In many ways this was just about the last thing I wanted to do on a chilly Saturday morning at 4.30am. But, like quite a few things I have done recently I have not afforded myself the luxury of too much thought and just got on and done them.
I was getting up at this ridiculous hour to give myself time to drive to Shropshire, cycle 80 miles and then drive home again...in time for tea. And the reason for the far-flung destination for an 80 mile bike ride? Well this was the hole in my Land’s End to John O’Groats adventure. When I had raced home on Day Five of the ride I was only halfway through that particular leg, and when I took the difficult decision to continue, I said I would return to place the missing piece.
So, here I was, at 7.00am in the middle of Whitchurch - just me and the bloke delivering bread to Co-op. I parked up, saddled up, and with that familiar routine - bottles - check, energy bars - check, route notes - check, less than half a brain - check, and I was on the road again.
The early part of the ride was great - sun starting to warm the tarmac, me beginning to stretch the creases out of my legs and the miles ticking off again on the Garmin. It was just like old times, but minus my back-up man Nev. Holy moly - the realisation hit me like a slap across the chops with a paid of damp track mits - who was going to get the BLTs in? Better get my foot down and be back in time for lunch, never mind tea.
All was going well (now there’s a familiar line) until I breezed out of the sumptuous Cheshire countryside - all green and rolling, and slowly, Saturday-waking to the purr of Range Rover Sports and soft snort of horses anticipating breakfast - and in to the carbon monoxide and concrete landscape that is our much-loved industrial north-west.
I once again found myself on roads I was not at all sure I should be on. Roads with names ending in ‘expressway’ are generally a bad idea with just pedal-power to avoid hazards, but I was focussed and indestructible, like an overweight Captain Scarlet before he progressed to hover-packs.
With a combination of sat-nav, Google maps and suspect memory, I eventually found the Campanile Hotel. I took, a quick picture to show I had been, ate a Snickers bar and vowed never to return to this place that hosted one of the most miserable nights of my life.
Then I was off again, chased by a huge black mass that could only be the ghost of my end-to-end come back to give me one last drenching, for old time’s sake. It caught me just south of Frodsham, deposited a few gallons of the damp stuff on me, and then returned for another three of four soakings before I finally arrived back in Whitchurch - soggy and hungry but satisfied.
So, that’s it - mission accomplished - the fat lady has sung.
I have clocked up well over 1,000 miles on a journey, the like of which I have never previously experienced, and, hope never to experience again.
Not that I haven’t appreciated the things I have seen, the people I have met, the satisfaction I have felt, It’s just that I needed to share it all with my mentor, my dad, and that is one thing I will never be able to do. Or will I? He must know, mustn’t he?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar - cheers dad x
Jez
PS - As I write - my sponsorship total for Cancer Research UK will shortly touch £3,700.00 - a huge thank you to everyone who has chipped in - greatly appreciated.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Friday, 3 June 2011
Day 13
Yesssssss!
Done it!
Met my daughter Charlotte and wife Pia for the final leg of the trip, I rolled into John O'Groats at around 4pm, after a hard day's ride of more then 90 miles. The scenery today has been the best of the trip, but the hills once I hit the coast road were brutish. And then, to cap it all, the road to
John O'Groats has closed eight miles from the end! An accident meant a diversion was in place - perfect!
Anyway, gripes aside, the last day was memorable - at least I hope it proves to be so. I tried to soak it all in and snapped away whenever the opportunity arose.
I can't begin to assemble my scattergun emotions into anything coherent right now, it's just too complicated. But I do promise to properly summarise when everything has calmed down a little.
In the meantime a massive thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me.
That includes, my star man Nev, without whom it just would not have happened, my brilliant family who made me do it, and I mean that in a good way. All of my friends who have called, texted and tweeted along the way - at times you have no idea how valuable that has been.
So before this starts to sound like a gushing acceptance speech I will draw a halt, and conclude by saying...
That was for dad I know you were with me x
If you want me I'll be in the bar - surely no one can begrudge me a tinsy beer tonight?
Jez
The Buffoon has landed!
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Done it!
Met my daughter Charlotte and wife Pia for the final leg of the trip, I rolled into John O'Groats at around 4pm, after a hard day's ride of more then 90 miles. The scenery today has been the best of the trip, but the hills once I hit the coast road were brutish. And then, to cap it all, the road to
John O'Groats has closed eight miles from the end! An accident meant a diversion was in place - perfect!
Anyway, gripes aside, the last day was memorable - at least I hope it proves to be so. I tried to soak it all in and snapped away whenever the opportunity arose.
I can't begin to assemble my scattergun emotions into anything coherent right now, it's just too complicated. But I do promise to properly summarise when everything has calmed down a little.
In the meantime a massive thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me.
That includes, my star man Nev, without whom it just would not have happened, my brilliant family who made me do it, and I mean that in a good way. All of my friends who have called, texted and tweeted along the way - at times you have no idea how valuable that has been.
So before this starts to sound like a gushing acceptance speech I will draw a halt, and conclude by saying...
That was for dad I know you were with me x
If you want me I'll be in the bar - surely no one can begrudge me a tinsy beer tonight?
Jez
The Buffoon has landed!
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Thursday, 2 June 2011
Day 12
"...hey there, Mr Blue, we're so pleased to be with you..." The stuff that goes through your head when you're alone with your thoughts for hour after hour! But I'm sure you will forgive me when I tell you that for the first time on the trip we did indeed have Mr Blue Sky along for the ride.
Even before I was out of Inverness' busy streets I was going a little bit twitchy with late period ELO interrupting more constructive thoughts. So I tried to change channel and think of all the songs I knew about Inverness. It amounted to one, and you can probably guess which one that is - definitely not a, sing out loud as you wait at a zebra crossing, kind of ditty.
Anyway, back to the cycling, which this morning was excellent. Sun in my face, wind at my back and we were soon gobbling up good chunks of the busy A9. Past Invergordan and then, the unmistakable aromour of malt whisky. I don't think it was my breath, no, it wasn't, it was the Glenmorangie distillery - that smelt very tempting, even at such an early hour. But I showed great restraint and pedaled right by, with hardly a second thought. That was a lie. I didn't really get over what a rank bad decision I had just made until I was approaching Bonor Bridge, much later the same day.
But in any case I was sure I would be rewarded for my sensible abstinence. No, wrong on that one too!
Shortly after lunch the glorious free-wheeling day began to snap at my backside, before, just eight miles from Tane, sinking its knashers through my lycra. I got a puncture! Then another, and another!
I still don't know the cause of the triple flat, and it was only solved by changing a tyre as well. By this point we had used up all the new innertubes we had and were frantically sticking on patches. At one point we had three tubes hung from bushes with patches drying. It looked like we had invented something called Lay-bye Dressing, and any moment I expected that coach load of German tourists to pull over, jack up the rear end pull off a wheel, whip out a tube and join in.
For some reason Lay-bye dressing didn't capture the imagination and so, with the problem finally sorted, we were on our way again.
The helpful breeze of the morning had gone and in its place a nasty side-wind, and ahead - lots and lots of nothing. Miles and miles on the A826 (an A road which is single-track!) and more miles of nothing, until at last, after 73 miles for the day, The Crask Inn, miraculously appeared. The Inn is surrounded by a huge amount of nothing, that is apart from wonderful open space and distant hills. What a place this is. The pub is a step back in time. Creaking and musty and dark - I love it! I'm expecting them to serve Double Diamond.
Talking of beer, and therefore bars, and seeing as this is my penultimate blog of the trip, I thought I would explain my sign-off. It's a line from a Joni Mitchell song - 'Case Of You' which I've carried around with me for more than 30 years. It just seems to be a good way to wrap up the chat - I'm done talking, now I'm going to be drinking. So, as always...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Remote and beautiful. Which reminds me, we don't have a telly or a drinks tray, or any individually-packaged biscuits - but it's grand.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Even before I was out of Inverness' busy streets I was going a little bit twitchy with late period ELO interrupting more constructive thoughts. So I tried to change channel and think of all the songs I knew about Inverness. It amounted to one, and you can probably guess which one that is - definitely not a, sing out loud as you wait at a zebra crossing, kind of ditty.
Anyway, back to the cycling, which this morning was excellent. Sun in my face, wind at my back and we were soon gobbling up good chunks of the busy A9. Past Invergordan and then, the unmistakable aromour of malt whisky. I don't think it was my breath, no, it wasn't, it was the Glenmorangie distillery - that smelt very tempting, even at such an early hour. But I showed great restraint and pedaled right by, with hardly a second thought. That was a lie. I didn't really get over what a rank bad decision I had just made until I was approaching Bonor Bridge, much later the same day.
But in any case I was sure I would be rewarded for my sensible abstinence. No, wrong on that one too!
Shortly after lunch the glorious free-wheeling day began to snap at my backside, before, just eight miles from Tane, sinking its knashers through my lycra. I got a puncture! Then another, and another!
I still don't know the cause of the triple flat, and it was only solved by changing a tyre as well. By this point we had used up all the new innertubes we had and were frantically sticking on patches. At one point we had three tubes hung from bushes with patches drying. It looked like we had invented something called Lay-bye Dressing, and any moment I expected that coach load of German tourists to pull over, jack up the rear end pull off a wheel, whip out a tube and join in.
For some reason Lay-bye dressing didn't capture the imagination and so, with the problem finally sorted, we were on our way again.
The helpful breeze of the morning had gone and in its place a nasty side-wind, and ahead - lots and lots of nothing. Miles and miles on the A826 (an A road which is single-track!) and more miles of nothing, until at last, after 73 miles for the day, The Crask Inn, miraculously appeared. The Inn is surrounded by a huge amount of nothing, that is apart from wonderful open space and distant hills. What a place this is. The pub is a step back in time. Creaking and musty and dark - I love it! I'm expecting them to serve Double Diamond.
Talking of beer, and therefore bars, and seeing as this is my penultimate blog of the trip, I thought I would explain my sign-off. It's a line from a Joni Mitchell song - 'Case Of You' which I've carried around with me for more than 30 years. It just seems to be a good way to wrap up the chat - I'm done talking, now I'm going to be drinking. So, as always...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Remote and beautiful. Which reminds me, we don't have a telly or a drinks tray, or any individually-packaged biscuits - but it's grand.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Crask Inn, Crask!
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Day 11
Loch Leven, just across the road from our b&b, went to bed a placid, tranquil pool of water, and woke up a raging ferment. It had developed steroid waves which were punching skywards to meet the avalanche of water coming down. Yes, it was a little on the moist side.
Had I been able to find another singular buffoon on the loose in Glencoe at 7.30am I would have suggested we teamed up and grabbed a ride with Noah...it was, end-of-the-world-type grim.
But it was just me, so I set sail single-handed and steered a course for Inverness.
On The A82, conditions were some of the worst I had ever cycled in. Every time a big lorry went by I was faced with two options - either close my eyes and hold my breath, or adopt 'hang 10' position and try and ride the wave.
After 20 minutes I could not have been wetter if I had walked straight into Loch Leven.
And the aqua theme continued all morning- the rain bashed down and the views were of water too as the A82 hugged the banks of Lochs on its way north east. I rode alongside Loch Leven, Loch Oich, Loch Linnhe, Loch Ness and Loch Lochy (they had obviously run out of names by the time they got to this one).
