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
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