A painful overnight Brompton London to Leigh-on-Sea

The first official night ride to the coast of 2026 took place last Thursday into Friday - and it turned out to be something of an eye-opener. More on that shortly.

As usual, I made my way to the start, not far from the London Eye, and found the roads pleasantly calm. This was likely due to it being a Thursday, combined with the small matter of the following day being a Bank Holiday - London’s unofficial excuse to behave itself.

At the start, there were plenty of familiar faces. After getting my name ticked off, we were treated to the interactive safety talk. I participated in spirit, though not physically - I wasn’t really in the mood for sudden movements, having developed a rather unwelcome twinge in my lower back. The culprit? A shortlist of suspects presented themselves:

• Sleeping awkwardly
• Cycling the Thames bridges in the days leading up to the ride (enthusiasm clearly has consequences)
• Or the Brompton lightweight saddle, which is about as forgiving as a tax inspector on longer rides

By the end of this tale, I hoped to have identified the guilty party.

We set off almost exactly at midnight, rolling through a quiet London. The early part of the route followed familiar territory used by many Brompton riders heading towards Canary Wharf. Further east, past Stratford and Ilford, the scenery could best be described as… present. (I’m being generous).

As the miles ticked by, it became increasingly clear that my lower back was not merely “aware” of the ride -it was actively protesting. Adjusting my seating position yielded little improvement. Conversation, too, became impractical, largely because (and forgive the phrasing) my arse had begun lodging a formal complaint.

I found myself longing for my Brompton G-Line, remembering how much more comfortable it is. This fantasy lasted until I recalled it has exactly the same saddle. Dreams dashed.

Stoicism became the theme of the night. I pedalled on, grimacing heroically, waiting for the next regrouping point so I could dramatically rip my phone from its pockets and order a Brooks B17 Special Edition saddle - weight penalty be damned.

The weather, at least, was on our side. No meaningful rain, just a brief cameo of microscopic droplets. The temperature was mild, and once in the countryside, the usual magic of night riding returned: the moon peeking through wispy clouds, wildlife rustling in the dark. I spotted deer, a badger, and two foxes - clearly all better equipped for the night than I was.

We reached the halfway stop at a charming village hall. Riders had brought their own sandwiches, but hot drinks, sweets, and cakes were plentiful. I, however, made a beeline for the restroom to apply a generous amount of Deep Freeze. It worked, at least temporarily. Normally I struggle to stay awake at this point, but on this occasion, I was fully alert, monitoring the gradual decline of the gel’s effectiveness.

We set off again about an hour later. Things were manageable, helped by a snood and a vague sense of optimism. After 15–20 minutes, I was almost comfortable. Almost.

We came to a ford and were instructed to use the little footbridge to the right rather than cycle through. Believe me I did not need to be told. 

Dawn came quite quickly. There were no dramatic scenes of light and colour but a field had two WWII pill boxes which made up for it. 

At Rayleigh, there was the option to abandon the ride and take the train. Uncharacteristically, I declined. Clearly, I hadn’t suffered enough. I continued on to Leigh-on-Sea, said my farewells to Geoff, and thanked our ride leader, who (on his first outing) was impressively competent.

At the station, a few riders joined me on the platform. On the train, I initially had an entire carriage to myself, a rare luxury. This didn’t last, as passengers gradually appeared, presumably sensing free space.

Just before 09:00, I arrived back in London at Liverpool Street. It was wonderful to be back. I cycled home at a leisurely pace and arrived not long after.

At home, the usual routine followed: recounting the adventure to Mrs Orange and the Orangettes, eating, showering, and then collapsing into bed.

You’ll be relieved (as was I) to know that by the next day, both my back and posterior end had returned to normal. However, this has done nothing to diminish my desire to replace the saddle with something from the Brooks range. I already own a couple, so the question now is which Brompton gets which saddle, a dilemma of great importance.

The next official night ride is in early May, so there’s time to experiment or, more likely, spend money on something new and shiny.

Until next time: stay safe out there, and don’t stick with an uncomfortable saddle just because it’s lighter. Your future self will not thank you.