Back on the bike after lunch, but I was a bit slow to tag along with some of the others and too quick for the rest who were still lunching. That meant I ended up cycling on my own for the next 32 km/20 mile stretch to the second water stop for the day. Which seemed a whole lot longer than it should have been, and definitely was not fun.
I stopped for a few photo opportunities along the way. One house I passed had a large drive and lots of figurines on the window sills and patio, plus fountain, seats and planters. Another stop at the Cafe du Centre, labelled "Chez Isabelle", was ferme. In fact, this was quite a feature of the three days before we reached Paris. We all had expectations of being able to stop at little Cafes for coffee and pastries but most of the towns we passed through seemed deserted and Cafes were non-existent or closed.
There was one large "undulation" of 130 metres across a kilometre, and then the terrain flattened out, or indeed seemed to be a bit more down hill. There was a right hand turn across a set of railway tracks and I had to wait for the crossing gates to lift before continuing on. Heading to the water stop a sign to the right said "Arras 10 km" but the orange arrows were pointing left; by my rough calculations we still had more than 30 kilometres to travel on our route and it was a real downer to know that there was more than an hour to go before stopping. Apparently the right hand turn led to the motor way, a less than ideal route for us amateurs to be taking. This didn't stop a few people from attempting to take the short cut.
Water stop was just a lay-by with a fenced off sports field. Jack had overtaken me well before I reached the stop and he was there along with a few others who I'd seen in the distance but just couldn't keep up with. Karen arrived shortly after, having covered the route on her own as well. John the Builder was grumping around as his knees hurt and he just wanted the day to be over with. The rest of us seemed quite happy with our progress and were keen to get to Arras and end the day.
Karen, Jack and I headed off for the final leg into Arras. We'd been told that the orange arrows would disappear just before we reached the town and I don't think one of us quite remembered exactly which direction we were supposed to take when we arrived.
The road in was more urban, with a few twists and turns in towns as we closed in on the outskirts of Arras. At one point my legs started feeling tired and I moaned something to Karen about not being able to keep up. Employing all of her experience as a fitness trainer, she just ignored me and I'm sure that she started to peddle faster. I just did my best to try and keep up.
Arras is a big town and we continued to follow the signs for the centre. At one point we were concerned about the direction we were taking, so Karen stopped some of the locals to check exactly which way we needed to go to find the train station. They pointed us along the street we were on, so we just kept on keeping on. Ian and Barry caught up with us at a set of lights not far from our hotel. I nearly managed to run a red light, but Barry's voice kept me from taking on the traffic crossing from our left.
At the hotel, right in the centre of Arras by the main square and train station, we found our way up to the balcony and parked up our bikes. Jenny from DA helped me sort out a room and then it was off for a shower and change and ready to relax in the late afternoon sunshine. I found Cat enjoying a beer and introduced myself to Nathan and sat down with them to enjoy a large Stella. And another one. Then we decided to move on and found Matt, Alex and assorted others sitting at another bar. This forced us to stop for a couple more Stella's.
Dinner was in the hotel next to ours, so we all headed over to for a lovely risotto and more beer. At dinner on my table I met Stewart, born a Pom but talks Kiwi, along with Holly, and Vicki who were travelling together and we were sat with Angus, Cat and Nathan and had a great evening chatting away. I recall Vivienne and blond haired Nicky arriving well into dinner to a huge round of applause - I hope that helped lift their spirits after what sounded like a really tough day. Then back to the hotel and Matt made me drink another pint of Stella as the fitter ones kept up a tough pace.
Bed and lots of water were quite welcome, but I woke at 3 in the morning unable to breathe properly and my throat was really sore. Lemsip, more water, lay in bed to watch TV, more water as I realised that I did need to re-hydrate after cycling all day, more water, more water. Dodgy French/Canadian Sci-Horror called "Splice" about a scientist couple who genetically engineer a monster. Finally fell asleep around half four in the morning. That was the second day, it was was really very good.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cycling to Paris: Day 2 Calais to Arras - Part 1
Up bright and early, silly o'clock is the technical term for being on holiday and out of bed before 7am, and down for breakfast. The great thing about being in France is plenty of freshly baked croissants and baguettes. Excellent food if you're going to be cycling all day. The Kyriad provided a lot of them and I managed to consume quite a few, washed down with orange juice and a couple of eggs. Lovely view from the breakfast room of the mini golf course next door and a large number of beach huts on the plage.
My room mate informed me that I'd snored the night before. If my wife says this, it's equivalent to her saying that she was camped at Victoria Bus Station pretending to sleep while every thirty seconds a fleet of buses departed. It's that bad when I have a throat infection. Decided that it might be best to see if I could get a single room for the rest of the trip.
Bag packed and in the front room and ready to go. I asked Jo to have a look at my brake pads as the front brake kept screeching down the frame when I used it. Note to self: must learn how to replace and realign brakes. Then I checked the tyres and decided the front one needed more air. Undo Presta valve, get large bike pump, inflate tyre to correct pressure and remove pump. Presta valves blows out and tyre goes flat. Bother. Take off wheel, replace tube, put tyre back on and reattach wheel and inflate new tube to correct pressure. This means I'm the last to leave the hotel at about 8:30 and tootle off looking for orange arrows to head out of town. I bumped into Mark from DA who promptly ended up with a flat and headed back.
Calais is nice enough, but when looking for orange arrows it's difficult to remember much than a bunch of roundabouts and a bridge before getting onto the main road out of town. The morning was beautifully sunny and the fresh air felt great on my face as I cycled along. Left over a bridge and past some fields, and then right onto a long flat D road beside a canal. Lots of interesting houses on the other side of the canal, all with little bridges that provided access to them. Really pretty, especially with the dew rising into a morning mist.
