I’ve got 4 days to do it, and that’ll be plenty. It’s looking rainy, but Im not too bothered about that now. More apprehensive about finding somewhere to pitch the tent unmolested, and unsure whether to make it close to a village so I can go and have dinner at a pub. Probably will.

Was inspired to do this trip by Al Humphreys and his microadventures. Al walked a lap of the M25 in Jan of this year with a mate, just because he could, and to further prove the point that you don’t need to cycle around the world to have an adventure. Although he’s done that as well, so it’s easier for him to say than most.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time in my rain-battered tent to play with my… iPhone, so expect more posts and pics over the next 4 days.

Mike

My second time at Bob Potter’s Lakeside for the BDO World Championship darts, and the second fantastic night out.

Difficult to get there because of the snow, and it meant we were 8 instead of 12, but we rocked up at 4.30 after a slow and snowy drive from Oxford. Jonny P had come down from Manchester and we got there in the car with Fran and Dave. Al Randall, Stevie G and their friends Giles and Kirk from Sky were coming in from London.

Once we’d got the car park snowball fight out of the way, and I’d taken a direct hit in the face from Dave, we got warmed up in the bar of the Continental hotel, and negotiated a twenty quid discount on each of our rooms with non other than Bob Potter’s wife. The discount was asked for on account of us being told we’d have to make our own beds. Mrs Potter took offence initially, but then did us a deal. In fact when we made it back to the bar after the darts she got one of the staff to insist we have a round of drinks on her, because she’d snapped at us earlier – very kind of her.

There were a lot of people who hadn’t made it because of the weather, so we got a table right next to Al and Steve, in a great spot, and settled down to some food and lager. I find it difficult to pay attention to the darts when I’m actually there. Its too exciting and you’re bobbing around getting pictures with the players, getting drinks in, chatting.

We got started on a drinking game which involved having to sink a shot of Baileys if the player scored 180, or a checkout of over 100, or less than 30 when not on a checkout. We followed the darts more when we were playing that, funnily enough.

Before we knew it the darts were over and we were back to the bar at the Continental for late-night drinks. On our way out of the main hall we got a picture with Bob Potter and a mayor, in all his regalia. “Where are you the Mayor of?” I slurred at him. “Surrey Heath” he replied. Jon had a chat with the mayor after that where the Mayor declared that it would be OK for him to have a few late-night drinks before driving home because “the Police’ll never be out on a night like tonight”. Nice!

We managed a game of 501 in the bar at the Continental, and polished it off in something like 40 darts. Bobby George was on the next table so we grabbed him as he tried to sneak out to the loo. As we stood in a row smiling for the camera I said to him “I watched your masterclass on the BBC website, Bobby”. “Did you get an ‘ard on?” he replied. You can’t teach class like that.

Jon and I speculatively headed out towards the lake at about 1 in the morning where they have an Indian restaurant on a boat. Amazingly it was open, and we shovelled in some poor quality curry, before heading for our beds.

Tragically not everyone made it to their beds though, and one chap fell in the lake and died. Absolutely awful, and they’ve no idea what happened to him so far.

Breakfast the next morning, and again Bobby George was on the next table from us. No pictures this time though, he wasn’t looking in the best of moods. There were lots of large blokes eating a lot of fried food in that breakfast hall.

Then homeward bound and looking forward to another night at the Lakeside next year, ticket allocation allowing.

As you’ll know from my last entry, it was a disappointing way to end the trip, having to abandon the fnal 2 days of riding due to a large snowfall and freezing temperatures. After all the weather I’d had to battle through I can’t believe that it finally got me – I can’t remember the last time we got snow in December!

Whilst that may nag away at me over time, and I may well find myself going back to Colchester in the New Year and doing those two days, the trip has been a success in many other ways than simply closing the loop back to Oxford.

I did manage to cycle to visit all the members of my family, and some friends, which had been the main purpose of the trip. It allowed me an opportunity to get right up-to-date with my family, and to get to know some of them a lot better than I have before, and all of them a bit better than I have before.

I also had a wonderful time, packed with all sorts of experiences and memories, a few of which I’ve recorded for posterity and to share in this blog. I’m sure this trip over time will acquire an importance in my memory, and I’m pleased I’ve made a note of my thoughts as I’ve been going.

I’m also so pleased that I cracked the weather, stood up to the challenge physically, and got everything together logistically so that me and the bike could make it almost to the end in what at times were quite challenging conditions.

I have to say a few big thank yous.

Firstly to everyone who sponsored my ride, and helped me raise over a thousand pounds for a great charity. I’ve been really touched with peoples generosity, mostly that of friends and family, but also from people I met along the way. The memory of leaving the B+B in Wells and being given £40 that had been donated during a whip-around in the breakfast room will stay with me a while.

An extremely important thank you to Steve Avery, for lending me his bike, when it became clear with 2 days before I was due to leave that my bike was not ‘fit for purpose’. I hardly knew Steve then, and so that made his offer even more generous and trusting, and has given me an example to try and follow.

Also thank you to everyone who put me up during the trip. I’ve had a wonderful time seeing you all, I’m aware that I’ve done practically no cooking or washing up for a month, and in many cases I’ve stunk the house out by drying my sweaty cycling gear on your radiators.

During the trip loads of you have been in touch, from occasional texts and calls, to those of you who have been in touch regularly. These were invaluable to me, and I can’t tell you how nice it was to get a bit of encouragement when it was cold, wet, windy, or all three and I was wondering what the hell I was thinking of by doing it.

Jon, Tom F, Big Al, Michael in Paris, Uncle Tony, Cousin Stephen, Nick Hinze, Phil Ward (who I’ve never even met), Fran and Dave, Leigh, Nick Marshall, and probably some others who don’t spring to mind right now, all got in touch regularly and gave me the feeling that I wasn’t on my own, and it was greatly appreciated.

Finally, my two biggest fans and supporters throughout the trip. My sister, the one and only Babselonius Be-bop the First (aka ‘Babsy’), who was always there to talk in the evening and give me words of encouragement. I’m almost more disappointed for her that I didn’t get to finish the ride to Oxford than I was for myself. I called her on more than one occasion and did nothing but whinge.

And also my Grandma, who wanted word every evening that I was home and safe, and who ended every conversation with the words ‘drive steady tomorrow’. She could barely disguise her incomprehension at why I would want to ride around England in December, but once I was underway she was right behind me, and her print-out of my route is now well marked with her scribblings, and her UK atlas that bit more thumbed than it was a month ago.

So that’s it from me for now. I’ll update this blog if and when I get back to Colchester. That will depend on whether the ribbing from some of my more cynical friends gets too unbearable.

Either way, I think I’ve got the bug for some more adventure, so I’ll have to see if I can top this sometime later in the year. But perhaps when the weather is warmer!

Lots of love, Mike x

Day 25 (Wed 16th December)

Walberswick (SUFFOLK) to Colchester (ESSEX)

Distance: 100.5km (Total distance 1870.5km)

Time in the saddle: 5:37

Climbing: 736m

As I rolled out from Walberswick on Day 25 at 9am with a hangover, the temperature barely if at all above freezing, patches of ice on the road, and the thought of at least 5 hours in the saddle ahead of me, I felt grim, and was already wishing that I was in Colchester.

It had become increasingly clear that the end of the week was going to be very cold, and I’d had an urgent text from my sis just before I left saying that there was snow predicted for my route sometime after lunch. She urged me to get on the bike and get going, and not to worry about sending her a text message back, for fear that those few seconds may be the ones I’d need later in the day to claw my way to Tammy and Jon’s front door before the snow drifts overcame me!

And so started one of those days that was miserable at the time, but which assume a special place in your memory soon afterwards. It was just bloody grim.

My toes and fingers were numb with cold, my nose was also freezing, and to make the 100 km that extra bit fun I had a gentle headwind that slowed me down just that little bit and made sure the snow, when it did start to fall, went straight in my face.

And it started to snow a lot sooner than I’d hoped. By 11 I was cycling through a steady shower of flakes, although thankfully they were turning wet on the roads, if not on the fields.

