12th August

Curry Night at the Rose at Bearsted !  Edwina Curry was fantastic; the Curry was fantastic and the 72 people who turned up were fantastic. Jaz and Rupe's wives turned up in saris and looked absolutely delicious. Liz H and Sue D entered into the spirit and also turned up in saris. Mike -  it was unkind to suggest that they had turned up in their pyjamas.

The auctioneer had his work cut out, but still demonstrated his professionalism, in trying to move a lump of lead dug up in Tony P's allotment. Tony insisted that it was a bullet from the Civil War  - well done Martin M for going along with the story, and getting the evening off to such a great start.

Too much excitement for recently retired Beverley W who was seemingly overcome at the privilege of sitting next to Edwina. He started to  fall asleep and unwittingly became the proud owner of a five speaker Sound System for £110 as he nodded off. We told him when he woke up though !

A pillion ride on the back of a 2009 Harley Davidson piloted by McCann went to an ecstatic Liz H who may need to increase her life assurance. I've come off only three times previously, Liz . . . .

A lovely lady, Sharon, from Fenn Wright Manson very generously presented a spending voucher for the ladies at one of their boutiques, but most of the men were more interested in bidding for her . . . . .

A potentially magic Chinese lantern ( OK - so it was a paraffin lamp made in China ) turned out to be charmed after all - see the donations list below. Claudia - you are magic . . .

A meal for eight people raised £600. Andy B promptly declared that he intended to call it in on Christmas day and that he had only bought it for its entertainment value as he wanted to see what sort of a mess Manuel McCann would make of waiting on . . . .

One notable highlight of the night was when Claire F furiously bid the most to retrieve a bottle of Champagne that her husband Peter had won, and then generously donated back . . . . .

Finally, Edwina made a fabulous impromptu gesture and donated a week in her luxury motor-home, complete with three wet dogs.

We raised over £3,150 - more than double the amount collected so far to date ! A truly wonderful night.

14th August

Back to reality, and back to biking into work. Decide that the attack approach to the hill isn't working, and a better approach would be to sneak up on it. Pitch base camp at the bottom of Hollingbourne Hill at 0812. Ascend northwards at a leisurely pace. Climb steadily up the contours. Reach the places where previously was forced to dismount and retire. Inspired by Olympic Gold medallist cyclist Nicole Cooke, I pedalled ever upwards. Kept focused on Nicole's thighs, and how they powered her to victory. Finally achieved the summit at 0826. NO OXYGEN WAS NEEDED. Immediately texted everyone to boast. Rode straight to Martin S's house to claim my reward for at last winning his bet that I would be unable to achieve such a feat, only to find that he had bolted the door and was feigning deafness.  

Later, saw Peter T on the pavement with his two dogs. Peter had been the bidder for a lot in Tuesday's Auction, but did not know that he had succeeded.  Thought that it would be fun to join him on the pavement and approached quietly from behind. Bellowed "Beep Beep" at the last minute to provide the statutory "audible means of approach". ( I once got penalty points for that when the horn in my 1957 Austin A30 got a touch temperamental after being stopped following a chase by the police ). At that point, things became a little confused. His dogs were not happy at this unexpected intrusion and immediately attacked my ankles in unison. Peter made a leap of Olympic standard into the nearest hedgerow yanking the dogs on their leads with him. Unsure whether to apply cardiac massage to repair the damage to Peter's frail constitution and to bring some colour back to Peter's ashen cheeks. Soon realised that the first priority was to call the local laundry to replace his underwear. I may not know much about medical matters, but I knew that I wasn't going to do any of that Artificial Insemination stuff.  

Once we'd recovered from that little episode, continued on my way in a very high state of spirits. On reaching the final furlong to the office, chanced to overtake Mike L, a colleage from the office, in his car with John D as his passenger. Spontaneously decided that once again I was going to beat a car to the office. Went up onto the pavement to race side by side. We were neck and neck jeering at each other through the passenger window, until traffic slowed down Mike's car. Sprinted ahead to take advantage of this slowdown until a side-road loomed. Oh No -  a high kerb! Well, I've seen these kids on BMX's make it look so easy. Apparently you simply lift the handelbars at the last instant and jump - somehow.

