GBBR Day Three – Yeovil to Winchester

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I woke up at about 3.30 this morning freezing. I couldn’t quite work out why I was so cold, apart from the fact that I was sleeping with my head close to the door, and I tossed and turned for the next couple of hours. When I finally got alerted to the Reveille at 5 I discovered that my sleeping bag was unzipped from the bottom up, and hence my feet were like blocks of ice.

The Reveille had a different tone this morning. The obligatory trumpet call was followed by the dulcet tones of Take That (Never Forget), and then a couple of other tracks, played at about 250 decibels through a couple of mega PA bins by the army. Oh what cheery chappies they are!

In breakfast we were greeted by none other than Martin Johnson (England international rugby union manager and ex England world cup captain for those of you who don’t know him). To say he is absolutely huge is an understatement. In fact he made Richard Hill, England’s 6ft 4 back row, look small. To give you an idea, here he is next to me:

I may have been standing on tiptoes here, I don't recall!

We set out from Ivel Barbarians at about 7.30 in the end, to clear skies if very cold. There were quite a few day riders today, about 50 in total I think, including quite a few guys from the club itself. This was the view at the starting line, with Martin Johnson at the head of the starting pack (he didn’t finish there I should add). Mr England again started us all off, with his now customary cries of “oyez, oyez” etc.

Ready to leave Yeovil....

The route took us out of Somerset, and through Dorset and then Hampshire. It was stunningly beautiful, particularly the New Forest, which I love. And this was simply the best day’s cycling I have ever had, maybe ever will have.

The morning session was punctuated by a few testing pulls, but nothing close to what has been seen the previous two days. The middle section had one very long and steep climb, but was otherwise a quite nice run. The afternoon session (through the New Forest) was spectacular. We went through Ringwood and a few other places that I can’t remember. I wanted to stop every 100 metres and take photographs, but of course just couldn’t really do that. The last third or so of the ride was the best terrain of the ride so far, mainly undulating and forested land, and just beautiful – made you glad to be alive.

I ended up arriving into Winchester at about 2.30pm or so, and I booked in straight away for my now obligatory sports massage. I think these helped my legs so much overall, the benefits could definitely be felt the next day.

Finishing earlier today was nice as it gave the opportunity to chill for a while in the sunshine at Winchester rugby club, which was a great venue. The locals turned up to come and see Martin Johnson and Richard Hill who both signed a few rugby balls etc., and it was a glorious warm sunny afternoon. I met and chatted to one of the best riders of the event, Anna Baird, who it turns out had done Kilimanjaro like me. She had sadly succumbed to fairly serious altitude sickness at 4,600m and had not been able to summit, and I realised how lucky I was to have been able to do so. We also chatted about what other adventures were in contemplation, and for me the seeds of doing Everest base camp were definitely sown. I have no aspirations to climb Everest itself, and indeed am not a climber and never will be, but to trek to base camp and to say that you have seen the highest mountain on the planet, well, that has to be done, doesn’t it?

There was a nice touch in Winchester too, as with our afternoon ‘tea’, someone had made a bunch of GBBR (complete with our logo etc) cup cakes, which were delicious!

I felt like I could eat the lot....

After dinner, which was sensational, and massive, Barry Clayton gave a rather splendid speech. He was obviously very emotional, and so he deserved to be – he has put a monstrous amount of effort into this event. He thanked the huge amount of people who have helped support the event, and including the army guys there are literally hundreds. Most importantly he also told us that we riders had raised £89,000 between us so far for Help For Heroes – a fantastic effort. He also gave a very emotional tribute to Pete’s Dragons, which if you have already read my previous post you will know all about by now. I didn’t at the time, and Barry didn’t want to share their story with everyone for reasons which I now know. I don’t think I could have given that speech and not cried my eyes out. In fact I wouldn’t have been able to speak at all. I am going get Ditsey’s poem printed and framed in my house, and keep it for ever. I cannot think of a better or more wonderful lasting memory of this event than that. What amazing people they are.

So the only downside to the evening was being told that Reveille was going to be at 4am (!). We have to leave by 6am, before sunrise, to get as many as possible of us the 82 miles to London by noon. It was going to be a tall order for sure. And the power cut that was to blight us didn’t help in the least. Bed was therefore by 9.15. Tomorrow would be Twickenham, our own summit. This is what most of us came for, “to arrive at Twickenham to the applause of 70,000 fans”. It was going to be fantastic, and I was going to finish this bike ride. I now, only now for the first time, knew that I could do it.