I can’t remember many rides where I’ve been so obsessed with how far I had left to go. I’d turn my bike computer to a screen where I couldn’t see the distance covered, and then challenge myself to not look at it for as long as possible, deliberately under-estimating how far I’d covered in the intervening period.

I’d then give in and take a look at how far was left, and on two occasions was so genuinely surprised that I’d underestimated by more than 5km that it gave me a real boost for the next 20 minutes or so.

It was psychologically important when I got past half distance. But I still had a feeling of doom about the rest of the trip. My fear that the snow was only going to get worse lead to negative thoughts not only about finishing the day, but also about getting back to Oxford, and I was in a pretty bad mood all day.

The snow at one point got really thick, and there was the chance that it would lay on the road and cause problems, but although the countryside turned white, the roads were just OK. And as I approached Colchester, I was thankful that at least I’d made it to my next rest day, and could take a look at the weather reports.

Arriving at Tammy and Jon’s I wasn’t given too much opportunity to dwell on my own selfish concerns for long, as little Lyla, their daughter, was having a birthday tea for her 2nd birthday.

Tam is a friend from uni days, and has been with Jon for 17 years (!) and they now have 3 kids – Solomon (3), Lyla (2) and Seth, who must be weighing in at about 6 months now.

Tam is an ace analyst for a bank in the City, and Jon is a brilliant teacher who now works in a special unit teaching autistic kids.

When they got married 5 years ago in Florence we all headed out there for a memorable few days, and that remains the one and only wedding that I’ve officially photographed. I still maintain I enjoyed it!

As soon as I’d showered and got warm, it was all hands on deck as a flurry of kids and friends and family arrived, and I felt a bit shell-shocked after the hard day in the saddle I’d just endured.

A few hours later, when the crowd had left, and the kids were in bed, we crashed on the sofa and I looked forward to a good sleep and then a day of rest and getting to know the three kids better the next day.

Day 26 (Thurs 17th December)

Rest day in Colchester

The word ‘rest’ shouldn’t be taken too literally when there are three children under the age of 4 to look after.

I say ‘look after’. Tam and Jon would be amused if I suggested that I in any way contributed seriously to looking after the kids that day. I did however have a good stab at pretending to be Luke Skywalker for 20 minutes, built several animals out of K’Nex, and generally tried to be amusing and likeable in the face of occasional interest, and more than occasional disinterest from the three of them.

What was nice though was feeling by the end of the day that the kids were used to having me around, and to have gotten a much better sense of their personalities and where they were at. In short, they’re all adorable, but in very different ways.

Sol is a real boy, tearing around, into everything, but then he has some very cute moments when he wants to sit down and do a puzzle, or when he was building a snowman with me.

Lyla is adorably sweet, still getting to grips with speaking properly, and she insists on dressing herself, which at just turned two is remarkable and, with arms and legs in the wrong holes, also at times hilarious.

She also likes wearing Sol’s Darth Vader outfit (picture above) and with the outfit on, light sabre in one hand, teddy and comfort blanket in the other and the Imperial March music on the iPod I was in stitches.

With all the energy and movement of Sol and Lyla, young Seth at times seems placid and easy in comparison. Probably not quite how Tam and Jon perceive it, having to feed and change his nappies all the time though!  He’s doing some proper smiling, and I got to do lots of baby-holding and was generally feeling quite paternal.

We went for an icy walk at Flatford Mill, which is where John Constable painted The Hay Wain, and then had a nice lunch at a restaurant just outside Dedham. A very nice day out, and it was amusing trying to keep three kids entertained in a restaurant.

In the evening Jon, who’s an amazing and enthusiastic cook, rustled up a bruschetta starter, risotto main and then a zabaglione for dessert. All washed down with plenty of wine, as it started to snow heavily outside.

I’d been checking the forecast regularly, and it had been very cold all day, and thinks started to look grim as evening came round. It was really snowing thickly, and the outlook wasn’t looking good as we headed off to bed.

Day 27 (Friday 18th December)

The end of the road!

One look out of the curtains confirmed that my trip was over. The snow was 6 inches deep, the roads were barely OK for the cars to tackle, let alone a racing bike on skinny tyres, and the forecast gave little hope that the snow would clear for at least 4 days, with more snow forecast.

I was very disappointed, and will probably become more disappointed as time goes by, I’m sure. But I have to admit that I did also have a sense of relief that, now the decision had been made for me by circumstance, I didn’t have to get on the bike again and do any more riding.

After almost a month of riding almost every day, when the end came I was always going to feel a huge sense of relief. That it was tempered by an added feeling of regret and disappointment didn’t mean that I didn’t still have that thought of ‘thank God its all over’, which I’d just expected to be getting 2 days later in Oxford.

So making the best of a bad job we headed into the driveway to build a snowman, and then after a visit from Tam’s Mum and Dad (thanks for the donation!) it was off to Colchester Station and a 4 hour journey into London, taxi across London, then train out to Oxford.

Not the arrival I’d been hoping for, and I do so wish I’d rolled down the same street that I’d set off from what seemed like an age ago, but then I was still so happy to get home, and proud of myself.

That evening was really great, as my sis, Gregoire and Monty-the-dog came over bearing champagne, a banner (which they’d intended me to ride under the next day had I made it) and a balloon, then we were joined by Leigh and Mara for a curry before we all headed off to the Old Bookbinders, my local in Jericho.

Nick and Harriet joined us soon after, and we all cracked on with the wine, and I was indluged by being allowed to tell lots of tales from my trip. We ended up at Nick and Harriet’s at 2 in the morning, and feeling like we’d properly marked the end of the trip in style. It was a really great way to mark my arrival home.

Arriving with cousin Anna in Cringleford, just on the Western edges of Norwich, started a hectic but enjoyable ‘Day In The Life’ experience, during which I tagged along and tried to slot in as best as possible with the daily routines of Anna and her two kids, Oliver (8) and Sophie (5).

Anna is 29, and the second-eldest daughter of my Mum’s sister, Teresa. I’d be visiting Teresa and her two youngest kids (the twins Robert and Rebecca) the next day, so these two days were really all about Teresa’s family. Teresa’s eldest, my cousin Nicola, was my first stop, down in Plymouth, so the trip had been neatly book-ended by this branch of the family.

Arriving in Cringleford I was greeted by the wonderful smell of what I thought must be lunch, but turned out to be a big spaghetti bolognaise that Anna had thoughtfully put together for our dinner that night.

“You’re not vegetarian are you?!” she quipped, to which I gave the reply she really didn’t want to hear. I’d assumed that my family all knew I was vege, as its been 21 years now (with the excepton of 99-07 – ‘the fish-eating years’), but this kind of highlighted how little I’ve really seen of Anna during our lives.

I unpacked my stuff in Oliver’s room, kindly vacated by him for the night, and plastered wall-to-wall with Star Wars posters and life-size representations of Darth Vader and Boba Fett.

Time for a quick drink, a brief catch-up with Anna and an introduction to their 8-month old, fully energised Cocker Spaniel, Molly, then it was off into the fray as we headed into Norwich to pick up Sophie and then Oliver from school.

The primary school which Sophie attends was a scene of partly controlled chaos as kids spilled out and Mums arrived, and Mum’s said hellos whilst kids said goodbyes. We headed into Sophie’s classroom, and she was easy to spot in her amazing little buggy that she uses to get around in.

Sophie, in case you hadn’t realised, is the same Sophie that has inspired me to raise some cash for charity on this ride. She got diagnosed with a brain tumour when she was 2, and while she has now been given the all-clear for the cancer, she has been left, 3 years later, with various disabilities that leave her needing 24-hour care.

As her balance isn’t too good for now, she has this souped up little buggy that she powers around on, terrorising fellow pavement-goers. Its fantastic to see her manoeuvering her way around, somewhat haphazardly, and you have to watch your ankles a bit, but basically in control, independent, and able to decide for herself where she wants to go.

She’s a popular lass and all her friends were coming up to her at the gates to say hello and goodbye. As we went past one little lad who was a bit older, he turned to his mate and said very earnestly “Yeah, I really like that little car. Mmm, I want one of those.” I can understand why, as it really shifts, but that may have been a tricky wish-list for Santa to handle.