I cruised past three locals who were out for a morning cycle and worked myself up to a speed of about 30km/h for the next half hour. At one point I noticed that Stan was sitting on my shoulder enjoying the tow; it was certainly a great feeling to be zipping along and be quick enough to stay out in front.
The canals gave way to a larger road and Stan and I caught up with a group who'd made a stop in Louches; one of them needed to visit a local bike shop to sort out a wheel. Apparently one guy had a stick catch in his rear wheel and throw him off on the first day, which sounds nasty but luckily he weren't hurt. It also meant the wheel was not running true and needed sorting.
Ten minutes later and we were heading up a smaller hill and getting closer to the first water stop. After going up one reasonably small hill we were then faced with a climb of about 110 metres spread over 2 km. It doesn't sound much when you write it down. But being novice cyclists it seemed quite a long way. We were catching up with a few of the slower people who'd chosen to get off their bikes and admire the view on the way to the top. At the top of the ridge I took a great photo of some cows heading towards us; brilliant blue sky in the background with low white cloud on the horizon, all quite breathtaking.
Water stop was at the top of the next ridge in a car park, right in the middle of a national park. Very peaceful surrounds as there were only a couple of cars. Surrounded by trees and the sounds of wildlife, I could easily have spent the rest of the day sitting there. At the supply table, the rotten bananas from day 1 had disappeared and were replaced by varying sorts of biscuits. The routine was a little more familiar; drink plenty of water with some cordial in it. Fill up your water bottle, have an energy bar, drink more water, top up the water bottle and get back on the road.
Back out onto the road and I was travelling with the Uni team as we headed onto one of the better quality D roads that took us through two larger towns on the way to lunch. At one point I was chatting with Nick and mentioned that the road headed up the hill and over to the right. He queried if I'd been this way before; it never occurred to me that looking ahead and noticing that there were trees higher up with a gap between them was a useful skill!
At some point I left the Uni crew behind and started tailing Stan again and in one of the towns Karen caught up with us. It was around this time that I had one of my first "wobbles"; I went round a corner going up a hill and suddenly felt "wrong" all over. A weird sort of dizzy feeling, like all the blood is leaving your body. I figured it was a lack of food; 1 energy bar later and I was feeling alright again. Chatting to Karen, turns out that her bike was the one with the broken chain from the day before. Mike couldn't get the connecting pin sorted and it broke, leaving Karen to spend most of day one either in one of the vans or riding a bike that was too large for her. This all sounded very frustrating.
Going up another "undulation" before lunch, Stan started on a few songs to keep us going on the incline. Roger Miller's "King of the Road" was one of them. My lack of speaking ability due to my dodgy throat was a boon for my cycling mates as it prevented me from singing tonelessly loud. Stan started to put in a sprint to the luncheon; obviously keen to get plates full of the sumptuous feast that awaited us.
On the next undulation, there were a few cows loose on the road. A number of fellow cyclists all concluded that cows in France come equipped with horns. This makes it difficult to know if they are boys or girls. At lunch I discovered that Cat and Emma were quite worried by the appearance of these marauders threatening to take them out on what was an otherwise quiet roadside, so much so they were unable to identify the sex of the animals. I believe that, based on the udders on show, they were girls and relatively benign. Not that I was willing to tempt fate and just kept going.
On the map, lunch was somewhere near Perne; going up another longish undulation there was a large and very welcome sign saying "Lunch" with an arrow to the left. A slight downhill and bend took me to a playing field with the vans parked up and lunch tent ready to serve.
Matt and Alex had arrived well ahead of me, having got a head start on the day, and there were about 20 or so of the group there, including Stan.
Another big serving of all sorts of food; pasta, salads, mint cucumbers (very interesting) and lots for the carnivores. I grabbed mine and sat at one of the picnic tables and met Cat who filled me in on the problems with the cows.
We'd covered about 50 miles or 80 kilometres at this point, so we were over halfway for the day, and with the great company along the way all of it had passed by in a flash. Certainly easier than many of the long cycles I'd done on my own.
My room mate informed me that I'd snored the night before. If my wife says this, it's equivalent to her saying that she was camped at Victoria Bus Station pretending to sleep while every thirty seconds a fleet of buses departed. It's that bad when I have a throat infection. Decided that it might be best to see if I could get a single room for the rest of the trip.
Bag packed and in the front room and ready to go. I asked Jo to have a look at my brake pads as the front brake kept screeching down the frame when I used it. Note to self: must learn how to replace and realign brakes. Then I checked the tyres and decided the front one needed more air. Undo Presta valve, get large bike pump, inflate tyre to correct pressure and remove pump. Presta valves blows out and tyre goes flat. Bother. Take off wheel, replace tube, put tyre back on and reattach wheel and inflate new tube to correct pressure. This means I'm the last to leave the hotel at about 8:30 and tootle off looking for orange arrows to head out of town. I bumped into Mark from DA who promptly ended up with a flat and headed back.
Calais is nice enough, but when looking for orange arrows it's difficult to remember much than a bunch of roundabouts and a bridge before getting onto the main road out of town. The morning was beautifully sunny and the fresh air felt great on my face as I cycled along. Left over a bridge and past some fields, and then right onto a long flat D road beside a canal. Lots of interesting houses on the other side of the canal, all with little bridges that provided access to them. Really pretty, especially with the dew rising into a morning mist.
I cruised past three locals who were out for a morning cycle and worked myself up to a speed of about 30km/h for the next half hour. At one point I noticed that Stan was sitting on my shoulder enjoying the tow; it was certainly a great feeling to be zipping along and be quick enough to stay out in front.
The canals gave way to a larger road and Stan and I caught up with a group who'd made a stop in Louches; one of them needed to visit a local bike shop to sort out a wheel. Apparently one guy had a stick catch in his rear wheel and throw him off on the first day, which sounds nasty but luckily he weren't hurt. It also meant the wheel was not running true and needed sorting.
