Thursday 3 September 2015

Rocky Mountain High

Considering I was sleeping in such a relatively exposed position, I slept pretty well for about 4 hours, or maybe slightly less. Anyway, I was once again back on the bike as dawn broke and very shortly after that heading into my first climb of the day.

The route out of Lyon was brutal, with two long and winding ascents. The heat increased from mid morning, so that by 11 it was already punishingly hot.

I was pretty happy though having summited my second set of twisting hills, that I was nearing the end of the ridge line that separated Lyon from the easterly route I was now following. I was incredibly surprised therefore, when I bumped into another rider who had happened upon my path from due north, to find that, so frustrated was he with the hills, that he was thinking of heading to Lyon and then south again to pick up the river that he surmised would bring him round toward Mont Ventoux from the south. It seemed like one hell of a detour.

As it turned out, I was right about my own route and soon found myself in beautiful lanes bordered by fields of sunflowers and sweet corn.

As the day wore on, the heat and tiredness mixed with the increasing saddle discomfort caused me to stop more frequently. Never for more than a few minutes, to allow my legs to relax briefly, but it added up and the miles were becoming hard won.

After an eternity Mont Ventoux appeared to my left, a faint outline in the haze, towering above the surrounding landscape. Even from 40 miles away, there was no denying it's supremacy. I recall a colleague from work, himself a cyclist and someone who had cycled to the summit, saying how Ventoux just rises out of the low lying scenery surrounding it, completely out of place given its size.

The problem of course with a big mountain, is that being there from miles away, you have to look at it as it appears to remain on the horizon for hours, never seemingly getting any closer. Eventually though the pictures show otherwise and I at last crawled into Duchamp, dirty, smelly and exhausted, desperately in need of some food.

It's odd sometimes how you forget the restorative power of food. I started by asking for a Coke, thinking that I was just thirsty and then consumed an amazing risotto with duck along with another pint of coke. I suddenly felt like a new man, aided by the almost total body wash that I achieved in the tiny lavatory sink.

Competitors were appearing from out of the slowly dying day, the strain of their efforts etched on their faces and evident in their stiff-legged gait. There was no suppressing the smiles of self-satisfied achievement though. Over 600 miles in 3 days is something to smile about.

Bedoin, the start of the official climb of Ventoux was lively with early evening revellers. There were bikes seemingly at every restaurant as riders either rested prior to heading for the mountain, or settling for a few hours sleep in anticipation of an early start the next morning.

I had already determined that I was going for the summit that night. I was on course to make 180 miles by the time I reached the top and at 21:30 started my ascent. Another rider left at about the same time, catching me up in the first mile. It was nice to chat for a while before then settling into our own rhythms as the gradient increased.

By now it was dark. There was a good moon, but it was hidden behind the trees and gave little light. In some ways I was glad not to be able to see beyond the beam of my light and before long was breathing my newly determined mantra. 'If he can, I can, if he can, I can...' and then he stopped!!

We had been climbing for a couple of hours. In the lowest gear, I doubt we were doing more than a few miles an hour. At times his light disappeared around the next bend and I was rarely closer than 3-400 m.

The climb enters it's final sections above the Chalet Reynard, a beautiful 17th century barn that for others is available to stay at. For us it was a point on a map and the sting in the tail. Why is it that mountains like these save their worst for the top half. It didn't seem that it could have become any tougher.

Though moon drenched and beautiful, the upper reaches of Mont Ventoux expose you to everything that the mountain is famous for and so named. Gusts of wind blew up the gullies, so fierce at times that it seemed impossible that I would reach the summit without getting blown off the mountain. Wind speeds of up to 200mph have been recorded and the wind blows at an average of 56mph for 240 days a year. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mont_Ventoux)

One such gust threw me left toward the edge of the hillside, sending me into a complete 360 deg turn to avoid the drop or a crash, but the next one gave me fewer options, so violent and sudden was it. Chucking me to the right, it was the rocky mountain high, or the high road. I chose the high road and crashed in a heap.

The bike battered and bent would not work properly. I couldn't get the chain to stay on and I had visions of trying to work out how I was going to get down to a bike shop in the morning from up here. It would certainly have been a long walk. For now though, I still had a mile to go and set off, leaning into the tearing wind, for the top.

At half and hour past midnight, I made the summit of Mont Ventoux, 180 miles for the day and 645 miles in three days. Marion and her crew were waiting in the van to stamp my card. Their concern and kindness, so, so welcome. Thank you all.

With the light of the van, I could see that the deraillier problems were not as bad as I had thought. It was bent for sure, but not unserviceable. For now, it was enough to know that I would be on the road again in the morning and I set to arranging my bivi in the lee of the weather station, under a set of iron steps. I was going to sleep like a rock.



Tuesday 1 September 2015

6%, 2 pizzas and a man-bag.

On facebook recently, someone postulated that ultra distance cyclists lost 6% of their grey matter over the period of the event. Sounds a bit drastic, but then as I sit here trying to recall the details of day 2, I realise that I cannot and wonder whether it should have been 6% remaining!

I do know that I was up and cleared of my bivi-bag and back on the road whilst it was still dark. It had remained dry overnight and the mosquito net that my daughter had helped me sew into the mouth of my cocoon had kept the beasties at bay.

I started the morning with the noodles part of my chinese from last night, washed down with water. At this point I am stalling.

It turned into a warm day and the start of what was to be something of a heatwave across central southern Europe.

The target for today was Lyon, 200 miles to the south, heading first through Dijon, Chalon-sur-Saon and then Macon. After the damp of the first 24 hours, I recall little beyond the development of some soreness from the saddle and a change of shorts relieved the greater discomfort at least for a while. The scenery was open, the skies huge and the traffic light. As you can see from the picture, there are also superb hard shoulders on these relatively small highways, for cyclists. Maybe it's a space thing.

I looked at circumnavigating some of the bigger towns to reduce the delays from France's love of red traffic lights, but I took in Dijon anyway, stopping for coffee and a late breakfast.

I would like to have deviated into the city centre, but I just did not have time. I shall need to learn to cycle harder and faster, to buy myself more stopping time. A trip for another day.

By late afternoon having covered about 170 miles, I happened across a mobile pizza van in a large lay-by. Ordering two 12" vegetarian pizza's, I was asked to put my name on the little order slip and told that they would be about 40 minutes.

I wrote, 'The sleeping man' and lay down on the bench next to the van, asking if they would wake me when the food was ready.

At 20 past 8, I rose from my deep slumber, to be told that the pizzas were in the warmer. I don't think they had the heart to disturb me and I was grateful.

So began the rule of thumb of the TCR. TCR riders never buy one pizza! 

I ate the first one, folded the second in half, in half it's box and placed it into my Musette. Now then, if I haven't introduced you to the best man-bag ever invented, then now is the time.

This simple food carrying device, should never be empty. Preferably there should always be at least one pizza in it, and any other food that you might think you need in the next 12 hours. Since it rests on your back, in the full view of the sun, pizzas never go cold, so that breakfast pizza the following day is as fresh as...well 24 hour old pizza and tastes just as good as the first one. Needs must.

