18th June - 1st July: What happened next

10/08/2008 by The Grimpeur.

Hi everyone.

Apologies first of all. I was hoping to keep my diary going online but It’s proved a little difficult, what with spending eight hours plus a day on the bike, and the remaining sixteen recovering from the current day and preparing for the following one, not to mention shovelling great forkfuls of grub in to refuel. Ok and maybe a beer or two or glass or three of wine. You have to keep hydrated in the hot weather it’s very important.

I did hope to do my updates on my rest days, but I forfeited the first one and split the following long day (160km) to two short days. I was on my own anyway so didn’t have access to the laptop and there wasn’t much to do in Chastel-sur-Murat though it’s a very pretty and very hilly town.

So here I am on rest day two, really rest day one, and having had high hopes of spending a day getting reacquainted with technology, I’ve been reminded just how frustrating the world of IT can be. Suffice to say I’ve time for a quick email to you all to let you know I’m still alive and still going. I tried earlier on to upload a couple of pictures to a Flickr page I’ve created but that proved too much for the creaking internet in the hotel here and I gave up. I might get back to it later. If I do you’ll (hopefully) find a few snapshots here…

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28157987@N05/

So let me update with progress. So far I’ve covered around 1,520km (950 miles) and climbed up something around 21000 metres, that’s already a lot of Primrose Hills’ and I’ve only just started on the tough stuff. In terms of major climbs I’ve covered the Col de la Croix de l’Homme Mort and the Col du Pas de Peyrol (both in the Massif Central), and the Col de Burdincurutcheta, and Col de Soudet in the Pyrenees. The last one was a proper mountain with a total ascent of 1200 metres give or take. That’s about 30 times up Primrose Hill incidentally.

I’m currently in Oloron Sainte-Marie, a small town about 40 miles from Pau, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Tomorrow I have the Col de Marie Blanque, and the Col d’Aubisque to look forward to. The rest of the week doesn’t improve with the Col du Tourmalet, Col de Peyresourde, Col d’Agnes and a few other legendary Pyrenean climbs to get over. It’s Sunday before I get out of the mountains and roll into Carcassonne for a couple of hopefully well earned days off.

So far it’s been a great adventure. I’d say the shock to the system on the first day was far more than I suspected. I certainly felt confident posing at the start line…

I really did not expect to be so shattered. I was expecting a fairly “undulating” 150km or so but it was anything but. I was very glad to climb off the bike and meet Andy and Paul for a couple of beers and a bit of a whinge. In fact I have to thank them for keeping my spirits up because I think I’d have definitely been much worse had I been on my own that evening.

Things improved steadily over the next few days, at least as far as the riding went. I was kept company off and on by a friendly bunch of Dutch cyclists who were doing the first , and last sections of the route, neatly avoiding the tough bits in the Pyrenees and Alps…

Unfortunately things got worse in the saddle/exterior contact point, something I haven’t suffered from for a long long time. Eventually I pulled up on day 7 (the unscheduled extra riding day) in the town of Laroquebrou and explained in broken, let’s say shattered French, my rear end problem. He luckily understood my pain and sold me a miracle cure in the form of Cicatryl.

Speaking of French I am managing to get by, at least on the basics like eating, sleeping and drinking. I’ve tried a couple of attempts at conversation which have usually resulted in confused looks (on both sides) followed by “comment?” Well I’ve got four more weeks on my crash course. If and by the time I finish I’m sure I’ll be fluent, at least in terms of restaurant menus, and road signs.

I had Andy and Paul for company for the first three nights and it worked very well. Here we are doing some last minute planning, just before the off.

They got their golf in and I covered the kilometres. They got the hang of the SatNav and so we managed to hook up each evening at the right place. Accommodation wise we had some good and bad, Hotel du Lac in Marcilly being not the highest point of the trip to be honest. After they departed I was on my own for the best part of four days, riding with a stem bag (a sort of dodgy pannier system) with the bare minimum of stuff. I was a little nervous to say the least about this contraption as it felt quite heavy, and not very sturdy. It did however perform surprisingly well and I managed three nights with it.

I even climbed a couple of “starter” cols with the stem bag. Here’s the evidence at the top of the col de la Croix de l’Homme Mort…

And here, on top of the col du Pas du Peyrol…

On Thursday 26^th, one week in I hooked up with team 2, Sam and Keith at Rocamadour. A quite spectacular town perched on the edge of a gorge…

Being reunited with the rest of my stuff was nice too. Sam and Keith had booked the accommodation for their stage and suffice to say it was much better than my choices – sorry Andy, Paul! On Friday Keith’s wife Cherie joined us, Keith doing his own lap of France in the car, covering God knows how many miles between Lyon, me, Biarritz, Agen – you should have got sponsored yourself Keith!

Keith, Sam and Cherie helped me on to Meracq , where we stayed in a fantastic Chateau, a treat for working so hard I think, and were treated to a sumptuous meal by our host. That was the Saturday. On Sunday we said goodbye to Cherie and pushed on to the Pyrenees. Yesterday was my first day on the proper mountains and Sam and Keith were there to witness the “fun”.

First up was the col du Burdincurutcheta. A nice steep climb as you can see…

Keith and Sam managed to climb the wrong mountain and meet me coming the other way. After that we both went up the col du Soudet, in the same direction. 250bhp climbing it much faster than my 0.5bhp (so they say), and of course I have to use some of that power moaning and swearing at innocent wildlife. All worth it to reach the top though…

After the struggle of going up, there’s the “fun” of going down. This is the first part of the descent of the Burdincurutcheta. A nice test for the brakes…

At least I could see the road ahead, unlike the decent from the Soudet, when it suddenly became November…

I know Keith also has some good pictures which I’m sure he’ll share. I just want to know if I look like the real thing, or just some old fat bloke on a bike. Keith do you have PhotoShop?

There’s been a whole lot more going on but I just don’t have the time right now to write it all up. I’ve got a plan to employ Nadine as my consultant blogger, just as soon as she returns from a little holiday she’s on herself. In the mean time This “little” missive is all I can rustle up. Sorry guys I’m sure you’re disappointed. Don’t worry the full story will be told.

I’m on my own now, Sam and Keith have gone back home and I’m expecting to hook up with my Pyrenean partner Francesca tomorrow. Francesca and I go back a long way and I’m hoping she bears that in mind because I am sure I am going to be one hell of a grumpy bugger over the next few days, and hills. I’m apologising to you in advance and there will be chocolates I solemnly promise.

