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Great British Breakfast, again. You know you can get sick of bacon, sausages, crumpets, toast, butter, eggs, marmite, tea and orange juice – but not today. The final day, the final leg of the Way of the Roses. Only sixty miles to go until we are finished – mostly flat and easy.

Managed to get out of York unscathed – although Mr Marr got scolded by a Mrs Plod for cycling up a one way street – naughty naughty – he was so surprised he even asked her if it was okay for him to push the bike the wrong way.. The effort (or beer) of the last few days was taking its toll – I was finding that every pedal round was getting more and more difficult. Span’s gears broke near the beginning, but after a quick pit stop we continued on, then mine went – leaving me with the choice of about 5 gears – and Marrsys bludy clicking went on and on.

About twenty miles in we came to the “Wolds”, which was the biggest hill of the day – it wound its way along and up some hills, it wasnt steep – but it was looong, about 5 miles or so. I was knackered by the top. Out of water I left the rag tag gang as they hung around for the Brend and headed down to HUggate on my Jack. About 10 minutes later Marrsy and Brend came up to me – seen Span they asked… We’ll Span had decided to take a little bit of the path without Marrsy to navigate, if you know Span you can guess what happened next – yep – wrong turning, even though we had signs to follow, Span decided he wanted to follow a different route. So we frantically try to contact him, Marrsy continues on his way (in case) whilst me and Brend wait in the cold as the storm clouds develop over head. A while later, whats that coming over the hill? Yep Dave is back with the living and we continue on our way. Cycle cycle cycle to Driffield and a garden center for lunch.

I really fancied a Yorkshire pudding with sausages and gravy, but Marrsy looked at me with disgust and said “how long do you think that will take” moan moan winge winge – so I ordered an omlette. He ordered the yorkshire pud the sly old dog.

Last leg to Brindlington – and it was mostly flat with one reasonable hill – it was wet, very at one stage, I belive the phrase is that it was pissing down. But on the final leg, the sky’s brightening and we saw the Bridlington sign – then it rained again. We stood in the shelter on the “promenade” in Bridlington and looked out into the rain as we knew our cycle had come to an end. Me and Marrsy had a paddle, Span did some work, Brend ran up and down the Prom looking for his girlfriend (she was actually there – so he tells us?!?).

I got in the car for the hour trip all the way back to York, and Span and Marrsy prepared for their mammoth trip back by train to their homes.. Cycle trip 2011 was over..

It was hard work at times, but very enjoyable. It does give you some warm glow of satisfaction to know you crossed the country with my fat gut, Marrsys navigational skills, spans bags and Brendons sparkly water we made it, reasonably unharmed.

My trip computer gave 178 miles, average 13 miles per hour and 38 miles an hour top speed – so around 13 hours in the saddle over the three days. It was great!

Big thanks to Nick Marr, Dave Allen and Brendan Thomas for making the trip bearable, without them it wouldn’t have happened. Here’s to Brittany next year ;o)

Morning world – easy day today.

Fabulous breakfast in the guest house, and onward for the easy day. Marrsy had warned us that it wouldn’t be as easy as we hoped, but we set off with Marrsys wheel a creaking – off the couple of miles to a local bike shop which was luckily open on a Sunday. We arrived just as they were opening, and Marrsy stepped forth in enquire about a new wheel. Please he begged, I need a back wheel, cycling 100 miles I’m desperate – please. Something tells me they see him coming I thought. “Yes sir we have a wheel” (wink wink) “just the one mind” – “pleeease let me have it” – okay – thats £180 quid!!.. hardy har… Well poor old Marrsy had no choice but to cough up the readies – he even had to put the wheel on himself. He gave it a spin – ooohhh smooth he said, its soo much better. Then came the clicking. The horrible, relentless, very loud indeed clicking. Every time he free-wheeled its sang its clickity click song – nah that’s never going to pee you off is it? By the time we left the shop frontage it did.

So, shall we go back a couple of miles and join the route, or go up this slight incline instead. “Slight incline” we all chorused. We went, it wasn’t. It was possibly in parts as steep as yesterdays, but no way near as long. I kept the wheels spinning – Marrsy had told me the only reason I had failed the big hill yesterday was because of my mental toughness – well sod him, my brain was going to get me up this hill. It didn’t – but my legs/arms/back/feet/hands and neck did. We paused for a while drinking in the rain whilst Brend caught us, then off with a breeze in our hair along a wonderful stretch of up and down – but mostly down – we continued on. Through Ripon, which I cannot even remember – even though I have looked at street view on Google Earth, weird. And into Boroughbridge and the Black Bull public House. Beer for Marrs, squash and sparkly water for the girls and a quite wonderful sunday roast. With a massive Yorkshire Pud. Forgot we were in Yorkshire. Marrsy had the “Veggy” option which was sweet and sour vegatables, with a lump in. A big lump, a big soft Yorkshire pudding shaped lump. Yes Marrsy had the fun of the Yorkshire in his sweet and sour – cool.

It was pretty flat for the rest of the trip and I cannot remember anything about it at all. Then we were in York – woohoo.

