🚴‍♂️ London-Wales-London 2025

Ever since I bought a bike back in 2013, I’ve been fascinated by long rides. It didn’t take long before I was venturing further than I could cope with. I remember that first summer, where I planned a route at home, printed out the cue sheet telling me what roads and turns to take, and held it awkwardly in my hand as I covered what felt like a gargantuan 70 miles. Neither the paper nor my fingers were in good shape after that ride, so I soon bought a cheap Garmin to make the route available to me through a handlebar-mounted sat-nav. It was revolutionary. The next year, in the early Spring, I managed my first century ride, covering 100 miles by riding to Silverstone and back. I had the bug. One year later — and ten years ago this month — I tackled Ride 999, a nine-day, 900 mile ride from London to Milan.

Last year I was on a business trip to New York when a friend from my cycling club announced that sign-ups for the 407km London-Wales-London Audax ride would open in the early hours the next day. This was the last thing at night for me, so I was in the perfect spot to secure a place. I’ve signed up to many events in the past that I’ve not shown up to, typically because of freezing temperatures or incessant rain. But I figured that for £29 it was worth it to at least have the option of riding. I signed up, paid the money, put it in the diary and went to bed.

Liam FitzPatrick, the enthusiastic organiser of the event, got in touch via email in late November and again at Christmas. These were handy reminders that I’d signed up to something significant. I think at this point I’d started to mentally commit to doing it, but knew — and kept telling anyone who would listen — that if there was torrential rain forecast for the whole weekend I wouldn’t feel bad about pulling out.

In late March, thoughts about the ride moved into the foreground. I read the super detailed and incredibly helpful pre-event notes in the emails that Liam sent out. We were well warned that rear flashing lights would not be tolerated under any circumstances. On Saturday mornings, I usually ride with the 16–17mph group at the bike club, but I knew that I would be much slower at this distance once refuelling stops and fatigue were factored in. At 12mph, setting off from the start at 6am would see me back to the final checkpoint by around 3am. I started to worry that my big front light wouldn’t last the ride. I bought it in 2021 to tackle a 300km Audax but had only used it for a couple of hours before consigning it to a drawer. Last week I tested it by charging it to full and running it flat, but I was still worried that it wouldn’t last for a whole night. Fortunately, the manufacturer created a rechargeable battery that straps to your bike to keep things going, so I picked one up from an online store. I also bought a second rear light so that I had a spare in case the first one wouldn’t last.

As the week of the ride arrived, I couldn’t stop myself from checking the weather forecast multiple times a day. Early in the week, Epic Ride Weather was predicting a bit of mid-ride rain, but as the days rolled by the probability of getting wet evaporated. Aside from the near-constant side wind, the biggest challenge was going to be the temperature changes. Cool when I set off from home, hot in the middle of the ride and then cold by the time we got back. I decided to buy arm warmers and leg warmers, bits of kit that I had never used before, as they could be easily taken off and stuffed into a jersey pocket or one of my small bike bags.

I was soon to find out the difference between ‘feels like 10°C’ and ‘feels like 4°C’.

On Wednesday I took my bike for a safety check at my local bike shop and asked them to swap out my old brake pads for new ones. I’d bought the brake pads a few months ago as I realised I’d been riding my bike for a couple of years and hadn’t changed them. But I’ve never swapped disc brake pads over before and hadn’t got round to fitting them. I figured that trying to do it myself for the first time a few days before a big ride was a recipe for disaster. When I picked the bike up they told me that it was in good shape but would need a proper service soon. I also learned from them that brake disc rotors are a consumable part and that they wear out — I had no idea.

I took Friday off work to relax, eat, charge all the things and prep my kit so that I could just wake up and go on Saturday morning. Fellow rider Mary and I had agreed to meet in the high street at 4:30am for the hour-long ride to Chalfont St Peter, ideally picking up Dave and Ian on our way through Chesham, and giving us half an hour at the start to grab our brevet cards and faff about. I tried to get to bed early, but my excitement for the ride and anxiety that I would somehow miss my alarm meant that sleep was fragmented and light. I ended up waking just before 4am and turned off my alarms before they even went off.