So I’ll sign off now ladies and gentlemen. Before I go though thanks for all your texts and emails of support. I have been getting them and much appreciated they are. And don’t worry Mr Burge I am single handedly extinguishing the stocks of Mars bars in France. You may have to arrange a special air drop. If you do want to send me a text you can do so on the number 07509 103916. Honestly I love to get them, especially on a climb because when I hear that little beep in my back pocket I realise I have to take a break. It might be something important!

Salut mes amis

KB

PS. Regarding the pictures I managed two uploads. The connection speed at this hotel is a disgrace. It would be faster to commission an artist to paint the damn things!

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2nd July - 7th July: Mountain Man

10/08/2008 by The Grimpeur.

Ok second update from the (occasionally sunny) city of Carcassonne, which is incidentally full of tourists. It’s oddly annoying actually to hear so many English accents. In a couple of days though I’ll be in deepest darkest Herault and Gard and I’m sure me and team four, the Trinidadian triumvirate will be the only English speakers around. What the locals will make of some of the colourful Caribbean phraseology I’m not willing to guess.

Anyway that’s all to come. What’s been happening since my last update is the subject of this email, and what’s been happening is man versus mountain, more correctly mountains, and a tough battle it was. I have witnesses in case you want to challenge me.

You heard a little about the Pyrenees in the first update. I decided to arrange things so I got a taste of what they were like and then had a day to panic and find a way to back out before having to traverse the rest of them. Well backing out wasn’t and isn’t an option so on Wednesday morning, the 2^nd July, I climbed aboard my trusty two-wheeled steed and headed out of Oloron on a misty morning bound for the first of the day’s two big climbs, the Col de Marie Blanque. Bit of a tiddler really at only 650 metres or so but fiercely steep, the last 3 km averaging over 10% and one tortuous stretch at 13%, that’s really OWWWWWW! Territory.

I climbed it in mist and cloud, sort of early March weather, and whilst taking a breather at the top met a nice French Canadian guy who I rode with to the foot of the other challenge of the day. He was riding a bit too quickly for my liking, though I couldn’t lose face could I, as he was older than me, but cheated by being lean and fit!

So after a stop, and giving enough time for my chum to go his own way I started on the Aubisque. This is apparently a tough climb but paradoxically I found it ok, not exactly a snip but easier than Monday’s Soudet even though it’s rated harder. It’s a smidge under 1200 metres high over 17 or so kilometres but steady on the gradient with no nasty surprises, and some very lovely views to boot…

The weather was much better on the Aubisque, more late May I would say. After the obligatory “at the top” picture…

…I rode down and a little up again, damn those Dutch planners for not mentioning all the incidental hills between the listed ones, and got into Luz-St.Sauveur in time to wake up Francesca who had got there 2 hours earlier after a nice 4am start that morning.

So we had a catch up and then a jolly nice evening meal, and then it was time for bed and worrying about the Tourmalet. The second hardest climb on the challenge.

So to Thursday and the famous col du Tourmalet. I got away about 9am after a carb fuelled breakfast – extra croissant for this one I think and started on the ascent. It was cool and cloudy, really quite perfect climbing weather and I easily passed some Spanish guys who were staying at the hotel. Alright so they had about a half ton of luggage I ignored that fact and chalked up a victory.

The Tourmalet is a long steady climb. Once again it gets steeper the higher you go, no doubt a geology professor would explain why that’s the case for so many Pyrenean climbs, all I knew was that I would be huffing and puffing for something like 2 hours. I had stopped a couple of times on earlier climbs but brave soul that I am I decided this was a chance to ride a true giant without finding a handy reason to get off the bike.

And I did it. Something under 2 hours, climbing 1400 metres over 18 km. Not bad for a fat bloke I thought. I even passed a real climber, well he was out of the saddle so I assumed he was a real climber. Ok so some wizened French chap went past me. I kept him in sight though, until he was obscured by the mist which shrouded the last 4km to the top.

Francesca was waiting at the top. Believe me driving a two ton Volvo Estate up there is no mean feat in itself, especially when you can’t see more than 20m ahead. We did a quick picture…

…and I got my book stamped and then with a cheery wave said, see you at the start of the next climb, something like 30km away.

Well I got about 4km, down to La Mongie. I later learned, courtesy the car that it was 6 degrees Celsius at the top, before I gave up trying to descend. It was honestly dangerous, my hands were numb and my teeth chattering so badly I was sure I would bite my tongue in two and career of the road into the mist shrouded abyss.

I was trying to use my phone to call for backup when the cavalry arrived out of the mist. I dug out arm warmers. leg warmers, full gloves, duffle coat etc. etc. and took off, gingerly. Francesca and I liaised at the bottom for a chocolat chaud, by which time I had stopped shivering. As i said on the comments to my pictures, they’re here by the way http://www.flickr.com/photos/28157987@N05/ , The climbing of the Tourmalet isn’t tough it’s surviving at the top and getting down that’s hard. And once again I have to thank Francesca for being there. I wouldn’t have made it without her.

The next climb of the day was the col d’Aspin a minnow compared to the Tourmalet, but still cold and cloudy. After the Aspin Francesca understandably got fed up with hanging around on top of cold foggy mountains and wisely headed for the hotel whilst I hoofed it up the final climb of the day the col du Peyresourde. This as well as the Tourmalet feature on this year’s Tour de France though they are doing them the other way round to me.

Once again as I climbed up the the cloud enveloped the top of the mountain and it got cold and downright miserable. In fact it was raining by the time I got to the top. You can see how uplifted I felt by the whole experience in the picture I took.

Oh well just a few km downhill and I’ll be in a warm hotel room. Sadly the few km were 18 or so and it was cold and the rain was stinging. It was so bad you couldn’t wear glasses so I was treated to stinging rain in the eyes too. Add to that the puncture 4km from Luchon and you can appreciate my disposition toward the world was, shall we say a little skewed.

Things could only improve with a beer and a giant baguette, a shower, a lay down and another meal, more beer and wine of course and a fitful night’s sleep knowing whatever happened it couldn’t get worse could it?

It didn’t and Friday morning was bright and sunny. Francesca was also bright and sunny, I don’t think she is ever anything else, and we drove up to the restart point at the foot of the Port de Bales. Now this is supposed to be an easyish climb but is anything but. It’s vicously steep for the first 2km, then almost flat for another 8km. Then you turn up the hill and climb at around 8% for another 6km to the summit. Bugger those Dutch guys I thought as I whizzed down the other side, the air still decidedly chilly from yesterday’s dreary weather.