We got there about 3 ish i think, checked in quickly, then down to the river for a pint or two. then to an interesting pub called the matlings. It had lots of strange, but wonderful, alcohol in it. Erdinger was about as weird as I went, but Marrsy had an interesting orange (in colour) cider which looked rank – but he pretended to like it. Where next – lets go buy a tie each… Evening Thai was nice, Marrsys was too hot for some reason he had the same chillies as me, only much much hotter.. Fully beered and slightly tied up we went to bed.

Here we are, the first proper day. So we made sure we got a good english brekkie down our necks, said good morning to the weird woman who spent the whole of yesterday sitting in a chair outside with a fag in her mouth saying “hioh”. Then it was time to start. Well, it was time to start sorting out everyone.Pump up tires, dust off Brendons breaks, attach Span’s panniers, attach spans multiple other bags – take some things out of Spans bags and put them in the car – wait for Brend to get his big camera out – but, eventually we cycled the half mile to the start… After a few obligatory pictures at the start point off we went…

10 mins and a couple of miles in it rained.
It wasnt long before we came to our first grads just outside of Canton, going through a sort of park place – it was quite steep and i think this was a sign of things to come. At the top we noticed something – no Brend. What had happened to Mr Powerful, the awe inspiring Big Bad Brend, he was suffering on the grads!!! Oh dear. Thats what you get for spending the last year taking photo’s and doing no cycling… It starting raining more heavily.
The rains came down, the Brend struggled, we went up and down until the leader of the pack suggested it might be an idea to pause for cookies at Canton. It was bucketing down. We unpacked and walked into a little empty cafe and were served by a simpleton. As we sat dripping into our tea Span went off to the toilets only to return looking quite perturbed. He notified us that there were 100’s of spiders in the toilet, and told the simpleton in no uncertain terms how silly this was. I dont like spiders, I would have liked a wee. The rain rained, heavily.

After tea and cakes we set off again, wet and cold – in search of the safety of Settle and some lunch.After leaving Clapham we took the main road to avoid the rubbish cycle path, and at Austwick we tried to re-find the cycle path. Marrsy as always led the way and we were worried. We dared to subtle question his navigation, but he was sure – positive in fact (and too be honest slightly dismissive) so we followed like the lambs were are. Up and up we went with no sign of a cycle route – we passed signed which told us lunch was only 5 miles away whilst we headed in the opposite direction. But what-u-know, Farmer Marrs was right finally, after a 237 mile diversion we were back on track – and looking for nosh.

Nosh came inside a little cafe, which had others cyclists in – who warned us about the “big *laugh* hill” just outside Settle. No probs we thought as we stuffed down our toasties. Fully refreshed and a little cold we started the famous climb out of Settle, the biggest hill on the route, and in fact the biggest hill in the world. It was steep, it was probably the steepest hill I had ever cycled up, but it was long too. Very long. Really very long, and steep. And long. I had gone up so far and then had to steer across the road to make the incline slightly less, each revolution of the pedals was harder and harder I just. could. not. pedal. around. again. As I had clips on, I had to try to get my feet out, at .012 miles an hour, I just manged, but then collapsed under the weight of my fat gut (and napsack) and literally slid a few feet down this hill. But pushing was almost harder. I pushed around 15 yards with Span then we managed to get back on board and way we went. The hill went on for ages, and had some other steep bits but the worst was behind us – it was uphill all the way.
Once we got over this though we pretty much had down hill for miles, wonderful and the rain had stopped and all was well with the world. Then it started raining again and we got wet, within 34 seconds it went from a light smattering of water to a torrential downpour and we sheltered outside a chruch, under the cover they have on the gate. It really rained, it was cold.

Coming to the end of the day, we started the final climb. Well the first of a number of final climbs. Everyone was tired and cold and wet, and we knew it was a hill up, then a very quick drop into the night stop over. The hill went up and up and when we got to the top it went up some more, and more and more and then we were at the top, but no, it still went up and up – but finally we were at the top. Then we had to go up some more. Marrsys bike broke at this point – his “bearings” had gone – and he was the navigator!!! Anyway, we did finally get to the top and Span the fearless shot down the hill at 1000 miles an hour, I went down with my breaks on all the way and Marrsy went down s-l-o-w-l-y. But we were there, first day of cycling complete. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy.

Stayed in a place called Lyndale Guest House which was very good. Big rooms, great shower and 5 mins from the pub. Got sorted and escaped to the crown as soon as poss.. Had a coupl eof pints of Stella “4” which was nice, and got my head spinning nicely, so we needed good cycling grub so nipped down the road to the Indian – bring your own booze. To say it was slow would be a slight understatement, it took around an hour to get our order taken (lucky we brought our own beer), then another half hour or so for the nosh. But we were hungry by then, and the curry was top draw. Up to the “other” pub then for some more beers and a whisky for the navigator (and another Sparkly Water for Brend) and listened to some bloke singing songs which Brendon guessed before he started everytime. Then Bed.

So, here we are one year older and one year fatter to attempt the yearly cycle run. This year we lost one, and gained one, so the participants were: ‘Big Bad’ Brend, Marrsy, Dave ‘the bags’ Allen and me. We had decided to attempt a real cycle this year – the way of the Roses – which was a 170 mile journt across England from one side of the country to the other, from Morecombe to Bridlington.