I left the lay-by suitably encumbered and headed for Lyon. I was seriously tired and was strangely glad of the dark and the cool evening. I have no idea what the best way through, or around this city might be. I just know that I took in some serious inter-city climbing, before eventually battling a myriad other red traffic lights heading for the southerly outskirts.

Unaware that the city gave way to countryside 5 miles farther from where I stopped, I hunkered down behind an old petrol station in downtown suburbia, sheltered between someones garden fence and a line of trees.

At one point a late night reveler appeared about 50m away at the end of the tree line and I lay there ears pinned back , eyes barely visible feeling as much like a hunted rabbit as it was possible to be. It is an unnerving experience, knowing that discovery would force upon me an early departure. The fox slinked off, none the wiser and I went to sleep.

Monday 31 August 2015

Blog delay. Food punctuation and 265 miles.

I couldn't advertise that I was about to go on holiday, so I'm now home and hope to get on and finish writing this up.

I had known that there was bad weather coming our way and we had been fortunate enough to miss it for the start of the race. The evening was cool but not cold and having gotten lost in the middle of town during my first couple of miles, I eventually made it out onto the open road and settled into some kind of a rhythm.

Riding hard and long at night is a state of mind. You can't see much beyond making sure that you don't hit any potholes and there's not much that could be done to avoid the bat that smacked me in the chest. His radar was obviously switched off, like my own early navigation sense. I hoped that he would learn faster than I did.

The rain started at about 4ish, falling steadily in that drizzly way that somehow gets you wet in a way that other types of rain seem not to. It made no difference. After last years lessons, I was cycling come what may. This was no diminishing trans-Atlantic hurricane and the terrain was flat.

By 7 a.m I had registered 92 miles on the GPS and stopped in a bus shelter for a rest. Given the level of dust and grime, the hard wooden seat hadn't seen a butt, let alone a vagrant like me for months if not years. I gave up trying to wipe any of it away, laid my head on my arm and fell asleep.

Ten minutes later I woke, shivering and refreshed...or at least that's what I convinced myself. I took off the extra layers that I had donned prior to dropping off, ate a couple of mouthfuls of something and downed some water and headed out...into the rain again. The corner of the bus shelter seat was clean, my back was filthy. My thirst sated and my brain suitably numbed, I determined to reach the next patisserie before I would stop again. I had a pretty good idea that I wouldn't have to wait long.

I have yet to perfect the art of recording events, whilst also riding. As a consequence my recall is dulled. The days become punctuated by food stops and water and spatterings of my teenage French and sign language as I endeavour to make myself understood and my stomach filled. The longed for food stop duly appeared and its recollection merges into those of that day and days to come. A few stand out. There are pictures to prove it.

Some time after mid-day, I recall that the rain had stopped. It was the last I was to see over the next 9 days.

My target for day one had been Chaumont. Strangely also the stopping point after day one proper last year, but this time, 60 miles further along the route. Some time short of it though, I met with a fellow competitor, his jacket torn, his hand bandaged and his back wheel bent. Overtaken on a roundabout in the rain, he had come off his bike turning sharply to avoid the car, that in turn ran over is back wheel and then drove off without stopping! It is a huge credit to his determination that he continued under any circumstances, but with a bump at every wheel turn! It would have driven me to distraction. I guess that he might have ridden in the vain hope of meeting the driver again, but it's probably a good thing that he did not.

We met again a couple of hours later after the cruel and stiff climb up into Chaumont, where we shared the pavement outside a grocery store, still open at 11 at night.

From here, I worked my way through town until I found a Chinese restaurant. I again filled the tank and then 265 miles into my first day, I rode another 100m and fell asleep next to a hedge. Hidden only by the dark and 30m of grass next to the road, I didn't care too much, I was done in!



Wednesday 12 August 2015

Navigtion, Navigation, Navigation

Since the rider briefings began at 18:30 in the t Hemelrijk pub/restaurant just off the summit of the Muur, we began to collect there from late afternoon. It was a great time to catch up with old friends from last year and I was particularly pleased to find Chris White, with whom I had spent a fair bit of time last year.

I was sorry to find out that after so much training, he was carrying an injury that was very likely to stop him completing the race, but all credit to him for making the start and giving it his best shot.

Considering the restaurant was catering for around 250 + people over the course of the evening, they did an amazing job. We somehow got missed in the melee of orders but the huge bowl of pasta that eventually arrived  2 1/2 hours after it was ordered, was well worth the wait, arriving as it did at the perfect time for fueling up the legs for the road ahead.

Since I'd climbed the Muur twice that day already, it hardly seemed to make sense to cycle back down to the registration hall for a lie down. No-one was going to get much in the way of sleep now and relaxing and letting the time drift by felt like the best option. One way or another this was going to be a night of little sleep. Whether once the race started, you decided to stop early and get your head down, would be the first big call we had to make and I already knew which way I was going on that one.

At 23:45 we were called to the start line, where the Town Crier and the Mayor wished us safe travels. Torches were lit and held either side of the road as at the stroke of midnight we headed off on the parcour circuit of the town before again climbing the Muur for the last time.

Racing back up the last section of the hill, with the cheers and whoops of the crowd surrounding us was magical. I've never ridden a cycle race in my life outside of the TCR and the atmosphere and sense of excitement shared by competitors and followers as we dispersed from Geraardesbergen will stay with me for a long time.

The road from the chapel descended to the left, taking us back into the town. From the get go, I had planned my route to avoid some of the main roads as much in deference to Laura's concerns about safety, but also in an attempt to find the shortest route.

It was my first mistake and one that I spent the remainder of the race correcting. I overtook people early on only to meet up with them again as my now obviously tortuous route through slow bumpy country lanes slowed me down and added unwanted and wasteful climbs. I could see already that the secret to surviving 2560 miles would be down to navigation, navigation, navigation!


Tuesday 11 August 2015

Geraardesbergen and The Muur. (The Wall.)

The journey through Holland was uneventful, though I was delighted to make the acquaintance of Milens (sp) an Albanian living and working on Holland. Apart from anything else, meeting so many other European nationals speaking English has inspired me to continue with some form of language learning. I'm never going to learn them all, but making the effort to communicate in someone else's tongue only adds to the experience of travelling.

Milens and I chatted for about an hour about life in Albania and his family. I remember visiting Albania during the Balkan war in the early 90s. At the invitation of the Albanian government and with one of their officials on board, we flew over the oil fields in the north of the country before landing our helicopter on a school playing field. Instantly mobbed by a small flock of children, we were forced to take off again, for their and our safety, but I shall never forget their wide-eyed excited smiles. I was looking forward to going back.

The most useful piece of advice that Milens offered me though, was to avoid riding my bike on Albania at night. He said the drivers there were completely unused to cyclists at night and would have no regard for your safety. What with the risk of feral dogs and crazy drivers, I was beginning to wonder how I would get through.

I arrived in Geraardesbergen at about 11 having made contact with the owners of  Molen ter Walle, http://www.molenterwalle.be/Nederlands/fotos.html the B&B that I was booked to stay at. Everyone was going to be asleep, so they gave me directions to my room and left me to it. (Check out the weblink. It is a wonderful place to stay and the owners could not have been more accommodating.)