For a moment, it almost came off. Bike and I became airbourne as planned. Unbeknownst to me however, a driver of a 32 tonne artic lorry had simultaneously decided to turn left. He had driven straight on at the turn as he was so long, he needed the space to turn his trailer. I had already passed his rear-end before he started indicating. His front nearside tyre hit my front offside shoulder and, as I was still flying at an altitude of approximately fourteen inches, the wheel carried me and bike both bodily round the bend. I have to tell you that the expression "Your whole life passes before you at times like that" simply isn't true. For posterity, my thoughts were ( in this order) :

 1. S H I I I I T

 2. This is going to hurt 

 3. At least it'll be quick 

Somehow the bike landed upright, bounced a couple of times, yet remarkably remained upright, not under the back wheels. The only dents were to my front wheel which is now square, and to my pride. The lorry driver needed two Woodbines, and I needed two extra sugars in my tea when I got to the office. Had to concede that car beat bike today.

As a postscript, John D needed to visit the Men's room on arrival at the office as he had witnessed everything from the grandstand seat. He kept muttering that by rights I should have been part of the road-kill I keep wittering on about.  He is convinced that I have lost three of my nine lives in one go. 

Now have slight problem - how to replace a square wheel and ride home tonight? The massive Halfords bike emporium of Sittingbourne inform me that they don't stock front wheels !

16th August
Commence ride at 08:30hrs

Opening weight         -  13 stones 1 pound

Weather conditions   -  fair, cool, damp and cloudy.

Prevailing wind          -  Chicken Vindaloo.

1.1 miles John H  
John was my first inspiration. I used to see him riding effortlessly round the village on his sprint bike. Whereas the rest of us cyclists have to wear crash helmets by law, he only has to paint a stripe across his head to achieve aerodynamic efficiency whilst appearing to comply. John was the first with a generous offer of his bike as a replacement when my bike had come a cropper against the 32 tonner, but I reckon he’s a masochist. He just wants to make sure that I can't wriggle out of this marathon effort.

5.5 miles Mike G
Mike also offered his ancient rusting bike, or alternatively Denise, to ensure that I still had a ride. I felt it prudent to decline.  

8.9 miles  Derek R
Derek came to the door in a very fetching flimsy dressing gown. My, what a big boy you are, Derek. Karen arrived a little later looking eager to get rid of me - I was left wondering whether the club could expect its first ever birth within the next nine months . . . . .

17.6 miles  June Y
Rode for nine miles in mounting anticipation that I would be met at the door by June in her equally flimsy dressing gown. Departed deeply crestfallen when she proved to be out.

19.0 miles  Margaret A
Photo-call. Had to pose for several piccies for the archive, and for my adoring public. Had my first offer of a drink - orange and mango. This was to prove to be a feature of this ride - all the women were so kind and considerate.

 
19.8miles  Peter F
Peter had made things a tad difficult as his new address was not on my Ordnance Survey map which had first seen the light of day in 1956. I went up two blind cul-de-sacs before finding his new home. Claire's apparent pleasure at seeing me rapidly dissipated when it dawned on her that I wasn't just there to deliver her lost lipstick from Tuesday’s drunken shenanigans.

 
23.0 miles  Pamela P
Pamela chose not to give a House number. I eventually found the name of her house behind a very tall hedge at the furthest end of an anonymous cul-de-sac. Managed to mystify all her neighbours though.

25.8 miles
It is a cliché that policemen seem to get younger every year. Whilst riding up a slight incline, in the middle of nowhere, I rode past the local bobby on the beat who was on foot. She was a very arresting 19 year old Community Officer called Leanne. I instantly decided that the incline was too steep, and I had to demount and walk alongside her. It transpired that she had to walk the beat as she had not yet attended the Police Bike Test! She had already observed and noted my curious riding attire in Faversham, and seemed to have some sympathy for my plight. She allowed me to take a photo and even gave some money to the cause.

26.5 miles  Philip C
This trial suddenly became serious. Philip lives at the top of a long gruelling hill in the aptly named village of Dunkirk.  He had ordered a crack regiment of massed articulated trucks to be in formation to repel all attack. However Commander Coulson had gone off to play guns elsewhere, and I slipped in under the radar to mount an assault on his front door. Carol kindly offered drinks and refreshment which I declined, but suggested that, as she was on her own, I was in dire need of Vaseline after the long haul up the hill. Very quickly, in fact rather too quickly in hindsight as though she had prepared her response, she pointed out that I had originally stipulated that I had to be breathless and speechless to be eligible.

I took my revenge by marking my territory in Philip's rhododendrons in the traditional doggy manner.

