Well as many of you know and some of you don’t, my journey actually started many months ago when I first learned that my friend Bernie had been diagnosed with Breast Cancer.
After several nights trawling the internet in my room I read about Skyline and various Discovery Adventure Challenges and settled upon London to Paris in aid of Breast Cancer Care. A way I thought of meeting likeminded people and raising money for a very good cause.
As a complete novice cyclist I downloaded a 16 week training program to get myself into shape, or so I thought….Over the coming weeks I began at 40 miles on my old faithful mountain bike, battled the worst case of saddle sore in the history of saddle sore along with aches and pains in places I didn’t know I had.
I purchased and began a love affair with my road racer and with the help and tuition from the guys in Bikelab, I went from riding this bike like a bag of spanners with its foreign intergrated brake and gear levers, trim buttons, SPD pedals and all kinds of wonderful thingimy bobs I had no idea of, damn nearly put myself in more hedge bottoms than the native wildlife could manage…. to riding it just like a girl, progress nonetheless.
Each weekend I ventured out with only my hangover and a tube of lubricant jelly for company, I increased the distances to 50, 65, 70, 75 miles and in the penultimate weekend 90 miles!! My growing enthusiasm and confidence only damped by the minor problem of laser eye surgery and dislocating my knee. Now its logical to think I had done this whilst out gallivanting on my bike but actually and rather disappointingly I did it at work, so don’t let this put you off… My new eyes came later, but generally being able to see where you are going is necessary and not classed as cheating in any small print.
In the days leading up to London to Paris I embarked upon a 1,000 mile round trip to surprise Bernie on the day she was admitted for surgery, to cheer her up, offer a few home comforts for the stay in hospital and to remind her how much we love her and that indeed whilst she was recovering from surgery, I would be sharing her pain myself, this fact she seemed to enjoy rather too much. I did a last minute whirlwind profile raising tour to remind everyone of what felt like my impending doom…. Even my lovely mum uncharacteristically bought me gifts to say goodluck, now I knew I was in trouble. I think she genuinely feared I would not return!!
So it is at the Aerodrome hotel in Croydon where the challenge began and where I was first introduced to my fellow 135 ish riders. A pep talk later and at least 12 toilet stops we set off!! Within the first 10 minutes my trusty bike with which I was now quite intimate with, let me down, the chain slipped and like a girl in fixing it I gashed my finger and so my first aid kit had its first of many outings. Covered in a disproportionate amount of blood for such a small wound I continued onwards and definitely upwards!
The first days ride to Calais and onwards to our hotel at the other end was 95 miles in all. I felt like Lance Armstrong’s sister, there are no words to describe aptly the relentless nature of the hills, just when you thought you’d reached the top, behind a sneaky hedge would be the next stage in the ascent. The hills were so steep at times I thought I was within in sniffing distance of the good lord’s sandals… and still I cycled on. I was not on my own in my struggle, the Florence Nightingale in me was awakened when I stopped to provide aid in the form of drugs and deep heat to some fellow cyclists, we were later to become esteemed table friends and would happily put the world to rights over wine.
Arriving at the ferry port in Dover, I felt enormously proud of myself and my combatants as we regaled among ourselves the day’s journey (to hell and back). Still this was only the first of several gruelling days and my legs were positively aquiver with the thought of what was to come and what I later realised was a screaming hamstring!
The first night in the hotel as we nursed our battle injuries we exchanged our reasons for embarking on quite frankly the most bonkers thing I have ever done, and I was not alone.. I can say with honesty I was literally moved to tears when I learned that one of the girls had only 3 weeks prior to the event sadly lost her mother to cancer and that her father had decided at the last minute to ride with her, the two of them doing this amazing thing together in honour of the one they’d loved and lost. Even as I write this tonight it moves me still…. I went to bed that night remembering with tears in my eyes, my grandmother and my step father also lost to cancer and praying that Bernie was well and comfortable in her recovery in hospital.
