Ships log: Actual Good Weather – This is Not a Drill

A rare meteorological event occurred today: actual good weather, in Britain, on a Thursday, while I had a ride planned. I seized the opportunity to head for London and bag two more of the 100 UK Cycling Climbs—because nothing says “good use of a sunny day” like voluntarily ascending steep hills. This meant approaching the city from the northeast instead of the usual northern route. A refreshing change, if by "refreshing" you mean "full of terrible roads and unexpected zoo sightings." More on that later.

New Gear: The Top Tube Bag of Great Expectations

First, a crucial equipment upgrade: the Tailfin 1.1L top tube bag. My requirements were simple:

1. Not so enormous that I look like I’m attempting an unsupported cross-continental expedition.
2. Large enough to hold my three critical possessions—phone, speaker, and snacks.
3. Easy access, because struggling with a bag while riding is a fast track to disaster.

I opted for the zippered version over the flap design, gambling that it would be more convenient and allow me to hear my speaker without unzipping it like an overzealous customs officer every five minutes. Installation was painless, and it seemed sturdy. So far, so good.

Clothing: The Eternal Struggle

As usual, dressing for British weather felt like taking part in an elaborate game of weather-related roulette. I settled on a summer jersey with arm warmers, making a last-second call to ditch the short-sleeved thermal base layer. This turned out to be a masterstroke, as the base layer would have transformed me into a mobile sauna before I even left town. Toe covers and shorts completed the look—optimistic, yet practical.

The Ride Begins: A PB and a Near-Death Experience

With the sun shining, I set off, tackling my local nemesis hill, which has now been relegated from "mighty adversary" to "mild inconvenience." In a fit of completely unnecessary enthusiasm, I obliterated my PB. No sooner had I basked in this small victory than I was reminded that cycling is never without its perils.

Enter: The Roundabout of Doom.

As a solo rider, defensive cycling is my default mode, which today meant not being flattened by a hatchback whose driver approached a dual carriageway roundabout with all the caution of a caffeinated lemming. My well-honed survival instincts kicked in, allowing me to slow down just in time to watch them fly through the junction without even pretending to brake. A helpful reminder that every ride is essentially a live-action game of Grand Theft Auto: Cyclist Edition, and not in a good way.

Spoke Café: A Culinary Respite

Having narrowly avoided becoming roadkill, I carried on to my first planned stop: Spoke Café. A fine establishment, populated by a healthy number of fellow cyclists.

• Cheese and ham toastie – Exceptional. 10/10. Would inhale again.
• Iced latte – Perfectly serviceable, though unlikely to spark a religious experience.
• Socialising – Was invited to a London sportive. Politely nodded while internally questioning my life choices.

I also took the opportunity to refill my water, knowing I’d need an electrolyte top-up later. Spoiler: I would choose poorly.

The Great Powerade Mistake

At mile 55, in an act of sheer desperation, I made a tactical error: I bought a bottle of Powerade from a petrol station, diluting it with water. Theoretically, this was to keep my electrolytes in check. In reality, it was an exercise in self-sabotage, as I quickly learned that Powerade is not an just an energy drink but also a liquid form of regret. In the distant past I used to love powerade but now I find it sickly, acidic, and fundamentally unpleasant, it left me longing for the sweet embrace of plain water. Lesson learned: I need a system for carrying my own hydration mix.

Unexpected Discoveries En Route

• Hertfordshire has a zoo. This was news to me. It remains unclear what creatures it contains or why it exists.
• The road to Mott Street is a bit grim. Scenic? No. Pleasant? Also no.
• The Lea Valley waterways are surprisingly cool. Would recommend.

The Climbs: Mott Street, Highgate, and Swains Lane

Mott Street, one of today’s primary objectives, was approached with strategic pacing—easy to start, then ramping up to something resembling effort in the second half. From there, I rolled towards North-East London, which, as it turns out, is not an especially scenic entry point to the capital. It also has far too many traffic lights.

Reaching Holloway Road, I was pleasantly surprised to find a cycle-only section through Navigator Square. Less pleasant was Highgate Hill, which I tackled under the watchful gaze of drivers doing their best to ignore every single road marking and stopping restriction.

The final climb of the day was Swains Lane, a well-known slog that passes Highgate Cemetery—an appropriately gothic setting for a final challenge. I took it at a steady pace, ensuring I didn’t disgrace myself or require an emergency burial at the summit.

Mission Accomplished: To King’s Cross and Beyond

From there, it was an easy, almost celebratory roll to King’s Cross, where I hopped on a train, satisfied with the day’s efforts.

Final Stats:

• Distance: 80 miles
• Elevation: 3,900 ft
• Near-death experiences: 1 (standard)
• Food-based successes: 1 toastie of excellence
• Food-based regrets: 1 bottle of Powerade-flavoured disappointment
• Zoo mysteries unsolved: At least 1
• New climbs conquered: 2

Lessons Learned: Powerade is trash, defensive cycling remains a survival necessity, and cycling through northeast London is an experience best enjoyed exactly once.

Will I have another shot at Swains Lane again? Yes. Will I ever learn how to fuel properly? Maybe.