It’s tough on the Quantocks.
113.9 Miles, 7,451 ft of Elevation / 183.3 Km, 2,271 m of Elevation
Start: 07:04 Finish: 16:03 Moving Time: 7hrs 57 mins
Ride Across Britain: 22% Complete
A 5am start was no match for the breakfast line, which snaked out of the marquee and deep into the campsite. It was 7am before we crossed the start line, having packed everything in our bags to be taken by truck to the finish.
Rather than the constant up and down of Cornwall, Devon promised bigger, longer climbs and descents. Somerset held in store the Quantock hills and even some flat roads.
If we were hurting from the hundred miles on day one (and we were) there was plenty of perspective on offer. During the day we overtook a man on a BMX, another man with a prosthetic arm and the couple on the tandem, all riding the same 970 miles to John O’Groats.
Rather than research in advance Cothelstone Hill, the first major obstacle, we arrived at it and saw the road bend up steeply into the trees at an impossible gradient – like something out of the movie ‘Inception’.
A long climb it was, with two diabolical ramps reaching 20% in gradient. Many fellow cyclists got off and walked. We engaged our lowest gears and stamped on the pedals, barely overtaking those who went on foot.
At the top, supporters cheered and rang cowbells, holding flags and banners that brushed out helmets as we crawled past.
Next the flying descent at 68kph (42mph) down to the Somerset Levels, cooled by the rushing air and the pain relieved temporarily from the legs.
At last there was no gradient and I had my first experience of riding in a ‘train’, where one rider takes a turn on the front and eats wind while the others line up behind and shelter.
With great collective pace we arrived at the foot of Cheddar Gorge, carved out by ice over a million years. At what felt like the same glacial pace, we took the steep, winding road up the gorge, limestone cliffs towering above.
We rode caerphilly gouda the village, but the tourists looked at us like we must brie emmental, as if we were edam fools. Quickly, they were proven right and the climb started to grate.
Race photographers dotted the Gorge and we tried to exchange grimaces for smiles as their shutters opened and closed.
We hit the top and struggled through some more rises before the long downhill into Bath City Centre. Scores of riders were stacked up at traffic lights, between cars and like fish out of water.
Finally, with 2 days and more than 200 miles in the legs, the savage, long climb up the other side to Bannerdown tried to separate us from the finish line, showers and food.
It landed some heavy blows, but failed, and we lived to start Stage 3, which took us up through Wales to Ludlow.
The Cycling Eagle 