Isle of Wight

friday
potters - changed the bar tape for blue.
wanted to change the tyres for blue harder wearing ones, but discovered that no standard allen key fit the bike's special skewers, whose key I'd left at home. As it was after nine, it was too late to retrieve it, so we decided to make do, packing extra patches and two air canisters.

Had the signature Potter breakfast of eggs benedict and grapefruit - always used to baulk at grapefruit as a kid, so it was nice to discover my taste buds had adjusted to the bitter taste.

pumped the tyres and set off. Had a cleatercation at HSBC, but nothing dramatic. Lost Potter at Winter's Brigde, and after waiting a while, proceeded to the station where I found him again.

We took a train to Woking and had coffee while waiting for a connection to Portsmouth. When the train finally arrived, the Tuesday of a driver only had "space for one bike" and wasn't prepared to bend the rules. Why do we let them get away with this bullshit? The ticket price seems to have a converse relationship with the quality of service.

Train to Basingstoke; train to Eastleigh; cycle through the New Forest; ferry at Lymington where a prawn sandwich made do; they wanted us to park our bikes on battery acid but we found somewhere else, much to their disgruntlement; arrive at Yarmouth;

Cycled to Totland in search of the special shop where Adam got the skewers from, no luck. On to Freshwater, by which time it becomes apparent that Yarmouth was the most likely candidate all along. In the DIY store, we try various Allen keys, narrowing it down to a 5mm being too small, and a 5.5mm being too big. Extra secure, then.

Oh well, still no puncture, so on we go. We're making our way anticlockwise round the island and the target hotel is in Ventnor, which is known for its vicious hills. We took the coastal road and the hills started as we rode on the south coast. Some ups and downs - the downs concerning me because I'd just spent so much effort climbing, only to have to do it all again! After a while of this, we got the the main ascent into ventnor - now I wished for those downs because this was just up and up. I had to stop a few times to let my heart and legs recover, as I wasn't used to climbing. The largest hills I'd tackled before this were Notting, and a couple in Richmond Park. Felt the cramps setting in, which was a little worrying. When we finally got into Ventnor, we slowed and paused to find the hotel, and my legs cramped up properly. I had to squat defenceless on the pavement, unable to do anything but hope not to make a false move that would send the pain shooting. It passed after a minute or so, and I limped it into the hotel.

A few stretches, a shower and a change of clothes later, it was time for dinner. I had a burger as my reward, but it wasn't spectacular. We had a couple of drinks in a local bar, a short walk, and headed back for an early night, knowing the worst hill was to be found getting out of Ventnor the next day.

Saturday
The hill was the steepest climb of the trip, but didn't turn out to be nearly as bad as I was dreading, because it was relatively short in distance and my legs were comparatively fresh after a night's sleep. A little damp and drizzle accompanied us most of the way to the hoverport, which meant we couldn't get full joy out of the big descent off that hill, but I did enjoy powering through a couple of dips where the momentum of a little descent took me over a hill with almost no climbing effort.

Lost Potter at one point, tried to call him but he wasn't in the business of hearing his mobile, so carried on to the port, where I tried again. This time he answered, and I saw him on the horizon, arriving at the same time. We had to stash the bikes in a compartment on the hovercraft, and Adam managed to lose his computer. We discovered this on the other side as the craft was leaving Portsmouth for the Isle again. Tried asking the staff but they were almost intentionally unhelpful.

Portsmouth is one of those carnie seaside resorts where the people look very shifty, so after waiting out a shower and having dodgy food, we headed off towards London as soon as we could.
A couple of hills, nothing to write home about but still a little painful because of the previous hills' wear and tear, then we hit the motorway section of the A3. Cycling in the hard shoulder is not pleasant, as all the debris is swept there by cars, and no further because the nobody drives on the shoulder itself, so it's like an assault course for these skinny racing tyres. You can only avoid so many shards of twisted metal before you eventually puncture, which I did in style, a massive piece of shrapnel taking out my rear tyre. Of course the inability to take the wheel off came in particularly unhandy here, so the only chance was to use patches and air. Adam set about patching while I rolled. The police turned up to have a go at us for cycling on the motorway and we eventually persuaded them to leave us alone by feigning ignorance and apologising. It became an A road within 100 yards anyway, so they were being a bit officious.

A few patches and both air canisters later, the tyre wasn't going to perk up so I had to give up the ghost and walk it to the nearest bus stop while Adam rode on. I convinced the bus driver to let me on, and took a train back. Was wondering how Adam was doing as the sun set, and called the olds for a lift from Surbiton. Got in touch with Adam as pater arrived to pick me up - he'd punctured himself, and as he was out of air, he was stricken so we drove up to painshill to collect him.

So a double rescue in the end, mainly caused by my leaving that allen key at home and the filthy hard shoulders of the A3. About 75 miles over 5 hours for me, over 100 miles for Adam.