer, it became obvious that this would not be the case. Instead it would be
unseasonably cool, full cloud cover and an odd shower or two.
Nevertheless, I had everything planned. I was to head off in the car, and my wife would come over and meet me at the finish, coming over by train. I'd also see my Aunt and Uncle, coming from the East, and my Sister, Husband and 3-month-old niece, my first and probably only. We'd all join up for lovely tea and cakes in Oakham, which will have a great choice of cafés for such food. We could then pop in on my Mum's on the way home, and tell her the joyous news of pending repeat Grandmother-hood.
Then it all started to go downhill. My Sister was feeling ill, but not saying anything yet, so pulled out at the last moment with a rather snappy e-mail. My Uncle was otherwise occupied, and Aunt managed to double-book, leaving insufficient time to meet up, and my wife decided that a long journey to visit a sweaty husband in some far-flung lands was vaguely pointless since I would be coming home immediately after the ride.
Then the ride. It started off dull but dry, turned drizzly, and then became full-on wet, but most of all, cold and windy. I'd dressed for light rain only, with only a cycling jersey on top, and shorts and bamboo leggings on the bottom. No shoe covers had yet been bought - that was next on the shopping list. By 25 miles I was cold and wet, and the weather was looking like it was settling in to a steady downpour. I had a choice in getting splashed from the bike in front (Sportive, so mudguards were not much in evident), or taking the wind up the front. I was getting increasingly tempted to pull out altogether, and on spotting the mechanic's van (much used for puncture repairs), stopped in the shelter of a convenient arch/lodge with others. It was pointed out that I was less-well equipped than anyone else, but wasn't feeling too bad, and to avoid the embarrassment of ducking out of the impending two biggest climbs up the Vale of Belvoir, I changed my mind and set off with another group, determined to complete the route whatever the weather threw at me. I'm hardy - I've commuted in colder weather than this wearing nothing more.
Both hills tackled fairly easily as I crested strongly (perhaps could have tried harder), and I then headed downhill to the first stop at 40 miles.
I arrived very wet, very cold, and very miserable. We all were. The feed station was less a set of outside tables and smiling helpers (as I remember from last year), and more of a village hall turned into a refugee centre. There I stood and shivered, with an all-over convulsive shiver that rang alarm bells in the heads of those manning the station. There was already one cyclist wrapped up in spare coats and a bin bag being watched by St John's Ambulance, being fed warm water. I was supplied with a child's left behind coat, and kept drinking hot water, moving around, chatting; anything to re-assure myself that Hypothermia wasn't setting in. Eventually, many, many minutes of shivering later, I was offered a lift back to the start. Given that I felt no warmer, the hall was beginning to empty, and I feared that I wouldn't make it to the next stop, I agreed. There are some things worth taking a risk for. This was definitely not one of them.
They took me back in a car. Three of us had been pulled out of the event at that stop. By the time we got back, all had stopped shivering and were back to a lucid state, and very grateful for the help. I returned to my car to pick up clean clothes and shower kit. In my car was a packable rain jacket that I was planning to take with me, but didn't.
All-in-all I was glad that there was no one to meet me there. I had a bike to pick up from the feed station and an ego to repair. I was chastened, uncommunicative and not good company. I didn't realise how much it hurt until I finally completed my first 100 mile ride almost a month later. I don't know where the yell I let out came from as I passed that invisible 100 mile post, but there must have been a lot of pent-up frustration, annoyance and pain that I had hidden since that day, as I was surprised at its ferocity.
The post-script is that there is always someone worse off than you. One of the other sufferers, who had actually reached an early stage of hypothermia and whose hands were so cold he couldn't apply the brakes, works in an outdoor centre in the Lake District. He shall remain anonymous!