Blood, Sweat and Bicycle oil.

Miguel Indurain, Bradley Wiggins, Chris Boardman have probably never cycled from Hammersmith to Bristol. It was a magnificent feat, cycling 120+ miles for some untrained non-athletes. Rumour has it, Lance Armstrong (7 times winner of Le Tour de France) came out of retirement, inspired by our recent conquest.

The adventure seemed a long time coming, but the days whizzed by (if that makes sense). Training was (relatively) slack, but the desire was there. It does make you appreciate how dedicated Olympians are with relatively little funding to help them by. The brave cyclists consisted of Phil, Therese, Kahando and myself. The aim: To raise money for a clean water system in Mozambique. (You can still donate, I believe www.justgiving.com/mozambiquecleanwater )

The Friday before the big start was a very pleasant affair. The support team arrived (more on them later) and Phil jetted in from somewhere within North London. Complex Carbohydrates were the dish of the day to ready ourselves for the grand slog.

So, Saturday came (minus Sean Bean)... The intrepid cyclists, pumped up on Lucozade, carbohydrates, Volvic, chocolate and porridge (give me strength). Porridge is another bete noir of mine. However you dress it up, honey or the like, it is still a bitter enemy of mine, but needs must be.... It was fate. We passed Anneka Rice over Barnes Bridge. We were facing a daunting challlenge and Anneka was there. A brief smile and a non-discernable mumble was all I could manage.

Our first leg was underway. Barnes Bridge to The Beefeater on the A412 - Uxbridge Road. Yes, it was as glamorous as it sounds, but it was a relief to escape the perils and odours of Slough. Rolling hills, exquisite architecture, laughing children, green open spaces and an abundance of British wildlife, none of this was evident in Slough. John Betjemen had the right idea, but I would not advocate bombing the place...much. The first stretch of our journey was not particularly arduous, although there was the imminent threat of bus vs bicycle, particularly those blasted Bendy buses, early doors.

The 'suburbs' London became merely a distant memory as we cycled into our first official stop. Mary (Therese's mother), Marion (Therese's second family) and Suzi (Therese's sister) were eagerly waiting for us. The three had gallantly volunteered to lend a hand as our support team and what a job they did. Not only was the car rammed full of various sugary substances and more water/sports drinks that you could shake a bicycle pump at, they supplied some much needed emotional support and encouragement. British Cycling might not have spent so many years in the doldrums if they had had a support team of such quality. The Beefeater had an offer of a 10oz steak for £6.99, but we had to make tracks. The next pub was calling.

Leg Two was slightly longer, at least it felt that way. The thighs were beginning to burn a bit, but spirits were high and we were making the distances in good time. The Pond House Pub, just past Maidenhead, had our name on it. The air was becoming much fresher and the land remained even. This was a walk in the park so far. I had never really linked Maidenhead with words such as beauty or elegance. The name just does not conjure up scenes to marvel at, ignoring the fact that it is in close proximity to Royal Windsor. How wrong was I? We crossed a rather ornate looking bridge that took us into the heart of the town. I had no idea that the 'Silicon Corridor' existed and wealthy commuters use it as a base and entry into London.

Anyway...enough of that.

The Support Team had setup base in a rather attractive little pub. Therese and Phil managed to find it OK, Kahando and me managed to sprint about a mile past the rendez-vous point. A flurry of text messages and Phil on a mercy mission ensured that we did not stray any further than we already had. I enjoyed the freewheeling down the hill that ran from the pub, I did not enjoy the climb back so much... Lunch ensued. Kindly donated by Pret-a-Manger (I shall ignore the McDonalds links) as it was ruddy marvellous and just what the doctor ordered. Very tempting to stop there for the day as the Lions were on the pitch (via Sky TV) warming up for the first test and the steaks look lush. But Woolhampton would not come to us, so with a heavy heart we set off...again.

We were making good time. Breezing along. Kahando and me were leading for a short while. Therese and Phil disappeared off the radar. Something had gone awry. I found Kahando a short distance ahead of me. The bicycle pump was out, an ominous sign. My phone beeped. Phil had a puncture as well. Oh dear. The Support Team raced back to the Wyevale Garden Centre and the bicycle mechanics got to work. The enforced stop was costly in our time keeping, which meant that we would eventually reach Newbury close to dusk. Ironic that the two best bikes were the victims of some stray schrapnel! The stop did have its merits as buttocks were becoming sore.

There was still a fair way to go before reaching Woolhampton and we were (probably speaking for myself) beginning to tire. Whilst the terrain was relatively flat, we were inexperienced when it came to distance cycling and I had already doubled the furthest I had cycled before. The countryside made the rest of the leg worthwhile. Something that the occupants of cars missed as they whizzed past us. More chocolate, water, nutrients, carbohydrates (and the support team) welcomed us at The Rising Sun. A relatively short stop, this one, as we were within spitting distance (sort of) of Newbury, our final destination of Day One.

The first stretch of the final leg was all uphill. Nice. We seemed to make swift work of it and we, eventually, triumphantly cycled into Newbury with sore buttocks, aching thighs, drenched in sweat, but it was worth it, very much so. Newbury Baptist Church was a welcome sight. We had made it. 60 (odd) miles were done and dusted. We setup camp in a Church Hall of sorts. Marion and Mary disappeared off to their B&B, before we embarked on a curry mission. By jove, I have never enjoyed a curry so much. The wine flowed, inadvisably, and there was only a few grains of rice left of our feast. Our 'beds' were calling and we waved the white flag. Weary, full, but glowing. I feel at this point I should apologise for my nocturnal acitivies. By that, I mean snoring. Apparently, I have never been awake to witness it. The hardwood floor was sufficient, I don't think there was much that would wake me from my deep slumber. The night seemed short as the first light broke our sleep. I set off on a quick trip to One Stop, actually beating their opening time, for some further supplies. Porridge, Croissant, Coffee, Tea were served up by the ever graceful Suzi. Much needed, apart from the Porridge.

