Epic ride report for an epic ride: South Downs Way in a day

I’ve loved the South Downs for years and long fancied the idea (if not the reality) of riding the South Downs Way. I had thought of doing it in stages with my wife  – even planned it out, but we never really got things together (including getting fit enough, having been several years since I’d done any regular mountain biking or any other cycling and never having done much proper XC anyway), and then kids came along... I’ve managed to get quite a bit fitter since, mainly with bike commuting, and have done a few decent length rides both on and off road.

Last year my dad suffered a TIA (mini stroke) while I was having lunch with my parents. It was downright scary although thankfully it ended up as well as could be hoped. It turned out to have been caused by a common but poorly understood heart condition that causes many strokes and heart attacks. I decided to do a charity ride for the British Heart Foundation as I know many people have had much less happy endings from the same condition, and understanding the causes better would save lives. I felt that if I was going to ask people to sponsor me, it had to be properly challenging. So I went looking for the hardest bike challenge the BHF do – the South Downs Way in a Day. Perfect!

I signed up in November and started working on the best training programme I could figure out without the budget for a coach or the time and flexibility to stick to a proper structure. A few early morning weekend base rides here and there, some interval training on the turbo once the kids had gone to bed, some core exercises and as much useful training thrown into bike commuting as I could manage. Come the Spring and I managed to escape from work and home commitments for three or four serious rides on the South Downs, to recce the route.

Fast forward a few months to 16th July 2016...

After a pretty poor night’s sleep, my alarm goes off at 4:15am. I try to get up without waking the family in the hotel room, and feel bad again about leaving my wife to look after the three kids all day again, especially as they’ll be spending a lot of it in the car. I fumble around getting everything ready in bit of a daze (I’m an owl not a lark), remember that I’ve forgotten my heart rate strap, and wonder how I’ll get on with pacing myself on perceived exertion. I stuff a couple of pain au chocolat down, try to make sure I’ve got everything I need, am thankful everyone’s still asleep, and sneak downstairs to retrieve my bike.

Rolling down the hill with a fellow participant in the half-light is nice and easy. I take a short detour to the statue of King Alfred for a lonesome photo – If I’m going to ride the whole South Downs Way, I’m going to start at the start!
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Riding up the hill towards the start line feels harder work than it should, but I remind myself that, for me, the start of a long ride often feels rough after an easy week, and it should get better.

After navigating the signposted short, bramble-hedged singletrack to the start line, I grab the paper map, pin the number onto my pack, and roll up to the start. The butterflies I’ve been feeling on and off all week are back with some extra friends. We’re warned that the first half is a bit wet and slippy, but the second half has dried out nicely. I hope it’s less muddy than the training ride I did two weeks ago. I look at my watch and realise I’m starting almost half an hour later than I’d intended. Where did the time go? I hope that it won’t come back to haunt me.

We’re released like a pack of dogs, and I make it first back onto the brambly singletrack, (couldn’t they find some secateurs?) turning left at the end onto the SDW footpath. I set off at a comfortable pace, sucking in the sight of the early orange sunlight on the hills to the south. I look over my shoulder after 30 seconds or so and see a big gap. I wonder whether I’m going off too fast, think about how much I’m breathing (it’s fine), hope I’ll be ok without the heart rate monitor and press on. I opt to take the start line advice to walk down the steps onto the road, and regret not fitting the new brake blocks I bought – front brake is squealing unpleasantly, despite (or perhaps because of) a thorough clean.

Less than a mile from the start line I reach the first hill. I know that it’s relatively insignificant but I’m sure it’s steeper and longer than last time I rode it. Maybe it’s because I was chatting last time and didn’t notice. I ponder how much the norovirus really knocked out of me three weeks ago. I remind myself again that I always feel bad at the start - it’s bound to improve. The first few riders overtake me on carbon 29er hard tails. My frankenbike of 1997+ vintage parts and aluminium 2005 frame looks hopelessly dated in comparison. I know it’s up to the job, though; I know I’ll be glad of the rear suspension later, and the flints will only take paint off. No-one’s talking much. I’d thought it would be a friendlier event. I figure we’re all focussed on the task ahead and it’d be abnormal to be chatty at this hour anyway!

I feel a bit better by the top of the hill, and soon overtake a few riders on the slight downhill. I’m mindful of the time limit already and only really use the noisy brakes as much as I have to, letting the suspension do the work. I’m thankful the squeaks aren’t affecting the stopping power too much.

As we turn northeast, the sun glares over the horizon straight into my eyes and I can’t see a thing through my clear glasses. I shove them down my nose a bit and awkwardly peer over them – don’t want to stop to take them off and I don’t want a fly or stone in the eye.

