The long and winding, windy road to Worcester

Day 3 of the cycling challenge. The Tour de Donut recommenced at 0500 hours as my alarm clock rang out to announce that I would have to leave the comfort of my pit, descend the stairs for a bowl of porridge, lovingly prepared by Sophie Colgate, my friend Matthew's wonderful wife, apply a gallon of Sudocrem and put the Lycra shorts on again.

Sophie was fantastic and even drove me to Watford station with the bike in the back of the MPV in time to catch the 0559 hours London Midland service to London Euston.

What an unearthly feeling it was to stumble off the train at 6:20am in Euston. It was like de ja vu in Lycra. I felt myself back in 1994 during my tenure in Euston as Catering Manager, London North West and Wales, checking on my assistant catering managers and the catering crews as they prepared to cook the great British Rail breakfasts for the punters on their way to Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham and Glasgow.

Dragging myself away from the urge to see whether all the salt and peppers pots were full on the 0700 Manchester Pullman train I wandered outside the station concourse and pondered the day ahead.

115 miles, a strong westerly headwind in my face all day, the blessed Cotswold Hills to tackle after 60 miles and a backside still a tad raw and sore after Saturday's ride.

London was not in full commuter mode as I set off down the Euston road towards the Edgware Road (the A5) and I made good progress heading north, skirting the odd crevasse in the road and playing leap frog with the double deckers in the bus lanes.

I was almost taken out by a d*%khead in his car whilst videoing myself. The annoyed outburst was captured in HD and the words 'Woah! Ya f**king muppet!' are heard loud and clear. I'll try and not let my Mum see that one. Oh, you are reading this Mum. Sorry about the language, I've been watching too much Gordon Ramsey recently.

From central London to the outskirts and the first challenge of the day. Stanmore Hill. Very attractive area, lots of nice houses, the well known Stanmore cricket club (breeding ground of Angus Fraser and twinkle toes Mark Ramprakash)....but that was all ignored as I panted my way up. 7:15am on a Monday morning and I'm chugging and puffing away up a steep hill. I can think of better ways to kick off a Monday.

Still, the rapid descent into Bushey and Watford was worth the exertions.

I then found myself on the A41, super-fast dual carriageway, on the way out of Watford. Oh, and what is that I see...the junction for the M25?! Best avoid that slip road. Cycling with the morning commuters racing along at 70mp/h is not for the faint hearted and I was relieved to be on the back roads heading towards the Chiltern Hills.

But, for the love of cheese, what is wrong with Berkhampstead?! I have nothing against the town as such, but its residents must have been brainwashed into a stupor. The place is a horrendous minefield of the worst potholes known to man. Every few metres there is another huge chasm waiting to damage man and bike. But no. The good burghers of Berkhampstead carry on as if in a placid dreamstate. Holes, where? Nah, can't see anything. Even the bloody postmen I overtook on their bikes weren't remotely bothered by the Grand Canyons in front of them.

By this time, more than 3 and a half hours since setting off from Euston, Simon had not yet caught up with me. No doubt, he was doing his best, but that extra slice of toast and 5th cup of tea had waylaid him, but eventually I heard the familiar 'toot toot' from behind and I had the first of what turned out to be many pit-stops outside of Tring.


So far, so good. All the way to Bicester without a hitch (other than cycling for an hour with no water bottle, which was inadvertently left at our first rendezvous, in the boot of the car, instead of with me on the bike).

The wind had picked up by now and I was conscious that it was slowing me down. I plodded on towards Bicester. Not one to laugh at my own jokes, I did chortle out loud as I went through the village of Cow Roast. Aha...I have had Cow Roast, now it's aaaahhh Bicester. Ok, you may cease laughing now.

In Bicester I headed for the Bicester Community Hospital Car Park for a lunch stop. 2 days earlier I had stopped there to share coffee, donuts and man hugs with Sean Veasey, our old Duke of York's school friend. It seemed as good a place as any for a stop; though the doctors and nurses in the hospital were concerned that they may have to lance the boils on my buttock cheeks from a day and a half of (unpleasant) rubbing.

I rounded the roundabout (well, you don't go over it do you?) and saw Nikki Dennis waving manically and shouting encouragement. Incredible really, no really it is. How can someone be so full of energy when the day before they ran the London marathon? If you look in the dictionary for the definition of the idiom 'to be full of beans', there is a picture of Nikki Dennis doing cartwheels.

Nikki's boyfriend Chris Burgess, master chocolatier (?!), had prepared his first ever thermos of coffee. I think he had some video instructions on how to do it from ehow.com. For a coffee virgin, the coffee was remarkably great. Simon and I both had two cups and I detected a glimmer of surprise and disappoitnment from Nikki and Chris that we had drunk their cups. Sorry, but it were reet tasty!