Despite my best intentions, I did not lie in until 10 as I had said, but was up by 07:30 and joining the other guests for breakfast. Realising that finding somewhere to rest during the day was going to be a challenge, I booked a smaller room at the mill for the remainder of the afternoon, giving me a bolt hole to return to after registration and then got on my bike and cycled into town.

I bumped into another competitor on the way in. A Welshman living in Hong Kong. We discussed the forecast and the perceived risks of cycling the Muur en masse in the rain and he then headed off the recce the hill and I to find the registration hall. Half an hour later he arrived, having already become the races first casualty, falling on his decent from the chapel on the dry uneven cobbles. Please, don't let it rain!

At 10, the hall was already seeing an early trickle of cyclists. For some reason I was picked out by a photographer doing a piece for SAGA. Well I suppose at 50, I was some kind of good advert for exercise in middle age. He confessed to being interested in the 'degradation' that he expected to witness through his lens over the next 2 weeks and I knew that he would not be disappointed.

Before I returned to my room, I climbed the Muur for the first of  3 times that day. It is steep and bumpy, but not long and I looked forward to the start and climb to come in the dark. For now a few photos of the chapel and a look at my decent from the summit, so that the start of the race, at least, would hold no surprises.


Sunday 9 August 2015

A ticket to ride.

In the queue for the ferry at Harwich, I was joined by Roel and Nick, his 12 year old son. On bicycles laden with camping gear and memories, they were returning home from a week or so cycling around the Somerset levels and Stonehenge.

Roel was an old hand at this bike packing game and could write a book of his own, telling tales of trips through Syria and beyond at times when it was somewhat safer, but not without it's moments. (I hope to catch up with them again soon, to hear the detail of his earlier travels.)

For now though, he recounted nights spent in fields and being moved on by landowners in the morning. Roadside camping in the midst of some of England's most famous historical monuments will be something that Nick will never forget. (My own boys will share those opportunities in years to come. I can't wait!)

They had also cycled across London and I caught myself and laughed, as I tried to claim that the cycle network in London was pretty good! Here's me talking to a Dutchman about cycle paths. What do I know? Like trying to explain to an Irishman, that they make this really cool ale in Ireland called Guinness. He might like to try it! Doh!

The ferry crossing was due to be a good 7 hours but we were delayed by 2 hours in Harwich for diving operations in the harbour entrance. With Harwich on the southern side and Felixstowe to the north, this is a busy seaway.

As a consequence of the delays, I was doubly glad to have booked a cabin for the crossing. I remembered well enough trying to sleep on the deck of the Newhaven to Dieppe ferry last year, without success. I was not about to repeat that mistake.

Instead, I had a good meal and settled down to catch up on the lost hours shuteye from earlier in the morning. Devoid of the nerves that attend the chance of missing trains and ferries, I could relax properly now and prepare myself for the challenge ahead.

The ships Captain made good on his promise to make up time. We arrived in the Hook of Holland only half an hour after our scheduled arrival time. Roel and Nick were both travelling to Rotterdam by train and I was grateful to them for not only pointing me in the direction of the right platform and train, but in a gesture of solidarity and generosity, they bought my bike train ticket for the entire journey to the Dutch/Belgium border. Roel and Nick, thank you and make sure you keep in touch.


Dreamy times

For those of you you who have become justifiable fans of my ghost writer aka, Laura, my wife, I apologise for the return of normal service. I enjoyed reading her posts of my travails from the roadside as much as you did and I hope we will see a return to this successful formulae on future expeditions.

For now though I feel that I owe it to you all to try to give you a fuller account of the journey from home to Bosnia and the little bit beyond, not least because some of the hairier moments were missed out in our daily communications to save Laura any unnecessary anxt.

On the morning of the 23rd, unable to sleep properly, I had been up at 3. We were due to leave for Norwich station at 5 for a 6 o'clock departure. (I have always been in the habit of factoring in plenty of leeway. I am happiest waiting on a platform, than running for a train.)

I switched on the computer and checked and rechecked the route through Holland and Belgium and then spent some time google mapping the town of Geraardesbergen to get my bearings ahead of time. I would be arriving in the dark and should still need to find my B&B, located about 5 miles out of town. I noted also the forecast that looked ominously like it might shower us with rain from the start. A cobbled street in the rain at night suggested potential for early crashes and I didn't want to be amongst them.

Five o'clock duly arrived. I made the obvious mistake of looking in on the boys, asleep in their beds and wondered why I was leaving. The girls I said goodbye to and was ushered out the door with their
best wishes. These are exciting and disorientating moments. Months of preparation push you out the door.

Norwich station was quiet. Laura and I took some pictures just as we had done the year before. I cannot imagine what it is like to be in her shoes. I have prepared minutely and am confident in my abilities. She knows little of the detail. Only that I shall be cycling beside fast moving traffic for up to 16 days with little more than a blink of sleep and she is anxious. On top of that she has to carry on with all the normal routine of work and home, but with one less person to help. I tell her, may be unhelpfully, to be her best 'single-mum', as much a challenge as anything. I know she will be fine.

The train to Ipswich, is the first part of the intercity to Liverpool Street, so I start the journey by distributing the last 100 or so of my business cards amongst the passengers and empty seats. A few last minute followers can't go amiss. More than a few entrants to this years race will have come from chance encounters such as these.

At Ipswich I changed trains and met up with Paul. We have known each other since I was 5 and have shared more than a few adventures. At a time like this there is no-one whose company is more relaxing and we chew over a few ideas for the future. Paul has undertaken to ride his own bike every day that I am away. Given the forecast, he is likely to have to stiffen his resolve every bit as much as I will, since he is likely to be getting wet for the first few days at least.

I love this bit, the slow and unloaded act of travelling. I am excited by the sight of the ferry. Any chance to relive my time at sea with the Royal Navy. To stand on the quarter-deck and watch the ships wake as you steam toward the horizon. Dreamy times.


Monday 3 August 2015

Cheese and crackers! Big boys and babies!

My Grandpa Howlett had almost a century's worth of great sayings, but my favorite was his exclamation of, "Well, cheese and crackers! Big boys and babies!" It took something fairly extraordinary (though he'd never use what he called "a 50-cent word" like 'extraordinary') to get this double-barreled reaction, which was always delivered with a big grin and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

I'm confident John's epic test of endurance would have elicited one of Grandpa's booming, "Cheese and crackers! Big boys and babies!" When it came to physical fitness, Grandpa was no slouch himself: he was a star baseball player in the heyday of the game, and he must not have put down his golf clubs until he was in his 90s. He won running races and horseshoes, bowling tournaments and, yes, probably cycling competitions, though I can't remember ever seeing him on a bike.

But what he would have appreciated most about John's Transcontinental Race was the sense of good old-fashioned adventure. Of making your own way, being resourceful, finding clever solutions and not giving up when the going got tough. Grandpa and his brother and sister set out on something similar in the 1920s, albeit in an early model automobile and heading into America's largely unsettled West, instead of East into parts of Europe most of us won't be lucky enough to see. Both John and my grandpa mended a fair few punctures along the way, and endured heat, sleeping rough and wondering where their next meal would come from. And loving every minute of it, not least the kindness of strangers met in the process.