I attempt to negotiate a tame-looking off-camber section under some trees but the rear wheel goes unexpectedly sideways. I’m thankful to stay upright, and hope I didn’t strain anything. Wet chalk really is as slippery as they say. I try to put out of my mind the slightly more technical bits to come.

The wet and sunny summer has sent the Cow Parsley nuts. I try to keep an eye out for any Giant Hogweed but it’s all so big it’s hard to distinguish. The legs seem to be able to tolerate a good whipping without hurting too much.

A huge lorry unexpectedly spoils a nice fast descent, and we all have to pick our way round it. Looks like some kind of event being set up. No-one is working at this time in the morning and I’m glad the lorry isn’t moving.

I remember the unexpected right turn ahead, and am glad to have I recce’d the whole route. It would have been easy to miss, even with the signs.

About three and a half miles from the start line, I come across a guy with a snapped rear gear cable trying to work out how to bodge his mech to give him a gear he can ride to the first checkpoint. I know it’s 16 miles and two significant hills, so I let him have my spare (never carried one before but I figured being stuck in top gear on this ride would spell DNF). He doesn’t know what to do with it, so I fit it for him, discovering how to fit a cable to SRAM shifters as I go. His group heads on without him. He kindly gives me some money for it, and I crack on, intending to buy a replacement at the first checkpoint, just in case!

I pass several sizeable groups, and wonder if I’m the only person tackling this challenge alone. None of my mates are mad enough. I remind myself that at least it means I won’t have to wait for anyone except myself, even if it is a long time to ride without much company.

In the middle of the alternating on/off road section I stop at Lomer Farm for a quick drink and the first of many flapjacks and some focaccia. Next is the descent to Warnford. I remember that it’s rutted and grassy. I try to keep to a relatively sensible speed but I can’t really help myself and still get one nasty moment on a rut. I’m glad to reach the bottom without incident – that’s one of the trickier descents ticked off. At least the brakes have mostly quietened down. I get chatting a little to others on the road climb up Old Winchester Hill, and the top arrives sooner than expected. I remember the following descent was rough in the dry and figure it might be ropey when damp. I make it down ok without wasting any time, but fail embarrassingly in an attempt to hold the gate for someone at the bottom.

As expected, riding up Salt Hill is impossible today - the path is filled with people pushing bikes. I know I can ride it when it’s dry, but at the expense of endurance. At least today there is no battle between ego and sense. I’d like to hop back on the bike sooner than I can though. Pushing seems harder than riding – I should have trained for it. The most technical climb done, (though not the longest or the steepest) there’s more alternating on/off road for a mile or two. The byway to Butser is full of giant puddles. And sofas. What is wrong with people?

I’m pleased to see the gate is open half way down Butser. I mis-time an overtaking manoeuvre slightly and come rather closer to T-boning someone at the gate than I would like. Apology made and acknowledged at high speed, I glance down to see 41mph (not even pedalling) and look back up to see a hole in the ground that I am sure wasn’t there a month ago. Adrenaline kicks in and I fly directly over it with no problems.

I arrive at the first checkpoint at Queen Elizabeth Country Park. About quarter of the distance is done. There’s a queue for the mechanic so I skip replacing the spare gear cable to save time – mine’s only done about 100 miles so I shouldn’t need it anyway. Refill bottle and camelback. Eat something. Press on.

My heart sinks along with my wheels as I ride through a small bog and realise that they’ve signposted the official SDW bridleway route up the hill, not the old easy route that they highlighted on the map. I do some more walking in an attempt to avoid the red zone and remind myself to watch out for the mildly technical bit on the way back down. Back on the bike. I start noticing some leg fatigue from the walking.

Soon enough it’s me overtaking the fancy carbon 29ers on the steep road climbs. Legs feeling ok for now. Lots of short but steep ups and downs follow, some off road. I manage to ride them all without getting too out of breath.

The rooty climb up to Harting Down seems hard work and I feel worryingly tired. I remember that when I did this section last time I felt considerably worse, and that makes me feel better. Passing the top of Hill Lane, I smile, remembering it from June. I’m glad I’m not riding that today. Quick food and drink break at Harting Down, and snap a photo of the view. It doesn’t really capture it. I’m overtaken by lots of people I saw earlier.

Pressing on, I remind myself to watch out for the rocky gullies just before Beacon Hill. I don’t make a great job of them, but I don’t scare myself this time at least. I’m overtaken by a participant riding a cyclocross bike while going up and around the hill. Wow. I know there’s a CX sportive that covers the SDW in a day, so there must be quite a few people who can do it, but I’ve not encountered one of these mythical beasts before.

