Day 5: Shrewsbury to Preston

Total: 89.1 miles
Time in saddle: Unknown
Average speed: Unknown
Maximum speed: Unknown
Cumulative: 417
Chafing rating: 2/5 (uh-oh)


I’ve been to the home of the Eckford Sweetpea. Apparently. That’s what the sign said just outside the village of Wem, but I don’t know if we saw one. We also went past Whitchurch, ‘Home of Clock Towers’. We didn’t see any of those either, as we were routed on the by-pass. It was that sort of day. Jen, the DiscoverAdventure Rep in charge, painted a rather gloomy (dare I say, grim) picture of the ride north, a day that promised more A-roads, many lorries and a lot of hard cycling.

I wanted an earlier finish today so I set off at the front with Colin, Vajrin, Sarah and Jo, who ride at a good but not lung-bursting pace, and don’t take too long at the breaks. It was a chilly, misty morning, the first time our feet have felt really cold. We started out on B-roads but soon hit the A49. Thank  goodness it was Saturday; something I had to be told, as I have lost all track of time. The trucks were not so frequent and the traffic seemed more relaxed. Then began several hours of metronomic cycling on a flat road. It was unremitting and introduced me to a new experience: riding 65 miles on the same road. This personal record is set to be beaten tomorrow when we ride 86 miles on the A6 through Cumbria to Carlisle.

The group I was with was a bit unforgiving in the morning whenever someone dropped back. I wasn’t happy about it. Philip, who had to call into a shop, was left behind. I turned round to see he had gone but I didn’t know why, and was told he could join another group. I needed two pit-stops (I drink a lot of water!) so I timed them for long straight roads that enabled me to see into the distance, as I too was left each time, and had to go full bore to catch them. On and on, on the same road we went, relentlessly but not unhappily. We really feel on these days, as we approach half way, that we are down to business. There are fewer wisecracks flying around and more head-down determination. I shared most of the ‘point’ work with Colin, an excellent rider, to keep the group moving at a reasonable pace, and like John in his group, went back into shepherding mode in towns. Many of the riders here have not ridden in cities before.

The constant whirr-whirr-whirr-whirr of the wheels set me thinking again about all sorts of things. I have thought about my father frequently on the last couple of rides. It almost felt like he was with me today. I could see his smile and hear his laugh. He would have been fascinated by this challenge. He would have thought I was quite mad and would have made frequent enquiries as to the state of my knees, but he would have loved talking about cyclists’ strategies for negotiating with traffic, about road positioning and about average speeds. I was thinking about my father when I first decided to do this ride, two months after he died, wanting to commit to doing something useful with my fitness having witnessed his being taken from him. I suspected these feelings might appear once the initial euphoria of the first few days had subsided, but I was taken aback at how strong they were, and found myself in floods of tears for several miles.

Jo, Sarah, me, Colin, Vajrin at the Wild Boar

At the first water stop, we saw the DiscoverAdventure banner but no stall and so pushed on to find a coffee shop. The late 19th-century, mock Tudor, Wild Boar Hotel looked like just the ticket. Outside we got talking to a man and woman, in their late forties, who asked us what we were doing. They then told us that inside the hotel is a plaque commemorating its first owners, the Naylor Brothers, John and Robert, who apparently completed the first recorded walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats in 1871, taking nine weeks to complete the journey. (My friend Alistair will read this and inform me they did it on a diet of gruel and small beer, in tweeds and plus fours, not lycra. And wearing monacles.) And then the man asked about the charities we are supporting. He told us he had just lost an uncle to skin cancer after a 10-week illness, that his brother had just been given 12 weeks to live with the same cancer, and that earlier this week, he had been diagnosed with the same.

Back on the road we were really feeling that we were now in the area the motorway signs refer to as THE NORTH, heading towards Warrington, and passing signs for Birmingham, Manchester and North Wales. Today we cycled through Shropshire, Cheshire and Lancashire. Lunch was in a sports hall just after Warrington. I rang my sister, Fiona, for a chat and heard the sound of the car engine in the background. “Where are you?” I asked. “About 5 miles from you.”

