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Waiting games

Waiting, waiting, waiting. According to the count down feature on our blog it is five days and fifteen hours until we leave Freckleton and start our round Britain ride. Right now it feels like a life time away. The problem is, it turns out we are just a bit too organised. There are still things to do of course. From the mundane such as hair cuts to the social engagements saying goodbye to friends and family we have things to do every day between now and Saturday but still it isn’t enough.

Whilst engaged in anything directly related to the trip everything is fine. Those particular periods of time are enjoyable and they pass by quickly. It’s the bits in between that seem to stretch on forever. In fact they rival a spinning class when it comes to clock watching. It’s probably something that Stephen Hawking could really get his teeth into but I can’t be sure because I never found the time to read his famous book. (Maybe that’s what I should do now). This is presenting me with a real problem because I am well aware that time is a precious gift that is never given twice. Every minute of every day that passes is gone forever so wasting any of them is a terrible thing to do.

Time, as distorted by the wonderful Mr. Dali

Time, as distorted by the wonderful Mr. Dali

I know we all waste time, of course we do. It’s just that I am acutely aware of it at the moment. What I really want to do is to join up all the remaining commitments and squeeze them into the next two days, load the bikes up and go. In terms of planning and preparations we have definitely peaked too early. I can’t help but smile at the irony of planning that leaves you with too much time to fill before the big event. It never happened when I was employed as a project manager.

Well that’s another hour filled. (Sorry if it was a bit boring for you)

Cycling with friends

When I was fourteen I attended a Catholic youth club run by the local church. The parish priest, whose name sadly escapes me, was one of those rare adults that could reach out and connect very directly with young people. He introduced me to fell walking, and more specifically, to the glories of the Lake District which is one reason I am sad that I can’t recall his name. Another reason is that he influenced my thinking quite profoundly on a number of topics. One of them was friendship. We used to have this discussion group that met at the youth club to talk about all manner of moral and Christian values. One particular week he led us all blindly down a false trail by asking us one by one how many friends we had. The answers ranged from about ten to fifty (fifty was probably claimed by the unfathomably pretty blonde girl that I was obsessing about at the time). Of course we had all fallen into his trap and he went on to explain the difference between casual friends and true friends. He pointed out that anybody who could claim more than a couple of true friends was rich beyond measure. Of course, he also didn’t know that Facebook would change the whole discussion. 

We were very young and hadn’t even had time to make what are often called lifelong friends and I am not in touch with a single one of those ‘friends’ from that period. (No, I never did date that blonde). Now, with all my many years of experience I can count comfortably on one hand my close friends, and as for friends that would drop everything and come running should I need them then it is probably even fewer. That’s OK, I think we need a balance of true soul mates, friends and acquaintances to juggle with in our busy lives. Cycling, amongst other things, has brought me all three.

Yesterday I had a great ride with friends, some of whom I see very regularly and some not so often. The fact that the frequency at which we meet seems not to make a jot of difference to the amount of pleasure I get from being with them is important. You know a friend is really special when it makes no difference at all that you haven’t seen them for months or even years. When you can just carry on exactly where you left off after so long apart is a great indicator of the depth of the friendship in my experience.

I recently thought I might have lost a very special friend for good. It turned out to be a simple misunderstanding and failure of communication and I am delighted that we have cleared it up. I know that after not seeing each other for more than two years, when we do get together again it will seem like five minutes since the last time. There will be a great deal of silliness and unhealthy quantities of ale and red wine will no doubt be involved. Oh, and maybe a hug or too. She’s good at hugs.

Best of friends

Best of friends

Which finally brings me around to why I started this post. You see our round Britain cycling trip is having an amazing tendency to get us back in touch with old friends, to bring us together with current ones and to start the process of making new ones. This weekend we are making the journey to Gloucester to make sure we see members of Gill’s family before we set off and next weekend we are getting together with all our local friends for a bit of a do to send us off. On our route around the coast we plan to meet up with friends, some of which I won’t have seen for thirty years and also to liaise with at least one person who I have only ‘met’ through social media. When we get back from our travels, friends have even kindly offered us living space while we find our feet once more. It all feels wonderfully enriching. There is something about the nature of what we are doing that seems to draw people in. The sense that they want to be a part of it is heart warming and very special. By the end of all this Gill and I could have hundreds of new friends. So eat your heart out blondie!

