Its funny the things that can get you through a day of cycling, whether its pretending every arctic truck that passes you within an inch at high speed is Optimus Prime, or singing the theme tune to the littlest hobo at the top of your lungs. But its these things that keep you sane when everything about you wants to stop and take your saddle to the nearest police station and bring it up on rape charges.
So we did it, we took on the world and won, well the uk. It took 16 days of cycling but we dragged our sore arses over that line. It was indeed a long and winding road, and without doubt the hardest thing i have ever had to do. I have been asked if i would do it again, i usually pause for a few moments, mainly contemplating which organ i should punch that person in, but if im honest i think i would actually do it again. I would want to do it not only to write some wrongs from this trip but also to experience some more of the amazing moments we enjoyed this time round. To meet the people we did and to feel that way again.
It was a pretty quiet drive down to Lands end, The bravado of previous weeks was well and truly gone, instead every hill we drove down on route had me contemplating having to come back up it. The reasons for this were 2 fold, one being that i am a tad larger than the average cyclist, them being wirey 10-12 stone lycra wearing jocks. I on the other hand am a 19 stone thick set hoody wearing nerd. The second reason for my reluctance was the amount of training i had undertaken in preperation for the trip, i am a big beliver in just getting on with a job, and also that ignorance is bliss, this is probbaly the main reason why the first time i sat on the bike was at the start line at Lands end, it would be a baptism of fire so to speak.
I am currently living in Cornwall and to be honest its one of the most beautiful plaices i have ever been, but after spending 3 days on the A30 i would happily form a small band of rebels of which had the sole purpose of wiping cornwll off the map, and a secondary mission of Devon as well, and this is coming from a national trust worker. The A30 is pretty much as close to pergatory as you can get, its like white noise you just cant get away from it or stop hearing and seing it.
Not only did i not have the physique of a cyclist i also didnt have the appearence of one, sporting my cotton comedic t shirts with a high viz jacket on, i looked like i had stolen the bike, or was undertaking road maintenance, i would even get lorries beeping and wavng when i was having a rest stop in a layby, it was like a secret club exclusively for high vizers.
We met on our very first day a scotish retired couple who were making their way to J Gro at a steady pace of 30 miles a day. I gave the couple the list of my campsites i had chosen and the route i would take, this couple must have had some form of teleportation device because i left them in my wake somewhere near redruth, only to find them waiting at our campsite when we arrived late at night, but to their credit they had a beer waiting for each of us for our help. Getting through Cornwall and Devon was undoubtedly the hardest part of the trip and when we entered somerset it felt like a victory already.
I was pretty sure that either me or my bike would begin to fail at some point, or even both. My first problem was mechanical, the rear wheel threw a spoke near bodmin, thankfully we were right next to the junction and decended about 500 feet into bodmin town. Jonny had googled reviews of the shop we were headed to and the majority had stated the owner was a bit of a douche, i can concur with the reviews, an angry welsh man that seemed about as much use as a fart in a jacuzzi. Well after resisting the urge to find out how strong my kung foo was we were back on the road again heading to our next camp site.
Camp sites would play a huge role on our trip, i would come to be quite a conesuir, and a slight snob, if they were not caravan club endorsed then i would simply cycle on by. I only really cared about one thing at our sites and that was the shower, its a basic thing but some sites even managed to mess that up, anyone who fits one of those showers that you have to continuously press down to get water deserves a special plaice in hell. To pass the time i created my fantasy camp site, i dont mean like a "if carlseberg did campsites" style site, but a cyclist based one, thats right i like to live life on the edge, but in gregs world each campsite would have designated phone charging areas, bike lockers, a sofa room, a covered cooking area and finally an arse massager.
Once we were headed towards bristol our next big focus was on getting to 3 set points on time, Jons girlfriend in chepstow, my good friend jonty in whitchurch, and our hometown of Preston. This meant giving it the beans every day pushing extra miles to hit those marks. Firstly we rocked into chepstow having triumphantly crossed the severn, me having to re film a section on my digi cam as i was indeed filming the bridge before the severn by mistake. That night i would be in a hostel for the night while jon was being treated to a hotel and resteaunt, im not bitter at all. Unfortunately my hostel was in an old castle, if i remember my history castles were usually built on high ground. that 6 mile cycle up to the hostel nearly finished me off, i didnt come out of bottom gear at all but on the pluss side i did get an entire wing of the castle to myself. I also met a lovely spanish couple who i chatted to about my day and how i was trying to complete this challenge.
