The South Downs Double on a cross bike

The idea of riding the South Downs Double has always appealed to the idiot in me. It’s a bit silly. Extra silly on a cross bike. Each single I’ve ridden has taken me so long I’ve never considered two were possible in a day. Add the fact that I have never ridden for 24 hours before and the whole thing just seemed ridiculous.

As is the way of such things, once the idea materialises, carrying it out is the only way to banish it forever. I wasn’t going to let facts get in the way of a nice ride, may as well just give it a go, see what happens.

Pondering this last Easter weekend, a day suddenly became free. The trails were dry, the overnight temperature was just about warm enough and the forecast was slight rain for a couple of hours. Fuck it, I’ll never be ready anyway, Sunday night it is then.

Start time 19:50

A27 to Eastbourne to A27

The day of the ride I checked the bike and packed up a small rucksack of food in preparation. After putting the kids to bed I rode to my starting point where the South Downs Way crosses the A27, started all my gizmos and set off.

I can’t deal with the scale of big rides so I split them in to chunks and just ignore the bit I’m not doing. This bit was just a ride to Eastbourne. Knowing this section quite well I could just get on with it and tick off some familiar landmarks; Kingston ridge, yellow brick road, Southease. They all came and went in the dying light. A slight tailwind along the tops of the hills helped and I pushed a bit in an effort to gain a time buffer for later.

Before I knew it I was climbing up to the golf course above Eastbourne on the way back and straight into a headwind. 100 miles of it. I tried my best to ignore it, just a ride to the A27. Thankfully I dropped out of the wind with each descent and stayed out of the wind on the climbs. Everywhere else I just had to tuck in to the bike as much as possible in prayer to my bottom bracket. Annoying but manageable. Just.

Elapsed time 4:30

A27 to A24

A brief stop at the A27 to eat and fill my bottles from the tap then a lovely standing-up-all-the-way climb towards Black Cap to get me going again.

Knowing the terrain when you’re on a cross bike is knowledge made of pure gold embedded with giant diamonds. The bits that you can push on to make up time, the lines to take on the descents, that bit where you have to slow right down or you will wreck your puny tyres make a huge difference to overall progress. If you didn’t know it already, 33mm tyres are the absolute shittest tyres on Earth to ride the South Downs Way on. Ever.

I found those hours of riding in darkness hard work. The concentration levels required to not crash, to not double puncture, to constantly watch what I was doing were mentally draining. Reaching the top of the climb from Pyecombe, I stumbled trying to avoid a large rock on the path, smashed my knee against the solid metal casing of my light and fell to the ground in agony. I lay on that rocky path looking at the stars and watching the mist from my shouts float away like tiny clouds into the night and thought to myself, this is probably the end of the ride.

After a few minutes of rolling around feeling sorry for myself, I tried standing, then hobbling a bit. It was painful, too painful to put my full weight on my left leg. I considered rolling back to the A23 bike path and home. Could I ride this off? New plan, ride to Devils Dyke before quitting; give it a go, see what happens.

Those first few wincey turns of the pedals were sticky out bottom lip time. Head down. Think about something else. Anything.

Elapsed time 7:23

A24 to A3

The pain subsided a bit but I could no longer stand on the pedals when climbing. Not ideal on 1 x 11 gearing. I was still going though which was good, but I had slowed enough that a sub 24hr time was looking unlikely. No matter, it would take as long as it took. The Downs aren’t going anywhere if I wanted to have another go.

A quick bottle fill at the A24, snack and climb up a dark lane and back on to the ridge. Take 2 bottles into the shower? I just snack and climb. The strangeness of those early morning hours had arrived and my mind tuned in to Weird.FM for a bit. I tried keeping the pedals turning and ignoring it.

Salvation at the A285, fellow doubling idiot Vic was waiting. It was great to see a friendly face after hours of battling alone in the dark. It was perfectly timed. I stopped for a bit, necked some painkillers, got loads of encouraging chat and was bullied back on to the trail with zero sympathy. ‘Just get on with it’. Perfect. I had been close to bailing. Thank you so much Vic.

Elapsed time 11:53

A3 to Winchester to A3

I’ve only ever ridden through Queen Elizabeth Country Park once and that time I got hopelessly lost in the dark. This time, in daylight and following a Garmin was much easier but I did wonder how I managed to get it so wrong before. The grassy climb of Butser hill just after QECP was a new treat going in this direction and full tacking was deployed.

I reached Winchester, rode around the King Alfred statue and back onto the Way. Just after climbing that first ridge I was back into a slight tailwind for the first time in 12 hours. The 100 miles of headwind were finally over. It was a great feeling and with the day developing from murky to glorious, thoughts drifted back to a sub 24.

Elapsed time 17:10

A3 to A24

Loads of families and walkers were out enjoying a sunny bank holiday weekend on the downs, it’s great to see this beautiful place being appreciated. I wasn’t going to be a dick and spoil someones day so slowed for each group I came across. Plenty of bits without people on to make up time. This section is the longest ‘bit’ I had given myself to do and by the time I hit Washington at the A24 I was flagging. That extra speed I needed hadn’t materialised and it felt like the sub 24 was agonisingly out of reach. My maths skills had evaporated and I just couldn’t tell if it was on or not.