She had read yesterday’s blog in bed this morning, looked out of the window and thought, “I know, I’ll catch him and cheer him on.” It certainly cheered me up. But she had to work hard to catch us. She drove up from Stratford-on-Avon,  just missed the lunch stop,  just missed the afternoon water stop and finally tracked us as we made steady progress through the huge conurbation around Wigan.

Me, Colin, local boy Craig

We met up again at the Ibis Hotel in Preston and went and had nachos in the truly awful Phanton Winger pub. The first person Fiona got to meet in the Ibis was Tommy Tarmac, whose pratfalls she had been reading about that morning.

One of the quicker riders, Craig, who has featured in previous posts, is a local to Preston. He too had family waiting for him with a big banner proclaiming LEJOG2013. But first he took our group on a tour of the town, including a visit to the … er … bus depot. It is actually an extraordinary building.

Preston Bus Depot (cropped from a photo by Jo)

We also rode along a new cycleway beside the river and municipal gardens which was extremely calming after 4 hours on the A49.

Craig leads us through Preston

I have just re-read the above and realise it is not exactly packed with laughs, but I can assure you I am having the time of my life, my body is holding up well and I am enjoying being in the depths of a slightly crazy challenge. This ride takes me to places I have never been before, both physically and emotionally. I am loving it.

The riders were very spread out today but almost everyone is doing well. There was a huge amount of bonhomie around the dinner table, even in the ghastly Phantom Winger. I had ordered Pop-Poppity Chicken. I had no idea what it was but thought it might be grilled and spicy. It was chicken nuggets and potato wedges. So there you have it. Today I have been to Wem, home of the Eckford Sweetpea, Whitchurch, home of clock towers, and Preston, home of Pop-Poppity Chicken.

Day 4: Chepstow to Shrewsbury

Total: 98 miles
Time in saddle: 6 hrs 35 mins (approx)
Average Speed: 15 mph (approx)
Max. Speed: 43 mph (approx)
Cumulative: 328 miles
Chafing Rating: 2/5 (uh-oh)

In The Big Walk, a personal account of the 1960 foot-race from John O'Groats to Land's End, sponsored by Billy Butlin to raise publicity for his prison holiday camps, the author, A.Walker (also known as A. Nonymous), describes the feeling of waking up after the first day of walking 40 miles in a pair of old leather boots along icy roads on 3-weeks' training: "On descending the stairs the next morning, I was ashamed to discover that my upper legs were somewhat stiff." I know how he feels at the end of Day 4. Ten-minute, stone cold baths, which are deeply unpleasant and accompanied by hyper-ventilating and howling, have become the order of the day, followed by a massage (self-serve unfortunately) to keep the legs working. Last night it worked a treat and I am hoping it does the same tomorrow as we have another 92 miles to do to get to Preston.

The winner of the Big Walk completed the race in 15 days on foot. That makes me feel inadequate. That was my 'friend' Alistair's intention when he bought the book for me. He is very thoughtful like that. He also supplied me with examples of retired colonels with names like Humphrey Babington-Splatt who rode to Land's End, and back again, in 1873 on a penny farthing dressed in tweed and woollen socks in mid-Winter.

Anyway, what a difference a day makes. Yesterday's wet and miserable truckfest was replaced today with what almost everyone thought was the best day's cycling they had ever had. After a steep ascent from the hotel up to Chepstow, being passed by school buses with gurning faces pressed up against the window at us, we headed past the racecourse and down a spectacular 4-mile descent to Tintern Abbey.

On-board photography by John

L to R: Me, Craig, Nick at Tintern Abbey

We then headed to Monmouth along the beautiful Wye Valley, criss-crossing the Wales-England border.

Thank you

The road surfaces were fantastic and all the group kept a good pace. What slowed us down was all the stopping to take photographs of mirror-glass rivers and sweeping valleys.

Near Tintern

If ever anyone is feeling a little low, the Mitchell Brothers (Tommy and Mickey Wynn) will lift them with brilliant wisecracks. These boys are Londoners through and through and do a nice line in Cockney rhyming slang. Tommy was asking us, at one stage, where we all got our padded cycle shorts. At least that's what I worked out, eventually, when he said, "Where did you all get those shorts from that make you look like you've got massive 'Amptons?" I was thinking, "Hampton Court. What does that rhyme with?" And then I realised, "Ah. Hampton Wick."

