RAB write-up, day 3: Bath to Ludlow

Planned route: 94.3mi, 5,318ft
Actual route: 93.71mi, 5,436ft

An extra half hour in bed, and a shorter day's ride. Joy! Starting the day with a scabby leg and a blistered bottom? Slightly less joyous, if I'm honest, but I was still in it: breakfast at five thirty, bag packed, decamped from Blue 98, kit bag stowed on the luggage lorry, bike retrieved from the rack and all ready to go, nice and early. And this isn't the greatest photo, but the slightly later start time made for some atmospheric views across basecamp, with plenty of long shadows cast by the floodlights:

Aside from the mist (again), it was a relatively easy start to the day, muscular aches and pains loosening up as the miles rolled by, in a reassuringly predictable way. The saddle sores hurt from the off, of course, particularly the right side, so I knew that the day's challenge would largely be about pain management. I had ordered the official photograph package - photographers were stationed at key points along the route, plus a pretty female photographer riding pillion on a motorbike, facing backwards, would whizz by periodically, snapping away. I'm glad I stumped up for this - I wouldn't have any pictures of myself doing RAB otherwise - but in the majority of the pictures I look like I'm suffering, in pain or at the very least in some discomfort. And that's because I was.

On the plus side, day 3 was much shorter than days 1 and 2 - indeed, after this year's route revision, it was the only day of the whole event to be less than 100 miles. So being in the saddle was painful... but it would be a shorter pain - that's what I was telling myself, as I trundled through the mist towards the Severn. For day 3 was the day we would cross (however briefly) into Wales. I had been looking forward to this, cycling over the old Severn Bridge, and was looking forward to getting some good photographs, as the mist lifted. Imagine my disappointment, then, on reaching the bridge to see that thick mist was lingering around the Severn, to the extent that from the middle of the bridge you couldn't see either shore. This really was the best photograph I managed, the first of two suspension towers just visible in the background:

I also took a minute, standing there on the bridge's cycle lane, to think about home and, more specifically, my son who, at that very moment, was arriving at high school for the very first time. This was the hardest thing on day 3, harder than the distance and the hills and the burning sun that would come later, harder than the many aches and pains, harder even than cycling on blisters - missing my son's first day at high school. RAB for me was originally scheduled for 2020, so this shouldn't have been a problem, but COVID put paid to that. To his credit, he seemed unconcerned about my absence, it was just me being a sentimental old man. I felt terrible, and wanted to be home and be with him more than I can explain. So I took a minute, just stood there on the bridge, to think about him, to think about what I was missing. I don't mind admitting I felt very emotional.

The day's first pit stop was just the other side of the crossing, in Chepstow. I had resolved to take more photographs (for which I was mostly using a Go-Pro knock-off, rather than my phone), and since the mist had gone within minutes of clearing the river, I got a nice clear shot of Chepstow Castle, which was adjacent to the pit.

Olympian Elinor Barker was riding along on day 3, and spent a lot of time posing for selfies with riders at the pit stop. I failed to get a picture, of course - perhaps I should be more pushy. Oh well.

Resuming after the pit was hard though, as the most significant climb of the day immediately followed. Compensation for this came shortly after in the shape of one of the most picturesque sections of the ride, not just for day 3 but for all of RAB, alongside the river to Ross-on-Wye. It really was glorious in the sunshine, almost (but not quite) enough to make a man forget his blisters.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful - pedal, pedal, pedal, pit, pedal, pedal, pedal, stop. Actually, it was notable for my personal introduction of a third pit stop, something I would do on most of the remaining days, splitting the last leg of the ride into two and taking five minutes to just get off the bike and eat a few snacks. I did this in Leominster on day 3, sat on a bench in a tiny park opposite a bingo hall. I captured the state of my bike there too, perhaps thinking that I might not complete many more days on it...

...because by this point I was getting along by adding soluble painkillers to my water bottle as well as isotonic sports supplements. It was working - ish - and getting off the bike for my personal extra pit stop helped too, but I didn't know if this was a sustainable approach. Still, it got me to the day's end, despite the fact that shortly after Leominster my bike decided that it didn't want to shift rings at the front anymore, and I could no longer get on my little ring. The derailleur needed adjustment, basically, but being quite near the end I decided just to push on - the absence of severe hills in the last ten miles meant I could do without my little ring.

Basecamp that evening was at Ludlow racecourse, which was nice. First stop was to the mechanics, leaving my bike with them to sort the derailleur. Such a joy to have them on hand to deal with issues like this: they could do in five minutes what it might take me half an hour to do, and to a higher standard too. When your evening is already full with the minutiae of keeping yourself on the road, having someone else available to see to your bike was a godsend.

After getting showered, I was then able to find a perch up in the deserted grandstand overlooking the racecourse to phone home, and talk to my son about his first day. He had a great time, of course, and breezed through it; my partner sent through the obligatory new uniform/first day photographs too, and they helped enormously. I will always feel bad that I hadn't been there though.

One other point of note for day 3; that evening's briefing saw the first mention of a D&V bug that was passing through the camp; forget COVID, there were some old-school bugs going around. I could certainly do without any of that, especially since those being struck down were having to sit days out. For the first time, I was actively glad to be alone on RAB, because it meant I could keep myself to myself; the risk of me catching the bug was literally in my own hands. Sanitise, sanitise, sanitise...