It’s 5.30am on a Saturday. The air is cold and crisp, bitingly sharp on the lungs. My fingers and toes are satisfyingly numb with the cold. Behind us, away to the east, the sky is starting to crimson below a thin line of grey clouds, and the warming air will soon shroud the water with a glorious fine mist that will scatter the dawn light. The rest of the sky is a deep Prussian blue dusted with stars. We are riding west towards Orion, his belt and sword gleaming bright. Overlooking it all is the glowing Beaver Moon that has accompanied us throughout the ride so far, casting shadows from the undercliff and picking out the tops of breaking waves. It is the perfect moment for our little group. We are, after all, Moonrakers and Sunseekers.

There are few people around. We are greeted enthusiastically with bright ‘good morning’s by a small group of giggly teenagers who have probably been hanging around the beach all night, and make our way past occasional yawning dog-walkers, but the undercliff promenade mostly belongs to cyclists. Looking ahead you can see the occasional distant rear light bobbing along, and white lights to our rear, and we can spot our own kind as clearly as a glow-worm can. When we hit the sea front at Boscombe there were eight or ten of us in our little group; others dropped away as they stopped for a rest or to enjoy the scene until by the end of the promenade only Graeme and I were left together.

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Poole marked the halfway point of the ride and a few kilometres later we stopped at our control point to get some breakfast and to reflect on the first 150km. We had set off from Bristol at 10.20pm on Friday night, in a group of about a quarter of the 200 riders from all over the country. The light rain that met our departure soon cleared and our group started to thin out, and soon any hill we climbed was thronged with riders spread out like a long string of twinkling Christmas lights. It was my first overnight ride and it felt like riding in another world; the city traffic faded away and we moved through a monochrome countryside under an increasingly starry sky. We passed through empty towns and villages and dark woodlands, and quiet grey fields that swept into the distance. The moon illuminated everything from behind a thin veil of cloud in the same way that the sun’s light is diffused in a hazy sky, and contrasts in the landscape were beautifully muted. It cast a spell that was only broken at our two controls at Devizes and Salisbury, where we had to stop to get our passage cards (‘Brevets’) stamped to prove we had passed through on time. We left Salisbury a little before 3am, ahead of both the time limit and our own expectations.

From Salisbury we followed the A338 south towards Ringwood; a busy road that ordinarily would be unpleasant to cycle on but at the time of night was fast and clear. Numerous HGVs passed us but all slowed down, waited for a gap and gave us a wide berth as they carefully overtook. It was 3.30m, a cool mist was starting to form over the lowlands, we were ahead of time and feeling good.

And then we approached two other riders who were fixing a puncture by the roadside and, as we gave them the customary offer of help, Graeme hit a pothole. We found it later that it was the same one that one of the other riders had hit and punctured both tyres on. Graeme shouted that he had punctured and we pulled onto the grass verge to replace the tyre. This took a while – the Schwalbe tyre was really tight and we couldn’t get it off as much as we struggled. Minutes passed without progress and suddenly I felt isolated. We felt a long way from anywhere, unable to continue but unable to resolve the issue, and I was glad there were two of us there working together. Starting to get cold, I flagged down a small group and before we knew it we had an extra eight eyes – and, critically, 32 more fingers – to help. Everyone had a go and eventually a guy with fingers like steel persuaded the tyre off so we could replace the inner. I could have hugged him; they sped on, Graeme for the repair sorted, and we were on our way again.

The puncture had cost us 20 minutes but had also given us our longest stop so far, and we set off well refreshed. We caught up with other people and started to form a small group as weary legs found it easier to ride in a pack. We swung through Ringwood and Christchurch before turning right through Boscombe, and ending up with our jacket potato breakfast in Poole.

I’d never had a jacket potato for breakfast before but what a great idea. Topped with beans and accompanied by sausages and tea, with toast and marmalade for dessert, we were soon energised and ready to go again. The route swept north and upward through all the glorious shades of red and yellow that you’d associate with a Dorset autumn. It’s a wonderful part of the country for cycling and the route chosen popped with vibrant colour in the early morning light, a real contrast to the monochromatic grey of the hours before. The climbs rolled and were never hard, reaching the crest at the well-named View Coffee Shop at Milton Abbas – officially an optional stop but worth it for the friendly welcome and amazing views back down towards Purbeck and Poole. We carried on along a wonderful route through Sherborne, where we stopped to raise a hip flask to our longest ride ever (212km at that point), our double century, 12 hours on the bike and less than 100km to go. One more ridge and we were over onto the levels. We had to get a receipt to show we had been to the services at Podimore and I’m slightly ashamed to say that a Burger King – although very much deserved! – won the day.

The next section was, for me, the hardest part of the ride. A straightforward route down through Glastonbury to Cheddar which was scenic and easy-to-ride but for me ruined by some of the worst drivers I have ever shared the road with. Overtaking on the approach to blind bends, driving straight at you on single-track sections that you were already halfway through and some horrible close passes. It wasn’t just me – another rider we chatted to had been on the end of verbal abuse and gestures without apparent cause. I have visited the area many times on camping and walking trips and loved it, but my experience of cycling was sadly totally different. I was glad when we got to Cheddar and we able to ease our sore arses off the saddles on a cool patch of grass for ten minutes and be away from the stress.

From Cheddar the route took us on the Strawberry Line back to Bristol, a nice gravel route that cuts through a gap in the Mendips just north of Axbridge and sweeps gently down into Bristol via Yatton and Backwell. It was a great choice for the route back in, keeping tired legs and brains well away from any traffic and the gravel is for the most part not unpleasant. The friendly Strawberry Line Cafe at Yatton was still open and we were awarded an extra strawberry sticker in addition to our official audax star. Like the eight-year-olds we are at heart, we left feeling very pleased about this.

And from there the Strawberry Line took us back to Bristol, where we got a bit lost looking for the pub I wanted to go to, and Graeme came a cropper on a rail near the M-Shed, and then we got a bit lost again trying to find the arrivée. This general mucking about meant that we didn’t get in until 17.45, a bit later than we should have, but still 45 minutes before the close. Our reward for our time of 19h25 was some big plates of dhal and rice and some leftover breakfast sausages, and it absolutely hit the spot. The organisers, by the way, were exceptional all day – we had a warm welcome and a laugh at every control and smiling faces really make an event.

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An hour later, the train ride home gave me time to think about our achievement. In Audax terms, 300km is fairly commonplace, and I would estimate that we had 200 riders on Moonrakers and Sunseekers. But regardless of how normal it might be for regulars, 300km is a really long way to ride, and it’s only when you look at a regional map that it really sinks in how far you’ve gone. And to do it with a 10pm start, so not having slept for potentially 36 hours by the time you finish, is quite exceptional. I don’t know many friends or colleagues from everyday life that would be able to complete a ride like this even if they were motivated to. Fortunately, I have one good friend who loves cycling too and we manage to keep each other happy and motivated on and off the bike and so Graeme – thank you, I don’t think I would have taken this on without you and as ever it was a pleasure to share the road with you.

On to the next. Anyone know a good 400?

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