Tommy had his second clipless moment in 2 days. Clipless pedals hold your shoes into the pedals so you benefit from the rotation of your feet when cycling, rather than just the downwards force appied to traditional pedals. If you don't unclip soon enough, they can get stuck and you topple sideways. I did this at a junction in Lewisham once and a passer-by told me I was an idiot. Yesterday, Tommy's performance was followed by an embarrassed jump up and a nonchalant lean on the bike as if nothing had happened. Today, he actually gave us some warning and I had my camera ready. We had stopped at a bridge to take pictures of the view and we heard, "Oh no. 'Ere I go again." As he hit the ground I heard myself say, "Stay there a second" and I got the shot I wanted. Sorry, Tommy. I should have said, "Are you alright?" He has a new name: Tommy Tarmac.

Tommy Tarmac still with foot in pedal

We made gentle progress to the first coffee stop. Rather than eat all the bananas and energy bars supplied for us, John, Craig and I headed for the cafe in the rather oddly positioned furniture shop behind the sheep shearing pens in a village called Wormelow. The coffee and carrot cake was wonderful. We rested aching legs in soft leather sofas and I had a lovely chat with my sister who is at home nursing a broken hip while I do this adventure. If I ever get down on this ride I only have to think of her toughness and stoicism to sort myself out.

I don't know what was in the carrot cake (Lance Armstrong's own recipe), but when we got going again we decided to put the burners on along the A466, passing villages with lovely names like Much Birch, Orcop and Tump. The three of us covered the next 30 miles, which were slightly uphill, in 1 hr 24 mins at an average of over 21 mph. This was the best cycling I have ever done. Riding routes that go from A to B gives you a sense of distance. You are heading somewhere new instead of returning in a circle. When it is along valleys as stunning as this, it does not get any better.

Heaven on a bike: not me, the countryside (on-board photography by John)

I was cycling to the rythm in my head of The Undertones', "I Don't Want To Get Over You", whose fast pace was a better accompaniment to the tenor of the ride, than the usual song that gets lodged in my head on the bike and can't be shifted for 3 days: "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" by Elton John and Kiki Dee.

John, Craig and I had lunch together at Leitwardine, all buzzing after the burn-up and keen to press on this afternoon. Unfortunately there was another problem with the organisation of the routes. The route notes directed us one way, along A roads, while the .gpx files on the Garmin, which we use, sent us another more pleasant route. We didn't know this until about 75 miles in, meaning we missed the afternoon water stop. We are getting through about 5 or 6 litres a day and so 40 miles with no water was not good.

Near Shrewsbury

All things bright and beautiful

Craig on The Red Arrow

To add to the confusion, the computerised route thought we needed a few extra hills to keep us honest. We became very friendly with a man on a rattling, clapped out, old shopping bike, slowing for a chat as we overtook him, wondering how on earth he was going to haul that weighty contraption up the 16% hill that we ascended. At the next T-junction about 3 miles away, after a fast descent, we had to wait before we could pull out, because the man on the shopping bike had appeared again. Huh? This happened three times. Every time we appeared at a junction after 10 minutes of hard riding, we had to wait for the man on the shopping bike to pass, until he turned and said, "You lot are making heavy weather of this section." We could only assume he had a secret tunnel.

We arrived in Shrewsbury at about 6.15pm, after 98 miles, 75 of which were at fast pace, tired but not exhausted. We are really feeling the benefits of all the training and are absolutely loving this experience. I cannot believe how far we have come. It's Preston tomorrow, Carlisle on Sunday and then into Scotland on Monday. The legs are tired but in good shape. Going downstairs is worse than going up when your quads are sore. But we are a long way from being like the colleague of an old friend in Australia, who played too much squash after a long break, and suffered the indignity of having his legs give way as the lift reached the ground floor at work, leaving him to crawl out as his boss and clients walked in.