I’d agreed to meet Francesca at the top of the day’s second climb the Col de Mente. As I rode down to the foot of it I got a text from her saying “At the top. And it’s pretty steep” She wasn’t kidding this is a straightforward 10km long 900 metre frankly nasty piece of work, and I climbed it in mostly blazing sunshine. Bloody weather I thought. It’s never right here!

Francesca asked me what I think about when I’m climbing. It’s a good question as really it’s not mentally taxing pressing the left pedal, the right pedal , the left pedal again, well you get the idea. And at a speed around 9km an hour you’re not having to concentrate on what’s around the bend. I tend to watch my bike computer, the altitude meter to be precise and count each 10m vertical ascent as a little bit nearer the top. I do daft things like break the total 900m ascent into say a 400m stint, then a 200m and another 100m, then I’m only 200 from the top, and that’s nothing. It’s all pointless really as however you break it up it’s still 900 horrible steep metres and I was very glad to get to the top of this one.

So onwards and downwards, to the last climb of the day, the col de Portet d’Aspet. This was the day for steep climbs as this one while only going up 400 metres manages it in just 4 and a half km making it nearly 10% the whole way. Very, very nasty and still sunny and hot. If I remember rightly what mostly went through my mind on this climb was a series of foul oaths which I dare not repeat here.

After that I rolled down into Audressein where we stayed for the night. Audressein is a real one horse town, but the Auberge while being basic on the accommodation front, well mine was, had a fabulous restaurant, of which we availed ourselves fully. Francesca footing the bill. Oops hope you know that James!

On Saturday it was goodbye for Francesca though not before she did an imitation of La Poste and delivered one bag to Foix, and the other plus car to Carcassonne. I had the hardest day having to climb 4 reasonable cols and cover around 120km. I started in brilliant sunshine on the Col de la Core…

The weather stayed good for the next climb, the Col de Latrape, but by the time I was struggling up the Col d’Agnes, a sort of repeat performance of the Col de Mente, the clouds and mist were closing in and my spirits were sinking. I knew that after this I had the atrociously steep col de Peguere, and then another 30km of probably sneaky unlisted uphill terrain to reach Foix.

The col de Pegure lived up to it’s reputation. You climb the first 6km at a measly 5% or so up to the col des Caugnous, and then you take a little back road off the main road. You can’t miss it because it’s more of a staircase really. The sign at the bottom says 18%. That’s not a hill it’s a cliff face. And it feels like it. This agony goes on for something like 4km. The average is around 12%. When you get to the top there’s not even a view. You can imagine the fun of climbing this little beauty. And it was cold and threatening to rain again. Luckily the last 30km into Foix really are all downhill. Fabulous. I let gravity take the strain and rolled into Foix around 5:30pm.

That night I had the world’s toughest steak. I am useless at finding good food on my own, as last night’s pizza here in Carcassonne will attest to. Still the beer helped. Sunday’s ride from Foix to Carcassonne was virtually flat by comparison with the week’s earlier adventures, though it was miserably damp and rained on and off for most of the way.

I did pass this strange procession in the small town of Le Peyrat and I’m at a loss to know what it was all about. I didn’t trust my extremely limited French vocabulary enough to chance an enquiry.

My bike GPS also threw a wobbly when I got to Carcassonne and sent me on an 8 km circuit of the ring road to get to the hotel. I think the hotel was right behind me when I punched the location in.

So that’s about it. I’ve managed to clean the car (Keith take note – apparently it was the girl’s fault Sam confessed). I also cleaned the muck off the bike, something I didn’t expect to have to do in July in France. I haven’t managed to get my hair cut, it’s down to my shoulder’s honest! I thnk “lundi” is coiffure closing day in Carcassonne as every single barber’s I found was shut. I shall try again tomorrow.

Tomorrow I also collect team 4, Aprileen, Wendy, and John, Stella is joining us later in the week I understand. And on Wednesday my rest (yes I know Steve – another rest!) is over and I head north and west over the Cevennes towards the Alpes Maritimes. Still half way round, I’m on my way home technically!

Hope you’re enjoying the weather mes amis.

KB

PS. For the tortured cyclists and stat freaks like me the Pyrenees added up to 14 major climbs, with a total ascent of around 11,500 metres. Phew!

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8th July - 16th July: Trini to de bone

10/08/2008 by The Grimpeur.

Ok well not actually “Trini to de bone”. It started out that way but the presence of Stella, from Gaudeloupe meant that team 4 were mostly Trini, with a dash of French Caribbean (can I have that Wendy). I have to ask because one evening last week there was a prolonged discussion as to what constitutes being Caribbean. I confess I came out of the seminar none the wiser, though probably drunker. Suffice to say that if you want to know you best ask Wendy, Aprileen, John or Stella. I think you may get four different answers, or maybe that was just the “vin”

Anyway down to the business of update no 3. The great traverse from the back of the Pyrenees, leaving Carcassonne and travelling north and east across Languedoc, bordering on Rhone-Alps and into Provence. I’m now in the little town of Puget-Theniers at the foot of the Alps proper, you might say, and I’m staring down the barrel at two monster climbs tomorrow, the col de Couillole at 1340 metres, and the col de la Bonette at a snip under 1600 metres. A fun day ahead, and it doesn’t improve with the Izoard, Galibier, Iseran and Roselind all lining up for the rest of the week. This is literally the big week

Anyway that’s all to come in the future let me amuse and entertain you, honest, with the past week’s adventures. Remember I’m not doing this for my health, well I am doing this for my health but also for the National Autistic Society. I haven’t finished yet so there’s still plenty of time to donate. I know most of you have but make sure you spread the word around, I’m still a way off my target and I intend to keep that pledge to the guys at the NAS.

You can donate at http://www.justgiving.com/the-big-grimpe and you can go see what all the fuss is about on my website http://www.the-big-grimpe.com

There that’s all the preamble and publicity out of the way. Let’s get down to business. Last time I updated you I was lazing around in Carcassonne, being a tourist and eventually managing to get a haircut…

The chap in the salon (yes salon) asked me what sort of style I wanted. Honestly. I was a little lost you can do only so much with a pate like mine.

Once cleanly shaven on top and round the chops I picked up John and Wendy at the airport and we spent the evening having a simply dreadful meal in the town square.

We were entertained by a pretty nondescript rock band followed by some moaning Coldplayesque outfit who the crowd had clearly come to see. Add to that a very mediocre meal and a spectacularly grumpy waiter and we were off to a flying start. Still the hotel was nice, well my room was. Sorry John!