We had a lovely lunch at an organic cafe. Sophie can’t take food or liquid by mouth but seems to have a fascination with playing with it, and is also something of a cook, it seems. So after playing with some of Anna’s chocolate cake, it got wrapped up and placed in her hood for safe-keeping. We forgot about this until later when we were trying to figure out why Molly the dog kept attacking the back of Sophie’s head. No harm done!

Then it was off to get Oliver from school. As Anna took Sophie in to the loo at the school, Oliver hijacked the buggy and did a few nifty laps of the playground, then we headed back to the car, Sophie driving the buggy with Oliver getting a ride on the back.

Oliver is a great kid, tons of energy and very sweet. A bit obssessed with guns, in the way that computer-game playing boys can be at that age, and with the currently stated career aim to be an actor that plays murderers, if I remember that conversation rightly. I was also proudly shown his BMX, with the recently added front and rear footpegs.

After dinner, the first glass of wine of the night, and a visit from Anna’s South African friend (Karen?) we were off to our next engagement – Oliver’s school carol concert.

I was over the moon that my trip coincided with this, and it didn’t disappoint. The only thing that disappointed in fact was mine and Anna’s ability to hit the right notes and take the singing seriously. I’ll be damned if Good King Wenceslas, along with half the other carols, didn’t fall either below or above my limited vocal range. Anna did a little better, but I can’t say more than that really, sorry Anna!

All that was left was for the kids to go to bed, Sophie’s carer to arrive (Sophie has to be monitored all the way through the night), then for Anna and I to while away the evening with a few glasses of wine, trading amusing stories of internet dating, catching up on family news, and resolving for Anna to come down to Oxford in the New Year for a deserved weekend of frivolity.

Day 24 (Tues 15th December)

Norwich (NORFOLK) to Walberswick (SUFFOLK)

Distance: 57.8km (Total distance 1770.0km)

Time in the saddle: 2:45

Climbing: 399m

Bed came a lot later than it should have done for an elite athlete such as myself, but it had been another enjoyable evening, and I didn’t mind only getting 5 hours sleep as I crawled out of bed at 7.30 to do the school run.

Anna was already up and in 5th gear, and before I knew it we’d dropped the kids off, had an icy but enjoyable walk in the forest with Molly for an hour, and it was almost time for me to bid farewell, and head South-East on the short ride to Suffolk.

It had been really nice to get to know Anna better, during what felt like a lot longer than the 22 hours it was. She’s brilliant fun. Very bright, a wonderfully dry sense of humour, and with a down-to-earth quality that must come partly at least from having to deal daily with the realities of having two kids, one of whom needs more care than most, a dog, and a demanding job as a nurse.

I rolled out with my head still fuzzy and enjoyed a beautiful ride through rolling and interesting countryside between Norwich and Walberswick. It wasn’t a long ride, and I also wasn’t in too much of a hurry, so I just enjoyed having my head cleared by the cold air, and kept my eyes peeled for ice on the road.

Before I even knew it the 3 hours had passed and I was rolling towards the coast, and the little village of Walberswick.

Here resides cousin Rebecca (Anna’s sister), and her boyfriend Ben. Rebecca for many years has looked after the stables at the holiday home of the screenwriter Richard Curtis (BlackAdder, Four Weddings, Bridget Jones etc.) and his wife Emma Freud. Rebecca and Ben live in a flat by the stables, and very kindly I’d been allowed to stay in the adjacent flat for the night.

It was still freezing cold outside when I arrived, and that made lunch in the warm flat even more enjoyable, helped by the home made chutney that Rebecca was cracking open for the first time. Robert arrived soon after, followed by Auntie Teresa, then soon Ben arrived back from his work as a carpenter, and Ian, Teresa’s partner, soon after him.

Robert and Rebecca are twins, aged 26 I think, and the youngest of Teresa’s four kids. Robert works in a local bar, and is a self-confessed shop-a-holic. He’s got the most infectious laugh, which he employs regularly, and was looking very cool on our night out in a pair of slinky, pointed shoes.

Rebecca’s life right now is dominated by her final exams in her 5th year studying osteopathy. She’s been juggling doing the course with working, and has almost got there. She’s got plans to start practising in Southwold, and I’m sure she’ll be a big success. She’s got a really lovely manner and is always smiling! Her boyfriend Ben is also a top bloke, and talking with him about his Suzuki GSX-R 750 motorbike made me reminiscent of my brief spell as a biker, and set off my dreams of having a holiday on the Isle of Man during the TT races sometime soon.

Auntie Teresa and Ian met a few years back, and have just bought a place in Spain, so their dream of a life in the sun is becoming reality. They’ve got a transit van which Ian is converting into one that you can sleep and live in, so that they can go backwards and forwards between the UK and Spain in it.

We had quite a gathering assembled for the night, and after I’d helped Rebecca to bring in a couple of horses from the fields we headed out to a great pub/restaurant doing Italian food.

What ensued was a cracking night of getting up-to-date, once again, with family who I hadn’t really spent much time with in recent years, and not a lot in the years preceding that either really.

They’re a great bunch, and we had a lot of laughter and chat around that restaurant table. ‘El vino did flow’, and by the time we got back to Walberswick it was time to get the sambuca out and play a bit of Wii bowling and tennis.

Once again I crawled into bed far later and far more worse for wear than I should have done, given that tomorrow was going to be a much longer day in the saddle than today. Still, a price worth paying for a memorable evening.

Day 21 (Sat 12th December)

Thorngumbald (EAST RIDING OF YORKSHIRE) to Lincoln (LINCS)

Distance: 93.3km (Total distance 1520.6km)

Time in the saddle: 4:33

Climbing: 570m

As I rolled out of Thorngumbald with the Humber Bridge on my mind, I was aware that the feel of the trip was going to change in a couple of ways for the next few days.

Firstly, I’d be entering a very flat part of Britain, and the many drainage ditches around Lincolnshire made it look, on the road atlas at least, like it would be quite different from anything I’d ridden so far.

And secondly because I would be in B+Bs for the next couple of nights, as I pushed on down to Norwich to cousin Anna’s house. Staying in B+Bs was almost all I did during the first week, and its actually very enjoyable, in a different way from seeing members of the family.

Once you arrive at the B+B, by no later than 4 when it gets dark, you spend the next hour drinking your chocolate milk, sorting out your kit, stretching, showering, sorting out other bits of kit, plugging the sat-nav and phone into their chargers, writing your ride stats down, and generally getting everything sorted.

You’ve no one else to think about, just focussing on total order, with the express intention of arriving at a point by about 5.30 or 6 when everything is done, and all you have to then think about is getting some food, and getting back to your room to relax on the bed (not a euphemism) and watch some telly.

There’s a wonderful simplicity and selfishness about those evenings, and I was actually looking forward to it for a couple of nights.

I made it from Grandma’s to the Humber Bridge via route 1, which was a 35km/h blast along the A62 straight through Hull. I was meant to go a longer route avoiding this road, but after my sat-nav asked me to turn off at a place where I couldn’t, I just thought “What the hell” and pushed on.

As I rolled along the pedestrian/cycle way along the side of the Humber Bridge I felt exhilarated. The bridge and river Humber are both equally massive and impressive and epic, and it also felt like I really was starting the final leg of the trip.

What followed as I headed through North Lincolnshire affected the whole of the rest of the trip, unfortunately. I was cycling down a dead-straight road, empty of cars, only a foot or two from the edge, when a car approached from behind. It was probably doing about 60mph, as it was allowed, and I heard it approaching.

It went past me with less than a foot to spare. Just measure out a foot in front of you with your hands right now, and then try and imagine having a car pass you at 60mph with that distance between you and it, on an empty road. My panniers stick out at the rear, so can have been no more than 6 inches from the car.

Why they did it, whether it was on purpose or not, I’ll not know. It was either a joke that almost went very wrong, or they were texting on their phone or for some other reason just didn’t see me.

Either way it was the closest I’d ever come to being badly injured or killed on my bike, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind for days. It really soured the next 2 days at least, and it was only really when I got to Anna’s 3 days later that I had got over the initial anger.

Put simply, I don’t want to die on my bicycle. I love riding my bike, but unfortunately it means that you put yourself at risk of being killed on the roads, and I’m not surewhether oneis worth the risk of the other.

