Friday Night Ride: London to Shoreham - Jenny's Disco
3:53pm, 28th Sep 2021 | 6 Comments
Blog by MsG
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After the autumn equinox earlier in the week, I wondered what the weather would be like for my last night ride of 2021.
Forecast was warm and dry - causing some amusing discussion in the FB group about what and how much clothing to pack.
My migraine inducing yellow and purple socks were making an outing to clash with my LED armbands.
Suffice to say, my packing is kitchen sink style with others being more ruthless. It prompted me to weigh my laden panniers before leaving home.
Pleasingly, they were nearly identical. Less pleasingly, it was just over 3kg. Each!
Given we were cycling to Shoreham, over the Downs, this was concerning but I’d just have to hope my recent hilly excursions would pay dividends later in the ride.
Pausing for my usual Blackfriars pre-ride photos (Saturday blog) whilst vibrant nightlife staggered or hurtled past, I noted that London is busier again with the associated entertainment of sobriety averse obstacles to avoid.
The National Theatre had lots of trucks outside but was relatively quiet. Old and new faces appeared with the usual preamble of catching up, bicycle comparisons and pondering the night ahead. Smashing sounds from Waterloo Bridge above diverted attention briefly upwards but the noise simmered down.
Dancing disco lights wound round a Yellow Brompton announced Ride Leader Jenny’s arrival.
Like me, she’s a newer Fridays night ride leader, but has more experience at leading London day rides. The Brompton Massive covers lots of ground, with interesting themes, including topiary, graffiti and architecture. These are accompanied by fab photos illustrating the rides. The BM group recently took on the North Coast 500 in Scotland, unsupported (i.e. carrying their own luggage). Essentially, she’s a strong rider with bags of enthusiasm.
Roll call completed, Ross did the safety briefing - there were several first timers so it’s important for them and to remind regulars too.
We set off southbound through Stockwell and Streatham using cycle paths, the 42 strong peloton mostly sticking together with favourable traffic lights for once.
Gathered under a bridge in Clapham, it was considerably warmer than last time I’d been here on the Brighton ride.
A low slung sound system on wheels accompanied us for a few miles, it must have been battery powered, no way were pedals generating enough power for that noise. There were some novel warning calls over the night, “sofa” being one of the daftest. A collective groan at a deceased deer being the saddest.
Leaving the suburbs behind, passing the Carshalton pond with sleeping ducks standing in an inch of water, we started to climb. As the houses dropped away, and the landscape opened up, the mists came down.
It stayed with us for the rest of the journey, making for an atmospheric if sunrise-less ride.
Sharp rises and longer climbs kept us warm, riders weaving slightly with inclination, as each found their own rhythm. At the top, each time, we re-grouped, comparing notes, munching snacks - once I’d stopped breathing like a steam train!
Maxine on her first Friday ride
My legs were doing ok, focussing on the next part of the hill, not looking too far ahead - the mist certainly helped with that.
No mechanicals and the smooth pace set by Jenny and her Brompton Honour Guard saw us at the Scout Hut ahead of schedule. They're the two standing in the centre of the photo below. Mr Orange and Mark W (who also has a Light Blue Co bike but a Wolfson!).
Mist had turned to fine drizzle by now, so riders opted for the indoor seating, much to the amusement of the scouts who teased us for being soft.
Everyone tucked into sandwiches and hot drinks. It’s the odd part of the ride where you find out what your travelling companions actually look like, compared to the dynamo-lit side eye guess work whilst pedalling. Rather like the lights up at the end of a disco, lots of tight clothing, with confused, tired faces but minus the alcohol!
After a relaxing hour, it was time to get going and face Turner’s Hill. Spectacles were mopped again, saddles dried off, layers put on, a group photo was taken by Jenny and we were away.
The Hill was hard work, but I kept my momentum, motored up, puffing away again to the top. Catching my breath, taking the opportunity to grab some photos of riders cresting the hill, through the mist with pleasing results.
Kim and her legendary legwarmers
Off we set again, reaching narrow tree lined lanes, with low branches causing even the shortest riders to duck. Owls were heard, heralding the unseen dawn. Riding alongside Jenny, we compared notes about our leading experiences. I think we were both surprised at the amount of behind the scenes administration involved!
We emerged by West Grinstead, a turn waymarking by this old sign - the lighting reminded me of 70s sitcoms.
After the main group, riders strung out in decreasing numbers. Then a significant gap, as there’d been the first, then second mechanical of the ride. After a period of listening to the crows complaining about the drizzle, Anton joined me and we chatted about ride organising, whilst waiting for the TECs and All Upper to come through.