Ten minutes later and we were heading up a smaller hill and getting closer to the first water stop. After going up one reasonably small hill we were then faced with a climb of about 110 metres spread over 2 km. It doesn't sound much when you write it down. But being novice cyclists it seemed quite a long way. We were catching up with a few of the slower people who'd chosen to get off their bikes and admire the view on the way to the top. At the top of the ridge I took a great photo of some cows heading towards us; brilliant blue sky in the background with low white cloud on the horizon, all quite breathtaking.
Water stop was at the top of the next ridge in a car park, right in the middle of a national park. Very peaceful surrounds as there were only a couple of cars. Surrounded by trees and the sounds of wildlife, I could easily have spent the rest of the day sitting there. At the supply table, the rotten bananas from day 1 had disappeared and were replaced by varying sorts of biscuits. The routine was a little more familiar; drink plenty of water with some cordial in it. Fill up your water bottle, have an energy bar, drink more water, top up the water bottle and get back on the road.
Back out onto the road and I was travelling with the Uni team as we headed onto one of the better quality D roads that took us through two larger towns on the way to lunch. At one point I was chatting with Nick and mentioned that the road headed up the hill and over to the right. He queried if I'd been this way before; it never occurred to me that looking ahead and noticing that there were trees higher up with a gap between them was a useful skill!
At some point I left the Uni crew behind and started tailing Stan again and in one of the towns Karen caught up with us. It was around this time that I had one of my first "wobbles"; I went round a corner going up a hill and suddenly felt "wrong" all over. A weird sort of dizzy feeling, like all the blood is leaving your body. I figured it was a lack of food; 1 energy bar later and I was feeling alright again. Chatting to Karen, turns out that her bike was the one with the broken chain from the day before. Mike couldn't get the connecting pin sorted and it broke, leaving Karen to spend most of day one either in one of the vans or riding a bike that was too large for her. This all sounded very frustrating.
Going up another "undulation" before lunch, Stan started on a few songs to keep us going on the incline. Roger Miller's "King of the Road" was one of them. My lack of speaking ability due to my dodgy throat was a boon for my cycling mates as it prevented me from singing tonelessly loud. Stan started to put in a sprint to the luncheon; obviously keen to get plates full of the sumptuous feast that awaited us.
On the next undulation, there were a few cows loose on the road. A number of fellow cyclists all concluded that cows in France come equipped with horns. This makes it difficult to know if they are boys or girls. At lunch I discovered that Cat and Emma were quite worried by the appearance of these marauders threatening to take them out on what was an otherwise quiet roadside, so much so they were unable to identify the sex of the animals. I believe that, based on the udders on show, they were girls and relatively benign. Not that I was willing to tempt fate and just kept going.
On the map, lunch was somewhere near Perne; going up another longish undulation there was a large and very welcome sign saying "Lunch" with an arrow to the left. A slight downhill and bend took me to a playing field with the vans parked up and lunch tent ready to serve.
Matt and Alex had arrived well ahead of me, having got a head start on the day, and there were about 20 or so of the group there, including Stan.
Another big serving of all sorts of food; pasta, salads, mint cucumbers (very interesting) and lots for the carnivores. I grabbed mine and sat at one of the picnic tables and met Cat who filled me in on the problems with the cows.
We'd covered about 50 miles or 80 kilometres at this point, so we were over halfway for the day, and with the great company along the way all of it had passed by in a flash. Certainly easier than many of the long cycles I'd done on my own.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Cycling to Paris - Day 1 Part 2
Leaving the second water stop at Stelling Minnis, Matt, Alex and myself
headed for the Port of Dover via a short, steep climb reaching a peak at just
on the other side of Swingfield Minnis. Keeping me going was Matt's
suggestion of fish and chips in Dover. At the water stop, Matt had
sounded out Mark, the mechanic, for advice on decent watering holes along the
way into Dover but after cycling past some unappealing places we just ploughed
ahead and into Dover. None of us fancied eating ferry food.
The castle was on the hill above us to our left and the orange arrows continued to show the way to our destination. A quick stop at Morrison's for cash and cold spray for Matt's knee and then a right turn and another right at the roundabout and up a short hill and we found a decent looking cafe to sit down for a meal. We ordered large fish and chips and a beer and what arrived was truly magnificent. Freshly cooked, beautifully prepared cod and chips that were clearly cooked in some very fresh oil. Along with a cool glass of lager, you couldn't ask for more. Even if I drove down for the day, it wouldn't taste that good.
Back on the bikes and we started following more orange arrows which we'd noticed from the sidewalk whilst watching other charity riders go by. Down the hill, left at the roundabout and then into a car park to find ourselves amongst a complete group of strangers and, more importantly, no Discover Adventure banner and no sign of the Tourist Centre that we were supposed to stop at. Matt just kept going and we headed straight through the car park and found ourselves on the right road with the right orange signs to guide us. We arrived after about two thirds of the group had already parked up, which meant time for a few snaps of us standing outside the port and then we headed round the cycle paths to get our tickets.
Parking lane139 at 18:40 said our tickets. Given that it was about quarter past 5, which meant a long stay hanging around in the port getting cold. We even had a curmudgeonly dock worker tell us how dangerous it was to ride around in our high viz gear with all the heavy trucks charging to and from the ferries. There was a collective debunking of walking to our destination, so back on the bikes and a 5 minute cycle to reach our departure point. This turned out to be literally a line numbered 139 in the car park. Offering no shelter from the nagging wind, someone pointed to the services and we all scurried to it in the hope of warmth, a loo stop and a nice cup of hot fresh tea.