The vast majority, by which I mean 99.5% of drivers, make good efforts to give you room, and I had been pleasantly surprised during the trip that I’d felt like I was being given more room, perhaps because of having panniers on that made me a bit wider.

But there are people who are either idiots or bad drivers or just don’t have a good understanding of how much room you need to give a cyclist, and when you encounter one of these people it is dangerous and unsettling and just makes me want to rage.

Its so easy to get angry about the odd idiot who has no patience, or worse, and to dwell on that, and let it eat away at you. I wish I knew a good way to let go of the memories of my encounters with the few people who we could do without in this world, and not let it sour my mood or my view of people in general, but I haven’t found a good way yet.

Anyway, the result was that the rest of the day passed in a haze of anger and resentment and I didn’t enjoy a minute of it. I got to Lincoln, got some dinner, took a little look around but wasn’t really in the mood, watched some TV, then got some sleep.

I had meant to write my blog update here, but it would just have been angry and not a good representation of what had been a lovely few days with family.

Day 22 (Sun 13th December)

Lincoln (LINCS) to Downham Market (NORFOLK)

Distance: 123.4km (Total distance 1644.0km)

Time in the saddle: 5:41

Climbing: 402m

The traffic was heavy in the first hour out of Lincoln, and after the previous day’s near-miss I was just angry-on-a-bike for a while.

As the roads quietened and I worked it out of my system I started to enjoy the ride, although it was completely flat and had a peculiar feel to it.

Difficult to know how much of it was down to my negative mood, but the place just felt really weird. No hedgerows, arable land as far as you could see, a dead-straight horizon, straight endless roads with drainage ditches alongside. Just dull, dull, dull, and the odd farmhouse dotted here and there, or a small hamlet of houses along a road.

It felt like the sort of place a man could get depressed and put a shotgun in his mouth! Interesting to ride through all the same, and I’m glad I did.

Lunch was in a pub filled with locals having their Sunday roast, and as I sat waiting for the vege lasagne to arrive the heavens opened.

The final couple of hours were sodden, and reminded me that I’d been lucky on the weather front for the past few days.

It was a long day today, 120km, and so I was quite tired as I rolled into Downham Market. It sat on a gentle slope, the first I’d seen all day, and the next morning as I set off to Norwich it would be confirmed that Downham Market signalled the end of the flatlands that had constituted the entirety of today’s ride.

It was a nice evening of Chinese takeaway in my room watching Sports Personality of the Year on TV, at the lovely Chestnut Villa, managed by June, who was very friendly.

Day 23 (Mon 14th December)

Downham Market (NORFOLK) to Norwich (NORFOLK)

Distance: 68.2km (Total distance 1712.2km)

Time in the saddle: 2:50

Climbing: 361m

It was a thick fog that I rode through for the first hour, along wonderful little lanes and through some really great Norfolk countryside. It was welcome after the boring plains of Lincolnshire, and I was in a good mood on the bike at last.

I was in a hurry to get to Anna’s in time to then head out and pick the kids up from school, so didn’t hang around taking photos or stopping to eat, instead putting my foot down and checking my progress on the computer.

The ride was not noteworthy in many ways. It got a bit busier towards the end, but wasn’t particularly challenging in any other way.

After what felt like, and indeed was, a short ride, I got to Anna’s, and thus started a really fun and action-packed 48 hours with La Famille Huggins…

Whether wisely or not, I’ve been thinking a lot during the ride about milestones that need to be reached, and how they impact on my likelihood of completing it.

As I’d mentioned before, I’ve been quite focussed throughout on wanting to complete the ride, and been nervous from the start about my ability to manage it both physically and logistically. And so throughout I’d be thinking ‘Right, if I can just get to this point OK, then the next 2 days after that are quite light, which means I should be fine to get to point X at least etc. etc.’

After getting through the first week, I then felt good about getting at least up toYorkshire, but in my mind that was going to be the next hurdle, doing those two hilly days across to Mum’s.

Another feature of the trip has been imagining what each part of the country will be like – how hilly, how windy, how interesting. Having planned the trip on a road atlas with no contour lines it was difficult to know what awaited me each day, and I’d be going on either previous visits to roughly the same area, or vague ideas or stereotypes that I’ve gathered over the years (e.g. Lincolnshire = flat)

Having cleared the relentless hills and poor weather of the first week in the South West I then felt good about my ability to handle any of the individual days on their own, but I think the nervousness that remained was centred around how my body would hold up over the full month, and mostly how my mind would be handling having to climb on to a bike and ride on my own for day after day.

As it happened, those two days over to Yorkshire went well, and were helped a lot, paradoxically, by the interest that hilly country provides for the mind. Its easier to lose yourself in the ride when you’re climbing, descending, looking around at beautiful scenery, navigating winding hedge-lined roads, and not having to worry about cars.

And so I arrived in Harome with a sense that the riding from there on would be easier, and well within my abilities, and that I could safely now think about completing the ride. Strong headwinds, a crash, body or bike failure, or bad ice or snow aside, I couldn’t see what would stop me…

Day 18 (Wed 9th December)

Rest day in Harome with Mum

One thing I haven’t tired of during this trip is that feeling of arriving at your destination at the end of the day, and knowing that you’ve got an evening of simple relaxation ahead. Its even more so when you’ve got a rest day the next day, and so it was at Mum’s on the evening of Day17, after a shortish but tough ride to Harome, just south of the North Yorkshire Moors in Ryedale.

It was great to see Mum, and to spend a bit of time with The Harome Wriggler, Mum’s adorable but nutty Border Terrier. She’s a cool dog, bright as a button, and very independent. For the past few months she’s had chickens on the mind. Specifically the three that Mum has bought to provide eggs for her B+B. Every time Mum goes out to feed them she pelts out at full speed and patrols Peckingham Palace astutely, barking loudly.

After I’d spent the morning of my rest day writing my blog, we got in the car and pretty much retraced the ride I’d done the day before, in reverse, so that we could do a bit of Christmas shopping in Grassington. Mum was very patient as I gave her a run-down of the severity of each of the hills I’d tackled along the way, and she even managed a couple of “oh, you did well getting up that one” when we descended the biggies.

Grassington was a nice day out, we had lunch, and I started a bit of Christmas shopping. The ride back was again along the same route as yesterday, and so I got to do a straight comparison of the hills I’d dragged myself up the day before, from the comfort of a fast car. I’ve got nothing profound to say about that comparison – hills feed hard on a bike, and easy in a car, that’s about it!

It was nice to hang out with Mum, and catch up on her news. Mum retired this year, and now runs a B+B at the house, which is going really well. She’s got a lovely thatched cottage, with a view out over the fields to the Moors, and seems to be getting busier each week.

She prides herself on her breakfasts – freshly baked bread every morning and roasted tomatoes with balsamic vinegar are two of the highlights. I wasn’t deemed quite important enough for the tomatoes, but got the bread and some fresh fried eggs both mornings.

After lunch and some shopping we headed back to Harome, I sat on my buns and got fed and looked after some more, did a load more Christmas shopping on the internet, and then before I knew it the next morning had dawned and it was time to get the 6 layers of lycra on and head out onto the roads again.

Day 19 (Thurs 10th December)

Harome (NORTH YORKS) to Hemingbrough (NORTH YORKS)

Distance: 71.0km (Total distance 1361.7km)

Time in the saddle: 3:05

Climbing: 405m

It was a stunning day as I rolled out through the country lanes. I had a late start, to give the ice some time to clear, and then embarked with a spring in my step.

It genuinely felt good to be back on the bike. I’m getting used to it, and whereas I thought I’d be fed up with it by now, at times I’m really enjoying just sitting on the seat and pedalling myself through some of the beautiful landscapes of England.

It helped that I had the Howardian Hills as my first challenge of the day. These are a small but lovely slice of Yorkshire that have Castle Howard at their heart, which you might recognise from both dramatisations of Evelyn Waugh’s ‘Brideshead Revisited’.

I rolled up and down the hills, and was gently reminded that whilst the worst of the climbing days might be behind me, there would be many more hills I’d have to huff and puff up before I got back to Oxford.