There were two things that still managed to cheer me today...
1, everytime I came up for air I saw a bus load of German tourists splashing off their executive coach and peering through the mist and rain trying to see what they should be seeing. Boy did they look miserable!
2, that gorgeous south-westerly wind, becoming gale-force later. It was right at my back and gave me a ride I could only dream of as I ate up the miles to Inverness. If anyone happened to spot a lone and soggy cyclist apparently shouting to himself on the A82 today, it was me and I was talking to the wind - expressing my thanks with a customary hoop and holler.
I rolled into the capital of The Highlands, well ahead of schedule, which is probably just as well because I'm going to need a few hours to dry out all of my dripping kit.
Ah well, there's no point in sitting watching it dry...if you want me I'll be in the bar!
Jez
A break in the clouds over Loch Ness - monster pictured top right.
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Had I been able to find another singular buffoon on the loose in Glencoe at 7.30am I would have suggested we teamed up and grabbed a ride with Noah...it was, end-of-the-world-type grim.
But it was just me, so I set sail single-handed and steered a course for Inverness.
On The A82, conditions were some of the worst I had ever cycled in. Every time a big lorry went by I was faced with two options - either close my eyes and hold my breath, or adopt 'hang 10' position and try and ride the wave.
After 20 minutes I could not have been wetter if I had walked straight into Loch Leven.
And the aqua theme continued all morning- the rain bashed down and the views were of water too as the A82 hugged the banks of Lochs on its way north east. I rode alongside Loch Leven, Loch Oich, Loch Linnhe, Loch Ness and Loch Lochy (they had obviously run out of names by the time they got to this one).
There were two things that still managed to cheer me today...
1, everytime I came up for air I saw a bus load of German tourists splashing off their executive coach and peering through the mist and rain trying to see what they should be seeing. Boy did they look miserable!
2, that gorgeous south-westerly wind, becoming gale-force later. It was right at my back and gave me a ride I could only dream of as I ate up the miles to Inverness. If anyone happened to spot a lone and soggy cyclist apparently shouting to himself on the A82 today, it was me and I was talking to the wind - expressing my thanks with a customary hoop and holler.
I rolled into the capital of The Highlands, well ahead of schedule, which is probably just as well because I'm going to need a few hours to dry out all of my dripping kit.
Ah well, there's no point in sitting watching it dry...if you want me I'll be in the bar!
Jez
A break in the clouds over Loch Ness - monster pictured top right.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Inverness, Scottish Highlands
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Day 10
Again I was up before the rest of the household, and out into the kind of misty drizzle Scotland must have a copyright on.
I'm not great at decisions first thing in the morning - tea or coffee is about my limit, and that's an easy one anyway because I never have tea. But I had to choose between the peaceful cycle path along the edge of Loch Lomand and the hurly burly of the A82 heading north.
My initial option was to brave the big road, but ten minutes later I was regretting it. It was an assault on the senses too early in the day - the constant air brake blast and grinding of gears - and that was just me on the bike.
So, I hopped off the 82 and took my chances on the cycle path. When I say cycle path, maybe I should say assault course. Because it was like something out of 'It's A Knockout'. Ride along a nice smooth piece, then quickly off the bike, run with it and jump over that tree that has fallen across the path. Back on and then try not to skid on the landslide of mud. Oops, watch out for stray dogs launching at you from the undergrowth, and be careful not to overbalance or you'll be in that big lake on your right.
However, after 15 miles I was still upright with only minor scratches and shouting at Eddie Waring - "I'll play my joker!"
Well it is Day 10, I was always going to go a little loopy at some point. Yes, Ok, I know, it wasn't the first incident, but there is a name to live up to here.
After the Lomand shenanigans it was into the serious stuff - the big hills, I was entering The Highlands.
Surprisingly you will not be hearing me moan about the swine of a West wind, nor the miserable downpours that popped up throughout the day, nor the energy-sapping hills, because... it was all worth it for the spectacular, breath-taking views every inch of the way up the A82 to Glen Coe.
I was able to share these delights not only with Nev but also with a lovely couple from Australia who I kept bumping into at all the picture spots (yes, sorry about that, but it's only a hire car) and a chap I met up with from Bradford, who I was seriously impressed by - four panniers and completely self-contained, tent, food, clothes, the lot, all hanging from his bike. All I was carrying was my drink. Oh, but I was of course towing my Mars Bar Trailer, so that probably just about evened it up.
Anyway, well done man from Bradford I will be toasting your fortitude and spirit of adventure, any time now...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Said man from Bradford, just about to be overtaken by Buffoon on the charge. Yes, Ok I can see he's stopped, but I would have got him anyway.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I'm not great at decisions first thing in the morning - tea or coffee is about my limit, and that's an easy one anyway because I never have tea. But I had to choose between the peaceful cycle path along the edge of Loch Lomand and the hurly burly of the A82 heading north.
My initial option was to brave the big road, but ten minutes later I was regretting it. It was an assault on the senses too early in the day - the constant air brake blast and grinding of gears - and that was just me on the bike.
So, I hopped off the 82 and took my chances on the cycle path. When I say cycle path, maybe I should say assault course. Because it was like something out of 'It's A Knockout'. Ride along a nice smooth piece, then quickly off the bike, run with it and jump over that tree that has fallen across the path. Back on and then try not to skid on the landslide of mud. Oops, watch out for stray dogs launching at you from the undergrowth, and be careful not to overbalance or you'll be in that big lake on your right.
However, after 15 miles I was still upright with only minor scratches and shouting at Eddie Waring - "I'll play my joker!"
Well it is Day 10, I was always going to go a little loopy at some point. Yes, Ok, I know, it wasn't the first incident, but there is a name to live up to here.
After the Lomand shenanigans it was into the serious stuff - the big hills, I was entering The Highlands.
Surprisingly you will not be hearing me moan about the swine of a West wind, nor the miserable downpours that popped up throughout the day, nor the energy-sapping hills, because... it was all worth it for the spectacular, breath-taking views every inch of the way up the A82 to Glen Coe.
I was able to share these delights not only with Nev but also with a lovely couple from Australia who I kept bumping into at all the picture spots (yes, sorry about that, but it's only a hire car) and a chap I met up with from Bradford, who I was seriously impressed by - four panniers and completely self-contained, tent, food, clothes, the lot, all hanging from his bike. All I was carrying was my drink. Oh, but I was of course towing my Mars Bar Trailer, so that probably just about evened it up.
Anyway, well done man from Bradford I will be toasting your fortitude and spirit of adventure, any time now...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Said man from Bradford, just about to be overtaken by Buffoon on the charge. Yes, Ok I can see he's stopped, but I would have got him anyway.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Glen Coe, Scottish Highlands
Monday, 30 May 2011
Day 9
Weighed down by maps and print-outs and scribbled instructions, kindly provided by our brilliant host, I set out with fire in my heart, ready to do battle with the greatly feared Glasgow. Within 10 minutes I was back...forgot my Snickers.
Although the day's cycling once again began in the rain, the first 50 miles of the day were among the most pleasant so far. Along the old main Carlisle to Glasgow road which now is no longer the route of choice for motorists when there is a motorway option right next door. That means it's one of those rarities - a quiet road for cyclists.
Along the way I cycled with two guys from Glasgow and swapped end-to-end stories. It was all going swimmingly well until they informed me that they had decided to put in two rest days at home on account of the terrible weather that was forecast for Wednesday!! I thanked them for alerting me to that and then asked them if National Cycle Route 75 was a good way through the city. They said not, but seeing as I didn't have a Plan B decided to ignore their advice.
BIG mistake! Having navigated by chip shops and bus station and shoe shops to find the route, I quickly wished I hadn't.
Very soon I was carrying my bike along glass-strewn paths, through questionable neighbourhoods and being glared at by threatening locals. I don't want to be mean to Glasgow, but this was not an environment in which I felt comfy. By this point I had lost CNC 75, maybe the locals had torn down the signs and used them to attack lost cyclists.
I wasn't hanging around to test this theory and headed, quite quickly, back to a major road.
It was then navigation by compass. I set it for west and just got my head down. Which was again a good tactic, especially around Parkhead where I decided it wouldn't be prudent to wait for the traffic lights to turn green. I don't think cycling is big in that part of the city, but I do think some of the guys lurching out of The Sharmrock Bar would have liked a closer look at my sat nav.
Finally, finally I cleared the city centre and headed for Dumbarton. I found myself on roads that looked suspiciously like motorways, but by then I was past caring and figured they were still safer than some of the 'quieter' roads I had recently used in the east side of the city.
Eighty two miles on the clock today, and without doubt the most stressful day's cycling so far.
Now then, what do they prescribe for stress in these parts? Ah yes...
If you want me I'll be having a wee dram in the bar.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Although the day's cycling once again began in the rain, the first 50 miles of the day were among the most pleasant so far. Along the old main Carlisle to Glasgow road which now is no longer the route of choice for motorists when there is a motorway option right next door. That means it's one of those rarities - a quiet road for cyclists.
Along the way I cycled with two guys from Glasgow and swapped end-to-end stories. It was all going swimmingly well until they informed me that they had decided to put in two rest days at home on account of the terrible weather that was forecast for Wednesday!! I thanked them for alerting me to that and then asked them if National Cycle Route 75 was a good way through the city. They said not, but seeing as I didn't have a Plan B decided to ignore their advice.
BIG mistake! Having navigated by chip shops and bus station and shoe shops to find the route, I quickly wished I hadn't.
Very soon I was carrying my bike along glass-strewn paths, through questionable neighbourhoods and being glared at by threatening locals. I don't want to be mean to Glasgow, but this was not an environment in which I felt comfy. By this point I had lost CNC 75, maybe the locals had torn down the signs and used them to attack lost cyclists.
I wasn't hanging around to test this theory and headed, quite quickly, back to a major road.
It was then navigation by compass. I set it for west and just got my head down. Which was again a good tactic, especially around Parkhead where I decided it wouldn't be prudent to wait for the traffic lights to turn green. I don't think cycling is big in that part of the city, but I do think some of the guys lurching out of The Sharmrock Bar would have liked a closer look at my sat nav.
Finally, finally I cleared the city centre and headed for Dumbarton. I found myself on roads that looked suspiciously like motorways, but by then I was past caring and figured they were still safer than some of the 'quieter' roads I had recently used in the east side of the city.
Eighty two miles on the clock today, and without doubt the most stressful day's cycling so far.
Now then, what do they prescribe for stress in these parts? Ah yes...
If you want me I'll be having a wee dram in the bar.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Bonhill, Loch Lomand
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Day 8
The writing was on the wall as I began the slow climb out of Kendall around half seven. I was heading into a black void where there used to be a sky and some mountains.
The rain only waited a few minutes before it started to lash down. The westerly wind joined in the fun and I was under siege for the next 20 miles. Knowing when the odds are against me, I eventually sought refuge in a bus shelter five miles from Carlisle and tried to get my shivers under control. I was seriously cold and soaked to the skin.
But, just a few short miles from this moment of deep gloom, the sky began to lighten, and although the fiercely gusting wind refused to join in with the more enlightened approach to weather conditions, the afternoon was so much better.