Elapsed time 20:51

A24 to A27

Climbing up from the A24 felt like I was finally nearing the home straight. I had just over 3 hours to get to the A27. What was in front of me? Chanctonbury Ring, Pig Farm, Truleigh Hill, Dyke, Pyecombe, Beacon, Black Cap, end. Surely this was doable? I’ve ridden this bit a few times but I just couldn’t tell in my scrambled state how long it would take, my mind was alternating between it’s just round the corner to it’s going to take all night. I had to trust the part of me that thought it was doable and just go for it. If I flogged myself for nothing at least I tried.

Just as I was starting to get my head round this my front wheel lost all air in an instant and I had to fight the bike to a stop without crashing. My only puncture in nearly 200 miles of flint and chalk and rocks the size of grapefruits hiding in every rutted dip. I should have bowed down to the flint gods in gratitude that this was the only puncture. Instead I swore at the sky at the top of my lungs. Breathe. Count to 10. Swap the tube. Just get on with it.

Perhaps it was the puncture, perhaps it was my body just wanting this thing to end but I got in the drops and went for it. No more stops. No stopping to put my arm warmers back on. No stopping to fill bottles. No stopping for anything. Don’t stop ’til you get enough. I flew down past the pigs, across the Adur, past the YHA and the lumps to Devils Dyke. Approaching each gate on the opening side, angling the bike to get through as quickly as possible and pushing the gate back with a force to let it shut with its own weight. Gritted teeth up Newtimber, not even registering the spot where I smashed my knee all those hours ago. Up past the golf course, tuck in for the blast across to Ditchling Beacon. No. More. Stops. One more ridge top ride then it was downhill all the way. I didn’t stop to check the time, I might have been hours out, I didn’t care, no more need for pacing, everything was getting chucked off the back; water, energy, sense.

That last descent down to the A27 was a blur. The last gate, the last drop down some steps, the final sprint to the tap. The last anything. Done.

Elapsed time 23:23:24

 I couldn’t resist having another go a few weeks later –


The fool on Windover Hill

Alone on a hill
The man with the foolish grin
Is keeping perfectly still

Towards the Eastbourne end of the South Downs Way lies Windover Hill. The North side of the hill hides the Long Man of Wilmington standing tall above the Weald, but it’s the South side that contains the path climbing up from the village of Alfriston. The long, steep, chalky track follows the edge of this lump and curves South above a valley of farmland before rejoining the top of the South Downs and resuming its route to the sea.

It was about halfway up this track that I found myself alone on New Year’s Eve.

The battery on my phone had died, the inner tubes I had brought with me were in other people’s tyres and the tube-fixing patches I had were curling up like fortune telling fish from a Christmas cracker.

“Curling sides…….Fucked

I sat there watching the fading light, pondering this perfect alignment of the cosmos then started running the 6 miles back to waiting friends and last place in the White Chalk Hills Ultra Cross.

“50 (ish) miles over varied terrain, on Cyclocross bikes, mostly off road and on the South Downs from Selmeston to Eastbourne via Beddingham and Firle and back again

This being the 5th and final UCX saw a decent turn out for the foggy start that morning. Throughout the day riders met and merged around gates, forest tracks, at the tops of hills and invariably around punctured wheels.

At Birling Gap where the Chalk Hills meet the sea you can see thin dark layers of flint amongst the chalk exposed by the eroding coast. Future punctures in every single one of those black lines moving slowly to the surface. Patiently waiting in the giant slabs of downs cake for a 33mm tyre.

The present day layer of flint was doing its best to decimate our gang of friends but we progressed through farm tracks and fog and Friston forest. The pub in East Dean was another merging of riders for those that stopped. I had probably one more pint than I should have considering the long grassy climb to get out of East Dean but I was warm again. More punctures and pee stops on the downs above Birling Gap before swooping temporarily on to tarmac towards Beachy Head, then back off road for the return to Berwick.

Somewhere between Beachy head and Windover Hill on the way back there is a rutted, muddy downhill track with brambles on either side and troughs of doom in the middle you could fly an X-Wing down. It is the most ridiculous place ever to even attempt to ride a bike. It may well be my favourite bit of anything, anywhere to do just that.

We all giggle like idiots as we drop down the track towards the Long Man, then shimmy along beneath him. Simon holds the gate at the bottom of Windover Hill and I wait with him as the rest of our group continues up the track. His reward for holding the gate, a jammed rear mech which disintegrates as he tries to set off again. Between us we do our best to get him going by breaking the chain and attempting a single speed conversion but the gears keep jumping. Still, it’s coast-able, sort of and Simon turns back to Alfriston on his giant balance bike. I head off back up the hill hoping to God I catch the others before I get a puncture….

“Unsanctioned and irreverent, pointless even

And that’s it, after the puncture I run back to base, eat, fix the bike and then ride back to Windover Hill to finish it in the dark. There’s no reason to do this, just ‘cos. The end of a great day. The perfect way to finish it, seeing in the New Year with friends.

Thank you Mark for organising this wonderful, crazy thing. It’s easily my favourite ride — challenging, stupid, fun. What more could anyone want from a bike ride or from anything else for that matter?