The day started with a pickup in Bristol Parkway where I met up with Mr Marr, he had already been on the train for a couple of hours. So we tucked his bike in the car, topped up the oil and off we went. Bristol to Bridlington took a good few hours, but at around two o’clock we rolled into the sprawling seaside town of Morecambe. (Its a hole).

Checked into the guest house and met up with Brend, who had been there for a short while – he was splendidly kitted out in very tight lycra with a large man bag (which to be fair contained his sophisticated camera) and a very dusty bike. Brend doesnt bother himself with matter such as ensuring his bike is ready for a 170 mile trip – if its got air in its tyres and a seat, he’s happy.

So we walked down the front to a little caff, and sat in the very strong wind drinking tea and pop and Brendon eating a lot of food. After a visit with Mr Eric Bartholomews (later to be Morecambe) statue and a paddle for me, and a bracing swim for action man Marr we found ourselves having a little beer outside the Midland hotel – probably Morecambes only redeeming feature.

Span rolls into town at around 7, after making the 3 mile journey from Lancaster station to Morecambe, and in true Span tradition nearly kills himself on the first Morecambe round about as we watch. He has a couple of bags, saddle bags, nap sacks, little bike bags and i think they are full of stuff – he’s a one is our Span.

Evening comes and we have some food at Franky and Bennys and a final pint in the Midland where we use some very nice toilets! Then its home to the luxurious guest house for a slightly too warm night of broken sleep (pausing briefly to check the weather – it is going to rain)

Day 3. Reading to Oxford – ( 45 miles )

So, to the final day. Just a quick jaunt north to Oxford today. No canal path, just quiet roads and great countryside. Started brilliantly with a trip to McDonalds. Double sausage McMuffin, bacon roll and tea. Put mine down on the table and the bacon roll, rolled over to Brendons side. Quick as a flash he’d picked it up and was about to eat it. I screamed like a 5 year old girl who had just seen some tall, posh sounding guy in skin tight black lycra, so tight that you know his religion,  pick up their bacon roll and with some hesitation he put it back and went to buy some of his own stuff.

Onward and upwards – literally. Although me and Brend had experienced the grades before, GD had not. He had previously cycled from Pembs to Paris, but by the look of things it wasn’t just his kit he had put in the “support vehicle”. As I may have mentioned it might of been to do with the extra 2 stone he was lugging around – although his panniers probably weren’t helping either!!!…

Once we left Reading proper, we cycled through some very pleasant lanes, and at the top of one we created a remarkable facsimile of St Paul’s Cathedral out of matches we had fashioned from small twigs, whilst waiting for GD – and admired the view of Didcot Power station (it was better than it sounds). As soon as GD arrived we set off – as I found to my cost on the first cycle trip, once you catch up the guys who were waiting are now refreshed enough to continue, and we went yet again “downhill all the way” (it never is!) Brendon pointed out some red kites, Marsy some guinny fowl and ferrets and I showed them my chocolate assortment. Before we knew it we were as one, well two, well actually three as we cycled passed Didcot.

The previous evening I had told Sian that we might be stopping for lunch in a place beginning with A between Didcot and Oxford, and in one of those “what are the odds of that” moments, just as we cycled through Abingdon around 12 we literally bumped into them. After a refuelling of pints for the boys, orange and lemonade for the girls (;o) we set out on the final 10 miles to Oxford.

Mostly canal path for the final trek, Marsy let GD lead at one point, only to shout he’d gone the wrong way after about a mile. Gd turned round and came back to meet us, only for Marsy  to decide that actually GD had gone the right way, so we passed him as he came to meet us, and I could detect the slightest “tut” from him as Marsy regained the head of the peloton and set the pace for Oxford.

Before we knew it we were at the “Head of the River” in Oxford and enjoying yet another pint. GD and Brend took the train to London, Marsy back home and I stayed in Oxford the night to go on to Portsmouth for a couple of days..

We were done, average speed of around 13 miles and hour, max for me of 35, 145 miles in around 11 hours of cycling over 3 days. As you can see all in all a very pleasant few days, easy(ish) cycling with time for a beer and good nosh – magic.

Now to plan for next year………….

DAY 2 – Devizes to Reading (65 miles)

Up early, had a shower and took stroll around Devizes before the world was up – Weatherspoons was open from 7 for tea, but most other places were still asleep. I following an old guy who was obviously on his daily walk around the town, not for any weird reason – just to kill some time (!!), then got back for breakfast at 8:30.

Me and GD had pretty much finished brekky when the others came on down, Brendon had apparently slept the moment they got in the previous night, and hadn’t woken until 8:30 – we saw them at 8:37. We left them to it, and after a number of #2’s we were ready to leave. After some confusion with the thickest hotel bod in Devizes -who insisted on shouting your card details down the phone to Mombai – we were ready to go on.

About a third of the trip today was on the canal path, the rest, and most of the first 40 miles was on roads adjacent to the canal. This was a real pleasure instead on rough canal path we had smooth(ish) tarmac. Unfortunately when you are not on the canal you have a couple of ups and downs. GD with his entire house packed into his oversized panniers would begin to see the flaw in packing heavy, panniers are great – unless you go up..