Statistics for the day were 77 miles and 1,390 metres of ascent. Calories eaten, about 10 billion. Oh and Two pints of Guinness.

To Pete’s Dragons

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I can’t speak at the moment. Feel choked. Awestruck, gobsmacked, and humbled beyond anything I think I may have almost ever felt.

Last week I was lucky enough to do the Great British Bike Ride. I trained all summer without practically a care in the world. When I did the ride I looked at the other people doing it, and wondered about why they might be there. I saw people with photographs sellotaped to their bikes of presumably parents, grandparents and the like, and thought how nice it was that they chose to commemorate their family members in that way.

I also wrote a note to Barry today, as I wanted to ask him about a certain three people who did the bike ride. They came in (I believe I am right in saying) last every day, and on the first day for example they were cycling for thirteen and a half hours. They looked absolutely knackered. I saw they had “Pete’s Dragons” shirts on, and had no idea what it was all about. They also looked to be the cheeriest souls on the whole mountain, without it seemed a care in the world. Today I found out what it was all about.

I don’t intend to even comment on what is written below, I don’t need to. I want to let their words speak for themselves. I hope they don’t mind me reproducing it – but this is simply a copy of their website.

Pete’s Dragons – this is for you. I love you all, and that is a big word, but I mean it totally:

{From http://www.petesdragons.co.uk}:

Welcome to our website!

The Dragons
Please follow and/or add us
Facebook

Twitter

Please click here to donate

Letter from Diva

On the 29th of January this year my perspective on life changed forever.   That was the day my little brother decided that his life was too hard, difficult and painful to continue. In the first few weeks after his death (although my logical head kept telling me it was impossible) I kept waiting for someone to step forward and make everything ok again.  Surely this was a joke right?? Pete was going to come home with a massive hangover right?? That kind, gentle, quiet, smiley, shy, thoughtful little brother of mine was going to be around forever right???  Wrong.

The five days that Pete was missing were the worst days of my life.  I have never felt such despair and helplessness.  To have it over such a sustained period was exhausting, I watched my whole family deteriorate in front of my eyes with every passing hour.  We had a wonderful support group of friends and extended family who rallied round and helped to keep us going by keeping us fed and helping in our search. But as each night drew in we knew our chances of a happy outcome were diminishing.  The first day that he was missing we found the most frustrating – the police had all available officers searching for him but that just wasn’t enough for the terrain.  We often say “its a small world” but let me assure you, when your looking for a five foot six, eight stone, 24 year old in rural Cornwall, the world is massive.

On the second day the cavalry arrived.  The Cornwall Search and Rescue Team and the North Dartmoor Search and Rescue Team.  Just seeing them arrive in their droves, setting up their vans and radio systems gave us the much needed reassurance that everything that could be done was being done.  I must confess that at that point I couldn’t care less who they were and where they had come from.  One thing and one thing only was driving me and that was finding Pete.  I discovered after that the teams in total searched a massive area surrounding where Pete had last been seen. This area included rivers, woods, train tracks, farmland and the weather at the time was horrific, deep snow, rain and hail storms, constant freezing temperatures. However, for as long as the police needed them to help search, they came, from first light till dark.  They weren’t successful in finding Pete, he had concealed himself in a place none of us would have ever connected him too, to spare us, his family the trauma of finding him ourselves.

Throughout Devon and Cornwall these teams are on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  They are all volunteers who buy their own equipment.  They don’t have a rota system, they all get called out to every job. They recieve no central funding for their equipment.  However, in any rescue situation, from missing people to stranded people,  in the two counties they are the first point of contact for the police.  They are a 999 service.

Have you ever been to Devon or Cornwall, do you know anyone who lives in Devon and Cornwall, do you yourself live in Devon or Cornwall?  Having now met these guys I was humbled by the amount of their own time they give up for training and actually carrying out search and rescue operations, they are truly dedicated professionals often juggling their careers and family life with their search and rescue commitments.

That’s why Pete’s Dragons want to raise pots of money for them.  They don’t have a high profile, they struggle to raise the money they need to continue their work, against some of the more high profile charities. I didn’t know on the 28th of January 2010 who they were or that they even existed. On the 30th of January my family needed them and they were there.