Despite not being hungry at 4am, I wolfed down half a bowl of muesli and granola as I knew from past experience that a lot of the day would be about managing food consumption. I started to get my kit on. It was 10°C and rising outside, so I decided that I didn’t need to don my leg warmers. But I also didn’t have enough room to stuff them in anywhere. Not thinking clearly about the forecast, I left them at home. This was a mistake.

Ready to go, complete with a note left by my wife after I’d gone to bed.

Mary was waiting for me in the High Street. After some quick hellos and knowing looks at each other that said ‘I can’t believe we’re up this early and doing this’, we hit our first hill of the day. I shared my live location to our group on WhatsApp so that Dave and Ian would be able to see when we were approaching their houses. We didn’t spot Dave, but Ian suddenly appeared behind us and quickly took the lead to guide us to the start.

There was a buzz in the air as the riders said hello to familiar faces and were greeted by the smiling volunteers who signed us in and handed each of us our Audax brevet card. This card has a box for each of the places that we are required to prove that we’ve been to, either by getting it validated by a volunteer at a mandatory control stop, writing down the answer to a question (such as ‘What is written on the house at X?’) or getting a time-stamped receipt from an ATM or a local shop. Each stop has both an earliest and latest time of arrival, with the gaps between them widening as the ride progresses. At the end of the ride, you hand over the completed card and receipts at the finish for final validation.

Checking in and anticipating what was to come.

Some light breakfast items were on offer, so I made myself a couple of slices of toast that I slathered with butter and honey. It had been over an hour since my half bowl of muesli and I knew I’d have to keep forcing food down me, even when I didn’t feel like eating.

Second breakfast.

At the start we caught up with Dave, as well as Ed whom I hadn’t met before. One of the team had a longer than expected visit to the loo, so we finally got pedalling a few minutes after ride organiser Liam gave his introduction and set everybody off on their journey.

Listening to Liam Fitzpatrick give his final instructions before we set off.

Ready to go at the start. (Photo: Ian Biller)

Our pace in the first stint was good, but probably a little too high. It can be difficult when riding in a group to slow down; you tend to be carried along by whoever is setting the pace at the front, tucking in behind them to take advantage of the drafting effect. If you lose the group, you may end up having to pedal even harder than when you were with them. We passed many groups and individual riders which gave me the impression that we were making good progress.

We soon reached the first mandatory control stop in Islip, 61km from the start. This is a typical distance for a Saturday morning club ride, but today we’d only covered 15% of the journey. The catering was superb, with sausage baps (even veggie ones), hash browns, croissants and all kinds of other breakfast things on offer. Two hours after my second breakfast, it was time for my third.

Third breakfast at the Islip control.

As we set off again, the sun was out and we had started to warm up. I wasn’t quite ready to put away my cosy gilet and arm warmers, but I think I took the gilet off somewhere along the way to Tewkesbury, our next stop at the 145km mark.

Setting off from Islip. (Photo: Ed Hems)

For the next stint, we started to drop Dave a little bit. He was never too far behind, but didn’t stay with the group. It was understandable given that he had run the London Marathon the weekend before; it was slightly crazy that he was doing this event at all. He had told me that the trick with a ride like this is that you need to ride it at your own pace, and he was absolutely right.

I always seem to look this pained when taking a bike-riding selfie.

I’ve ridden through the beautiful villages of the Cotswolds quite a few times. Guiting Power is my favourite, a little oasis in the middle of rolling countryside. I’ve stopped there occasionally to refuel at The Old Post Office cafe, but not this time. We breezed through, passing people enjoying themselves as they spilled out across the street outside.

