Martin's Ronde Picardie 2005
10th September 2005
The violent thunderstorms of the night before had given way to a misty haze at the start line in Abbeville. I nearly hadn't made it. The hotel in Abbeville I had booked in May e-mailed three days earlier to say they had made a mistake in accepting my booking (French for they had not realised in May it was the Ronde Picarde and had got a much better offer?). The nearest available alternative was an hour's drive outside Abbeville. From the channel tunnel we had rushed to the town to try to register. We got there in the fading light at 8.15 a quarter of an hour after they had closed and they were packing up. One of the organisers started to look for my number and chip but then was overruled by another. They disagreed on whether I should be there to register at 6.30 or 7.00 the next morning. They were however agreed that the start was at 8.00. We then got hopelessly lost in the dark and thunderstorms on Friday night following the Somme in the wrong direction trying to find our hotel. We finally got there exhausted and I asked in my best broken French for an alarm call at 6.00 (yes that's 5.00 over here), that seemed to be no problem. No there would be no chance of any breakfast that early in the morning.
At 6.30 the next morning the alarm call came through. Massive panic. Children sleepwalked into the car. I munched a roll left over from the previous night's picnic as we made our way to the 'peage' to try to save time. Had to stop at the services to fill the car and empty myself. 
I stopped near the Town Hall blocking someone's driveway to register at about 7.40. Happily by then there was not much of a queue. I quickly registered and returned to where I had left the car to unload my bike. No car, no bike, Kelly had had to move. Eventually I found her, grabbed the bike, put the wheels on, stuffed my back pockets full of bananas and cereal bars and pedalled of to the start 100m away. Not much of a warm up. I had made it to the start a minute or two before 8.00. I needn't have worried though, the race did not start on time and there was therefore time to pose for a photo. Eventually we got going.
I started almost at the very back and had the unusual experience of passing loads of people for the first few miles before I found a bunch that I could settle into. Then came a long climb which strung us out but I found to my amazement I was not the slowest climber on the road. That's the advantage I suppose of having such a massive field of entrants. I was proudly sporting my Thames Velo top and it was at the end of that climb that it was recognised. A man with a northern accent pulled up to me and between pants for breath shouted a string of words only some of which I grasped - muttering "Fred Whitton", "Never Again" or something along those lines.
By now we had turned off into a narrow lane and descending the other side of the hill. Before either my request for a repeat of the message or enquiry as to from whom I should say it came was audibly answered we had to single up and then at the steepest narrowest part of the lane an ambulance, rather as though it was bored and hoping to create some work, was slowly crawling down the road in the swirling mist. By the time I had picked my way past the ambulance I had lost touch with the chap which is a pity as that was the longest conversation I had over the whole ride.
Before long the mist started to lift and the sun came out. There was hardly a breath of wind and it was a glorious day. The route was also now flat. I was in a small group and could see a large one in the distance ahead. I decided it would be worth making it up to the larger group. I struggled over several miles to do it. What I hadn't realised until half a dozen people sprinted past me just before I got there was how many people I had been dragging with me. It was worth the effort. I stayed with this group for probably 20 miles, it was going at the right pace for me and it was so large I couldn't have got to the front of it if I had wanted to. Then another climb came and I was unable to hold on. I was on my own as we went through the seaside town of Ault. Passed a woman by the side of the road with a neck brace being loaded into an ambulance. Hope she was ok. Just after that as we rode along the coast a large group of about 20 caught me up. I have no idea where these people could possibly have come from. They can't have started behind me since I had been at the back. Surely they hadn't all turned up late for the race or all got punctures. Had they all stopped for croissants in a pavement cafe? One of those cycling mysteries I have yet to fathom. Wherever they came from they were just what I needed and I took a ride to the food stop.
I had now covered 96km and realised my time was much better than last year's. I therefore did not stop long and found myself again on my own. At the 'bifurcation' I was happy I had opted for the 135km rather than 185km. As I struggled up an incline a streak of pink went past me. On the flat I caught up and latched onto her rear wheel. My computer was recording 22 mph. I struggled for a few minutes with the feeling that this must be ungallant however powerful she was and then summoned up the energy to pass her so she cold take my wheel. A few minutes later she came by with an invitation "Shall we work together?" I thought we had been so we continued to do so. Conversation was difficult and I gathered no more than that my partner was from Birmingham. This arrangement seemed to work well and it wasn't long before we caught up with 3 or 4 French guys and almost got a through and off going. After some confusion over the correct route over the very last part I got to the finish line with a time of 04:24:40 just scraping a 'Brevet d'Or' and achieving a time nearly a full hour less than my effort last year which just shows the benefit of joining a club.
Off to town for a well deserved French meal or two. I popped into the Mercure hotel and asked to book a room for next year. Too late they are fully booked.
Verdict: this is a great ride particularly for a novice like me. In every village we passed through the route was lined by cheering spectators. Next year I plan to do the 185km.
Martin Porter
Thames Velo CC