On a personal note, “Pete’s Dragons” has got me and my family through some of our darkest days.  It has kept us busy and focused and enabled us to feel some positivity coming from such a tragic event.  We have received an enormous amount of support for which we are deeply touched and extremely grateful.  I have to mention the other two Dragons at this stage: phenomenal women who have given up their own lives this summer to train and fundraise like nutters. I find it very hard to tell them to their faces how grateful I am or indeed how I feel about them because I just blub!  But for the record ladies “you are awesome and inspirational, your friendship is priceless and I love you both”.

I can’t have my little brother back, my Mum can’t have her son back but what we CAN do with your help  is ensure that Search and Rescue Teams have the funding to continue their work and find other peoples loved ones safe and sound.

Please continue to support us though the BIG RIDE, our blog will be updated daily and we will be able to read all messages of support on facebook.  The route we will ride is on the LGBBR website and we would love to see as many of you as possible en-route for a wave and some heckling!!!! Thank you for all of your support so far – we really have had a blast!!!!!

Love Diva x x

A Poem by Ditsey

I wonder whatever possessed me

To cycle for so many miles?

Numb toes, arms and fingers

Heaven only knows about piles.

With a fond goodbye to sleeping

Television, alcohol and a life

We train and work and train

Forget the kids. Are you sure I’m a wife?

The birds they stay but snoring

Whilst the rabbits they still abound

The roads hold very little traffic

Only the farmers are around.

We’ve purchased shiny bike pumps,

Bright lights and inner tubes

But the kit list it says ear plugs,

An eye mask and some ‘lube”?

The Dragons, my they fund raise

From ‘Spinning’ to Car Boot Sales

Sporting Sweaty Betty clothing

Matching lippie, bright pink nails.

On Sundays you will find us

Up a mound or up a hill

With the Dynamos’ help and patience

And a cuppa at the Mill.

The ‘Bonk’ it comes to Ditsey

And a Diva strop will pass

Dreggie will get her baps out

But the Dragons; now they’re fast.

The days they are a passing

That GBBR is looming near

Is it anticipation, or excitement?

Or is it just down right fear?

Our muscles they are screaming

There are bags under our eyes

But the lady promised us ‘whippets’

With long and slender thighs.

What a journey of discovery

What fabulous people we’ve met

What a way to spend a summer

And guess what: it’s not over yet.

We’ve fallen in love with cycling

The freedom and the air

We’re just three very ordinary women,

With a dream we want to share.

We are doing this for you Pete,

Although it may take us some time

But we know that you’ll be with us

As we cross the Twickenham line.

Dragon

Supporting the Dartmoor Rescue Group, the Cornwall Search and Rescue Team

and Help for Heroes

GBBR Day Two – Tavistock to Yeovil

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So day two was a bugger too. It began with the now customary Reveille, which consists of a piped bugle call at about 200 decibels at about 5am, perhaps earlier. The morning was very cold, if fairly still, and Dartmoor in the distance looked a stark and foreboding place. It was to prove that and and so much more, as we go straight through the middle of it.

Our camp at Tavistock RFC - the start of Dartmoor in the distance.

We set off just after daybreak, having first packed our bags and brought them to the truck that would take them around all week:

Our luggage gets ready to leave Tavistock

We then had to go back down the awful hill that we came up last night, and into Tavistock. From there we took a road which apparently the locals call ‘eight mile hill’. The reason for this somewhat eludes me, as the hill is actually about 12 miles long. No breaks, just an unrelenting tough slog from about 100ft above sea level to about 1700ft. It passes Princetown Jail at the top of Dartmoor, which today in the swaling mist made it appear an even more forbidding place than it no doubt normally is. Here is the profile of the morning’s route:

This was not a fun morning at all....

As you can see we went to over 1,500 feet, and the ‘hill” basically sorted the men from the boys. There were people lieing at the side of the road at almost every turn it seemed. On top of the fact that legs were stiff from doing 100 miles the day before, this was a beast. In fact it would be a beast in any circumstances. I think the longest hill I have tried climbing previously is probably half a mile long, so this was unchartered territory on every level for me. Dartmoor was also cold and misty to boot, with low visibility.

Once over the top of ‘High Moor’ there was a huge 14 mile descent, which was more of an undulating set of rollers than a true descent. It wasn’t helped also by the fact that it was into what was now a strong headwind. I would imagine that with a nice westerly wind and the benefit of knowing the run, you could have some fun down there. Apparently it is part of the course for the Tour of Britain in two weeks time. I would love to see the pros on it, it would be rather humbling for me I am sure.