Of course, this being Bicester, there were donuts coming out of every quarter. Ring donuts, jam donuts, huge quantities of doughy, sugary yumminess for me to gorge myself on. I would have thanked Nikki and Chris for going to the trouble of getting the donuts for me, but in fact I would like to take issue with them.

Nikki and Chris. You knew I was heading into the UK's version of the Himalayas - the Cotswolds. You knew that I needed all my energy and lightness to scale every damn last hill. You knew I was weary from 175 miles of cycling. But still you force fed me donuts. 'Have another one Tony, go on, they'll give you energy'. I sat on the grass, enjoying the jammy joy, time ticking by until I couldn't move. Then I had to summon up all my will power to get on the bike and head off in the direction of Nemesis. Thank for the donuts. I loved them, but I knew I'd pay....

The wind and the donuts and the lovely long rest in Bicester had the combined effect of adding lead to my boots and 25kg to my stomach and legs. I had chosen a route to avoid Chipping Everest Norton and Moreton in the K2 Marsh. But even so, Bloxham, Shipston on Stour and Chipping Camden hurt like hell. Down a fast descent, 2 seconds later in second to lowest gear struggling like I was swimming through treacle, panting, huffing and puffing to the crest of another hill.

I like the Cotswolds. The villages and the countryside are truly magnificent, beauty unsurpassed. No wonder hordes of Japanese and Americans descend upon them every summer, thrusting video cameras into the faces of the old dears running the local 'Mrs Crusty's Tea House and Cakery'. For me though as a tired cyclist, the Cotswolds were the real crunch of the cycling challenge. I didn't so much enjoy cycling through them, more endured them, wishing the rolling hills to be behind me.

And so, after an eternity, I was given a much needed morale boost when I passed the sign for Worcestershire and the Malvern Hills came into view. Not far to go now.

Evesham came and went, although I had to put my chain back on for a second time after it came off on a particularly steep climb out of Evesham. Pershore arrived and I knew I was half an hour from the finish.

My backside had been giving me grief since Watford and every time I lifted it off the saddle all I could think of was Edmund Blackadder's encounter with the Baby Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells.

Bishop..."So, Blackadder, have you got the money or not?"

Blackadder..."Er, sorry Bish, no"

Bishop (brandishing a glowing red hot iron rod)..."Ah, good, I hate it when they pay.....bend over Blackadder, it's poker time."

...and so it felt as if I had taken the Bishop's red hot poker time after time after time. Saddlesoreness should be made part of the SAS interrogation techniques. 'So, Mr Bin Laden, what's it gonna be, you tell us everything or you do 50 miles on the bike, sitting on crushed razor blades?'....'No, no not the saddle of doom...'

At just before 7pm, I crossed the M5 and headed on the descent down London Road, with my first view of Worcester cathedral coming mercifully into sight.

9 hours in the saddle - again. 12 and a half hours since leaving Euston station and I rolled up to the finish line outside Worcester's imposing and magnificent cathedral. I was greeted by Rini, Louisa, Milla, my Mum and Simon, which was fantastic. Rini pointed out that I was about 10 metres short of the actual place where I began the event on Saturday and I hadn't really finished therefore. Ah, the joy of perfectionism. Of course, I still had 2 miles to cycle home as well.

I would like to say that the Mayor of Worcester and the 3 Counties Choirs were there to welcome me, but they weren't. A few puzzled looks from the diners in Pizza Express and I was on the bike for the last 2 miles (uphill of course) to home in St. Peter's.

A major achievement, a worthwhile cause, a hard, gruelling challenge. I enjoyed it, all things considered. The pain, the hills and the wind were ever present, but it wouldn't have been half as enjoyable and memorable if it had been flat, calm, boring cycling all the way to London and back.

My suffering and temporary inability to sit down are nothing to the difficulties faced by Milla and the thousands of others affected by cerebral palsy. I am proud to have achieved my objective of getting to London and back under my own pedalling steam. But I am even more proud to be able to give something back, to help Scope continue its work in helping those with CP lead a better quality of life.

A few thank yous:

My wife Rini and my Mum Donna - always there for me, always supporting me. I love you both very much.xxxx.

Louisa and Milla. My princesses. The motivation for everything I do and the reason the pain I put myself through in these challenges is all worthwhile. Love you girls. Daddy Pig.xxxx.

Simon Whitton. The best friend you could ever have. Loyal, generous, supportive, motivating and funny. Never a negative word passes his lips, a constant source of positivity when the going got tough. Thanks PPMI, I couldn't have done it without you...nb, where is my drinks bottle?