I’m somehow relieved to see I’m not the only one with no intention of riding up Pen Hill today. I must come back and conquer it someday. Going downhill I have wobbly legs from pushing the bike. I push a short, steep bit of the next hill too. It’s a vicious circle. The rest of the hill feels hard. My rear gear indexing goes off as the gradient tapers off. Unamused, I fiddle with the barrel adjuster but can’t make it work properly. It just doesn’t want to go into sprocket 2, which with a megarange cassette is hugely annoying. Can’t get into the granny ring reliably any more too. I resolve to visit the mechanic at the next checkpoint, queues or no queues.

As I approach Cocking Down, I change gear and nothing happens. Limp gear lever makes me think that the ratchet in the 18-year-old shifter isn’t engaging. Try again. Nothing. It dawns on me that the cable has snapped. I’m stuck in top gear at the back and I can’t get into the granny. I’m supremely relieved to realise that I’m nearly at the top of the last hill before checkpoint two. I muscle the bike up to the top of the hill, and ride down the gravelly but metalled lane in top gear, overtaking people all the way. I can’t ride up the grassy field to the checkpoint and walk it. I grow increasingly concerned as I realise that neither I, nor any of the checkpoint staff, can locate the mechanic. Several phone calls later, my wife is on the way with a spare gear cable. She’s an hour away. I catch a wry smile on my face as I see the guy with my spare gear cable ride past. I’m glad he’s still going. Eventually the mechanic shows up, I stand down my wife, the bike is fixed, and I continue, having lost an hour. What are the chances? Mechanic was baffled by the clean cut – maybe a flint? At least I had a chance to charge up my phone and Garmin from my portable charger and slap on some sun cream.

I start thinking about the time limits at each checkpoint ahead. The figures on my Garmin say I should easily be fine, but somehow I don’t feel very reassured. How slow am I going to get at the end?

The hill east of Cocking is hard work with stiffened legs. It’s baking. I pass a guy who’s clearly struggling. I try to think of encouraging things to say, but fail miserably. We’re not even close to half way yet.

Next I plod on through the dull wooded sections over Heyshott Down and Graffham Down, with no views to enjoy. Suddenly the trail seems very empty. Looking at how much food I have left, I stop to text a map link to my wife to meet up at Washington village, so I can refill food and energy drink supplies.

As I approach Littleton Down, I’m relieved to see that the path through the knee-high crops is wide enough this year for me to avoid a flailing. I try to dodge as many flints as possible, having punctured here a month ago. I still hit 36mph as I feel I have to make up time.

Up the next hill, I resort to walking for a bit after seeing that it wasn’t much slower. I’m tired. Back on the bike, I’m interrupted by a random phone call. Putting the phone down, I’m caught up by the guy who seemed to be struggling earlier. I find something hopefully more encouraging to say. After cresting Bignor hill, there is the most incredible view. Bognor and the sea to the South, the Weald to the North, and the escarpment of the Downs stretching dramatically and ominously ahead, further than the eye can see. I take some more photos, which once again fail to capture it.

Others stop and enjoy the view. We look forward to the descent to the River Arun. No one dares mention what comes after that. Next up is one small but mildly technical climb, then a bit of flat. I opt not to stop at checkpoint 3 and press on down the punishing but enjoyable descent to the Arun. I’m pleased to find my ropey rim brakes are still able to stop me from full speed in good time for some dog walkers. I stop for water at the tap and mix up my last energy drink, but none of the group I chatted to at Bignor Hill catch me up. I hope they’re ok.

Next up is Amberley Mount. I’ve been dreading it. I’ve ridden up a couple of times, but never with seven hours of riding in the legs. I don’t even consider trying to ride the steep bits. No-one else does either. It’s sweltering so I stop for a quick photo. Actually I keep having to stop. I keep checking the Garmin but I never seem to get any closer to the half way mark.

Over the top, back on the bike, and the legs feel tired. I’m concerned about my speed. Soon, I get a text from my wife saying that she’s at Botolphs. Confused, I decide to meet her there rather than send her back to Washington and risk losing time having to wait for her there. I’m hoping she means Washington. I have a nagging doubt about the pre-prepared map link I sent her, despite having checked them all beforehand. I do a quick re-estimate on food and drink and figure I have enough to get to Botolphs. Before getting started again I realise that I’m past halfway and reconfigure the Garmin to show distance to go instead of distance ridden. The lower numbers make me feel better.

I’m pleased that the ground had dried out loads in the last two weeks. I decide that I’ll lose the mudguards at Botolphs.