Early this morning, though, John's big adventure drew to a close. After the third race checkpoint and 1,650 miles since July 24, his knee gave up the ghost. His Achilles tendon wasn't in much better shape, but when you're facing nearly another 1,000 miles - much of it mountainous - with a joint that's refusing to work, the smart thing to do is to call it a day.

I'm incredibly proud of John. He's battled record-breaking heat and humidity, pushed on with little sleep through elevation I can't possibly contemplate, is probably walking like the worst Hollywood interpretation of a cowboy and might never be able to look another can of Coke in the eye again. He hasn't complained, and mentally I doubt you'll find anyone tougher in the Race. I had every confidence he would finish in Istanbul (though I did worry about the feral dogs, disease-carrying ticks, errant drivers and opportunists), but I'm so pleased he didn't keep going until his kneecap exploded or whatever fate is in store for those on the wrong side of 50 with a lifetime of joint abuse.

John was, of course, conscious of letting down all of you who have so solidly supported his efforts, sending encouraging messages and following the Number 35 dot in a sea of others. He is so very grateful to you, and so am I.

The cheese and crackers thought came into my head as we talked this morning, while he waited in some tiny airfield in Bosnia for a flight home via Germany. He'd spent a good hour wrapping his bike in clingfilm and cardboard, much to the amusement of the locals ("Was anyone wondering what you were doing?" "EVERYone was wondering what I was doing!"), and was now contemplating how to transport his various small bags of equipment on an Eastern European budget airline. For the record, I'd already insisted that he burned all items of clothing and start afresh (I hope, for the sake of his fellow passengers, he took my advice).

"Why don't you go to the Duty Free and buy something so you can chuck everything in a plastic bag? It's a budget airline - you don't have to carry actual luggage," I suggested.

"This airport is exactly like Norwich. It's only "international" because it flies to one destination outside Bosnia," he said, unsure of the Duty Free possibilities.

"They must sell something. Buy a nice present for your wife! Even if it's a big cheese! Buy me a big Bosnian cheese!"

He said he'd see what he could do. I should know the result by tomorrow afternoon.

But cheese or no cheese, I think John's efforts deserve a wholehearted "Cheese and crackers! Big boys and babies!" Grandpa Howlett would have applauded, and so do I.


Friday 31 July 2015

Sights set on...Slovenia? Croatia? Serbia? Somewhere...


Just a quick update to say that John's social media coordinator will be taking the weekend off to attend to important business, namely hanging out at the beach and sipping sangria. While his biggest complaint has been the heat, here in Norfolk we've been experiencing what some might optimistically call 'springtime,' though it's more accurate to describe the weather lately as 'autumnal'. But lo, Friday arrived and with it the sunshine, so it would be a crime to stay glued to the computer - fascinating as obsessing over a dot has been.

In our absence, please do keep following John's progress and checking for his Twitter updates. If you're not on Twitter, fear not: just Google 'johnnymbakewell and Twitter' and you will be able to see his pictures and 140 words about pain, progress and pasta.

Well, after tonight it might not be "pasta," since he'll hopefully be in Macedonia (or Croatia, I'm not sure which), and I don't know what carbohydrate wonders await him there. Fingers crossed he makes it through some border before midnight, but in any case he's trucking along nicely today: heading toward 200 miles already, which I think takes him to 1,300 since midnight last Friday/Saturday. That's the same distance he cycled in last year's Transcontinental Race, making it to Dubrovnik in 8 days. Only about double to go and he should be in Istanbul!

John did say this morning that he's so grateful for all of you who are following, sending encouraging messages and keeping up with the race - so thank you very much. If you'd like to draw a nice picture for him to see you can try, but please don't think it can measure up to the ones I've created (above). I just let my children pretend it's their artwork.

Have a great weekend!

Wednesday 29 July 2015

You're bleeding from WHERE?

The call came shortly after 8 UK time this morning. Immediately I knew all was not well.

"What's wrong?" I asked, picking up what sounded like whimpering against the clatter of cafe noise.

"Nothing, I'm fine," John said, but his voice was tight. Was he crying?

"Are you ok? Please tell me what's the matter," I pleaded, a knot forming in my stomach.

John's voice was choked, but he insisted, "No, I'm good. It's just I'm bleeding out of the bowels."

"YOU'RE BLEEDING OUT OF THE BOWELS?" I shrieked, loud enough to be heard by the kids downstairs. Loud enough to be heard by most of the village, as they sipped their milky tea and ate their flaccid toast (this is how all British people start their day, as far as I can tell).

"No, I said I'm letting off the valves," meaning he was overcome by emotion brought on by the exhaustion of reaching the second checkpoint of the race - and completely missing both the terror in my voice and the hilarity of the misunderstanding.

"I just did the climb of my life. It's thrilling. I'm feeling really strong," John said, sounding anything but.

"So you're not bleeding from your butt?"

"No."

"And you're not bleeding from anywhere else?"

"No."

"OK then."



Mentally, today's accomplishment signifies more than just the 2176-metre climb: though the second checkpoint of this year's race is on top of a different Alpine peak in Italy, it will vanquish the demon that's haunted him since the 2014 Transcontinental Race.

In his first race attempt, John burned through France and Switzerland, hovering around 14th place as he headed toward the Stelvio Pass in eastern Italy. But in a rare feat of sense triumphing over determination, John opted out of that section - disqualifying himself - because of a massive summer storm that promised torrential downpours, high winds, and ice and snow on top of the mountains.

As it happened, that storm system caused several climbers on Mont Blanc to lose their lives, and a landslide in the Swiss Alps left a train hanging over a ravine.

John was supposed to be on that train. He was going to clear the storms and pick up his route again further east in Italy, but when the train service was cancelled he caught a lift in a mini bus - unaware how much worse his luck could have been.

So while I worry about the dangers of this race (and I do worry, a lot), I know that John's common sense and previous mountain experience prevail, and he won't take risks. I also knew, even as he continued on last year to Croatia - doing a total of 1300 miles in eight days - that he'd be taking another stab at it in 2015. Unfinished business.

He called a couple hours ago to say he'd spent two hours descending the mountain, picking his way along a rocky track that was blowing tires left and right (he managed it with just one puncture). He had a quick word with his mum, and with each of the boys, and set off again for a few more hours of Alpine cycling. He's happy as a pig in muck.


Monday 27 July 2015

Still crazy after all these years

More than once I've been asked how mentally sound John is. It's not right, people say in hushed tones, shaking their heads. No one in their right mind would choose to spend most of the day and night, day after day for weeks, pushing up mountains, taking power naps in inhospitable locations, being seen in public in Lycra, for the love of Pete! 

Ah, I've countered, but that's just John! Mad dogs and Englishmen and all that. If he doesn't have a suitable challenge he's like a bear with a sore head. 


Until today. At 7 am precisely. That's the moment I decided my husband has lost the plot. 