Tewkesbury was familiar to me as I stopped there on my previous Audax ride. As we entered the town we stopped to regroup. As we waited, we were approached by the town crier dressed in fabulous full regalia. I resisted the urge to ask him “what have you come as?” He was good-humoured and told us that he was new in the job. Looking him up after the ride, I found out that his name is Richard Whincup and he has been on an incredible journey to overcoming a profound stammer and land this role.

The Tewkesbury Town Crier. I resisted the opening quip of “What have you come as?” (Photo: Ian Biller)

I remembered where I stopped for food last time and suggested we roll through the town to find it again. Coffee #1 was just what we needed. Locking our bikes together outside the shop we bought ourselves coffees, crisps, cakes and toasted sandwiches.

Before I knew it, we were rolling again, this time tackling the 41km to Walford, situated right next to Ross-on-Wye. This was the only information control of the ride — where we had to write down the answer to a question on the brevet card — before continuing to ride another 28km to Chepstow, just inside the Welsh border.

Climbing up Symonds Yat was hard. I’ve done longer and more difficult climbs, but this was the closest that I’ve ever come to getting off of the bike and walking. I was out of the saddle and grinding away in first gear, huffing and puffing my way to the top, where I found the others waiting.

Made it up the Symonds Yat climb! (Photo: Ian Biller)

As we set off again, things started to get weird. I didn’t feel like I could keep up with Ian, Mary and Ed and let them go. I needed to ride at my own pace. They soon disappeared out in front. Dave also disappeared from behind me, so for the first time I was on my own. I was feeling bizarre; a little light-headed, cold and shivery despite the sun beating down on us. I wasn’t bonking as I still had energy to pedal, but I didn’t feel like I was making good decisions such as where I was steering. The ride into Chepstow is via a series of descents, which I perhaps should have slowed more on than I did. Arriving at the border I found the others waiting for me, greeting me with shouts of “You’re in Wales!” I think my response was “I feel a bit f— up”, which quickly changed the mood. They sprang into action, quickly agreeing that we should head to control. I gingerly made my way through the town and got stuck at a traffic light that turned red after everyone else had all passed through. When the light went green I struggled to clip back into my pedal and instead rode my bike up the hill like I was on a skateboard, propelling myself along with my left foot. I missed the turn to the control and ended up at a difficult and busy junction. Instincts told me that I had gone too far, so I called Ian to check. Trundling back down the hill, I found the building and parked up. I was so grateful for the stop.

A week later, Ian told me that at this point he wanted to tell me to quit as I looked dreadful, but he decided not to say anything as he felt it was each rider’s decision as to whether they could do it and wanted to continue. All I remember was that the others cared about me and were keen to make sure I got some food and warmed up.

I sat shivering as we sat eating delicious bowls of chilli and drinking tea. After the second bowl, I turned my attention to the home-made cakes on the tables, munching away on the most delicious ginger cake. I was starting to feel a bit like myself again. I’m still not sure if I was dehydrated, low on sugar, or if something else was going on.

I’ve never needed a bowl of chilli more. (Photo: Ed Hems)

All of the volunteers at the stops were so incredibly lovely. At this stop they asked us to bring our water bottles inside and put them on a table. By the time we were ready to leave we found that they had been refilled for us.

I think this is where I started to find things a little tough mentally. It had been a good, solid ride to Wales but now it was early evening — albeit a beautiful one — and I knew we had to cycle all the way back again. We set off as a group of five and made our way down to the old Severn Bridge that crosses the River Wye before spanning the River Severn. Crossing the bridge is a sweet moment when you realise that you’ve made it there from home, under your own steam on two wheels.

Across the Severn Bridge (Photo: Ed Hems)

As we got to the end of the bridge I realised I couldn’t keep up with Ed, Mary and Ian. I hung back with Dave for a few minutes, but the next time I looked behind me he was quite far behind me, so I decided to keep ‘tapping it out’ at my own pace. This was the first ride I’ve done where I’ve been conscious of my heart rate, which I made visible on my Garmin’s default screen. I tried to keep it at or below a number where I know from an ‘active recovery’ ride on my indoor trainer that I’m working, but not too hard. At this point, I mentally resigned myself to riding the rest of the route on my own. I figured that if I could just keep turning the pedals and keeping my heart rate where I wanted it, eventually I’d make it to the next stop. The sun had started to go down, so I stopped to turn on my lights.