Inside there was Costa Coffee and a WH Smith and some horrible smelling fast food place. If you've ever travelled in the UK you'll know that all motorway stops, ferry ports and the Channel Tunnel offer exactly the same formula. Overpriced food that you would only buy if you had nowhere else to go that's served by teenagers with, judging by the state of their nails, questionable personal hygiene. With everyone inside the building, there was still the excited buzz of first day chatter as the little groups who'd travelled together sat down to recap what had happened. Lots of talk about punctures and falling off (mostly those new to wearing clip-ins) and looking forward to reaching Calais. I also met Rachel and Angus from the Alzheimer's team who were doing the whole ride, which I thought was quite impressive and I later found that the DA team thought the same as they normally end up ferrying charity reps between the stops.
Another briefing from Jo, telling us about having to walk onto the ferry due to the metallic nature of the ramp and the risk of falling off and hurting ourselves, and we were off to get our bikes. And stand in the wind waiting to board. We walked over the ramp and had our bikes stacked at the end of the ferry by some churlish French stevedores who seemed affronted by our temerity to bring so many bikes onto their boat. With bikes safely chained up we made our way into the seating on the boat and waited for the bars and restaurants to open. By this stage, I was smugly thinking how great it was to have had a proper meal before leaving. Ferry food is, by all accounts, even less appetising then ferry services food. Still, the lager was cold and wet and that was good.
At Calais we were the last off the ferry, which seemed to take ages to unload the trucks in a pattern designed to stop it from overturning, while we waited in the diesel fumes for our chance to disembark. After being released, we headed over the front gangway and into the car park to meet up with the DA team. Unfortunately we had the wrong car park but, after a quick call to Jo, we headed up over a road bridge and down to where we should have been, between the two DA vehicles that would convoy us to our hotels.
We had to wait for a group of 100 or so charity cyclists to go past before we took off into the night. No passport checks either, despite having it to hand all day. We cycled through the very quiet streets of Calais before the bulk of our peleton was delivered to the more central of the two hotels. A smaller group of about 22, including me, headed for the Kyriad Plage, arriving about 10 minutes later at our chosen point. The bike lock up was a conference room in the hotel which also contained the welcome sight of our backs waiting for collection.
I found my way to my room and talked to Dave my roommate about him getting the first shower while I admired just how small the twin bed room was; one which I was about to share with some random bloke I'd just met earlier that day. I wandered back out to talk to the DA reps on some random topic and then chatted to Rachel as we headed back to the rooms. Dave headed off for a beer, so I grabbed a shower and put on the kettle to make a Lemsip. I really didn't feel like drinking, I just wanted to lie in my bed and get some sleep and try and shake off this sick feeling. I tried writing down what we'd done that day, but started to just nod straight off, so I put my iPod on and passed out.
135km travelled, including the bit to the hotel in Calais. 6 hours 30 minutes on the bike plus a couple of hours of stops for food, water and the 90 minutes spent crossing the English channel plus unrecorded down time waiting around to get on and off the ferry. Bed was probably around 11pm French time. That was the first day.
The castle was on the hill above us to our left and the orange arrows continued to show the way to our destination. A quick stop at Morrison's for cash and cold spray for Matt's knee and then a right turn and another right at the roundabout and up a short hill and we found a decent looking cafe to sit down for a meal. We ordered large fish and chips and a beer and what arrived was truly magnificent. Freshly cooked, beautifully prepared cod and chips that were clearly cooked in some very fresh oil. Along with a cool glass of lager, you couldn't ask for more. Even if I drove down for the day, it wouldn't taste that good.
Back on the bikes and we started following more orange arrows which we'd noticed from the sidewalk whilst watching other charity riders go by. Down the hill, left at the roundabout and then into a car park to find ourselves amongst a complete group of strangers and, more importantly, no Discover Adventure banner and no sign of the Tourist Centre that we were supposed to stop at. Matt just kept going and we headed straight through the car park and found ourselves on the right road with the right orange signs to guide us. We arrived after about two thirds of the group had already parked up, which meant time for a few snaps of us standing outside the port and then we headed round the cycle paths to get our tickets.
Parking lane139 at 18:40 said our tickets. Given that it was about quarter past 5, which meant a long stay hanging around in the port getting cold. We even had a curmudgeonly dock worker tell us how dangerous it was to ride around in our high viz gear with all the heavy trucks charging to and from the ferries. There was a collective debunking of walking to our destination, so back on the bikes and a 5 minute cycle to reach our departure point. This turned out to be literally a line numbered 139 in the car park. Offering no shelter from the nagging wind, someone pointed to the services and we all scurried to it in the hope of warmth, a loo stop and a nice cup of hot fresh tea.
Inside there was Costa Coffee and a WH Smith and some horrible smelling fast food place. If you've ever travelled in the UK you'll know that all motorway stops, ferry ports and the Channel Tunnel offer exactly the same formula. Overpriced food that you would only buy if you had nowhere else to go that's served by teenagers with, judging by the state of their nails, questionable personal hygiene. With everyone inside the building, there was still the excited buzz of first day chatter as the little groups who'd travelled together sat down to recap what had happened. Lots of talk about punctures and falling off (mostly those new to wearing clip-ins) and looking forward to reaching Calais. I also met Rachel and Angus from the Alzheimer's team who were doing the whole ride, which I thought was quite impressive and I later found that the DA team thought the same as they normally end up ferrying charity reps between the stops.
Another briefing from Jo, telling us about having to walk onto the ferry due to the metallic nature of the ramp and the risk of falling off and hurting ourselves, and we were off to get our bikes. And stand in the wind waiting to board. We walked over the ramp and had our bikes stacked at the end of the ferry by some churlish French stevedores who seemed affronted by our temerity to bring so many bikes onto their boat. With bikes safely chained up we made our way into the seating on the boat and waited for the bars and restaurants to open. By this stage, I was smugly thinking how great it was to have had a proper meal before leaving. Ferry food is, by all accounts, even less appetising then ferry services food. Still, the lager was cold and wet and that was good.
