Sunderland Flying Boats
Back before there was airports and runways but sometime after there were airships, that was the time for flying boats - monster planes with 4 engines or more, luxury travel that made Concorde tickets look cheap, the way to travel once upon a time (I'm not going to go off at a tangent here, but I easily could - so easily, for the rest of my life).
But then runways were built, and the slow-but-airborne boats to New York fell out of time.
People witter on about elegance, the lost romance (but look at what they actually do; they go for the cheapest fix, every time).
Bugger, went off at a tangent after all.
So it's cold, Sunday morning and 100 miles to go; for once my 2 wheels are powered and I'm walking into a Very Large Building on a spit way out to sea, a building that used to house the Sunderlands that took off from the Solent, bound for the New World, for the Orient, for exotic destinations now made mundane by technology and package holidays.
Seems fitting they've built a velodrome in it, where bicycles can round and round at a speed limited only by bravado, skill, and fitness (it's a wood thing).
I've got my hand up for the novice group, it's the steepest velodrome around because it had to fit into the building; (Wikipedia entry for velodromes singles it out as being "notoriously steep" but during the last two weeks of pre-ride planning the veterans have refused to use any phrase other than "the wall of death").
47-point-something degrees (that's more than 1 in 2). More than 30 feet high (don't look down).
Special track bikes, no gears, no brakes, no freewheels; no technology assisting, it's as pure as it gets.
Sore neck railing the corners - the golden rule look where you want to go. Head way back, world at crazy angle and ride high on the banking for the speed buzz dropping to the straightaway, an intense speed kick (slam marks in the wall, the burn marks on my bars are reminders to get the weighting right in the bends).
Rumble, buzz, whirr, hypnotic nailing the line ever faster - the beauty lies in the focus, nothing but the track ahead, mistakes swiftly punished.
And someone makes one; news arrives through my ears of a problem behind, smack of flesh on wood mixed with grunts of pain and the sound of breaking bicycles. Doing anything other than what I'm doing would be a mistake, and thankfully the guys riding my wheel do the same. Half-circuit later snatched glance across the 'drome and it's Charlotte and FB who are down, we slow up enough to see they're ok(ish), carry on circulating till they slot new wheels and rejoin the pattern.
Blast of a whistle, it's time for the wind down, takes 5 laps to bring the train to a halt. Homemade cycling food handed out, if McD's ever get that recipe obesity will double overnight. Charlotte hands Andy a couple of books (I spot Neuromancer in there, which kind of fits with his bonkers head-up display/helmet cam).
Smiles, high fives and 2 powered wheels get me home much faster, with much less intensity.