John Bakewell using text-speak. John Bakewell, who recently went ballistic when I told him he was mansplaining ("That is NOT a word! That doesn't exist in the Oxford English Dictionary! Just do not ever say that again in my presence." To which I countered, "But now you're mansplaining about mansplaining."). John Bakewell, who prompts workmates to shout "Wot, wot!" in their best plummy accents and who routinely scolds his children from dropping their 't's - this John Bakewell has typed "OMG." Whatever next?


The phone call 12 hours later was no more reassuring. Although he's had about 4 hours sleep (for the second night in a row) and had already done about 160 miles today, as I type he's attempting to reach this year's first checkpoint on the Transcontinental Race. In fact, a quick check of the live tracking shows he's probably nearly at the top: http://trackleaders.com/transconrace15f (if you hover over race number 35, his current location pops up).


Known as "the Beast of Provence," Mont Ventoux has, according to Wikipedia, "become legendary as the scene of one of the most grueling climbs in the Tour de France bicycle race." It continues: 


"South from Bédoin, the ascent is 1617 m over 21.8 km. This is the most famous and difficult ascent. The road to the summit has an average gradient of 7.43%. The last kilometres may have strong, violent winds."


Indeed, "wind speeds as high as 320 km/h (200 mph) have been recorded. The wind blows at 90+ km/h (56+ mph) 240 days a year. The road over the mountain is often closed due to high winds."  


Given he's already succumbed to text speak, I think John's past redemption and I'm not really surprised he thinks it's a good idea to spend the remaining few hours of Day Three pedaling into wind up a mountain. 


A rough guess estimates about half the racers have reached the first checkpoint at Mont Ventoux, with the leader already halfway across the top of Italy. So John's not the only bonkers one (though he is possibly the oldest!)

As I said before, the encouraging messages are pushing him ahead, so please keep them coming. The more LOLs the better. 


Sunday 26 July 2015

Bread and circuses



In news that will surprise absolutely nobody, it seems cycling 265 miles in a single day leaves one with "a very sore backside." At least that's what I could make out as John stuffed his face with a gallon of noodles, before bedding down on concrete for the night. Boy, does he know how to live it up!

Not much to update from today - our conversations are brief and mostly to let me know he's not been knocked off his bike by an errant string of garlic or a maliciously hurled saucisson - but at last count he had cycled nearly 200 miles for day two and was planning to stop outside Lyon. His tracker tells a different story though: an hour ago it looked like he'd stopped near Lac des Eaux Bleues (pictured above), but a refresh of the tracker reveals he's in the heart of Lyon. Near a boulangerie. Presumably planning to wake up to a sight like this:


Little does John know that he could wake up in his own comfy bed tomorrow to a similar vision in his own kitchen. It's been a miserably rainy day, so I spent the afternoon making two loaves of honey-and-seed bread and a pineapple upside-down cake. For moral support, of course.

Always a man of few words, an exhausted John is even quieter, and only calls when he's stopped to fill his face with carbs. An example from tonight:

Me: "What's your plan for tomorrow?" (Meaning, where will your route take you, how does the weather look, are you likely to hit the first checkpoint - I dunno, any bit of context).

John: "Get on my bike and pedal."

For my part, I'm looking forward to some freshly baked bread with homemade marmalade, a cup of Earl Grey and that warm fuzzy feeling that smugness gives you. Oooh, la la!

Saturday 25 July 2015

First morning update and FAQs

It's quarter past 10 and John has stopped for long enough to eat some pain au chocolat and rest for 15 minutes in a French bus shelter. So far, so familiar: for those of you who didn't follow last year's Transcontinental Race, John spent the first two nights sleeping between shopping carts (trolleys) outside Aldi in France and Switzerland. 

"It's throwing it down," he told me before throwing down the phone, in what will characterize our relationship for the next two weeks. No time for small talk, there are mountains to scale and chafing to cultivate. Since setting off at midnight, he's covered about 130 miles and appears to be still roughly middle of the pack, closing in on Reims in the Ardennes. From the satellite map, he seems to be coasting through farm fields near the foothills. But you don't have to take my word for it! 

Since posting my first update in the wee hours a few of you have already responded, which is fantastic! John's always said the thing that makes the biggest difference in pushing him on are the messages of support, so please, please keep them coming on Twitter, Facebook or by text. 

I'll try to address some FAQs here, but feel free to ask away on John's Facebook - I'll keep an eye on it. 

How can I follow John's progress?

John is tweeting every so often, but the race website has a tracker option that allows anyone to see where racers are (on their own and in relation to each other), and to drill down to look at stats such as average speed, distance covered (which isn't entirely accurate - it seems to lag behind a bit), distance to next waypoint, etc. In the upper right corner of the map you can choose to look at the satellite version, so you can get an idea of the views John could enjoy if they weren't blurring by. 

How can I help? 

As I said, the messages of support make all the difference. Just knowing that people are dropping in to check on his progress really keeps John going. Under race rules, he's not allowed to accept other forms of support (more on this later) - I wasn't even allowed to tell him where he was in proximity to other riders! But you can of course make a little donation to The Alzheimer's Society if you wish. Absolutely no pressure and we are so grateful for those who have already generously donated to this very valuable charity. As much as anything, John is taking on this challenge in memory of his father, Denys, who died in April from complications related to dementia. Denys was a keen cyclist and he and John used to do expeditions (on a slightly smaller scale) together in the Lake District and elsewhere. https://www.justgiving.com/john-bakewell4alzheimers/

Why do some racers seem to be so off course compared to the pack? 

Because they're lost! 

Kidding - it's a legitimate question. Part of the, er, beauty (apparently) of the Transcontinental Race is that racers have to rely entirely on themselves to get from the starting point in Belgium to Istanbul. This means months of planning a route - whatever route they choose - as well as deciding what supplies they can reasonably take with them. So some people may load up a tent, sleeping bag, mini fridge or what-have-you, while others (John included) have not much more than some bug spray and the ubiquitous Lycra (attractive as that vision may be). 

There are four mandatory checkpoints along the way - in the most hideous locations - and riders choose which way they go to hit those. Some might go the most direct route, but have to contend with busy roads, congested cities or time-sucking elevation. Others might go a more circuitous route because it's flatter, quieter or has a dedicated cycle path. 

When does John finish? 

A very good question I've asked him myself, on several occasions. The answers have ranged from "When I'm done" to "I don't know." Far from being frustrating for his family at home, this is a wonderful, liberating way to approach life, and we love it! In fact, I plan to adopt John's way of doing things the next time I go away with friends or travel for work. 

Actually, though, the race finishes two weeks after it started, so that's Aug. 8. John plans to keep going to make it to Istanbul, with the knowledge that if he's not back by mid-August I reserve the right to bill him for my stay at The Savoy. And the childcare. 

Did John complete the Transcontinental Race last year?

Ah, last year's race. Happy memories of relaxing days frolicking at the seaside with my perfectly behaved children and everyone's favorite geriatric dog. John probably could have finished, if I hadn't turned into a belligerent harridan by day 8, utterly losing it when he nonchalantly told me he was having his first beer in a beautiful piazza in Croatia as a woman crooned in the background, and mentioning that when he got to Istanbul he thought he'd catch a flight back to Italy to hit the mountain pass he missed because of a landslide.  