Released from my post, I pedalled off to warm up a bit, found Rob and we covered the Down lanes, hills shrouded in the draping mists. One of the beauties of the FNR is time spent with different people, sharing jokes, exchanging ‘how you found the Fridays’, deep discussions or silent camaraderie; the other is the fine solitude experienced passing down descents through dappled light, old lanes with crooked houses.
Through Steyning, as it woke up, with young cyclists collecting their oilcloth paper-round bags from the newsagent. Across the A27 - miraculously closed off and easy passage, then we were on the Old Toll bridge linking to Shoreham. Airport in the distance, with the air show disaster memorial a poignant reminder of more sombre history. Rob unknowingly posed for the latest Rapha catalogue* whilst we admired the view.
Round the cyclepaths and we joined up with the main group, just outside Shoreham. By now it was daylight proper, stomachs were rumbling and people were keen for the cafe. Once we were All Upped, after a pause, we headed across the Southwick Ship Canal to the seashore and breakfast. The sea was a green-glass hue, the colour of bottle fragments worn smooth in the water.
Fortified for the day ahead, riders said their goodbyes, heading for train stations near and distant, or in some cases to ride home.
Anton escorted me to Brighton station - we saw the parkrun in progress, and tackled the unforgiving hill up to the trains. Lack of sleep led to me to purchase the wrong ticket (though fine to get into London) and we boarded the allegedly fast train to Bedford. Not Bedfordshire. Eventually it got to STP, where the challenge of exiting Platform A to KGX was somewhat unwelcome, as it involves two lifts, which are in demand by people with massive suitcases. After some elbow work getting me in and out of the first lift, there was a large queue for the second lift. With a pleading look to station staff for an alternative, they pointed me in the direction of the escalator!
I gave up and hoicked Bertie up the stairs. Yes including all 7kg of panniers too. KGX 1212 train and home just after 1330.
Some night rides you don’t get to see a sunrise, and with the great atmosphere on this Friday ride, it wasn’t needed to make this one of the most enjoyable rides I’ve been on.
Jenny and me - much smiling 😁
Massive thanks to Jenny, Wingriders, TECs and All Upper.
*quip courtesy of Jenny
Forecast was warm and dry - causing some amusing discussion in the FB group about what and how much clothing to pack.
My migraine inducing yellow and purple socks were making an outing to clash with my LED armbands.
Suffice to say, my packing is kitchen sink style with others being more ruthless. It prompted me to weigh my laden panniers before leaving home.
Pleasingly, they were nearly identical. Less pleasingly, it was just over 3kg. Each!
Given we were cycling to Shoreham, over the Downs, this was concerning but I’d just have to hope my recent hilly excursions would pay dividends later in the ride.
Pausing for my usual Blackfriars pre-ride photos (Saturday blog) whilst vibrant nightlife staggered or hurtled past, I noted that London is busier again with the associated entertainment of sobriety averse obstacles to avoid.
The National Theatre had lots of trucks outside but was relatively quiet. Old and new faces appeared with the usual preamble of catching up, bicycle comparisons and pondering the night ahead. Smashing sounds from Waterloo Bridge above diverted attention briefly upwards but the noise simmered down.
Dancing disco lights wound round a Yellow Brompton announced Ride Leader Jenny’s arrival.
Like me, she’s a newer Fridays night ride leader, but has more experience at leading London day rides. The Brompton Massive covers lots of ground, with interesting themes, including topiary, graffiti and architecture. These are accompanied by fab photos illustrating the rides. The BM group recently took on the North Coast 500 in Scotland, unsupported (i.e. carrying their own luggage). Essentially, she’s a strong rider with bags of enthusiasm.
Roll call completed, Ross did the safety briefing - there were several first timers so it’s important for them and to remind regulars too.
We set off southbound through Stockwell and Streatham using cycle paths, the 42 strong peloton mostly sticking together with favourable traffic lights for once.
Gathered under a bridge in Clapham, it was considerably warmer than last time I’d been here on the Brighton ride.
A low slung sound system on wheels accompanied us for a few miles, it must have been battery powered, no way were pedals generating enough power for that noise. There were some novel warning calls over the night, “sofa” being one of the daftest. A collective groan at a deceased deer being the saddest.
Leaving the suburbs behind, passing the Carshalton pond with sleeping ducks standing in an inch of water, we started to climb. As the houses dropped away, and the landscape opened up, the mists came down.
It stayed with us for the rest of the journey, making for an atmospheric if sunrise-less ride.