The mechaical troubles reared their head again, we stopped by chance as jonny had an email from apple saying he had purchased things when he was 20 miles away, after frantic calls to the fraud company we were about to set off when we noticed i had 3 more broken spokes, we were 10 miles from Hereford and the nearest shop closed in less than 20 minutes. We sat there wondering what we could do, who could help us. At this point my spanish friends drove past us, waving and saying hello, jonny and i cordially waved back and returned back to our thinking of how we could get into town quickly. That was possibly one of our most special moments, we both looked at each other and ran into the middle of the road waving and shouting hoping they could hear us, but alas they drove off into the distance. We then pushed on into Hereford with my now buckled wheel catching on the brakes every revolution, thankfully we tried our luck at a local cycle shop who opened up after hours and fitted me a new wheel. There was an intruiging chap that worked their that in his part time did body geometry, he was like a mix between sherlock and rain man, he picked up on my wonky shoulder, twisted foot and leg length difference within 2 mins, all of which jonny had no idea about, he looked at me differently after that.
We pushed onwards towards Jonty in whitchurch, where he would pick us up and take us to his humble abode for food, showers and sleep. We had the small problem of somewhere to store the bikes for the night, the plan was to lock them at a hospital and return the next day with jon where he would join us for a day. After 70 miles of cycling i just couldnt be arsed to find this hospital and see if we could, so i decided to ask at the first house i came accross, I approached this lovely country house and nocked on the door, my logic being that if it was a wealthy looking plaice they wouldnt steal our bikes. I was greated by a man from the garden of the house carrying a sythe, i shit you not. I had a speech already in my head, lead with the charity theme, then the distance and finish him off with my baby blues but that went to hell when i saw the sythe. I managed to bumble out the jist, to his credit the chap was very cordial and agreed to let us keep the bikes there, i explained i had a friend waiting on the street who would also appreciate his help. I felt it best to engage in a small amount of chit chat, i brought up the recent riots and how we had missed out on all of it with the cycling, this would be my first mistake. The racist slur which would follow would make Frankie Boyle blush, i could do nothing but slowly nod as he proceeded to set the world to rights, i was just glad that he had put the sythe down.
From whitchurch we set our sites on Preston, a big deal for us unproven cyclists, we would be returning home as heroes, halfway to provong we could do it. My friend jonty who would join us for this leg had purchased himself some cycling shorts, a platapus and he was hot to trot, unfortunately he was doing the cycle on an old mountain bike with about 6 gears. Now this was the first time i had truly felt schadenfreude, if you dont know what this is then google it. Jonty started the day with optomism and va va voom like i had never seen before. The day would lead to a visible destruction of a mans will, each stop would see a slightly more deflated jonty get off the bike. To his credit he cycled 77 miles that day and deserves some kind of medal. We hit Preston and took shelter for a time at our friends house only 10 miles from home. Never have 3 people been so unenthused to be home, we couldnt give a shit, we wanted to dry out, get fed and go to bed, our friend Joy bless her did her best to make it a ticker tape parade but we looked like 3 smacked arses.
Throughout the trip i had heard various birds of prey as we cycled through forests and glens, i had taken this as a sign they were my spirit guides, they would pop up whenever it was getting tough which was usually all the time. Even on the last day as we approached a mamoth hill it made both Jon and i laugh as overhead a buzzard could be heard. In reality it was much more probable it was like a vulture circling a weekend buffalo, waiting for its opportunity to feast.
It was now time for the physical problems to kick in. After taking me all the way to scotland my knee began to give me some gip. It got to the point where evey pedal i would wince with the pain. My solution to this was pain killers and good old deep heat, i used that like it was going out of fasion, i would apply before and after excersize, people could hear me rattle as i went by i had that many pills in me. I also thought it was a good idea to push off with the other knee more, which in turn gave me achillies pain. But straped up, lubed up and pilled up we entered the Highlands.
So we did it, we took on the world and won, well the uk. It took 16 days of cycling but we dragged our sore arses over that line. It was indeed a long and winding road, and without doubt the hardest thing i have ever had to do. I have been asked if i would do it again, i usually pause for a few moments, mainly contemplating which organ i should punch that person in, but if im honest i think i would actually do it again. I would want to do it not only to write some wrongs from this trip but also to experience some more of the amazing moments we enjoyed this time round. To meet the people we did and to feel that way again.
It was a pretty quiet drive down to Lands end, The bravado of previous weeks was well and truly gone, instead every hill we drove down on route had me contemplating having to come back up it. The reasons for this were 2 fold, one being that i am a tad larger than the average cyclist, them being wirey 10-12 stone lycra wearing jocks. I on the other hand am a 19 stone thick set hoody wearing nerd. The second reason for my reluctance was the amount of training i had undertaken in preperation for the trip, i am a big beliver in just getting on with a job, and also that ignorance is bliss, this is probbaly the main reason why the first time i sat on the bike was at the start line at Lands end, it would be a baptism of fire so to speak.
