Exmouth Exodus

Aunty Rubbish

Posted this on C+ ( ) and it hasn't ported over. Can't let it go to waste...

It was a dark and stormy night…
Standing under Jim and Eileen’s awning, listening to the rain drumming overhead and inhaling custard creams as if my life depended on it I thought ‘We’re all bloody mad’. It was the wettest, dankest, most miserable night imaginable. The rain gods had clearly been displeased, or perhaps they were showing their love for us? Either way, it was bucketing down and we still had 52 miles to go…

To Brizzle in the drizzle
The week leading up to the ride hadn’t been great. Like weather junkies with OCD Baggy and I checked the forecasts every hour. And every hour more and more fat, black clouds gathered over the West Country, wheeling and circling like vultures over a dying wildebeest. Well, we had gnus for them. We weren’t going to be scared off by a bit of rain! We had mudguards, waterproofs and everyone’s breakfast tickets. We were going to Brizzle despite the drizzle and that was that. Oh, just so long as Virgin let us on the train. We’d booked train tickets but, this being England, there was no facility for booking bikes online. The nice man at the station told us that all the bike spaces were gone and we’d have to throw ourselves on the mercy of the train manager. We threw ourselves on the train anyway, there was no sign of the train manager and the next stop was Bristol, so we sighed our relief and sat down . The four bikes spaces were occupied by just two other bikes. They belonged to a pleasant middle aged chap and his teenage son. They’d been on an End to Penrith route but had cut their tour short after just one day due to the son being under the weather. They’d only purchased their tickets that afternoon. So, these bike spaces that were fully booked. Just who’s were they? Nobody actually on the train that’s for sure…

Bristol was it’s usual charming self. Teaming with hen and stag parties, including one very boisterous mobile hen coop in the form of a decommissioned fire engine. Shrieking hens poked out of every window. If Hieronymus Bosch ever wants to update his Garden of Earthly Delights, this is the stuff to take inspiration from. As usual, we got lost within a hundred yards of the station. This time we managed to get back on track and found the pub without incident. The atmosphere was tense and nervous. Stew was there with his brand new Orbit. The one he’d built up the day before. The bike that was going to have it’s shakedown ride down Cheddar Gorge. A silent prayer to the god of fettling was offered. A couple of chaps from London were havering about doing the ride or having a night out in Bristol with the shrieking hens. Noble fellows both they settled on doing the ride. I suspect they may have come to regret their decision later on but respect to them both for sticking it through. I set about distributing breakfast tickets to those who had paid and selling spares to those who hadn’t. The pub slowly filled, as did the gutters outside. It became clear that, while about 20 odd souls had chosen the cowards way of duvet, tea and telly, at least 60 had decided to pitch themselves against the elements, including Jen Ingrams and partner who had been wobbling right up to the last minute. It was good to see you Jen, just the spirit that such an event calls for. The bundle of excitement calling itself Calum also appeared, pint (of water) in hand. His cheeriness online in the weeks leading up the the ride had really helped with my morale, nice to meet you young chap, sorry we didn’t have more time to chat. Baggy ate the worlds smallest baked potato, Dave tried and failed to squeeze himself into a DCC hi-viz vest and Brewster cheerfully put the fear in me as we chatted about singlespeed gearing. You’d be surprised how chilling the phrase ‘Oh no, I haven’t geared nearly as high as that’ can be when you’ve got 100 miles, two beastly climbs and you’re not quite sure about the whole mono sprocket way of things. Oh well, too late now and if I was to pay for my bravado and failure to fix the mtb then so be it.

Dave, your arse is like Newton’s Cradle…
Slowly the pub emptied as riders made their way to the bridge. Patrick Field had again graced us with his presence, which was pleasing. The Exodus is very definitely the Dun Run’s mini-me and having its Grand Fromage support us was much appreciated. Eventually there was just the sweeper party left. Myself, Baggy, Dave, Stew, Nick and Ian rolled out half an hour behind the rest, into the torrential rain and flooded roads. We bowled along merrily. The pace was easy but I was troubled by a terrible vision. The back of Dave’s tights was shiny and tight. I had a Lumi, Baggy had a Lumi. The two bright spots of light settled on Dave’s arse and swung together and apart, together and apart, together and apart as he pedalled. It was like a Newton’s Cradle. I moved back lest I become hypnotised and ended up parking my wheel somewhere inappropriate.
Some miles on we stopped for wees. Riders appeared behind us. How could this be, surely we were the Lanterne Rouge? But no. Brewster, Skardy, Bernard the Stud and Bernard’s chum had managed to get lost. They tucked in and we carried onwards. We paused for food and were accosted by a dishevelled local who had clearly had enough of the MOR favourites being banged out by a nearby party. Were we having a party? Were we weeed? No we weren’t. We were riding to the seaside. Disappointed not to be able to vent his ire on us he issued a stern warning about the local drivers and vanished into the night. We moved on, glad that we weren’t going to spend the night listening to drunken renditions of Amarillo.