Also, he had a terrible cold. Let's blame it on the cold, instead of the cold-hearted wife.

Last year he cycled about 1300 miles in 8 days, making it to Dubrovnik. I think he picked up some valuable lessons, including pacing himself, not telling me about the amazing bowl of pasta the size of a basketball that he's enjoying beside Lake Como, and remembering to bring me something nice instead of just sending me a bag of smelly laundry without so much as a note. You WILL remember, won't you John?

If you want to see some pictures of last year's race, scroll to the bottom of the Transcontinental Race site's blog: http://reportage.transcontinentalrace.com/?page_id=99

Trying to cycle 2600 miles within two weeks through mountains in the August heat, with occasional unpredictable snow storms, rabid feral dogs, diseased ticks and crazed bandits isn't really my cup of tea. Why does John want to do such a thing? 

This is the crux of the matter, isn't it? Either he is fleeing a homelife that is worse than all those things combined, or he has a screw loose. He, and almost 200 other weirdo cyclists. Why does he do it? For the glory? For the debilitating saddle sores? For the luxury of spending a night under the stars (streetlights) on concrete in a nondescript Swiss town's Aldi shopping trolley corral, to wake a few hours later and sit on his bike for 200 miles, the majority of it going uphill? 

Your guess is as good as mine. 

Friday 24 July 2015

Get set, go! 

Laura here, dabbling in Blogger (for the first time) with a bit of an update: John and his 178 mates appear to have made it past the first hurdle, going uphill on very wet cobblestones at midnight local time. From the looks of it he's about middle of the pack - but you can see for yourself at: http://trackleaders.com/transconrace15f. This updates fairly frequently and can tell you more than I possibly can, except when I get the odd phone call from Mr Bakewell. I'll post here as often as time (and children) allow.

Meanwhile in England, there are reports of friends fleeing campsites on the North Norfolk coast as today's constant showers acquire the added excitement of gale-force winds. I'm sitting cozy but it seems Belgium is in much the same boat, which means there are already some drenched riders picking their way through mountain passes in the dark. Fun times. 

Let's hope John and all the others stay safe for the whole two weeks. At least the weather can only get better (probably)...

Friday 17 July 2015

You don't need to travel abroad to get knocked off your bike!

So much for wrapping myself in cotton wool.

Itching with anticipation, I rolled down the drive for an unmeasured, unhurried leg stretch whilst the boys were taken to school. I nearly didn't make IT past the first half mile! If ever, as a cyclist I needed a reminder how vulnerable I am, I got it this morning.

It takes a split second to look and see. It also takes a split second, to look, see, but not register the information and move. By then, as a cyclist, you could be dead. Thank fully the driver's brain reacted before telling him what his eyes had actually seen. As a consequence all he got was a fierce mouthful from me, as I looked up from the position that I skidded to a halt, less than 2 feet from his front bumper.

The adrenaline kicked in a minute after I had cycled off and I realised that I was shaking involuntarily.

Do you remember that advert. 'THINK ONCE, THINK TWICE, THINK BIKE!'

Please car drivers, look out for us.

On a more positive footing, thank you all for your continued sponsorship. It is very much appreciated.


Little Melton Primary School

A quick note to the children of Little Melton Primary School.

Thank you all for patiently listening to my talk yesterday morning. Your knowledge of European countries far outstrips mine. I could not have named every Balkan country before last year, let alone at the age of 10 or younger.

I look forward to tweeting you all as I mend my way across Europe. have fun following and remember, if you tweet back with your parents, no handy hints, OK. I don't want to get DQd.

John

Tuesday 14 July 2015

The Last Post

It is fitting that I should write my last post before heading to Flanders. Both my daughters have visited the memorials to the fallen soldiers in Northern France and Belgium and it will be impossible to travel through that landscape without a thought for the history that is within it.

Yesterday I collected the bike from Specialised Cycles, in Norwich, where she had been for a final service and check over. A tweak and a tighten here, new brake pads and chain there.

This morning we went out on a fairly uppish 40 miles and duly took my total through 4500 of training. It was a warm muggy couple of hours and only a glimpse of what is ahead. 2 hours is nothing compared to 16 or 18 in the saddle. The latter being a state of mind as much as anything.

I have refined my kit to what I consider to be the barest minimum. Anything else I need, I shall buy along the way. it is basically this:-

Bivibag
Sleeping bag (1 season)
Thermarest
Spare shorts
Light weight thermal long sleeved shirt
Warm cycling outer jacket
Waterproof jacket
Spare socks x 1 pair
Leg warmers. (Bottom half of a pair of tracksuit trousers)
High Viz tabbard

Suntan cream
Sudocrem
Vaseline
Toothbrush and small tube toothpaste
Electrolyte replacement tablets 2 tubes

Tools
Tubes x 2
Chain oil
Puncture repair kit

Paperwork
GPS/Phone
IPod

I'll try to get Laura to write the odd blog post here for you. Otherwise it will be little snippets by twitter @johnnymbakewell from now on.

See you on the Muur at midnight on the 24th and in Istanbul some time after that. Thank you for your support one and all.


Wednesday 8 July 2015

Thank you

Thank you to all those of you that added to my charity fund-raising efforts on the back of this crazy cycle race. You have boosted the total in aid of the Alzheimers Society to nearly £700.

Good to go. Keep at it folks.

Race manual issue 2

The final issue of the race manual has thrown up a few interesting little facts that had eluded me previously. Like this one...France has made it illegal for cyclists to wear headphones from the 1st July.

It would under most circumstances seem a no brainer, except that a.) when you're cycling for 18- 20 hours a day, a little light relief goes a long way and b.) just because you can hear the car behind you, is absolutely no guarantee that they are either going to give you a wide berth or indeed make any allowance for your presence at all. Begs the question. If you're going to get blown off your bike by a passing truck, why not make it a surprise whilst listening to Stairway to Heaven.

I jest. Please do give me some room.

I booked my train tickets from the Hook of Holland to Geraardesbergen, but have no assurance that I can take my bike on the train. The only exception being the possibility that I have to take it to bits and box it up first! I think I'd rather cycle into Belgium.

I also visited Boots trying to find the smallest packets of wet wipes, suntan cream, sudacrem
and toothpaste. In the end, I actually emptied the toothpaste tube, washed it out and filled it full of chain oil, thereby reducing the volume for that item by threefold. I also wound half a roll of black electrical tape around the seat post, reducing the volume of that item by over half.

Space of course is only half the equation. The danger of making space is that you fill it with more stuff. Stuff that you don't really need. The issue is really about weight and although as someone pointed out to me last year, that chopping your toothbrush in half is pointless, cutting a lot of thing in half, suddenly adds up. Remember all those hills that everything you carry has to be dragged up too.

Another 40 miles this evening in light drizzle. Not too many more miles to go, but by then I will have passed through 4500 miles of training and I guess that that will have to do.

