Well it started in disaster.
My good friends Stevie and Kate were willing to give me a lift at 7am in the morning - very kind of them. To get my bike in the back of their car, I had to remove the front wheel. The bike fitted in the back like a glove. All the signs were good so far.
However 45 minutes later, when we were unloading the bike, the clip that connects the wheel to the bike was no where to be seen. We literally emptied the car looking for it. I called Emad, who was asleep, and got him to go outside our front door and search the street for it to see if I had left it behind.
In complete panic, Stevie and I walked to the registration desk – me carrying the bike, him carrying the wheel. We didn’t know what to do apart from cry out for help. We had run out of ideas. The bike repair man couldn’t help, the closest cycle shop wouldn’t open until 11am, and the last group were leaving at any minute. I thought that was it. I was going to have to give up. What would I tell all of the people who had donated? I could feel myself welling up.
Then a saint made himself known, a saint in the form of a mumbling teenage volunteer with long hair and wearing a beanie. He said: “You can have mine off my bike for a tenner if you want? It won’t cost any more than that to replace will it?”
I could have kissed him. Little did he know I would’ve given him £100 for that small piece of metal. This man has a lifetime of good karma stored up as far as I am concerned. Great things are going to happen to him. I mean it was a Sunday, Herne Hill Velodrome isn’t exactly in a metropolis of bike shops and he had lost his primary form of transport. He was going to have to go to some serious inconvenience to get his bike on the road again.
Trying not to think about that too much, I quickly joined the last group, did a lap round the velodrome and set off on my way.
Joining the back of the pack
Feeling relieved I made good pace to start with. The route headed out of London through Croydon and there were quite a few cyclists around. However after about ten miles I came across a sign with two arrows going in two opposite directions. I picked left. I picked wrong.
After about 6-8kms I hadn’t seen any more signs and was in a small village called Whyteleafe. I had clearly taken a wrong turn. By the time I got back on the route 30 minutes later I was well and truly at the back. This meant I spent the whole day playing catch-up.
The first stop was at the top of Box Hill – a long climb that will be used in the Olympic road cycling race. It wasn’t quite as severe as a couple of cliff faces I had to climb in the Isle, but I was still glad of the rest and cup of tea as a reward at the top.
The next 35 miles took me over the North Downs through country roads towards Windsor. This is where I realised I had fallen behind. They were packing up the rest station as soon as I arrived. I wolfed down a chicken sandwich and had about three energy drinks before setting off again.
The final leg
At the third stop at a community centre where they had run out of milk for the tea, I was told to ‘beware of the broom’.
“The broom? Well what’s the broom?” – apparently it’s a well known cycling term
“Yeah it’s a truck that picks up those people that can’t finish. The cut off point is about 5:30pm I think, so don’t stop for too long.”
Well that simply wasn’t an option. I couldn’t not finish. Not after all I had been through, what with the wheel clip and the saint.
Learning of the broom was probably the best thing that could happen to me. I set off with a new sense of purpose and was soon speeding past people. Maybe they didn’t know of the broom. All of the time I was just thinking of how I would stop the broom from sweeping me up if it was to come my way.
Thankfully, I stayed ahead of it and I dare say that the last 28 miles were the fastest part of the ride even with a couple of ‘finish you off hills’ coming in. The final part of the route took me into Lee Valley, ending in Chesunt at the Lee Valley White Water Centre.
I crossed the finish line at about 6pm and was welcomed by my old friend, Dave Boorman, who had coincidently organised the ride. The cycling festival I had been promised was just empty tents and people packing stuff away. I had missed the party, but there was plenty to celebrate after completing 185 miles in a week. I was knackered but elated.
Thank you again
As I write this, my bike rides have raised over £750 for Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research – a phenomenal amount of money. My original target was £370 – £2 for every mile. Although in hindsight that was not very ambitious, we have more than doubled it which has completely exceeded my expectations and made every hill worthwhile. Thank you. So much.