So next day and back on the bike after two days off. I was actually eager to get under way. This phase of the trip cycling wise I was expecting to be a little less fraught than the Pyrenees, except of course for the little matter of Ventoux in the middle. More of that later.

The stretch out of Carcassonne was fairly flat but soon I was going steadily up into the hills north of the Carcassonne plain. And I thought oh well here we go again, more undulations. In fact more than just undulations as later in the day, in nice hot sunshine I climbed over the col du Cabaretou, not too tall but hard enough climbing over 600 metres, and as I remember when you get to the top there’s no fun descent just a longish gradual drag up to the col de la Bane. In my book that’s cheating. When you struggle up a hill you want the fun of sitting back and going down again. The hills of the Cevenne did this to me a couple of times and although the scenery is very beautiful I am not over it yet and haven’t forgiven them!

End of day 1 and John, Wendy and myself liaise at a nice little hotel in the one bar town, and that is small for France, of Brusque. Actually it’s a quaint little place. The Cevennes seem to be dotted all over with pretty little hamlets, and mostly French holidaymakers. Though on the following morning we had breakfast with a biker from Derby making his way across France to Valencia to hook up with his wife and kids. Odd the people you meet though I guess he must’ve thought the same.

So day 2much like day 1 but hotter. I did witness some interesting scenery, like this long dormant (I hope) volcanic crater…

Neverthless I was glad to get to the end at a small town called Aveze. John and Wendy were on route to Nimes to collect the rest of their posse, Aprileen and Wendy. They turned up around 5:30pm. We stayed in a delightful little Auberge “Auberge de Cocagne” and the owner even knew about the “Circuit de Cent Cols”. That was nice though his comment about my “baggage” meaning weight was accurate though not exactly motivating. Still it was a nice place and highly recommended. Even if some guy apparently wandered into Stella and Aprileen’s room at 4 in the morning. It’s all part of the fun girls.

Day 3, the Friday saw me head out in a light drizzle, well what else since I was off up another mountain. Mont Aigoual to be precise by the way of the col du Minier. It was warm and wet and progressively less visible the higher i went, until at the summit I couldn’t see the bike, well almost, and finding the bar/shop to get my booked stamped and have a chocolat chaud, was not straightforward. I was the only customer you’ll be unsurprised to learn.

The day threatened to improve but without much success and I dripped into St.Jean du Gard, squelching into the hotel room. I met a trio of young English guys here, two guys and a girl to be precise on a walking tour, and spent a couple of hours chatting to them before the Trini team arrived. They’d been to see the fantastic Millau bridge and were waxing lyrical about it, and a very nice lunch in a Moroccan restaurant. It made my mars bar diet seem a little plain to be honest.

We had a reasonable meal that night and Stella and Aprileen reported no night time intrusions so all being well we headed off to Carpentras. For me it was a long flattish slog, quite hot and not so pretty once I left the Cevennes behind. That day I did get my first glimpse of the big one…

…and it is big, even from 30 miles away. But I thought as I coasted down into the Rhone valley I have a Saturday night in a big town, bound to be a nice hotel and a good meal. Ohh Kevin you shouldn’t get carried away!

Saturday night in Carpentras. Well I’m not going to dwell. Suffice to say it was the low point of the trip so far. The Hotel le Coq Hardi is to be avoided at all costs, and as for the pizza restaurant next door. Unless you have a whole day spare I’d go elsewhere. I did eventually and in the pouring rain ate a not-bad-at-all takeaway pizza while guzzling from the half finished bottle of Rosé watching the dregs of the rain soaked carnival roll by. A memorable but not too classy night. I have to apologise to team Trini for my less than adult outburst. They took it very well and stayed behind to have a corking argument with the restaurant owner the “petit homme”, and they still got takeaway pizza.

Things didn’t improve the following morning when Mr Informative the hotel owner, he just smoked endless cigarettes, told me there was no breakfast as I hadn’t included it on my reservation. Great, 23 hotels I had stayed in and I get the one where I have to book my breakfast in advance. Excuse my lingua-franca but what crap!

So in a great mood I head off for Ventoux. The toughest climb of the whole trip and not even a coffee to get my blood pumping. My mood improved a little after a quick pit-stop in a Boulangerie for a fresh pain-au-chocolat, and pain-au-raisin, but this seemed to be the day for unfriendly cyclists to be out and about. Usually one lycra warrior will salute another with a cheery “bonjour” except for today when my “bonjours” and head nods were met with utter indifference.

So back down in the woe is me region of the mood swing spectrum I filled up my bidons in Bedoin, even the lady in the bar wasn’t exactly overjoyed to give me some water, and I started on the famous climb…

It starts out OK does Ventoux, a kind of gentle gradient in a countryside of fields and pasture with a few trees for cover. It wasn’t too hot anyway so the going was ok. There were a lot of guys and girls on the road, plus a large number of cars , camper vans, motorcycles, so you were never alone. Quite a few cyclists were coming down also, they must have started about Midnight by my reckoning to have been all the way up and down by 9am.

After about 6km or so the road starts to turn and kick up as it winds up through the forest. I was expecting signs every kilometere telling you the distance to the summit and the gradient for the next kilometre, as they have on the major cols in the Pyrenees but there’s nothing. Well occasionally there’s a sign but you have to go on memory of those profiles you can find on the web, plus other people’s accounts of the ascent. All I remember was that the climb through the forest is something like 8 to 10% for about 8km and it seems to never end.

I was feeling ok though and passing a fair number of other people, though I was passed myself by some lean looking guys. On the whole I was up on the passing/passed front by the time I reached the top and I felt quite good about that. What with my “baggage” you recall!

Pretty much all of a sudden the forest gives way and you are presented with a panorama of the whole of the Rhone valley stretching out before you. It’s worth stopping for a picture but stubborn boy that I am I had made a pact to climb the major cols without stops so I took pictures on the move. Mind you on the move for me is a sedate 8km per hour so it’s not so bad…

I was well over half way up by then and it was still warm and sunny. Above I could see the cloud covering the mountain top so I knew things were going to get a little more challenging. Recently I’d read a few accounts that said that once you reach a place called Chalet Reynaud, 6km from the top you’ve effectively climbed the mountain as the last stretch is easier. Well guys you’re a bunch of liars or you got Ventoux on a good day, if there is one. I’m not saying the weather was bad but it got colder and mistier and the wind was howling over the last few switchbacks.