I feel very rich at the moment.

P.S. Phone that friend that you have been meaning to for the last few weeks, months or years. Go on, do it now.

 

Butterflies

Not the kind that flutter gracefully around the flowers, but the kind that flutter excitedly in my stomach when I think about what we’re soon to be embarking on. I have been asked if I’m scared or nervous, I must be a bit or I wouldn’t get butterflies!

Fluttering in my stomach

Fluttering in my stomach

It is a very big adventure for us and I appreciate how lucky we are to have the opportunity, time and means to do this. I want to do it justice and bring home some very happy memories and great stories – a lot of which I expect might be situated around days that don’t feel so good at the time – like the Dent day (which served to show me that no matter how bad it is, it does eventually end, and makes for endless story telling).

There are many reminders of how close it is.

On Monday it will be one month exactly until I finish work, I gave them six months notice and I can’t believe how quickly it has gone.

Next weekend we’re off to visit the Gloucester family for the last time before we depart. The next time we see them should be when we cycle up the West coast following the course of the river Severn to make our way into Wales.

The house is in uproar, there are boxes everywhere. We have a space marked out in the back bedroom the same size as the storage space we have booked, so that we can work out if everything we intend to keep will fit in. Watch this space, there may be more for Ebay, Freecycle or the tip!

It’s going to be strange to cycle away from our lives, home and friends but there’s lots to look forward to. Tony is compiling a map with markers to show where we have been offered accommodation (not all of them family or friends). People are incredibly kind and we have had offers of accommodation from readers of various blogs and forums that Tony has been posting on.

There’s another potential source of butterflies, accepting hospitality from complete strangers. One of my work colleagues is worried that we might meet an axe murderer! I’m pretty sure it will be OK, as Hannah Engelkamp found out when she walked the circumference of Wales with Chico the donkey. You can read about her adventures here – Seaside Donkey.

I can’t wait to start the adventure. Most of the family we don’t see before we go are en route or going to travel to see us. We have friends planning to join us for bits of it. There’s 5,500 miles of coastline to explore and six months of pleasing ourselves with no bigger plan than to head North and keep the sea on the left.

To quote Susie Burns “happy days”.

 

 

Funny

People’s reaction to what we are doing varies from excited to horrified and some of the comments we get can be very amusing. This one currently holds the position of funniest ever. I went to help someone with their new computer and as we finished the job the conversation went like this:

Jim: I’ll give you a ring if I need any more help.

Me: Don’t forget we are going away for six months at the end of April so it will have to be before then.

Jim: Oh yes, Bob mentioned you were going cycling where is it you are going?

Me: We are going to cycle around the coast of Britain.

Jim: Oh great, how far is that then?

Me: About five thousand miles.

Jim: Will you be taking your own sandwiches?

Thanks Jim, I will be giggling about that every time we eat a sandwich on our journey.

It’s not a charity ride. Well maybe a little bit.

There really is no going back now. After initially stating that we weren’t going to do this ride for charity we have had a change of heart, albeit it limited, and we are now committed to raising funds for two very worthy causes. I know it probably sounds incredibly selfish to even consider not raising money for charity but to be blunt, this was always intended to be a selfish, personal journey that Gill and I wanted to experience. It was, first and foremost a learning opportunity, a journey of discovery in every sense. Yes we will, no doubt, discover interesting people and places, maybe the odd exceptional pub or cafe, but most of all we hope to discover more about ourselves and each other. Initially I was of the opinion this meant that we couldn’t involve fund raising and keep the purpose of the trip pure, but as time went on I changed my mind. I can’t speak for Gill of course, but I began to feel that maybe there was a middle ground. Perhaps we could raise a bit of dosh as a kind of side line, a low level sub plot if you like. So that is what we intend to do.

I got in touch with our chosen charities and after a couple of e-mails they seemed to ‘get it’ and were very positive despite the fact that we declined the T shirts and badges on offer. All we wanted from them was their blessing to use their logos and we got it. Thank you. So now we have some level of obligation to cycle around Britain, probably. We’ve opened up the facility to donate now, not because we necessarily expect people to start giving before we even set off but it’s just one more thing done, another tick on the list.