There followed some real ups and downs through some very pretty Devon villages. There are no flat roads down here at all! After a couple of pit stops which took us through about 55 miles in total the route passed Exeter and then out of Honiton. Lunch was at a pub called the Lamb and Flag – would love to go back when I can actually have a drink! I walked into the bar on my way for a pee break and apologised to the landlady. I told her that I hoped sincerely that I would be back there someday in “happier” circumstances.

The roads out of Honiton had three brutal climbs, one about four miles long. I didn’t see one rider who didn’t stop at least once, myself included. One of the climbs had been newly gravelled, and was just about impossible to stay upright. Once we had got to about 70 miles for the day I was exhausted, totally. Thankfully it is amazing what bananas, tea, flapjacks, energy gels, electrolyte drinks, Clif shots, Mars Bars and jelly babies can do. I ate all of the these daily in abundance, and still ended up losing weight.

The final run came after pit stop three. Apart from the fact that they got the mileage wrong it was actually great. The run was about 24 miles, making about 90 for the day, taking us from somewhere near Chard (we had now reached Somerset) to Yeovil. There were a couple of nasty climbs again towards the end, but that is becoming expected now.

Pulling into Yeovil (Ivel Barbarians RFC) at about 3pm, I was greeted by the familiar army camp set up – those guys must have moved heaven and earth each day to get everything up and about – they were brilliant.

IV

In the evening after a sports massage there was a rugby game between the army guys and the Ivel Barbarians Vets team. I allowed myself a celebratory pint of Guinness too – I figured that one wouldn’t hurt me, and I am glad to say that it didn’t! I was soon in bed by 9.20 however, absolutely wiped out.

The stats for the day were:

Total mileage 90.

Total ascent 2,390 metres.

This meant we had done 186 miles and 5,200 metres (17,000 feet approx) of ascent since yesterday morning. No wonder I was tired. I slept very soundly, hoping that the rest of Somerset and then Hampshire would offer some easier riding than today. They would in fact do just that – the delights of the New Forest lay ahead……

GBBR Day One: Lands End to Tavistock

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Do you know what the Reveille sounds like? Everyone on the Lexus Great British Bike Ride knows it very well indeed. We were to hear it every morning at 5am, pumped in by the army via a PA system that would have woken the dead. I have the sound ringing in my ears still as I type up my notes now almost a week later. Google it, please, I want to share it with you:)

So this was the start of our every day. In a cold (very) and dark, dampish army tent, we would get blasted with this lovely sound. The first morning it came as a big shock, but at least it got us all out of bed. In fact it probably got the whole of Lands End out of bed too.

So after a big queue for a breakfast of porridge, eggs, beans, toast, bacon and lots of tea, it was into the cycling kit for the start of the ride. We started at precisely 7am, and rode down to the famous signpost showing the way to various far flung places. I think there were 141 of us the first morning, and we were set off in ceremonious style by Mr England in groups of 25 or so. Here are some of the folks getting ready for the off:

The famous signpost is there in the background.

The route we knew was going to be around 97 miles. What I don’t think anyone knew really was just how hard this would be, certainly not me. Not helped by the easterly wind (I will try not to keep mentioning this, honest, but we did end up cycling into it for all 344 miles), the hills were just horrible, in fact some of them were bad going down too.

The reason for the bad ones going down were that many were on very narrow country roads with grass growing down the middle, a 25% slope, and high hedges each side. This meant that the best you could do was to cling onto the brakes all the way down and hope that you didn’t fall off. This hurt your arms and hands a lot, and I just wasn’t used to it. The hills I am used to cycling down are wide open, and you can freewheel, let yourself go and feel the wind in your hair. Very few of these allowed that freedom at all.

Some of the hills going up were so steep that my lack of triple chainring was apparent immediately. I reckon that 90% of people on the ride had a triple, and all of the experienced guys certainly had them. I was stupid, just didn’t know, and paid for it. You cannot do 25% slopes on a double, or I can’t anyway. In fact if I hadn’t had the 11-28 cassette fitted to my bike the week before I went I would have been walking half of the hills in Cornwall, and would probably still be there. I am glad to say that this was my only regret of the whole trip, but it was a significant one certainly. By the first pit stop however at 25 miles or so, I was flying along, and loving it. I think I knew that I was ready for the whole thing, as I was psyched up and determined. The other thing is that you are certainly carried along by the momentum, of riding with 150 people or so – there was always someone behind you or in front of you to keep you spurred on. Here I was at the first pit stop – still smiling!

