Day 3 - The final push to Paris

It doesn't get much better than this. Empty, flat Normandy roads, sunny intervals, and on the last push to Paris.

After two days of wondering where on earth the entire population of Normandy could be (apart from those old women insulting Gary) we found all of them at once creating a make-shift market right across our route through Montherlant. We were forced off the bikes for a couple of kilometers and walked through a market selling everything from spicy sausages to the front, left light cluster for a 2004 Citroen Saxo XS (no sign of the front, right!). Unfortunately none of us could find a replacement helmet for Gary.

Just before lunch Danny and Rod caught up with a French Cycle Club riding on a Sunday club outing. The club were riding in a tight pack as they worked as a tight-knit unit to tackle a strong head wind. Never shy of avoiding an opportunity to integrate Rod and Danny managed to catch the pack and, somewhat uninvited, barged their way to the middle of it, and proceeded to introduce themselves. Once it was established that nobody actually spoke each others language, but keen to establish club-style banter, Rod broke the ice by pointing at Danny and saying "Manchester", pointing at himself and saying "Liverpool" and then for want of anything else to say shouted "Eric Cantona!!". These seemed to go down well and the boys cycled with the club for a fair few kilometers (never actually 'taking the wind') until their paths separated. Another leap forward in trans-channel relationships.

Before we knew it we were on the outskirts of Paris and Gary played his trump card. In the last break before the ride into Paris he dissapeared into the back of the van transporting all of our kit and emerged wearing a dress. He had been pledged double sponsorhip if he wore a dress for the final ride and of course there was no need to ask him twice!

We regrouped for the final push and set off through the busy streets of Paris.

...and soon we were crossing the Seine for the first of five times. Here you can see Ian still trying to shake off 68 year old Ann who he claimed had been slipstreaming him for the entire journey. (As an aside Ann was an inspiration to us all with her energy, enthusiasm and her commitment to the casue that she was supporting).

....and of course we were all really keen to ride alongside Gary who now had a stupid hat, a dress and a matching bandana.

We reach the final gathering in the Bois de Boulogne and we all don our RNID shirts.

....and true to form, Zack didn't miss out on the marketing opportunity, managing to pin a Diversified Fund badge on to any unwary team members that he could find. (There you are Zack, we even managed to get the name of the fund into the blog).

The final few kilometers is spent working our way through the less than accomodating traffic of Paris. Beth makes great use of her French by springing to Gary's aid as he is accosted by one particularly irrate French lady who is insistent that all 65 of us should be riding in single file since that was the law in Paris. We're not quite sure what Beth said to her but it seemed to do the trick and the group continued five abreast at 4mph until finally we reached La Tour Eiffel.

All that remained was the celebratory Champagne...

..and the taking of many, many team photos (you can find the complete set of photos here).

Finally a huge thank you to everyone who supported us through sponsorship. In honest the trip was a huge amount of fun and not too much of a strain, but with your help we raised lots of money for a great cause. Many, many thanks from us all.

Day 2 - Bienvenue a Normandy

Needless to say after a very small numbers of hours sleep, nobody took up the opportunity to explore the local market before setting off on Day 2.

Gary had drawn the short straw on the room-sharing front and ended up in the only room which involved five people sharing. The real problem was one of his roommates whose snoring was clearly wired directly to the light switch in the room. Gary had no sleep whatsoever and was somewhat lacking in energy and enthusiasm.

The sun was out and in contrast with the Wye Downs the roads were flat, the tarmac was good ans spirits were high. Gary and Zack killed time playing name that animal in French. We're pretty sure that Danny didn't do French at all at school and beyond chat and chien all of his other attempts seemed to involve making the noise the animal made but with a Allo-Allo French accent.

Zack started to pay the price for ignoring all advice given ahead of the trip. The soreness of yesterday started to magnify and he started to scrounge and form of cream or painkillers that he could get his hands on. At one point he announced "If the sores heal over in an unfortunate way I may well end up without an anus". The rest of the team offered appropriate support.

Meanwhile our second casualty was Beth. Rather strangely Beth has lost most of the feeling in her right and her little finger had a mind of it's own. Endless fun was had at lunch while we watched her try to cut up her food. We could have helped her out, but honestly, she insisted she could manage all on her own.

Once the team settled into a rhythm the inevitable element of competition started to set in.

Here is the end of a race over a particularly steep climb where Rod is pipped to the line by the Danny (King of the Mountains) while somewhat prematurely celebrating victory. Perhaps he was just pleased to get to the top!?

...and here's another of Rod this time losing by such an extent to Jon that he had time to park up and take a photo with a smug look on his face. This one was particularly sweet given Rod had scared the living daylights out of Jon on a descent earlier in the stage by charging past him at 45mph, screaming "CAVENDISH" down his ear as he roared past. (For those who don't know - Mark Cavendish is a famous cyclist know for his sprinting skills).

