RAB write-up, day 2: Okehampton to Bath

Planned route: 113.9mi, 7,463ft
Actual route: 113.8mi, 7,635ft

Day 2: more of the same. Another tough day, with seven and a half thousand feet of elevation, in 114 miles. And to make matters worse, it's straight after the brutal day 1...

For me, it was another early start, up at 4.45 and having breakfast by 5am. I was aching quite badly in places, but felt a bit more confident than I had the night before, as I knew that the aches would loosen up when I got going. I was also trying very hard to take comfort in the fact that, although marginally longer than even the extended first day had turned out to be, the day ahead promised less elevation. Still a lot, but less... and it's marginal differences like this that I seized on throughout RAB. When you're hurting, you take your motivation where you can find it, right? The big change from day 1 was that the elevation was more concentrated - there are three big climbs on day 2, whereas day 1 is just lots of climbs. But we'll come to those three later...

Being a long day, the start line was officially open at 6.30am, though Strava tells me I was on my way at 6.25. It's cool, literally, starting in the dark and in a light mist - everyone has their back lights on, and it looks atmospheric. Of course the light mist is not so much fun for the spectacles-wearing cyclist - it is effectively doubled. The cooler temperature meant starting with arm warmers on again too, but I knew from the forecast that these wouldn't be needed for long, and that the mist wouldn't last either. There were a few grippy sections early on, especially near Cadbury (not that one), and by the time I got to the first pit stop, which was around 38 miles in, well, I was ready for it. By this point, my aches and pains had loosened up, and I was feeling okay. Not great, but okay. That was about to change.

Approaching the entry to the pit stop, I got myself unclipped in good time. Marshals were out in the road warning of a gravelly entrance to the pit stop field, so I rolled slowly through the gate, mindful of my tyres... a bit too slowly, as it turned out. My front wheel got stuck in a rocky rut and twisted, pitching me to the left. I was still clipped in on that side and had no time to unclip: down I went, with an almighty crash, and no small embarrassment. I got myself up, shaking off all offers of help, and went off to rack my bike and dust myself down. Only at that point did I notice that my big ring had chainsawed through the back of my right leg in the fall, making a nice deep three-inch cut. There was a good lot of claret running down into my sock too (I'll spare you the picture). A quick poke and prod revealed that the cut was deep enough to expose the layer of sub-cutaneous fat (a thin layer, I'm pleased to say) and, more worryingly, seemed to be full of chain oil. Whilst eating my pit stop fuel, I decided I probably needed to see the medic - the first of many visits. To his credit, the medic seemed unconcerned, and when I asked whether it needed butterfly strips to hold it together (it had opened quite wide at this point) he said no, and added that they would probably only come off as I sweated anyway. In the end, we opted to simply cover it with a very big plaster, to stop it getting any dirtier, and review it in the evening if I had any further discomfort. As for the fact that it was full of chain oil, well, there didn't seem to be too much grit embedded in the oil, so the extent of the cleaning was limited to a quick swish around with an alcohol wipe.

Although I cursed my stupidity, I was lucky really. A bit lower and the cut would have been on my Achilles; a bit higher and it would have been into the meat of my calf muscle. Both of those would have been more painful and potentially problematic. As it was, the cut had no real impact on my ability to cycle. Just as well, eh...?

The first big hill of the day was Cothelstone, which my cycling sensei had warned me was a ballache. And she was right. I arrived at Cothelstone after about 57 miles, to the sight of many cyclists dismounted and walking up. Now I knew from studying the segment online that the steepest part of the hill is the first bit, so I took a cautious approach, cycled as far as I could up that first section, then dismounted whilst I still had enough forward momentum to unclip without taking another tumble and making an arse of myself again. Then I walked up the rest of the first section, before saddling up for the remaining two thirds. I feel some regret in this, but no shame: better cyclists than me, with nicer bikes too, were walking up that first stretch, and I still powered myself and my bike up, and that's what matters, right?

After Cothelstone, I was certainly ready for the second pit stop, which prepped me nicely for the day's next challenge: cycling up Cheddar Gorge. Now this wasn't as steep as Cothelstone but it went on... and on... and on. A roadsign at the bottom of the climb warned of walkers and road-side parking for the next three quarters of a mile, so I went into it expecting three quarters of a mile of climb. Foolish me. The ascent was more like two and a half miles of up, up, up. And it was really hot by this point too. Still, I got my head down, wiped the sweat and sun cream from my eyes, unzipped my jersey a bit and got stuck in. And I can say now it was one of the highlights of the ride for me. Here's the gorge from the air (which is picturesque but gives no real idea of the incline):

After Cheddar, I started to hurt in a new place. Long distance cycling is all about managing your contact points: hands, feet and rear end! And my rear end was starting to feel sore. Certainly by the time I got to Bath, I found I was rising out of the saddle more often, and for longer, and that lowering myself back onto the saddle was getting painful. Not good.

The day had another sting in the tail too. On previous RABs, day 2 was shorter and ended at the University of Bath, where riders would have a room in the student accommodation, rather than a tent, a bed rather than a sleeping bag, and their own en-suite shower. But COVID had put paid to that, so we had to cycle through Bath, and out the other side, on to a regular basecamp. This was a shame, as I'd been looking forward to a proper bed. Also, cycling through Bath was supposed to be nice, because of the architecture, but it was not: there was far too much traffic on the road, far too many junctions, far too many hill starts at traffic lights (never fun when clipping in and out of pedals) ... and all at the end of a long, hot day. I was glad to put Bath behind me.

The final kicker was a hill that in previous years had begun day 3: Bannerdown. A hill big enough and steep enough to support a local gliding club. Again, I had to surrender part-way up, and walk for some of this; again, I was far from the only one. It might well have been do-able at the start of the day, but not after 110 miles.

I was relieved to make it into basecamp: two days done which, 24 short hours earlier, had seemed near-impossible to me. I was sore but happy, and that happiness lasted until I got into the shower. Lovely, hot and relaxing... until bending down to wash the grime from my lower legs, I felt a sudden, acute pain from one of my saddle contact points. So sudden and acute was it that, at first, I wondered whether a wasp had joined me in the shower. A tentative exploratory feel of the sore area came away with a slough of my own skin! And that's how I discovered that not only had my saddle sore blistered but that the blister had split wide open. It hurt like a bugger, I can't put it any other way. Annoying too - I'd invested in decent shorts, and diligently applied chamois cream, all to no avail. Damn.

That evening, I did all the usual: phoned home, ate, updated my socials (hark at me), prepped my bike, drank tea, got to bed early. And through all that, all I was really thinking about was how I was going to cycle for seven more days and 750 more miles with a blistered bottom. A return visit to the medic to check the cut got me a liberal spray of iodine and a fresh plaster. Foolishly, I didn't mention my blister problem. On the plus side, I knew that since day 2 had been longer than in previous years, day 3 would be shorter, and started later too - I'd actually get an extra half hour in bed. Small mercies, right?

The evening ended on a high note, with an appearance at the briefing by Olympic silver medallist Elinor Barker, on hand to present riders who were on their third RAB with commemorative gold jerseys. It was nice to have something to cheer after a tough day.