The Revolve 24 hour one…

We'd been here before - Worm, Chappers, Sam and I - at a day long team bike race. 12 months prior, we'd completed (read: survived) the Red Bull Timelaps race.

On that day, we'd started out all excited and nervy, totally unaware of what the race (and weather) had to throw at us. We'd taken on the unknown and ridden ourselves into the Windsor Park dust. We very nearly left with pneumonia but finished in a respectable 38th position.

Fast forward 12 months and this was going to be different. Whilst not entirely comfortable with what was to come, we weren't going in blind either. We'd done more training for a start. Sam had at least ridden his bike in recent memory and Chappers had more Haribo stashed than the local sweet shop. We had our nutrition sorted, a race plan, damn it we had a bloody caravan.

Team Worms were back with (moderately) raised expectations.

But, whilst we'd got our act together (a bit), so too had the competition. There would be teams here from across Europe, making progress up the overall standings easier said than done.

We also hoped for less rain and temperatures that wouldn't make a snowman reach for his woolies. However, we'd no longer be relying on the back of Worm's car for sleep. We'd upgraded this year and borrowed a caravan which Sam had towed for about 3 days to get here. Compared to being in a tent or the back of 'that' car, this was luxury. With its mod cons (a working light) and refinements, it would make a fine race HQ. The elements could do what they liked and we would have somewhere warm to recover, until it was our turn on the track (or the aqua roll needing filling).

And as was becoming tradition, we expected to count the bananas we consumed by the metric tonne.

The race started with a 'Le Mans' start. This, I assume, was solely for the entertainment of the race organisers and onlookers. This meant bikes were held on one side of the pit lane and riders started on the other. When the buzzer went, one would run to the other. What followed was the slowest 10m sprint ever witnessed as 200 or so bike riders wearing bike shoes and cleats part ran, part slid towards their team mate. Some of them made it.

If you've ever seen a bike rider trying to 'clip in' at speed, imagine 200 of them trying to do it in the pit lane of a bike race. With no hint of exaggeration, we'd spent a lot of time trying to convince each other it was a great way to start a bike race without anyone actually volunteering to do it.

When decision time came, Worm had stayed still. And had therefore stepped forward.

Before the start, we'd quickly recapped what we'd learnt from the previous 24 hour race. Don't forget the armband. Don't go out too hard. Simple.

Imagine our surprise then as we watched, opened mouthed from the pit lane wall, to see the lead group come through. They were strung out like a series of streamlined sausages and being led by a rider with a fluorescence helmet. Was that Worm?

As the blurred streak of riders went by, he aimed a smile in our direction.

"What the bloody hell's he doing?!" - we chorused.

Brands Hatch is pure brilliance on two wheels. Being a race track, it meant we got to share a garage with some of the other teams. This meant (slightly more) warmth, electricity and light. The alternative being stuck in the middle of a field. There was less risk of putting your foot down a rabbit hole or being charged at by a deer. It was almost all upside.

The course itself is fast. As you take the first rolling corner, you hit a steep, punchy climb, a fast descent past the paddock, another climb and then you're onto the middle flattish section. This was where you could really pick up speed and track position if you were part of a train, before heading down another sloping right hander into the final straight and across the start/finish line.

Each lap was only 3.9km, but the 65m of ascent and 9% gradient of the first 2 climbs, meant there were bits you didn't like so much. Pacing was easier though as you quickly got to know the course intimately. You could do the entire lap without touching the brakes and knew the best places to put the hammer down. It was exhilarating.

Back at van HQ, we faced the same issue as we had the year before at Timelaps. Whilst the caravan was warmer, larger and infinitely more comfortable (we had a kettle!), we still couldn't sleep. As one person was finishing their stint, someone else was waking up. And that meant there was constant noise in HQ whether you were riding or not.

Not content that Sam had towed his folks' caravan across the country for our benefit, we had almost instantly started outlining the faults of his caravan for the purposes of a race HQ. What we really needed was for Sam to source two caravans and spend 6 days towing them.

As the sun started to rise on day 2, we were holding it together and in 15th place. The night had been a sensory overload, with the track feeling faster in the dark and adrenaline battling the tiredness and sleep deprivation to keep us upright.

We were also experiencing a strange phenomenon. The hour on the bike felt like a lifetime, whereas sipping on strong black coffee and eating Jaffa Cakes in van HQ seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye.

It was demonstrable proof that Einstein was right. Time is relative.

We were approaching the last few hours of the race. It was time to dig deep and find the reserves we hoped we had, go full gas and try to snatch every place we could. The problem was everyone else had the same idea.

Sam was up.

Now Sam's not one to complain but he did mutter something about how warm and cosy van HQ was before heading back to the pit lane.

"I'm not sure he's going to enjoy this..." I said to Worm.

Chappers returned from his stint a minute or two later, as we all peered through the chain link fencing hoping to catch a glimpse of Sam. There was a fast train of all the leading teams coming down the hill in front of us. The guy 'taking the wind' at the front was turning a large gear and clearly on the rivet. Second wheel was working hard too, third slightly less, and fourth less still. And in 7th or 8th wheel looking as though he was out for a Sunday stroll was Sam. He was barely pedaling, hidden from the wind and revelling in the slipstream.

His career in physics - or to cite more accurately 'Post-Doctoral Research Fellow within the School of Physics and Astronomy' - had clearly all been for this one defining moment.

It earned us another place.

With the final hour approaching, we'd decided to play it tactical. They'd allowed rolling transitions for the final few laps. Worm was on track for the last leg and at the end of a hard hour. The plan was for me to find him on the course and complete a single flying lap. With the benefit of fresher legs, I would give everything I had left to complete a final lap before time ran out.

We met at the first corner. I switched the burners on. I had 6 minutes to make the lap count.

Borrowing every bit of slipstream I could, and pushing the corners as hard as I dare, the past 24 hours' worth of effort was momentarily forgotten. I hammered the hills and went all out on the descents. I could hear the cheers from the pit lane as I gave a final push for the line...

The final lap was over, completed in 5 mins 55 seconds, at an average speed of 39kph. I'd made it by the skin of my teeth and the lap would stand. The tactics had paid off - we'd jumped a place at the death.

Team Worms finished 11th overall, 5th in category.

The scores on the doors saw each of us cover 215 kilometres at an average speed of 35kph and with 3,500m of ascent.

Brutal but brilliant.

Finishing that race, there were many things to consider. Would we do it again? Would we try LeMans24? How would we feel tomorrow? But the question in my head as we left the track was which Sam thought was worse: the race itself or the prospect of towing home that damn caravan.

Cover photo credit: Revolve24