The first leg of my Slaughter Badby Perm had gone well. Spinning my 67″ gear out of Oxford before the Monday morning traffic had built up and enjoying the company of the birds in the hedgerows. I’d seen the forecast and was warmly dressed in winter coat, hat, gloves, socks and boots over my thermal shirt and bib longs. I’d told my GPS to take me a less familiar route through the eastern Cotswolds taking in pretty villages such as Idbury and Church Wescote on my way to the Slaughters. The climbing so far was none too bad though there was noticeably more of it as I got nearer to my first control.

Lower Slaughter, with it’s stone pedestrian bridges over the Windrush and handsome old houses, was particularly pleasant and I counted a total of just two (other) tourists. I pedalled on to my control point at Upper Slaughter, found a bench by the river and sat down to enjoy some dried apricots and dates I had brought with me. Upper Slaughter was just fine!

This was my first 200k for a few months and I’d decided to have a go at a new Audax UK innovation – the DIY GPS Perm. The game was that, while I had to enter in advance as usual with a list of controls that could be demonstrated to make up the minimum distance, those control locations could be anywhere – even an OS grid reference would suffice. For validation I had to submit my GPS track for the organiser to put through his magic software which would confirm the distance and time. The upshot of all this was that I didn’t need to visit towns to get control proofs.

I put my thinner gloves on and set off on the next leg heading for Stratford-on-Avon. After less than a mile and some very cold fingers I stopped and put my thick gloves back on, they stayed on for the rest of the ride. The going felt tough, I was riding directly into the cold northerly wind and my road went up and down. I managed to stay on board for the 1 in 7 climb up the lane past Donnington Brewery but my quads were really feeling the strain not just up the hills but during the few flat bits as well. The descents were covered in slippery mud left by farm vehicles. My speed was right down, I couldn’t even maintain an average of 20kph. I plodded on but found myself wondering whether setting off on a fixed gear 200k, when the furthest I’d ridden the thing in the last 2 years was 40k, has been more stupid than brave. Not even halfway and I was suffering and struggling. Then came the aptly name Charingworth Bank – it was bad enough descending into the Slough of Despond – pushing the bike up the other side really took the biscuit.

My road flattened considerably approaching Stratford but I couldn’t get any speed out of those legs. I found my way round the one-way system and spotted a cheap and quiet pub with a coach entrance I could dump the bike in and staggered in leaving my skoggy boots outside. I must have looked a sight in my socks, bib tights and hi-vis waistcoat but the staff politely produced my order of chips, beans, black coffee and juice and bade me enjoy my meal which I did. I felt a little better when I left 30 minutes later and while searching out a shop to buy some water and ibuprofen I realised my legs had stopped hurting (I took them anyway).

Back on the bike and I headed east for Badby. I hadn’t got much faster, despite no longer fighting the northerly, but I felt much better. The halfway mark passed and I was getting that ‘at one with the bike’ buzz that only really comes with fixed. A series of windmills jollied up this stage: Chesterton, with a burst of sunshine to light it up; Harbury; later, after the expected walk up Marston Hill, Hellidon. I hit Badby about 3:30 and found a bench in the churchyard opposite the aptly named ‘Old House’ and sat down to finish my dried apricots and dates. Badby was just fine!

On with the rear light, the front being accessible without dismounting. I fancied some music for the next long stage so put the iPod on low: Hendrix; Muse; Jefferson Airplane; Hawkwind. About 70k to go almost all with the wind on my back. It’d been a while since I’d ridden through dark country lanes miles from home with a good front light and a backlit GPS to guide me. That magic 100 mile mark went by and I remembered how I’d suffered earlier and how those bad patches always do seem to end.

Near Brackley my route turned left onto a very busy A422 then soon right. I signalled and managed to move out though I’d seen no road sign to tell me of a turning. I stopped at a gate with a gap down the side and a sign saying ‘Circular Ride’, there was a rutted farm track with no tarmac to be seen. I remembered something about using a cycleway when originally planning the route. I rode cautiously down it for a few hundred metres till the rut got too deep to pedal then I tried the bit in the middle which was horrible slippery mud. I zoomed out on the GPS map to discover the track continued for over a kilometre before apparently regaining road, before the road it traversed the Great Ouse river, I was left to guess whether by bridge or ford. The alternative seemed to be to retrace and follow the A43 dual carriageway round Brackley at it’s busiest time. A brief contemplation of the Great Ouse in the cold and dark saw me turn around and I was soon hammering down the A43 in the company of low-loaders carrying giant dumper trucks. 15 minutes and a few extra klicks and I was back on my quiet route again passing through Juniper Hill.

What with the GPS validation I didn’t even need to stop at my Boarstall control but I’d promised myself a quick breather and an energy gel. As it happened I didn’t quite make it before wobbly legs and dizzy head caused me to stop at the top of the climb out of Arncott for my sugar boost. Then onwards, revived, till everything went black just before the final climb to Beckley as my battery ran out. Only 5 miles from home but it was out with the dim back-up light I was glad to have packed then onwards to finish the ride over an hour later than predicted and, after a warm bath, sink into a chair with a beer and the glow of aching everything.