Sean Veasey, Chris Burgess and Nikki Dennis. The Bicester Posse, the Donut Club. Thank you for your support, your provisions and your kindness. I am now seriously considering moving to Bicester.

James Pascall-Smith, Roger Vaughan and Caroline Almeida. You made a good day out at the London marathon a great day. It was great to see you all and let's not wait years until we meet again.

Sophie and Matthew Colgate. My generous and welcoming hosts in Watford, you were so accomodating and kind - running a bath before I got to Watford, force feeding me barbecue, potatoes and salad, curry, porridge, coke, tea and allowing me to sleep above Simon. Not to mention picking us up and dropping me off at the station at 'stupid o'clock'.

Paul, Delyse, Martin and Kirsty Marsden. It was great to see you in London and fantastic that uncle Paul could run the marathon when I had to pull out. It won't be long til we come to Eastbourne for a visit. Love you lots.xxxx.

Mr Aslam, consultant knee surgeon, Spire South Bank Hospital, Worcester. You gone done fix my right knee up real good. Only problem is, my left one is sore now. Can you book me in any time soon?

Everyone reading this and anyone who has supported me with their donations and / or words of encouragement. Thank you.


Some statistics.

235 miles cycled

1,854m / 6,084ft climbing up

13,462 calories burnt

Average speed 13mp/h

Donuts eaten...at least 10

If you would like to see my photos of the event, click this link to my Facebook album (anyone can see the pcitures from this link)

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=174558&id=717335212&l=d18ea26a80

Day out in London...Marathon motivation by the masses

After cycling for 9 hours and 115 miles, how do you recover from your exertions?

Of course, travel into Central London and spend the day with hundreds of thousands of spectators watching 35,000 runners tackle the London Marathon.

It was a wonderful day. Inspirational, motivating and humbling. So many people enduring pain in the fantastic cause of raising money to help those less fortunate than themselves.

For me, it was doubly special as I met up with friends I hadn't seen for around 20 years.

I travelled out to Canary Wharf where Scope had set up two cheering points at mile 15 and mile 18. 3 miles apart for the runners, but for us there was just the City Pride pub separating the two cheering points, so it was great to spot your family or friends running at mile 15 and then 20 minutes or so later to spot them at mile 18, staggering and on their knees.

The Scope people were lovely, very friendly and they even shared their chocolate bars with me and fetched me a coffee. I think I must have looked gaunt and in need of a good feed after the cycle the day before.

My dear old friend, Roger Vaughan, then arrived. We were friends at Worcester College in the late 80's and shared many a happy time on and off the hockey pitches of the college and the West Midlands. It was fantastic to see him and to catch up.

Then the wheelchair athletes, elite women, elite men and the remainder of the field started streaming past. The winning man ran it in around 2 hours 5 minutes. I cycled slower than that. Enough said. Supreme athletes and ridiculously fast. I doubt many of us could run at their speed for half a mile, let alone 26.2 miles.

I was supporting my uncle Paul, who was running his second marathon. I managed to see him at mile 15, looking strong. Indeed, he recorded a good time - 4hrs 25mins and looked like he had just popped down the shops when he finished. Not bad for 55!

Next up was my boss, Rick Johns. It was Rick's first marathon and he flew past us at mile 15 and I only just got a photo of him as I was trying to locate my friend James, who unknown to both of us was at the other Scope point. The conversation on the mobile phone was thus;

'I'm here'..'Where?'...'At the Scope cheering point, City Pride pub..where are you?'..'Same place...can't you see me, by the door, I'm waving'..'Er, no, what, can't hear you...oh, he's gone'

James eventually wandered to the other side of the pub and Rick went on to record 4:46. Again, not bad for 53.

We were then glued to the thousands of runner, trying to see our good friend and Kilimanjaro climber, Nikki Dennis; also in her first marathon. Short, blond, wearing pink, with a pink bandanna. After 152 similarly attired runners (one or two of whom were male), I saw Nikki's beaming face, smiling away, not a care in the world - despite running 15 miles.

Nikki is always so happy, never a frown. I put it all down to the Botox treatments. If you told Nikki her faithful dog of 12 years had just met its maker after an altercation with a tractor, she would look at you, with a big grin and a slightly quizzical eyebrow and say 'Really? Oh, not to worry, he'll be OK, I'll just stick him back together..anyone got any Superglue?'.

James and I gave exuberant vocal support and then put our brain cells together to work out that we could see her again at mile 18. For Nikki, 30 minutes of running, for us, a 30 seconds stroll through the smoking BBQ's and beer puddles of the pub.