At Calais we were the last off the ferry, which seemed to take ages to unload the trucks in a pattern designed to stop it from overturning, while we waited in the diesel fumes for our chance to disembark. After being released, we headed over the front gangway and into the car park to meet up with the DA team. Unfortunately we had the wrong car park but, after a quick call to Jo, we headed up over a road bridge and down to where we should have been, between the two DA vehicles that would convoy us to our hotels.
We had to wait for a group of 100 or so charity cyclists to go past before we took off into the night. No passport checks either, despite having it to hand all day. We cycled through the very quiet streets of Calais before the bulk of our peleton was delivered to the more central of the two hotels. A smaller group of about 22, including me, headed for the Kyriad Plage, arriving about 10 minutes later at our chosen point. The bike lock up was a conference room in the hotel which also contained the welcome sight of our backs waiting for collection.
I found my way to my room and talked to Dave my roommate about him getting the first shower while I admired just how small the twin bed room was; one which I was about to share with some random bloke I'd just met earlier that day. I wandered back out to talk to the DA reps on some random topic and then chatted to Rachel as we headed back to the rooms. Dave headed off for a beer, so I grabbed a shower and put on the kettle to make a Lemsip. I really didn't feel like drinking, I just wanted to lie in my bed and get some sleep and try and shake off this sick feeling. I tried writing down what we'd done that day, but started to just nod straight off, so I put my iPod on and passed out.
135km travelled, including the bit to the hotel in Calais. 6 hours 30 minutes on the bike plus a couple of hours of stops for food, water and the 90 minutes spent crossing the English channel plus unrecorded down time waiting around to get on and off the ferry. Bed was probably around 11pm French time. That was the first day.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
What a blast - London to Paris by Cycle Day 1 Part 1
Last time I wrote, I was close to succumbing to a flu like virus that might have kept me from completing my challenge of cycling from London to Paris. Today I'm very pleased to say that it didn't and that I managed the entire 485 kilometres without suffering mechanical, physical or mental failure in the entire time I was on the road.
At the end of the journey, sitting in my hotel room in Paris, I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment like I've ever felt before. Not even passing my final year of secondary school gave me such a feeling of satisfaction. I've raised over £1,100 for the Alzheimer's society and am really pleased with that too.
The night before leaving I had about five hours of restless, sweat soaked lying on my bed that might be called sleep but felt more like one of those dreams where you're trapped in a sauna.
Without seeing the sun, I crawled out of bed at 5am, finished packing my bag, twice in the end as I swapped to a larger back pack, and put my bike into the back of the car. As my wife drove me to the starting point at Blackheath I felt oddly relaxed as the SatNav assured us we'd arrive in plenty of time but nervous about who and what I would find when I arrived.
At Blackheath the sun was starting to come up and I saw the first of many "Discover Adventure" sails surrounded by cyclists, a welcome sight in the days to come. Check in was pretty simple, swap your name for an envelope containing tags for your bike and bags, a quick check that you were in possession of your passport and then standing around in the biting wind waiting for the first briefing from Jo, the Discover tour lead.
My wife left just before we set off and didn't get home for two hours, which shows just how rubbish traffic in inner London can be. That left me standing with a bunch of strangers in a strange part of London, accompanied by the biting wind of the early morning.
We were then taken through the various health and safety elements of cycling on the road and given instructions to follow the orange arrows as they marked out the route. The first water stop was, we were told, a mere 20 miles, or 32 kilometres, away in the little village of Harvel with a few small hills, or "undulations" as we came to know them, on the way there. How hard could this be?
Starting was a nightmare; a set of temporary lights meant you had 20 cyclists at a time trying to squeeze through the contra-flow and upsetting the gentile London motorists. Once that was out of way, we were heading east into the rising sun and trying to spot our orange triangles. Up Shooters Hill was mostly stop start at the various lights, and with the narrow roads not conducive to getting up a good head of steam, we traveled in single file towards the edge of London. First fall of the day happened when one of the group forget to unclip when stationary. No harm done, just bruised ego! But it was stop-start all the way to the edge of London.
My first experience of being lost made me realise that spotting the orange triangles was one of the most important activities to perform on the trip. Somehow a group of us managed to miss a turn heading out of London and went clockwise around the A207 near Crayford when we should have taken a right and used a different route. Didn't work out badly though, we caught up with the rest of the group shortly after and luckily found ourselves back on the main route.
Once we cleared the M25 the traffic thinned out, as did my companions, and at this point I realised that hills were more problematic than I had supposed. The basic issue with hills is that they tend to go upwards, and when you're on a bicycle this requires you to peddle or you fall off. So far, so good, but I found that I just couldn't get over about 12km/h on any given incline and this didn't improve in the next four days.
Being mindful of not getting lost, and largely being on my own, I kept an eye out for arrows and successfully managed to get to the first water stop in Kent. This was a lovely village green with a couple of trees and the Discover Adventure flag by the way side.
The next 30 miles to lunch all passed by in a blur. Apart from some excitement before lunch where a hare appeared on the road. One of the group started chasing the hare, which took off at about 35 km/h along the road in front of us. Eventually a car overtook us and almost took out the hare which, after a few unsuccessful attempts, managed to find a haven on the other side of a fence.
Eventually we reached the very charming village of Charing in Kent and the orange arrows pointed us right towards a 15th century barn and Bishopric and a church hall for our lunch stop.
Good to get some decent grub and nice to sit out in some sunshine rather than the rain of Blighty these last few weeks. Others started to arrive in dribs and drabs and by the time I was ready to go most of the people had arrived. I wasn't too keen to be on my own, so I tailed along behind a couple of guys who looked like they knew what to do. Matt and Alex, mates from Derby who trained in the Pennines, introduced themselves and I basically tailed along on their wake for the rest of the day.