We followed the cycle route which took us off the path, and although the map showed otherwise, we criss crossed the canal a number of times – it was becoming more and more apparent that GD really truly did not like the grads. We decided after around 25 miles that a stop was in order, so we happened upon the beam engine at Crompton ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crofton_Pumping_Station ) and stopped for a brew.

Once refreshed, and after a number of photo’s against a big chimney which Brend was after we were back on the road “downhill” to Newbury. By the time we got to Hungerford, we had navigated around 15 slight inclines, and we drafted a thesis on theology from Plato through to the 14th Century  whilst we waited for GD to catch up. ( and not one person mentioned Michael Ryan, or giving Taxi drivers a tip at any point – honest.. !). From Hungerford we rallied down the canal to Newbury where we stopped for nosh.

Found a nice place a gain by the river, which unfortuanlty only had parking for bikes on the otherside of the river, which worried Brendon considerably. But we had a nice pint, and a burger. GD had whale and chips – the biggest battered fish I have ever seen. So big that  GD only managed half, and the remaining half Brendon didn’t think he could finish – he did.

Back down the canal path, and Greg took the lead, 5 minutes later we crossed a bridge and he and Brend took off back down the path – Marsy looked worried, then looked at his map – hmm, they have gone the wrong way was the verdict. Unfortunately flush with their newly discovered independence they were off. I waited for them to return, Marsy set off in chase – in the end I followed. There was a reason the cycle path didn’t go over this part of the canal path – it was shit.

Travelling at 15 mile and hour over exposed tree roots on a road bike is not a good idea, especially if you are carrying a few too many pounds (;o) I crashed and smashed my way to catch them, and when I did I discovered that I had snapped a rear spoke, we were quite a way from anywhere, and it was Sunday. Luckily Marsy ripped it out, and utter those re-assuring words – “get your arse on the bike, it’ll be fine”. Well as Marsy is an engineer, who am i to argue. So after a tentative 10 minutes I was back in the groove.

We arrived into Reading after about 60 miles, and it was probably the worse part of the journey, really took us through the arse end of the place, but after a while we emerged at the “Oracle” and we were off to the hotel. I had heard some bad reviews about the travel lodge here, mostly around its location – it was fine in the day light, when dark I think it was probably a bit “gangsta” of an evening. Rooms were large, and it was cheap – but very warm. After a quick shower we walked the mile or so into town.

Marrsy had heard about this “hob-goblin” place, I was slightly worried – but by means of gentle persuasion (the best kind) we found ourselves outside it. It played rock music, it had served over 3000 guest ales, and had a single lager on tap. They quoffed ale, I drank a lager – it was nice. Had a Nandos and another pint back outside the ‘goblin then another bus (two in two days!!!) home to bed….

So, another year, another cycle trip. This year we decided to travel from Bristol Temple Meads through Devizes to Reading, then up to Oxford.

This year we had another new entrant, Greg “where did I put the map” Dow – who put himself through the pain and suffering along with me, Mr Marr and Big Brend..

The expected route would take us along the Kennet and Avon Canal route – Cycle route 4, and would be 145 miles long – and although we didn’t know at the time reasonably easy.

DAY 1. Bristol to Devizes – (40 miles)

GD had arranged to stay over with me in Magor on the Friday before, so although I tried to persuade him to take the train connection to Severn Tunnel we agreed that I would pick him up from Newport. So at 3 I set off on the 11 miles down to Newport station. As I took my bike from the garage it poured. A sign of things to come?

After meeting GD and cycling some miles back home, we “happened” upon a country pub – well it would be rude not to eh? GD did actually believe that I had actually stumbled upon this pub – but none the less to get into the spirit we knocked back a couple of three beers then set off for home.

After a nice hot ruby murry and a couple more beers we decided to play a couple of ends of wiff waff. GD used to be a champion at this, but time takes its toll and I wiped the floor with him ;o) Well until he got his eye in and started to take me to task (we had played 43 games by then so my excuse was my arms had seized up and I was now blind). Then to bed….

Got the bikes in the car, and by 9:30 we arrived at Temple Meads, to be met (thank god) by Brendon and Marrsy. I had been very worried that Brendon would have forgotten/taken the wrong train/got distracted but he was there in (very) skin tight cycling gear – at least he looked the part!!

So off we went, in the first stage of the journey. I had noticed it was very hard work to start with, then realised that Marrsy had deliberately put my front wheel on the wrong way round, so once that was sorted away we went.

We stopped for “coffee” at Browns in Bath – very civilised I must say. A couple of coffees that sound as expensive as they were, and a cup and saucer of tea (I asked for a mug and the waiter looked at me with a cup (and saucer) of disdain). After a photo opportunity we set off to the canal path.

Well, there are a lot of stigs that live on the river I can tell you. They all look the same, wool jumpers in green or orange, with at least 7 holes in, brown cords or jeans, dank slightly too long hair tied up (boys and girls) and smell of marijuana. They are all sanding their “homes”, and none of them pay any tax no doubt ;o) We cycled passed hundreds of them, we also saw some folk who were pretending to be “river folk”, by attempting to look like the real ones but spending a grand a week to do it – you could see them a mile away – they were the ones actually moving the boats along the canal.