Monday 6 July 2015

Race Manual Intro. A good read. Courtesy of Mike Hall, race director.

Introduction Welcome to the Final issue of the race manual.

The race is only 3 weeks away. If everything is going to plan you will be finishing off your last few big efforts and bringing together the last elements of your race plan. There is a little bit of time left yet, but we are nearly there. Transcontinental have recently met with the City of Geraardsbergen and we are very excited about the start. A midnight start on the muur and cobbles by torchlight will be quite an atmosphere. Riders will have got to grips with the predicament of how to play the first 12, 24 or even 36 hours. All I can say is its a long race and there is no one perfect strategy. Those who look after themselves and their bike, have a good plan and keep calm will, if they are strong, prevail. The start should at least mix it up a bit and make in interesting viewing to see who takes off at the start and who becomes stronger as they go.

Other news since the last issue is that renowned professional photographer and veteran of 9 tours Camille McMillan will be joining us as the official race photographer this year. If any of you have sponsors who are keen to commission pictures of you in race mode, they can get in touch with @camillemcmillan via twitter or instagram and tell him your race number.

Also this year, as you may have heard, our two times race winner Kristof Allegaert will be taking a year our from Transcontinental for some ultra racing in Siberia. Kristof has made quite the impression the last two years in Transcontinental and that has brought him the exciting opportunity of a fully funded and supported supported ultra racing trip. We have become rather good friends with the man-machine from Kortrijk so while it is a shame that we will miss racing him to Istanbul ourselves in the car, it does guarantee that we will have a new winner this year which is exciting. It also shows that the international ultra racing community regard the race and its winner highly and there are opportunities out there for those that shine.

As Transcontinental’s aim is to provide not only an adventure but also an accessible route to ultra racing - which can be a very resource heavy pursuit and difficult for riders to get established in at a competitive level - it is great to see veterans our race getting noticed for sponsorships and opportunities like this. It is also great to see past racers of TCR tearing it up in other races like the Trans Am Bike Race (Adrian O’Sullivan) and the Highland Trail 550 (Josh Ibbett, Rickie Cotter) as well as seeing pictures all year of riders in TCR caps riding hundreds of miles of Audax. A special mention should also go to Gaby Leveridge, 2014 veteran of TCR who has rocketed from 4th cat to a professional team and riding in the national champs within a very short space of time. Quite a story and inspiration for us all. For some Transcontinental will be a one off, others might come back again as a ride or like many this year as a volunteer like Eelco Weijmans, Chris Phillips.

Meanwhile we will see past riders we know of other races; Dave Goldberg, Franziska Kuhne and others who come to ride or volunteer on the TCR as well as all the partners and friends of racers who have got involved and made this their adventure too. It is so great to see many of the same names and faces coming up at rides and races throughout the year. It makes being part of this community so rewarding for us too.

 It has been sad for us to hear of injuries also as the race has come nearer, and for those who cannot start, like veterans Matthias Mueller, Pippa Handley and many other new riders to be, we will miss you and get well soon.

I would also like to take this opportunity again to thank all the volunteers and those companies who support what we are trying to do. All the volunteers have been amazing and will continue to be throughout the race. Whenever you meet them show some appreciation for what they are doing. Its their efforts and enthusiasm as well as the approach that the riders bring to the race, which creates such a wonderful community around this race. We finally have our Official TCR T-Shirt available. This is a hand printed T-Shirt, made exclusively for PEdAL ED and TCR by Anna Prints with the highest standards in ethical and ecologically sound sources, methods and materials. Tee's are available at annaprints.co.uk. Since Anna will be captaining one of our race vehicles she is making pre-ordered shirts available for collection in Istanbul.

I have one more favour to ask of you before the race starts… Please let your family and friends in on the adventure, to support you, follow you and cheer on, but explain to them also the meaning of self-supported and to refrain from offering assistance. Self reliance is not just a mechanism by which we level the playing field and create a credible comparison of the relative abilities of our athletes, it is also a construct for personal adventure which defines the Transcontinental and its finishers. You absolutely should look after the safety of yourself and others and it is the right and human thing to do to want to help other riders and your friends to want to help you. Sometimes however people don’t need an easy way out. They need a little trouble and a few problems and to overcome them with their own resourcefulness and resolve. People will find a way if they have no choice and in many ways you are doing them a greater favour not to burst the bubble of their adventure with a convenient solution. Its a fine balance, but in the end the satisfaction of doing this race all for yourself is very hard to beat.

I will leaver you with the words of Jack Thurston, writer an broadcaster who love many were captivated by following the race last year… “I Fell for the Transcontinental because its a daring and thoroughly modern take on how bike racing used to be back in the ‘heroic’ era. By putting the lost virtues of adventure and self-reliance back at the heart of a bike race, the Transcontinental is a breath of fresh air in the increasingly bland, commercialised world of modern cycle sport” See you on the wall of Grammont.

Mike Hall Race Director The Race Manual This is race manual 2015 Issue 2, this is the go-to place for all

An impassioned plea. The reason why.

A few weeks ago there was a post on facebook decrying the sudden splurge of bloggers writing about cycling. Writing about bicycles, cleaning bicycles, training, sleeping, eating bicycles...but worse still,  they were then utilising every outlet of social media to advertise their blog, including adsense and search engine optimisation to get their story 'out there'.

To be fair, the individual had a reason to be somewhat cynical, even angry. Knocked of his bike, by a car, he was having to take a forced break from cycling, let alone write about it and his frustration spilled out.

To be honest, I was stung a little. This person he was talking about was me.

I have been scribbling down little stories from the last 2 years of training, of rides that I have done, punctures sustained and sore backsides endured. And indeed, each time I have finished writing, I have pressed the facebook and twitter share button...but this is the reason why.

I love to cycle and to challenge myself. It is an entirely selfish endeavour, but the blog is my attempt to put this to some use.

Yesterday there was an article on the mainstream news about GPs sharing their concerns about lack of funding for dementia care. Radio 5 interviewed a man who cared for his mother, in between slotting in a few hours work. Too little work to earn a great deal I imagine, but too much to allow him to get carers allowance.

He was not bitter or angry, but he was, I have no doubt, tired beyond comprehension and in need of our support and help.

Dementia is becoming an increasingly common fact of life for families up and down the country. It is a challenge that we need to share in what ever way we can.

Whether you become a dementia friend, or a carer, a fund-raiser or just a contributor, it won't matter. People living with or caring for someone with dementia will be grateful that you care.

I am about to cycle 2560 miles in 2 weeks, or there abouts. This is my way of giving you the chance to show you care. So far, I have had less than 15 sponsors, but raising over £380.

Please support the Alzheimer's Society and visit my justgiving page. Follow me on twitter @johnnymbakewell

You do not have to read my blog ever again, though I would be grateful if you would share it as widely as possible.

Thank you

www.justgiving.com/john-bakewell4alzheimers/ 

Less than 3 weeks!!!!

Three weeks might feel like a long time, but right now it both feels like tomorrow and at the same time, can't come soon enough.