All the way up I’d managed a few bouts out of the saddle dancing on the pedals and as I approached the memorial to Tom Simpson, bedecked with flowers I got up as a nod to the man. It also shook off some guy on my tail who never made it back to me before I rounded the final hairpin and reached the sommet. All in all 1625m climbed over 23km and I finished it in 2 hours 4 minutes. I don’t count the seconds. A couple of years back and I wouldn’t have been counting the minutes either!

I didn’t hang around as it was damn cold and so getting my stamp to prove I was there, plus the obligatory photo, you almost have to book a spot by the sign it’s so busy, I threw myself down the other side as fast as I dare. And it is a fast descent, a very smooth surface and although there are lots of bends my secret weapon GPS lets me know if it’s a 15 degree gentle sweep or a 180 degree tight hairpin so I can pre-judge the corners. I clocked over 75kph at one point which was well fast for timid little me, and on two slithers of rubber less than 2cm wide the elements are going past you at a mighty fast rate when you’re motoring like that.

Down at the bottom in no time the rest of the day was a little bit of an anti-climax. In fact I found I had a headache, probably Rosé induced so I slogged along until I reached Sault around 5pm, where the team had already decamped and were in town. It was a nice change to not spend 2 hours in a towel guys waiting for my luggage. They had been to the mountain top but as my ascent was so fast “sic.” They didn’t catch me. They did however get clear skies for their troubles. One day I’ll go back and see what the view from the top is like.

Sault was a very pretty little town and we had a nice evening there. Stella and Aprileen decided to shar the same hair for the evening, a nice touch I thought and worthy of a photo. Sorry girls this is my favourite picture of the whole adventure…

The next day was of course La Fete National (Bastille Day to us non-Francophones). I had another traverse day really, nothing too big to climb and not much in the way of scenery. I did meet up with the team around lunchtime for a pique-nique, postponed from Sunday. The afternoon wasn’t so pleasant as I had one of those days where my eyes start to dry out. I have to wear contact lenses to see and sometimes they become dry and irritate my eyes, particularly when it’s windy, which it was that day. My eyes becomes quite uncomfortable and it’s increasingly difficult to ride. I was glad to reach Chateau Pontfrac, near Riez, just in time to see the gang heading off for a dip in the Lac du Verdon. I was happy to get off the bike and out of the wind, and rest my sore eyes for a while.

On the Tuesday it was time to say goodbye to Team Trini-to-de-bone…

They were heading off to the Cote-d’Azur to pretend to be film stars, while I rode off over a couple of minor cols towards Entrevaux and the start of the Alps proper. At least I thought I was heading for Entrevaux until Aprileen called to tell me my hotel was closed today so they couldn’t leave my stuff. They therefore headed to the next town along, Puget-Theniers and booked me in to a hotel there instead. That was fine though it added 8km to my journey. Ok it’s not a lot, but every little bit adds up.

Actually the day was much nicer than I at first expected. The scenery around the Gorge du Verdon is wonderful…

…and made the climbing, not too steep I might add, almost pleasant. Later in the day I climbed up a couple of nasty little steep back road cols in order to drop down to Entrevaux. One of the things I’ve noticed about the route is that whilst attempting to avoid major routes, and therefore too much noisy dangerous traffic, which is obviously a good thing, there is a flip side. That flip side is you can end up riding on some gruesome back roads, little more than farm tracks to be honest, which is uncomfortable going up, and downright dangerous coming down. No wonder I’ve been suffering in the torso, bike contact region.

Oh well I made it to the hotel and a pleasant little place it is. I’ve now used up my rest day and the whole show kicks off again tomorrow. Team 5, my sister Anne and brother-in-law Kevin, are on board and currently in town listening to French folk music. I left them to it to post this missive, but as seems to be the case in a lot of these small places the internet is on holiday so you’ll have to wait a day or three.

Tomorrow in the Alps, it’s 127km forwards and about half as much upwards. Nearer to the Gods you might say!

Bon chance mes amis.

KB

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17th July - 22nd July: Op de col!

10/08/2008 by The Grimpeur.

As they say in Dutch. Well that’s what it says on my itinerary, the famous 34 page list of instructions for following this route, in Dutch. Place names and road numbers are of course fine, but when you’re presented with “bij splitsing links aanhouden (20 m lopen , eenrichten verkeer) ew la…” it goes on like this for a couple of more lines, then you can understand it becomes a little tricksy, as Gollum would say.

However “op de col” has no such ambiguity, and “op de col”, ok it’s up the hill/pass/mountain/escalier – take your pick, is what I was doing to a great extent over the last weekend. In the Alps of course there are far less alternative routes to follow, so I had mercifully much less of the “bij splitsing” malarky that pervades large parts of the rest of the route. You’d be surprised but I think France has more roads than just about any other country on the planet.

And, while I’m at it, the numbering system is somewhat odd, at least to my Anglo-Saxon brain. Firstly you have “A” roads. These are motorways and obviously off limits for le velo, so no problem there. Then you have “N” roads, “route national” which I have had occasion to venture onto, and fairly scary places they are when you’re on two wheels and powered only by your jambs.

Most of my route follows the “every other road in France” which is a “D” road. Now D roads can be anything from thinly disguised motorways occupied by a procession of large, actually very large trucks, right down to farm tracks occupied by me, the occasional small rodent, a million insects, and an endless supply of gravillons. And not much tarmac to boot.

But as always ladies and gentlemen I digress, this update is all about the big ones, Les Alpes, so let’s get on with it.

The first thing to notice about the Alps is that they are big. Huge in fact. If you ask a 5 year old kid to draw a mountain they will draw you the average Alpine vista. A mighty snow-capped jagged peak pointing straight at the sky, surrounded by similarly imposing neighbours. I understand from my limited geological study, it was a long time ago, that they are young mountains, only a mere 30 million years or so (you may correct me I don’t have access to the internet as I write this), and so they have not been weathered and eroded like older ranges which are less “sticky uppy”. Lord knows why anyone would want to build roads over them, and even less understandable is why idiots like me think it’s a good idea to ride a bike up them but, well, the road builders built the roads, and I rode the bike and so there you have it.

A bit of background I think is helpful here to get this section of the Hundred Cols into perspective. Until I reached the Alps, I had ridden over some tiddly cols in the western Vosges, A couple of middling climbs in the Central Massif, the spiky Pyrenees of course, and apart from some steep little b*ggers in the Cevennes, the mighty Ventoux. When I got to Puget-Theniers, my kick-off point for my Alpine traverse I was feeling a little smug with myself. I thought my Ventoux success stood me in good stead, plus my Pyrenean ordeal gave me plenty of training for mountain days. I also had rationalised the Alps down to longer but not as steep as the Pyrenees, and the weather will be better.