Day 3: Cullompton to Chepstow

Total: 88.36 miles
Time in saddle: 5 hr 56 mins
Average: 14.9 mph
Max Speed:  Unknown
Cumulative: 230 miles 
Chafing score: 2/5 (uh-oh)

"Never go to Wales, Baldrick. It’s a dreadful place. Gangs of tough, sinewy men roam the countryside terrifying people with their close-harmony singing."

(Edmund Blackadder, Blackadder the Third)

But surely Wales had to to be better than the A403 through the Chittening Industrial Estate leading to the Severn Bridge. This road proved to be the last straw for a couple of riders who almost launched a a mini rebellion regarding DiscoverAdventure’s route planning.

We started off with instructions that told us to turn right out of the hotel. This meant left. Most of the morning passed on the misty A38, perhaps a nice road to drive but not to cycle. The rain yesterday had upset my computer which refused to work (the stats above came from Vajrin, who finished with me) which made pacing quite tricky. A few riders pushed on ahead, but the majority of the group decided to stick together for safety in numbers. John and I were roving shepherds, reeling in any breakaway riders and asking them to slow down to regroup. It was not a safe road to ride alone. I incurred the jeers of the group for taking 2 pit-stops in the first half hour. I shouldn’t have had that second coffee.

The route took us through Taunton and North Petherton, where we had a water stop, and Bridgwater. Everyone we meet is so polite and helpful to the group and jaws hit the ground when they hear what we are attempting. Yesterday, a cyclist pulled up alongside Philip in Exeter and said, ‘I’m just heading to the running track. How about you?’ And he said, ‘We’re just heading to John O’Groats.’ The cyclist just said, ‘Oh’. We had more of the same today.

Most drivers have been as polite as the passers-by we have met, giving us a wide berth, sometimes honking (but not in a Deptford way) and replying to our waves. The same cannot be said for the driver of the COFAST van who deliberately soaked the line of riders as he shot past. I have emailed the company to inform them that the group contains 21 riders raising in excess of £70,000 [postscript: the total exceeded £95,000 by the end] for a variety of charities and, perhaps, as a way of saying sorry, they may like to make a donation to one of them.

When we finally escaped the A roads we crossed some beautiful countryside on the Somerset Levels. At least, I think it was beautiful behind all that mist.

Between Wedmore and Shipham (photo by John)

Regroup at Wedmore

The constant slow pace of the group had me fixed on the wheel in front and quite mesmerised for a while, thinking about family, especially my wife and son. Like drink, being under the influence of a long cycle ride can make you a bit earnest. I thought long and hard about them and all the other good things in my life. I was really missing them. The incessant rhythm on the flat terrain also left me wondering why I was feeling so uncomfortable in the saddle until a regroup stop and the word spread that everyone was coming down with a condition known as numb-bum. This was cured (temporarily) by a long steep hill up from Cheddar to Shipham for lunch.

All the stop-start riding left me feeling cold and tight by lunch time, so I pushed on in the afternoon with Colin, Craig, Vajrin, Philip and Don. We were joined at the tea stop by Nick who, as predicted, is getting stronger and quicker each day. By the end he may show us all a clean pair of heels.

Don, Vajrin, Craig, Nick and Philip at the afternoon water-stop presided over diligently, as always, by Lahcen from DiscoverAdventure

We had a wonderful hour cruising at about 22 mph until we hit the crossing over the Avon. A tortuous route round a council estate, behind some garages and up by the bins took us up onto the Avonmouth Bridge, an ugly construction made even uglier by the sodden weather and the deafening traffic.

Avonmouth Bridge

After a quick photo-stop we then hit the A403 to head to the Severn Bridge. What an awful road, the worst I have ever ridden. I have no idea why the organisers thought we’d like to run the gauntlet of the massive trucks rushing through peak hour in a faceless industrial estate whose only landmarks were the flowers beside the road for the victims of accidents. It was ugly, windswept and unforgiving and not what you need when you already have 80 miles in the legs.

The A403 (daredevil on-board camera-work by John)

Best moment of the day for me was seeing my nephew Alex beside this road, camera in hand, snapping away as we approached. The other riders all waved not having a clue who he was, although I had mentioned he was hoping to be there. I am glad he didn’t bring his bike as planned. That was no road for me to be worrying about my nephew on. I peeled off and had a chat and then jumped back on the bike expecting to go the rest of the way alone. But this group of people is one of the nicest I have ever been associated with, and 100 metres up the road there were the other 5 cyclists in the group waiting for me. No-one is ever left alone on this ride.

