LEL Stage One: The Ride

Buckle up buttercups, this could be a long one. Unless I get a terrible attack of wind half way through and decide to stop. Which is pretty much what happened to us on LEL 2025.

We all knew that Floris was coming, but right up until the start it was just an abstract problem. Some blustery weather coming in over a land, far, far away. I generally try to pretend the North (defined as anywhere above the Salisbury Parallel) doesn’t really exist except in the films of Mike Leigh and adverts for cough sweets, so it wasn’t too hard to ignore.

The day before the start Team Less Cargo had a strategy meeting, to wargame tactics, lay out a business case and set our objectives. Sadly neither of us had thought to bring a projector and 30 slide Powerpoint presentation.

We decided (TL:CBA version) to ride our bikes until we were quite tired. We also agreed that we wouldn’t ride them too fast. There was no point trying to second guess where the famous ‘bulge’ might be (a mass of riders bunching up at a control like a plague of incontinent locusts) or where Floris might hit us. Hessle seemed like a logical stopping point @ 303km, with an option on Malton if we felt like going deeper into the night.

Facilities at Writtle were pretty good and it had a nice buzzy feel. I’d not stayed at at the start for my previous two LELs, so perhaps I missed out, but there was a nice atmosphere, a bar and a field full of quite posh portaloos and showers. The latter managed to remain quite respectable throughout the event, for which I was deeply grateful. Registration on Saturday meant a wristband and a carrier bag full of stuff, like frame number & cable ties and bags for the bag drops.

We had a late start on Sunday (13.00). Not quite what we’d wanted, but it gave us time to get ready, shower, eat a leisurely breakfast, perve other bikes and generally faff about.

I was determined not to go speeding off from the start, despite the temptingly flat profile and a stirring speech from the starter about how we were the strongest group. It was epic stuff, proper Henry V St Crispin’s day up and at ’em lads motivational bullshit. It made me laugh and I’m not sure how the starter got through it with a straight face..

Anyway, we were good boys, paced ourselves and bided our time before starting to blast past groups. Both of us are competitive, so we were surreptitiously checking frame plates to see if we were catching any earlier starters.

Surprisingly early, the road opened out into clear air. LEL is big, with 2500 riders, but even this close to the start there was the chance to feel pleasantly alone, and not constantly in the middle of a bunch of other riders.

The flatlands of Essex and the Fens can be pretty merciless on a bad day. You can stop and get your breath back on a stinky hill – but there’s no respite from a headwind. The wind on Day One was a sort of cross-head and quite strong. Certainly enough to be annoying, but not enough to stop us from getting to the first control (Northstowe) at an average of almost 29kmh. Northstowe, a huge and brand-new school, was the first chance to test our control-fu. Would we maintain tight discipline, or would FAFFOR THE DEVOURER OF TIME consume us? Happily, we passed the test.

The food at Northstowe was exceptional. I mean, seriously good. Several hot and tasty variaties of savoury slop with rice or potatoes, but also big bowls of fresh salad, coleslaw, cheese, baked potatoes, roast vegetable salad and crumble with custard. After a fast 90km, it was perfect. Oh and there was watermelon. In fact, nearly every control had watermelon. In 2013 I developed a serious watermelon habit after buying some on the return journey – it’s truly the ride food of the gods. Not heavy on carbs, but tasty, sweet, hydrating and when you’re feeling horrible and have a mouth like a litter tray, refreshing to eat.

On we went, pausing only to admire the tiny-bike*.

• nah, it was just a wind-up.

Onwards to Boston. More very flat roads, more picking off groups and even the odd straggler from the London start. The wind was still blowing hard and Andy wasn’t feeling the love. I hate it too, but I seem better suited to just getting my head down and cruising, so I dieselled my way along. Andy did very kindly take some video of me in action, which makes it clear, in case there were any doubt, that I have the elegance of a folded eclair. It might be effective, but my god I look like a sack of spuds.

Anyway, we made it to the charming town of Boston, and the next control. More hot and savoury slop, with crumble, coffee and melon.

All day we’d had occasional spots of rain and overtook groups of riders huddling under trees while they layered up. We hadn’t bothered, because it was still warm and the clouds were blowing over, so there seemed little point putting on a rain jacket only to whip it off a few kms later.

After Boston it was dark and there was a definite hint of proper rain coming over. By the time we’d controlled at Louth and truffled about in our drop bags it was raining heavily and quite cold. Louth was a bit of a low point in terms of food. There was porridge and not much else, but it was hot and there was jam to go on top. Anyway, we layered up properly and headed out.