Indeed this particular game took on more and more appeal to Rod as it soon became apparent that going at insane speeds downhill was about the only time he could catch and pass anyone.

Rod explaining how the next climb is his for the taking

Finally it is worth reflecting on the French and their appreciation for the finer points of the art of cycling. On many occasions during the trip the better cyclists and best bikes drew appreciative nods of approval. Motorists would travel behind us for miles until there was a safe place to pass. Horns would be tooted as we battled to the top of a tough climb. Which brings us to Gary and his hat.

As you can see from the photograph Gary had the most ridiculous hat possible. We were convinced that he had originally bought it in 1980 when doing a spot of gorge jumping and decided it would meet the requirements of a 300km bike ride just perfectly. Repeatedly throughout the trip Gary drew various insults from the roadside as he passed by. Oddly most of these were from old, french women. Gary, not even having an elementary grasp of French, would smile impishly and greet with them with a firm, enthusiastic and overly loud "Bonjour". Ignoring that they were challenging his very right to ride with such ridiculous headware in la terre du cycle. Water of a duck's back for the cheeky chap.

The day ended in Gournay en Bray. Gary got some sleep. Anything could happen tomorrow....

CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW DAY 3

Day 1 - Onwards to France

It's stopped raining.....for now!

Very early alarm calls for everyone in order to be fed and ready for the off by 6:30. Many of the novices in the team have a slightly glazed look after their first experience applying chamois cream. It turns out that Mark's cream is Urea based but he assures us it is aroma-free. We get a stern talking to about the many medical hazards linked to the trip from Dr. Nick (who we later discover carriers no more than a pack of wine gums and soft mints in his bag) and we're away!

Off we go through the pretty, urban setting of scenic Bexleyheath with it's roads almost deserted as this Kentish hamlet wakes to the sound of bells, chains and the sigh of wind on lycra passing through its leafy lanes.....in our dreams.

The convoy leaves through rush-hour traffic and the busy dual-carriageways and drops through Bexleyheath on the road to Rochester. The heavens opened and the roads were flooded. (Pictured right - Beth and Ian make their way through the flooding). Rod is nearly decapitated by the wing-mirror of a truck as it passes him.






We eventually break free of busy Bexleyheath and get out on the the B roads of Kent and arrive at our first break stop. It isn't until this point that we spot that not only has Beth not chosen to follow Danny's advice on overshoes, but she has elected to skip anything resembling sensible shoes and is wearing strappy-pumps and socks. Needless to say the team offer their full support and advice and these don't see the light of day for the rest of the trip. But where's Ian??




Ian eventually arrives, bringing up the rear of the entire group and looking somewhat jaded. Given we have done less than 20 miles and we have another 160 miles to go, the rest of the team are uncharacteristically concerned. We discover that Ian is riding a bike made from something resembling a cast iron and lead alloy, with tyres the width of your forearm and the air pressure of a leaky lilo. Worst of all it has panniers with the weight of a Ian himself (he's no fly-weight) and crammed full of water bottles which he can't actually reach while riding.

Despite Ian's face-saving claims that all will be well, the team take matters into their own hands and strip down Ian's bike and inflate the tyres to bursting point. To his credit, he refused to ever admit that this made any difference to his performance at all and insisted that the pace on the first stage was purely down to his interest in the magic and alchemy of Bexleyheath's architecture.






The team push on through Kent and at the next break the Sun emerges. Spotting what may turn out to be a unique opportunity, Mark throws himself to the ground and quite bizarrely does a spot of sunbathing in the car park of the local community centre.










Rod soon begins his quest for the title of King of the punctures, wiping out his entire stock of inner tubes on the first day. The picture left shows one of these occasions just before Zack votes to leave Rod behind and press on regardless.


Rod recovered the situation and pressed on to catch up with the team at the base of the first serious climb of the trip to the top of the highest peak in the Wye Downs for our lunch stop at the Devil's Kneeding Trough.


At the foot of the climb was a family who seemed to take trips to the foot of the hill with a view to getting their kicks out of winding up cyclists. As Jon went past the mother shouted out "Go on you can do it. They call it Cardiac Hill but don't let that put you off!". The son from the family gleefully told Gary that the climb was "400 yards at most" and then watched him charge up to the first bend, about 400 yards ahead only to be greeted by the view of the rest of the climb which we later discovered was 2 miles.



As you can see from the picture, despite the puncture, Rod managed to get to the top of the climb ahead of Mark who can be seen trailing behind in the far distance. It just remains to say that clearly the team photographer made it up ahead of both of them with time to park his bike, get out the camera, pump up his tyres, have a quick spot of lunch, chat with the tour organisers and take a toilet break before either of them made it to the top.....and Danny was ahead of all of them!


Mark wasn't all that far behind

...and Gary arrived at the top of the 2 mile climb doing his best to put on his prefessional smile and relentnessy cheerful demeanor.