The tricky part was getting back on the bike after a break of 12 hours or so. Having been surgically removed from the saddle the night before, we had no choice but to get back on. Not pleasant and it didn't get any easier as the journey went on. It was tough work to our mini-stop in Hungerford. I would elaborate on Hungerford, but I can't remember much about it. My focus was on lunch and merely avoiding cardiac problems and/or erratic drivers. Marlborough was the main stop and came across as a very pleasant little town (reminded me of Haslemere...a bit). We managed to find the car, eventually, and further drinks and goodies were dished out by the ever-pleasant support crew. It was short and sweet. The soul destroying monent was passing through a village called 'Halfway' when we had long since passed that point. Bastards. Chippenham was our lunch time venue and we needed to pick up the pace.

Continually, during the cycle, I scoffed at the internet difficulty rating of this trip - 10/10, what? It has been quite mild so far. Marlborough was the starting point of an uphill struggle for much of the remainder of the course. The scenery was second to none and the mountainous terrain was second to none (excluding many, many thousands regions across the whole globe). It was arduous, long and fraught, but we eventually made it to Chippenham.

The Hungry Horse was our latest venue. Tears and tantrums followed and that was just me. It was at the (latest) pub that I first discovered the beauty of 'The Frube'. They had been nestled away in the back of the people carrier and I was yet to discover their utter delight. Sweet Mother of all that is good and pure. This is going to be an expensive habit. Things were starting to get serious now. We were well over half way and the genteel landscape was beginning to ascend. Whilst the support crew searched for a venue supplying Tea and Scones, the corageous riders battled with the elements of Britain. A light drizzle was a welcome prospect to dilute the sweat and cool the heated faces. Everything was aching at this point. There was nothing for it, but to concentrate ones sight 20 metres ahead. Reach that goal and extend it another 20 metres, that is how it worked for me.

Every downhill was greeted with a sigh of relief, but we know for every downhill, there must be some back-stabbing, gruelling uphill to counter it. The legs were, pretty much, the same length, but they felt infinitely longer (the cycle legs, not mine). I crawled towards the White Hart Inn. Reserves were running low. We were now on the A420 and our destination was Cold Ashton. Just before the hamlet of Cold Ashton, I had a near hit and miss with a shrew, possibly a vole, I am not David Attenbrough dammit! I put him in my pocket to take him across the road (that is where he was heading), but he leapt out and made his own way safely. We reached the White Hart Inn (no steak offers) and spent a little while there, stretching, eating and recovering. Sod it. We are close. Let's do it.

Kahando and Phil set the pace, Therese and I followed. The adventure was coming to a close. We only had 20 miles or so to conquer. The Oasis (The Charity) awaited our arrival and the thought of Bristol felt like an Oasis. Our uphill struggles dissipated. The last two miles were pretty much downhill and the wind in our faces was a much welcome distraction from the previous twenty miles of climbing.

We made it. Lidl (not Aldi, Suzi) was the final port of call for Therese and myself (Phil and Kahando cycled on towards Oasis). It wasn't quite Bristol, but it was in every other sense. After a quick photo shoot, we were ushered off to a Barbeque, somewhere in the outskirts of Bristol. Our ever present support crew left for St Leonards-upon-Sea and we were left to fend for ourselves. Having felt I could devour a whole herd of horses, I put in a pretty poor show. The feast was mouth-watering, but my hunger was not there. I am thinking that my body was already eating away at my essential organs. Very pleasant company all round.

Dan whooshed us of in his car, towards London, making a mockery of our cycle. Cold Ashton, Calne, Chippenham, Marlborough, Newbury, Woolhampton and so on, were just a fleeting roadsign. Therese and I arrived back in Barnes, just shy of midnight. Weary, but still bouncing with Adrenaline. The journey was done. Gone, but not forgotten.

An abding memory was the ease of access we had to water along our trevails. Something we, as a socitey, takes for granted. Hopefully our endeavours shall stand a Mozambiquean (have I just made up a word?) in good stead and they shall no longer have to toil in the heat to fetch some dirty water.

A massive thanks to all those that sponsored me and a massive thanks to Mary, Marion and Suzi for being on call when it mattered. Thanks to The Oasis crew and the various other members that created a BBQ to be proud of. A very special thanks to Therese for her tireless work to make it happen and her organisational skills that ensured it was an easy ride (relatively). Onwards and upwards. I have got the bug and I plan to cycle further.

Number Crunching

1 Bottle of RadianB gratefully received (you must try it)
3 Essential Support Crew members
4 Cyclists for the mission
8 Hotel Room Number of Marion and Mary
43 litres of water consumed
69 tonnes of chocolate consumed
168 The order number of the Peshwari Naan
496 miles travelled of the cyclists (combined)
796 litres of sweat....sweated
1000+ pounds raised from our endeavours


Word of the Day: Velocipede (Latin for "fast foot") is an umbrella term for any human-powered land vehicle with one or more wheels. The most common type of velocipede today is the bicycle.

Quote of the Day: 'Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.' - Lance Armstrong (Cycling Legend).