At the Humber bridge we were stopped by a slightly hassled marshal. A random chap had run past and was being spoken to on the bridge by police officers. Standard for the Humber bridge apparently. So we loafed about on the grass, took advantage of the portaloo provided to the marshals and waited. The chap in hi-viz was doing a sterling job and taking numbers in case we needed to appeal for a time credit, but after ten minutes the police had got their chap safely into the back of a car and were hopefully about to take him somewhere to get proper help. Coppers can come across as being a bit blase and cold-blooded sometimes, but they also have a genuine desire to help people and they know that a uniformed officer is rarely the right person to give the kind of help that someone having a mental health crisis needs.

I have a hatred of big bridges – riding solo over the Severn or Humber bridge is not my idea of fun. Too many ghosts and lost souls sucking you towards the railings. This time we rolled over en-masse, which made it much less terrifying.

And so to Hessle, where we’d decided to stop and sleep. Although it felt a bit short on distance, we arrived around 11pm at 02:43 so there was a chance to follow a sensible day/night pattern for the rest of LEL, rather than screwing up our bodyclocks completely. Our control arrival routine was spot-on by now. Park bike. Shoes off and hooked over tri-bars. Bottles off and stashed in a bag. GPS stopped & saved and the next map loaded ready to leave. Beach shoes on and into the control to get stamped & find food. My personal routine also included a comment from the controllers about my rider number: AK46. Yes, yes, just one out…. I didn’t mind, it was a bit of fun at every. single. control.

After food (always eat first) we found the showers. Walking into the changing room was like walking into solid fog, but the showers were hot. Washing off the sweat and grime felt good and happily I didn’t have any sore patches. I didn’t have clean kit either, that was at Louth, or any sleeping clothes, so it was back into the slightly clammy shorts & jersey before heading to the dorm for a sleep. We were clearly lucky and had avoided a bulge, because there was no problem getting a bed or having it for a reasonable time. In our case, 5 hours. I’d heard of riders just before us either having to wait ages, or being told they could only have an hour or so because there was such high demand. The controllers were clearly getting reasonable data about arrivals at other controls, but without the need to sign out of a control, information about when controls could expect riders was a mixture of guesswork and voodoo.

Managed to sleep reasonably well, despite being in a hall full of farting, snoring audaxers. Waking up wasn’t nice, it never is, but I’d at least had some rest. This was the bit I’d been dreading most – getting going again after the first night. The photo below should give you a slight hint about how groggy and horrible I felt. Believe it or not, I have felt worse.

There must have been coffee at least, but I can’t remember anything else about breakfast.

Onward to Malton. This is the point where the route gets a bit more spicy and there were a few hills to warm us up, plus the ever-present wind. The stage was only 68km and we’d started off quite gently, but even so we were glad to take advantage of a pop-up cafe being run from a village hall in Thixendale. At one point I cheerily pointed out how pretty Thixendale was. Andy’s reply of “is it?” was so flat and devoid of interest that it made me laugh. Poor chap was suffering a bit and not in the mood to admire glacial dry valleys, no matter how picturesque.

Malton was where the wheels started to fall off for me in 2022. I’d struggled to get there from Hessle and the ghastly stage after, to Barnard Castle, was what broke me. So I was feeling a bit nervous. But in some ways Malton 2025 was where the ride really started.

We got to Malton at around 12.15. There was a sign on the check-in desk saying that the ride was being halted until 15.30 because of the weather further north – we weren’t to leave the control until cleared by the organisers. I was fairly relaxed about that, because I knew we’d be credited with the time, so no problem there. It would mean that we’d be much later getting to Moffatt, which would dent our ride by day/sleep at night plans, but that couldn’t be helped. It also meant that we’d be riding Yad Moss in the dark. So we found food and agreed to meet up at 15.15. I found a window ledge in the dining hall, screened by thick curtains and overlooking the grassy quad, and tried to rest.

At 15.30 we got news that a second stop had been put in place, this time until 19.00. It was becoming obvious, and not just with hindsight, that any further delays would put the whole ride in jeopardy. LEL is a huge operation and you can’t ‘just’ shuffle it back by 12hrs. There are volunteers who’ve agreed hours, caterers booked, controls that have to be handed back etc. It was out of our hands, so I wandered off to the marquee, found a spare bed & blankets and crashed out for a few hours.

By 19.00 the main hall was packed. One of the controllers, Siobhan, read out a statement from the organisers telling us the ride was effectively stopped because of the high winds and exposed terrain further north. She was clearly very upset, but held it together until she finished, at which point the hall erupted in a huge round of applause. I don’t know if that was because the riders wanted to show their respect for someone who had delivered a hard message under difficult circumstances, or whether it was appreciation for a sensible decision, well communicated by the organisers. Maybe it was both. Either way, it was a beautiful moment.

The picture above isn’t mine btw. It came from a rider on the Facebook page, Kei Ito.