Riding alone is a very different experience to riding in a group. I find that my inner monologue doesn’t shut up, and I have to try and keep it on positive thoughts or listening to whatever music is on my ‘inner radio’. Just keep going Andrew, you’ll get there. My main focus at this point was on keeping the chilli and cakes down. A climb took me to what I now know is the Somerset Monument, a giant column at the top of a hill, but I could only think “oh, that’s interesting” as I didn’t know what it was at the time.

The Somerset Monument. When I cycled up to this I was on my own and had no idea what it was. (Photo: Ed Hems)

I kept pedalling. Passing some roadworks and reaching the top of the hill I came across a petrol station, which I thought would be a great place to refill my water bottles. As I pulled in I found Mary, Ian and Ed had also pulled up. I was baffled when they told me that they had only been there for a couple of minutes or so; I hadn’t been riding hard, and yet there they were. Ed suggested that we ride as a group from this point onwards as it was now dusk and the temperature had started to drop. I protested and told them to go on if they felt they could do it — I figured that nobody wanted to be out longer than necessary (not that any of this ride was strictly necessary) — but they insisted. Inside, I was so glad.

Cycling into dusk. (Photo: Ian Biller)

The next control, at Lambourn, was over 100km on from our previous stop. Our big night lights went on before we got to the checkpoint. I found myself getting dazzled by some of the rear lights from riders ahead. I should have cleaned my glasses as they were covered in sweat stains and salt, which gave me a lot of glare. It felt better when I was on the front of our group, but I wasn’t strong enough to take the lead role for very long.

Dark and difficult. (Photo: Ian Biller)

When I wasn’t thinking about how cold I was getting, riding in the dark was special. Owls darted in front of us as they flew from one tree to another. Rabbits decided it was a great time to run across the road as we approached, at one point causing us to brake heavily to avoid hitting one, as it suffered from indecision of which way to turn.

Lambourn was a beautiful sight as the outdoor team with reflective jackets and torches directed us towards the control. They told us that we could wheel our bikes into the hall, which meant there was less faffing around to secure them and find the things we wanted to bring in. Empathy oozed from the volunteers as they told us what a fantastic job we had done to get this far. They couldn’t have been more thoughtful and caring, offering us tea, coffee, biscuits, beans on toast, more bowls of hot chilli and words of encouragement. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I had to keep eating, piling some fig rolls and Bourbon creams on top of the beans on toast. I was now really struggling to get warm — I really could have done with those leg warmers that I left at home — and asked the group whether they minded me getting another hot drink before we set off. At this point, I remember texting my wife and saying that I didn’t want to go out again. Dave turned up as we were finishing our food and getting ready to leave. It was so good to see him, but I didn’t have a lot of chat and banter left in me. This would be the last time we’d meet on the ride.

Lambourn. The last time we saw Dave. I’m texting my wife to say I didn’t want to go back out in the cold again. (Photos: Ian Biller)

I really didn’t want to go out again. But I knew I would. Having come this far, I couldn’t abandon the ride now.

On a ride like this you get to see the same people, sometimes passing them or having them pass you if one of you is faster but spends more time at the controls. In my head I’d started recognising ‘Great Britain Lady’ (who was wearing a white ‘Great Britain’ cycling top) and ‘Long White-Haired Guy and his Black-Coated Female Friend’. At this control it amused me that someone else started talking about ‘Great Britain Lady’ out loud.