James is young, with a never-say-never attitude. 'Come on Tone, we can cross to the other side here...just leap over the barriers..' 'Er, James, there's 35,000 people running up the road...are you going to wait for a gap in the runners?'

As Nikki approached, not far behind Sir Richard Branson, a fit and sweating Natalie Imbruglia (steady now) and a camel, James leapt the barriers and became runner 35,001. Dressed in jeans, with no number and a slightly wild eyed look on his face, James avoided detection, the marshals and the police to run with Nikki for around 10 minutes - before returning to the bosom of his despairing mentor.

I hear the police have issued a CCTV image and wish to question James under the Terrorism Act and Perverting the Course of Genuine Runners.

Nikki finished in around 5hrs 15mins, but complained that the queues for the loos were a nightmare.

The day concluded with being crushed in the melee to get on the Tube to go to Westminster for the finish of the marathon. We made our way to the Scope reception on Whitehall for sandwiches, bananas, crisps and a cup of tea (what do mean they are for the runners? Spectating is hard work too).

Paul arrived, happy with his time, but bemoaning the lack of shower facilities (No Shower Til Eastbourne), soon followed by my cousins Martin and Kirsty and auntie Delyse. I hadn't seen them for ages, so it was wonderful to spend some time with them.

James, Simon and myself then headed to Petty France, near St. James' Park, to meet Nikki and her boyfriend Chris (fixer of broken soap dispensers -sssh, don't tell anyone) for a celebratory drink in the Buckingham Arms. Petty France -what a great name for a street. Is there a 'Stroppy Sweden' or a 'Petulant Portugal'?

Then, the added bonus was an old friend whom I hadn't seen since 1990 turned up. It was great to see Caroline Almeida again. The last time was in Romania when she, her friend Stephanie, Simon and myself were travelling together. 20 years, far too long.

We dispersed and Simon and I headed back to Watford for a curry with Matt, Sophie and their children Harry and Lydia.

My lasting thoughts on the day were as follows.

Had my knee not experienced a problem and needed an operation I would have been out there pounding the streets of London, people screaming 'Go on Tony' as I ran past. Instead I was privileged to witness this incredible event, support good friends and family, meet old friends and enjoy a great day.

Then the thoughts were overtaken by a nagging anxiety. 'Oh, you remember you cycled to London yesterday and you felt stiff, sore and aching all over. Well, you've got to get up at 5am tomorrow and do it all again. Only 115 miles back to Worcester. Best get to bed then. Night night.XXXX'

Part 3 to come....

Job Done!

I did it.

Three small words which contain more than they can say. Worcester to London and back by bicycle.

I set out to cycle to London and back in order to raise a minimum of £2,000 for Scope. I am extremely proud and happy to say that I accomplished both objectives. Here is my account of the trip...and boy, what a trip it was.

Part 1. The Tour de Donut

Saturday 24th April 2010. Up at 5am for a bowl of porridge and fortifying cup of tea. Car loaded with everything I needed for the ride - maps, drinks, Mars bars, nappy rash cream. My great friend Simon Whitton had arrived the evening before, ready to support me along the route.

I cycled down to Worcester cathedral for the official start to the event. Yes it was early and a bit chilly, the expected masses had decided to stay in bed and it was left to Simon to give me a rousing 'See you in Broadway, good luck!' and I left the Faithful City in pursuit of London. The first road I cycled along was quite appropriately London Road.

We had arranged our first rendezvous in Broadway, at around 21 miles and just before the fabled Fish Hill of earlier blog posts. The ride up Fish Hill was great, barely a huff or a puff and I thought that with Fish Hill behind me, it would be plain sailing all the way to Big Ben. How wrong I was.

Hills, Wind, Bugger

The Cotswold Hills are some of the prettiest countryside in the UK. No wonder people like Madonna, Kate Moss, Jay Kay of Jamiroquai and many other celebs like to have a home in the Cotswolds.

They may be pretty, but they are a nightmare for the non professional 41 year old cyclist. Beyond Broadway and Fish Hill the terrain became more difficult. Hill after hill after hill, short, steep climbs, long steady drags, fast descents, more climbing. It was incessant. Moreton-in-Marsh zipped by and then the signposts directed me towards Chipping Norton. Chipping Norton. small market town, built at an angle of 40 degrees, sloping wildly - even the car parks are lopsided. It was a real struggle climbing into Chipping Norton.

However, I did enjoy the first of many donuts in an effort to get as many calories in as possible. Something called a 'Yummy Yummy'.

Onwards, up, up, and more up. What a ride. I had no idea the Cotswolds were that hilly. Though the clue is in the name, 'Cotswold Hills'. By this time (mid morning), not only were the hills presenting themselves with frustrating regularity, but the wind decided it would make trouble while the sun shone.

