It was the Faffer’s 400 last weekend (the unusual name of the ride is derived from the organiser’s proclivities and not actually advice on how to get round in time). A scan of the route had given the impression of a basic but pretty ride with some tough bits around Hay and Knighton. A big appeal was the 7:00am start from Didcot a few miles from home for
me.

Jane dragged herself out of bed and gave me a lift to the start where I discovered at the last minute that I’d not downloaded the route to my GPS. Matt sent us on our way and in Abingdon I split from the route and went home to correct this oversight, not the best of starts. This cost me an hour but I was going well and enjoyed some less familiar lanes
through the Cotswolds and managed to leave the first control at Chipping Campden, 72km, with 40 minutes in hand so all seemed well. I even noted Mark, a renowned back marker, sitting on a bench as I climbed out of Chipping so I wasn’t last any more.

A study of differing luggage requirements - photo MattC

Dropping out of the Cotswolds, legs spinning to a blur, the route turned south west into a wall of wind. I kept the wheels turning but my speed dropped dramatically despite being out of the hills. There had been some interesting classic race cars parading round Chipping and somewhere near Gotherington I passed the Bugatti Pub  where what I subsequently learnt to be the Prescott Hill Climb was taking place. Unsurprisingly the only moton to give me any grief was a red faced, overweight, dick in an almost new car who apparently thought it ok to overtake traffic signalling right. Still fighting the wind my struggle was put into perspective by a chat with a bloke who had picked this week to ride from east to west coast and reckoned the wind was costing him an hour a day.

By the time I left the Newent control after a coffee and a breather I was only 20 mins in
hand. I carried on into the wind, through the lumps and bumps of Herefordshire, but it was a rare moment when my speed surpassed 20kph and I was not at all comfy pushing my 71 inch gear into the wind. I kept instinctively getting out of the saddle to honk then realising this was unsustainable on the flat and not a good way of minimising my profile, then I’d spend a while on the drops till my arms ached. There were some beautiful bits, the gardens by the cattle grid near Old Gore, the hedged lane pervaded by the smell of strawberries growing nearby. But distractions don’t make me any faster.

I stopped where the route crossed the A49 and did a reality check. I might yet make Hay in time but then I’d have the hilliest section over to Knighton to deal with, the wind should be with me by then but only so much use up a 200m climb followed by a series of 100m jobs. Then I would be out of time, it would be dark and I’d no doubt be needing to stop for
naps. The memory of suffering the crawl through the night on the Brevet Cymru still lingered. Even with what should then be a tailwind the chances of me finishing in time were minimal and I couldn’t raise any enthusiasm for carrying on regardless for an out of time finish. I’d already bagged my 400 after all.

So I turned north up the A49 and challenged the landspeed record to Hereford when I let the train take the strain back to Oxford. Because of engineering works I had expected to have to ride the last bit from Moreton and wasn’t adverse to the idea but when the replacement coach driver opened his empty boot and said ‘plenty of room for the bike in here’ I didn’t say no. A failure yes but I think I gave it my best and did notice no one else was daft enough to be riding fixed. I’ve since learnt that their were 5 ‘did not finish’ in all but Mark, still behind me when I packed, finished with 5 minutes to spare.