The rest of the team were so far behind the camera was stowed before the batteries ran out!

View from the top of the climb looking over the Wye Downs

Following on from lunch the hills continued intermitently and Danny firmly established himself as King of the Mountains. Zack and Gary elected to pass time between peaks singing cover versions of hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s as they rode along. At one point, unbeknown to Zack, the pair were seperated and an innocent member of the larger group was slightly bemused when Zack started to shout "I wanna move it move it" at the top of his voice, expecting Gary to echo the refrain and only to be met by an uncomfortable silence.

The remainder of the ride was a steady descent down into Dover where we were met with the news that the ferry was delayed due to the extreme weather conditions in the Channel - oh good! Eventually we made the crossing, thankfully over calm seas. The only event worthy of mention was the spectacle of Zack nearly chocking to death by blocking his throat with a lump of Tikka Masala and then filling the remainder of his airway with a glass of water, thus almost drowning himself without even leaving the boat - funny looking back but not all that amusing at the time.

The low point of the day was the 2.5 hour coach transfer from Calais to Dieppe (our original destination port until travel plans were changed at the last minute). The travel was grim enough, it was past midnight by now, but the real issue was Gary. Gary has many nicknames (if you can call them that) one of which is Duracell. This is down to his uncanny ability to carry on while others fade away. In fact his energy levels visibly rise as he and others around him become more tired. The whole 'audience' of the coach was regaled for the entire journey with him joining in to every euro-pop song on French radio that the coach driver could find. He was actually heard to excitedly announce at one point "Great! A-Ha my favourite Norwegian band of all time". He punctuated each song by recounting random amusing anecdotes from his past to anyone that would listen - which eventually turned out to be nobody given the entire population of the coach was asleep. This didn't deter him for one second. In a moment of fitful wakefulness Rod was heard to ask Jon "What will you do if you end up sharing with Gary tonight" to which Jon responded "Slit his throat and get some kip - it's the only way".

CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW DAY 2

And so it begins

After months of tireless(!) preparation, all of our donations are in and Danny has issued his final advice on those last minute preparations which mainly involved a mad dash across Manchester to buy all of the pieces of kit that we had meant to get months back. The assistant was visibly stunned that they had sold out completely of waterproof overshoes in mid-summer and there had been a run on chamois cream, about the application of which Danny had issued a detailed treatise. For the non-cyclists in the readership, this cream is basically a thick, creamy slime that is used in place of underwear to avoid chaffing and the build-up of unwelcome bacteria. Danny did fall short of researching application techniques for females and in a mode that was to emerge as a clear pattern, Beth was left to sort herself out.

Note that Zack remained consistent throughout in ignoring this advice alongside all other advice given to date. This left him in the less than ideal position of not having done any on-bike training at all, not having anything but a basic pair of shorts, not having borrowed a lighter bike, and not having bought a sensible saddle - only time will tell....

Logistics has never proven to be a strong point of the team and true to form we ended up travelling down to our start point in Bexleyheath in two Luton vans, a train and a car. This was to transport 8 of us with bikes and bags. It transpired later in the trip that the company organising the tour managed to convey the entire belongings of 65 cyclists with what turned out to be slightly less capacity. Let's just say there was plenty of breathing space in the back.

Eventually we all converged on our Bexleyheath base which is when things started to go downhill. Everything was unloaded except Ian's bike which was locked to the side of the van. "Right pass the key" said Zack. "I gave it to you in Manchester" said Ian. The rest of the team could see exactly where this was going and retreated to the bar as the discussion became increasingly more tense and heated.....and as the mother of all thunder storms arrived. It was 9pm - the van was being collected at 10. The thunder storm set in for the night.

Despite the purpose of the lock being only to stop the bike from moving around, Ian had placed the lock perfectly making extracting the bike by dismantling wheels, forks, gears, chains or seats impossible. There was only one thing for it.....find help in the form of the tour mechanic. It turned out all he had was the smallest pair of wire cutters ever produced. Danny (mechanic extraordinaire) looked on with disdain and amazement at the lack of any kind of oxy-acetylene cutting equipment or diamond-edged saw. With 5 minutes to spare the lock was finally off, sliced strand-by-strand. The location of the key was never established but we all suspect the one of the lads found it and surreptitiously dumped it en-route.

Beth and a relieved looking Zack with the destroyed lock

After checking in to the hotel we discover that our fellow travellers all look far more professional than we had imagined they would be....and Rod and Mark are gutted that they have far from the most expensive bikes on the block. Never mind boys, just a great reason to go out and upgrade when we get back.

A a very restrained meal and a couple of beers (shandy in Danny and Rod's case - which they claimed was performance enhancing) and we retired to bed to watch the lighting strikes and listen to the claps of thunder through the background of torrential rain. As Danny the team prophet put it, "That fifteen quid on overshoes will be the best money you ever spent".

CLICK HERE FOR DAY 1