Last Saturday, we rode from London to Brighton. A route that, on some days, can be a beautiful exploration through lanes and hills to reach the pier for chips and beer. On other days, it can be 5 hours of fighting to stay warm, safe and mentally stable enough to finish without a breakdown. Saturday was the latter.
A photo-essay of the ride that made us stronger, albeit slightly broken and tipsy, cyclists:
"Let's meet in Putney but head straight to Esher for breakfast..."
"I arrived at Putney early. I'm having a coffee."
- Says the coffee addict who had three caffeine hits before 0930am.
"So, my route stops before we get to Brighton Pier. But I'm sure I can get us to the finish."
- Says the Northerner, who gets lost cycling to work.
"Is your phone waterproof?"
"No. Is yours?"
- Say the two of us, as it starts to piss down.
"Man alive. I've just spotted a log fire."
- At mile 30, when our clothes were soaked through and we'd lost all feeling in our hands and feet.
The pub wasn't open till 1200 but the manager saw three broken women, shivering in lycra, and let us in for cups of tea and hot chocolate.
"I'd quite like our bikes to get stolen."
- Says a mud-freckled Lorna, looking outside at the weather we had to face for the remaining 30 miles.
"I'm just pulling over to put my headphones in. I've got Intense Workout Mix 2016 ready haven't I."
- Says the scouser, in preparation for Ditchling Beacon.
"You'd think after the third time of trying to get this timed shot, that guy would come over and take the photo for us."
"You've got no mud on you."
"Wait till you see my front. Shit everywhere."
"Sit on the pier? What are your thoughts about going to the toilet and then jogging on, straight to the station."
- Say the girls who are tired, cold and ready for a Gin & Tonic.
"None of this food is hitting the spot. Should we crack open the G&T?"
- Say the classy girls, who are finally en route back to London.