The hot drinks caught up with me on our way to Henley-on-Thames. I wasn’t alone; two of our group stopped for a wee which I only noticed when they later overtook me, surprising me as I thought they were in front. Our next destination was a petrol station in Henley where we had to pick up a receipt, but I wasn’t sure whether there would be a toilet. Finding a convenient gate next to a field where I could park my bike, I made a sudden decision to stop. I did what I needed to do, got bitten a couple of times in the legs and then tried to set off again. It was here that I learned how much I rely on visual feedback when I clip into my pedals. I tried a few times and failed, so eventually had to point one of my front lights towards the floor so I could see what I was doing. I was now on my own, but not for long; in another act of kindness, I found Ian waiting for me at a junction a few hundred metres up the road. Little things like this mean so, so much when you’re cold and tired. I was feeling quite emotional.

The petrol station at Henley was a bizarrely happy memory. We queued to use the Starbucks self-serve coffee machine. I grabbed myself a hot chocolate and a Cadbury’s Boost, remembering to ask for a receipt and wondering how many Audax riders fail because they forget the receipt part. It was 1:15am and we were sitting around in a petrol station with a bunch of knackered strangers who were also on the same crazy quest. As I queued to use the toilet — they had one, after all — another rider said to me, “You’re not doing okay, are you?” I told him that I hadn’t packed enough warm clothes and was freezing cold. He said “come here”, put his arms around me and gave me a warm hug for about five minutes, with his wife — a fellow rider — standing beside us.

We were now only 32km from the ‘arrivee’, our final control back at the start. This was half the distance of a usual Saturday morning club ride. Despite being cold, I knew I could do it.

1:15am in a petrol station in Henley.

We got ready to set off, but just as we were about to go I saw that the LED indicators on my lights had turned red, which meant they were about to run out of charge. I changed the rear one and then faffed around with the front, plugging it into the battery pack. The others could have got annoyed at me, but they didn’t.

The last stretch of the journey was bizarre. We found ourselves going up a single track road at 2:30am to suddenly hear the surprising shout of “car back” followed by a reply of “really‽” Why were these cars going up such a remote road at this time of night? The climbs were feeling larger than they were, but it wasn’t surprising after more than 400km of riding.

We rolled into Chalfont St Peter at 3am, greeted by yet more amazingly chipper volunteers. Once again they let us roll our bikes into the control, which made everything just that little bit easier. I recognised Richard Bragg at the validation table, who made quick work of reviewing and stamping our cards to say that we’d completed the course. We’d done it!

My completed brevet card. Six hours to spare.

The volunteers offered us a bowl of pasta and some cherry Bakewell cakes because…why not? I started to think about whether pasta at 3am made any sense, but quickly put the thought out of my mind. Trying to make sense of everything again could start tomorrow.

My cuddly friend rolled in a few minutes later. As we ate and contemplated what we had done, he kindly offered me his waterproof jacket for my 25km ride back to my house, provided I posted it back to him. I said thanks but no; I thought I’d be able to tackle the route home without too much trouble. How much colder could I get in the space of an hour?

All done, ready to head back into the night for the hour ride home.

Ian guided us back to Chesham, and from there we knew the way back to Berkhamsted via the main roads. Climbing out of Chesham to Ashley Green I lost Mary but caught her again at the top. We parted ways as we finally entered Berkhamsted, with the sun coming up. I live on a hill and usually ride up my steep driveway, but I wasn’t going to attempt it today. I found that I couldn’t unclip from my pedal outside my house so had to crawl past it to the top of the hill, unclip and then walk back down. It was 5am, the sun was coming up, and I could see the mist from my breath across the beam of my front light.

A shower wasn’t enough to warm me up. I found some pyjamas and got into bed, shivering. Eventually I got to sleep.

A week on from the ride, my main feeling is one of gratitude. For Liam FitzPatrick, who had organised a brilliant event, for the volunteers that looked after us at all of the major controls, and for my riding companions who showed so much empathy and care, particularly when I had the ‘Chepstow dip’. Despite at some point asking my friends never to let me sign up to anything like this again, I’ve already been peeking at the Audax calendar to see what’s next.