It’s quiet on the trail except for walkers. Some are friendlier than others. Some dogs have a death wish.

The descent to Washington is as tricky as ever, especially under time pressure. I wish that I was on the main route. Crossing the A24 seems preferable to additional climbing, and the descent is much easier at speed. I wonder why there is no bridge. The family isn’t at Washington.

I grind up Washington Bostal road to some encouraging cheers from some kind runners. I take a break at checkpoint 4. I know what’s ahead and I’m not sure how the legs will cope. Eat some more, drink some more, see some familiar faces also taking a break. Chat briefly, but it’s time to press on.

I opt to walk the steepest part of the climb up to Chanctonbury Ring. Once again, getting back on the bike, I feel in poor shape and the shallow climb to the top seems far more significant than I remember. No time to enjoy the view. As the trail turns down, I feel stronger. I blast past the pigs, down to Botolphs, and meet the wife and kids, who have been waiting for nearly two hours in the car. It’s roasting hot. The map link was wrong. I grovel an apology. After a quick break to see the family, restock, eat and slap on more sun cream, I get going again. Arrange to see family at Ditchling Beacon.

No point stopping at checkpoint 5 the other side of the river. I’ve ridden up Beeding Hill twice before. I couldn’t do the steep bit this time. Once I was on the tarmac climb up to Truleigh I find a good rhythm, but the heat from above and below is overwhelming. Garmin says 34ºC.

Meet up with some friends staying at Truleigh Hill YHA. Stick my head under the water tap, lie down in the shade for ten minutes. Refill bottles and Camelbak. Feel much better.

More steep ups and downs to Devil’s Dyke, mostly avoiding having to walk this time. I feel ok and opt not to stop at Checkpoint 6.

The climb from Saddlescombe is always a killer. Walked the whole way this time, with plenty of stops. The descent to the A23 and the short climb through Pycombe are tiring. The climb through the golf course has been replaced by a version twice as steep as normal, but once at Jack and Jill things feel much better. I’m tired but the gradients are modest and I soon arrive at Ditchling Beacon.
Lovely to see the family, have an ice cream, restock bag, and have a brief rest. I remember that the mudguards were meant to come off at Botolphs, look at the sky and leave a load of gear with the family. Back on the bike, I immediately feel stronger. I don’t know if it’s the lighter weight, the rest, or the ice cream. Just as tired, but a bit stronger.

The views along the top of the Downs are as charming as ever. The air is extra clear. After the sharp right turn, I chat briefly to another participant on a CX bike. Overtake a few guys (one of them is on a singlespeed - must be mad!) on the long grassy downhill, only to be caught again at the following, short, super steep climb through the woods, that I’ve been trying not to think ahead to. I think it’s briefly over 30%. This kind of walking is what my legs hate most. Once again, they’re slightly wobbly all the way down the steep hill to the A27. With muscles not quite doing what I want, I manage to drop a gate on someone while trying to hold it open. Embarrassing.

Another super steep short walk through the woods, and then it’s the long grind up to Castle Hill. Like some of the few other riders around me, I take several short breaks up this one. I chat to a guy who attempted the event two years ago, but was told to pull out by the medic at Southease with heat exhaustion. I take on more drink, isotonic gels, and the remaining focaccia in the hope of avoiding the same demise, plus some more jelly babies, snickers and peanut M&Ms in the hope of finding extra energy.

The undulations above Kingston near Lewes seem unduly hard work but I plod on. The long downhill near Rodmell is a welcome rest, though the steep chute at the bottom is challenging with tired hands and legs. Disc brakes might make things easier. I’m glad the thousand-and-one potholes in the farm track have been filled and I blast along the imperceptible downhill at a good speed with minimum effort. Another short walk up, then down to Southease. Time is just about looking ok, so I have a decent length break at checkpoint 7 and lie down on the patchy grass. The medic asks if I need anything, but apparently they don’t have new pairs of legs in stock. I hope I’m not looking like I’ve had it.

It’s a long walk up the next hill, and I keep stopping. At least I have company – I chat all the way up with a guy I’ve seen on and off all day. I get a text from the wife to say that the car’s been rear-ended. My heart sinks and I feel guilty again. At least everyone is fine and it’s driveable. I try not to dwell on it. Once at the top, I pass two older gentlemen (not participants) pushing an electric town bike. My mind boggles. Am I hallucinating?

I slog away over to Firle Beacon. The gradient turns negative, I feel strong; it creeps back above zero, I feel weak again. Rinse and repeat. There still isn’t much flat!

