So up the only real hill of the day, Toms Hill from Aldbury (scene of the Central London’s not-the-annual-hill-climb) on to the ridge above Ivinghoe Beacon and a nice view of the Aylesbury plain where we were to spend most of the day. Down past Mentmore, Wing and Cublington for an 11.40 arrival at Quainton.

Time for a visit to the windmill, with plenty of explanation of local history and a splendid view  – we are the CTC after all, so plenty of time for taking in the sights.

The weather had been fine, with a pleasant wind blowing us out, and then the cyclists’ fantasy came true – it rained while we were in the pub (George and Dragon, very friendly) – and stopped when we were ready to come out. Paul and Inez went off via the escape route of Leighton Buzzard (due to Inez’ back pains), Roger and Kay went off to do their thing, and the seven left did the circuit – how would we fare against Wiggo’s time? Well, almost exactly half his speed, since you ask.

Then roughly retracing our steps, we went via the village of Wingrave where a desire from the leader for a pit stop coincided with the magic “Cream Tea” sign outside the church. We were pleasantly surprised to see that the village had been the location of the Free Czech forces in the war and that the church had been visited by various Czech luminaries since. Plus the tea was fine. Then on via Long Marston back to Tring.

Trains both ways were fine for bike capacity – which they have to be as there are plenty of cyclists using them in both directions – so worthwhile thinking about this line when other ways out into and beyond the Chilterns are closed. Roger and Kay joined the train on the way back.

Flat roads, even with an obvious wind, made for 95km without much difficulty – and the sun shone on the way back!

The ride set off from Harpenden station. It’s only an hour’s ride to Flamstead but there’s a killer hill up to it from the A5 so we were happy to stop there for coffee and cakes.  Most of the riders decided to spend the day looking round the village, giving marks to the best scarecrows and enjoying the festivities (morris dancing, a brass band etc.). Those who wanted a bit more exercise rode to Studham for lunch at the Red Lion. After visiting the village church there they were back at Flamstead for the return ride which set off, via another killer hill, back to Harpenden at 16.30.

This conversation instilled in me a gnawing sense that I had let myself in for a ride which might be filed under the heading “Brutal and unnecessary self-punishment”. This suspicion only intensified when I arrived at the start.  ”Done this one before?” Said the lady giving out tea at Shere village hall. I acknowledged my status as a débutante. “Hmm” she said, giving me a dubious look, “Why don’t you have a biscuit?”

And so myself and a somewhat whippet-esque crew of fellow participants rolled out of the village and directly up a long and very steep hill. There can be no accusation that the organisers engage in any attempt to lull you into anything, and to be fair there’s a clue in the name, but the route really is a tour of the hills, and nothing else, just relentless hills.

The upside of all the climbing is of course the views, which are amazing. The route is peppered with cool, wet tunnels of trees and rough, gravelly tracks, opening out onto shimmering panoramas of London to the North and Sussex to the south. Box Hill and Leith Hill come early enough in the route to be beautiful and exhilarating.

Some of the climbs to the south of Shere, on the other hand, come late enough in the route to be a hideous cacophony of pain. By the final control I witnessed more than one rider refusing to believe what was written on the route sheet, simply declaring, “There just can’t be any more hills” (I wasn’t sure if that meant “in the country” or “on this route”). But there are, as it turns out, an awful lot of them. Including the last one up Shere Lane which rears up pitilessly before the final descent back into the village. Where I finally arrived, feeling a little triumphant, but having entirely surrendered the use of my legs for a couple of days in return – a fair deal I think, especially with a biscuit thrown in.

We started at Gatwick and left the airport using  a typical part of the National Cycle Network (ie a dirty goods lift leading to narrow path with sharp blind corners). The advantage of a Gatwick start however is that very quickly you can be away from all this and into the countryside, and we were soon in the small but steep hills around Ardingly. A long descent then took us east on quiet roads towards Fletching for a long climb northwards to the top of the Ashdown Forest and down towards the north-east, before swinging back to Hartfield.

Lunch at the Hay Waggon (no repeat of the cycle rage incident of last summer) and then back up to the top of the Forest.  A steep decent was followed by more ups and downs on the wooded route back.  A broken chain outside Horsted Keynes provided an excuse for the rest of us to stop and have a rest on the village green, but eventually we had to press on for a final long climb to Turners Hill and then a few final flatter km back to the airport.

I thought I had managed to avoid losing anyone this time, but with 2km to go I managed to mislay half the remaining group, who missed a turn and cycled rapidly off into the distance.  We established phone contact while they attempted to negotiate the Crawley cycle lanes; the remaining three of us quickly found trains home.  We did 94km, most of it on slopes.

Jon’s circular to the usual suspects prompted a mere 5 to show at London Fields, 2 of whom, Keith (injury) and our secretary Stephen (‘otherwise engaged’) were the send-off committee, leaving only Naomi, Jon and me to ride the course. We set out at 8 sharp and Jon’s familiar escape from East London route got us clear of the enormous crowd of riders, on a warm but overcast evening.

