THE BIG RIDE
The Sussex lanes are a rollercoaster of short, punchy hill climbs nestled in airy stretches of the South Downs
Matt Ray doesn’t quite know what he’s got himself into as he heads to the lumpy lanes of Sussex for a ride with Hunt Bike Wheels’s Simon McNamara, a notoriously strong presence on the region’s racing scene
“My reward from the climb is a gorgeous view of the rolling hilltops we’ve just ridden”
The lane narrows as it launches me up along its sinuous, tarmacked back, which cuts through the leafy green, like some monstrous serpent. The dense hedgerow closes in, around and above, drawing my focus into my screaming legs as the outrageous gradient winds skywards.
On paper, the Sussex lanes don’t appear so threatening. In reality, I’m grimacing so hard that my teeth hurt, but I’m not going to let the wall of road in front of me win. It’s a slow-motion sprint, out of the saddle and giving it full beans just to nudge the cadence up to 60rpm, made all the more testing by the climb’s abrupt start.
This is the climb up High Tittern and my ‘Big Ride’ guide, Simon ‘Mac’ McNamara, from Hunt Bike Wheels, has disappeared. He’s up the road somewhere, leaving me in single combat. Moments before, I’d been reflecting with him on how much I was enjoying the Sussex experience of pint-sized, punchy climbs, interspersed with winding, sun-splashed lanes. Now, I’m merely cursing my wide-eyed naivety.
The thing about wrestling a reptile is that the outcome is decided swiftly. Somehow, as I pop out into golden sunshine at the crest of the climb, I’ve come out on top. My reward is a gorgeous view of the rolling hilltops we’ve just ridden, dropping down to the flood plain below, which my endorphin-heightened senses drink in. Some 70km earlier, as we roll out from East Lavant’s cricket ground village green, the clear blue skies are a welcome surprise, following the previous week’s hammering of autumnal rain, to which the River Lavant, running in full flow beside us, can testify.
It’s the kind of weather that invites much dithering over appropriate attire, but I’m soon glad of the air around my knees as Simon sets a swift pace up the road. I spot an EU flag on his bike and he reveals that he won the 2019 ICF (International Cycling Federation) European Masters Champs in Aalst, Holland, and has had 32 continuous years of road racing under his belt.
I later discover that Simon and his twin brother are notorious across Sussex and the South Downs for riding faster as they age, rather than having the decency to wind it down a bit. I resolve to ignore any pangs of weakness emanating from my legs for the day…
Danes in the lanes
We ride west along a well-wheeled path to West Stoke, just south of the Kingley Vale nature
reserve with its ancient yew forest containing some of the oldest living things in Britain. It’s overshadowed by the Devil’s Humps – four Bronze Age burial barrows, which local folklore claims are the final resting places of defeated Viking big wigs. These days, the only marauding Danes you might run into here would be named Pedersen [Mads, the 2019 World Champion], but this landscape has remained remarkably unchanged for millennia and wears its history on its sleeve.
A short descent takes us to a T-junction at Lordington, where we hang a right and the classic West Sussex lanes riding starts, winding through Walderton and Stoughton. Looping around the top of Kingley Vale, a climb takes us into East Marden, where we spin past its historic thatched well, which looks like it should be manned by rustic hobbits from Tolkien’s shires.
A longer, tougher ascent takes us up to the blessed relief of a fast, fun descent down Chilgrove Hill, where we swap leads. We turn left past The Royal Oak pub and back onto narrow lanes, where a trio of rolling climbs really start to test my legs. In general, the climbing here is classic South Downs fare – because we started out on top of the Downs, the ups are punchy, requiring serious effort to turn the cranks, and yet they are over quickly.
You don’t get a chance to work into a rhythm but at the same time it’s not a slog. The repeated efforts and changing nature of the challenge keeps things interesting, and I don’t feel like I have to hold much back on the ascents because I know I’ll soon be able to recover on the descents. That said, the sudden kicks up do still sting, so I’m thankful that we spot one of British sculptor Andrew Goldsworthy’s Chalk Stones and stop for a breather.
Andrew placed a series of rough-hewn chalk spheres in the West Dean estate in 2002 after they were quarried from a local site. The stones now lurk, pitted by wind and rain, some covered in brambles, like sleeping trolls. We must have ridden past some of them, oblivious, but this one stands pockmarked and proud, bearing the weathering of time.
I grab a bite of an energy bar and we set out for the last climb of the trio, flanked with high trees. Soon enough, my flagging thighs are given an adrenaline boost as we pass a pheasant shoot in full swing, with flurries of beaters in hi-vis and booming shotgun blasts that seem to fly close over our heads.
A zippy descent past roadside ferns takes us through an old railway arch and into West Dean. A quick heads up for gravel riders: the arch forms part of a greenway that runs all the way
“The landscape’s remained unchanged for millennia and wears its history on its sleeve”
“We’re chewing through the kilometres now, inspired by the picturesque landscape… we soon arrive at the long, thrilling descent down Duncton Hill”
from Midhurst to Chichester, called the Centurion’s Way.