The blue skies made it a real joy to be on my bike, and the lovely, flat and often wooded countryside South of the Howardian Hills and to the East of York were easy and a pleasure.

I also noticed that I was feeling much more positive about life in general today, and had lots of spontaneous and interesting thoughts about my future. I’d set off on the ride feeling quite the opposite, with my relationship with Eike ending a few months earlier, a depressing house move completed just a couple of weeks before I left, and much thinking to be done about the future path of my photography.

So it was nice to feel that whilst I’d been concentrating on turning the pedals, the trip seemed to have been quietly working its subconscious magic on my mind, and it gave me hope that one of the main aims of the trip, to clear my mind and return some positivity, might be achieved.

The landscape became pan-flat south of York, the power station at Drax came into view, its position given away some miles earlier by the clouds of vapour it launches skyward, and I rolled into Hemingbrough for a relaxing evening with my lovely Auntie Joyce (my Dad’s sister) and Uncle Barry, her partner of 30 years.

I’d been practising my ‘No thanks, Joyce, I’m full actually’ on the way there, and they came in handy. Joyce prides herself on never having underfed a guest at her house, and this comes about through a relentless and wonderful offering of food and drink throughout your stay.

This is both brilliant and potentially disastrous for a glutton such as myself. You get fed with great food of your choice, to the point of bursting, and then as that feeling of being stuffed subsides, you top up from a selection of chocolates and biscuits. Great stuff.

Auntie Joyce retired this year from the bank where she has worked for something like 42 years. The same company (albeit the name has changed a few times over the years) for more than 40 years! Astonishing. She deserves her retirement, and seems to be loving it, although I think the camaraderie at the bank is probably missed a bit.

The big project at the moment is Joyce’s greenhouse, which is due to be erected before Christmas by Barry, on the meticulously crafted base, which seems to be flagstones on a gravel base, or somesuch. Barry likes to build things, model planes and helicopters mainly, so jobs like this are done with care and properly.

It was a lovely evening, playing a Monopoly card game with Joyce, working our way through a box of M+S chocs, and watching the latest episode of Gavin and Stacey, which has been one of the ways I’ve ticked the weeks off on the trip.

Day 20 (Fri 11th December)

Hemingbrough (NORTH YORKS) to Thorngumbald (EAST RIDING OF YORKSHIRE)

Distance: 65.6km (Total distance 1427.3km)

Time in the saddle: 2:46

Climbing: 375m

Each year in the Tour de France there is one stage which is unofficially labelled the ‘Queen Stage’.

This is the hardest stage in the mountains, and often the one that will give a good indication of who will win that year’s edition.

I had labelled this stage to Thorngumbald my ‘Queen Stage’, but for another reason – it was off to visit my joint #1 fan – Grandma.

Clocking in at 86 years, exactly 50 more than me, all roads lead to Thorngumbald for our family, and I was off for an afternoon and evening of murder mysteries on the telly, some more over-feeding, and perhaps a few wordsearch puzzles if the mood felt right.

It was an icy morning so after a delayed start I rolled up and over the hills that lay to the North-West of Hull and then down in to Hull itself. It was gorgeously sunny again, and my last joust with rural Yorkshire was a good one, even if I had to push the bike part of the way along an unrideable dirt track that Google Maps has down as a road.

Hull was busy and like all of the cities I’ve navigated had few visual highlights. I know that those who have studied in Hull, of which I’ve known and met a few, hold their memory of it in a hallowed light. Hull’s much maligned reputation and underdog status no doubt encourage this patriotism, but for the cyclist trying to get to A+B the sights on offer were unremarkable.

I had entered Hull so as to stop off at the Eastern Cemetery, where my Grandad’s ashes were scattered. Once there I took a few minutes to sit in the Garden of Remembrance and think about him for a while, and what I know about him.

He died when I was only 4 or 5, and so I have no real memory of him, or emotion surrounding him, and found it difficult to think of anything other than the pictures of him I’ve seen, and the stories that have been recounted about him over the years. It seems he was a bad driver, and a favourite story is of all the cars he wrote off over the years.

Grandad died relatively young of a stroke – 54 I think, which is younger than my Dad is now, and something I need to be aware of as there’s a hereditary aspect to these things.

I left Eastern Cemetery and headed the short ride out of Hull and into Thorngumbald, where Grandma was waiting by the window.

Grandma has just moved out of the house she’s been in for the past 40 years, called Lunedale, into a council bungalow that is no more than 100 metres from her old house.

The chap who bought Lunedale has wasted no time in knocking half of it down, and building all over it. But Grandma doesn’t give a monkeys, because she’s so happy to be in her new flat, without a garden to worry about, and where she’s got everything she needs within easy reach.

Its a great pad, thanks in large part to Joyce and Barry doing a massive job of stripping and redecorating the whole thing over a period of a few months earlier in the year.

Once I’d got to Grandma’s I grabbed a shower, and then grabbed the wrong cord to turn it off, setting off a panic alarm in the control centre that oversees all the old peoples’ flats. The next thing a voice was booming into the hallway asking my Grandma if she was alright. Grandma wasted no time in pinning it all on me. The silver lining is that now she knows at least it works!

Family friend Stella turned up to say hello. I haven’t see her in years, and we had a good chat. She was a friend of my Dad’s when they were a lot younger.

Stella’s husband was killed last year whilst riding his bicycle. A lorry overtook him when he was pulling into the centre of the road to turn right at a T-junction, and hit straight into the back of him, killing him instantly. It was really sad to hear about, and Stella has taken a very enlightened view towards the lorry driver, choosing not to sue him. They now have a charity ride for him each year and I’d like to get up there and take part in it next year.

These are always things that happen to someone else, but little did I realise that the next day I’d come as close as I ever have done to a similar fate.

Once Stella had left and we’d had our dinner Grandma and I settled down to a quality evening of TV, half a bottle of sherry, some good chat about how the world is going to the dogs, and some puzzlebook.

Grandma’s approach to the crosswords was for me to try and answer the questions whilst she sat with the answer sheet. If I couldn’t get the answer she’d give me a few letters, before giving up on me and reading out the answer. You could call it cheating, but it was fun.

She also dug out a picture of my uncle Barry. He refuses to have his picture taken, and this is one of his little quirks. Mindful that this would see him being the only relative without their picture on my blog, Grandma set out to find me a photo that I could then re-photograph. As I showed her the picture on the back of my camera she shouted out “We’ve got him!”.

It was a real treat to spend a bit of time like this with Grandma. I’ve said it before about seeing family on this trip but it was a chance to spend some time one-on-one with people who I usually just see in a family group.

So titled because (a) I’ve made it to my Mum’s house in Yorkshire, and (b) I weighed myself an hour ago and have managed miraculously to remain the same (over) weight that I started the trip at over 2 weeks ago, and despite cycling 800 miles.

What should have been a chance for me to get back to my fighting weight has actually turned into something of a chod-fest, and I’ve been hoovering up anything that I’ve seen and fancied.

But I hereby declare the start of Project Belly 09. Actually it started two nights ago, when I restricted myself to one bottle of Mars Chocolate Milk after the ride, and didn’t have a pudding at The Forrester’s Arms in Grassington.

Prepare for more news as I reach milestones along the way, such as being able to do up the top button on my favourite jeans again, and not being able to feel my moobs bouncing when I run.

Anyway, on to other news, and I’ve made it to Harome, and a welcome rest day at Mum’s following two hilly but stunning days through the Forest of Bowland and Yorkshire Dales.

Since my last post I’ve had a remarkably fun and boozy day and night with Jon Porter and Co in Manchester, followed by a shortish ride over to my Dad and Maria’s house in Southport, where we were joined by my sis, Jackie (the Babs) and my bro Ted, then a rest day in Southport on Sunday before heading off again on Monday morning for the two-day West to East crossing to get here.

I had the arrival at my Mum’s house as a kind of major milestone in my head. I’m well past half-distance now, so I now know I can do it. I haven’t got any ailments that look like they’re going to halt me in my tracks, bar a bit of saddle sore that I’m hoping doesn’t get any worse (I’ll spare you the details on that).