As we headed further south into Kent, the hills became bigger and more challenging. Particularly interesting was going on very step incline only to find a digger taking up the whole of the lane heading towards us. This was the only time I stopped on a hill as Matt, Alex and myself had to carry our bikes around its enormous wheels and then start peddling uphill again. The Kent lanes were quite small and narrow and dark. We were going down one hill and all of us were wondering what would happen if a car appeared from the other direction; on cue a large Land Rover appeared at the bottom. We were traveling slowly enough to be able to avoid it, but that was quite scary. Alex picked up a puncture and that slowed us down a bit before continuing up the hills and on to the next water stop.
At the van, Mark from DA was wondering if anyone had brought a decent chain tool with them as he was busy trying to repair a chain which he'd fixed earlier but the pin had snapped not long after the owner had ridden off with it. I hadn't brought mine; even though my bike maintenance manual had suggest taking it with me. The unknown recipient of this chain was going to get it back in somewhat dodgy condition.
Next up - Water stop 2 to Dover and onto Calais.
At the end of the journey, sitting in my hotel room in Paris, I felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment like I've ever felt before. Not even passing my final year of secondary school gave me such a feeling of satisfaction. I've raised over £1,100 for the Alzheimer's society and am really pleased with that too.
The night before leaving I had about five hours of restless, sweat soaked lying on my bed that might be called sleep but felt more like one of those dreams where you're trapped in a sauna.
Without seeing the sun, I crawled out of bed at 5am, finished packing my bag, twice in the end as I swapped to a larger back pack, and put my bike into the back of the car. As my wife drove me to the starting point at Blackheath I felt oddly relaxed as the SatNav assured us we'd arrive in plenty of time but nervous about who and what I would find when I arrived.
At Blackheath the sun was starting to come up and I saw the first of many "Discover Adventure" sails surrounded by cyclists, a welcome sight in the days to come. Check in was pretty simple, swap your name for an envelope containing tags for your bike and bags, a quick check that you were in possession of your passport and then standing around in the biting wind waiting for the first briefing from Jo, the Discover tour lead.
My wife left just before we set off and didn't get home for two hours, which shows just how rubbish traffic in inner London can be. That left me standing with a bunch of strangers in a strange part of London, accompanied by the biting wind of the early morning.
We were then taken through the various health and safety elements of cycling on the road and given instructions to follow the orange arrows as they marked out the route. The first water stop was, we were told, a mere 20 miles, or 32 kilometres, away in the little village of Harvel with a few small hills, or "undulations" as we came to know them, on the way there. How hard could this be?
Starting was a nightmare; a set of temporary lights meant you had 20 cyclists at a time trying to squeeze through the contra-flow and upsetting the gentile London motorists. Once that was out of way, we were heading east into the rising sun and trying to spot our orange triangles. Up Shooters Hill was mostly stop start at the various lights, and with the narrow roads not conducive to getting up a good head of steam, we traveled in single file towards the edge of London. First fall of the day happened when one of the group forget to unclip when stationary. No harm done, just bruised ego! But it was stop-start all the way to the edge of London.
My first experience of being lost made me realise that spotting the orange triangles was one of the most important activities to perform on the trip. Somehow a group of us managed to miss a turn heading out of London and went clockwise around the A207 near Crayford when we should have taken a right and used a different route. Didn't work out badly though, we caught up with the rest of the group shortly after and luckily found ourselves back on the main route.
Once we cleared the M25 the traffic thinned out, as did my companions, and at this point I realised that hills were more problematic than I had supposed. The basic issue with hills is that they tend to go upwards, and when you're on a bicycle this requires you to peddle or you fall off. So far, so good, but I found that I just couldn't get over about 12km/h on any given incline and this didn't improve in the next four days.
Being mindful of not getting lost, and largely being on my own, I kept an eye out for arrows and successfully managed to get to the first water stop in Kent. This was a lovely village green with a couple of trees and the Discover Adventure flag by the way side.
The next 30 miles to lunch all passed by in a blur. Apart from some excitement before lunch where a hare appeared on the road. One of the group started chasing the hare, which took off at about 35 km/h along the road in front of us. Eventually a car overtook us and almost took out the hare which, after a few unsuccessful attempts, managed to find a haven on the other side of a fence.
Eventually we reached the very charming village of Charing in Kent and the orange arrows pointed us right towards a 15th century barn and Bishopric and a church hall for our lunch stop.
Good to get some decent grub and nice to sit out in some sunshine rather than the rain of Blighty these last few weeks. Others started to arrive in dribs and drabs and by the time I was ready to go most of the people had arrived. I wasn't too keen to be on my own, so I tailed along behind a couple of guys who looked like they knew what to do. Matt and Alex, mates from Derby who trained in the Pennines, introduced themselves and I basically tailed along on their wake for the rest of the day.
As we headed further south into Kent, the hills became bigger and more challenging. Particularly interesting was going on very step incline only to find a digger taking up the whole of the lane heading towards us. This was the only time I stopped on a hill as Matt, Alex and myself had to carry our bikes around its enormous wheels and then start peddling uphill again. The Kent lanes were quite small and narrow and dark. We were going down one hill and all of us were wondering what would happen if a car appeared from the other direction; on cue a large Land Rover appeared at the bottom. We were traveling slowly enough to be able to avoid it, but that was quite scary. Alex picked up a puncture and that slowed us down a bit before continuing up the hills and on to the next water stop.
At the van, Mark from DA was wondering if anyone had brought a decent chain tool with them as he was busy trying to repair a chain which he'd fixed earlier but the pin had snapped not long after the owner had ridden off with it. I hadn't brought mine; even though my bike maintenance manual had suggest taking it with me. The unknown recipient of this chain was going to get it back in somewhat dodgy condition.
Next up - Water stop 2 to Dover and onto Calais.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Almost ready to go
Dear Friends, almost ready indeed. Just need to gather up my belongings in my kit bag, including spare tyres and caffeinated goo for the days when I'm running out of energy, find my passport and make sure I've a few Euros in the wallet for snacks along the way.
