Day 1. London to Dover
130km
Summer in London had been amazing this year. Long warm days, blue skies and barely any rain.
Naturally it wouldn’t last forever and on the Monday before departure the forecast was looking iffy at best. “They will be issuing a weather warning next” joked Tom. By Wednesday they had. In my original plan I hadn’t considered riding from London to Dover. Finishing work on a Friday and riding through London to the south coast wasn’t all that appealing, but when Tom said he would join me to Calais and then head north to Belgium to see his brother I thought it would be fun. My housemate Amy had also made me a cycling cap which boldly stated “London – Cannes”. It was written, and thus it had to be.
I spent most of the Friday departure day looking out of the window with a sense of disbelief at how shitty it looked and watched the clock tick down with a serious amount of trepidation. 4pm came around and I strolled outside in full waterproof gear. It was pouring and a brief conversation with a woman taking shelter confirmed that I was indeed a lunatic to be riding to Dover.
We set off and the rain was actually okay. At some point outside of London it stopped enough that I was beginning to really enjoy the ride! Tom had meticulously planned a route that stayed mostly on really quiet country roads and on through the Kent Downs. It wasn’t long before the rain came back with vengeance, we got soaked again. At one point a truck coming in the opposite direction sent a tidal wave over us and we both just cracked up with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation. As darkness fell I hit a pothole hidden in a puddle and was promptly stopped with a flat rear.Great start to a 1000ish mile ride. Fixed and back on the road, we picked our way along country lanes, riding downhill at walking pace to avoid the rivers of water and gravel strewn danger spots. Because our lights were far too under powered for the darkness, it felt strangely claustrophobic. Whilst Tom was fixing a puncture, there was a slightly odd encounter with a northern family in a camper van who seemed confused and annoyed when we told him “don’t know mate” when he asked if “…the campsite was around here?”. When the window wound down I was expecting a kind offer of a mug of tea or something. No such luck.Tom got two more punctures and a white van man didn’t live up to the stereotype by following us downhill for a few km lighting up the road for us. I’m sure they were enjoying witnessing the two nutters on bikes in a weather warning but it made those few kms a lot less horrendous and a lot safer. A couple of times my vision was filled with a bright white light and I was blinded for a brief moment, and despite the fact I was very much alive I considered whether I had just been struck by lightning.
I have an image from the ride that has seared its way into my brain. At one point when the rain was as its most torrential, I stopped at the side of the road and turned around. I saw the completely black silhouette of Tom and his bike, surrounded by a bright halo of pouring rain and the spray that engulfed him. The halo, cast by the headlights of a following car gave the impression he was some sort of dark angel of death on two wheels emerging from another dimension. It was an utterly awesome cinematic moment.
It was about midnight when we finally rolled into Dover with a feeling of euphoria bought on by the weather and tiredness. After Tom sweet talked a lady behind the counter, we nestled down for a night in the passenger terminal. A night with our sleep continually broken by announcements and baffled passengers. “Those guys look like they’re on a right mission”.
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