It was a cold, dark and bleary start to the day as I awoke from my deep sleep and went through the motions of getting ready for a long ride on the bicycle. With kit laid out the night before quickly pulled onto a shivering body, porridge eaten and coffee gulped, I headed out for the traditional Coastal Clog.

While the most recent weather forecast that I saw in preparation of this ride suggested a warm day, the hard frost and white countryside that greeted my eyes as I pedalled through south London and out through the suburbs of Surrey towards Dorking suggested it would be anything but a sun-kissed ride.

The reason for the early start is all Richard Hallett’s fault. It’s his annual Coastal Clog, a 100-mile ride that he’s been hosting for the past 20 years that acts as an early season blow-the-cobwebs-away ride, a good opportunity to get the first long pedal turner under the belt. To kick-start the year with a bang, as you mean to go on.

Due to the time of the year, the weather typically plays a hand in the smooth running (or otherwise) of the ‘event’. 2011 would be no different. The roads were slippery, as discovered on several occasions just on the cycle to the meeting point. A few ‘moments’ as the rear tyre tried to get away revealed to me that, for the first few hours of our dash to the coast and back, the ride could be treacherous. Little did I realise just how true these words would become.

Hunkering down in the not-so-warm Ryka’s Café at 9am, now already starting to bustle with the sound of leather-clad (and slightly bulging) motorbike riders gathering for an early Sunday blast around the Surrey lanes, Richard Hallett, Neil Webb, Simon Smythe and I downed several coffees or hot chocolates. We swapped tales of our individual incident-packed journeys to the meeting place.

Lengthy wait over, gloves removed from the radiators and snugly pulled on, we zipped up our jackets and rolled out. Following the A24 through Dorking and the first climb of the day comes quickly. With just the four of us however, and several of whom are still getting over winter colds, the pace was thankfully steady and measured. Today wouldn’t be an attacking and lung-busting ride, a small mercy for one still evacuating snot at an extremely rapid rate.

Clouds of exhaled breath pouring over his shoulder, Richard led us up the first climb, and soon we turned left and began our navigation of the quiet country lanes that make up this ever-rolling route to the coast. Diving through sleepy villages and winding past bustling car parks, joggers out getting an early morning run, we were in a buoyant mood.

Trading stories of Christmas excess, discussion turning towards the cyclist’s favourite ‘how much riding are you doing now’, the inevitable cyclist’s desire to find out what his fellow riders have been up to. How many hours have they been doing, how serious are they at this time of year, what form is everyone in, hoping to assess the natural pecking order of the group in advance of the 100 miles to the coast and back.

Then, just as we were warmed up, the ride turned sour. Riding happily along the country lanes at a speed of 30kph or more, in a nice little group two abreast along a particularly straight ribbon of Tarmac, Simon caught a patch of ice. This set in motion an unavoidable sequence of events.

First, his Condor fishtailed wildly, the rear wheel sliding first right then left, all played out in slow motion right in front of Neil and myself.

We had nowhere to go.

Neil caught his front wheel on Simon’s sliding rear, pushing the front of his bike out to the left and in doing so colliding with my rear wheel. This unfortunate chain of events saw the three of us each meeting with the cold, hard road and sliding along to an undignified halt.

That spelt ride over. Deciding the roads were just too risky, we opted to risk it no further and turned about and headed home. That’s not to say the ride home was any safer, but there’s just no knowing what condition the roads would be like further into the route. Better or worse, there’s no way of knowing. And with three battered, bloodied and bruised riders, continuing seemed the less favourable option. Sometimes even the most determined are forced to face facts and take the sensible option.

So we’ll be looking to embark again on this annual ride to the coast and back. And hopefully it’ll be incident free. Something we can take away from this attempt, other than grazed knees and hips all round and ripped Lyrcra tights, is a warning of just how dangerous cycling in winter conditions can be. Be careful out there.