Oh dear ladies and gentlemen, oh dear oh dear. It doesn’t quite work like that. First off, the facts. In five days in the Alps I rode over eight cols of up to and over 1000 metres. In fact in total I climbed something like 13000 metres, in around 600km.Basically there weren’t any flat bits, just long slow grinds up endless mountain passes, followed by breakneck descents, overtaking slower traffic, like cars for example. It’s quite a thrill to catch and pass a motor vehicle. They can’t take the hairpins as fast as a bike, if you’re brave that is, and I’m learning to be brave.

Anyway let’s get to the details. Day 1, was the Thursday, the 17th. Two cols up today and on paper it looked the hardest day. The col de la Couillole weighing in at 1340 metres, and the col de la Bonette, tipping the scales at a fairly hefty 1595 metres. Except as I learned after descending the first, including being stung and getting a puncture, the Bonette is 1595 metres if you count from just before St.Etienne-de-Tinee, where it gets properly steep. That however discounts the previous 25km drag up from the bottom of the valley which has an “incidental” 600m of climbing in it. So my heavy day turned into a frankly tortuous 3700 metres of uphill. From memory I think I’m about half way up here…

The Bonette is the hardest thing I’ve climbed on this whole challenge. It goes on and on. It’s relentlessly steep, windy, and barren, and utterly exhausting. The initial ride up the valley to the start took much of what I had tried to keep in store after the morning’s jaunt up the Couillole and so it was after 5pm by the time I got to the top and hung on for the super fast drop down to Jausiers. I was seriously knackered when I reached Barcelonette, and also seriously wondering how I was going to manage 4 more days of this.

That above incidentally is somewhere near the top of Bonette. Apparently I’m in the picture somewhere. Big ain’t it!

Having Anne and Kevin with me was a great bonus as they were keen to stay on my trail and witness first hand the mountain passes. Fact is there is no other way round, unless you fancy a 200km detour, but that aside they were a real tonic, carrying food and water, to make my job a little easier. I have to say though on a couple of occasions budding photographic artist Kevin did ask me to go back down the hill a bit for a better shot. You can imagine what reply he got!

So Friday dawned and two more cols. This time the Vars, a tiddler at only 891 metres, and the famous col d’Izoard at 1060 metres. The Vars was a nice ride to be honest. As you can imagine the first climb of the day is easier and so my recollections are clouded by the fact that I was always fed up with grinding away by 3pm in the afternoon and cursing myself, and everything around me. Here I am in happy times, ie. before lunch at the top of the Vars.

The descent off the Vars is very pretty. The road snakes around a hillside with a lovely precipitous descent off one side. I managed to shoot some video with my mobile phone, while riding one handed (not to be recommended) to show you what it’s like to do 50-60kph on a bike down a mountainside. You can see it on Youtube here

Once again the drop down was further than the published start of the ascent up the Izoard so some more incidental climbing ensued. I am thinking of suing the Dutch organisers for this! After a quick pique-nique in Arvieux, courtesy of my excellent back up crew I got on the Izoard. It’s rated one of the nicest climbs in the Alps. It starts off a bit nasty, a long straightish drag up the valley but once the switchbacks kick in it becomes more pleasant. There’s something psychological about climbing when you can see the road ahead. It seems, to me anyway, to weigh on you. When the road snakes out of sight after a couple of hundred metres, there’s always that hope that the gradient lessens round the next bend.

Well on the Izoard the gradient doesn’t lessen and it’s fairly steep all the way up. At least you get it over with, even if your legs are aching. At the top there’s a small cycling museum and the usual souvenir shop.

We also took the now obligatory team photograph at the top. A pure coinceidence that the monument’s date coincides with Kevin’s date of birth. Only joking young man!

And I got all triumphant, rather too prematurely as you will see…

Deciding to ride down the hair-raising descent, and not run with the bike aloft we arrived in Briancon, in time for Anne and Kevin to sightsee their way round and sniff out somewhere nice for dinner, and for me to go back to bed, for an hour or so.

So to Saturday and a return match for me. The fearsome Galibier. This time it’s an away fixture as I would be climbing it in reverse. Two years ago I scaled this monster from St.Michel-de-Maurienne, which means first of all an 800 metre climb up the col du Telegraphe, followed after a brief descent through Valloire, by another 1400 metres up and over the Galibier itself. I recall it as being by no means “fun”. Dan Hacking and Rob Trifiletti, who also rode it, would no doubt attest to this fact also.

However from Briancon you first climb up to the col du Lautaret, 838 metres, and then turn right to go up the final 600 metres of the Galibier proper. The Lautaret is not a nice climb. First it’s long and only steepish at the end, and second it’s a main road and very busy. I was glad to complete the 25km or so up to the turn. After that the final 600m is a consistent 6-7% with a very nasty 11% kick at the end. It doesn’t matter though because it’s worth it for the view, which is spectacular all the way up. You can forget you’re climbing it’s so inspiring. The top of the Galibier is a mecca for cyclists and tourists alike. There is a tiny car park and a look-out post. The views are what people go up there for.

On both sides you are presented with fabulous snow capped peaks and glaciers. Plus there’s the dizzying spectacle of the road winding down each side. The Galibier pass really does come to a point. None of this levelling off business you get with other mountain passes. It’s just goes up. There’s a lip. And then it goes down, almost like the ridge line of a roof.

A plus fact this time was that it was also pleasantly warm and sunny at the top. If I remember correctly back in 2006 it was cold and very windy. I also got to ride down the long descent into Valloire which was very pleasant and very fast, and I exorcised some ghosts from climbing it that way the first time.

I coasted down the wonderful switchback descent from the Telegraphe into St.Michel-de-Maurienne after which the rest of the afternoon was spent slowly climbing back up the valley towards Bessans and Sunday’s challenge. the col de l’Iseran

Now the l’Iseran is the highest point on the whole route rising up to 2770 metres above sea level, that’s 9100 feet in old money. Compare that with the Kirkstone pass in Cumbria rising up to a measly 435 metres, 1428 feet and you’ll get some idea of what these Alpine roads are like…

Here I am holding up the traffic on the narrow road, being a “wide load” myself. Although it was Sunday and normally a day when you’d see quite a few other riders on these famous climbs I was virtually alone. Alright some sleek toned athletic bloke went by me, I was on the phone at the time sorting out press coverage. That is amazingly enough true! However I digress, towards the top I caught up this fella. In case you’re not sure he’s sort of roller-blading/skiing up the mountain. I leave it to you dear reader to ascertain the sanity of this approach…

Sunday turned out to be the Alps revenge day. The weather looked ok to start, blue sky and fluffy clouds but by the time I’d reached the top of the Iseran it was overcast and the valley back down on the southern side looked distinctly wet under dark grey clouds.