Respite: Severn Bridge cycle road (photo by Vajrin)

Nick crossing the Severn Bridge

We crossed the Severn Bridge, alarmed at the way it moves around as you ride. We are staying in a magnificent hotel in Chepstow, all relieved the day is over. 

St. Pierre Hotel, Chepstow: an oasis after the A403 (photo by Vajrin)

We all had a chat with the organisers about the route choice and then relaxed a little. I sat in an ice-cold bath to ease muscle soreness and read the map for tomorrow. We might take a slightly quieter route in places.

John arrived later, with the group he had been guiding, to find his wife Lynn and two daughters were waiting for him in Reception. They had been waiting there for 3 hours and could only stay another hour before heading back to London as it was school tomorrow. What a nice touch.

I had a lovely phone call home hearing all about the 2 main courses and 5 desserts my son had at the Chinese restaurant in Orpington. This cheered me up no end, but I’ll have to get him out on his bike when I get home if he's going to keep eating like that.

Big day tomorrow: 99 miles. We have all vowed to ride up and down the drive a few times to get over the ton. 

Day 2: Liskeard to Cullompton

Total: 66.3 miles
Time in saddle: 4 hrs 57 mins
Average: 13.2 mph
Max speed:  44.6 mph
Cumulative total: 141.9 miles
Chafing score: 1/5 (nice) 

Ha! Guess which numpty looked out of his window at the glorious blue sky this morning and thought, 'Great, I won’t bother taking the rain jacket today'?

This was the feared Day 2 over Dartmoor. We decided a steady, disciplined pace, reserving our efforts for the uphills and enjoying the downs, was the best strategy. John, Nick, Philip and I set off from Liskeard at just after 8am. The views towards Plymouth, the deep valleys hidden in mists but the summits glowing in the sun, were wonderful. While I was enjoying the Cornish sun, my 76-year old mother (sorry, mum), was, at the same time, preparing for her Driver Awareness course after being caught by a speed camera. I hope she was rehabilitated. Cyclists like me need protection from people like that.

We were back on the manic A390 again, but it became much more scenic as we approached Callington and Gunnislake. The descent from Gunnislake was a white-knuckle ride, especially as there is a sharp right hand turn at the bottom that takes you over the lovely old bridge across the Tamar and into Devon. We all took turns to pose by the Devon sign having collected our first county.

First county done

A couple of colossal hills took us to Tavistock and the morning tea stop. Bryan appeared in the van with what appeared to be a serious problem with his rear wheel and the four of us went with him to Tavistock Cycles to get it fixed. This entailed accidentally entering a one-way street the wrong way and cycling 100m to a chorus of “It’s a one-way street” from the eye-rolling locals. After the fifth one I blurted out, “It’s alright. We’re only going one way.” That’s London behaviour. I’m sorry Tavistock. Full marks to the shopkeeper who refused to accept payment when he heard we were cycling for charities.

Outside Tavistock Cycles: a shop run by a man with a good heart

And then it was up onto the Moor. 

Philip (left) and John head up onto the Moor

The warm sunshine soon turned to a pea-souper and the cold grey roads headed up and up, occasionally down, but more often up. We had a big descent into Postbridge, one of about five 40-plus mph hills during the ride, and had lunch in the village hall.

L to R: John, me (in radioactive top), Nick

Click to enlarge

And then the mist turned to rain and we got drenched for the rest of the day, taking extra care on the slippery roads when skirting round the wildlife. John insisted on stopping on the Moor in the rain to get a photo of Highland cattle. For some reason he said, ‘You’ll thank me for this later’. Eh?

 

The descent from the moor to Moretonhampstead was super steep on winding roads, as taxing mentally as physically, but I had the presence of mind to say ‘Hello’ to the shop in the town where, 8 years ago, my wife bought a hoe. We then hit a series of horrendous hills to Exeter in atrocious conditions. One of the hills was about a mile and half long and a 17% gradient. So hilly was it that at one stage our average speed for the day was only 10.9 mph.