I was fighting a battle against a stiff South Westerly wind and the uphill gradients. It really is so frustrating riding into the wind.

More pretty villages, more hills, more heavy panting than a meeting of Perverts Anonymous and I was now heading through deepest darkest South Oxfordshire.....all around me were 'Vote Conservative, Vote for Change' posters and, I realised, I was in the domain of David Cameron. I'll readily vote for you if you agree to level the Cotswolds and put a tax on wind.

Then I arrived, wearily and hungrily, at the mid point, Bicester. Home to the lesser spotted Sean Veasey, an old friend from school who kindly supplied coffee and donuts. I was soon feeling refuelled, refreshed and renewed for the next stage.

If you ever cycle long distances by road, beware the HGV. Sean forewarned me of their menace on the A41. It's long, straight, very little shelter from head or cross winds, nor from HGV's whizzing by half a metre from you at 60 mp/h. On the return leg I noticed the A41 had 103 road accident casualties in 3 years; a sobering thought.

Despite the wind, I made good progress - through Aylesbury and Aston Clinton, Tring ( a couple of minor bumps, nowhere near as taxing as the Cotswolds) and on to Berkhampstead; or as I call it 'Potholeston'. If anywhere was going to bring me and the bike to grief it was Berkhampstead. So many potholes, huge holes and cracks ready to gobble you up. What on earth are the local council spending their budget / council tax on? I don't give a stuff about a pretty street sign or roundabout floral display, or a new traffic calming project....fill in the bloody holes you numpties.

Big Ben is Calling

I reached Watford with a spring in my step. Only 18 - 20 miles to go. My brother Stuart said 'When you get into the bowl of London, it's downhill all the way'. Brilliant. But regrettably, someone forgot to mention Bushey Hill / Stanmore Hill. Oh, you gits...sting in the tail big style. If you decide to cycle to London, just remember that from Watfrod to Bushey is a monstrous climb.

Up you go, a brief respite on a short flat section, then it kicks again, steeply, painfully and kicks some more. That hurt.

But by now, Big Ben was firmly in my sights. I whizzed down Stanmore Hill, towards Kingsbury and the A5 Edgware Road, which would lead me slap bang into the centre of London. Being a Saturday afternoon / early evening I was met by the cacophony of thousands of cars, buses and taxis, grinding their way into London in a huge sluggish traffic jam.

What's worse than cycling into a headwind uphill? London's congested streets and inconsiderate driving folk. It was chock-a-block and very difficult to make any progress. As a result I had a lot of time to think of the pain my backside and testicles were giving me (saddle sore), and to count how many 'Kenton / Kingsbury Fried Chicken' (KFC) outlets there were.

Piccadilly traffic notwithstanding, I fell off the bike on Parliament Green, opposite Big Ben and a tented village of 'Protesters for Gaza' (I know, Paul Gascoigne has been in the wars of late hasn't he?) at 7:15pm. 13 hours on the go, 9 hours plus in the saddle.

The confused and quizzical public, mainly comprised of Spanish and Italian tourists, inadvertently believed Lance Armstrong had arrived and I was mobbed by autograph hunters and cycling groupies (leave my pump alone you naughty little minx), before Simon rescued me and explained I was not a world famous cyclist, but Tony with a painful derriere, who needed to go now and get a cup of tea.

Simon had left the car in Watford and taken the train in to meet me. He caught the Tube to Euston, while I cycled up Whitehall, Charing Cross Road and Tottenham Court Road, past the dubious delights of Soho's video and book retailers, the glitzy lights of Leicester Square and the drab concrete of the Euston Road before catching the train to Watford.

Utterly exhausted by the day's efforts, I was welcomed by Matthew and Sophie Colgate and their children Harry and Lydia, 9 rats, a slightly jumpy dog, a blind cat and two aquariums of assorted fish. Uncle Simon (godfather to Harry) and 'half-uncle' Tony were then given the works....a barbecue, baked spuds (though my own spuds had been baking since Fish Hill), pasta and salad. Delicious.

As my head hit the pillow and my eyes closed, all I could think of was smearing more cream into the crevasses and cracks in my nether regions, donning the Lycra shorts, drinking litres of sickly isotonic drinks and doing it all again on the return journey, come Monday.

Part 2 is on the way very soon.....

To Infinity...and Beyond!!!! (Well, London and back)

3 days to go. London is calling. The towns and villages of Worcestershire, Gloucestershire,Oxfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire and Greater London await.

I have had word that the towns of Pershore, Evesham, Broadway, Moreton-in-Marsh, Chipping Norton, Bicester, Aylesbury, Tring, Hemel Hempstead and Watford are festooned in Scope colours, bunting strung gaily across high streets, the mayors collectively declaring a public holiday - schools closed - children with 'Go Frobi' flags ready to be waved vigorously as I speed past, eating up the miles.