The bike is working great and is comfy, I’m still feeling up for it each morning, and crucially the landscape is flatter down the East, so whilst I’ve still got some long days ahead, they shouldn’t compare to the long days in the South-West, or in Yorkshire.

On the point of being past half-distance, I’ve now mapped out all my sat-nav routes, and so can make an informed but also somewhat shameful announcement about the expected total distance of the trip. Its looking like it is going to be 2060km, or 1280 miles, of which I’ve now covered 1291km, or 802 miles.

“Con-artist!” I hear you cry. There I was bigging myself up with claims of doing a 1500 mile ride, begging for sponsorship on the back of an exaggeration.

I apologise wholeheartedly. And if enough people complain then I promise I’ll do the extra mileage for you.

Sometime in July next year.

In France.

As a result of this new mileage, and my ambitious aim to raise a pound a mile, I’ve also updated my Just Giving target, so it starts to become a little bit more likely, although perhaps still a bit out of reach.

Anyway, if my falsehoods haven’t squandered what respect you had left for me, and you want to keep on reading, here’s a little run down of the last 5 days:

Day 13 (Fri 4th December)

Altrincham (CHESHIRE) to Manchester City Centre

Distance: 12.2km (Total distance 1018.8km)

Time in the saddle: 45 minutes

Climbing: 65m

After a morning of blogging in my brothers’ front room, during which time my younger brother Ted pretended to be fast asleep and unwakeable, in the way that teenage boys are fond of doing, I donned my kit for the shortest ride of the trip – an 8 mile blast up the unpleasant A56 straight into Manchester.

I spent a good chunk of that ride doing 30 miles an hour behind a bus that didn’t seem to need to stop for passengers.

I also joined the tourists in front of Old Trafford for a quick photo op. I was half expecting to see Shaun Russell (nee Herbert) milling around outside. United had a home game the next day, which I know Shaun never misses, and he usually likes to fly over from Stockholm a day early to get in the mood.

On I fled down some hideous dual carriageway, and fell into the arms of Jon Porter, my good buddy from uni days, outside his city centre des-res apartment.

And so commenced a thoroughly enjoyable and boozy 24 hours in Manchester, kicked off with some top-notch back-street Indian food for lunch with the boys from Countryscape, which is the company which Jon and his mate Paul set up a few years back.

I always have trouble explaining what they do at Countryscape, but they seem to do it well, and there are now 8 of them working there. Here goes – they combine conservation stuff and landscape character assessment with graphic design and web design. They seem to work with lots of public bodies, like the National Parks, and city councils, and help them to gather information and then communicate their messages using funky design. (Sorry Jon, that’s the best I could manage!) Anyway, whilst we were all busy running off to London getting our crappy graduate jobs, Jon ploughed his own furrow. And to drag that analogy out, the seeds he planted are now bearing fruit!

Jon was keen to show me a few of Manchester’s cultural sights, but I managed to convince him that we should have a pint. That was followed by a wander around the Christmas market and some cherry gluhwine, then after a quick stopover in Urbis for a look at it before it becomes the National Football Museum (shame on you Manchester City Council!) we headed to the Chop House for some more booze.

I haven’t had a daytime drinking session with a mate for a while, and had forgotten what a charm it is. I couldn’t have felt more relaxed and wasn’t thinking about bikes and rain at all.

Thoroughly primed for the night ahead, I detoured via Jon’s flat to finish the final lines of my blog post, whilst Jon went to the station to meet his new squeeze, Bella.

Not actually that ‘new’ though, because they’ve known each other for a few years now through his conservation work and conferences they’ve been to. Bella runs the Wandle Trust, which works on restoring the Wandle River in London to something like good order.

For all of you Londoners the Wandle River is the one that runs through Wandsworth past the Young’s Brewery. The trust was set up using the money that Thames Water coughed up after they’d dumped a load of bleach in the river a few years ago, killing tons of fish and leaving it in a bad way. It sounds like a great project that Bella is running, and it was interesting chatting with her about it.

Anyway, Bella’s lovely, and without wishing to embarass her too much, by nightfall the next day word had leaked out to key friends that Jon was clearly batting above his average.

We all headed out to the pub, joined by Paul and his soon-to-be-wife Claire, and then on to a Chinese restaurant where Jon seems to be something of a regular, even if the waitress did think his name was ‘Mr Steve’. It was a great laugh, and all-in-all a great day and a welcome break from turning the pedals.

Day 14 (Sat 5th December)

Manchester City Centre to Southport (MERSEYSIDE)

Distance: 75.0km (Total distance 1093.8km)

Time in the saddle: 3:38

Climbing: 357m

I hadn’t really considered today to be a serious day of riding, and thankfully it turned out to be so.

As ever with the cycling I’ve done through England’s beautiful urban landscapes, it was a grim first hour escaping Manchester, through Eccles and down the route of the Manchester Ship Canal before hitting the flat-lands between Manchester and Southport, via places like Ormskirk, Bickerstaffe and Skelmersdale.

I didn’t find the scenery very inspiring, and was just clicking along watching the miles tick down, and giving it a bit more effort than I would normally, what with a rest day on either side of me. And before long I was at Dad and Maria’s, shovelling the mince pies in and waiting for Jackie and Ted to arrive.

Which they did, and then it was out to one of Southport’s less salubrious pubs for some food. For dessert we were treated to some out-of-tune transvestite karaoke, which was mildly amusing for the first song, but by the second had us grabbing for our coats.

Day 15 (Sun 6th December)

Rest day in Southport

When in search of fun, head for Funland! Which we did, and what fun we had. I taught my sister not to be so confident about challenging me on a driving game, only to see myself beaten in turn by Ted. I think I had a sticky brake pedal.

Southport is a lovely town, and the famous Lord Street is a nice place to wander up and down, but as with all seaside resorts I find that the charms of its seafront are mainly unlocked when it is warm and sunny. With the icy wind and grey skies there can be a sort of melancholy knocking on the door when you’re strolling past the carousel with its covers on, but we still managed to enjoy ourselves and packed in some pie, chips and mushy peas for lunch.

Jackie and Ted headed off and I knuckled down to giving the bike a proper wash-down and degrease, and getting all my sat-nav routes finished for the rest of the trip, which has been a weight off my mind.

I also got a chance to chat with Dad and Maria. Dad is doing lots of consultancy work right now, helping companies to manage their ISO14000 environmental quality standards, and the two of them are travelling all around the country doing that. Last year he left the company that he co-founded, and went out on his own, and so far that seems to be proving to have been a big success.

Maria is his ever-present companion and aide-de-camp, and laways looks after me well when I’m with them. She is also totally devoted to her grand-daughter, Arwen, who is a little cutie, and lives down in london with Maria’s daughter Roselba, and her partner Esteban.

Day 16 (Mon 7th December)

Southport (MERSEYSIDE) to Grassington (NORTH YORKS)

Distance: 112.8km (Total distance 1206.6km)

Time in the saddle: 6:16

Climbing: 1640m

The first half hour of the ride somehow ended up on dirt tracks into a sapping headwind, and involved an encounter with a rather ferocious dog, who I ended up having to placate by feeding it one of my gluten-free flapjacks (there’s a picture of it above, before I realised that there was a bridge where it could cross). After I’d given it two-thirds of the flapjack it had calmed down enough to let me pass, although was still threatening to have one of my ankles as I sped past it.

The ride through Preston was grim, and then off out to Longridge, where all of a sudden I was in the Forest of Bowland and was smiling to myself as I was reminded how beautiful this country is. The roads were suddenly quiet, I could see for miles, and even though I was surrounded by moorland to the left and right, the flat valley I was following had very few hills to trouble me.

As the rain started and it did get a little hillier I rolled into Slaidburn and had lunch by the fireside at the Hark to Bounty pub, then pushed off into the gloom and rain and on towards the Yorkshire Dales.

The hills started to get shorter and sharper as the ride progressed. At one point I saw a white bird cross my path, and something seemed strange about it. I stopped to look at it sat in a field, and it was a rook, or a raven. A white rook! I’m meaning to find out from the RSPB if they are rare, but I made a note of the location in case it is. I took a bad photo of it too but it needs lightening so I haven’t put it in the blog here.