Of course those same clouds overtook me after my stop in Val d’Isere and the otherwise fantastic 45km descent down the valley turned into a very very wet nightmare. When I liaised with Anne and Kevin at the bottom, under a thunderstorm, I was really not in the mood to crawl up yet another 1000m high pass, the Cormet de Roeseind, however that was the direction in which salvation in the form of a shower and food lay, so off I went. Basically the Roselend was a very forgetful climb, due mostly to the weather I must add, and I was glad to get to the hotel and finish for the day. I was really beginning to not enjoy cycling up mountains, no surprise there!

Although the weather had improved by Monday morning my level of enthusiasm was still dangerously low. I’d also managed to destroy a pair of cycling shorts in an ill-fated attempt to dry them on the lamp by the bed. Oops! So I just wanted to get the day over with.

There were two second string climbs to tackle. The col des Saisies at 835 metres, and the col des Aravis, 581 metres. After those the route went on some tortuous pointless 80km diversion around Annecy. Pointless I believe simply to avoid a big town, which I have heard is actually a very beautiful place and would I think be a delight to ride through. Certainly Anne and Kevin, who after sterling work in the Alps took the afternoon off to visit Annecy, reported that fact back to me. Add to this the ominous creaking noises coming from the bottom bracket of the bike (more of that in update 5) and my mood by the time I reached our hotel was pretty foul.

Luckily the hotel was a cut above our normal accommodation, and the food was really exceptional so I retired in a better frame of mind knowing at least I didn’t have to ride that damn bike tomorrow.

Sadly this update is a little late and I’m finishing it off having completed the whole route now. However so as not to spoil your fun I’m going to sign off here, and we can all imagine I’m sitting in Marigny-St.Marcel looking forward to a day of not riding, with an evening of very nice food to follow. What actually happened, for that day, and for the last week of my challenge, will be revealed when I’m back in Blighty. Hope you can wait till then my friends.

KB

 

 

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23rd July - 28th July: The journey home

10/08/2008 by The Grimpeur.

Though sadly not with Kirk and Spock, just me and my creaky bike, plus creaky knees, one knee to be more accurate, and the kindly faces of Richard and Cathy, team 6, who were only just a little late to welcome me back to Saverne station, where it all started. I’d already managed to dive into the station bar and have a beer and a celebratory pain-au-raisin, with the local clientele. I would say they looked exactly like the kind of folk you would find drinking in a provincial station bar at 4pm on a Sunday.

But as you are no doubt aware I’m all out of step here. What happened between lazing around in sleepy but comfy Marigny-St. Marcel (where I left you last), and rolling into Saverne just ahead of the 4pm from Nancy. Well sit back and I’ll tell you.

The first thing was that I had erred on my planning. Unbelievable I know but true. I had somehow thought I would be on the road when Richard and Cathy arrived, even though they were booked with me on the second night of my stay in Marigny. Ergo I realised my error and, moreover since Anne and Kevin were boarding the very plane out of Lyon, that Richard and Cathy were arriving on, it seemed sensible for me to pop along to the airport and do the handover personally so to speak.

Sadly I had not allowed for the fact that Lyon was over an hour from where I was staying, and that Easyjet, being the erstwhile ferriers of said people would pull their usual trick of being an hour behind schedule. Add to this the enormous refurbishment going on at Lyon, and the fact that Easyjet were the cheapskate airline who were flying in and out of a makeshift tent on the other side of the city (well almost), oh and the security alert that evacuated the whole terminal building, and my lazy rest day afternoon went down the tubes you might say.

It was 7pm by the time I got back to the hotel, and therefore had no time to write any update, which his why I’m sitting here doing this last one, 2 weeks after I returned. Nothing like hitting deadlines is there.

Anyway enough rambling, ranting and rumbling let’s get on the bike.

I have to say after the Alps, the last week felt like it was going to be somewhat of a slog. I’d done all the hard stuff and this just seemed like it would be a dull long ride home. I was also starting to worry about the creak from the bottom bracket (where the pedals connect to the bike - for you non-technical cyclists). I’d given the bike a thorough clean up after the soaking and covering of road grime and crap it had received two days ago and I was hoping this might be the problem. Sadly less than 30 minutes into the first day out of Rumilly, and on to the the first climb of the day, the col du Clergeon, the bracket was creaking like an old rocking chair, which was frustrating and embarrassing in equal measure.

At the top I tried tightening everything I possibly could, including my resolve and sped off down the other side. I crossed the Rhone Valley towards the small town of Culoz at the bottom of the day’s “fun”, the col du Grand Colmbier. A nice steep 1200m mother of a mountain. My hope that my nut tightening had proved effective proved to be in vain as, after almost 30 seconds of Bradley pressure on those pedals the ominous creak returned and stayed with me for the 90 minutes it took to get to the top. Nice climb though and the view at the top is spectacular, taking you way back across the Rhone valley to the distant Alps.

Even if you get my semi-gurning mug stuck in the way!

The Colombier is one of those long way up, not so long way down mountains as it forms the butt end of the Jura, west of the Rhone. So having sweated to the top there was no long “wa-hey” down the other side. The rest of that day was spent undulating along a meandering northward valley, finally getting my well-deserved (I think) descent into the odd town of St. Claude. Odd because it’s sort of built around a gorge, on three levels, like some architect designed triplex apartment, and it’s for some reason famous for a combination of pipes, the ones old men and army major’s smoke, and diamonds, the ones rich totty wear on their fingers, and other places.

St. Claude was possibly the quietest town I had been in, for one of it’s size anyway. Richard, Cathy and myself were hard put to find anywhere to eat, that seemed half decent. Maybe we were on the wrong level. Oh well I sped off the next morning, in good weather, on another undulating day. It’s odd that this kind of terrain was the same stuff that was such a shock to the system on the first couple of days. After the proper mountains though it really did seem quite easy. In fact the most fun I had on this day was managing to follow a route that the French road authorities were determined to dig up as much as possible I breezed past no less than 4 “route barreé” signs hoping that the barreé bit only applied to gas guzzling planet polluting motor vehicles, and not nimble wheeled lightweight eco-friendly creaking bicycles. I was proved right though only just surviving a very very very close encounter with an earth mover. I think he thought he had right of way, and on reflection, given that there was no road at that point to have right of way on, he most certainly did.