Our path turns left as we ride out into the Levant Valley, passing through Singleton at almost the halfway mark, where the Gallery Tea Rooms offer a pleasant break, if you need it. We’re feeling good so we ride on along Charlton Road with a distinctive South Down’s spectacle of green, rolling chalk hills, the Trundle and Knight’s Hill rising to our right, and the River Levant and Levant Down to our left.
We’re chewing through the kilometres now, inspired by the picturesque landscape, and we soon pass through Upwaltham to arrive at the long, thrilling descent down Duncton Hill. The road widens and my speed builds until I’m having so much fun that I almost miss the righthand turn just before Duncton, back on to a narrow car-free lane.
In contrast to the blood-pumping descent, we ride beneath the trees, in dappled sunlight, accompanied by the sound of a gentle breeze in the branches, towards Barlavington and Sutton. After Sutton, we ride into an area of old heathland around Coates that’s crisscrossed by a web of tiny lanes, offering the canny South East road rider hours of sanctuary from motor traffic.
Then, once again the landscape changes, opening out into vast flood plains, surrounding the River Arun. The scheduled monument of arched stone that makes up Greatham Bridge, past Coldwaltham, is striking. An entire section of the stone has been replaced with ironwork painted white, supported by green girders.
Land of the trespasser
The mud-brown, rushing waters of the old River Arun give a clue as to why. They’re riding high enough to thoroughly menace its banks, which look more like the borders of a marsh than a
delineation between river and land. Apparently, flood waters smashed an entire tree up against the bridge, damaging a support. Indeed, the floods here cover so much land that before the Romans invasion, the river was known as the Trisantonis, a Celtic word for ‘trespasser’.
I take in the views as we spin along the flood plain, through Rackham and into Amberley, where to the right of the road a massive lake has been left after the banks of the Aran Canal were cut during the Industrial Revolution.
Amberley itself turns out to be the end of the respite. It gets real again from here on in because the aforementioned High Tittern climb starts as soon as you cross Turnpike Road. My consolation for shredded thighs is the stunning view from the top, as well as the descent into another arched stone bridge at Houghton.
The next salvo of lactic acid to fire through my now protesting muscles comes on the climb up through Houghton to Madehurst. Even Simon’s chat has ebbed at this stage, as we both focus on wrestling any semblance of rhythm from the ride.
Mercifully, the village sign for Slindon soon hoves into view and we pull up at the local riders’ favourite cafe, The Forge, with its neighbouring pumpkin farm. The coffee and cake provide a much-needed psychological boost. I soon realise that my legs aren’t as tired as I thought, and my energy levels bounce back nicely.
Back in the saddle, a few short ‘stingers’ soften us for the big assault up to Selhurst. In contrast to the rest of the day, this is a long climb with a more gradual gradient that allows us to settle into a smoother climbing rhythm. It’s well timed because, as far as my leg muscles go, a change really is as good as a rest.
The sky goes a bit hazy on the climb, but when we reach the crest it brightens again and I look up with surprise to see the Isle of Wight hunkered on the horizon, its massive, sheer cliffs plain to see. Chichester Harbour is laid out below us, too, in great detail, like a 3D map. It’s an amazing sight, and it reminds me just how much rise and fall the Downs has, being so close to the sea.
Then, we are back into the trees, before popping out again with the white fences of Goodwood Racecourse to our right. Turning south, we approach the famous motor racing circuit, home to the Goodwood Festival Of Speed and a certain UCI Road World Championships, way back in 1982.
This was the scene of the famously audacious attack on Greg LeMond by the Italian Giuseppe Saronni, who sprinted up the Goodwood Hill, outside the circuit, all the way to the finish line,
“I look up with surprise to see the Isle of Wight hunkered on the horizon, its sheer cliffs plain to see”
with Ireland’s Sean Kelly in third. Saronni’s sprint was so impressive he was given the nickname ‘The Gunshot of Goodwood’.
British crowds lined the course 10 deep and it’s hard not to feel a rider’s connection to this place, as Simon and I ride in the wheel tracks of those racers some 38 years later, especially now that the pandemic has sparked renewed interest in cycling here. The current operators of Goodwood Circuit are running sessions for riders to train on the track, so it seems rude not to end the ride with a hot lap, despite the fatigue in my legs. Simon, who trained here when the circuit was almost derelict, leads us out, past the white grid markings and start/finish line, down to the first right-hander.
The downhill gradient allows me to pile on some pressure, power transferring beautifully through the wheels of my Specialized Tarmac SL7 – coincidentally the very bike on which Julian Alaphilippe won the 2020 race – into the super-smooth tarmac. Our speed carries us over the slight rise out of the corner, but then the long drag up St Mary’s starts to bite.
Through the chicane and the big right-hander, a headwind has sprung from nowhere and is now blowing, as are my lungs. I dig deep to round the last corner and pull out a sprint for the line – after all, it wouldn’t be a hot lap without one!