Time for a banana and a flapjack methinks

So the route took us through or past Penzance, Redruth, St Austell, Liskeard, Callington and then eventually to Tavistock in Devon. The majority of the route was via the side roads to keep us out of the way of traffic. I think I posted the route profile in another post, but here just as a taster is the section that we finished with:

Nasty, vicious finish to say the least

So that is the last 45 miles post lunch. Following a nice descent around Callington and towards Tavistock itself, the climbs following both were absolutely horrible. Just what you want when you are nearing the end of the first 100 mile cycle of your life, and after about 9 hours in the saddle. I think I reached Tavistock at about 4.30pm. The climb up to the club itself was horrible even. It was nice as we arrived though that all the army guys were there and plenty of people from the rugby club to clap us in. There was also a film crew there from BBC Cornwall, and I think I got filmed – it would be nice to see that someday and I must find out if it exists somewhere.

Having parked the bike up I found out that I had finished in about the first 30 riders. Whilst this is by no means a race or anything it was a huge boost to find that out for me. I went and got myself booked in for a massage, which hurt about as much as climbing the 1 in 4 hills did! It was a thorough sports ‘deep tissue’ massage, of the ‘no pain no gain’ variety. I think I probably felt the benefit the next day but at the time it was nothing short of agony!

Dinner in the clubhouse was a feast of pasta, chilli con carne and curry all piled high on the same plate, followed by a dessert of meringue and fruit. I was ravenous. I managed to avoid a beer, being the good, strong willed soul that I am:), and was tucked in bed by about 9.15. This was after the ubiquitous briefing telling us what lay ahead the next day (90 miles of Devon basically, and another 2,390 metres of climbing).

Sleep itself came very very easily (always does for me, I am lucky like that), although the night was to prove very cold indeed. We were camped at about 700 feet, looking at the edge of Dartmoor, and the wind was blowing a misty coldness through the camp. I hunkered down into my sleeping bag, not wanting to get up to pee in the middle of the night because of the cold, and awaited the sound of the bugle at 5am. The start of the next day we knew was going to be a total pig of a climb – the locals referred to the start of the route over Dartmoor as “Eight Mile Hill”, and we were about to find out that they were definitely not kidding.

Lands End At Last!

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So I arrived today in Lands End. I thought the journey was going to be a very bad one when I got to Didcot railway station and found my train had been cancelled! This would have been fairly bad, as my connecting train from Swindon to Penzance was leaving only some 30 minutes later and I would have missed it. Thankfully all was not lost, as the Penzance train was actually rerouted to Didcot, and came along some 25 minutes later. Here I am about to leave good old Didcot railway station:

Do I look nervous? I was!

The journey took about 6 hours, and was ‘marred’ slightly by a delay at Exeter. We were held up for 30 minutes there, to be told that there had been a ‘fatality on the track’. That put many things into perspective for me, and I vowed at that point not to moan about things as trivial as cycling into Easterly winds, although I do reserve the right to moan about them tomorrow when I am actually having to deal with them!

Trusting your bike to British Rail is also a bit of a leap of faith, as you cannot lock it! Having not had my bike out of my sight (almost:)) since I had it, I had a good lock with me to ensure that the only person who would be taking it out of the Guard’s van would be me, but to no avail. When I got on I was told that I was not allowed to lock it ‘in case train staff needed access to the equipment in there’. Great.

I left my bike in a rack alongside several others, and spent the whole journey peering out of the window at the 18 (yes 18) stops we made along the way, half expecting to see some youth pedalling away with my pride and joy. Thankfully it didn’t happen, and neither did it happen to the Cervelo or the Trek that were parked there too.

So after leaving the train, and sadly leaving my iPhone charger on there, I left the station to find about four other people get off the train with bikes too, headed for the same place as me. We duly found a big van (marked with GBBR stickers, but looking back it could have been anybody!) to load our bikes onto. Our bags came with us and we duly set off the remaining 10 miles or so to the Seaview Holiday Park – pictured below:

Our home for the first night

So we found our accommodation was a series of massive army tents at the back of the campsite, set up and guarded by probably 40 or so army guys. I was in tent 3, where I would stay all week, the tents being moved each day in a huge operation by the army guys:

Easy to go wrong in the dark....

The whole set up was incredible. With a mechanics tent, a massage tent, a check in area manned by the army, a water station complete with electrolyte drinks, etc. The only downside was that we had to (under strict instruction:)) use the campsite toilets, and with the exception of the bar area, which was some ways away, we had two male toilets for about 250 people. Lets just say that the queues were ‘ridiculous’ and I shall leave it at that.