Sharp rises and longer climbs kept us warm, riders weaving slightly with inclination, as each found their own rhythm. At the top, each time, we re-grouped, comparing notes, munching snacks - once I’d stopped breathing like a steam train!
Maxine on her first Friday ride
My legs were doing ok, focussing on the next part of the hill, not looking too far ahead - the mist certainly helped with that.
No mechanicals and the smooth pace set by Jenny and her Brompton Honour Guard saw us at the Scout Hut ahead of schedule. They're the two standing in the centre of the photo below. Mr Orange and Mark W (who also has a Light Blue Co bike but a Wolfson!).
Mist had turned to fine drizzle by now, so riders opted for the indoor seating, much to the amusement of the scouts who teased us for being soft.
Everyone tucked into sandwiches and hot drinks. It’s the odd part of the ride where you find out what your travelling companions actually look like, compared to the dynamo-lit side eye guess work whilst pedalling. Rather like the lights up at the end of a disco, lots of tight clothing, with confused, tired faces but minus the alcohol!
After a relaxing hour, it was time to get going and face Turner’s Hill. Spectacles were mopped again, saddles dried off, layers put on, a group photo was taken by Jenny and we were away.
The Hill was hard work, but I kept my momentum, motored up, puffing away again to the top. Catching my breath, taking the opportunity to grab some photos of riders cresting the hill, through the mist with pleasing results.
Kim and her legendary legwarmers
Off we set again, reaching narrow tree lined lanes, with low branches causing even the shortest riders to duck. Owls were heard, heralding the unseen dawn. Riding alongside Jenny, we compared notes about our leading experiences. I think we were both surprised at the amount of behind the scenes administration involved!
We emerged by West Grinstead, a turn waymarking by this old sign - the lighting reminded me of 70s sitcoms.
After the main group, riders strung out in decreasing numbers. Then a significant gap, as there’d been the first, then second mechanical of the ride. After a period of listening to the crows complaining about the drizzle, Anton joined me and we chatted about ride organising, whilst waiting for the TECs and All Upper to come through.
Released from my post, I pedalled off to warm up a bit, found Rob and we covered the Down lanes, hills shrouded in the draping mists. One of the beauties of the FNR is time spent with different people, sharing jokes, exchanging ‘how you found the Fridays’, deep discussions or silent camaraderie; the other is the fine solitude experienced passing down descents through dappled light, old lanes with crooked houses.
Through Steyning, as it woke up, with young cyclists collecting their oilcloth paper-round bags from the newsagent. Across the A27 - miraculously closed off and easy passage, then we were on the Old Toll bridge linking to Shoreham. Airport in the distance, with the air show disaster memorial a poignant reminder of more sombre history. Rob unknowingly posed for the latest Rapha catalogue* whilst we admired the view.
Round the cyclepaths and we joined up with the main group, just outside Shoreham. By now it was daylight proper, stomachs were rumbling and people were keen for the cafe. Once we were All Upped, after a pause, we headed across the Southwick Ship Canal to the seashore and breakfast. The sea was a green-glass hue, the colour of bottle fragments worn smooth in the water.
Fortified for the day ahead, riders said their goodbyes, heading for train stations near and distant, or in some cases to ride home.
Anton escorted me to Brighton station - we saw the parkrun in progress, and tackled the unforgiving hill up to the trains. Lack of sleep led to me to purchase the wrong ticket (though fine to get into London) and we boarded the allegedly fast train to Bedford. Not Bedfordshire. Eventually it got to STP, where the challenge of exiting Platform A to KGX was somewhat unwelcome, as it involves two lifts, which are in demand by people with massive suitcases. After some elbow work getting me in and out of the first lift, there was a large queue for the second lift. With a pleading look to station staff for an alternative, they pointed me in the direction of the escalator!
I gave up and hoicked Bertie up the stairs. Yes including all 7kg of panniers too. KGX 1212 train and home just after 1330.
Some night rides you don’t get to see a sunrise, and with the great atmosphere on this Friday ride, it wasn’t needed to make this one of the most enjoyable rides I’ve been on.
Massive thanks to Jenny, Wingriders, TECs and All Upper.
*quip courtesy of Jenny
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MsG
Morose scientist. Feminist. Likes: Cycling, cats, photography, coffee, patisserie and finding weird stuff. Prefers cool sunny autumn days. Rather shouty. Dislikes: Misogyny. Gaslighting. Labels. Stupid drivers.What do I do for fun? Friday Night Bike Rides, starting at midnight usually to the coast for breakfast. It's fab
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