The second days ride would see us cycle from Calais to Arras. Now naively I think we all thought today would not be as hard as the first, France is largely flat right? WRONG! And today surely we would only cycle 75 miles, I’m an OCD Virgo, preparation is key to success, I had worked the distances out beforehand…. WRONG! You couldn’t be more wrong…. No amount of stretching and deep heat would stand me in good stead for another 85 miles of quite similar terrain.
Now my comprehensive training had taken me out on long rides and in my efforts to be meticulous in attention to detail I had even roped in a friend with whom to go cycling in the Peak District, named for obvious reasons. Now….a glaring oversight was starting to occur to me as delirium from the dizzy heights of the French hills set in. Long rides, check… Hills, check… Long rides with hills, check…..Long rides with hills on consecutive days, crap!! Thankfully the aforementioned Good Lord’s sandals, like smelling salts snapped me back to the task in hand which was to get this badger over and done with, so onwards and indeed upwards once more.
Now in my haste on the previous day to get to the ferry port, on a toilet stop in a pub I had left my lubricant jelly behind, no doubt conjuring up ungodly thoughts in the mind of the pub landlady when she’d be attending her cleaning duties that same evening…..So on day two despite a generous application of my friends chamis cream before departure, several miles into the ride I had dire need of a reapplication but had none of my own. I decided to test my pigeon French, my artistic drawing skills and the patience of a poor French pharmacist.
I went into the shop, obviously dressed in my lycra padded shorts, a good clue I thought as to the nature of my discomfort, again….WRONG! I began ‘’Bonjour, parlez vous anglais?’’ ‘’Ahhhh, non’’, she replied. My French linguistic skills now exhausted, I first pointed to my bottom and grimissed, she looked knowingly at me and returned with Anusol. ‘’Errr, Non’’. I then tried pointing to my frontal particulars to which she smiled, went away and returned with sanitary towels, ‘’non’’. I proceeded to draw a picture of a bicycle, circled the saddle and pointed vigorously to both my front and rear end in the vain hope she would understand as to what I was hinting at, by now I have drawn the attention of a French elderly pensioner and a local yocal (these exist too in france and are equally as disturbing!) She puzzled and returned hesitantly with the French equivalent of Vagisil cream , I sighed, again ‘’non.’’ How my thoughts wandered to drawing a picture of an erect male part wearing a condom, arrow pointing to the words K-Y lubricant I have no idea but then came a welcome revelation nonetheless, she exclaimed ‘’Ahhhh, lubricante!!’’ If I had a stick to hand I would have beaten the man stood next to me to death and poked out the minds eye of the pensionable aged women who looked at me with inquisition and disgust. The pharmacist returned with condoms and a tube of lube, the condoms I handed back but the lubricant jelly and by now I was thinking the soothing cream was actually a good idea too. This was some of the longest twenty minutes of my life and some I hope never to have to repeat! I bid a hasty retreat to the nearest bush remedied the problem, and enjoyed the brief but blissful relief before remounting my bicycle. Lead on MacDuff!
Another rare moment of delight came when I was overtaking (it was a downhill….. ) some fellow cyclists, the tandem twins. Two fantastic fellows from North London and the source of many a welcome laugh, whilst they were rocking out to the Kings of Leon on the Ipod, I was equally entertained with ‘name that tune’… I digress, as I passed them I said ‘’this is marvellous but where there’s a downhill, there’s usually an uphill to follow’’ to which JJ replied in a voice that reminded me of my brother in law, a former officer in the Navy, ‘’DON’T MENTION THE WAR!’’ Hilarious, I chuckled about this for many miles.
On arrival to Arras, weary and exhausted, a hamstring screaming like a banshee and an undercarriage like road kill, I was met by a positive angel on earth, who pointed me toward the hotel, where I was able to enjoy alcohol, a hot shower, lovely food, and some more alcohol, for medicinal purposes obviously…. I’ve never wanted a glass of red wine more!