The site was probably about 3/4 of a mile or so from the Lands End ‘signpost’, marking the most extreme south westerly point of Great Britain, where we would cycle down to the next morning for the start of the ride itself. In the tents themselves we slept 10 to a tent, which was cosy, but fine, and the bikes stayed with us in the tent too:)

"You're in the army now..."

And so the rest of the day was fairly uneventful. We were served a huge feast of pasta, pasta and pasta in the evening, and I generally tried to busy myself by keeping away from the campsite bar. Not everyone was as successful as me, but being the strong minded, impossible to influence figure that I am, I gnawed at my knuckles and shut my eyes and hoped it was all a mirage. There was also a very comprehensive briefing by the organising team, where we were told where the pit stops would be, what obstacles to look out for, and also that we would be doing just shy of 100 miles the next day, including 2,890 metres of ascent (9,537 feet for those of you who still work in the old money). This sounded very daunting, and accompanied by what would be a week-long easterly wind (we would travel easterly all the way), there were some pretty worried faces that evening, mine included.

After a bike check up by the mechanics, I retired at about 9.30 to bed, having been told that we would be woken at 5am by a bugle call from the army. It was here, finally. The final few days before things like this drag, and yet go so quickly looking back at them. I think it is the anticipation – you cannot wait for it to begin.

Tomorrow would be it, the start of a complete unknown for me. It was a fitful and cold night that lay ahead……..

I did it!

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I am about to post updates for each of the days of my trip, but I thought I would just say that as of about noon yesterday, I had completed all 344 miles and 24,810 feet of ascent of the ride. We came into Twickenham in front of 75,112 people, a truly wonderful experience. Very tired, and very very exhilarated too.

Twickenham, 4th September 2010 - I am down there somewhere!

Lands End Tomorrow…

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I am in the final stages of packing, unpacking, and packing again. It is nuts. It shouldn’t be too hard really, but ultimately I just don’t know what to take. If this was summer it would so much easier, but I really don’t know if I am going to be hot or cold, wet or dry. My bag is however packed, and so it is going as is. I have about 200,000 energy bars and gel sachets, remembering vividly as I do that on Kilimanjaro I was woefully short on everything in that department.

I have also got my bike as ready as it is going to be. I cleaned it for starters, and I hate cleaning pretty much anything, so that was an effort I can tell you. I also have inner tubes, spare contact lenses, a pump, two bottle cages, gloves, a multi tool and various other things attached to it one way or another, and also it was serviced just last week, so hopefully it won’t let me down. What am I saying? My bike won’t let me down at all – there is only one part of ‘man and machine’ that is likely to fail, and it is not the mechanical one I assure you.

I have also just been reacquainting myself with the route – and so here is how my first day looks:

Leaving at 7.40 am, and call through or nearby:

Lands End / Penzance / Redruth / St Austell / Liskeard / Callington / Tavistock

Pit stops at –

27 miles:
St Aubyns Arms, Praze-an-Beeble, Camborne, Cornwall, TR14 0JR.

57 miles (Lunch):
Falmouth Arms, Ladock, Truro, Cornwall, TR2 4PG.

78 miles:
The Crown Inn, Lanlivery, near Bodmin, Cornwall, PL30 5BT.

Total distance is apparently 96 miles. Coupled with the forecast easterly wind, and some of those hills shown above (click on the map links to make them bigger by the way), it cannot possibly be anything other than horrible. And guess what the most horrible thing is? Yes, you did notice didn’t you? Every stop is a bloody pub!

And it gets worse (yes, every stop at every point on the way for the following three days is a pub as well). And also, just look, if you will at the profile of the first stage on day two, after we wake up with nasty horrible painful legs and sore heads:

Doesn’t it look just not very funny in the slightest? 1,500 feet I ask you!

But I cannot wait – I just want it all to start. Thank you to everyone for helping me with either good wishes, donations, or just in putting up me being a very much distracted basket case, for this past few weeks/months.

So tomorrow I will get up at 6am and be on my way to Lands End. My first time there, and hoping for an outstanding experience, which I am sure it will be one way or another.

I intend, and very much hope, as so may people have said to me, to ‘be safe’……..and I hope also to be able to update my blog briefly with progress on a daily basis too.

So, to Cornwall……and beyond!

Cakeholed??

