The night has a thousand eyes

Sheffield-based rider, and novice Audaxer, Patrick Daniel saw tigers in the dark, and mysterious black shapes slithering in the ditches as he sped warily through the Lincolnshire night towards the east, and the blessed dawn. These are his impressions of a long night’s journey to the sea…

IT TURNS OUT THAT 2020 probably wasn’t the best year to join Audax – an organisation devoted to bringing people together. In July I decided to take matters into my own hands and create a long-distance ride of my own.

I’ve done the occasional century ride before. Now it was time to spice it up with the AUK spirit of derring-do. Inspired by Ben Connolly’s Voyage of the Dawn Pedaller article in Arrivée 148, I decided an unsupported through-thenight ride would be just the ticket. I pored over the road atlas and my own memory banks to come up with a worthy route.

One soon emerged: my home in Sheffield to the coast. Cycling towards the North Sea and the rising sun was appealing. Taking the quieter Trent crossing at Keadby would put Mablethorpe around 100 miles away, so that was settled.

Fortunately, the wet spell that had characterised the start of July broke a couple of hours before my departure, and as I rolled out, the setting sun cast long, spidery shadows on to the road ahead. This wasn’t going to be a hilly ride, but the fiercest incline came early – three minutes of handlebar-gnawing up a 1-in-5 stretch of suburban Sheffield.

It didn’t get properly dark until I reached Worksop and most of the roads were fairly well lit until Bawtry. But the country east of there is sparsely populated, and leaving the last streetlight of Bawtry behind felt like stepping into an inky pool. I’d only ever used my Dayblazer front light for urban commutes, so it wasn’t until it was pitted against such true darkness that I appreciated what a searchlight it is – and how much companionship it provided, as together we scanned the road ahead for debris and potholes.

I loved how riding at night brought a touch of magic to the roads. Around Epworth, scuds of mist passed through my light beam, which picked out a badger scuttling across the road ahead. As I put the flatlands of the Humberhead Levels behind me, the moon rose. It was huge and blood red. I couldn’t see the blades of the wind turbines near the M180, but they were made visible as they swept silently over the moon’s face.

I had my first coffee stop at a 24-hour garage in Scunthorpe. I was feeling good and loving the experience. I texted my wife: “Scunthorpe, 1am. Not as bad as it sounds”.

Before setting off I wondered if I would get spooked being alone in the dark. Well, no, but I did feel jumpy. At one point I gave an involuntary and frankly embarrassing shriek of fear. Out of the corner of my eye I saw what my addled brain suggested was a tiger crouching by my left knee, ready to pounce. A splitsecond later I realised it was just bracken and shadows, a trick of the dark. Laughing nervously, I moved on. Some miles later, something very long moved in the reeds in a roadside ditch. I pressed harder on the pedals.

A certain staleness crept in around 3am. I wasn’t feeling sleepy – I found the fresh air, exercise and sense of endeavour kept sleep at bay, but was feeling physically weary. Fortunately the hills, as I hit the Lincolnshire Wolds, broke the monotony, and a touch of blue in the eastern skies heralded the dawn and moved the ride into a new chapter. Very late became very early.

My second coffee stop was in Louth, and from there it was flat to my destination. The sun peeped over the horizon as I crossed the Lincolnshire Marsh. Sedge warblers started to whistle and buzz in the roadside reeds. At 5.40am, 175 km and 8.5 hours after setting off, I reached my destination. Mablethorpe is protected by a line of dunes, so I didn’t see the sea until it was right in front of me.

I sat on the North Promenade and watched the waves, the rising sun made the sea silvery; container ships on the horizon, more wind turbines, lots more. A municipal tractor sifted litter from the sands. A few early morning joggers, walkers and people in mobility scooters passed and said hello. There was a sense of peace, and for me, achievement.

So, there I was in Mablethorpe: 5.40am, everything shut and I was getting chilly. What now? Well, now came the coda to the ride. I now had to pedal back over the Lincolnshire Wolds to join my wife and children in Market Rasen, where they were staying with my wife’s parents (camping in the garden, social distancing and all that).

Those 55km were a paradox: a pitiful grovel on the one hand, but quite pleasant on the other, thanks to the fact that the Wolds are such a lovely place to ride – smooth, quiet roads, bucolic scenery, undulating but essentially benign.

When I finally petered to a halt in Market Rasen my family and in-laws had formed a surprise welcome party (they’d been watching my progress via a phone app) and I was met with applause and a bunting finish-line held by my two young children. A much better way to end such an amazing night out.

❝The sun peeped over the horizon as I crossed the Lincolnshire Marsh. Sedge warblers started to whistle and buzz in the roadside reeds ❞

❝I sat on the North Promenade and watched the waves, the rising sun made the sea silvery ❞