After a fairly long run, and approx 20 miles in we stopped for lunch right by the canal side in the Lock Inn ( http://www.thelockinn.co.uk/breakfast/ ) where three of the gang had the “world famous.. as seen on TV…” Boatmans breakfast – two of them cheated slightly by having a vegetarian version (whats that about!! ;o), but The Brend had the full fat meat one. (I had a couple of faggots – but that’s another story). The breakfast was HUGE – Brendon had the extra black pudding, which was massive, it was about the size of two ice hockey pucks together, but without a blink he ate it, in 4 mouthfulls. He finished before everyone and even helped GD eat all his veggie “sausages”. After food and a pint we set off down the canal path once more towards Devizes.

As this was a short day of only around 40 miles, we arrived just outside of Devizes early afternoon, so we stopped at the bottom of the 16 locks at Caen Hill ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caen_Hill_Locks ) for a breather and watched one of the boats struggle up the hill. This was the biggest, in fact probably the only hill we had all day, as we were following the canal obviously there wasn’t much in the way of grads – but we did discover on this one, that GD and hills do not mix!!! We got to the top and spent a moment chatting about the locks whilst GD caught up. 10 minutes later we were in the hotel.

After some showers we were ready to hit the town, luckily it was still early evening around 4 so we set off to the canal path to find a “nice pub by the water”. We passed a 7 day river person, who we could tell was enjoying his holiday as he was on one end of his 50 ft boat and his wife was on the other, who regaled us with tales of pubs on the river some “half an hour” away – now as his boat travels around the speed of grass growing we thought it must be close. We set off. And walked. And walked. And walked for quite a long time. After about a day, I joked to Marrsy how terrible it would be if we got to the pub and it was on the other side of the river – ah how we laughed when it was!! There was no bridge in sight, but the pub was only around 15 ft away, we toyed with the idea of trying to make an “ant bridge”, but decided to continue walking instead.

After another half a mile we came to a bridge, but Marrsy suggested there was a great pub “just down river” and perhaps we should try that – we did, it was shut.

So instead of cutting our loses, we ventured on, through a cornfield to another village, where we spotted an open pub. We sat in the sun and had a couple of beers, it was nice. Brendon told us about the time he went husky racing somewhere cold, where the dogs looked like Corgis..

We had to head back to Devizes and we took – wait for it,  a bus. Yep public transport, with other public people on it. But it was a double decker, and the three Hieneken’s had effected my cycle weary body, so on we went – it was fun.

We went for a ruby, then had a couple of beers – and went to bed surprisingly drunk and tired at about 11. Greg introduced me to the brilliance which is ear plugs, and although the world was noisy, I had a reasonably good night.

These are excerpts from Aug 2009…

Mon. Taunton to Tiverton, 35 miles

After approx 13 poo’s in the morning, we thanked Phil and Jess and headed out on the final journey. Sitting on the seatt this morning was pretty bludy painful, but Brend who had no padding was just fine (strange, but I wont comment). Anyway after a couple of pills and about 6 miles pain seemed to subside somewhat and this final day was actually quite pleasant. There was some up and there was some down, but quite a lot of flat. Everyone seemed in pretty good spirits and most of the day was in sunshine through the countryside and canals.

After a good couple o three hours we arrived at Tiverton, after asking in the info place about a pub, we set off to a small village for some food – it did rain then, but I knew this was the last stage of the journey for me so was enjoying it all.

We had food in the pub, which was where I was picked up, my journey had ended – approx 155 miles, average speed of around 12.5, top speed 35. The others had some journey left – Brend cycled to Tiverton then trained back to London, Marrsy followed Brend to Taunton and cycled another 35 miles home from there.

Just have to say a big thanks to Brend and Marrsy for coming on the journey this year, it was so, so, so much easier for me this year than last, so it goes to show just how much a pair of padding shorts makes the difference (oh and the training, and new bike, and the right gear etc etc). Much appreciation to Marrsy, who again took the navigation in his stride (and didn’t take any wrong roads) and acts like the father figure when me and Brend just couldn’t manage to do anything useful and sorting out all the issues we had during the three days…

We will be doing this again next year, with a route to be decided – so get your bikes out, get used to 40 – 50 mile jaunts and join us on the cycle trip 10.

Remember kids – cycling hurts (unless you are used to it…)

These are excerpts from Aug 2009…

SUN. 75 miles Bath to Taunton

Never staying in a YMCA again.

Up at 6:00, walking round Bath at 6:45 – the place was like the first scenes of 28 days later, not a soul around. Went back for toast and tea and waited for the others to arrive. Set off on a beautiful day towards Glastonbury, we met some other cyclists and Marrsy was determined to race them – luckily for me I got another puncture so we had to let them go, me and Brend were like Laurel and Hardy again, absolutely useless at everything, so we sat on the verge and had a little drink and bite to eat whilst we watched Marrsy swear at my wheel.

