BRIGHTON 🌊To BRIXTON 🌃 With My BROTHER!

Day 249. 88km (83470kms 7yrs)

Departing – by arrangement – as quietly as I could while my hosts slept, I pumped the tyres using Georgie’s hand pump. Outside it was horrible weather; wind blew the rain horizontally as I rode down to the pier to meet my brother, James. He’d arrived by train the day before in readiness to fulfil his ambition of a completing the famous London to Brighton bike ride – in reverse at least.

So it was fantastic to see him after so long; Though sheltered by the pier we set straight off knowing the weather was forecasted to dry up very soon, and meanwhile we would have a handy tailwind. Initially the going was very slow as the Sustrans route had us stopping at seemingly every set of pedestrian lights, as the bike lane crossed from pavement to pavement. Outside of Brighton the route hugged the busy A23; a noisy and quite unattractive stretch interspersed with brief segments of lovely riding through green tunnels of trees.

But by now the sun was out and after Crawley the navigation swung as east around Gatwick onto some pretty country lanes. In an underpass though a loud hissing from my bank tyre caused an unscheduled halt. It’s been a while since I had a wet tyre covered in muddy detritus in which find the cause of a puncture. But after some looking I spotted the sharp shard of orange glass – washed probably down into the underpass by the rain – protruding from the ready-to-be-replaced tyre. It was an unusually stressful experience; I was now down to my last good tube and really didn’t want to let James down. But we were up and rolling again within an hour and the new tube appeared to be holding.

(Of the several cyclists who passed during that hour not one stopped to offer help. Possibly it was the location; underpasses can have a dodgy reputation in some parts. As soon as we are out though and I paused to fiddle with the pump’s positioning, a passer by asked if all was ok, so possibly – hopefully – I’ve misjudged England’s unfriendliness..)

Crossing the M25 it continued to feel very rural; we were still surrounded by trees and fields. Even passing the official southernmost point of Greater London boundary there was no sign of a city. Only once we reached the green ridge of Farthing Downs (complete with small brown cows on the road) did we catch our first glimpse of London’s skyline a little over 20 kilometres away.

Stopping for snacks in Coulsdon I received my first King Charles note amongst my change, of cute heptagonal 20p and 50 pence pieces. From here James took up the navigation, artfully guiding us safely through the heavy London traffic. We made it as far as Brixton hill before the sun set and darkness fell. Turns out my back light is not working; another job for Brixton Cycles when they service Gibbo. But we’d made it! Sister-in-Law Nuala had dinner ready, James and I cracking a beer to celebrate a completed reverse London to Brighton bike ride 🥳

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