I also need to shake off this snotty throat infection that one of my children brought back from a recent holiday. I won't go into detail, just would like to say that I'm not ill and will be pushing myself along on my bike from Wednesday to Saturday this week.
I'll be home Sunday night. Then I can be sick. Right now, I'm not interested in being ill as I don't want to miss out on this opportunity to deliver on my end of the bargain after so many people have sponsored this endeavour. I'm madly keen to do the ride, and perhaps the signs of illness represent some apprehension at the journey. I don't want to be put off by illness.
So I'm keeping myself rugged up and dosing up on vitamin C to ward off whatever virus or bacteria is lurking in my system.
Yesterday I put a new chain on my bike, the first time I've done anything more than change a tyre, and tested it out. I'm happy to report that it all works smoothly and I can't believe how much difference a new chain makes too; the old one was a bit stretched and this means you don't get all your energy into driving the back wheel. The new chain feels smoother and I don't need to work as hard, even into the wind, to maintain the same speeds.
There are 70 people making the ride this week, so plenty of company along the way. The hurricane tail will pass over Europe tonight and hopefully the weather will be drier and less windy later this week.
Before I head off, just a final word of thanks to all of you who've donated to this cause. Your support is greatly appreciated and I'm very pleased that you've pledged so much for Alzheimer's here in the UK.
I also need to shake off this snotty throat infection that one of my children brought back from a recent holiday. I won't go into detail, just would like to say that I'm not ill and will be pushing myself along on my bike from Wednesday to Saturday this week.
I'll be home Sunday night. Then I can be sick. Right now, I'm not interested in being ill as I don't want to miss out on this opportunity to deliver on my end of the bargain after so many people have sponsored this endeavour. I'm madly keen to do the ride, and perhaps the signs of illness represent some apprehension at the journey. I don't want to be put off by illness.
So I'm keeping myself rugged up and dosing up on vitamin C to ward off whatever virus or bacteria is lurking in my system.
Yesterday I put a new chain on my bike, the first time I've done anything more than change a tyre, and tested it out. I'm happy to report that it all works smoothly and I can't believe how much difference a new chain makes too; the old one was a bit stretched and this means you don't get all your energy into driving the back wheel. The new chain feels smoother and I don't need to work as hard, even into the wind, to maintain the same speeds.
There are 70 people making the ride this week, so plenty of company along the way. The hurricane tail will pass over Europe tonight and hopefully the weather will be drier and less windy later this week.
Before I head off, just a final word of thanks to all of you who've donated to this cause. Your support is greatly appreciated and I'm very pleased that you've pledged so much for Alzheimer's here in the UK.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Ypres, War Memorials and Chocaholic Alert
For our summer holiday, our children said they'd like to go to the Menin Gate in Ieper, Belgium, as they'd been there on a school trip and wanted to revisit the town.
The Menin gate is very moving, 55,000 soldiers without graves whose names are carved onto pretty much every wall at the gate. They came from all over the world to serve the British Empire; the memorial itself is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and is an extraordinary tribute to men who traveled thousands of kilometers to serve a King that most of them probably knew very little about.
When my children went, they were given the name of a distant relative to look up on the wall, as was everyone in their class. The fact that our uncommon surname was on the wall, with the same spelling, is testimony to just how many lives were wasted in the name of nation building.
We attended the last post, which had the same solemnity to it from Anzac Day's I've spent in places like Wakool and Barham/Koondrook. There was a much larger crowd than I had anticipated, and judging from the languages and accents there were people from Spain, Italy, Germany, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa present. The ceremony is very simple, there are no speeches, just the volunteers from the Fire Brigade bugling the Last Post and then a laying of wreaths.
At the conclusion of the ceremony there is no clapping or acknowledgment of the moment, people simply head back to wherever they came from. The walk back to our hotel left me wondering about why this war happened and what were people thinking at the time to travel from places like India, Nepal, Malaysia and Australia
The British still refer to the city by it's French name of Ypres, but these days it goes by it's Flemish name of Ieper.
The Grote Markt is impressive, particularly as the Cloth Hall was razed during the war, and as a Unesco World Heritage site it's worth visiting the city to see this building alone. The Cloth Hall was rebuilt around 1926 onwards but the rebuild is so close to other Gothic structures of that period that to the untrained eye there's no difference. If you want to see how the Cloth Hall looked at the end of the war, the CWGC has a photo at Cloth Hall.
Finally, if you do go to Ieper, and you want to buy chocolate, and let's face it, buying chocolate in Belgium is heaven for choco lovers, then you should go to the VanDaele store in the Grote Markt http://www.vandaele-ieper.be/. You really should.
The Menin gate is very moving, 55,000 soldiers without graves whose names are carved onto pretty much every wall at the gate. They came from all over the world to serve the British Empire; the memorial itself is maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and is an extraordinary tribute to men who traveled thousands of kilometers to serve a King that most of them probably knew very little about.
When my children went, they were given the name of a distant relative to look up on the wall, as was everyone in their class. The fact that our uncommon surname was on the wall, with the same spelling, is testimony to just how many lives were wasted in the name of nation building.
We attended the last post, which had the same solemnity to it from Anzac Day's I've spent in places like Wakool and Barham/Koondrook. There was a much larger crowd than I had anticipated, and judging from the languages and accents there were people from Spain, Italy, Germany, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa present. The ceremony is very simple, there are no speeches, just the volunteers from the Fire Brigade bugling the Last Post and then a laying of wreaths.
At the conclusion of the ceremony there is no clapping or acknowledgment of the moment, people simply head back to wherever they came from. The walk back to our hotel left me wondering about why this war happened and what were people thinking at the time to travel from places like India, Nepal, Malaysia and Australia
The British still refer to the city by it's French name of Ypres, but these days it goes by it's Flemish name of Ieper.