I am currently living in Cornwall and to be honest its one of the most beautiful plaices i have ever been, but after spending 3 days on the A30 i would happily form a small band of rebels of which had the sole purpose of wiping cornwll off the map, and a secondary mission of Devon as well, and this is coming from a national trust worker. The A30 is pretty much as close to pergatory as you can get, its like white noise you just cant get away from it or stop hearing and seing it.
Not only did i not have the physique of a cyclist i also didnt have the appearence of one, sporting my cotton comedic t shirts with a high viz jacket on, i looked like i had stolen the bike, or was undertaking road maintenance, i would even get lorries beeping and wavng when i was having a rest stop in a layby, it was like a secret club exclusively for high vizers.
We met on our very first day a scotish retired couple who were making their way to J Gro at a steady pace of 30 miles a day. I gave the couple the list of my campsites i had chosen and the route i would take, this couple must have had some form of teleportation device because i left them in my wake somewhere near redruth, only to find them waiting at our campsite when we arrived late at night, but to their credit they had a beer waiting for each of us for our help. Getting through Cornwall and Devon was undoubtedly the hardest part of the trip and when we entered somerset it felt like a victory already.
I was pretty sure that either me or my bike would begin to fail at some point, or even both. My first problem was mechanical, the rear wheel threw a spoke near bodmin, thankfully we were right next to the junction and decended about 500 feet into bodmin town. Jonny had googled reviews of the shop we were headed to and the majority had stated the owner was a bit of a douche, i can concur with the reviews, an angry welsh man that seemed about as much use as a fart in a jacuzzi. Well after resisting the urge to find out how strong my kung foo was we were back on the road again heading to our next camp site.
Camp sites would play a huge role on our trip, i would come to be quite a conesuir, and a slight snob, if they were not caravan club endorsed then i would simply cycle on by. I only really cared about one thing at our sites and that was the shower, its a basic thing but some sites even managed to mess that up, anyone who fits one of those showers that you have to continuously press down to get water deserves a special plaice in hell. To pass the time i created my fantasy camp site, i dont mean like a "if carlseberg did campsites" style site, but a cyclist based one, thats right i like to live life on the edge, but in gregs world each campsite would have designated phone charging areas, bike lockers, a sofa room, a covered cooking area and finally an arse massager.
Once we were headed towards bristol our next big focus was on getting to 3 set points on time, Jons girlfriend in chepstow, my good friend jonty in whitchurch, and our hometown of Preston. This meant giving it the beans every day pushing extra miles to hit those marks. Firstly we rocked into chepstow having triumphantly crossed the severn, me having to re film a section on my digi cam as i was indeed filming the bridge before the severn by mistake. That night i would be in a hostel for the night while jon was being treated to a hotel and resteaunt, im not bitter at all. Unfortunately my hostel was in an old castle, if i remember my history castles were usually built on high ground. that 6 mile cycle up to the hostel nearly finished me off, i didnt come out of bottom gear at all but on the pluss side i did get an entire wing of the castle to myself. I also met a lovely spanish couple who i chatted to about my day and how i was trying to complete this challenge.
The mechaical troubles reared their head again, we stopped by chance as jonny had an email from apple saying he had purchased things when he was 20 miles away, after frantic calls to the fraud company we were about to set off when we noticed i had 3 more broken spokes, we were 10 miles from Hereford and the nearest shop closed in less than 20 minutes. We sat there wondering what we could do, who could help us. At this point my spanish friends drove past us, waving and saying hello, jonny and i cordially waved back and returned back to our thinking of how we could get into town quickly. That was possibly one of our most special moments, we both looked at each other and ran into the middle of the road waving and shouting hoping they could hear us, but alas they drove off into the distance. We then pushed on into Hereford with my now buckled wheel catching on the brakes every revolution, thankfully we tried our luck at a local cycle shop who opened up after hours and fitted me a new wheel. There was an intruiging chap that worked their that in his part time did body geometry, he was like a mix between sherlock and rain man, he picked up on my wonky shoulder, twisted foot and leg length difference within 2 mins, all of which jonny had no idea about, he looked at me differently after that.