Just before lunch we crossed the border at Gretna and then, re-energised by a sarnie or two, I struck out for Lockerbie and then Moffat.
On arrival here in Moffat the last chill of the morning was burnt away by a spectacularly warm Scottish welcome from our josts at the Buchan Guest House. Brenda has to be one of the chirpiest people I have met, and even as I write she's washing my cycling kit for me - what a star.
So, some detailed planning and co-ordination now needed as we prepare to plot a way around the metropolis that is Glasgow tomorrow.
Just before I go (you know where) a huge thank-you for the brilliant support I am receiving through family and friends' text (when it works) and through my Twitter pals - you have provided a massive boost and kept me going - cheers.
If you want me I'll be in McBar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The rain only waited a few minutes before it started to lash down. The westerly wind joined in the fun and I was under siege for the next 20 miles. Knowing when the odds are against me, I eventually sought refuge in a bus shelter five miles from Carlisle and tried to get my shivers under control. I was seriously cold and soaked to the skin.
But, just a few short miles from this moment of deep gloom, the sky began to lighten, and although the fiercely gusting wind refused to join in with the more enlightened approach to weather conditions, the afternoon was so much better.
Just before lunch we crossed the border at Gretna and then, re-energised by a sarnie or two, I struck out for Lockerbie and then Moffat.
On arrival here in Moffat the last chill of the morning was burnt away by a spectacularly warm Scottish welcome from our josts at the Buchan Guest House. Brenda has to be one of the chirpiest people I have met, and even as I write she's washing my cycling kit for me - what a star.
So, some detailed planning and co-ordination now needed as we prepare to plot a way around the metropolis that is Glasgow tomorrow.
Just before I go (you know where) a huge thank-you for the brilliant support I am receiving through family and friends' text (when it works) and through my Twitter pals - you have provided a massive boost and kept me going - cheers.
If you want me I'll be in McBar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Moffat, Dumfries & Galloway
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Day 7
I decided to skip breakfast when I woke to the sound of a howling wind splashing rain outside my window of the intriguing 'Hark The Bounty'. The day was going to be tough and this weather would not make it easy. So once I had found my way out of the still-sleeping pub I hit the road.
Some stunning scenery regularly lashed by full-power showers and slashing winds, were features of the morning. Twice I had to pull over for a few minutes when conditions deteriorated to a point where they became dangerous until I could see my way again.
Sis Liz and brother-in-law were on the road with me again today, allowing Nev a little respite from the sandwich-buying, map reading, lay-by waiting. Their presence gave me a real boost, and although the conditions made the going hard in places, progress was encouraging and I arrived in Keswick, after negotiating the weekend Lake District traffic, shortly after 3pm.
So, about halfway I reckon now - time for a quick health-check and stock-take..
Bike - filthy but performing brilliantly
My legs - still way too short but coping well
My back - in need of WD40 - I'm creaking like an old gate
My head - a bit fuzzy and mixed-up but still sending the right signals to the legs
Nev - Now delivering my bags to my room ahead of my arrival - what a star. However, despite frequent requests still not painting 'Go Buffoon' on the road at the summit of the big climbs.
Mars Bars - supplies getting worryingly low - trailer almost half empty.
Ready for a beer.
By now you should know where I'll be if you want me.
Jez
Liz and Rich providing great support
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Some stunning scenery regularly lashed by full-power showers and slashing winds, were features of the morning. Twice I had to pull over for a few minutes when conditions deteriorated to a point where they became dangerous until I could see my way again.
Sis Liz and brother-in-law were on the road with me again today, allowing Nev a little respite from the sandwich-buying, map reading, lay-by waiting. Their presence gave me a real boost, and although the conditions made the going hard in places, progress was encouraging and I arrived in Keswick, after negotiating the weekend Lake District traffic, shortly after 3pm.
So, about halfway I reckon now - time for a quick health-check and stock-take..
Bike - filthy but performing brilliantly
My legs - still way too short but coping well
My back - in need of WD40 - I'm creaking like an old gate
My head - a bit fuzzy and mixed-up but still sending the right signals to the legs
Nev - Now delivering my bags to my room ahead of my arrival - what a star. However, despite frequent requests still not painting 'Go Buffoon' on the road at the summit of the big climbs.
Mars Bars - supplies getting worryingly low - trailer almost half empty.
Ready for a beer.
By now you should know where I'll be if you want me.
Jez
Liz and Rich providing great support
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Day 6
A day of two halves.
It was raining when I rolled out of our Runcorn motel and was still raining when I completed the second lap of the Runcorn industrial estates. My sat nav just wasn't up to the task of getting me out of the industrial north west and I had to phone Nev to give me a summary of the route (which I should have got before) to enable me to set an approximate course and hope for the best.
I had found my escape route - the A49 - and was feeling a little more relaxed at the point when I got my first puncture of the trip - smack in the middle of Warrington. A wrestling match with a stubborn tyre ensued but I was eventually back on the road and crawling through the hiss and grind and the great north west conurbation - Warrington - Wigan - Blackburn. This is stressful cycling - endless roundabouts, never enough room and constantly peering at the route notes, sat nav and road signs. However - top marks to Wigan for a really good effort on the cycle paths.
After lunch, and despite a nasty head wind, things took a turn for the better. Sis Liz and brother-in-law Rich were Clitheroe bound and by mid-afternoon, in a lay-by north of Blackburn we met up and together weaved our way uphill (mainly) and down dale (not so much) all the way to our overnight halt and the strange, Hark to Bounty pub where we chanced upon a Fish Friday spectacular and politely joined in.
A difficult day for obvious reasons but made so much better by family support. Cheers Liz and Rich.
If you want me I'll be in the bar (wifey knows - she rang the Hark and there they found me)
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
It was raining when I rolled out of our Runcorn motel and was still raining when I completed the second lap of the Runcorn industrial estates. My sat nav just wasn't up to the task of getting me out of the industrial north west and I had to phone Nev to give me a summary of the route (which I should have got before) to enable me to set an approximate course and hope for the best.
I had found my escape route - the A49 - and was feeling a little more relaxed at the point when I got my first puncture of the trip - smack in the middle of Warrington. A wrestling match with a stubborn tyre ensued but I was eventually back on the road and crawling through the hiss and grind and the great north west conurbation - Warrington - Wigan - Blackburn. This is stressful cycling - endless roundabouts, never enough room and constantly peering at the route notes, sat nav and road signs. However - top marks to Wigan for a really good effort on the cycle paths.
After lunch, and despite a nasty head wind, things took a turn for the better. Sis Liz and brother-in-law Rich were Clitheroe bound and by mid-afternoon, in a lay-by north of Blackburn we met up and together weaved our way uphill (mainly) and down dale (not so much) all the way to our overnight halt and the strange, Hark to Bounty pub where we chanced upon a Fish Friday spectacular and politely joined in.
A difficult day for obvious reasons but made so much better by family support. Cheers Liz and Rich.
If you want me I'll be in the bar (wifey knows - she rang the Hark and there they found me)
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Slaidburn, Lancs
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Day 5
I was 33 miles into today's ride when I got the message to call home.
Within three hours we were back. Dad died this morning.
Although I didn't get back in time to say goodbye I think we both knew we had already done that when I left on Saturday morning.
Before he went dad stressed that he wanted me to complete this ride. So, feeling decidedly shell-shocked, I am, at my lovely family's insistence, back on the ride - and will carry on. I am convinced that is what he wanted, and, as a close friend has just said "that was his only way to get on the ride with you."
So from here on on it's me and dad on this ride and that is a huge comfort to me right now.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Within three hours we were back. Dad died this morning.
Although I didn't get back in time to say goodbye I think we both knew we had already done that when I left on Saturday morning.
Before he went dad stressed that he wanted me to complete this ride. So, feeling decidedly shell-shocked, I am, at my lovely family's insistence, back on the ride - and will carry on. I am convinced that is what he wanted, and, as a close friend has just said "that was his only way to get on the ride with you."
So from here on on it's me and dad on this ride and that is a huge comfort to me right now.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Runcorn Cheshire
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Day 4
Fortunately I speak a fair bit of Welsh, so I can inform you that Monmouth - from where I departed this morning, means, 'little settlement at the foot of a bloody great big hill'
Yes, that was my early morning wake-up call again today, another thigh-busting climb out of the Wye valley, leaving below our fourth night accommodation. Monmouth was welcoming , interesting and lively - none of which could be said of our hosts the previous evening.
With bitching left in my slipstream I trundled along on what proved to be one of the most enjoyable phases of the ride so far.
On the many, many occasions that I sat pondering this ride over the previous months, one snapshot kept appearing to me - a quiet country road, sun just coming up, friendly locals, and a tail wind.
Full house!
I think this beautiful part of the journey was my snapshot developing before my eyes.
Rolling hills to either side of a relatively flat road, a gentle sun just staring to illuminate the scene and a series of locals waiting to catch the bus into town.
There was someone waiting at the end of every little lane. Old farmers in their tweed jackets and ties, young students clutching folders, ladies with shopping bags to fill. Each one bade me a cheery good morning - it was just like something from Cider With Rosie.
I was glad of those 'make your heart glad' images still nestling in my head, because I was about to need them to chase away the less pleasurable things that were a to unfold...
I lost Nev, or Nev lost me - the jury is still out but evidence in the form of road atlases, and direction notes from previous evening will be considered. Nev has ruled sat nav evidence as inadmissable. They may as well send me down now!
Then my chain jammed, I almost fell off and in freeing said chain jam, jammed my finger into a few teeth of the big chain ring. So, my blt was garnished with a touch of Halfords Dry Lube oil and a drizzle of my very own A Positive - yum.
But that painful little incident was positively pleasurable compared with the shocking mountains I had to climb this afternoon. They were humongous. They put 35 minutes on my final 15 miles and my legs were shrieking at me by the time I rolled into Clun - "What the hell do you think you're doing to us" they yelled, and they had a point.
What's going on? Each successive county has tried to outdo the last with the ridiculousness of its mountains. But in this twisted competition I think Shropshire takes the crown. My 60 miles today seemed like 160 and then, good old Shropshire showed me its little slogan on the county boundary sign - 'Shropshire - county of hills' Well it's not something to be proud of is it??
If you want me I'll be in the bar, and I may be a while.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Yes, that was my early morning wake-up call again today, another thigh-busting climb out of the Wye valley, leaving below our fourth night accommodation. Monmouth was welcoming , interesting and lively - none of which could be said of our hosts the previous evening.
With bitching left in my slipstream I trundled along on what proved to be one of the most enjoyable phases of the ride so far.
On the many, many occasions that I sat pondering this ride over the previous months, one snapshot kept appearing to me - a quiet country road, sun just coming up, friendly locals, and a tail wind.
Full house!
I think this beautiful part of the journey was my snapshot developing before my eyes.
Rolling hills to either side of a relatively flat road, a gentle sun just staring to illuminate the scene and a series of locals waiting to catch the bus into town.
There was someone waiting at the end of every little lane. Old farmers in their tweed jackets and ties, young students clutching folders, ladies with shopping bags to fill. Each one bade me a cheery good morning - it was just like something from Cider With Rosie.
I was glad of those 'make your heart glad' images still nestling in my head, because I was about to need them to chase away the less pleasurable things that were a to unfold...