 
36.1 miles  Tony P
There are strawberry fields alongside the A2 and it was the height of torture to ride past the marvelous aromas wafting over the hedges. I suddenly realised that I hadn't eaten anything since a bowl of muesli at 7:15. Right on the stroke of one o'-clock, I pedalled into Tony's drive. I knew that I could expect nothing but uninterrupted verbal abuse from Tony, but there was half a chance that Pam might feel some form of maternal instinct for a bedraggled waif. Miraculously a stubby beer and a plate of flapjacks appeared. Could so easily have settled down for an afternoon nap and settled for the first 10 names on the list. However suitably refreshed and ushered out of the drive at the pointed end of a yard-broom wielded by Tony, I returned to my quest.

 
36.5 miles  Dr Claude M
Had to endure a random dope test, but this I hasten to add was only because Claude was convinced that I was a dope who had randomly crossed his threshold. This was followed by a lengthy detailed explanation of the differing colour tints of urine. Claude wants me to attend his surgery urgently first thing Monday morning, but it turns out that he wants to examine my brain, not my body.

 
37.4 miles  Martin L
Initially delighted to see Martin as I assumed he had returned that very morning from Italy especially to see me. Then I realised that the telly was switched on, and Kent were hotly disputing a match against Essex.

 
38.7 miles  Rob F
Rob's mother came to the door. She may now need attention for a heart condition after being confronted by an apparition in yellow.

40.3 miles  Mike L
Mike was also away watching Kent, but Monica offered succour to a poor demented soul.

41.1 miles  David B
David was out, but I was greeted by his daughter who was blissfully unaware of the Vaseline stipulation. I have to report that she also remained firm against all my entreaties.

44.0 miles  Mike S
My geography let me down looking for Mike's house. I rode up and down the complete length of Adelaide Road twice before realising that I should have been in Auckland Drive. Bl**dy antipodeans.

46.2 miles  Lorne D
Rode unsuccessfully up and down Vicarage Road looking for the Vicarage. Eventually found a heavily fortified gun-turret alongside the Church. Left my slip of paper and pedalled away very briskly to avoid the cross-fire and any ricocheting bullets.

48.2 miles  Ken C
Had to endure yet more verbal abuse from Ken, but Pat came to my rescue with a cup of proper Yorkshire tea, well sugared. Won't be getting that in Estonia though!

53.0 miles  Dawn D
Another lady; another drink. Partake of a stubby in delightful surroundings. Legs protest at re-starting the ride. Suddenly realise that as I’m now at sea-level, it’s up-hill all the way back !

55.2 miles John W

Don't know who's more surprised - me who expected to see John and Angela , or the itinerant squatters who had taken over his house whilst he was on holiday.

 
Coming back through Newington, some regulars had spilled out of the pub onto the pavement. As I rode past, I distinctly heard one slightly the worse for drink on a mobile phone to his other half stop in mid sentence and exclaim    “ . . .  ‘ere, there’s a geezer just riding past with a BOLLARD on ‘is ‘ed . . .  “

60.2 miles  Michael D
The Downes were just leaving as I arrived - they obviously mistimed it. You might have done a better job of stifling your convulsions of laughter though, Michael.
 

60.8 miles  George C
To the Baronial Hall, and my tyres sank deep into the gravel. George was on hand with a hose to repulse my arrival, but Pauline provided a builder's pint mug of tea with about eight sugars in for the final run home.  

 
62.0 miles  Julie R
Julie was the second person of the day to come to the door dressed only in her dressing gown. She'd given up all hope of me appearing that day and gone off to have a bath. Her daughter was there as a chaperone however, so had to continue on my way.

63.3 miles  Peter T  
Peter had recovered well from Thursday's heart stopping moment, but was still wary when he invited me in. It transpired that I had just gate-crashed a champagne party. He was just showing me out the door when Kate came to my rescue by politely offering a glass of champagne, fully anticipating the athlete's customary negative response. I managed to block out all Peter's concerned advice that I shouldn't be caught drunk in charge of a bicycle, and accepted avidly. I wonder if champagne will be available in Estonia because I didn't feel any of the last stages at all.

 
63.9 miles  Beverley W
In the gathering gloom, I came across the local village idiot staggering down the middle of the road in a drunken state. I honked my hooter at its loudest PARP, but this had no effect on the inebriated brain of the mindless imbecile in the middle of the road. This turned out to be Beverley returning from the Sun Inn, having had his customary half of shandy.
He insisted that I had to accompany him back to his house despite it being in the opposite direction from where I needed to go next, and also despite the fact that I had already seen him. He threatened to cry foul to the Sergeant at Arms unless I stuck rigidly to the complete rules of the game. Co-incidentally, he had also estimated the highest number of the day at an absurd 108 miles.