I made it to Grassington just as the heavens opened properly and shoppers were huddled under shop canopies. I found the B+B, run by Diane and her husband, and after my usual shower/stretch/Deal or No Deal routine headed off into town for a nice dinner and then back to bed by about 9.30. I even had to miss the pub quiz that was on that night due to a serious bout of LHS (Lolling Head Syndrome).

It says a lot for how much my fitness has improved though that after more than 6 hours in the saddle, and almost my longest day, with quite a bit of climbing, I felt fine at the end of the ride, and was not really thinking about what lay ahead the next day.

Day 17 (Tues 8th December)

Grassington (NORTH YORKS) to Harome (NORTH YORKS)

Distance: 84.1km (Total distance 1290.7km)

Time in the saddle: 4:00

Climbing: 1231m

As she served me a fantastic vege fry-up Diane prepared me for the first hour or two of the ride by doing lots of tutting and oohing as she talked about the road I was about to navigate from Grassington across the Dales and down into Ripon.

She spoke about one hill without disguising her doubts about whether I’d get up it. “Its ever so steep” she said, “And it just goes on and on, yes, its ever so long!”

Of course that meant that as I hit brutish hill after brutish hill along the road I was trying to figure out whether this was the one that she’d been referring to, because as I hauled myself over the top of each one I was fearing that I still hadn’t found ‘The Biggie”.

The steepness of the hills didn’t dampen down too much the joy of riding through the Dales on a misty morning. I kept stopping to take photos, and remind myself that this was the sort of day I had in mind when I’d been planning the trip. Today the weather was an irrelevance, and it was all about exploring a beautfiul part of Britain, in one of the best ways I know – on a bicycle – and feeling fit and healthy and happy to be where I was.

I reached the high-point of the whole trip in Greenhow Village, at 406metres, then descended a massive hill into Pateley Bridge, thanking the Lord I don’t believe in that I wasn’t having to go up it, before climbing again out of the valley and heading over more rolling hills towards Ripon.

As I headed toward Ripon I saw two RAF tornadoes crossing the hills towards me, and going slower than I think I’ve ever seen one fly. They were really low, and went straight across my path, and it was another ingredient thrown into the mix of a good day.

After crossing the flat lands between Ripon and Sutton Bank I climbed once again up over the ridge that sits West of Helmsley, then descended down to Sproxton and Helmsley and on the extra few miles to Harome. A really beautiful ride today, and I do love Yorkshire.

The total climbing today wasn’t massive, but almost all those hills required me to be standing on the pedals in first gear, and my legs felt surprisingly shot by the end of the 50 miles. I was well pleased to arrive at Mum’s, and got the usual welcome from Pippa, Mum’s Border Terrier, who is mellowing with age but still does back-flips when anyone arrives at the house.

So once again with a rest day to look forward to, and a kindly relative to look after me and feed me up. And here I sit, on my rest day, about to type the final words of this entry then head off, bizarrely, back to Grassington in the car to do some Christmas shopping with Mum.

I’m feeling very relaxed, the rest of the trip is all planned out now, and tomorrow starts the final third of the trip. All is well!

I rolled into Altrincham, in South Manchester last night. I grew up in South Manchester til I was 18, and spent a couple of those years living with my Dad and his second wife around Altrincham, but the place holds little in the way of nostalgic memories really.

For now its main significance is that my two brothers still live here, and it also heralds the imminent half-way point of my trip.

The last 3 days on the bike have been fine. The first two of those the weather was good, although less so yesterday as it rained and was pretty chilly. But what has made it all a lot easier than the first week is the lack of any big hills. Its putting the South West into context now, and really I feel like I could just keep going all day on these sorts of gently rolling roads that you find around Birmingham and then on up to Manchester.

In myself I’m feeling motivated still. I wake up some mornings and have a brief feeling of ‘oh bugger, here we go again’, and still some feelings of general nervousness about the amount of riding that lies ahead, but then once I’m on the bike I get caught up in the immediacy of it all, and the enjoyment of rolling along, and before I know it I’m half way through the ride. Its also nice knowing that I’m going to be seeing someone new each evening who I probably haven’t seen for a while.

I have noticed though that the weather, the shortness of the daylight hours, the fact I’m on my own, and probably my nervousness about completing the trip, tend to make each day very focussed on the arrival, and abit less so on the actual enjoyment of the ride and the countryside.

Whereas a summer trip might be more leisurely, involve stopping and visiting places and pubs en route, and taking breaks to sit and have a drink of water or a snack looking at a view, instead I seem to be constantly keeping an eye on the distance left to cover. I’m often too wet to want to pull in to a pub for lunch and have to strip off all my wet-weather gear only to then put it all on again 45 minutes later. And when I stop by the roadside to grab a sandwich from a bakers I’m getting cold quickly so it tends to be rushed down. There’s also the daily battle to get there in good time in case it gets dark. I’ve got lights with me but would rather avoid riding in the dark.

What I am getting a buzz out of is being able to look at a map and see the distance I’ve travelled under my own steam. I’ve ridden a bike for a long time now but never done any trips like this around Britain. I’m getting a better feel for the size of the place, and I’ve got to say that it feels smaller than I thought it would. When you’re travelling between two places in a car you lose a sense of how far you’ve gone, but when you’re on a bike you feel every mile of it very personally. I can’t quite believe that in just a few days I’ve pedalled such a long chunk of it.

Anyway, here’s a quick run-down of the few days I’ve had since leaving Redditch, and the family I’ve seen:

Day 10 (Tues 1st December)

Redditch (WORCS) to Leicester (LEICS)

Distance: 85.1km (Total distance 784.3km)

Time in the saddle: 4:19

Climbing: 623m

It was a really icy start to the day, and combined with having been completely smothered in love, pampering and food for the past 36 hours meant my motivation to cover every square inch with fabric protection and roll out into the frosty yonder was quite low.

I delayed a couple of hours whilst the roads became a little less treacherous and then it was off again. What I had been dreading actually turned very quickly into a lovely ride. I’d feared a lot of traffic, because the road atlas looks very congested around the outskirts of Birmingham, but in reality the countryside around my sister and Greg’s house is beautiful and the weather was cold but clear.

I pootled along enjoying myself and the short distance combined with notable absence of big hills meant I made good time, and was in good spirits. I cycled up to an old chap who was out for a 30-mile wander around the lanes on his touring bike. He was called George Linley, and it turned out that his father had just moved to an old people’s home that is literally opposite my Grandma’s house in Thorngumbald, near Hull. This is a big coincidence, as the village is tiny and barely anyone has heard of it.

I sat down for some of the sandwiches my sis had packed me off with, and tweeted that i was ‘feeling great’. As soon as I finished the word ‘great’ I crunched a large part of my bottom lip with my teeth, and sat their cussing before removing the lump from my lip and spending a few minutes rolling what looked like a strange collection of fat cells around between my fingers. I’d performed a sort of liposuction on my lip and it hurt.

Looking at the bigger picture I chose to send my tweet anyway, although it didn’t ring quite as true as when I’d originally typed it.

The lovely scenery was punctuated by a grim half hour going through the near-North suburbs of Coventry, and it also got busier as I approached Leicester. But all-in-all a great day of cycling, and I felt fresh as a daisy when I rolled in to Steve’s terraced street and he was there to meet me, camera in hand and and a litre of Sainsbury’s chocolate milk in the fridge with the seal ready to be broken.

It was good to spend some time with Steve. I can’t remember having ever seen him outside of a family gathering situation, and the last time was for my Granny’s funeral a couple of years ago.

Steve is in his final year doing computer programming at Leicester Uni. I should be reporting that his major passion is creating amazing bits of scrip on his keyboard, but its actually rowing – or more precisely coxing. Steve gets his kicks sitting in the front of an eight and barking orders at a bunch of blokes. And it seems he’s good at it, as its the University’s first boat that he’s shouting at. We had a good chat about the rowing, me reminiscing about my brief time rowing at Cambridge. I only did it for a term, but if you heard me waxing on about it you’d think I almost made the boat race.