I lost Nev, or Nev lost me - the jury is still out but evidence in the form of road atlases, and direction notes from previous evening will be considered. Nev has ruled sat nav evidence as inadmissable. They may as well send me down now!
Then my chain jammed, I almost fell off and in freeing said chain jam, jammed my finger into a few teeth of the big chain ring. So, my blt was garnished with a touch of Halfords Dry Lube oil and a drizzle of my very own A Positive - yum.
But that painful little incident was positively pleasurable compared with the shocking mountains I had to climb this afternoon. They were humongous. They put 35 minutes on my final 15 miles and my legs were shrieking at me by the time I rolled into Clun - "What the hell do you think you're doing to us" they yelled, and they had a point.
What's going on? Each successive county has tried to outdo the last with the ridiculousness of its mountains. But in this twisted competition I think Shropshire takes the crown. My 60 miles today seemed like 160 and then, good old Shropshire showed me its little slogan on the county boundary sign - 'Shropshire - county of hills' Well it's not something to be proud of is it??
If you want me I'll be in the bar, and I may be a while.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Clun Shropshire
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Day 3
I'm not sure when anyone will get to read this blog because we are now in a part of Wales where the internet is still to be discovered and mobile phone signals toy with you - ooh there's a little half a bar for you, oh no it's not its a 'no service' and you may as well add 'at all' while you're about it.
Looking at my pink porcelained en-suite room there are a few other things that have not yet seen the light of day in this particular area, like television, a smidgin of taste and individually packaged biscuits without which no drinks tray is complete.
Less moaning Buffoon and on with the journey.
The splendor of The Magdalene was quickly forgotten as the day's events began to unfold. I had barely had time to wipe the surplus Golden Shread from around my mouth when those hills spotted me and began to pump themselves up. The climb out of Wells went on for three miles, or in other terms, one and a half near-miss coronaries. I was blowing so hard at one point a cyclist traveling in the opposite direction shouted across and asked if the wind had changed direction - bloody cheek.
My dad has a word for hills like that, he would definitely describe it as a 'snorker'.
It wasn't the only snorker in a grueling morning, but there was at least a little flat relief through the beautiful city of Bath.
My route today was a last-minute change of plan and so rather than my sat nav telling me where to go I had a crumpled up piece of paper in my back pocket with shorthand directions and a bit of the caramel part from a Mars Bar smeared down one side...I've absolutely no idea!
The new route had been devised to avoid Bristol and that it did rather well - by taking a wide arc to the east and dropping back down to join the bike lane across the Severn Bridge, which I didn't know even existed until last night.
Nev wrenched his bike from the back of the car and road with me across the bridge, in what can only be described as 'testing conditions.
The wind was blasting up the Bristol Channel and trying to maintain a straight line was impossible. But we got over and as Nev returned to the car I nipped through border control unnoticed and into Wales.
The final leg of the day, and believe me, I was definitely on my last legs, was a superb run from Chepstow to Monmouth alongside the Wye - stunning scenery and a relatively flat surface.
Cycled 83 miles today but tomorrow looks like it should be much easier.
If you want me I'll the bar -throom, soaking my aching legs. Oh, that's right there's no bath.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Looking at my pink porcelained en-suite room there are a few other things that have not yet seen the light of day in this particular area, like television, a smidgin of taste and individually packaged biscuits without which no drinks tray is complete.
Less moaning Buffoon and on with the journey.
The splendor of The Magdalene was quickly forgotten as the day's events began to unfold. I had barely had time to wipe the surplus Golden Shread from around my mouth when those hills spotted me and began to pump themselves up. The climb out of Wells went on for three miles, or in other terms, one and a half near-miss coronaries. I was blowing so hard at one point a cyclist traveling in the opposite direction shouted across and asked if the wind had changed direction - bloody cheek.
My dad has a word for hills like that, he would definitely describe it as a 'snorker'.
It wasn't the only snorker in a grueling morning, but there was at least a little flat relief through the beautiful city of Bath.
My route today was a last-minute change of plan and so rather than my sat nav telling me where to go I had a crumpled up piece of paper in my back pocket with shorthand directions and a bit of the caramel part from a Mars Bar smeared down one side...I've absolutely no idea!
The new route had been devised to avoid Bristol and that it did rather well - by taking a wide arc to the east and dropping back down to join the bike lane across the Severn Bridge, which I didn't know even existed until last night.
Nev wrenched his bike from the back of the car and road with me across the bridge, in what can only be described as 'testing conditions.
The wind was blasting up the Bristol Channel and trying to maintain a straight line was impossible. But we got over and as Nev returned to the car I nipped through border control unnoticed and into Wales.
The final leg of the day, and believe me, I was definitely on my last legs, was a superb run from Chepstow to Monmouth alongside the Wye - stunning scenery and a relatively flat surface.
Cycled 83 miles today but tomorrow looks like it should be much easier.
If you want me I'll the bar -throom, soaking my aching legs. Oh, that's right there's no bath.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Monmouth, Monmouthshire
Monday, 23 May 2011
Day Two
Good evening Glas ton berreeee. How ya doin? Can't hear ya, how ya doin....
Yes, that's right I'm in rock HQ and ready to rock the town! Actually, we may go out for a pie and a pint and then get back for an early night. It's not exactly rock n roll but then Keith Richard didn't have to get up the morning after a gig and bike to Wales.
It's been a day of mixed scenery and mixed progress. Leaving Okehampton after a cracking slice of toast and Activia yoghurt I was assaulted for almost 30 miles by a succession of thug-like hills, no, make that mountains, and by the time I trundled into Tiverton I felt pretty well beaten up.
However, there were compensations. The first came in the shape of the scenery - gorgeous rolling vistas that I could just about pick out despite the dizziness and nausea which accompanied every climb.
The second advantage came in the shape on an unsuspecting cyclist from Tiverton, who joined me for a few miles and was kind enough to ask me how far I was going. Well, actually....
Lunch was spent in a lay-by just beyond Tiverton, and that was the last I saw of Nev for the journey. Having struggled gamely with his sat nav he resorted to sticking big bits of paper all over the dashboard. This didn't work either and we polled up in Glastonbury, completely independently. Tomorrow I will suggest we make an early start and navigate by the stars.
We're in the kind of b&b that is too grand to call itself a b&b it's simply Magdalene House, and I've already worked out that there must be more than 200 quid's worth of lotions and potions in the bathroom. If only I had a spare holdall and wasn't on the bike...
What on earth are we doing here? I wouldn't have accepted the booking if I owned it!
If you want me I'll be in the bar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Yes, that's right I'm in rock HQ and ready to rock the town! Actually, we may go out for a pie and a pint and then get back for an early night. It's not exactly rock n roll but then Keith Richard didn't have to get up the morning after a gig and bike to Wales.
It's been a day of mixed scenery and mixed progress. Leaving Okehampton after a cracking slice of toast and Activia yoghurt I was assaulted for almost 30 miles by a succession of thug-like hills, no, make that mountains, and by the time I trundled into Tiverton I felt pretty well beaten up.
However, there were compensations. The first came in the shape of the scenery - gorgeous rolling vistas that I could just about pick out despite the dizziness and nausea which accompanied every climb.
The second advantage came in the shape on an unsuspecting cyclist from Tiverton, who joined me for a few miles and was kind enough to ask me how far I was going. Well, actually....
Lunch was spent in a lay-by just beyond Tiverton, and that was the last I saw of Nev for the journey. Having struggled gamely with his sat nav he resorted to sticking big bits of paper all over the dashboard. This didn't work either and we polled up in Glastonbury, completely independently. Tomorrow I will suggest we make an early start and navigate by the stars.
We're in the kind of b&b that is too grand to call itself a b&b it's simply Magdalene House, and I've already worked out that there must be more than 200 quid's worth of lotions and potions in the bathroom. If only I had a spare holdall and wasn't on the bike...
What on earth are we doing here? I wouldn't have accepted the booking if I owned it!
If you want me I'll be in the bar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Glastonbury, Somerset
Sunday, 22 May 2011
Day One
I wasn't expecting to be that nervous. Possibly it was the wind and rain rattling the windows all night and wondering if the gale was still pointing in roughly the right direction. Anyway by the time I arrived at the start my stomach was in a half granny, full twist double sheep shank.
My anxiety was not helped when I found I was sharing the start-line with 150 proper cyclists - all shaved legs and not a cycle clip between them.
Anyway I found a gap among the staggered starts, hit the road and set about getting overtaken, again, and again, and.... After half an hour of this I started to feel something was wrong. Surely I'm not that slow? So as each new whizz kid went passed I yelled after them "Drug Testing ahead" Just to see how they reacted.
But in an hour they had all disappeared - either taken another route or, and this is my guess, were hiding.
So by just after Penzance I was on my own. By this time the wind had got very angry - hammering the slab-fronted grey houses and making me thank God it was on my side. They have bus shelters like bunkers down here, and I could see why. Just going for a walk must be considered an extreme sport...it was WILD.
After the early excitement of the start, and sharing the road with 150 other cyclists, things then began to settle down into a reasonably relaxed tedium.
The A30 is dull, hilly and busy. The last 80 miles of it delivered only two cyclist sightings, and I don't blame you Devon and Cornish cyclists - it's not really the way to see the area.
But for me today it served its purpose and I rolled in to Okehampton in a respectable time having completed 97 miles for the day.
I think I may have nightmares tonight about going the other way on the A30 today. Those two cyclists I did see were going the other way and didn't seem to be doing too well at maintaining forward momentum. My cheery wave was returned with a clenched teeth grimace and a look that said "You ought to try it this way Mr Cheery." No thanks.
My back-up man Nev did a brilliant job today, securing sarnies, keeping a check on me and guiding me in the last four miles to the b&b - which incidentally is very nice - MeadowLea on Station Road.
So, one down 12 to go and 97 miles on the clock.
If you want me I'll be in the bar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
My anxiety was not helped when I found I was sharing the start-line with 150 proper cyclists - all shaved legs and not a cycle clip between them.
Anyway I found a gap among the staggered starts, hit the road and set about getting overtaken, again, and again, and.... After half an hour of this I started to feel something was wrong. Surely I'm not that slow? So as each new whizz kid went passed I yelled after them "Drug Testing ahead" Just to see how they reacted.
But in an hour they had all disappeared - either taken another route or, and this is my guess, were hiding.
So by just after Penzance I was on my own. By this time the wind had got very angry - hammering the slab-fronted grey houses and making me thank God it was on my side. They have bus shelters like bunkers down here, and I could see why. Just going for a walk must be considered an extreme sport...it was WILD.
After the early excitement of the start, and sharing the road with 150 other cyclists, things then began to settle down into a reasonably relaxed tedium.
The A30 is dull, hilly and busy. The last 80 miles of it delivered only two cyclist sightings, and I don't blame you Devon and Cornish cyclists - it's not really the way to see the area.
But for me today it served its purpose and I rolled in to Okehampton in a respectable time having completed 97 miles for the day.
I think I may have nightmares tonight about going the other way on the A30 today. Those two cyclists I did see were going the other way and didn't seem to be doing too well at maintaining forward momentum. My cheery wave was returned with a clenched teeth grimace and a look that said "You ought to try it this way Mr Cheery." No thanks.