We really pushed on after Exeter and the last 45 minutes or so was completed at over 20 mph in the teeming rain, all of us thinking of the hot shower that awaited us at the Padbrook Park Hotel in Cullompton. Philip who is cycling with John, Nick and me, is 61 years of age. He has a background racing mountain bikes. His strength is awesome.

We were the first of a fitful set of drowned rats to arrive. The bikes are stored in a large dry room and we spent a loving 20 minutes, still shivering in our wet gear, cleaning them and restoring them to perfect order. 

The Padbrook Park Hotel is a good choice by the organisers. It is a very plush golf club. Staying at a golf club helps cyclists feel that we are not the worst dressed people in Britain. Room-mate Colin and I have decked our room out with wet lycra and have the heaters on full blast and the window wide open. We are trying to offset out carbon savings from travelling by bike. 

We expected the later arrivals to turn up thoroughly miserable but everyone arrived beaming. This day was a huge milestone on the trip. The mileage was low but the terrain certainly wasn’t. We have done a lot of heading eastwards. Tomorrow we turn left and head north. We will cross the Severn Bridge to Chepstow during a 91-mile day: Cornwall this morning; Wales tomorrow. That makes us feel like we are starting to get somewhere.

Day 1: Land's End to Liskeard

Total: 75.8 miles

Time in saddle: 4 hrs 42 mins
Average: 16.0 mph
Max. Speed: 42.4 mph
Chafing score: 1/5 (nice)

Day 1 is done! I had hardly any sleep thanks to racing thoughts, a steaming sauna of a hotel room and the loud intersection beneath the window, but a strong coffee and a whole load of nervous energy dispelled any feelings of tiredness. The buoyant conversations of the night before had been replaced at breakfast with wan faces not making much sound at all as reality began to set in. But the weather was glorious as we rode the 10 miles in the coach to Land’s End, where the joy reached fever pitch as we were reunited with our bikes. And then we noticed something. We chose the south to north route as it took advantage of the more commonly prevailing winds. And whaddya know …?

These should point the other way

This lovely headwind accompanied us the whole way to Liskeard. Mind you, the sky was a beautiful colour and the sun really warm. I’d rather have that than a tailwind and driving rain.

Land's End (photo by Vajrin)

21 cyclists made quite a commotion riding round in circles, wise-cracking and then running to the loo before coming back out to ride around in more circles, wise-crack a bit more and then head to the loo again.
 

Final preparations

We all had the obligatory photos taken by the Land’s End sign, and then a big group photo before the off.

Butterflies

The team briefing contained a story designed to sober us up. Jen, from DiscoverAdventure, informed us firmly that company policy, quite rightly, is “No helmet, no ride” and that this policy had been vindicated on the LEJOG that took place 1 month ago, when on the first day a cyclist was hit on the head by a telegraph pole that fell down as it was being erected in a field!

Briefing over. And then we were off. Well, almost. I found this a bit confusing …

The first few miles were very leisurely. We must have been so annoying to the traffic as we rode along chatting but it was amazingly patient and polite. Cycling through Peckham every day conditions you to expect the worst. 10 miles in we rounded a bend and saw St Michael’s Mount bathed in sunshine and needed our first picture stop.

L to R: Don, Philip, John, Colin at St Michael's Mount

Miss September

Gradually a group of Craig, Philip, Colin, John and me emerged at the front and stayed together for most of the rest of the day. Nick was enjoying a very gentle time further back riding with Tommy, who has earned himself a pint from the rest of the group tonight for having the honour of getting the first puncture. In fact he had two and Nick was on hand to fix them. But he only gets 1 pint.

It is good cycling manners to take your turn at the front of the group, riding ‘point’. My tactics are to do this when going up a long hill or straight with no junctions. I don’t want to be the starling that leads the others in the wrong direction and is then attacked by the flock. But somehow, with me at the front, we found ourselves on the A30 dual carriageway near Truro. This error was a team effort with John who was at the back of the group desperately trying to read his computer and barking, “Left, no Right, no Left, LEFT, I mean RIGHT”, meaning 5 cyclists were weaving in all directions like the Red Arrows and ended up being spat onto the A30. The flock was in a forgiving mood thankfully. John and I are already tarred as ‘London cyclists’ so I think we can get away with one now and again.

