Ships log: Chased by the Sun - A Tale of Heat, Hubris, and Dodgy Ham

It feels like we’re entering the home stretch of the training programme now. After last week’s climbing theatrics, I managed a token 30-mile recovery ride last Sunday — more to keep the guilt at bay than for any real training value.

Today, however, was about distance. I’d cobbled together a route with an elevation profile that loosely mimicked Chase the Sun — including three of the climbs from the X-List, Midlands list and the original 100 Climbs, none of which were meant to be especially threatening. That optimism didn’t age well.

The forecast was clear: sun. And not just British-springtime-sun — this was full-fat, Mediterranean cosplay. Highs of 27°C, which is about 7°C hotter than anything I’ve trained in this year. Gone were the toe warmers and base layers; in came industrial quantities of sun cream and faint existential dread.

At least the journey to Nottingham was smooth. I’d gamed the system with advance single tickets and paid about half the usual price. Both trains were on time, and I was rolling out of the station by 9.30 a.m., instantly flanked by two of Nottingham’s better-known sporting monuments: Trent Bridge and the City Ground.

The first 20 miles? Glorious. Smooth roads, pleasant temperature, zero drama. Terrace Hill came first — 0.67 miles at 8% — and was dispensed without incident. Lings Hill followed. It was as described: a single lump you just have to get over. Which I did.

But by the 35–40 mile mark, the heat had fully clocked in. I’d already drained both water bottles and taken down a Nutella sandwich. Emergency pit stop: spring water and Rubicon Mango (chaotic, but effective), plus half a Starbar Duo. The other half would slowly liquify into an unidentifiable substance over the rest of the ride.

Lunch was at a café that looked absurdly fancy in the reviews. Fortunately, I was ushered into the “soft furnishings area,” which I took to mean “place where sweaty cyclists can be hidden from the real customers.” I inhaled an iced latte, ham, egg & chips (ham: oddly grey), and a nostalgic cornflake tart. On paper: ideal. In reality: instant regret. I spent the next five miles questioning whether it was the heat, the grey ham, or my own poor judgement trying to kill me.

A short climb prompted me to ditch my casquette, and suddenly both my scalp and I could breathe again. The queasiness began to fade and I settled into a manageable rhythm. I ticked through the miles knowing the final proper climb — Guilsborough Hill — lay waiting at mile 72. The descent to it felt endless, which didn’t bode well, but the climb back up was surprisingly tame. More Nutella Sandwich. More golden syrup cake. More pushing on.

With about 15 miles to go, I stopped again for more fluids. Unfortunately no Rubicon Mango was available. But the heat was finally easing off, and the final stretch home was mercifully flat.

In total: seven 800ml bottles, a fairly large iced latte, a mango Rubicon and a couple of glasses of water at lunch. 

I’d fuelled better than last time, but the heat clipped around 1mph off my average speed. Combined with the stop times (lunch was not a quick affair), I’d have been flirting with sunset if this had been the real Chase the Sun day.

One more thing: while the total elevation matched CTS on paper, it was loaded into the middle third of the ride. The first and final sections were laughably gentle. CTS spreads its climbing out more evenly, which should make it kinder on the legs. But after today, I’m not holding my breath.

Lessons learned. Again.

Next week: 150 miles, flatter, hopefully less sun. But let’s be honest — probably more mistakes.