45 mins later another puncture – this time for Marrsy, we had run out of inner tubes (as I hadn’t brought any and Marrsy only had two), so he had to use an old one which was patched, again me and Brendan clowned around unable to do the simplest things, so sat down and watched Marrsy sort out his puncture – this had made us about 45 mins behind schedule… After pausing slightly for Brend to pull up his shorts we were off again..

Next area of cycling goodness was the “Mendips”. These are “some hills”, that we had to cross, well – they may be hills but yet the approach we made was long, long and steep. Marrsy led the way as always, me behind and Brendan keeping it real at the back, well we hit this hill and we saw from the amusement of the cyclists coming the other way it was going to be hard.

After about 7 hrs of climbing I heard some grunting coming from behind me, it was Brend – he was struggling Yeah, Yippee, WooHoo – obviously instead of giving encouragement I just told myself I don’t have to pretend its easy for much longer, he is going to fail!!!  I kept on Marrsys wheel, my legs were burning, my knees where killing, I could hardly breath – but I wasn’t going to give up, no way – Brendan’s shouts of anguish were sweeter than honey, he’s going to stop – he is going to stop YES! he stopped. Brendan’s will had been broken, I had won – just got to make it to the top now, I did it!!!!.. However, once Brend put his feet down I heard a very quick and regular tap tap of his feet against the tarmac – he was pushing, but moving up the hill quicker than i could cycle – disaster, to be overtaken by a WALKER!!!!! SO with the last remaining energy I pushed for the top, and beat him by about 2.3 seconds. AT the top Marrsy changed the tyre again – my and Brend relaxed in the sunshine.

We got to Glastonbury around lunch time, and a decision had to me made, Yeovil or Taunton, after some debate we decided that although 35 miles away the trip to Taunton was flatter and Phil had agreed we could stay at his house so once Brend got his shorts in order off we went.

For me, this is where it got painful – I got brufen, had a few, but both my knees and derrière were pretty sore now, but the trip was pretty flat along the canal path, and we made pretty good time.

We arrived at Phils around 18:30, after a quick shower we headed out for a beer and a ruby murry. When we got back Phil showed us to our luxurious quarters for the night, well when I say luxurious what i really mean is shithole, unfortunately for us Phil was midway into decorating, the midway point being strip everything away and make it smell like plaster and death, he had kindly put two matteresses and two duvets down – obviously forgetting key stage one maths where 2 into 3 dont go (unless you like close male company of course) – we compromised and I slept on the floor leaving the other two to comfortable feather stuffed heaven sent mattresses (I didn’t mind…. ;o()

These are excerpts from Aug 2009…

well we successfully completed the annual cycle trip (TM) last Monday, this year’s entrants were Mr Marr, me and the newcomer Brendan “the power” Thomas.

Started this year on a Saturday, and Brendan came on down from London to my house on the Friday afternoon – he had successfully navigated the 3 miles from the train station to my house, and after a couple of pints showed me just how well he can tuck away nosh. Fully fuelled we slept and dreamt of the journey to come.

SAT. 50 miles, Magor to Bath

Got up and at  around 8:00, sorted out all the items i had not bothered to take last year, like cycle muscles, padded pants, padded shorts, padded gloves, decent jacket, tools, puncture repair stuff etc – looked out the window, it was grey – the horrors of last year came flooding back..

We were expecting to meet Marrsy at Chepstow as he had ridden to Bristol the night before and insisted he wanted to go from Bristol to Chepstow to enable him to cycle straight back to Bristol after looking at “the view” from the Bridge. So at 9:15, after ensuring Brendan’s trousers were sufficiently pulled up we left the safety of Magor and started our journey. First parts are always easy, and this was no different, 18 miles an hour trying to beat the rain to Chepstow, we slowed at Caldicot and Brendan was looking a little worried – “you’re not going to keep this speed up are you” he enquired, 50 yards and the first hill of the day answered that question!!.

As we strained up Chepstow hill the rain started.

We got to the Bridge and somehow had passed Marrsy so we waited on the Bridge. The exposed Bridge. The exposed cold Bridge. The exposed cold, wet Bridge. Then he came, it was like looking at a mirror image, he had copied my 09 cycling look, same bike, same jacket, same defined calves (well perhaps not) – with out stopping he whisked passed us yelling the rain is coming – we had noticed.

With the rain torrential, we paused for refreshments under some trees – it rained, hard.

Eventually we made it to Bristol, where we found a nice pub next to the canal and ordered food, and a pint – this was about 14:00. Pint finished and another started we waited for food – this was about 14:30. Pint finished and getting cold now we waited for food – this was about 15:00. Eventually after Marrsy went and spoke to them in the pub and eventually we had our food and set off again after losing about 2 hours.

We cycled through Bristol where there was a big event on – people everywhere, Marrsy led the way and managed to get his tyre stuck in the railway tracks a number of times much to the amusement of the 10,0000,00 people who were watching, then we emerged onto the main square. Now at this point Marrsy decided to cause an accident – my accident. We were only moving at .5 miles an hour, but as I went to stop myself from falling my magical laces had managed to attach themselves to my front wheel, so not having a spare leg  to balance I fell over, fell over like an overweight tortoise, i managed to twist slightly and land on my knapsack unable to move i waggled my legs until some old lady helped me up.