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So here I am with just two days to go. It is very much the calm before the storm, and I wish that it was here already. It is hard to get the balance right – I can’t (or daren’t) drink, I am trying to shove carbs down my neck at a rate of knots, and can’t go out on a long bike ride as I am supposed to be resting. It is therefore very frustrating.

I have been in the meantime trying to get packed. My attempt at getting all of my stuff into ( my daughter’s) 70 litre rucksack have proved impossible, and so I am experimenting with various other bags. I can only take one under the regulations, and it has to weigh less than 15kg. That is a tall order, at best. My bike stuff alone takes up the whole of the bag and all 15kg worth.

I also had an email from the GBBR folks today. Everything looks to be well in order, and all is set for the off. I did get confused however by one instruction. We have been asked to bring 20 £1 coins as apparently there are various fines for who knows what, and then also we were told that if we didn’t pay them on the spot, we would be “cakeholed by Cake Hole Kate”. What? I mean, what on earth is that about? I have googled the term ‘cakeholed’ to no avail whatsoever, and so if anyone has the slightest clue, then ‘answers on a postcard’ as they say.

So tomorrow is my final day before I go to Lands End. I may when I eventually get there find out what cakehole means (other than the thing that I have been merrily shoving pasta into and no wine or beer into). I may even be tempted not to pay my fine so I can get cakeholed myself. Who knows what awaits!

Final post tomorrow before my ride, and lots of final thoughts and trepidations no doubt. The nerves are jangling………..

Four Days to Go!

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This is getting ridiculous – four days is very very scary indeed.

I have also had a rather poor week on the preparation front. For a start the weather has been atrocious, secondly I have had too may distractions, third I have absolutely no will power whatsoever. Take yesterday for example – I was originally going to not drink at all this week so as to cleanse the system ready for next week. But Wednesday night I got asked out for a curry, and well, one beer led to another, so that was pretty bad. I woke up slightly hanging, and then trotted off to Lords where I was being ‘entertained’ at the England Pakistan test match. As I got there the heavens opened, and my hosts asked if I wanted to ‘go for a coffee’, which sounded like a good idea. When we got to the erm, coffee area, it looked remarkably like a Veuve Cliquot champagne area to me, and so when they asked me “coffee or champagne sir?” that was a bit like asking me if I wanted to be punched in the face or given a lifetime pass to the Oktoberfest, and so my answer was very easy.

Apologies to anyone in this picture who was supposed to be 'working from home' yesterday.....

The rest of the day sort of happened in a similar vein really. There was a little bit of cricket inbetween, but actually only 12 overs in total, lasting about 45 minutes. My view of the pitch was a great one, being just at the edge of the pavilion/MCC balcony, but the pitch looked like this for much of the day:

Nice weather for ducks....

So for the other 8 or so hours that I was in the ground, we just had to take shelter in the Corporate Hospitality areas, and very nice they were too.

Not very good preparation for a 340 mile bike ride really, but never mind.

I did also pick up my rail tickets yesterday to get me to Lands End. I was rather surprised to find that I need eight, yes EIGHT tickets to get me on a single train journey. How ridiculous is that? It just annoys me as it is such a waste of trees – you would think they could do these things electronically these days.

Anyway – I have the Bank Holiday weekend ahead of me now. Just three days of preparations to go. I need to do a couple of easy cycle rides, buy a lot of things that I don’t so far have (I like leaving things to the last minute, makes it more exciting that way:)), then pack for the big event. Meantime I have to carb-load too, and so it is a weekend of pasta, brown rice, raisins and beans for me. Oh and no booze. I just dearly hope that no-one asks me out for a curry or to any more cricket matches……

Some Cycling Do’s and Don’ts

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So after my ‘wealth’ of experience gained over my 15 week road bicycling career, I have learned a huge amount, seriously. Some things you just learn (like you are going to need to carry fluids with you once you are riding for more than about an hour’s duration) out of necessity, others you learn by asking (like I had a terrible clicking noise one day, and found I could make it go away by adjusting the tension on the gear wire, or whatever it is called), and others you learn because you just have to (how to change an inner tube when you get a puncture).

You also learn a lot by reading stuff in cycling magazines or cycling forums. And cycling, like anything else, is full of its own buzzwords and jargon. I had no idea when I started what a crit was, or a granny ring, or a cassette. I didn’t for that matter know what SPD stood for, or crank, or compact, or what nipples were (and the latter might not be what you think they are:)).