Boris Johnson, the mayor of London is laying on a civic reception and has ordered a police escort all the way to Big Ben from the outer reaches of London. Yes, the UK is really getting behind my charity event.

Hang on. I think I might be confusing myself with Eddie Izzard (no, I don't wear stiletto heels and a dress for fun) or maybe those cycling celebs who cycled from John O'Groats to Lands End.

So no bunting, no civic reception, no Freedom of the Town of Pershore. How disappointing.

It looks like it will be just me, my bike, my trusted friend Simon in the support car and a energy draining headwind for company the 115 miles to London....and back. I must remember that London is ONLY HALF WAY!!!!

Weather Forecast

Saturday 24th April 2010 is forecast to be a lovely sunny day, with temperature of 18C. That sounds just the ticket for a smooth ride. But wait, the sting in the tail is that my old mate, the wind, is deciding to alter direction and instead of pushing me with a brisk northerly (as has been the case for the last week or so - just Google 'Volcanic Ash Cloud'), it will now present itself full force in my face in the shape of a southerly headwind. Oh great.

Wind, a light breeze perhaps to cool me as I sweat and toil, pedalling manically up the hills? Er, no. We are talking a steady 9 mp/h with GUSTS up to 27 mp/h!!!! That's near enough a hurricane.

I know a number of runners who are taking part in the marathon on Sunday. My uncle, my boss and friends from Kilimanjaro. I mean I climbed with them, they don't live or come form there.
As I said to one of them, Nurse Nikki Dennis, "When it starts to hurt, smile". I think I will be doing a lot of smiling on Saturday.

So, when Saturday comes and I rise at 5am to fuel up on porridge and set off at 6am please spare a thought for me. Look at the boughs of the trees bent double in the gales and blow positive thoughts my way.

I will do this challenge. I will overcome the obstacles in my way and a little bit of wind won't stop me; even if it slows me down.

My daughters, Louisa and Milla were 4 yesterday. Four years ago they were in an incubator, weighing 620g and 665g respectively. In another incubator their sister, Jewel (630g) fought for her life after being born two days before Louis and Milla. Jewel passed away after 17 days, taken by an infection causing respiratory collapse. Louisa and Milla, against all the odds, numerous operations, 6 months in hospital and so many challenges, made it.

4 years, 4 tough years. But they are here. Milla's cerebral palsy is a result of her premature birth. She continues to have a challenging and difficult life - being fed through a tube in her stomach, unable to walk, sit or talk. But she is always happy, always laughing and smiling.

For Louisa and for Milla, I will get to London on my bike and then turn round and come all the way back. This is for you girls.


Wish me luck and I'll blog after I arrive in London.

Tony.

The Joy of Wind

What a beautiful day....sun high in the sky, the sky a deep azure blue, clouds nowhere to be seen, temperatures in the high teens. What a perfect day for a training ride.

The weather forecast was excellent. "Sunny and warm with quite light winds". Lovely.

Or so I thought.


Here is a little known fact. The United Kingdom possesses 40% of the wind that blows throughout Europe. 40%. That's an awful lot of wind.

'So what?', you may ask. Wind is the curse of the cyclist. Hills are a problem, for sure. They are immovable, but they are surmountable...even if you have to dismount and push your bike to the top. Rain is an irritation. It makes the roads slippery and chills your body, but it is rarely troublesome to the well prepared cyclist.

Ask most cyclists what their biggest 'slow down factor' is and most, if not all, will categorically state a headwind. Closely followed by a cross wind and then fatigue, not enough calories in the body.

The truth is that when the wind is behind you, a rare tail wind, you can zip along at unheard of speeds, fly up the hills and clock up the miles without any difficulty. When, as is nearly always the case, whatever direction you are riding, the wind is blowing a hooly in your face or across your bows it is excruciating. Pedal after pedal is an effort, you are fighting an invisible, but tangible enemy, preventing you from getting from A to B any quicker than it wants you too.

Wind is really frustrating and exhausting for the cyclist. Even on Saturday when the conditions were perfect, the wind made the ride that bit more draining. When stood still, the wind seemed hardly noticeable. But the minute you set off it let you know that it was there, and was going to keep you company the whole way.

The next time you are out and about driving along in your car and singing merrily to the strains of Westlife, Boyzone or Britney Spears and you spy a Lycra bottom on two wheels, have some consideration for them.

It may look lovely outside, but that poor cyclist is probably cursing under their breath, with the hollow words of Michael Fish repeating over and over in their heads as they struggle in the teeth of a gale "There's a woman who's contacted the BBC and says there is a hurricane on the way...there isn't, but it will be quite windy tonight."

