We trundle onwards. The road has started climbing, an easy climb, just enough to keep everybody steady. I worry slightly as my pace is slightly higher and so I’m ticking off rider after rider as I pass them. A car overtakes some of us, then cannot pass any more because of the keep left bollards and other traffic calming devices; I can’t resist it so pull out and overtake the car. There’s an evil sense of satisfaction in watching its headlights fade in my mirror as I power up the hill looking for my sister’s fairy lit tandem. Even the sight of Andy’s Hokey-Dokey spokes (an amazing constantly changing psychedelic pattern of blue completely filling the space enclosed by his wheel) doesn’t deter me in my climb.

I’m worried as I don’t know if I’m setting too fast a pace so won’t last the night, on the other hand though I know I can’t ride slowly up hills as I struggle even more. I just have to find my easy pace and ride at it.

Another worry to me is the large number of riders I’m already seeing at the roadside mending punctures or with other mechanical failures. We’re only seven miles into the ride and there’s many more to go. I was going to stop to help the first few, but they said they were ok; once I saw how many were suffering though I realised that it was time to ride for oneself otherwise I’d not only still be halfway when everyone else had finished I’d have run out of repairs in my toolkit.

After twelve miles though, as we seem to get to the end of the climb I see a huge congregation of riders after a roundabout and decided it was time to pull over to see what the problem was. There wasn’t a problem, it was just time to rest at a petrol station. For me it was also a time to say hello to a few more folk that I knew vaguely through the internet and from other rides. Then, amazingly, we discovered that the huge climb that was shown on a route profile somebody had produced was behind us. That nightmare climb, the biggest of the ride, our nemesis, we’d already completed it. There was relieved hysterical laughter from some riders, followed by a close examination of a bag of jelly babies. I took a green one.

The next few miles were uneventful. They started setting the scene for the rest of the ride. Notable events were passing into Essex and off of smooth tarmac onto a nightmare vibration inducing rough surface. I’m an Essex cyclist so am used to this, coming off of the smooth surface suddenly brought it home to me just how bad my normal roads really are!

Listening back to the Dictaphone I took with me but which accidentally got turned on when I took a snack out of my bag at the petrol station stop, I suppose the best way of summing up the carefree attitude of the ride is this discussion I managed to identify through the muffled traffic noise that was recorded from the inside of my bar bag.
“I was just wondering about this route sheet, should I be looking at it yet?”
“sorry?”
“I was just wondering whether I should be looking at the route sheet yet?”
“Yeah I've not looked at it yet.”
“pardon?”
“I've not looked at it yet… I wouldn't even know where we were on it.....not a comfort”
...pause...
“Yeah we're going through Epping so we're alright....so we've got..... got a couple of miles I think”

The large group was also now breaking down into smaller groups. I was riding in a small group of about six bikes and looking at my instructions thought it was nearly time to turn right. I put my additional light on and read them carefully. “Tim, don’t we need to turn right soon?”
“We need to head straight on towards High Laver”
“Oh, I thought we had to turn right towards North Weald”
Up ahead is a signpost and I think it says North Weald so shoot forwards and confirm it, so move into the right filter lane. Everyone joins me and we have a navigation discussion.
“Yes you’re right, I missed a line”
...and so I get the title of official navigator of the evening. More worry.