The long drag through Epping Forest saw Suffolk-bound riders lined out as far as the eye could see. For the most part car drivers left us alone, though the we did note a Lamborghini driver nailing it. But that’s Saturday night out in Epping for you.

Our planned picnic stop was at the same place as last year, a broad sward (dry and straw-like this year) overlooking the turn at Great Dunmow. Here we hollered out to alert scores, possibly even hundreds of passing riders to make this key right turn rather than forge on northwards towards Saffron Walden.

It was a pity we did not have such an angel ourselves when we made our turn on to a lane stated by the route sheet to be ‘well-concealed’ – we made the elementary blunder of assuming that other people knew where they were going. The lane turned quickly into a narrow, tree-roofed tunnel and our companions, keen but I thought inexperienced, altogether too enthusiastic about slamming it on the invisible, gravelly surface.

Jon called the group to order and a route conference by his map soon put us back in the right direction for the halfway food stop in Castle Hedingham. This was a new location and already very busy when we got there. Most of the Dulwich Paragon seemed to have turned out (including our sometime member Richard Ireland) and there was also a big group of Horsham Wheelers. We had eaten recently, so passed on food and headed for the Suffolk border at Sudbury.

One of the curiosities of the Dynamo is that all of a sudden you can find yourself in the midst of a large, or very large group, swarmed around by club boys, sportive riders, fixie fashionistas, and old-school Audaxers. Then just as soon, you have the road completely to yourself again; it is as if they were never there. So it was after Stowmarket when we turned on to the eastbound A1120 and found there were just 3 of us, plus a random recumbent guy who obviously didn’t do groups.

It was wasn’t quite so dark now. We rolled along this well-surfaced, rolling road, normally heavily trafficked but now empty, for some 20 km, at a pleasing allure, arriving in Yoxford around 4.30 and within easy striking distance of our destination. There was the usual hectic rush for the line across Dunwich Heath (I speak for myself) and, as the first one in at just past 5, I was obliged to stake out our place in the already-long queue at the café.

Here to our surprise we found Chris, who told us he had infiltrated the Paragons and arrived the best part of an hour before us. As a veteran 400-km Audaxer, Chris was all set to ride back to London; sensibly he decided to do the companionable thing and join us for the 50-km hack back to Ipswich for the Liverpool Street train. Our augmented party was back in town before 11, after another very entertaining night out on the bike.

Eighteen riders were ready at Tunbridge Wells to head out through the High Weald for a morning of climbs and descents though wooded hills.  By lunchtime I had only lost two of the group (we arranged to meet them again at tea) and we took a break at the Blackboys Inn in the village of that name.

Then a cycle through the town of Uckfield and a long but gentle climb on a quieter route to the top of the Ashdown Forest. As ever there, we found spectacular views of heathland and the surrounding countryside, today in bright sunshine, slightly marred by the many drivers who see the 40mph  limit clearly marked as there only for decoration.

We had our own chance to try break the speed limit though on the long downhill stretch, followed by one last small but steep hill before tea.  Being the Ashdown Forest, tea was at Piglet’s Tea Room attached to the House-at-Pooh-Corner in Hartfield.

Having lingered over our scones, we spread out on the return to Tunbridge Wells, to catch different trains.  I think I counted the full number past me back into the town, but was slightly nervous that one or two may still be out there and will emerge from the forest in years to come.

The ride was 67km in East Sussex and (a bit of) Kent.

Already the commercial traffic was building up. The province of Bergamo is a thriving commercial region and, because it’s so hot in the middle of the day, people start work early. To the north, the Lombardy mountains, our destination, were still wreathed in mist after overnight rain, but on the plain the temperature was already in the mid-20s. As soon as we crossed over the Milan–Venice autostrada the road tilted up, alongside the Torrente Imagna. Traffic was streaming down, but was agreeably light in our direction. The shaggy foothills of the Alps closed in around, hanging over the valley road. Inevitably, we soon turned off the valley floor to engage one of the minor roads, snaking up the mountain to Berbenno.

Now for sure you will hear Sean Kelly at some point in this year’s Tour de France commentary telling viewers that Continental climbs are not a bit like those in Britain, oh no! they are much longer. Well I guess this one would barely be categorized but it was an awful lot longer than anything on our patch. On and on it went, through a succession of steadily higher and more antique villages, perched spectacularly over remote, wooded valleys. The grade wasn’t too bad and it would have been all right taken steady, but my guide was on a schedule. Holding his wheel was cruelly taxing, especially after a breakfast of no more than a drink of water.

Leaving Berbenno on an unsigned road, we took five in the morning sunshine. Wreaths of cloud still coiled about the heavily wooded hills. Cows with clonking bells ambled about lush meadows dotted with log-built homesteads and barns. It felt quite Alpine. My guide passed me an energy gel to quell my incipient hunger knock. I was really longing for a fat coffee and a bun.