Steve shares his house with a great bunch of guys, and Steve and a few of them have just been off to Istanbul, inspired by a film called ‘Crossing the Bridge: The Sound of Istanbul’

We had a good curry and a few beers, talked about the virtues of doing a job that you can leave behind when you clock off at the end of the day (Steve has worked in Waterstone’s on and off over the years) and generally caught up on the family gossip. It was a really great evening and nicely encapsulated one of the aims of the trip, which is to get to spend a bit of quality time with a family that I often don’t see from one year to the next.

Day 11 (Wed 2nd December)

Leicester (LEICS) to Telford (SHROPS)

Distance: 108.7km (Total distance 893km)

Time in the saddle: 5:41

Climbing: 1017m

I hadn’t particularly looked forward to today’s ride, skirting as it did around the outskirts of the Birmingham conurbation. The road atlas made for grim reading, but actually the first section of the ride once I’d cleared Leicester was lovely.

It also took a few miles to clear the fogginess that resulted from an evening with a bunch of students, but once I’d got back into the swing of it I quite enjoyed my wandering through the lovely town of Market Bosworth, and on through the misty morning.

As I entered Tamworth I braced for impact, and although there were brief periods of countryside it was generally busy and not very pretty until I got spat out the other side of Wolverhampton a couple of hours later. In the interim I’d had my lunch siting on a wall in front of a row of shops by a roundabout in the cold.

I’ve done this a few times now and I’m absolutely certain that people avoid catching your eye when they see you. You’re the weird bloke in the weird clothes who’s sitting on a wall eating food in the freezing cold. Best avoid his stare in case he wants to talk or something.

The short spell between Wolverhampton and Telford was back to the lovely country lanes that have made up the bulk of this trp so far, and I felt strangely comforted by them. There’s no urgency when you’ve not got traffic constantly passing you, and it seems not to matter whether you go a bit slower and take an extra hour.

I arrived into Telford and spotted my uncle Tony a couple of streets from his house taking a picture of a speed camera. I didn’t get to the bottom of why he was doing this, but it seems he does like to document stuff around Telford…

I had a lovely evening with the Mitchells. My auntie Veronica (Vron) who is my Mum’s younger sister, her husband Tony, and my cousin (and Goddaughter) Alice. Alice’s brother is Stephen, who I’d just visited in Leicester.

Vron works as a maths teacher at a local school, and has the most infectious and wonderful laugh. Tony was also a teacher but is now retired, and is a sports buff and now the resident chef at home it appears. One of my earliest memories is going to their wedding when I was a tot and getting drunk by drinking the dregs from the champagne glasses.

Knowing my dedication to the Christian faith, they bestowed the honour on me when I was only about 13 to be their daughter Alice’s godfather. Its something that I’ve often thought about and been quite proud of, but I have to admit to having been a little lapse in my shepherding of Alice’s faith.

We remedied that with a quick half-hour of bible study after dinner, and Alice then told me a bit more about what she’s been up to. She did an arts degree that she finished lat year, and is now splitting her time between making various arty things (including some amazing looking clay birds) and working at a local care home.

At the care home she looks after a group of mentally and phyiscally handicapped people who live-in at the centre. She started working there for some extra cash, but she talks about the job so passionately now that it has obviously become a lot more than that.

The guys she’s looking after all seem to have very different and specific needs, and it sounds like testing work, but it seems that Alice just loves it. As she was saying, if you go in there in a bad mood, within a few minutes of interacting with them you can’t help but be pulled out of it and put in a good mood. It was really lovely to see how much she enjoys her work, and I’m betting that the guys she looks after will look forward to the shifts when she’s there.

Day 12 (Thurs 3rd December)

Telford (SHROPS) to Altrincham (CHESHIRE)

Distance: 113.6km (Total distance 1006.6km)

Time in the saddle: 6:00

Climbing: 884m

Alice and Tony waved me off and I commenced a 40-minute negotiation of Telford’s many and identical roundabouts. I could have been in Milton Keynes, and just as when I’ve driven around there, I was left wondering who the hell thought that it was a good idea. I’m sure there’s a logic reason to it, but they’re awful, and to say that they weren’t designed with cyclist or pedestrians in mind is an understatement.

Having extricated myself and re-discovered natural landscape I headed North under grey but dry skies, and with a long day ahead in the saddle.

The miles ticked by and the countryside was lovely, the lanes quiet, and I thought it was going to be an enjoyable few hours. I even got into a good frame of mind thinking about what I was going to do with my career, now that the *rse has dropped out of the stock photography market.

Everything was going well, but then gradually things just got a bit worse, then a bit more worse. It started raining, then the North Westerly wind that was partly in my face got a bit stronger, then it got very cold all of a sudden, and I hadn’t drunk enough water so I felt a it weak.

It wasweird. A day that I’d felt totally in control of at the half-way mark ended up almost breaking me by the end. The last hour was a real slog, and I was really relieved when I finally entered familiar territory and rolled in to Hale, then Altrincham and phoned my brother Ted to come down and let me in.

Ted’s mum, and my ex-step-Mum, Pat ,was out getting me some chocolate milk and gluten-free pasta, and it was nice to see her for the first time in god knows how many years. And then Ted and I hd a good catch-up before Andy, my other bro, got home from work.

Ted, who’s 20 now, is a lad with a heart of gold, but was feeling a bit under the weather last night with worries of the heart. Being something of a master in how to handle the ladies, I counselled him well, and will look forward to hearing that all is now well again with his relationship.

In return Ted counselled me in how to play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, but his attempts were less successful, and I admitted defeat after an hour, about half of which my side of the screen was smeared red with my own blood.

Ted is in the middle of plotting which direction he’s going to take with himself (much like me actually) and he’s going to be a big success when he gets that direction sorted. You’ve only got to spend a few minutes with him to appreciate his sardonic humour, but also his kindness.

Andy, who is 23 and works for Carphone Warehouse, got home a bit later and unlocked his personal cache of Fosters lager. We had a cracking evening getting graually more sloshed, and me knowing that I only had a short ride into Manchester the next day.

Andy has been doing some work with the Red Cross, and really enjoys it. As an added side bonus he’s also started dating the sister of one of the lads he does Red Cross with. Apparently that was a tricky conversation with his mate.

Andy is on his way up at Carphone Warehouse it seems, and has just been appointed Forum Representative by his peers. He seems to be working like a dog at his job and deserves the promotions that are on their way.

Right, that’s all for now, as I’m in Manchester and about to head out with Jon and his new squeeze Bella for a night of lager. I’m in danger of spending too long blogging and not enough time having fun. Details of what’s been a fun day in Manchester today, and my ride tomorrow to Southport, when I have my rest day on Sunday.

Second family pit-stop of the tour has been a day of total pampering at my sister Jackie and Greg’s house in Redditch. I’ve barely lifted a finger, and have eaten like a horse. We had Christmas songs on the stereo and watched a couple of episodes of The Box of Delights.

My sis is a couple of years younger than me, and although we used to fight like cats when we were younger, we’re great buddies now, and I’ve seen a lot more of her since I moved to Oxford.

She met Greg when they worked together at a medical supplies company, and Jackie became Greg’s lodger in Redditch. A few months and a few bottles of wine later Jackie moved her stuff from the spare room to the main room, and the rest is history. That was 6 years ago, and then 3 years ago there was the pitter patter of tiny feet – a Beagle pup called Monty, who is now the centre of attention wherever he chooses to go.

Monty’s most proud achievement is figuring out that if he paws a particular cupboard in the kitchen he gets given a varied array of treats.

Jacks now works for a company that makes patient monitors for hospitals. So if you ever find yourself in a bad state in hospital, and the doctors need to know if you’re still alive, spare a quick thought for my sister, who probably made a small bonus out of your misery.

Greg also still works doing medical sales, but you’ll be sparing a thought for him if you ever need major work on your knee, hip or shoulder joints. He sells state-of-the-art joint repair kit. Tiger Woods used some of his company’s stuff when he had his knee done this year. Greg is also a really good cricketer (wicket-keeper/batsman) and plays hockey every weekend in the winter (goalie), as well as taking up golf recently.

So thats all on these three. They’re getting a 5-star rating for their Redditch B+B, although it may make it harder for me to drag on my kit tomorrow morning and head out once more into the cold!