I pushed out a 40 a 60 and another 40 earlier in the week and realised as I wound my way around the last ride, that I had developed a hamstring tendon strain. A fact that is almost certainly playing a part in my building nervousness. You can tell from the increase in facebook chatter from other TCR entrants, that we are all beginning to feel it. Slowly and inexorably we march toward the Muur.

I've used the last 3 days of studiously not riding, when I desperately want to, to get my route planning checked and re-checked. I have been through all my equipment again and one of my girls has been a complete star, sewing a mosquito net into the opening of my bivi-bag. I'm not keen on either West Nile Virus or Tick borne encephalitis. The latter can be inoculated against, but it can also be avoided with care. Money does come into it, with the injections costing a cool £170!

I travel from home at 05:00 on the 23rd, heading first for Norwich station. From there it's train to Ipswich and then Harwich, before catching the ferry. I have a cabin to myself for 8 hours, which is a dream. Lots of rest and lots of food. I shall need both.

There are trains from Oostende to Brussells and then Geraardesbergen, but I am not certain about taking the bike on them as yet. If push comes to shove, I shall have to pay for a taxi, but that would be no way to start the adventure, though it would certainly be quicker. The one thing that I will NOT be doing, is cycling to the B&B. Rest, rest, eat, eat. That's all I'll be doing.

We have now been sent all the final briefing information too. I know where I have to be the next day and at what time. In the end it all points to the same thing.

Midnight on the Muur. Be there with me. I need you all there. This is one crazy race.

Thursday 25 June 2015

The final 220 miles and a pair of Donkeys

Sadly my phone died on the way home and for some reason that I have yet to fathom, I was unable to charge it from the hub dynamo. The one picture that I took in transit, therefore, whilst fun to have taken, is not the most dynamic. There would have been plenty better along the way.

I woke before my alarm at about 04:45. Took in the view from my bivi-bag and set to sorting out my kit.

Polishing off an iced latte and some chocolate I scrambled out from my hiding place and hit the road.

After a couple of roundabouts, I discovered that the A5 was shut. Oh dear. what a shame....for cars! But not for me. 15 miles of this! Now that's what I call a cycle lane. I wasn't joined by another car, until I was ushered off the dual carriageway by the approach of the M54, by which time they must have re-opened it and it had served it's purpose for me.

Since the road had been so straight forward, I had not at this point bothered to turn on the navigation, other than to record my distance. I was somewhat perturbed therefore, to discover that I could not find a way to reverse my previous routing and began instead the slightly tedious task of navigating to the next waypoint in turn. Whilst this might not seem to be such an issue, it involved stopping frequently to decipher the route and chewed up the best part of an hour in total before I reached home.

In Leicestershire again, I stopped after 105 miles for a sandwich on this tiny country lane. sitting in a grassy meadow with just the songbirds as company, I was approached by a couple leading two donkeys and accompanied by their dog.

It turns out, they walk their animals for about 10-15 miles and the donkeys carry the tent and food for the owners, whilst they themselves are content to snack on the grass as the mooch along.

I had suddenly hit upon a new way to travel and like Toad of Toad Hall, I determined to give this ago myself. At least the family might agree to join me.

To cut a long story short. That was half way. At 21:45 I hauled into Hethersett.

521 miles later I was wiser and more prepared for waht now begins in less than a calendar month.

Istanbul here we come.

Total mileage since 31st dec 2014, now 4082 miles.

Saturday evening. Over the hedge.

At 8 in the evening I headed out of Aber with my brother, Andy for the first couple of miles after catching a couple for photos for the work newsletter down on the seafront.

The climb up to Nant Yr Arian is steady and no too steep. Aided by a decent tail wind now, I was at the carpark with 40 minutes. If you have never been here and you are either into wildlife or mountain biking, then this is well worth a visit. There is a red kite feeding station here and at its peak can see upwards of 40 kites in the air at the same time.

The mountain bike trail, built by Andy and his team is a mecca for mountian bikers and is one of a number of really good trails in North Wales.

www.ibikeride.com/wales/1686-nant-yr-arian-mountain-bike-trail-centre

The climb from here to the A44s summit across the Cambrian Mountains en route to Llangurig and then Welshpool is steady. At times I was averaging over 15 mph going up hill. When it comes to wind, I guess it is as true as anything else. You reap what you sew. Friday's hard work was being repaid in spadefulls. From the top it was even more the case, since the decent from there felt as though it continued all the way into Netwon, about 25 miles to the east.

I finally reached the outskirts of Shrewsbury at 1 in the morning. Under the glow of a roundabout lamp, I stole into the hedge beside the road and made myself a home.

The paler boarder at the base of the trees to the right of my feet is the A5. After 72 miles, Iwasn't going to notice the traffic and I set my alarm for 4 hours later.

Good night.

Wednesday 24 June 2015

230/500 Friday the rest of the day. Invaluable lessons.

Certainly the discomfort of sitting in a saddle for hours on end has faded into numb memory, but the second 100 miles of the 230 mile total that I completed on Friday were a lot harder than the first.

Grinding out big miles is essential at some pint before the TCR if you are to prepare yourself mentally for the rigors of a race that demand that you do this day in, day out for two weeks. It is impossible to imagine the feeling of physical exhaustion and therefore begin to recognise where your limits are, unless you've been there. These are invaluable lessons.

There is some stunning countryside in the heart of Leicestershire. There are also lots and lots of short, rolling hills. Lots of them. Hills make for exhilarating descents, but they also make for thigh burning climbs. Good training as it happens for what lies ahead.

The fact that I stopped, stopping to take photos is indicative of my deteriorating energy levels and determination to plough on. But there were still landmarks to be admired. (I hadn't appreciated that these cooling towers are actually on stilts and not embedded in the ground!)

All I do recall is that by the time I had completed 170 miles and was somewhere like Stafford, I felt physically sick and more depleted than I had expected. The toil of wind and hills had drained me of energy and I needed to eat...BIG.

There was not a great choice in the high street, it has to be said. If I recall correctly there was a choice of almost every kind of fatty fast food you could think of, and thankfully a kebab shop that advertised that it also made spag bol. I opted for a double portion of that. Paid a King's ransom for the pleasure and then forced myself to eat what my body was determined to expel. The joys of searching your limits.

Within half an hour I felt like a new man. The mileage crept slowly upwards toward my longest ever distance in a day and by the time I was within reach of Shrewsbury, I had passed 208 miles and counting.

The old Roman road of Watling Street, the A5, straight as an arrow drew me into Wales, a landmark in itself and having negotiated a couple of roundabouts on Shrewsbury's southern bypass, I headed into the Shropshire countryside and the hills of my birth.

The scenery here, like that of parts of Leicestershire, is beautiful. The hills were never long, but they became relentless and I realised that I would have been much better to have stuck to the main road into Welshpool.

I called ahead to speak to my brother, towards whose house in Aberystwyth I was headed and at 231 miles, completely spent and with a forecast of overnight rain, I gladly accepted his invitation to pick me up and cart me the reamining 55 miles over the Welsh mountains.

Alzheimer's SocietyMore to come...

PLease continue to show your support for my fund-raising efforts via the justgiving address hown on the card above. Thank you. John