The Grote Markt is impressive, particularly as the Cloth Hall was razed during the war, and as a Unesco World Heritage site it's worth visiting the city to see this building alone. The Cloth Hall was rebuilt around 1926 onwards but the rebuild is so close to other Gothic structures of that period that to the untrained eye there's no difference. If you want to see how the Cloth Hall looked at the end of the war, the CWGC has a photo at Cloth Hall.
Finally, if you do go to Ieper, and you want to buy chocolate, and let's face it, buying chocolate in Belgium is heaven for choco lovers, then you should go to the VanDaele store in the Grote Markt http://www.vandaele-ieper.be/. You really should.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
And finally
Just under two weeks to go before I get to spend four days intimately connected with my bike. This weekend will be the last long cycle and then it's time to get spare tyres, tubes and assorted accessories together.
Last weekend I was organised enough to take a trip through the Chilterns with my support crew, aka my wife, and spend the night in a lovely country hotel before coming back to London in the reverse direction.
Total distance was just short of 125 km and, being naive and not used to hills, I thought I'd probably make this in about 6 hours, including breaks. This didn't quite go to plan as I reached the 50 km mark about 3 hours and the first of five big climbs into the journey. After a rough estimate that 75km averaging 20 km/h would take just under 4 hours I merrily headed up the next big climb heading towards Oxford.
After another hour I'd kept my pace up at 20 km/h and felt that I'd still be on track to finish well within the time I'd set myself.
Country roads are quite narrow, especially when you have cars lurking on your shoulder and champing at the bit to get around. The A roads are alright as there's enough room to get past and the surfaces are reasonably good. Being without suspension, you do notice that there are all kinds of dips, missing bits of tarmac and some alarmingly large holes that you blithely clump over in your car. Most alarming in Britain is the placement of drainage grills about 50 cm in from the road side. These are lethal for cyclists. The road around them tends to crumble and when it's wet, later in the journey, they are like steel plated ice rinks.
Onto the B roads around Uffington, which has a famous "White Horse" cut into the hill side that dates back around 3,000 years, the road gets narrower and the quality deteriorates into a bumpy ride. Taking into account that I'd reached the 90km mark, it also meant a more cautious approach was required to ensure that I was able to avoid damage to myself or the bike.
About 10km later, and getting towards 4:30pm, the support crew informed me that pubs in Wiltshire usually stop serving food around 5pm. This was not good news as I was feeling pretty knackered and very hungry by this time, even after eating energy bars every hour.
4:45pm and it rained. Lots. And then more. At one point I had to stop as the rain was splattering my face so had it was hurting my eyes, forcing them closed and making it difficult for me to feel safe if I continue to ride. The rain also caused the sunscreen on my forehead to wash down into my right, with the subsequent chemical and sweat induced stinging of my eyeball. Another stop and a desperate attempt to rinse my eye and I was able to get back on the road.
After the final 2 climbs of 60 metres over 2km, I reached the hotel at 5:45 pm, about 7 1/2 hours after I set off. Dinner, bath and straight to sleep.
Next day, I picked up the trail in Henly-On-Thames and headed for home. 50km of mostly downhill travel took me just on 2 hours.
I'm ready for the four days of travel, certainly mentally prepared now, and know that physically I'm able to just get back on the bike and keep going.
Last weekend I was organised enough to take a trip through the Chilterns with my support crew, aka my wife, and spend the night in a lovely country hotel before coming back to London in the reverse direction.
Total distance was just short of 125 km and, being naive and not used to hills, I thought I'd probably make this in about 6 hours, including breaks. This didn't quite go to plan as I reached the 50 km mark about 3 hours and the first of five big climbs into the journey. After a rough estimate that 75km averaging 20 km/h would take just under 4 hours I merrily headed up the next big climb heading towards Oxford.
After another hour I'd kept my pace up at 20 km/h and felt that I'd still be on track to finish well within the time I'd set myself.
Country roads are quite narrow, especially when you have cars lurking on your shoulder and champing at the bit to get around. The A roads are alright as there's enough room to get past and the surfaces are reasonably good. Being without suspension, you do notice that there are all kinds of dips, missing bits of tarmac and some alarmingly large holes that you blithely clump over in your car. Most alarming in Britain is the placement of drainage grills about 50 cm in from the road side. These are lethal for cyclists. The road around them tends to crumble and when it's wet, later in the journey, they are like steel plated ice rinks.
Onto the B roads around Uffington, which has a famous "White Horse" cut into the hill side that dates back around 3,000 years, the road gets narrower and the quality deteriorates into a bumpy ride. Taking into account that I'd reached the 90km mark, it also meant a more cautious approach was required to ensure that I was able to avoid damage to myself or the bike.
About 10km later, and getting towards 4:30pm, the support crew informed me that pubs in Wiltshire usually stop serving food around 5pm. This was not good news as I was feeling pretty knackered and very hungry by this time, even after eating energy bars every hour.
4:45pm and it rained. Lots. And then more. At one point I had to stop as the rain was splattering my face so had it was hurting my eyes, forcing them closed and making it difficult for me to feel safe if I continue to ride. The rain also caused the sunscreen on my forehead to wash down into my right, with the subsequent chemical and sweat induced stinging of my eyeball. Another stop and a desperate attempt to rinse my eye and I was able to get back on the road.
After the final 2 climbs of 60 metres over 2km, I reached the hotel at 5:45 pm, about 7 1/2 hours after I set off. Dinner, bath and straight to sleep.
Next day, I picked up the trail in Henly-On-Thames and headed for home. 50km of mostly downhill travel took me just on 2 hours.
I'm ready for the four days of travel, certainly mentally prepared now, and know that physically I'm able to just get back on the bike and keep going.
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