For years now most of my road based excursions seem to naturally fall around the 50 – 70km distance mark. Not sure why, it just seems to be the distance that most of my regular riding loops from my home fall around. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this, most of us have our go to favourite riding routes borne from familiarity or geographical necessity, and often I think we have subconsciously tailored these rides to encompass the distance were we feel most comfortable at. For me I would say this magical figure was around the 65km mark. This is a length of ride I know I can do comfortably in around the two and a half hour mark without leaving me feeling like I’m going to need an intensive course of physiotherapy the next day to recover from my exertions. I have ridden further on occasion, but up at around the 80km mark I’ve always found that the old internal fuel tank is very much on emergency reserves and my neck and shoulders start to feel stiffer than a Conservative politicians moral outrage when asked about helping poor people.

Anyway early last month I was out on the bike, it was a beautiful sunny day and unseasonably warm for the UK in early May. The old legs were still feeling really strong as the 70km mark rolled over on my Wahoo head unit and when I coasted to a stop at the next road junction I paused to consider my options. Home via my normal route would be another 6km or so, but as I sat astride my bike at the junction I started to wonder if I could push the ride out a little further. It was as I’ve mentioned a glorious day, I had nothing pressing to do with the rest of my afternoon, so on the spur of the moment I turned right not left and headed back out into the wilds of rural Cheshire.

For the next 10km or so all was relatively well in my world, yes the legs were most certainly not feeling that fresh and my backside / saddle interface was starting to protest at the longer than usual contact time but the discomfort was manageable. What was becoming a bit of an issue was the unmistakable signs of what most riders like to call ‘bonking’ , and this isn’t the sort of bonking that’s fun, undertaken usually with a special friend and may involve soft candle light and romantic music. Bonking in cycling is best described by the below screenshot courtesy of the always helpful AI assistant on my phone :

By the time the 85km mark popped up on the Wahoo I was suffering pretty acutely from most of these symptoms, according to my powermeter 75 watts was all my legs had to give, both quads were starting to cramp up if I dared to request anymore that the power required just to maintain any forward momentum and I was starting to feel distinctly sub-par. The biggest problem was that having not set out to do a longer than usual ride I was as usual woefully underprepared. I’d left home with a full 750ml bottle of electrolyte drink and one energy gel. I’d snaffled the gel at around the 50km mark and the last dregs at the bottom of the bottle had now also run out. It was one of the hottest days of the year so far and I was hot, hungry and a touch dehydrated. Luckily for me salvation (albeit of the temporary kind) was close at hand. The need for many of our UK farmers to diversify to maintain their fleet of Range Rovers was going to save me because just down the road where once there had been a simple barn there was now a very well appointed café serving a vast range of Ice cream made from the milk freshly extruded from the udders of the cows dotted around the surrounding fields (via some very expensive and sterilised machines hopefully!), home made cakes, ludicrously expensive coffees with long names and many flavours and a range of cold beverages designed to quench the parched throat of a weary cyclist. Being positioned on a very popular cycling route had quickly made this new café a very popular stop with local riders and there always seems to be a very expensive looking collection of carbon fibre based machinery leaning on the fence of the outdoor seating area.

Adding my rather retro looking Ti Sabbath to the line of bikes leaning on the fence I waddled rather stiff legged into the mercifully cool and dark interior of the café where because the staff must be used to lycra clad wrecks like me staggering in they (bless them) didn’t bat an eyelid at my sweaty salt incrusted visage or complain about the four attempts it took my phone to recognise my pitiful features before it would unlock itself and let me pay for my refreshments. After 20 minutes rest and recuperation at one of the shady picnic benches and consuming a tub of excellent ice cream, a large piece of gooey flapjack and a full can of sugar laden Coca-Cola (the first I’d drunk since my diabetic diagnosis six months ago, but this was an emergency……) the world was a much happier looking place. Looking at the ride stats so far on my phone I realised that magic 100km mark was in reach and having come so far and suffered through the last hour or so it would be daft not to put in the last spurt of effort required to bring the metaphorical ‘ton’ up, after all how hard could it be just to pootle through the extra 15 or so kilometres required?

Well, as it turns out really quite hard actually. As soon as I stood up from the bench I knew I was in a spot of trouble. My previously cramping quads having now had a good sit down and a rest had decided that bending my legs even a fraction of a degree was completely off the table, I kid you not just walking across the picnic area to retrieve my bike from against the fence was a enough to make me wonder if I was going to be able to get back on it at all let alone ride it home. After a few painful leg bends and a spot of surreptitious stretching when I thought nobody at the other tables was watching I very ungraciously clambered onto my faithful steed and wobbled out of the car park.

I’m going to draw a discrete veil over the rest of my ride home, yes the mystical 100km was achieved, but unfortunately any hopes of my legs freeing up once they were spinning the cranks again proved to hopeless optimism. I rode the last 15km with all the grace of a 3 legged hippo who’d had a very heavy lunch down at the local waterhole. Sometime later my wife returned home from work to find me collapsed on our sofa looking hollow eyed and exhausted clutching my Wahoo head unit like a precious trophy. ‘Look at this’ I told her my voice quivering with pride, ‘I’ve ridden a 100km today!’ ‘Well that was silly, just look at the state of you’ was her laconic reply which somewhat deflated me, but looking at the Strava stats later that evening whist enjoying a well deserved cold beer still filled me with a doleful sense of achievement. Yes, I know 100km really isn’t that far for an awful lot of riders, but this felt like a bit of a milestone for me, in fact I’d almost go as far as saying I felt like a proper cyclist again.

Now I’ve proved to myself that I can do it the 100km distance doesn’t seem nearly as daunting anymore. I fact since that ride I’ve broken or been very close to that distance another couple of times, and both times its been considerably less dramatic and easier. ‘Whys that?’ I hear almost nobody ask? Well the secret is planning …………………….. and Jelly Babies ! The reason I’d imploded so dramatically on the first ride was simple – I’d massively under fuelled myself. One energy gel and one 750ml bottle for a 3 hour plus ride in the heat is nowhere near enough, and not stopping to refuel until I was almost at the point of grinding to a complete halt was also not very smart. So the second time I set of with a longer distance that usual in mind I made sure I had some snacks with me and took 2 full bottles of drink. I also planned the route with a proper café stop at around the 50km mark so I could have a decent rest and replenish supplies and water bottles if needed.

This time when I got to the same café I’d stopped at before I was well hydrated, riding high on a massive Jelly Baby induced sugar buzz and generally just in a much better place, and because I wasn’t on the point of total lower body muscle shutdown as I placed by order when I arose from the table after another tub of excellent ice cream and a coffee my legs straightened up fine, in fact my only concern as I walked back over to the line of bikes leant on the fence was realising mine was the only bike there still rocking rim brakes and not if I was going to be able to swing my leg over the top tube without whimpering in pain.

So to conclude my top tip for riding further than you usually do is simple really – keep yourself fuelled up and well hydrated and schedule a stop well before whatever distance that you usually start to struggle at. As for riding fuel, well you can spend lots on expensive scientifically formulated energy gels, and don’t get me wrong they are very effective, or you can spend a couple of quid on a massive bag of jelly babies because these easily portable mini shots of sugary goodness are guaranteed to help fend off the dreaded bonk I’d suffered so spectacularly from.