I stumbled across this ride in an article in the Guardian newspaper (see link below).  The idea of a ride thought the night on quiet roads and of course the notorious Ditchling Beacon appealed to me so I signed up for the May ride.  Armed with a new front light I arrived at Hyde Park Corner to meet 60 or so cyclists of all ages, some in their club colours on carbon racers, some in jeans on mountain bikes, and some on commuters, but all endowed with flashing leds.  Simon Legg organizes the ride, he is on the CTC council, he has been running these night rides for a couple of years, and the numbers are steadily growing. 

Just after midnight Simon steps up to give a quick briefing and in-ride safety announcements before we set off, aided by his glamorous assistants. When finished, he steps into the road and holds up the traffic for as long as it takes to get everybody off the island. We ride around the posher bits of London first, past the big houses of Belgravia and down through the Porsche Cayenne badlands of Chelsea. And then it’s over Chelsea Bridge, festooned with light bulbs, before passing the new multi-coloured apartment blocks, affording the residents an expensive view of the railway line and the derelict shell of Battersea power station.

The group is large, and the constantly changing traffic lights splits us up into ever smaller units until we get onto Clapham Common, where we regroup.

Pasquale, an Italian in London for just a few more days was out on an old bike getting pizza in the early hours of Saturday morning.  As we passed, he enquired of our destination and decided to come along.  Totally unprepared of course.  He was only wearing jeans and a light layer on top.  After an hour or two he asked again where we were going as it seemed a rather long way to Brixton.  It was then that he realised that we were heading to Brighton and decided to keep going.  He arrived in the first group and then proceeded to thank everyone profusely for a great night out.  Apparently he has a very nice bike back in Rome - but all the same he did pretty well.  I can only imagine what he told his flat mates about the pizza that he was going to get for them.  I wonder if they'll believe him.

We pass through the mean streets of Balham, Tooting and Mitcham; we ride through Carshalton, and Wallington where the streets are empty, the residents all safely tucked up in bed. For a few brief moments the moon makes an appearance, before getting swallowed up by clouds again. There are a number of gentle inclines and we stop in Coulsdon to regroup before tackling the first of the steeper hills of the ride.

What goes up invariably comes down, as we speed down Reigate Hill.  Eventually the hill bottoms out and I am able to join the riders who are there already, happily announcing their computer maximum speed figures while waiting for the tail-enders to catch up.

A few miles further on we are treated to what I believe is the best bit of road surface in Britain. It’s unbelievably smooth. No potholes, no loose gravel or debris on top, just miles of tarmac that offer almost no rolling resistance, yet allow positive, grippy handling. Wonderful.

It seems a shame to leave it behind and to return to an ordinary road surface, but I am feeling peckish and we are nearing Tourist Tony’s. How many people would open their doors at three O’clock in the morning to a (very) large group of hungry cyclists? How many people would prepare a range of extremely tasty treats at their own expense and make sure that everybody is well fed and watered, before waving them all back off into the night? Not, I suspect, very many at all.

Its 04:00 now and we trek down a country lane, scattered with savage speed humps. The night is feeling colder, and soon the first light of the new day begins seeping into the sky as we wind our way towards Turners Hill.

There are a succession of short descents and climbs, and it’s getting steadily lighter, although there’s no chance of the sun making an appearance through the ever-thickening layers of cloud. We stop for a while at Lindfield, and then push on along nicely rolling roads, getting ever closer to the Beacon.

It’s a little while later and I’m standing at the top of the Beacon, the biggest challenge of the ride conquered.  Unfortunately the sun doesn't make an appearance and its quite cold waiting for everyone to catch up.  Those that succeed in a fixed gear are cheered at the top.  Some of the younger fitter riders keep warm by climbing the hill for a second time.

We eventually saddle up and enjoy the fast descent into Brighton.

Simon has persuaded the owner of the Madeira café to open up early and rustle up some cooked grub for us, and this is all the incentive we need. With the scent of sea air in my nostrils, and the aroma of fried bacon in my mind, it’s a flat-out belt down the hills leading into town.

And then, all too soon, it’s over. My bike is propped against a wall under the arches, I have an English breakfast and a mug of steaming tea in front of me and I’m sitting watching the rain lashing down onto the beach. It really doesn’t get any better than this.

The train back was easy, there is a through train to Watford (although it was full of Portsmouth supporters on this particular day).  I two and a half hours I am back in Tring, asleep in front of the FA Cup final on the television – it takes me longer to recover than it used to!

Marc Savitsky