After taking questions, the other lead controller called the volunteers to the front of the stage. Again, there was thunderous applause and quite a few tears. It’s a cliche to say how important the volunteers are, but it’s also true. No volunteers, no event. No-one could be in any doubt about the respect and appreciation of the riders present for the efforts of the volunteers and controllers. Anyone who was there will cherish that memory – in my view the response to adversity from everyone involved in LEL 2025 elevated it beyond being ‘just’ a bike ride, albeit one that was already special, into something else entirely.

We were invited to make ourselves comfortable for the night, while the control was made ready for a morning departure. The biggest number of riders, over 1000, were penned up in Richmond, the next control up the road from us. Malton held the next biggest number, and an orderly release was necessary to avoid dumping huge number of rider on busy roads and unprepared controls. Our choice was simple: as far as Andy & I were concerned we were going to ride back to Writtle, along with most of the other riders. The controls would be open, we’d get stamped and at least we’d complete half the distance. Riding north was an option, but only for people stupid enough to ignore weather warnings and selfish enough to think that their ride was worth the risk at a time when the emergency riders were fully stretched. I’ve only seen a handful of comments online, post-event, complaining about the decision and those people (including Rando Karen) were firmly put in their place. Had this been a bare bones event a few riders might have (foolishly) toughed it out but with 2500 riders of varying abilities no responsible organiser could have done anything other than pull the plug.

I was almost relieved. I’d been feeling good and riding well. We’d made great progress without blowing up and all was looking hopeful. But the northern legs were going to be tough and I’m sufficiently allergic to suffering that being told we couldn’t continue came as a sort of relief. And it was completely out of our hands, so there was nothing to do by accept it and enjoy what remained of the event. Andy was more disappointed, but again, there was nothing to do but roll with it. The organisers had made a sensible call. We parted ways again, him to a proper bed in a proper hotel, me into town in search of beer.

I found beer and also an excellent Italian cafe opposite Morrisons, where I had the seafood pizza of my dreams: tuna, prawns and lovely, salty anchovies. A surprisingly rare combination and my god it was good.

Back to Malton, back to the marquee (which was lifting in the wind) and back to sleep.

I woke late, about 9ish, to the sound of some innocent young volunteers being instructed in the art of deflating a whole stack of airbeds by making love to them. I staggered to my feet and greeted Mr Hummerstone (Hummers) who is one of the most splendid chaps on this planet. I’d been looking forward to a big Hummers cuddle in Scotland, where he was due to be based, but he’d been scrambled south, like a big hairy egg, so I got one in early. That was an auspicious start, as was the news that by loafing in my pit I’d missed the big queue for breakfast.

Andy rolled up, refreshed by a proper sleep and we trundled off. The ride back to Writtle would be 372km, which we decided to treat as if it was a single ride. Some riders opted to tour back in a relaxed fashion and enjoy the scenery. We opted to enjoy the splendid legs that we’d worked so hard for over the previous months and blast back at full speed.

Turning south meant we had a cross-tail, and we took full advantage. Andy even enjoyed Thixendale. Leaving late from Malton also meant plenty of hares to chase and overtake. The terrain was rolling and it took a few km to get warmed up again, but we made good progress to Hessle for more coffee and (probably) chicken curry with crumble. As we finished eating, the controller popped up to warn us that the Humber Bridge (another key logistical piece in the Floris-shaped puzzle) was currently open, but if the gusts of wind rose by another few km/h, it wouldn’t be. So we scarpered sharpish. Being stuck by the bridge, or having to ride back to Hessle for a potentially lengthy wait did not appeal.

Happily the bridge was open and the terrain flattened out, so we steamed into Louth, eager to be reunited with our drop-bags and a change of kit, following a hot shower. The control made up for only offering porridge a few days previously and had a very nice tuna and pasta bake, with cheese. It was extremely good and there was also salad to go with it. I’d been genuinely concerned about getting enough food at controls, hence packing various bars, pouches and fruit blocks, but although I did snack on those between controls, I never needed to rely on them or garage pasties and the like.

The showers were a bit of a hike, and I forgot to pay for a towel back at base camp, but they were virtually deserted, brand new and hot. Lovely. Clean kit as well, my Sunday best Dukla Prague top & cap. Sadly not an away kit, but the nearest I could find.

The control at Louth also had <drumroll> COLD BEER. So I bought one. Swizz! It was actually a beer flavoured soft drink disguised as Heineken. Not bad though and if I’m honest, I might not have noticed if I hadn’t paid closer attention to the tin. You’re never too old to try something new, especially as I still haven’t convinced Andy to embrace the mid-audax pint.

By now Andy’s bike had developed an annoying tickticktick noise. Yes, we were still riding well, but that kind of mechanical irritation gets inside your skull. You feel slower, distracted and annoyed, especially on the wearyingly flat and featureless roads of the Fens. We stopped for a quick fettle and established that there was a loose spoke on the front wheel. I’m game for fiddling with such things, but Andy was less confident in my spannering abilities and we weren’t far from Boston, so we decided to talk to the mechanics there.