My back-up man Nev did a brilliant job today, securing sarnies, keeping a check on me and guiding me in the last four miles to the b&b - which incidentally is very nice - MeadowLea on Station Road.
So, one down 12 to go and 97 miles on the clock.
If you want me I'll be in the bar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Okehampton, Devon
Saturday, 21 May 2011
Ready for lift-off
I may have completed the hardest part of this journey already - pulling away from home and leaving my poorly dad for two weeks.
However, the decision whether to embark on this trip was not difficult - it was made for me. When I tentatively suggested to dad a couple of days ago that I maybe should not go, I was shot down in flames and left in no doubt as to the right course of action. So, that said I won't bang on about the emotional difficulties I am experiencing, just blog about the ride.
A very close friend, who knows better than most people what I'm going through, summed it up brilliantly in her 'Good Luck' card which included the line, which will be my mantra, - 'Don't think....just pedal.'
So, here I sit in my room at Sunnybank House B&B in Sennen, what have I learned so far...
* they are a bit shy with their B in their BLTs in Bristol
* Nev cannot operate a mobile phone with resorting to language not befitting a man of his years
* there are no flat bits at all on tomorrow's mammoth first leg
* If you want somewhere nice to eat near Land's End, don't go anywhere near Land's End
* In Cornwall they eat bangers and mash in a bowl.
So, that's probably about enough intellectualism for one night, I have drinks bottles to prepare, kit to sort out and sleep to sleep before my continental breakfast at 6.30am!
Jez
- Sennen Cove
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
However, the decision whether to embark on this trip was not difficult - it was made for me. When I tentatively suggested to dad a couple of days ago that I maybe should not go, I was shot down in flames and left in no doubt as to the right course of action. So, that said I won't bang on about the emotional difficulties I am experiencing, just blog about the ride.
A very close friend, who knows better than most people what I'm going through, summed it up brilliantly in her 'Good Luck' card which included the line, which will be my mantra, - 'Don't think....just pedal.'
So, here I sit in my room at Sunnybank House B&B in Sennen, what have I learned so far...
* they are a bit shy with their B in their BLTs in Bristol
* Nev cannot operate a mobile phone with resorting to language not befitting a man of his years
* there are no flat bits at all on tomorrow's mammoth first leg
* If you want somewhere nice to eat near Land's End, don't go anywhere near Land's End
* In Cornwall they eat bangers and mash in a bowl.
So, that's probably about enough intellectualism for one night, I have drinks bottles to prepare, kit to sort out and sleep to sleep before my continental breakfast at 6.30am!
Jez
- Sennen Cove
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Sennen, Cornwall
Sunday, 15 May 2011
FAQs
This will be my final blog post before the start of my End to End ride on Sunday 22 May. This is down to the fact that I’m running out of time to do all the things I need to before lift-off, and so Mr Blog has just been ushered into the ‘non-emergency ward’ of my own personal little Planning Asylum.
I thought it would be a neat way to wrap all the pre-ride stuff up by embarking on a quick question and answer session so I can address as many of the queries that are being fired at me, as possible, in one go.
So here are the FAQs
Why are you cycling uphill?
Because I would feel a fraud if I cast-off from John O’Groats and freewheeled all the way to Cornwall in two days.
Actually it’s to do with prevailing winds and other meteorological ‘stuff’ that won’t happen anyway.
Will You Be Camping Out?
Only if I decide to wear that rather fetching cerise top with white detailing. Otherwise I will be in manly black and doing bed and breakfast.
Will you be passing through Dudley?
If he steps out in front of me on one of the bigger descents, yes there is a chance.
Do you have any special dietary requirements?
Yes! Seeing as I am going to be burning calories like a pyromaniac in a paper mill I figure this is a brilliant opportunity to eat what the hell I like. So, I will be taking on board mainly pies, anything deep fried, and snacks with a nutritional value in the negative range. Beer by the bucketfull will also be obligatory.
What training have you been doing?
What training have YOU been doing? Nag nag nag! It does my head in. Just leave it, right?
Are you sure you need all those Mars Bars?
Perfectly sure - they are a vital source of glucose which everyone knows is a critical ingredient in any top athlete’s diet. Besides, I’m not going to reduce my stock now I have had a trailer specially made to transport them.
Will the ride be filmed at all?
At the time of writing discussions with ‘a number of leading production companies’ are ongoing, although, rather disturbingly, the fore-runners in the battle for the rights appear to be the operation behind ’20 Funniest Disasters’
Will I be able to see see you en route and buy you a beer?
Yes
Next blog posting - live from Land’s End
Jez
I thought it would be a neat way to wrap all the pre-ride stuff up by embarking on a quick question and answer session so I can address as many of the queries that are being fired at me, as possible, in one go.
So here are the FAQs
Why are you cycling uphill?
Because I would feel a fraud if I cast-off from John O’Groats and freewheeled all the way to Cornwall in two days.
Actually it’s to do with prevailing winds and other meteorological ‘stuff’ that won’t happen anyway.
Will You Be Camping Out?
Only if I decide to wear that rather fetching cerise top with white detailing. Otherwise I will be in manly black and doing bed and breakfast.
Will you be passing through Dudley?
If he steps out in front of me on one of the bigger descents, yes there is a chance.
Do you have any special dietary requirements?
Yes! Seeing as I am going to be burning calories like a pyromaniac in a paper mill I figure this is a brilliant opportunity to eat what the hell I like. So, I will be taking on board mainly pies, anything deep fried, and snacks with a nutritional value in the negative range. Beer by the bucketfull will also be obligatory.
What training have you been doing?
What training have YOU been doing? Nag nag nag! It does my head in. Just leave it, right?
Are you sure you need all those Mars Bars?
Perfectly sure - they are a vital source of glucose which everyone knows is a critical ingredient in any top athlete’s diet. Besides, I’m not going to reduce my stock now I have had a trailer specially made to transport them.
Will the ride be filmed at all?
At the time of writing discussions with ‘a number of leading production companies’ are ongoing, although, rather disturbingly, the fore-runners in the battle for the rights appear to be the operation behind ’20 Funniest Disasters’
Will I be able to see see you en route and buy you a beer?
Yes
Next blog posting - live from Land’s End
Jez
Monday, 2 May 2011
Super Sub
It is with great pleasure that I am able to impart news of a development of the positive variety in the planning for my bicycle adventure. We have a Super Sub!
You may remember, in my last installment, I explained that my dad - the inspiration for the ride - was not going to be able to provide vital support owing to health problems. That was a major blow, and will of course remain so, but at least the ride can proceed thanks to a very kind offer (eagerly snapped up) of an old family friend - step forward and take a bow (Uncle) Nev Greensmith.
Nev isn’t a real uncle, but if it was performance-related he would be right up there in the League of Real Uncles. He knows a thing or two about cycling as well which could be useful, seeing as I don’t.
He was also present at two of the more memorable events of my life - The 1979 European Cup final in Munich, and a laugh-a-mile coast-to-coast ride with our mountain bike gang 11 years ago. So, Nev’s a darned good sub - thanks.
In other news this week I have taken the decision to re-classify myself from ‘road cyclist’ to ‘touring cyclist’. This re-classification (which has yet to be ratified by the British Cycling Federation) is based mainly on speed.
I get overtaken a fair amount by flash young upstarts (oh, yes old upstarts as well) and feel that if I become a ‘touring cyclist’ these overtakes would no longer be deemed legitimate manoeuvres and therefore I get to feel a lot better about it all.
The whole ‘left for dead’ business reached crisis point earlier in the week when some Sky team-wannabe went past me so quickly I mistakenly thought I had stopped, and tried to get off. Even though I was only registering 11mph on the speedo let me tell you it’s really not a good idea to dismount at this speed.
So, hopefully my new classification will be confirmed before I start my LEJOG ride on Sunday 22nd May and I will be able to bellow at all passing cyclists - ‘you haven’t really overtaken me, I’m a tourist’. I realise I may have to practice saying that quickly so they get the full gist while still in ear-shot.
In any case I think my resignation as a ‘road cyclist’ may only just have pre-empted being struck-off on a number of counts including...
consistently traveling at embarrassingly slow speeds
refusal to shave legs
non-ownership of at least one professional team replica top
ownership of a cycle clip
I’ll keep you posted.
Jez
You may remember, in my last installment, I explained that my dad - the inspiration for the ride - was not going to be able to provide vital support owing to health problems. That was a major blow, and will of course remain so, but at least the ride can proceed thanks to a very kind offer (eagerly snapped up) of an old family friend - step forward and take a bow (Uncle) Nev Greensmith.
Nev isn’t a real uncle, but if it was performance-related he would be right up there in the League of Real Uncles. He knows a thing or two about cycling as well which could be useful, seeing as I don’t.
He was also present at two of the more memorable events of my life - The 1979 European Cup final in Munich, and a laugh-a-mile coast-to-coast ride with our mountain bike gang 11 years ago. So, Nev’s a darned good sub - thanks.
In other news this week I have taken the decision to re-classify myself from ‘road cyclist’ to ‘touring cyclist’. This re-classification (which has yet to be ratified by the British Cycling Federation) is based mainly on speed.
I get overtaken a fair amount by flash young upstarts (oh, yes old upstarts as well) and feel that if I become a ‘touring cyclist’ these overtakes would no longer be deemed legitimate manoeuvres and therefore I get to feel a lot better about it all.
The whole ‘left for dead’ business reached crisis point earlier in the week when some Sky team-wannabe went past me so quickly I mistakenly thought I had stopped, and tried to get off. Even though I was only registering 11mph on the speedo let me tell you it’s really not a good idea to dismount at this speed.
So, hopefully my new classification will be confirmed before I start my LEJOG ride on Sunday 22nd May and I will be able to bellow at all passing cyclists - ‘you haven’t really overtaken me, I’m a tourist’. I realise I may have to practice saying that quickly so they get the full gist while still in ear-shot.
In any case I think my resignation as a ‘road cyclist’ may only just have pre-empted being struck-off on a number of counts including...
consistently traveling at embarrassingly slow speeds
refusal to shave legs
non-ownership of at least one professional team replica top
ownership of a cycle clip
I’ll keep you posted.
Jez
Saturday, 23 April 2011
A Setback
I did originally say this blog was to keep anyone interested up to date with my ride preparation. Those familiar with my musings so far will quickly agree it’s done nothing of the sort. It’s become a showcase for the ramblings of a deranged person.
But today that must stop for a minute as I do impart some serious news, and it’s not good.
I have suffered more pain in the last couple of days than any of Scotland’s finest slopes will throw at me in a few weeks. Sadly my dad, who originally was to cycle with me, and then was to offer back-up support and general guidance, can now not make it at all.
His health has sadly deteriorated to the point where the excursion isn’t even a lingering possibility, and I know that hurts him as much as it does me.
My initial reaction in the sudden depths of despondency was - don’t want to do the ride now - but I quickly recovered from that little self-centred sulk, and re-focussed. Somehow it’s even more important now.
As for the practicalities of the journey, we are working on some options, but it will happen - definitely.
On a more positive note the training has gone well over the last seven days. I have ridden every day and clocked over 260 miles, including a 113 miler on Good Friday.
Apologies for this somewhat sombre missive, but all being well normal service, from the pen of the deranged person, will resume next time.