I’d promised Richard and Cathy that life would be better in action packed Valdahon, our rendezvous for the evening. On the map it looked a fair size, and was not far from Besancon which is a proper big town. Unfortunately Valdahon proved to be somewhat of a dull place, though it did have a Lidl which was handy for on-the-road provisions like Snickers and Nuts bars. It also had a fair size bike shop, which had I found the previous afternoon, and not the following morning when I was headed off towards the Vosges and the first of the two big balls! I would have probably made good use of, given that my creak was now alarming local wildlife as I sailed by.

So the ride up to, and over the col du Ballon d’Alsace was the longest one of my entire itinerary. Adding the drag down the busy and unfriendly N66 into Thann, our overnight stop, this was 170km with an 800m climb chucked in 50km from the end. I had actually, by this time, become immune to the creak and was thinking along the lines of, this bl**dy bike is going to finish with me if I have to carry it over  the line. Having resolved this man vs machine dilemma I began to enjoy the day. It was a very pleasant ride, except as I said for the final 30km after the Ballon which was mostly on the busy, and occasionaly far too narrow N66. This one incidentally goes nowhere near St.Louis, or Missouri, nor for that matter Gallup, San Bernadino nor Oklahoma City. It does go to Thann, which was a nice little town and quite lively, especially as the Hotel de France is smack on the main road. We were also in Alsace which meant decent beer and sausage based cuisine. I declined having been well and truly saucissonned earlier in the trip. The food however was substantial and tasty so I was well replensihed for my Saturday jaunt over the Grand Ballon and into the winding up-and-down-edness of the Vosges.

The Grand Ballon was actually one of the tougher than it looks climbs. Theere seemed to be a propensity here to make some of the switchbacks cobbled. God knows why though it made for some interesting descending. And as a nice touch there is in fact a big ball atop The “Big Ball”…

Sorry I know you need to peer quite closely to see it. After the Grand Ballon the day was like a more undulating version of the first day out of Rumilly. down a bit, up a bit. The altimeter recorded about twice the amount of climbing listed in the itinerary sheet. I know I’m here to climb hills but I can’t help getting irritated with the unmentioned stuff. Immature I know, especially as I’m on the final leg. I think to be honest that it was boredom that was at the heart of the irritation. The challenge is a fantastic trip, no doubt about it, but I think for me I was defnitely losing my interest, at a rapid rate and willing the end to come. I was getting hotel-stir-crazy, I could never remember my room number, and I realised how much I missed all those home comforts you take for granted, like a cup of tea, when you fancy it. Roll on Saverne I thought.

The end of this penultimate day was a little fun packed. I crawled over the last climb of the day, and looked forward to a long roll into St.Die-des-Vosges when I got the millionth puncture of the trip. After the usual 5 minutes of cursing I set about changing the tube, only to find the tyre was shredded and useless. Ok so time to call for backup. Irritating as I was 15 minutes from the hotel. I was expecting to sit around for an hour or more waiting for Richard in the car, with the spare tyres. I called the lad up only to find him say “I can see you” as he pulled up behind me, stil on the phone. Look up “serendipity”.

We changed the tyre and I threw the bike in the back of the car, having had enough cycling for one day. Things didn’t improve when we got to St.Diie as our hotel was shut and no amount of knocking, shouting or phoning seemed to raise anybody. Wise to the fact I’d been done out of 40 euros by the Hotel Vauban in Entrevaux for the same trick (I hope they read this) I dug out the laptop to check I hadn’t paid a deposit fo this one. In the clear we asked Emily (that’s the SatNav) where the nearest decent hotel was (an Ibis) an promptly checked in. We even managed a half-decent meal in town and I pushed the boat and had a couple of drinks with my saviours after.

So to the last day. 110km more and it would all be over. A few middling hills, a couple of stamps in the old book and I’m done. handily it rained for a bit at first, to cheer me up, and then I was caught on an easy climb by some old, very old actually, guy. I dug in and stayed on his wheel, consoling myself with the facst that a) he didn’t have my bottom bracket, and b) he hadn’t just ridden 4000km over a hundred mountains and innumerbale “slopes”

Well the sneaky old codger got half way up, half way up where I was going that is, and stopped. That showed him I thought, as i danced on the pedals till I was out of sight and then slumped back to the creak, creak of my normal mode of ascent.

Most of the final day was much like the day before. We had another bout of near-off-roading on some horrid back roads. I got perilousy close to Saverne only for the route to veer off on another seemingly unnecessary detour up a badly deteriorating surface. Oh and after 4100km my legs finally started to complain. Well my left knee to be precise, and didn’t it half ache. I finally saw another sign for Saverne in Romanswiller.

I’d already seen a sign saying “Saverne 20km” about 10km earlier so this was a real boost to the spirits! Ok so about 45 minutes later I finally looked down on to the town where it had all started 6 weeks earlier. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see somewhere in my life and I raced down (alright so it was downhill) towards the station and the finish-line, crossing at a little after 4pm, to a deafening silence. Actually there was a couple with a small child who laughed hysterically at the crazy cyclist riding through the fountains outside the station. I don’t know it seemed like a good idea.

Richard and Cathy strolled up 10 minutes later, after, as I said at the top, I had downed a beer, and we took the obligatory picture, and then walked beack to the hotel, where I threw half a bottle of champagne over myself, and we drank the rest.

Anti-climaxism set in pretty soon after that and I set about the mundane task of dismantling the bike, packing my stuff and texting the world, his wife, and their neghbours to let them know I was done. All that remained was to go out and have an enormous meal which as you can see I duly did. 

Dan you would be proud!

Postscript

Now it’s all over and I’ve been back two weeks it’s a funny feeling. In a way I really miss the freedom of riding. I guess it was simple. I didn’t have to make too many, well really not any, decisions. I had frankly fantastic help which coped with every problem I had. I know I’ve thanked them all but, in order of appearance…

Andy, Paul, Keith, Sam, Cherie, Francesca, Wendy, John, Aprileen, Stella, Anne, Kevin, Richard and Cathy. You deserve a mighty pat on your collective backs for all the support you gave me. I’m really far too grateful to express myself adequately. All I can say is.

Ta!

You made a fat bloke with a lycra fetish one very happy boy.

And now I can say I won’t be doing this again. I may go on about this for some considerable time, because that’s the kind of thing I do. I will however know when to stop. That’s when no-one is listening.

What?

No-one’s listening now.

ok.

KB

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