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.....