We still intend to keep the fund raising side of things in the background, so don’t expect to see us flying charity balloons from the bikes and there definitely won’t be any giant cheques involved at the end. This is still very much our personal journey, if people want to donate because they are enjoying following us and reading our blog then that will be an excellent bonus.

More details of the charities we have chosen and why can be found on the Fund raising page.

Out of the darkness

As I write the rain is lashing down outside but I’m happy. Not because I’m warm and cosy inside but because today is the shortest day of the year, the Winter solstice. There is the promise of ever increasing daylight just around the corner and eventually Spring. According to Stephen Fry the Spring moves up the country from Lands End to John O’ Groats over a period of two months so we should catch it up somewhere around the north of Scotland in late May. I shall enjoy watching it make it’s slow but stately progress through Lancashire as we make our final preparations.

In the mean-time there have been several significant events that make our adventure ever more tangible. The first was really a bit of boyish indulgence in the form of a gadget purchase. My Nexus 7 tablet PC was delivered a couple of weeks ago and I am busy getting to grips with it. I don’t want this to turn into a technology review so I won’t bore you with technical statistics but rather simply say that it’s geeky goodness through and through. The high quality graphics and amazing sound quality are, of course, essential features required to enable me to type this blog on our travels and nothing simpler, cheaper or lighter would have done the job.

No going back now

No going back now

The second, and somewhat more concrete development, was the arrival of five hundred printed cards advertising our trip and web site. These are intended to make it easier to pass on our contact details to anybody who is interested but seeing it all in print has a certain “gulp, this is really happening” kind of effect. I have only given one out so far but it had the consequence of making me feel ever so slightly nervous about the prospect of not actually making it around Britain. Multiply that by a factor of five hundred and the pressure is really on. On that subject I read on Bicycle Touring Pro website that the number one fear of all people setting off on a long cycle tour is that of not finishing it. Not rabid dogs or wild axe men as you might have expected after all.

Finally, we had a good friend over for dinner last week to discuss the choice of charities for our fund raising efforts. There are more details on the dedicated fund raising page but essentially we are going to raise a bit of cash for two charities that were close to the heart of our friend’s wife who died recently. I am currently waiting for responses from the charities to ensure we go about it the correct way but I sense that once they have given us their blessing that will turn the pressure screws another couple of notches.

I may have been temporarily deflected from such things as blogging and house clearing by the demands of seasonal work but it doesn’t mean that the trip has been edged from my conscious. Quite the opposite; I’m beginning to feel the tiniest quiver of butterflies in fact. Exciting.

Ironing – just like cycle touring really.

I hate ironing. Most people do. OK, I know there are some really weird people out there that claim to enjoy it, but most people don’t. And if it’s not ironing then substitute some other banal, tedious chore of your choice. Hedge cutting, grass mowing, whatever, the principle is the same so bear with me and let’s go with ironing. Here is my point. Why is it that whenever I get to the end of a pile of ironing, when I flick that socket switch to off, curl that cable back around the iron and gaze at the neatly stacked pile of clothes I feel really happy? Why does doing something so pointless and boring end up giving me pleasure. Well, I put it to you, it’s because you can’t have one without the other.

There is no way of measuring pleasure other than against something like misery or suffering. You can’t quantify happiness other than by comparing it with sadness or some other negative emotion. And you can’t have that smug ‘I’ve just been to the dentist’ feeling unless you have actually been to the dentist. That is why cycle touring can be like ironing. You see, not all of cycle touring is pleasurable. In fact, as many of you have suggested, a lot of it isn’t pleasant at all. So why do it? You might ask. We do it for a combination of the good times and the bad times. The good times are just that, good. The bad times enable us to recognise the good ones.

What follows is an extract from a report I wrote about a tour from Edinburgh back home to Lancashire a few years ago. (It’s a bit long so I’ll post it in two halves) We did have some reasonable weather, albeit cold for the time of year, which was May. We also had some wet and windy weather but this day still holds the accolade of most memorable of all our touring so far. See if you can see beyond the misery, to that moment of switching off the iron. (…and no, before you ask, we will not be taking an ironing board with us.)

I was woken once or twice in the night by the sound of the wind gusting in the trees around us. They were serious gusts and I was a bit concerned when morning arrived and there was no sign of them weakening.