First water stop

In fact John is already acquiring a reputation. At the morning water stop he looked at the gradients for the afternoon and said we’d done the worst hill by 11am and it should be easy from here. That came back to bite him later.

Lunch was in Probus and had to be earned with a loooooong hill. DiscoverAdventure served up cold meats and salads, hot pasta and veg soup AND Swiss Roll. (They must have known I was coming.) While at Probus, I went and stood at the side of the road to help direct cyclists into the village hall car park and a man of roughly 80 approached me and asked how far we were going and why we were doing it. The first question was easier to answer. For the second, I explained the charity fundraising aspect and told him about AdoptionUK. He took £2.50 out of his pocket and handed it to me. A true gentleman.

The long hill into Probus was a portent of the afternoon’s riding which contained some real horrors. Most of the afternoon we spent on the unforgiving A390, past St. Austell and Lostwithiel, with white vans, school buses and tractors for company. One of the hills coming out of St. Austell was just awful. At the water stop at the top, cheery old John ignored all the heckling about his morning prediction and informed everyone that tomorrow, on Dartmoor, we have 9 hills worse.

One final brutal hill took us into Liskeard and the luxury of the Premier Inn. I am sharing a room with Colin who seems a thoroughly decent chap. He’ll be up running in the morning. Once upon a time (ie. about 2 days ago) that would have made me feel guilty and I would have gone out with him, but I deliberately left my running shoes at home so I wouldn’t be tempted. So many people have told me I am mad for doing this ride but I am surrounded by kindred spirits here and I feel that (a) I belong, and (b) I am only a mild case.

We’re up at 6.00 tomorrow for a 7.30 start. The weather forecast is pretty good. Day 1 was excellent. Day 2 feels like a massive barrier between us and the rest of the ride and will require a different approach. Can’t wait to be up on Dartmoor.

Separation Anxiety: Penzance

Three rather nervous and incessantly chatty cyclists met at Bromley South Station at 9.45 this morning.

Me, John, Nick

Nick and I are acutely aware that, although we are trying to raise money for a charity that aims to bring families together, we are leaving ours for two weeks to do it. The goodbyes were horrible, but lugging a colossal rucksack and a bike with sharp edges down the stairs to the platform among tutting and sighing commuters (well, they should have been at work by then), soon focusses the mind on getting there, rather than leaving.

At Paddington we spotted two minor celebrities. London News Arts Correspondent, Will Gompertz, was cycling in a strangely eccentric and windswept manner to complement his hair style. And then the fast and determined woman, who sat in the sofa we had our eyes on in the coffee shop, was joined by BBC Royal Correspondent, Nicholas Witchell, who, we later discovered in the paper, was 60 today. Happy birthday Nicholas Witchell.

The 12.06 from Paddington was completely chaotic with a party of schoolkids sitting in every booked seat on the carriage, and then moving, when asked, to other booked seats from which they were asked to move again. And again. And again. And then they started singing. This was even worse than sharing a train carriage with Michael Gove to Birmingham last year, and left us feeling that this might actually be the hardest day and that 70 miles over Dartmoor would be a picnic.

Heading towards hell.

I spent much of the journey editing an article for the Journal of the Antique Metalware Society about a 19th-century doorstop in the form of Cerberus, the fierce, 3-headed dog who guarded the gates of hell, refusing to let anyone out. (I do actually enjoy doing this sort of thing.) I was beginning to wonder if Cerberus might be guarding the train door, especially when we saw the compartment into which we had to stow our beloved bikes. It was unbefitting.

John's smoky image editing adds nothing to the ambience

We were at Exeter in a bit over 2 hours. It took another two hours to get to Penzance where we were met by Ian of DiscoverAdventure. At least we now know he is from DiscoverAdventure. There was a moment of doubt after we had put the bikes in his van. The unmarked van seemed to be full of non-cycling related gear. I am sure I saw a washing machine. And a dog basket. Ian picked up our bikes and piled them unceremoniously on top of each other and shut the door. This treatment of our precious bikes reminded me of an old school friend's experience peering through the curtains as the vet walked out to his van with the family's recently expired Afghan in a sack over his shoulder, slung him in the van, slammed the door and drove off. 15 minutes later we saw a different van with DiscoverAdventure on it and were convinced we'd been had. Ian turned up later in the Longboat Inn. But we are experiencing separation anxiety (ahem ... for our families too) and will not be happy until the bikes are back in our custody in the morning.