Thanks Michael. 15 million trees felled in one night during the October 1987 hurricane; millions of pounds of damage and one of the worst natural disasters to befall the UK in its history. "Quite windy", I'll remember that the next time the weather forecasters say that the winds will be 'quite light'. Understatement, misinformation, untruths - call it what you will, but the wind in the UK is never 'quite light'. Not for cyclists.

Is it OK to get and push?

I mentioned hills earlier. I don't mind going up hills. Hills are tiring, but there is usually a pay off for your effort in a nice descent the other side....what goes up, must come down as the saying goes.

But is it acceptable to get off and push when the gradient steepens and the legs weaken? Well, yes, absolutely, no problem in my book. Why?

On Saturday, in an all too infrequent moment when the TV wasn't hijacked by the cast of The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I caught the end of a particularly hilly stage of the Tour of the Basque Country.

The Basque region in Northern Spain is famous for its climbers, people who relish steep mountain climbs and dance on the pedals in an effortless display of climbing prowess.

About 10km before the finish was, in the words of the commentator on British Eurosport 'an absolute brute of a climb, a monster, oh, look at their faces, oh, God it is hurting like hell, I can't believe how steep this climb is, it's incredible'...yes, a climb so fierce, so steep and painful it hurt to watch, let alone ride it.

The riders were contorted in agony as they fought to maintain forward momentum, fighting gravity, straining to turn the pedals.

These were seasoned professionals - veterans of the Alps and Pyrenees in The Tour de France, the Mont Ventoux (piece of cake), The Col d Peyresourde (no sweat), The Balon d' Alsace (childsplay), Le Alpe D'Huez (a Sunday stroll).

But this climb was so severe, so steep that I saw something I have rarely witnessed in a professional cycling race.

Someone got off his bike and ran with it, holding the saddle and handlebars and pushing it up.

The only other time I saw this happen was in the Tour of Britain some years ago. The pros didn't use to come to Britain that often. Today the Tour of Britain is visited by some of the world's elite cyclists. Many considered our hills to be of little consequence.

But, little did they reckon with Holme Moss, West Yorkshire. It was a shock to many of the competitors that little old England could dish up a climb so brutal it forced many to dismount and walk. And walk they did, beaten, sapped of energy and wishing they were on a training ride along the coast in Nice, rather than windswept, rainy and cold Yorkshire in September.

So, is it OK to get off, walk and push? I'll try not to as I cycle to London and back, but if the professionals reluctantly have to do it, then I may have to become a professional too.

Less than two weeks to le grand depart.

Blog you later.

Tony.xxxx.

Simon Whitton & Chris Lynam;simply the best friends you could wish for.

As you know, I am setting off to cycle to London and back from the cathedral city of Worcester on 24th April in order to raise money for Scope.

In essence, the challenge is a simple one. Get on your bike, point it in the direction of London, pray for a tail wind and start pedalling.

My previous cycling and running charity challenge where I cycled from Worcester to Liverpool and back as far as Kidderminster and finished with a 19 mile run to Worcester, was supported by two fantastic friends.

Chris Lynam (left) and Simon Whitton (right).

We've been friends since the days when we were all thickly quiffed, dressed in school uniforms and berets, suffering mathematics and double history together and gradually wasting away on a diet of runny scrambled egg, fried bread, lumpy curry, chicory coffee (!) and tea the consistency and flavour of dish water. Friends since school, many a year ago.

Chris drove many miles more than I cycled - doubling back to check on my progress, leap-frogging me and finding suitable rest stops. Simon kept me supplied with a constant stream of oat bars, Mars bars, bananas, isotonic sports drinks and they both supplied endless verbal support, witty banter and encouragement.

I couldn't have done it without them.

And now I am indebted once again to my wonderful friend, Simon Whitton.

Simon has kindly agreed to drive up to Worcester from Cardiff on Friday before le grand depart. He will then drive painfully slowly tailing or leap-frogging me all the way as far as Watford. Although the congestion charge doesn't apply on Saturday, Simon will leave the car at our friend Matthew Colgate's house in Watford and then hot-foot it to Big Ben in time to welcome me.

He is then going to drive back to Worcester on the Monday in the same capacity....driver, navigator, nutritionist, moral, spiritual and (maybe) physical support, maker of hot cups of tea, force-feeder of bananas, Mr Motivator, comedian and official photographer.

