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!

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.

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. 

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!

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! 

http://trackleaders.com/transconrace15i.php?name=35___john_bakewell

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. 

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)...

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.