I slept like a baby and woke on day three like I’d slept with my leg in a vice….. My hamstring is now so tight, I looked like I’m smuggling a boiled egg from breakfast behind my knee to eat later enroute! Still, a good dose a deep heat should do it I thought, so I hosed myself down like a spray tanning booth and set off. By the end of the first 20 miles, I was feeling strong, had managed the hills and felt that I had broken the back of this marathon ride and was on the downward slope now. Sadly after 25 miles my Hamstring tendons were now like fragile twiglets. I rode my last 10 miles that day on one leg, thank heavens for the clip in SPD pedals, it would have been impossible without them. For 10 whole miles, tears of agony streamed down my face as I battled with the pain and wrestled equally with my determination to do every inch of this challenge, both for myself, for my charity and Bernie. Only when the roaming mechanics van with Dr Dereck onboard pulled up alongside me did I concede to not completing the days ride. Strapped up and drugged up I spent the rest of the day held up in the back of the van (for 8 hours!) whilst we attended to punctured tyres and missing riders in action. Gutted!
On arrival to the hotel in Compiegne I spent a teary half an hour on the phone to my physio friend and hill cycling companion back home. Resolute and determined to complete the ride as I had set out to do many months ago, trained hard for every weekend for as long as I could remember and promised myself this would be my biggest achievement, we talked ‘damage limitation strategies’. I would ride the next day, do my best and I couldn’t do any more than that.
So….day four, destination…..Paris, the last day and what I had reckoned on being 55 miles in total. I set off after breakfast, cycling using my right leg only, and worried that this was the knee I had dislocated only weeks earlier. Freeze spray, Paracetamol and Codeine my new best friends. The infamous orange arrows we had followed for approx 250 miles were starting to resemble the decorative sugar carrots on the top of a fat carrot cake!! I am quite possibly delirious again at this point….. The first water stop at 20 miles, check. Lunch stop at 40 miles, check… Leg still attached, check. This is now becoming entirely do-able, I realised I was only approx 15 miles away from Paris and the finish line at the park. With fantastic support and constant boosts to my moral from fellow riders who quite honestly could have cycled on to achieve their personal sector times but who stayed with me, we reached the outskirts of Paris…. Within sniffing distance of the ice cream vender at the park practically……we were diverted 12 miles off our route!!! All the Hail Mary’s in a catholic confessional could not save me from my thoughts as I cycled through the diversions, endless traffic lights, and discourteous French Parisian drivers all on one leg!! I have a new appreciation for a chap in my spinning class I used to know who rode with only one arm, though even this I thought was easier than riding with one leg, its fairly key to cycling….
Once we reached the park, the finish line, I shed my bicycle and several tears of jubilation. An amazing achievement for little old me, I had done it! After an hour of welcome procrastination we set off on our tour of the streets of Paris, being convoyed through to the cheers and congratulations of many Parisians and to the frustration and dismay of a few taxi drivers and impatient onlookers, C’est le vie n’est pa!
At the Eiffel Tower, Champaign celebrations unfolded, photographs and hugs with the amazing people I had shared the last and possibly best four days of my life with. I phoned my friend Bernie, my initial inspiration for this endeavour to tell her I had done it and was overwhelmed to learn that she too had reached her personal finish line also. She had made an excellent recovery from her surgery and on this day had been allowed home to her family who waited eagerly.
In total from the London hotel to the Paris hotel we cycled 325 miles of the single most rewarding challenge I have ever set myself and completed. I have literally shed blood, sweat and tears on this adventure, though sadistically no actual weight!! Infact who’d have thought I would come back heavier than when I went!! Hmmmm, I feel cheated. Amazingly, I have already had several thoughts on what shall be my next challenge for 2010. Hands up if you think it’s insane to do London to Paris to Geneva?
I would like to show my sincere appreciation for each and everyone of my friends and work colleagues who generously sponsored me and who have shown their support for Breast Cancer Care and me in doing this ride. Thanks to you, I have raised £1,700. That’s amazing!