Simon and I have gone through a lot together. We first travelled around Europe in 1986. 2 innocent 17 years olds, backpacks overloaded and weighing us down, a wanderlust for discovering Europe and its cultural pot pourri. We had a great time, but ended up in rainy campsites eating 'gebackene Bohnen mit Speck' (baked beans with bacon) cooked on a camping stove and eaten out of Army mess tins. We didn't have a lot of money.

Since then we have been chatted up by Romanian prostitutes in Bucharest (we just thought they were being friendly - we didn't have a clue; no honestly), woken to the unmistakable sound of machine gunfire in the streets of Amritsar in India (though Simon slept through it and thought it was 'people banging doors').

We've enjoyed the courtesy of PIA - Pakistan International Airways, who kindly put us up in a Karachi airport hotel after the plane we were on had a complete hydraulic failure and nearly crashed landed in the desert, as well as interrogated by the Iranian secret police as we left Iran (don't tell them your Dad is a soldier!), slept in a hotel in Gilgit, Pakistan for the princely sum of 35p a night, endured 36 hour bus rides on disgutingly greasy seats in China, suffered the worst toilets the world can show you, climbed many a mountain and volcano and shared many a bed; not out of choice, but out of economics / lack of sleeping options or damn cold (you need body warmth at 2,000m).

Simon is one of life's true gentlemen. A true friend, always there, never judgemental, always a joke, a witty comment or a downright purile observation. We are 41, born a week apart, but when we get together, it's like CBeebies - we're 11 year old first years at the Duke of York's Royal Military School, all over again.

So, to Chris and Simon. Thanks for being such great friends, for giving your time and supporting me, helping me through the difficult moments and keeping me going.

To Simon, mate you have really stuck by me and helped me and I couldn't think of anyone else who I would like to be in a car, alone, for 8 hours, watching my lycra-clad bottom and heaving chest as I struggle up and over the Cotswolds and Chilterns.

In the words of the inimitable Sweaty Ann Fry, doyenne of the Duke of York's cookhouse, keeper of the pig swill bin....OI! Pick it up now! Cheers Simon, see you on the 23rd April. I owe you a big beer or 6 for this one.

Tony.

The long and winding road...

What would any sane person do on a Saturday morning...have a lie in, a leisurely breakfast, a read of the newspapers, perhaps a jaunt to the shops (though in my book, that isn't a sane activity).

I had the pleasure of 5 hours sleep, broken at 3am and an early wake up call at just after 5am. After struggling down for a huge bowl of Ready Brek, a steaming mug of tea I headed off for my longest and most challenging training ride yet.

I decided to ride over to Broadway to recce the route I'll be riding from Worcester and test myself against Fish Hill.



50 miles, up and down across the hills of Worcestershire and a complete b*st*rd of climb to sap the energy from my legs. Worcester, Pershore, Evesham and Broadway. Pretty towns and sleepy villages and so much up and down, hill after hill after hill. You just keep grinding away until you crest the summit and enjoy the all too quick descents before selecting a low gear and grinding up again.

Fish Hill

I reached Broadway and started out on the climb up Fish Hill. The Malverns last weekend were a good warm up for this beast of a climb...2 miles of switchbacks, up and up...lowest gear, slow painful progress. I was grateful to reach the summit. I believe Fish Hill gets its name from an abbreviation. F.I.S.H. = F*@k It's So High!

I laboured on for another mile or so to have a brief look at Broadway Tower before making my way back down Fish Hill. Having struggled up for 15 minutes I dropped down the hill like a cartoon anvil falling from the sky in about 2 minutes and must have touched up to 45mp/h. Exhilarating, scary and over too quickly.

I made it home after a more comfortable return journey, thanks to a slight tail wind at around 10:30am. A nice cuppa and some toast to start replenishing the 2,800 calories burnt on the ride.

Observations from today;

1. Fish Hill is as daunting as I had been warned by various people, I have now removed its nemesis status and am no longer as concerned about it.

2. You can never have too many bananas or isotonic drinks

3. Sudocrem does the job in keeping your man bits moist and free of saddle sores

4. I passed a sign that said 'ample parking'. Where else do we use the word 'ample'? I can only think of 'ample bosoms'...

5. Worcester is pretty, but you would have thought someone would have taken a huge lump hammer by now to iron out the hills.

6. Stick to the A roads - less pot holes and better road surfaces.

7. 50 miles of cycling, 5 hours broken sleep, 41 years of age, 3 hours 20 in the saddle, 775 metres of climbing and 2,800 calories burnt. Tired? What do you think?!

8. London is a long way from Worcester, a very long way by bicycle.

9. Even 912 songs on your MP3 soon become samey and repetitive. There's only so many times you can listen to Paranoid Android by Radiohead before you say, 'oh, not again, can't I have the Cheeky Girls?'

10. You need to stop cycling before taking a photo...