Anyway 20 miles to Bath, high speed touring across the path until we got to Bath and I got a puncture, as always our navigated and chief bike mechanic fixed us all good and proper – Brendan managed to attract the admiring glances of an old codger on a bike, and after Brendan managed to persuade him he wasn’t interested in listening to some Jazz records, and just pausing for Brend to pull up his shorts we got to the YMCA.

As Phil didn’t bother coming I had a twin room to myself, well i did share it with two bikes, but non the less after a quick shower we went to paint the Bath town red. We had a pizza, one beer and were home at 10.

The night was awful, kids and grown men and women banging doors and screaming at each other.

These are excerpts from Aug 2008…

SUN.

So to the final 40 mile push, woke up – it was raining – bastard. I then found I had a flat – double bastard. Marrsy fixed it – he’s a dream isn’t he!!!…

Both knees and rear end very very hurty this morning – you get on that seat and its agony immediately, and you know you’ve got hours on this yet to go. Anyway decided to go down to pendine as that was a flatter route, except for the hill coming out of pendine, although you see that flat is a relative term, after two days of this shit gently undulating is like a maintain trail, anyway with the wind and rain in our faces we cycled to Pendine. Then I saw the hill, well its not really a hill is it? I managed to cycle about 20 meters up it, then had to walk, which in itself was a feat – it was ENORMOUS, massive, gigantic even the cars were struggling – I barely had the energy to push the bike up, marrsy was met at the top – looking at me with distain and looking as fresh as a daisy. So onward though the rain to Wisemans bridge. Had a quick stop here where Marrsy had a little capacino and I had CPR, through the tunnel to saundesfoot where a miracle happened – it was kind of sunny (the miracle didn’t cure my hurtyness tho). So from saundesfoot, up the worlds second largest hill to Tenby, though tenby to penally where we got slightly off track, but marrsy knew the route – he had deliberately taken me to see the “Worlds steepest Hill” (TM), and he informed my it was our pleasure to ride up it, i went up a little way then stopped and tried to breath, after a couple of minutes my lungs had acclimatised and I managed to continue upward, I met marrsy at the top where I overheard him speaking to his mother on the mobile (…yeah so he’s such a bludy wimp, and the slowest cyclist I have ever seen, so anyway I wont be back for lunch and at this rate I’m not sure I’ll make breakfast tomorrow…)

Over the ridgeweay to Pembroke/Pembroke dock/neyland and back though the new trail to johnston. A couple of mile later we split at under the hills and i took my final hill in one go to get to the top of Pembroke road and to the safety of a beer and my mothers.

All in all we were “active” for about 24 hrs, did around 170 miles and I think (marrsy can confirm) only achieved around a 10 mile per hour pace. For me it was the hardest thing I have ever done, both my knees hurt, the fronts of my feet, my shoulders and ofcourse the rear end.. Next time I would like four days, but at the very least it would be from west to east, heading into the wind for two days is no joke I can tell you…

Remember kids, cycling 15 miles a day does not get you ready for 40+ miles in the saddle – Cycling Hurts!

These are excerpts from Aug 2008…

SAT.

Glorious Saturday, another 60 – 70 miles in the height of Summer, what could be better. Woke up – it was pissing down, absolutely, totally, completely pissing down – and just slightly windy!!. We got our bikes out of the hotel at 09:00, by 09:01 we were soaked to the skin from the waist down, by 09:02 I realised that being in pain sitting on the bed was nothing compared to the agony of sitting on the razor seat on my bike, by 09:03 I realised that my knee pain was not imaginary and after the first revolution of my pedal I knew this was going to be a hard day…

I had to get brufen, and I figured a crepe bandage thing would be in order, closest shopping point – the quadrant, just over the bridge, well just over the bridge and 11 miles away in the driving wind and rain. I took to repeatedly banging my head on my brake lever to take my mind off the pain in my knee. As we motored on down the road into Swansea lorries were splashing us with massive waves of water, we didn’t even notice it was raining so hard. So pilled and strapped up we continued to the promenade. Now, on a summer morning this is a fabulous place to be, pretty flat with a great view over the sea – however when the wind is howling and the rain the pouring it is the biggest shithole in the known world. Lucky for me, and I’ll take this opportunity to thank him again, Mr Marr took the lead and I attempted to slip steam. This was a help, but as the wind was coming across us, not perfect, and added to the fact he cycles twice as fast as me it was still a struggle. We found the route and ascended up from Swansea to Gowerton and across to Llanelli.

We got to Burry port and I had a puncture – Marrsy the genius sorted it (after a trip to a very convenient cycle shop) and we were on our way.

Once here we took the path through the wildlife areas, and the “roadway” was actually made up of mostly sand, which of course was soaking, we were by the sea and had the pleasure of the sea breeze and bludy pouring rain – did I tell you it was wet? This was almost the hardest point of all, cycling against the wind, though this sand soaking and hurting was awful – as was seeing Marrsy pulling away like a man possessed in front. I hurt – a lot.

Got to Pembry, the road got better (slightly), but it was even hard work cycling slightly downhill, the weather was worse, at times you could barely see in front of you. We stopped in Kidwelly for a snack – then on to ferryside.