Jez
But today that must stop for a minute as I do impart some serious news, and it’s not good.
I have suffered more pain in the last couple of days than any of Scotland’s finest slopes will throw at me in a few weeks. Sadly my dad, who originally was to cycle with me, and then was to offer back-up support and general guidance, can now not make it at all.
His health has sadly deteriorated to the point where the excursion isn’t even a lingering possibility, and I know that hurts him as much as it does me.
My initial reaction in the sudden depths of despondency was - don’t want to do the ride now - but I quickly recovered from that little self-centred sulk, and re-focussed. Somehow it’s even more important now.
As for the practicalities of the journey, we are working on some options, but it will happen - definitely.
On a more positive note the training has gone well over the last seven days. I have ridden every day and clocked over 260 miles, including a 113 miler on Good Friday.
Apologies for this somewhat sombre missive, but all being well normal service, from the pen of the deranged person, will resume next time.
Jez
Saturday, 16 April 2011
The Lost Weekend
If it had included a piece of exercise that burnt more than 3 calories I could have described it as a low intensity training break. But who am I fooling? It was a five day blank in my carefully planned pre-ride regime. A big FAT zero on the training chart.
And it all sounded like such a good idea - a long weekend trip to the spiritual home of cycling, just as the countdown clock on my LEJOG ride started to tick a bit louder. But when the bike hire failed to materialise at the same time as our fast-drinking, big-eating friends did, the writing was on the wall, and it spelt ‘Fatty drunken loser’.
Not that the weekend was without urgency. Oh no. At one point we had one hell of a scramble to get from our three hour lunch at a fish restaurant on the coast to our table at the local pizzeria on time for early evening meal. And just in case you thought that was on foot or on bike, no it was in a car, windows down, shades on and horn blaring - like you do.
Nor was the weekend totally removed from cycling. On more than one occasion we sat behind a frothy cappuccino and hefty danish while we watched the catwalk cyclists of the town cruise down the beautiful leafy main street...and back again - just in case anyone had missed them the first time around.
We were also in same location to watch them return that evening, this time we were behind a pre-meal bowl of peanuts and foaming Peroni. I gathered quite a bit of useful information from my pavement cafe vantage point I can tell you. I learned new shapes in the art of cycling poise, I saw bikes that looked as though they must have cost more than my house and I realised that never ever would the raggle taggle team strip modelled by Bike Buffoon be acceptable in this land of uber cool.
So the weekend was not quite a total write-off as an important stage in my ride preparations. But it did come close, and only time will tell how beneficial those five days off the bike, litres of vino rosso, gallons of lager and mountains of pasta on a bed of pizza will be, come May 22nd.
Jez
And it all sounded like such a good idea - a long weekend trip to the spiritual home of cycling, just as the countdown clock on my LEJOG ride started to tick a bit louder. But when the bike hire failed to materialise at the same time as our fast-drinking, big-eating friends did, the writing was on the wall, and it spelt ‘Fatty drunken loser’.
Not that the weekend was without urgency. Oh no. At one point we had one hell of a scramble to get from our three hour lunch at a fish restaurant on the coast to our table at the local pizzeria on time for early evening meal. And just in case you thought that was on foot or on bike, no it was in a car, windows down, shades on and horn blaring - like you do.
Nor was the weekend totally removed from cycling. On more than one occasion we sat behind a frothy cappuccino and hefty danish while we watched the catwalk cyclists of the town cruise down the beautiful leafy main street...and back again - just in case anyone had missed them the first time around.
We were also in same location to watch them return that evening, this time we were behind a pre-meal bowl of peanuts and foaming Peroni. I gathered quite a bit of useful information from my pavement cafe vantage point I can tell you. I learned new shapes in the art of cycling poise, I saw bikes that looked as though they must have cost more than my house and I realised that never ever would the raggle taggle team strip modelled by Bike Buffoon be acceptable in this land of uber cool.
So the weekend was not quite a total write-off as an important stage in my ride preparations. But it did come close, and only time will tell how beneficial those five days off the bike, litres of vino rosso, gallons of lager and mountains of pasta on a bed of pizza will be, come May 22nd.
Jez
Saturday, 2 April 2011
Sponsorship scoop - you’re not laughing now!
I knew it. I just knew it. I’ve always said the ‘Bike Buffoon’ moniker would, in time, prove to deliver significant promotional and sponsorship benefits.
So today I am very happy to be able to share with you news of what my agent has described to me as “a sponsorship coup to coo over.” And then he added, somewhat mysteriously: “It’s a deal with all the bells and whistles.”
I don’t know if you have heard of Circus Mania but I am told in the world of carnival-type commerce there are few bigger names. In fact a quick glance at the CESSPIT (Circus Equity Stocks and Shares Performance Indicator Tracker will confirm Circus Mania’s standing as the fastest growing joke operation in the UK at this present time.
I fully anticipate other leading names in the field of traditional family entertainment to soon be on the blower, not wanting to miss out on the mobile advertising platform that is the Bike Buffoon. This is the opening of a breakthrough chapter in the story of the Bike Buffoon’s ride to celebrity glory.
But, more of the deal. This is what I get...
• hand-picked staff from ‘Big Top Put-Up’ and ‘Take-Down’ teams to be positioned in Monmouth, Runcorn and Glasgow (south) to greet my arrival in those locations with a co-ordinated ‘chant and point’ routine consisting of ‘You, you, you buffoon, you, you, you buffoon’ (repeat)
• use of comedy ginger wig for post-event photo-shoot
• semi-prominent mention on national circulation Circus Mania flyer, under the heading ‘It’s hilarious, the whole family will be in stitches’
• event listing on CircusMania.com in ‘It’s Hilarious’ section, plus link to carnival charity donation page - www.JustJoking.org
• and...the deal clincher - a sponsored bike (see below) to use for the entire 13 days of my ride. Oversized hooter still to be fitted, but I think you’ll agree - it’s a real bobby dazzler!
Jez
So today I am very happy to be able to share with you news of what my agent has described to me as “a sponsorship coup to coo over.” And then he added, somewhat mysteriously: “It’s a deal with all the bells and whistles.”
I don’t know if you have heard of Circus Mania but I am told in the world of carnival-type commerce there are few bigger names. In fact a quick glance at the CESSPIT (Circus Equity Stocks and Shares Performance Indicator Tracker will confirm Circus Mania’s standing as the fastest growing joke operation in the UK at this present time.
I fully anticipate other leading names in the field of traditional family entertainment to soon be on the blower, not wanting to miss out on the mobile advertising platform that is the Bike Buffoon. This is the opening of a breakthrough chapter in the story of the Bike Buffoon’s ride to celebrity glory.
But, more of the deal. This is what I get...
• hand-picked staff from ‘Big Top Put-Up’ and ‘Take-Down’ teams to be positioned in Monmouth, Runcorn and Glasgow (south) to greet my arrival in those locations with a co-ordinated ‘chant and point’ routine consisting of ‘You, you, you buffoon, you, you, you buffoon’ (repeat)
• use of comedy ginger wig for post-event photo-shoot
• semi-prominent mention on national circulation Circus Mania flyer, under the heading ‘It’s hilarious, the whole family will be in stitches’
• event listing on CircusMania.com in ‘It’s Hilarious’ section, plus link to carnival charity donation page - www.JustJoking.org
• and...the deal clincher - a sponsored bike (see below) to use for the entire 13 days of my ride. Oversized hooter still to be fitted, but I think you’ll agree - it’s a real bobby dazzler!
Jez
Sunday, 27 March 2011
I know the way now - follow me!
For the past few weeks I have been been averting my gaze whenever the weather forecasting folk show the VERY BIG map of the UK. It’s HUGE and seems to be there not to tell us about the weather but to demonstrate what a MASSIVE land mass this UK place is. Or is that just me?
For the same reason I have been avoiding planning a route which will involve me writing lots of place names and thereby once again demonstrating the sheer madness of visiting them...by bike...in 13 days.
But I can delay the moment no longer, and without further ado or hesitation, without a moment’s more procrastination or a second’s second thought, this really is it, now, coming right up, here, any time, 5 4 3 2 1, now...
Day One - Well if I’m going to have a heart attack I may as well do it on the first day and save a bob or two on bed and breakfasts. I am starting off with a 100 mile ‘loosener’ from Land’s End to Okehampton. I will pass close to Penzance, Redruth, Bodmin, Launceston and skirting Dartmoor before I collapse in a heap and have a little cry.
Day Two - I’m not entirely sure yet how I’m going to get there, but I’m heading for Glastonbury where I will lay my head and dream dreams of rock greats and quagmire fields. Distance somewhere in the mid-80’s, I think.
Day Three - Only 65 miles today - virtually a day off - as I make my way from Glastonbury to Monmouth. Hang on, I think I’m over the border in Wales at this point. Blimey, not only is it 1000 miles, it’s also three countries. To get to Wales I will be going through Wells, across the top of the beautiful Mendip Hills, no doubt cursing all the way.
Day Four - Another shortish day of 57 miles from Monmouth to Clun. I’m told this bit is quite flat. Yeah right! I go through the city of Hereford, watching out for stray SAS deserters at all times. Clun I understand is ‘a friendly village with real ale pubs’ - job’s a good ‘un.
Day Five - This is an 80 miler from Clun up to Runcorn, calling at Bishops Castle, Ellesmere and Chester. These roads have been described as ‘an uncovered gem’. We’ll see about that. I guess Runcorn is about as close as I get to home on the trip and that’s not very close.
Day Six - Leaving Runcorn I set a course for Slaiburn 64 miles away. As this day involves some tricky navigation I could clock up a few more miles. Canal towpaths, motorway underpasses and city cycle tracks are involved...I fear the worst!
Day Seven - 75 miles through some areas of outstanding natural beauty. Good! I look forward to the look on the day trippers’ faces as I emerge from a cloud of cursing and abuse to bid them good day. Some challenging ascents in the latter stages of the ride will doubtless add further colour to the unpleasantries. God willing, I wind up in Keswick for the night.
Day Eight - A 72 mile slog from Keswick to Moffatt, passing by the historic city of Carlisle, home to the legendary King Eddie of Stobart. I’m running out of steam already and I’ve not even got on the bike yet.
Day Nine - Sees me in the third country of the ride as I traverse the Carphairn Forest (?) and try and save enough energy to pedal very fast through Glasgow. Interesting sights today will include the Clydebank Docks, Glasgow Harbour and me trying to outpace a Special Brew-fuelled villager through The Gorbals (only joking Glasgow, we love you and your reputation for high-volume drinking). The day comes to a grinding halt after 83 miles on the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond.
Day Ten - Loch Lomand to Glen Coe - ‘Amazing scenery’ apparently. I don’t like the sound of that one little bit. In my experience ‘amazing scenery’ could be loosely translated at shocking great hills, specially designed to try and kill cyclists. It’s 66 miles and sounds as though it could be the longest walk of the trip.
Day Eleven - I sense it’s not going to get much flatter as I aim the bike at Inverness. It’s an 83 mile day and takes in some beautiful Scottish lochs including the one that’s home to Nessy. I think there’s a pretty good chance I will see the famous monster, as by this stage I will be seeing all sorts in my exhausted, and confused state. I’ll try and get a picture.