From Firle Beacon, it feels distinctly lonely up on the Downs. The sun isn’t far from setting and the remaining riders are increasingly strung out. The scenery is as stunning as ever in the warm evening sunlight.

I’m enjoying the downhill toward Alfriston, I get a bit of a shock when a fist size flint flicks up and smacks into the front of my shoe so hard, that it knocks my foot out of the SPD pedal and I feel my toe has gone through my sock! I wonder how much blood there is inside the shoe.

Another brief break at the eighth and final checkpoint at Alfriston. A few more familiar faces. Further salty and sugary foods are stuffed in.

I crack on. Remembering the rootier, off camber parts of the short path by the river, I take the road alongside. I don’t trust myself on even mildly technical stuff with so much fatigue. The slightly washed-out climb through the woods is hard work. The end is almost in sight but my legs are too weak to keep constantly turning the pedals, and I keep taking short rests. As I emerge onto the horseshoe climb behind the Long Man, I see another participant way up ahead. I feel no desire to try to catch him and soon stop to take a photo, which comes out ok for once.

More walking up a gradient too steep for fried legs, then back on the bike for some gentler undulations and a grassy descent in the direction of Jevington. I unexpectedly catch another participant at a gate, and unintentionally make him jump! The steep descent down to Jevington can be rough in places, but I’m too tired to care and largely let go of the brakes and hope for the best. Thankfully the top part has been smoothed out lately and I arrive at the bottom safely. I come across a bunch of other riders being unloaded from a van, apparently having missed the cut off time at the last checkpoint and having been given a lift to ride the final section. I check the Garmin again for how I’m doing on time. I should make it so long as there are no mechanical issues, but there’s still a nagging uncertainty.

The start of the final climb looks like it used to be cobbled but hasn’t been maintained for years. It’s rough and tricky in places, but despite having to stop repeatedly for rest, I avoid walking. It’s tortoise-and-hare with the other riders left with me. Eventually I catch sight of the top, and knowing that there’s no more significant climbing beyond it, find some extra strength to push on, leaving them behind for the final time.

The sight of Eastbourne is most welcome. I try to push on at a good speed, chat to a fresh-legged stranger who’s training for the whole SDW, then overtake a couple of familiar faces on the last little climb. My Garmin crashes, but my phone is still logging. At least I know where I’m going! The descent down to Eastbourne was just as rough as I remembered. At the bottom I regret taking the shared use path instead of the road, as it’s full of dozy dog walkers, but I can’t be bothered to stop to get off it, and negotiate the pedestrian slalom carefully. The long gentle slope down to the finish is a great relief but I keep pedalling with an irrational sense of urgency. Maybe I just want it to be over.

As I approach the finish line I feel a wave of emotion. I’m too tired to know exactly what it is – maybe relief, maybe elation, maybe a bit of pride. I’m chuffed to see the family cheering.

I cross the line, ride through the funnel, dump the bike and flop down on the grass. It’s 15 hours and 8 minutes since I left the hotel. Winchester feels a very long 101 miles away. My wife hands me an open bottle of water, which I try to open again, thoroughly soaking myself! I’m too tired to care and have to laugh. I’ve never been so exhausted. Thankfully the chippy is still open! There’s no blood in the shoe, but the sock’s a gonner.

Mission accomplished - South Downs Way-in-a-Day conquered, and over £1000 raised for the BHF. Many thanks to everyone who sponsored me!

From start line to finish line took about 14:38:30. I understand that around 350 riders started. I’ve no idea how many completed, but ride titles on Strava flyby suggest a fair number didn’t. I’m pretty pleased to have made it. I don’t think I’ll be doing it next year, but I have a bad habit of changing my mind about such things... I hope I don’t get any silly ideas about trying to get a better time…

For the bike geeks here are the specs of the frankenbike:

• 2005 Specialized FSR XC frame (red) with Manitou S-type SRL shock

• 2003 Marzocchi MX Comp ETA air forks (100mm).

• 3x8 44/32/22, 34-11t drive chain

• 8 speed 1998 Deore LX shifters

• 9 Speed Deore shadow rear mech

• 7 speed 1997 Alivio front mech

• Deore Hollowtech square taper cranks, Sugino 1999 chainrings.

• FSA Afterburner low riser bars

• Ritchey Comp stem,and headset

• 1999 Ritchey seatpost

• Avid speed dial brake levers

• Shimano BR-M600 V-brakes with Avid fittings

• Specialized Stout skraxle front / Shimano Deore rear hubs

• Mavic 221/717 XC rims

• Schwalbe Racing Ralph 2.25” tyres with tubes. (Cut up rear, but no punctures!)

• M540 SPDs