John and I have also been separated from Nick who is staying at the far more attractive Lugger Hotel on the promenade. The Longboat is on a busy intersection right opposite Sounds Nightclub. This makes us look forward to the start even more.

We have met most of the rest of the group. There's Don from the Wirral, whose wife, Lynne, is driving much of the route with us; Craig, from Preston, who recently did London to Paris; Vajran, a Buddhist doctor who knows the human body inside out and will be a hugely useful member of the team as our middle-aged aches and pains emerge; Simon, also known on Facebook as the Dorset Motivator (I was expecting someone as loud as Mr Motivator but with a west country accent but he wasn't at all); Matthew, who has just sold a house around the corner from my place, and his girlfiend, Lizzie, and her work friend Maria; Colin who has insisted he is going for a run each morning; and Bryan with whom I have not had a proper conversation yet but he seems very nice. After an initial bout of verbal circling with questions about relative mileages and injuries everyone relaxed into conversation about the morning to come.

The evening ended with a lovely phone call home. God, I miss them. I am trying to focus on tomorrow which has been 15 months in the planning. John, Nick and I are feeling the  butterflies.

Beautiful

One day to go. The bags are packed and ... well ... the bike is ready. Oh the bike. I'm not oft given to quoting James Blunt but:

 "You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true."

Click to enlarge

Cappuccinos and butterflies

Only one more day at work until the off. Sleep is a bit of a problem at the moment. I am always happy to talk about the bike ride to anyone who'll listen at 3 in the morning. This leaves me needing an extra coffee on the way into work so I can keep awake to talk about the bike ride throughout the day. The coffee stop provides a good opportunity to sit down and talk about the bike ride.

This is our coffee stop in Hyde Park. I pounced on a woman walking past to ask her to take what feels like a momentous photo: our last coffee stop before the bike ride. It was quite an effort to get her to stand in the right place so we could get the bikes in the background. "No, not there, there. No there." And then she was off before we could talk to her about the bike ride.

It's not what you know ...

One of the many joys of adoption is that when your child reaches school age, you get to meet the parents of other school children and they sometimes give you free stuff. A big thank you goes to Steve Dykes, CEO of DecathlonUK, for helping me out with some Btwin cycle gear.

Nice Gear

Steve, you have rescued me from the contempt of cycling purists like cycle 'mate' John, who dismissed what I thought of as rather stylish running shirts with, "You just look like a runner on a bike", and I thank you for this.

The Training

Most of my training has been commuting every day to South Kensington from near Biggin Hill in Kent, usually with LEJOG team mate John. It's a 40-mile round trip and takes in some beautiful parts of London ...

Westminster: that's me that is ...

 ... and a few not so beautiful ones:

Lewisham

Long summer days this year meant early morning rides around Kent before heading into London. Some days covered over 80 miles with the return journey in the evening, meaning my wife has hardly spoken to me for months but has had to sit through the evening news with me next to her, my head tilted back, mouth open, dribbling and snoring over Huw Edwards, if you know what I mean.

My favourite weekend ride is Brighton and back which I have only done twice so it might just be a novelty. It's 106 miles and takes in the dreaded Ditchling Beacon. If you live south of the Thames and ride a bike, you are not officially a cyclist until you have done the Beacon. Leaving home at 6 on a Sunday morning gets me to a greasy spoon under the colonnade on the beachfront for breakfast with the drunks heading home from the night before. I look a bit of a plank sitting next to them in my lycra so it's a good incentive to get back on the bike and come home.

Cyclists are obsessive, worse than runners. Some are inclined to do mad things. I am glad that I have just about prepared myself for LEJOG without doing anything silly like riding 114 miles to Southend and back at midnight in the pouring rain like John.