Of course, like anything, cycling is so much more enjoyable when you actually know what you are doing, and also why you are doing it in a certain way. Some things are also however entirely counter-intuitive at first. An example of this is putting your saddle up so high as to be where your foot, when your leg is fully extended, just reaches the pedal. This seemed like way way too high for me at first, but when I learned that my legs got tired way quicker by not doing so, I found that literally a few millimetres (either way) can make a substantial difference over a lengthy ride.

Another example of something that is counter-intuitive is not wearing underwear. I mean, why, when you don’t know these things, would you even think of going out in your lycra shorts (some might say why wear lycra shorts at all of course:)) without underwear on? And who is supposed to tell you not to? Do you go and google “should I wear underpants when I cycle?” – would you even think to? I didn’t, of course, but I ultimately learned the answer. In fact if you do put the above into google, then one of the first answers that comes up is the following (copied from http://www.bikeforums.net):

“….Should one wear underwear under one’s bicycle shorts?

In a word: no.

In a lot more words: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

Am I making myself clear?

Bicycle shorts are designed to be worn next to the skin. Underwear under bike shorts is unhygenic, unsightly and unsafe. Wearing underwear under padded lycra shorts is like riding with your shorts full of ground glass. It is a one way ticket to chafesville. Don’t do it!

Remember the Underwear manifesto: No underwear under bike shorts for any reason ever. No Excuses.

Got it? Good……”

So that is that one cleared  up then!

As for other Do’s and Don’ts, well here are a few of them that I have picked up, in no particular order, as they say:

“Do:”

  1. Have your bike in good road order before you ride, and primarily check your tyre pressures every time you go out. The difference between 80 psi and 100 psi is massive, believe me.
  2. Take fluids with you, whether in a Camelback or bottles – you will need them. You can always stop at a shop somewhere but that doesn’t help you if you are gasping and are out in the country. In fact you should never get to being thirsty on your bike at all, always drink enough first to stop it happening.
  3. Wear a helmet. Always. Even for a five minute jaunt. It could save your life, need I say more?
  4. Wear bright coloured clothing. As a previously less considerate car driver than I am today, it is sometimes not as easy to see cyclists as it should be, particularly if they wear dark clothing. Don’t worry about looking like the sugar plum fairy, just “be safe and be seen”.
  5. Carry some basic maintenance things with you, like tyre levers, a spare inner tube or two, a pump, and a mini-tool. If you are 30 miles from home and have a problem, what are you going to do otherwise?
  6. Wear cycling shorts (without underwear:)) that are comfortable over long distances. Bib-shorts are best (in my opinion), but use chamois cream/nappy cream/Vaseline, and also watch out for where the straps come down over your nipples.
  7. Wear (sun)glasses of some description. They’ll protect you from bugs and other debris, as well as from the wind at speed.
  8. Concentrate, particularly when it is wet. Sounds obvious, but lack of concentration already cost me a fall and some blood (which should have been a lot worse). You need to have your wits about you at all times – remember that you will come off second best in any collision, and many road users are just not either used to, or happy about, bikes in general.
  9. Acknowledge other bike riders. When you ride on your own as I do, you pass a lot of other bikes too, and they are a nice friendly bunch. A simple wave or smile or nod can brighten your day a lot.
  10. Keep your mouth shut! I have so far had at least one bee in my mouth (thankfully it panicked more than I did and got out as quickly as it appeared), and particularly going downhill, a mouthful of something which is alive is at the very best going to be a horrible and awful-tasting distraction.
  11. Observe the rules of the road. It is very tempting to jump red lights etc., but the best you will do here is to piss off car drivers who can make things uncomfortable for you.
  12. Give clear hand signals. Car drivers need as much chance as possible to see you – give them every chance you can.

“Don’t:”

Pretty much the exact opposite of all of the above. I have really learned more than anything just how vulnerable I am as a cyclist on most British roads. A simple thing like a pothole (without being over dramatic about it) could kill you if you didn’t spot it and were going too fast. Other road users are generally not used to bikes, and there are seemingly so many more bikes on the roads than there used to be, and you are really really vulnerable out there. So my main “don’t”, above all, is to say “Don’t ever forget to be as safe as you can”.

Cycling is a fantastic sport/pastime/hobby. You get fit, you meet nice people, you see so much more of the countryside than you would in either a car or walking. I totally and absolutely get a huge amount of pleasure out of it, and I understand now the buzz that drives so many other people to spend a lot of their hard-earned money on it. It is an incredibly, well, ‘passionate’ thing to get involved in. Long long may that passion continue for me.