South Downs Way - part 1

South Downs Way : 1-way

by Paget Cohen

When an email from an old school friend inviting me to his stag do arrived in my inbox a couple of months ago I was delighted.  When I read that it involved cycling I couldn't believe my luck although my mind immediately started racing as to the logistics of the whole thing.  For a start I didn't think I had a bike up to it, my mountain bike being a Diamondback Traverse - a 20 year old, steel-framed, suspension-free beast with less tread on the tyres than my hybrid.  Having investigated hire charges and sought advice I changed my mind and invested in a pair of Continental Explorers filled with Slime.  A trial run down to Willingdon and along the SDW back to Glynde convinced me that myself and the bike could cope provided I took care and there was no terrain more severe than the track down to Alfriston.

Day 1 : Thursday 11th July

A 7:30 start was stipulated so at 7:15 I found myself barrelling down to my mate Phil's in Horam for the pick up.  Over an hour later the prospective groom Simon, his younger brothers Laurence and Robin, fiancee Clare, old school friend Kevin and the groom's father Roger arrived with 1 car and a stretch Transit on hire.  With only seating for 6 in the van Clare would accompany us to Winchester then leave the lads to it.  None of my companions were couch potatoes, but nor were they serious cyclists so equipment was what they could lay hands on.  Phil had salvaged a full-suspension, very purple Universal Odessa for £10 from the local tip;  the brothers Butler shared a Schwinn and a Reebok Altitude both with front shocks and an unsprung Raleigh something-or-other much like my steed;  Kevin bravely opted to use the Trek hybrid that he'd normally use for his 11 mile commute, albeit freshly shod with Schwalbe off-road tyres.  I'd assumed we'd either arrange regular meet-ups with the van to take on food and/or stop at a shop or cafe if necessary, but all the others (except Kevin and his rear panniers) bore rucksacks.  I'd also assumed (wrongly) that at least one other rider would have plotted our route, but none had, so as the only one armed with maps I was nominated navigator.

After the obligatory photo in front of the Alfred Memorial we hit the trail at midday in bright sunshine.  Before we even re-crossed the M3 I blotted my copybook by taking the wrong path, but soon realised my error and got us back on track, where, ,without even trying, I left the others behind on the first uphill.  I had hoped and expected to see things I'd never normally see , but on the first climb to Cheesefoot Head I turned a corner to the rear aspect of middle-aged man in the nude and a partially undressed female of a similar age.  It seemed only polite to wish them a 'good afternoon' and they had found some more clothes before anyone else came round the same bend.  Before we'd even crossed the A272 for the 2nd time we'd had stops to reinflate a tyre, permit a large group of Asian or South American riders pass the other way and to check on Robin, who was struggling with knee pain, so progress was slow.

Beacon Hill from the West is patently the easy way and we all enjoyed the fast tarmac descent to the pretty riverside village of Exton.  After a pleasantly shady stretch along a former railway line there followed a dirt track made horribly bumpy by the dry weather.  Worse was to come near the fort at the top of Old Winchester Hill - a sharp left turn, two steps and a narrow, seemingly vertical rutted ramp.  After several attempts to ride it came to abrupt halts on the pockmarked surface I walked half of it and remounted where the surface improved.  A regrouping for a lunch-stop preceded a downhill cattle dodge to some fishing lakes where they kindly let us top up our water-bottles in the clubhouse kitchen.  Any attempts to pedal Salt Hill were thwarted by a large tree root then an intruding bush in quick succession.  Some of us got going again, but the Butlers were struggling and as time wore on collectively we were averaging less than 5mph, so before the fantastic swoop down Butser Hill we rang Mr Butler Senior to meet us in Buriton rather than Cocking, 12 miles further, as originally intended.  For hardcore MTBers doing the SDW it must be seriously tempting to stop and play in the Queen Elizabeth Country Park, but us weary amateurs managed to resist.  The conundrum of the 6-seater van was resolved by my volunteering to ride the few miles to our overnight accommodation in Steep.  Of course with the navigator absent the van took a wrong turn and I arrived outside the Cricketers Inn 10-15 minutes before them.  Still there was a group of cyclists enjoying a drink outside and a cycle shop opposite, both good signs.