We got to ferryside and it was literally like being in a waterfall, we made a decision, we needed alternative transport….

We got to the train crossing, and a bloke shouted from the controller box – we went to investigate, he told us stories of long tubes full of people which could ferry you over land to other places, where you could be dry and relax without too much pain and the miles passed, he made us a brew, we sat in his signal box regaling each other with tales of yore, outside it rained.

We looked at he map, and decided that due to the circumstances it would be prudent to take the train to Whitland, and travel back to Laugharne from there – this probably saved us around 10 miles in total I think, but with the state of the weather at that time, and although I wanted to do every single bit, it was a choice we had to make. So we went to Whitland and got back on the cycles – soaked, covered in sand and thoroughly hurting I got back on that devil  of a machine  and started again, up and down to laugharne. The hills around here are the biggest and longest I have ever seen, it had been a long tiring day, and I was virtually in tears as we got closer to laugharne shouting and swearing at the sodding wind as it took great pleasure in really really really really pissing me off. But we arrived.

We got there and everything I possessed was soaked, even in my bag – my money, maps, clean clothes, everything – luckily our hosts took everything in and washed and dried it, although I did have the pleasure of borrowing some of marrsys attire as we waited in the BB for the drying to complete. So out we went, in soaking shoes to get some food – we went to a “tapas” place, and I ordered every one of the meat ones, and ate them – cycling makes me hungry!!! ;o)

The following excerpts are from Aug 2008…

We’ll myself and Mr Marr completed the run from Magor to Haverfordwest last Sunday after covering around 170 miles in the three days. Marrsy had cycled from Yoevil to Magor on the Thurs which added an extra 110 miles to his trip!!!!!!

We set off from Magor Friday morning around 9:45 fully fuelled from an Indian and a couple of beers the night before, it took all of 1.5 miles for me to get my first pain, as I realised that I had never used my “new” trainers on the bike before and my sole started hurting (sign of the wimpyness to come!).

Anyway, we made it at a quick pace down to the transporter bridge in Newport, only to find that it was completely shut – so one quick detour later we were back on the Cycle Route 4. Following the route through the scariest, most run-down areas of Newport (the trail always seems to take you through the dodgy areas of the towns) we emerged into Tredegar Park under the motorway and out towards Bassleg.

This was the first time we lost the trail.

After a little map reading, and gps’ing we found the trail again and continued up the first (of 143,000,000) hills on the route. After a time Marrsy insisted I had to drink something and also forced a tracker on me (yummy – forgot how nice trackers were) – so here I was with a bike, some fingerless gloves chewing viscously on a tracker bar – did I feel like an experienced cyclist or what!!!!…

The route got a little confused, but we found our way to Ponty via Caerphilly where we had a lunch stop. As we tucked into our energy food bars and glucose drinks Marrsy looked at the map and told me the “worst” was over for the day, and it would be a single hill, then downhill all the way to Port Talbot – the lying bastard…!

I was feeling OK, we had done approx 40 miles – more than twice the distance I had ever ridden in one go before, and ready for the easy decent into Port Talbot and a couple of beers in the bar. This is where the journey took a turn for the worst.

We left Ponty, and headed South West, which on a map looks like it should be downhill, oh no, we met a hill. Well I say a hill, it was the most enormous mountain track I have ever seen. Round by me is a steep hill, and it is quite steep – but this must have been a 1:1, I started spritely enough, passing cars that were abandoned due to the steepness of the hill, continued for about 7 minutes when I passed an elderly lady who was trudging up the hill with the groceries, “Hi I said – much further to go on the hill” – to which see replied with the devils glint in her eyes – “Yes, this ones a killer!!!!”… Arrggggghhh..

I managed to get into low gear, which is so easy to pedal a two year old could get up a hill, but I was going so slowly in this that the shape of Mr Marr had disappeared into the distance. After 6 hrs I got to the first bend in the road – we must be at the summit I thought, but no, as i wobbled around the bend I saw  facsimile of the original hill in front of me – I did think about hanging myself with my cycle lock, but though I’d better leave that for the Bridgend route.

I continued for a short while, but then just had to stop, I was completely out of energy and thought I was melting. I stopped, drank a bottle of lucazade and ate two pounds of harabo’s and I was ready to continue. After another 4 hrs I joined Marrsy at “the top”. He was rested and out sunbathing on his (incredibly compact) towel. We’re here I gasped – oh no, we’re not at the top yet…

After a couple of other stupendously large hills, and numerous back tracks (one after climbing 20,000ft) we finally descended into Margam, which seemed to be from the map an easy freewheel into Port Talbot – it wasn’t.

We finally got to the hotel around 19:00 on the Friday night, I was sore and the most tired I had ever been, in fact if you had taken all of the tiredness I had ever been in my life and rolled it into one – I was more tired than that. We managed to get down for a couple of beers and some food then to bed around 10:30. I didn’t sleep much, my knee hurt quite a lot, and I really thought I would have to give up.

So, we have had a couple of cycling trips, one a year for the past two years and another one this year. I thought I would take the notes I made from them and add them to the blog –

2008 – Celtic Trail from Newport to Haverfordwest

2009 – Newport to Taunton

2010 – Bristol to Oxford