Stop. Oi, STOP!
Burrington Coombe was starting to loom large. Baggy and I were short on miles and I still wasn’t sure about my gearing. We settled at the back of the pack and ground our way up. It’s a steady climb but long and it was a relief to get to the top. A relief that was broken when we got to the turning only to see lights vanishing up the road ahead and Dave looking quizzical and asking ‘Did they stop?’ Had they bollocks…I volunteered to chase down our errant sheep and sprinted down the road in moist pursuit. They were motoring at quite a pace and if they hadn’t heard my desperate bellow lord alone know where they’d have ended up. I chivvied them back to the pack. They paid us back later though when Bernard (the stud) helped persuade Baggy to carry on. Bernard and chum, you were great fun to ride with but I think you should be on leading reins next time! And so on to Cheddar. At the top of the gorge we met a small bunch, including recumbent Danny, who had stopped for punctures and food. The girls vanished off for wees, amid stern warnings not to get lost. Again. Now, I know that for some the Gorge is one of the highlights of the ride. Not for me. I hate it. It scares me, especially in the wet. I went down with my brakes on the whole way and I’m not ashamed to admit it. It was on the descent that Baggy’s Lumi Halide Death Beam really started to earn it’s keep. I’d done most of last years ride on a 12w Lumi halogen system and been well pleased with it. The halide made it look like a sickly glow worm. I bet I’m not alone in wanting one either. One of the nice things about the Exodus is that there aren’t enough wheels for you to hop between groups, bunches tend to form and stick together and with a light like the halide, there’s plenty of artificial daylight for everyone.

A glorious oasis
I’d been impressed with the tea stop last year. This years surpassed it with ease. If we want to improve on it for next year Dave and I are going to have to get in a planning application for a pagoda, Chinese tea garden and a maitre ‘d to show us to our table. There was Rob with a big pan of water for tea and coffee. There was a lady who’s name eludes me (I’m so sorry, you deserve to be remembered better than this) making tea in a camper van and as a crowning glory there was Jim and Eileen in their camper with hot soup. They’d heard of the ride, e-mailed Dave and just showed up to provide a bit of extra support. Pure kindness like that makes the world a better place and they deserved all the thanks they got. Baggy was in a bad way by now. Too cold, not enough food en-route and not enough miles. She’d even stopped complaining, never a good sign. The weather hadn’t helped. It was utterly dismal with squally rain, sudden downpours and a constant nagging headwind. We considered packing, after all the van was here, but tea and biscuits, plus a supportive talking to by the Studly Bernard saw Baggy refreshed and raring to go. Well, sort of. Fit enough to carry on anyway. No-one would have blamed her for calling it a night, least of all me, but I was very proud of her for carrying on. I’m a very lucky chap.

Soup, glorious soup
We ground on. Baggy and I fell off the back, regaining the group as they stopped in Corfe. We let them go and settled on finishing the ride at our own pace. The climb up Blagdon Hill was the harshest test yet. I was convinced that I’d be walking most of it but somehow managed to haul TC up to the top without resorting to pushing. Our reward was the endless flat stretch along the top of the Blackdowns. Last year it was a lovely reward for slaying Blagdon. This year it was a bleak and gruelling grind into a rain sodden headwind with sinister scarecrows sneering at us from out of the murk. Possibly one of the toughest bits of the ride. We were looking out for Ben’s tea stop when we paused to take a call from Dave. We were only half a mile from the stop but the call delayed us just long enough to get hit by the most ferocious squall yet. Cheers Dave, nice one! Uttering mighty oaths we rolled into the shelter of the trees to find Ben heating soup and the rest of our group sheltering from the downpour. The break was good, the soup even better. Thanks Ben. Up to now I’d been content with my Ground Effect merino long sleeve top and vest. It kept me warm when it was wet and dried incredibly quickly, bloody marvellous. The last shower was too much though and I had to pull on my waterproof.

The Ineffable Wisdom of Patrick Field
We came across Patrick. He hadn’t passed us at the stop, but here he was barely a mile down the road. How does he do it? I’m convinced he’s up to some strange and magikal scheme, tracing eldritch sigils across the West Country’s roads and lanes in preparation for the coming of the Elder Gods. Anyway, we followed him until he punctured and cheerily abandoned him to his fate. Onward and upward through West Hill, where we picked up Hugh. Onward and upward through Woodbury Common where Hugh picked up his third puncture. We gave him a spare tube and stayed with him while he fixed it. Our karmic reward came swiftly when Baggy punctured and Hugh of the mighty thumbs returned the favour by fixing it for her. I stood by, holding Poppy aloft and striking camp poses that brough to mind Donatello’s David. Or possibly just a portly middle aged chimp in lycra. Patrick, having escaped the tentacles of Chuthlu’s minions, rejoined us and that was the way we finally finished. Breakfasts were taken and inhaled. Dawn the café lady was cheery and friendly. Patrick gave Dave a donation with the instruction that we should waste it on something frivolous. I suggested wine and women but Patrick seemed keen for us to spend it distributing fried fish to random strangers along the route. A fine and noble idea. Anyone got access to a mobile chippy?

So long and thanks
Scrounged a lift home with a barely sentient Dave (see Stew’s pics if you don’t believe me!). Slept for six hours. Ate a huge Chinese meal. Slept again. Dossed all of Monday. Sorry if I haven’t mentioned you in this epic ramble. The company and spirit was first class throughout. The conditions were the stuff that legends are made of and I think everyone who turned out should be well pleased with themselves. Special mention to Danny Colyer for his endurance and determination, that was a gruelling time you had matey. The café was welcoming and efficient, just what you want at the end of a hard ride. The tea stop crew were just fantastic. Next year is going to be even better, especially if Stew and Ian carry out their promise to sacrifice a jellybaby off Clifton Suspension Bridge as an offering to the gods.
See you all in 2008!
Chuffy

Chuffy

Hugh A

Good post Chuffy.

I got lost a bit on the way to this Forum. In fact I was just writing a largeish post about how I got on in the EE when I got locked out and the post was lost! Grrr...

Anyway, have people come over here or packed up and gone somewhere else?

Bagonabike

I think the majority of people will move over here once login problems etc have settled...