The next few kilometers of the unadopted corniche road were still damp beneath the dwarf oaks, and in places broken and treacherous with gravel run-off. Plunging down a sudden dip towards another of these sketchy bends, I thought it wise to take off some speed. Wrong! The brakes, still new and snatchy, locked up the rear wheel and in a heartbeat I was heading crabwise towards a deep and evil-looking concrete culvert. Unblocking, I whistled past the ragged edge with about half a metre to spare.

My guide, who had not seen this horrible manoeuvre, reassured me that the asphalt improved in a few kilometers at the next village, Gerosa. Indeed it did, and the road tilted down. And down and down, plunging back to the plain. It was just like TV: at any moment you expected the camera to tilt down to the moto’s speedo. Below me, my guide was describing crazy angles through the lacets, but I let him go, judging discretion to be much the greater part of valour. Even so, it was an almost out-of-body experience to hurtle down the perfect surface, picking the line, braking into the apex, and sprinting out. We just don’t have descents like that.

All good things come to an end and after this magnificent descent we soon found ourselves tangling with the now-busy commercial traffic on the plain: cement trucks, panel vans, and espresso-crazed commuters. This brought out the street side of my guide, who told me he will be taking part in the fifth edition of the Milano–Venezia in fissa race on 24 July. I had to draw deep on the smarts learned in years of fixed-wheel London traffic jamming to keep him in view as he weaved in and out. By and by we rolled up to my hotel, on the dot of 9, with around 70 km covered. Time for breakfast and the day’s work…

Even hours before kick-off, the roads were practically empty of traffic, making for fast progress along the lanes and B roads of north Essex. In contrast to my usual 200 km rides, I’d opted for the shorter 112 km option today – thinking mainly of the temperatures. It was a welcome change from the loneliness of so many 200 rides to find myself in a tight and sociable bunch formed by the Braintree Velo club – all seven of their club members were determined to get round in time for the start of the football. We reached the 50 km mark with an average rolling speed of 29.7 km on the clock: the only time I’ve ever threatened the maximum speed limit on an audax. Things slowed after that as I lost contact while searching for a poorly placed ‘information control’, but I still completed the ride in four and three quarter hours.

This is a pretty and well-constructed route through picture postcard villages such as Felstead, Finchingfield, Great Bardfield and some of The Rodings. Half time control is at the Victoria CC club hut, familiar from the early season Henham audaxes. I recommend this event for next year.

The previous Sunday saw a visit to Stevenage for the 84 km ‘Stevenage Circular’ audax, now a Bike Week fixture. I am surprised that more London riders don’t join this ride, with fast trains taking just over 20 minutes from Kings Cross or Finsbury Park. Perhaps it is down to the crowded Bike Week calendar. As ever the Stevenage CTC put together an impeccably organised event from the lakeside HQ at the cyclist-friendly Costello’s cafe. There was the usual Mayoral presence at the start, a clear route sheet, and home made cakes served on the lawn outside Hexton village hall.

The Circular audax attracts a wide variety of riders, ranging from speed merchants using it as a lengthy time trial to leisure riders out on city and mountain bikes, and practically everyone should be able to complete within the generous time limits. For myself it was a pleasant ‘recovery’ ride after the rigours of the End to End the week before. Have a look on the Stevenage CTC website to see numerous photos which give a flavour of the event (click on the Gallery section) and put it in the diary for next season.

A few miles later Ash had a puncture. His tyres were hard to get back on and he damaged his spare inner tube with a tyre lever and so had to do a puncture repair by the roadside. Not surprising after this succession of punctures we got to lunch late at the Crown and Sceptre in Bridens Camp.

John left us after lunch and the remaining four of us rode through the National Trust’s attractive wooded Ashridge Estate to the Bridgewater Monument. Three of us climbed to the top for a panoramic view of the Chilterns and two of us succumbed to the lure of the tearoom. Then it was back through Redbourn for a short break at the Holly Bush (picturesque but no teas or coffees) and then on to the Nicky Way, a former railway line,  back to catch the train home from Harpenden.

The morning ride took us through the High Weald. After a first busy section we took in a succession of small hills though villages, past ponds, farms and woods. The group maintained a strong pace and we arrived at the Black Horse at Nuthurst before opening time.

Entering the village at Slaugham

A slight drizzle kept most of us indoors for lunch, but the rain soon stopped and the afternoon stayed clear. The afternoon took us into the Low Weald, with fewer slopes now and a distant view of the Downs to the South. Against my on-road principles, I took the group for a few km off the tarmac on a bridleway near the River Adur, before following back roads to Hassocks and tea, amid the statuary and old machinery at the South Downs Garden and Heritage Centre.

In the woods near Staplefield

Then a final ride through Burgess Hill and Haywards Heath back to the railway. We returned to London just in time to be soaked through by a cloudburst on leaving the station, but this didn’t matter as it was too late to spoil the ride.

We did 69km, all in West Sussex. A map of the ride is here.