I’m against picnics. I don’t see the point of preparing food and then carting it a few miles to a local park to consume it by which time it will be warm instead of cold or cold instead of hot and taste less good than if you’d stayed at home.
I’m against all picnics with one exception: picnics that take place on a bike.
Yesterday I packed myself a bike picnic. I loaded my pockets and my tiny crossbar picnic hamper and headed to the Olympic park to join 16,000 other picnickers to cycle 100 miles. Some were clearly anticipating being much less hungry than me. My packed lunch consisted of nine fig rolls, two cheese sandwiches and two Snickers bars.
A horn sounded and signalled the start of my 100 mile picnic, we were off and I chomped on my first fig roll as we made our way into the centre of London. Cycling along traffic-free streets, past the Tower of London, through Trafalgar Square and Harrods felt really special.
We made our way west and before I knew it we were entering Richmond Park having done 20 miles and four fig rolls. Two of my colleagues who’d started in a later wave cycled up alongside me and we had a chat before they sped off ahead. Four miles later a guy pulled up alongside, turned to get a better look at me and said: “I love your blog” before pedalling off. Two miles after that a Welsh guy turned his iPhone on and Bob Marley echoed from his handlebars, we had a brief chat and then he too cycled off.
50 mile loo and Snickers stop
The field of 16,000 riders was spread out enough that you could spot people you knew as you or they went past, it was friendly and people chatted to each other, and it was a long enough way that nobody was getting competitive with each other – at least not at my end of the event.
25 miles in my bum had started to hurt. A lot. How to complete three quarters of the race with a painful bum was beyond me. But after the first hill at 45 miles, I hopped off my bike to use a portaloo and eat the first of my Snickers. I had a chat with a guy from the West Midlands, took a photo and climbed back into the saddle a bit less sore.
Leith Hill was next. It was steeper than the first hill and every time you thought you were at the top, the road would turn and the hill continued. The road was narrow and when an emergency vehicle came up behind us, I stopped to let it pass and had to walk the last 50 meters. At the top cyclists were laid out on the side of the road resting, it seemed as good a place as any to stop, so I took out my first cheese sandwich and sat on the curb to eat it.
Top of Box Hill
The road dropped away beneath us as we sped down the other side of the hill while I told myself “Don’t break, don’t break, don’t break, OK break, break BREAK!” There were a couple of accidents but nobody seemed too badly injured and emergency teams were quick to the scene.
Box Hill loomed in the distance as we made our way towards the last big climb of the day. I drained the last from my drinks bottles and turned right onto the slope. And it wasn’t that bad. We were 65 miles in so climbing wasn’t great, but taking it steady I climbed slowly, reading the graffiti on the road that had been there for the past year originally written to cheer on Cav and Wiggo in the Olympic road race.
At the top of Box Hill the hard part of the day was over. I took a photo, took photos for other elated cyclists and sat down to eat my second sandwich. It was a good day to be up there looking out and it was a good day to be a cyclist.
I climbed onto my bike for the last time, sped off down the hill munching the last of my picnic as we headed back towards London. From 70 miles I knew the route well and it passed places I’d lived. We sped through Kingston where the crowd cheered as though we were the pros, through Wimbledon past people sat drinking outside my old local, cheering us on and back over the river towards the finish.
Ironically, as the road was closed to traffic, I sped along the last few miles towards the Houses of Parliament in the cycle lane. We turned into Trafalgar Square again and this time we went under Admiralty Arch and on to the Mall. The crowd roared as we headed towards the finish line, my bum was sore but it was worth it.
I finished in 7:48, which surprised me, but more importantly, was quicker than Boris Johnson.
Great effort! A former boss of mine attempted RAAM this year and saddle sores got so bad he had to abandon – have a look here: http://www.scottragsdale.com/2013/07/15/raam-13-dnf/
Congratulations! It sounds like an epic picnic and has reminded me of the existence of fig rolls. It has also made me wonder whether I should enter the ballot for next year- could be a nice change of discipline for summer after my first marathon in Spring.