 Our ritual of taking down the tent never changes. Whatever the weather we practice the same procedure; weighing down the flysheet, inner and undermats with panniers to prevent them being whisked away by a sudden gust of wind. This morning all the practice paid off and we managed to strike camp without losing any vital component.

 The walkers we had met in the pub last night were waiting by reception for their luggage transport and we had a nice chat before leaving. They were a bit concerned about us cycling in such strong winds but we assured them we had been in worse conditions. Little did we know.

 We would be following the Settle Carlisle railway for much of today so although we were passing through fairly high ground I hoped that the gradients wouldn’t be too bad. This famous scenic line opened on 1st May 1876 and was the last main line in England to be built entirely by hand. Six thousand men toiled on it for seven years and many died either in accidents or from contracting small pox. No doubt they were weakened by the hard labour and the harsh conditions in these beautiful but unforgiving landscapes. Fortunately, I knew none of this as we began what would turn out to be ‘a most interesting day’.

 The plan was to cycle to Ingleton, about twenty five miles away, have brunch and then head either south east towards Clitheroe or South West towards Lancaster. Either way would put us about thirty miles from home for a short final day on the Saturday.

 We stopped at Nateby to put on wet weather gear. It wasn’t raining yet but the forecast said; showers, occasionally prolonged, and the wind was so cold that we needed the extra layer for warmth. It was obvious from the start that this was going to be a tough day. After an hour of pushing against the wind we had covered a measly seven miles. It was depressing but I suggested to Gill that even at this pace we could easily cover fifty miles in the course of the day.

 Entering Mallerstang Dale we could have been back in Wales as we passed Pendragon Castle but the next hamlet, Outhgill reminded us that this was very much The Yorkshire Dales. As we climbed the scenery grew bleaker, empty farm houses stood testament to the harsh lives people must have lived here in the past. That is when the rain began. After a couple of tentative showers the weather Gods got their act together and the practising was over. We came alongside the railway and eventually crossed it at the first high point of the day but there was to be no freewheeling down the other side into the headwind. By the time we reached Gardale Head we were soaked and getting colder by the minute. It was much too early to take shelter at the pub so we pressed on directly into the full force of the wind and the increasingly heavy rain.

But it was May

But it was May

 We had planned to use cycling route 68 over the tops to Cowgill but there were road signs warning of wintery conditions at any time of year as the road climbed to 1750’ above sea level. We had a really tough decision to make. The alternative was ten miles on the busy main road down Garsdale. This would be an easier road and it would guarantee shelter and warmth in the small market town of Sedburgh but it was directly into the wind and would take us further away from Ingleton. The other choice was straight up the minor road and over the top. Only three miles but we had no idea what we might or might not find at the hamlet of Cowgill on the other side of the hill. We ummed and ahhed but we really needed to get going as we were both beginning to shiver in the biting wind. Having opted for the short high route we managed to cycle about fifty yards before being forced to get off and walk up the steep narrow ‘Coal Road’. I tried to say something encouraging to Gill but the best I could come up with was, “I promise you, this will end”. Pushing the loaded bikes up that hill against the wind was stupidly hard but at least it warmed us up and it wasn’t long before we could start cycling again. I looked in vain for any sign of a break in the weather as we were buffeted and battered but the sky was a uniform grey and the clouds hugging the lower slopes of the hills were going nowhere. It was just a matter of keeping our heads down and gritting our teeth in the knowledge that eventually we must reach the high point and drop into calmer conditions. On the tops the rain turned to hail and my face felt as if was constantly being sandblasted. So painful were the impacts that I half expected to find blood on my gloves as I wiped water and snot from my face. When the descent did eventually begin it was no relief because of the squally wind. We daren’t pick up any real speed as the road was winding and steep and with freezing hands it was hard to hold the brake levers tight enough to control the descent. Never have I been so glad to reach the comparable calm of a valley floor as I did on reaching Cowgill.

 A couple of walkers, out braving the elements, assured us that the nearest place to get any food or shelter was Dent, three miles in the opposite direction to the one we wanted to go. We were past caring. We desperately needed to eat and to get out of the wet and restore some feeling to hands and feet. It’s easy to get things out of perspective when you are cold and wet and I dare say we could have turned left and continued on our chosen route to Ingleton but the prospect of warmth, food and being dry was simply too much to resist. We turned right and cycled hard for Dent and survival.

……..to be continued.