Day Twelve - Across the Moray Firth and up an ascent the locals call ‘Struie’. A guidebook explains how I will be rewarded with impressive views of Dornoch Firth. I’m already guessing this reward will be insufficient unless the vista is served up with two pints of Kronenbourg, a big bag of peanuts and a Mars bar for desert. It’s a 66 mile day concluding at Crask.
Day Thirteen - The final stage is an 82 miler featuring ‘unforgettable backdrops’ that is also code for stinking great hills. The very last bit is quite flat and so I’m hoping to be able to put my feet up and get a cigar on for the final cruise in to John O’Groats.
So, for those who are quite interested in the route but didn’t want to sift through all the banal waffle above, here’s a summary...
Day 1, May 22 - Land’s End - Okehampton
Day 2, May 23 - Okehampton - Glastobury
Day 3, May 24 - Glastonbury - Monmouth
Day 4, May 25 - Monmouth - Clun
Day 5, May 26 - Clun - Runcorn
Day 6, May 27 - Runcorn - Slaidburn
Day 7 - May 28 - Slaidburn - Keswick
Day 8 - May 29 - Keswick - Moffatt
Day 9 - May 30 - Moffatt - Loch Lomand
Day 10 - May 31 - Loch Lomand - Glen Coe
Day 11 - June 1 - Glen Coe - Inverness
Day 12 - June 2 - Inverness - Crask
Day 13 - June 3 - Crask - John O’Groats
Jez
For the same reason I have been avoiding planning a route which will involve me writing lots of place names and thereby once again demonstrating the sheer madness of visiting them...by bike...in 13 days.
But I can delay the moment no longer, and without further ado or hesitation, without a moment’s more procrastination or a second’s second thought, this really is it, now, coming right up, here, any time, 5 4 3 2 1, now...
Day One - Well if I’m going to have a heart attack I may as well do it on the first day and save a bob or two on bed and breakfasts. I am starting off with a 100 mile ‘loosener’ from Land’s End to Okehampton. I will pass close to Penzance, Redruth, Bodmin, Launceston and skirting Dartmoor before I collapse in a heap and have a little cry.
Day Two - I’m not entirely sure yet how I’m going to get there, but I’m heading for Glastonbury where I will lay my head and dream dreams of rock greats and quagmire fields. Distance somewhere in the mid-80’s, I think.
Day Three - Only 65 miles today - virtually a day off - as I make my way from Glastonbury to Monmouth. Hang on, I think I’m over the border in Wales at this point. Blimey, not only is it 1000 miles, it’s also three countries. To get to Wales I will be going through Wells, across the top of the beautiful Mendip Hills, no doubt cursing all the way.
Day Four - Another shortish day of 57 miles from Monmouth to Clun. I’m told this bit is quite flat. Yeah right! I go through the city of Hereford, watching out for stray SAS deserters at all times. Clun I understand is ‘a friendly village with real ale pubs’ - job’s a good ‘un.
Day Five - This is an 80 miler from Clun up to Runcorn, calling at Bishops Castle, Ellesmere and Chester. These roads have been described as ‘an uncovered gem’. We’ll see about that. I guess Runcorn is about as close as I get to home on the trip and that’s not very close.
Day Six - Leaving Runcorn I set a course for Slaiburn 64 miles away. As this day involves some tricky navigation I could clock up a few more miles. Canal towpaths, motorway underpasses and city cycle tracks are involved...I fear the worst!
Day Seven - 75 miles through some areas of outstanding natural beauty. Good! I look forward to the look on the day trippers’ faces as I emerge from a cloud of cursing and abuse to bid them good day. Some challenging ascents in the latter stages of the ride will doubtless add further colour to the unpleasantries. God willing, I wind up in Keswick for the night.
Day Eight - A 72 mile slog from Keswick to Moffatt, passing by the historic city of Carlisle, home to the legendary King Eddie of Stobart. I’m running out of steam already and I’ve not even got on the bike yet.
Day Nine - Sees me in the third country of the ride as I traverse the Carphairn Forest (?) and try and save enough energy to pedal very fast through Glasgow. Interesting sights today will include the Clydebank Docks, Glasgow Harbour and me trying to outpace a Special Brew-fuelled villager through The Gorbals (only joking Glasgow, we love you and your reputation for high-volume drinking). The day comes to a grinding halt after 83 miles on the bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond.
Day Ten - Loch Lomand to Glen Coe - ‘Amazing scenery’ apparently. I don’t like the sound of that one little bit. In my experience ‘amazing scenery’ could be loosely translated at shocking great hills, specially designed to try and kill cyclists. It’s 66 miles and sounds as though it could be the longest walk of the trip.
Day Eleven - I sense it’s not going to get much flatter as I aim the bike at Inverness. It’s an 83 mile day and takes in some beautiful Scottish lochs including the one that’s home to Nessy. I think there’s a pretty good chance I will see the famous monster, as by this stage I will be seeing all sorts in my exhausted, and confused state. I’ll try and get a picture.
Day Twelve - Across the Moray Firth and up an ascent the locals call ‘Struie’. A guidebook explains how I will be rewarded with impressive views of Dornoch Firth. I’m already guessing this reward will be insufficient unless the vista is served up with two pints of Kronenbourg, a big bag of peanuts and a Mars bar for desert. It’s a 66 mile day concluding at Crask.
Day Thirteen - The final stage is an 82 miler featuring ‘unforgettable backdrops’ that is also code for stinking great hills. The very last bit is quite flat and so I’m hoping to be able to put my feet up and get a cigar on for the final cruise in to John O’Groats.
So, for those who are quite interested in the route but didn’t want to sift through all the banal waffle above, here’s a summary...
Day 1, May 22 - Land’s End - Okehampton
Day 2, May 23 - Okehampton - Glastobury
Day 3, May 24 - Glastonbury - Monmouth
Day 4, May 25 - Monmouth - Clun
Day 5, May 26 - Clun - Runcorn
Day 6, May 27 - Runcorn - Slaidburn
Day 7 - May 28 - Slaidburn - Keswick
Day 8 - May 29 - Keswick - Moffatt
Day 9 - May 30 - Moffatt - Loch Lomand
Day 10 - May 31 - Loch Lomand - Glen Coe
Day 11 - June 1 - Glen Coe - Inverness
Day 12 - June 2 - Inverness - Crask
Day 13 - June 3 - Crask - John O’Groats
Jez
Saturday, 19 March 2011
Right! That’s a Plan (sort of)
One big worry I have about this two weeks in purgatory (actually I suppose that’s a worry in itself) is the planning, and my complete inability to plan something to the point where it works, rather than the point where I get bored and just go with whatever fragments of a plan we may have shuffled together on the kitchen table at the time.
I know it makes sense to plan to the point of perfection, plan to the point where not even an tinsy winsy rogue factor can undermine the grand scheme, but I’m simply not capable. I think it must be a genetic disorder...
Take the route planing for example. No sooner had I started plotting the big adventure, day by day, than I lost one! A day had gone missing. The two week trek had suddenly and mysteriously become a 13 day ride. Despite ‘extensive’ hide and seek with a big pile of maps and website print outs the missing day was nowhere to be seen. A Saturday I think it was. I’ve had problems losing Saturdays before - but that’s often explained by the events of Friday nights.
I probably should have stuck at it because that missing day could be crucial. But did I see the planning through to a satisfactory solution - did I ******* . No, I called off the search, settled for lucky 13 and headed to the boozer. “And here’s to planning,” I could be heard to bellow three pints and a bag of salt and vinegar later.
I believe that for some people the Internet and on-line shopping has done much to hone planning skills. Battle plan goes something like this; research outlets, swat up on technical detail, compare prices and finally make a purchase. For me it has just brought out an inherent impatience which typically will see me begin with the best of planning intentions, but I’m only just in to the initial technical detail-gathering phase before it starts to go all ‘google’.
Internet’s too slow, fuse too short, and patience too thin. Before I know where I am I’ve hit the panic button - otherwise knows as ‘Checkout’. All thoughts of correct size, right colour, competitive price have been trashed and trampled, but I have bought ‘something’ and that was my initial plan. So that’s a success then? Well at least for a few days until the parcel is delivered.
I acknowledge that I have not made a particularly accomplished start to the planning part of my end-to-end adventure, but I fear worse could still be to come...
I still need to work out what clothing to take and, based on previous holiday wardrobe planning escapades, there is potential for a problem or two. On one occasion my top-half attire for a 10 day stay in ‘beautiful sunny’ Spain consisted of t-shirts, a polo shirt and t-shirts. When ‘beautiful sunny’ failed to show its face I ‘layered up’ and went through my shirt selection inside three days.
And what equipment and spares should I be planning to take? That was actually a question - help me - what equipment should I be planning take?
At the risk of becoming Baldrick - I have another plan, and that is, given my previous convictions, to excuse myself from all planning duties and leave future planning to my favourite project manager - Lady Luck.
Jez
I know it makes sense to plan to the point of perfection, plan to the point where not even an tinsy winsy rogue factor can undermine the grand scheme, but I’m simply not capable. I think it must be a genetic disorder...
Take the route planing for example. No sooner had I started plotting the big adventure, day by day, than I lost one! A day had gone missing. The two week trek had suddenly and mysteriously become a 13 day ride. Despite ‘extensive’ hide and seek with a big pile of maps and website print outs the missing day was nowhere to be seen. A Saturday I think it was. I’ve had problems losing Saturdays before - but that’s often explained by the events of Friday nights.
I probably should have stuck at it because that missing day could be crucial. But did I see the planning through to a satisfactory solution - did I ******* . No, I called off the search, settled for lucky 13 and headed to the boozer. “And here’s to planning,” I could be heard to bellow three pints and a bag of salt and vinegar later.
I believe that for some people the Internet and on-line shopping has done much to hone planning skills. Battle plan goes something like this; research outlets, swat up on technical detail, compare prices and finally make a purchase. For me it has just brought out an inherent impatience which typically will see me begin with the best of planning intentions, but I’m only just in to the initial technical detail-gathering phase before it starts to go all ‘google’.
Internet’s too slow, fuse too short, and patience too thin. Before I know where I am I’ve hit the panic button - otherwise knows as ‘Checkout’. All thoughts of correct size, right colour, competitive price have been trashed and trampled, but I have bought ‘something’ and that was my initial plan. So that’s a success then? Well at least for a few days until the parcel is delivered.
I acknowledge that I have not made a particularly accomplished start to the planning part of my end-to-end adventure, but I fear worse could still be to come...
I still need to work out what clothing to take and, based on previous holiday wardrobe planning escapades, there is potential for a problem or two. On one occasion my top-half attire for a 10 day stay in ‘beautiful sunny’ Spain consisted of t-shirts, a polo shirt and t-shirts. When ‘beautiful sunny’ failed to show its face I ‘layered up’ and went through my shirt selection inside three days.
And what equipment and spares should I be planning to take? That was actually a question - help me - what equipment should I be planning take?
At the risk of becoming Baldrick - I have another plan, and that is, given my previous convictions, to excuse myself from all planning duties and leave future planning to my favourite project manager - Lady Luck.
Jez
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Ah yes, the training...