Boston…..ah, such a lovely place. It’s definitely more than a feeling. The dancing traffic cone in the road, ushering us into the control enhanced the place no end, although more weary riders might have felt like they were hallucinating. Assuming she was real, I commended the lady in the cone for being very silly. There can be no higher praise. There was also a line of hi-viz marshals with a dance routine, but we didn’t a photo of them in action. Assuming they were real.

The mechanic had a reassuringly large and bushy beard, so we left Andy’s bike with him and went in search of chicken curry and more crumble. I did my good deed for the day and bought some cans of Coke for a Korean(?) rider who was helplessly waving a £20 note around while the controllers tried to explain payment was card only. He kindly donated one can back to me, which I managed to stash in a fridge to chill while we ate our food. Best crumble of the ride btw.

Bikedalf, the spanner wizard, informed us that Andy had a whole load of loose spokes on one side. He’d tightened them up, but couldn’t guarantee anything. That was most annoying, because the wheel was newly built and had already been returned to the shop once because the spokes had worked loose.

Leaving Boston we were within 200km of the finish and all should have been glory, but as the night came down it got progressively harder. Again, we were fast, but it felt like we were working ever harder for that speed. Andy came up with a game to cheer us along – name a film with a single word title, from A-Z. That occupied us for a good few kilometres before I triumphantly finished with Zardoz. I felt obliged to reciprocate and resorted to an old pub game – replace a word in a film title with the word ‘minge’. Don’t @ me, we were desperate men and needed something to take our minds off the cold (it was bitter) our aching legs and the dreary flat roads. By the time I laid out Jurassic Minge Andy was giggling like a naughty nun. Job done.

One thing I’d totally failed to prepare was a list of the pop-up cafes and stops en-route, so the village hall at Pondersbridge, open all night and welcoming riders, was a nice surprise. We stopped for coffee and toast. I also admired some splendid cat art and a magnificent harmonium. Such things bring me great joy.

I started to struggle a bit on the way to Northstowe, but once we got within a 10 mile TT’s distance my legs came back and IT WAS ON. We absolutely hammered it to the control, steaming past groups as if they were standing still. One rider later told me it had amused him to see me flying past with FRAGILE written on my musette.

Again, Northstowe won the catering prize. It also had the best coffee. It was also where I had my worst moment of the ride. I decided to get some drugs from my bike, but the second I stepped outside I started to shiver uncontrollably. It was so bad I had to turn round and go back in to beg someone to get me a blanket – if I’d tried to go further I’m pretty sure I’d have collapsed. It was scary, but the volunteers were very kind, got me a blanket and suggested a hot shower, or a rest. I settled on more coffee and a call home while I warmed up and put on an extra base layer. It was probably just thermal shock, going from a warm room to the bitter outside, while recovering from half an hour riding at full beans. There was a chance of doing the whole Captain Oates thing and abandoning Andy, but the moment eventually passed and I felt better.

With just 93km left it seemed all done and dusted, but we hadn’t reckoned with the horror of Cambridge. It’s hard to enjoy the spectacle of a medieval city by night when your teeth are in danger of disintegrating. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden on worse roads, bar a brief foray onto the pave of Flanders. They were atrocious. That slowed us down, as did the recurrence of Andy’s tickticktick. Except it was now tickTICKticktickTICKticktick. Closer inspection showed that the spokes were so loose that they were catching on his brake calliper. I was getting worried about a spoke breaking, but we agreed to push on.

By the time we reached Henham Andy was clearly not in a good way. A combination of sleep deprivation and the mental stress of tickticktick. The control was small, but probably my favourite of the whole ride. There was something homely and friendly about it, helped by the fact we were right at the front and didn’t have to share it with many riders. A baked spud with cheese and butter hit the spot for me, but Andy was nodding off in his chair. So we had a couple of hours kip.

We rose with the sun, had breakfast and pushed off.

The last stage is short, pretty and trends downhill. That’s a nice way to finish an epic ride, so thank you to Andy Berne for a final act of kindness to his riders.

And so we finished. Not quite the ride we’d expected, but we’d ridden strongly, pushed through a few rough patches and knocked out around 750km in total. Neither of us is experienced at this multi-day lark, but I felt confident at the end, as if I’d passed some sort of apprenticeship.

Thank you to all the organisers, volunteers and controllers who made the ride happen. You rose to meet the challenge of Floris with impeccable grace and fortitude. It was a privilege to share the adventure with you.

In Stage Two I’ll talk about equipment and if I can face it there will be a Stage Three where I’ll pontificate about lessons learned.