We pushed onwards towards Jonty in whitchurch, where he would pick us up and take us to his humble abode for food, showers and sleep. We had the small problem of somewhere to store the bikes for the night, the plan was to lock them at a hospital and return the next day with jon where he would join us for a day. After 70 miles of cycling i just couldnt be arsed to find this hospital and see if we could, so i decided to ask at the first house i came accross, I approached this lovely country house and nocked on the door, my logic being that if it was a wealthy looking plaice they wouldnt steal our bikes. I was greated by a man from the garden of the house carrying a sythe, i shit you not. I had a speech already in my head, lead with the charity theme, then the distance and finish him off with my baby blues but that went to hell when i saw the sythe. I managed to bumble out the jist, to his credit the chap was very cordial and agreed to let us keep the bikes there, i explained i had a friend waiting on the street who would also appreciate his help. I felt it best to engage in a small amount of chit chat, i brought up the recent riots and how we had missed out on all of it with the cycling, this would be my first mistake. The racist slur which would follow would make Frankie Boyle blush, i could do nothing but slowly nod as he proceeded to set the world to rights, i was just glad that he had put the sythe down.
From whitchurch we set our sites on Preston, a big deal for us unproven cyclists, we would be returning home as heroes, halfway to provong we could do it. My friend jonty who would join us for this leg had purchased himself some cycling shorts, a platapus and he was hot to trot, unfortunately he was doing the cycle on an old mountain bike with about 6 gears. Now this was the first time i had truly felt schadenfreude, if you dont know what this is then google it. Jonty started the day with optomism and va va voom like i had never seen before. The day would lead to a visible destruction of a mans will, each stop would see a slightly more deflated jonty get off the bike. To his credit he cycled 77 miles that day and deserves some kind of medal. We hit Preston and took shelter for a time at our friends house only 10 miles from home. Never have 3 people been so unenthused to be home, we couldnt give a shit, we wanted to dry out, get fed and go to bed, our friend Joy bless her did her best to make it a ticker tape parade but we looked like 3 smacked arses.
Throughout the trip i had heard various birds of prey as we cycled through forests and glens, i had taken this as a sign they were my spirit guides, they would pop up whenever it was getting tough which was usually all the time. Even on the last day as we approached a mamoth hill it made both Jon and i laugh as overhead a buzzard could be heard. In reality it was much more probable it was like a vulture circling a weekend buffalo, waiting for its opportunity to feast.
It was now time for the physical problems to kick in. After taking me all the way to scotland my knee began to give me some gip. It got to the point where evey pedal i would wince with the pain. My solution to this was pain killers and good old deep heat, i used that like it was going out of fasion, i would apply before and after excersize, people could hear me rattle as i went by i had that many pills in me. I also thought it was a good idea to push off with the other knee more, which in turn gave me achillies pain. But straped up, lubed up and pilled up we entered the Highlands.
As i rode my Unicorn onwards towards candy mountain the trip became much more enjoyable, my pain had gone to a mild annoyance thanks to the pills, and we cycled through some amazing scenary. I could taiste the finish line, but to be honest that had been in my mouth since Preston. The last few days were just spent calculating how many more times we would have to put up the tent, how many times we would have to have pot noodles for breakfast. It didnt really hit us until the last night that in the morning we would be cycling towards the end, the end of the trip, the end of the pain and the end of worrying we wouldnt do it.
For a treat we stayed in a youth hostel the night before the big push, it was agreat little spot converted from an old church. We got their early and were the first people in our dorm, it didnt take long before it filled up and we were joined by what i can only describe as 3 dutch walresses, these guys were snorers if i had ever seen some. The noise they made at night can only be described as a yack giving birth to Lucifer. AS i dragged my quilt and pillow into the lounge i was joined by other dorm mates who couldnt stand the noise. We awoke the next day, groggy, grumpy and slightly racist towards the dutch. Buy alas the day was here and we set off, ploughing 30 miles to wick in record time, where we did our usual over indulging on lunch causing jonny to have to stop and lie down about 10 miles from glory as he was about to throw up.
Just before you get to John O Groats you climb a large hill, which when you crest it has a view over to the isles of Orkney, you can see the finish line and alls you have to do is coast down towards it about a mile away, this was a crazy but great feeling, the pedaling was done, we had made it under our own steam. It was more relief at first than anything else, just being glad it was over. We were actually joined at the campsite by the couple we met with their young lad, after we put the tent up jonny and i went for a much deserved whisky and cigar on the beach, it was only really then that we could enjoy the moment, and relish in what we had done.
I must say a big thanks to everyone who helped get our sorry asses over the line, all the people from the sponsorship money, all the people who left kind messages and basically anyone who cared enough to think about us, it was an amazing experience and i would recommend it to everyone.
Oh and F U to all the Doubters :)