Once we have all the usual witticisms out of the way - “Be easier to drive you know,” “Why are you staring at Land’s End - it’s uphill...” etc etc, we then move on to the one I can’t politely smile at, the one that renders me speechless (well almost), “So, how’s the training going then?”
At this point I really ought to be able to whip out my pre-prepared list of ‘training issues’ - issues that have ‘complicated’ my brilliantly-conceived, studiously-compiled training regime. The ‘issues list’ goes something like this...
- weekend footie on Sky
- blog writing
- twitter tweeting
- Spotify
- The Cross Keys
- midweek footie on Sky
- Sainsbury takeaway curry
- flat tyres
- bad back
- bad attitude
- too windy
- too cold
- too just right
Need I go on?
It’s a sorry tale of a mass conspiracy by satellite broadcasters, fatty food producers, beer brewers, social media moguls, and weather makers, to derail my grand scheme at this crucial stage of the preparation.
So, as it appears I cannot rely on their backing, I am resigned to formulating a brand new plan which involves riding my bike and cutting back on stuff that makes you a great lardy blob. I know it’s drastic, but that’s the kind of committed athlete I have become. When? About two sentences back I think it was.
Yes! This is where the serious stuff starts! Calorie intake, resting heart rate and optimum cadence will all be scientifically monitored as I widen my search for stalling tactics before I have to actually inflict true cycling pain on my tired old body.
So, when you ask me in two week’s time (actually, make that three/four) how the training’s going, I will be able to confidently assure you my previous ‘training issues’ are well and truly behind me...and I now have a new, but equally impressive, list!
Jez
At this point I really ought to be able to whip out my pre-prepared list of ‘training issues’ - issues that have ‘complicated’ my brilliantly-conceived, studiously-compiled training regime. The ‘issues list’ goes something like this...
- weekend footie on Sky
- blog writing
- twitter tweeting
- Spotify
- The Cross Keys
- midweek footie on Sky
- Sainsbury takeaway curry
- flat tyres
- bad back
- bad attitude
- too windy
- too cold
- too just right
Need I go on?
It’s a sorry tale of a mass conspiracy by satellite broadcasters, fatty food producers, beer brewers, social media moguls, and weather makers, to derail my grand scheme at this crucial stage of the preparation.
So, as it appears I cannot rely on their backing, I am resigned to formulating a brand new plan which involves riding my bike and cutting back on stuff that makes you a great lardy blob. I know it’s drastic, but that’s the kind of committed athlete I have become. When? About two sentences back I think it was.
Yes! This is where the serious stuff starts! Calorie intake, resting heart rate and optimum cadence will all be scientifically monitored as I widen my search for stalling tactics before I have to actually inflict true cycling pain on my tired old body.
So, when you ask me in two week’s time (actually, make that three/four) how the training’s going, I will be able to confidently assure you my previous ‘training issues’ are well and truly behind me...and I now have a new, but equally impressive, list!
Jez
Sunday, 6 March 2011
The Art Of Bike Maintenance
Me and bike maintenance - ALERT ALERT - invalid sentence - incompatible noun and pro- noun!!!
The main reason I am devoting an entire blog to a subject on which my knowledge levels are pathetically inadequate is the forlorn hope that someone will read this, remember it, feel sorry for me, find me shoulder-shrugging in a lay-bye just south of Keswick, remember reading this blog, recognize me, feel sorry for me and put my chain back on for me.
Ok I realize it's a long shot but you have to realize long shots are the premise on which this whole adventure are founded, so, if it's ok with you I will continue.
I could recount an entire mini-series worth of content to support the case for my maintenance buffoonery, but to set the buckled wheel in motion...
Arrived at work one day two weeks ago after a particularly noisy ride in. "Got a serious creak going on." I said to my biking mate at the office. "Could be your head set," came the swift response. For the next 20 seconds I marvelled at the beautiful harmony I had clearly developed with my bike whereby my mental state could translate into a mechanical disfunction. Clearly all I need to do to rectify the problem was adopt a more positive frame of mind and I would once again be cruising silently along. Now this was my kind of maintenance!
This is possibly an exaggerated example of my incompetence, but I do definitely have more of an affinity to the type of skewers that feature chocolate and pineapple rather than those you push through wheels. And as for dropouts, well, I don't know about you but I'm talking Leeds Polytechnic 1979.
Strange thing is no one enjoys thumbing through the Handy Hire catalogue as much as me. There's a good hour plus entertainment in the shiny line-up of jet washers and glistening array of 2000 piece socket sets. But that's as far as it goes - looking and longing, but not using. Anyone who buys my tool collection is in for the deal of a lifetime - 'hardly used' will be very honest product description.
I almost bought a bike stand the other year, but realized just in time it would be used to make my bike look better - the amazing flying machine - rather than having any practical application.
But, if you were starting to form an opinion of me which contains the sentiments "useless oaf" and "clueless moron" let me stop you right there! I have not wasted the time I maybe should have spent polishing chains or greasing brake blocks. No, I have been busy formulating a plan for the ultimate addition to any toolbox - it's a spray, in a can, a bit like WD 40, with one of those thin little tube attachments to reach those tricky spots. You spray it at the problem area and 'job's a good 'un'. It works thanks to a scientifically formulated mixture, heavy on essence of magic. One squirt and you're sorted!
If by any chance the boffins haven't got their act together before I set out from Lands End on 21 May and It's not possible to stash a can of magic mainti-spray
In my back pocket, then please look out for me in that lay-by. You'll recognize me, I'll be wearing a gormless expression and rummaging through my collection of allen key.
Jez
The main reason I am devoting an entire blog to a subject on which my knowledge levels are pathetically inadequate is the forlorn hope that someone will read this, remember it, feel sorry for me, find me shoulder-shrugging in a lay-bye just south of Keswick, remember reading this blog, recognize me, feel sorry for me and put my chain back on for me.
Ok I realize it's a long shot but you have to realize long shots are the premise on which this whole adventure are founded, so, if it's ok with you I will continue.
I could recount an entire mini-series worth of content to support the case for my maintenance buffoonery, but to set the buckled wheel in motion...
Arrived at work one day two weeks ago after a particularly noisy ride in. "Got a serious creak going on." I said to my biking mate at the office. "Could be your head set," came the swift response. For the next 20 seconds I marvelled at the beautiful harmony I had clearly developed with my bike whereby my mental state could translate into a mechanical disfunction. Clearly all I need to do to rectify the problem was adopt a more positive frame of mind and I would once again be cruising silently along. Now this was my kind of maintenance!
This is possibly an exaggerated example of my incompetence, but I do definitely have more of an affinity to the type of skewers that feature chocolate and pineapple rather than those you push through wheels. And as for dropouts, well, I don't know about you but I'm talking Leeds Polytechnic 1979.
Strange thing is no one enjoys thumbing through the Handy Hire catalogue as much as me. There's a good hour plus entertainment in the shiny line-up of jet washers and glistening array of 2000 piece socket sets. But that's as far as it goes - looking and longing, but not using. Anyone who buys my tool collection is in for the deal of a lifetime - 'hardly used' will be very honest product description.
I almost bought a bike stand the other year, but realized just in time it would be used to make my bike look better - the amazing flying machine - rather than having any practical application.
But, if you were starting to form an opinion of me which contains the sentiments "useless oaf" and "clueless moron" let me stop you right there! I have not wasted the time I maybe should have spent polishing chains or greasing brake blocks. No, I have been busy formulating a plan for the ultimate addition to any toolbox - it's a spray, in a can, a bit like WD 40, with one of those thin little tube attachments to reach those tricky spots. You spray it at the problem area and 'job's a good 'un'. It works thanks to a scientifically formulated mixture, heavy on essence of magic. One squirt and you're sorted!
If by any chance the boffins haven't got their act together before I set out from Lands End on 21 May and It's not possible to stash a can of magic mainti-spray
In my back pocket, then please look out for me in that lay-by. You'll recognize me, I'll be wearing a gormless expression and rummaging through my collection of allen key.
Jez
Sunday, 27 February 2011
The Commute
Well, you need something to keep you going when the elements conspire against you, when your fingers are so numb you can’t change gear, your head’s a block of ice ready to topple from your shoulders and a knife-like wind cuts so deep it cannot possibly be legal.
Don’t get me wrong I love riding my bike in all weathers, just as long as it’s not too cold, too wet or too windy. So on at least three days of the year all is well in my world.
But commuting cyclists without weather conditions to moan about at the end of their ride would be like football managers without a dodgy decision to base their post-match pontifications on - it’s the law!
I have ridden to work - on my trusty Boardman mountain bike (pictured) which can smooth out the pothole hell of our highways (oh, that’s worthy of a blog all of it’s own, don’t let me forget) - throughout the winter, two, sometimes three times a week. While the miles haven’t been massive - a round trip just short of 25 miles - it has kept the old legs moving, and brought plenty of smiley moments.
Despite my earlier weather moan, I can now say I do prefer the bike to the car for my commute, and I’m disappointed on the days when client meetings away from the office mean I have to fire up the Mazda (that doesn’t quite work does it). I miss my music fix but this is easily outweighed by the early morning fresh air feeling and a little shot of two-wheeled adrenalin on top of my too-strong coffee for a real catapult start to the day.
I enjoy seeing the same people on my spin through Southwell, Farnsfield and Rainworth - the death wish paperboy - look, no lights! The suicidal recumbent rider - come on HGV make my day - and the manic Mini Cooper driver - missed you today, but I’ll be back.
And then, when I arrive at my destination, I have executive bike storage facilities at my disposal. No seriously, it was part of the agreement when we moved offices - no soggy saddle bike stands for us. I have my own changing room, at least until they let the final vacant office in the building, and I have a fellow commuting cyclist with whom to swap near-miss stories, weather grumbles and must-have bike gadget lists.
The bike commute is now a highly-prized part of my working day.
Jez
Monday, 21 February 2011
Now get out of that!
The die is cast - statements committed to the worldly wise interweb, to be retrieved and used in evidence at a later date should I not now undertake my stated mission.
I’ve passed the point of no return and well and truly committed (although that could be a loophole).
I hereby declare that I will, without the aid of stabilisers, attempt to pedal from Land’s End to John O’Groats. If I complete this foolhardy mission I will strike a blow for the un-aerodymamic, the beer guzzlers and pork scratching munchers, the legions of ‘maybe next year’ sportspeople, and raise a few quid for Cancer Research UK in the process.
So, this is where the real training, the proper planning and the horrible realisation begins.
I will be trying to update this blog on a fairly regular basis, reporting on how the preparation is going, asking for help and advice, begging for sponsorship and generally going on a bit.
So, if you can live with that please call back.
Jez
I’ve passed the point of no return and well and truly committed (although that could be a loophole).
I hereby declare that I will, without the aid of stabilisers, attempt to pedal from Land’s End to John O’Groats. If I complete this foolhardy mission I will strike a blow for the un-aerodymamic, the beer guzzlers and pork scratching munchers, the legions of ‘maybe next year’ sportspeople, and raise a few quid for Cancer Research UK in the process.
So, this is where the real training, the proper planning and the horrible realisation begins.
I will be trying to update this blog on a fairly regular basis, reporting on how the preparation is going, asking for help and advice, begging for sponsorship and generally going on a bit.
So, if you can live with that please call back.
Jez
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