 
65.1 miles  Dudley C
After 65 miles, my leg muscles were again starting to get weary. In fact, this was the first time today that I encountered Cramp. ( Boom Boom ) Once again, it was ladies to the rescue as, with a flourish, Diana duly produced a 225 gram tub of Vaseline. Unfortunately, having no lights on the bike, I had to continue on my way before night fell. Otherwise I am certain that Diana might just have been brave enough to comply with the opening obligations.

Finally arrived home at 2030, after twelve hours on and off the saddle.
Final mileage corrected for miscellaneous overshoots and shortcuts was

69.1 miles ( as verified by MicroSoft Autoroute )  I have to cover myself in this way as I am anticipating a steward’s enquiry from an incensed Beverley.

Immediately headed for the scales.

Weight was now 12 stone 11 pounds  ! ! ! 

I haven't been less than 13 stones for over ten years!  This new exercise regime thingy is gradually whittling away at ten year’s accumulated beer gut. Cycling can rid you of four pounds in a single day !

Atkins - eat your heart out 

( or is that anatomically impossible and nutritionally unwise?)

21st August

Conquered the North Face of Hollingbourne Hill again this morning, or three hundred and sixty feet upwards in 1.1 miles across. Start wondering whether I could get away with keeping the bet open and charging Martin S a tenner every time I manage it.

6th September

Start of great expedition. Stay overnight with Edwina and JJ and gatecrash a party at their neighbour's house. Stock up on game pie, salmon and champagne because we don't know when we will next eat. We are treated like heroes which is a bit of a fraud because we haven't done the ride yet! Quite happy to accept accolades in advance though.

7th September

Up at 4 30 AM to go to Heathrow. You wait for a Lufthansa Airbus and then three come along all at once. There will be 38 of us intrepid cyclists; seven of whom have already done 1,500 kms, and two who have done a previous stage of 500kms. There is also a Marie Curie rep called Paul, a Classic Tours rep called Sarah, and a roving cycling doctor named Jens, but pronounced Hans.

 I buy a bubble making machine at Hamleys flightside as I found out by accident that Russians like bubbles and think that they are evidence of English eccentricity. Paul Healey, who has raised 90,000 quid in a single quiz night,  manages to delay the flight by forgetting his jacket at security. He is cheered onto the plane by the Marie Curie biking team, jeered by the waiting Germans who cannot abide this Britisher lack of punctuality, and finally given a severe look by his wife, Fiona. On arrival, Edwina looks out of the window and moans about the hills that weren't mentioned in the pre-ride briefing. The tour leader gently points out that we have only just reached Frankfurt. Due to Paul's escapade, we have only five minutes for the next connection. Three minutes to go and uber-efficient German security hauls me into custody. Apparently the soap solution in the bubble making machine constitutes a threat of nucleur proportions. I now have a machine, no solution, and no means to amuse the Russians.  Finally released from Stalag 19, although I suspect that hard currency was exchanged by some of the team to detain me for the duration.

Arrive at Tallin at 17:25 two hours ahead of GMT and  totally disorientated.

We are matched up to share rooms. I get Andrew A and henceforth we are given the teamname of Rob Andrew. Find Peter C and Pearce who have already done 1,500 kms and the four of us wander round the old quarter of Tallin. Paul H and Fiona must have got lost again as we spot them coming out of a shop going under the old Estonian name of "Sex-shop Erotica'".  I think it must be the local Chemists. Paul H gets the esteemed “Sat-Nav” of the day prize. The two Scousers, Jim and Ray, have found the local purveyors of Guinness, and have only had time for five pints by the time we catch up with them. They are complaining bitterly that their suitcase has been run over by an Airbus tyre and what was long and thin is now short and fat, and there is toothpaste everywhere.

The hotel is right by the ferry to Helsinki. Our window overlooks the stark beauty of the concrete ramparts of Terminal D which also obliterates any possible view.   Have a buffet in the Hotel lounge which is on the fifth floor.  Stock up on a peculiar mixture of meat and some inexplicable purple and orange food because we don’t know when we will next eat. Still don't know whether what I have just eaten was fruit or vegetable. Can’t have been too atrocious as I went back for seconds, and then thirds . . . .   Can now detect the first glimmerings of the forthcoming weather. It is lashing a gale. The organisers toss into conversation that our route carries us through a Russian military training ground and that they prefer we amended our route. Would you believe it - longer not shorter, eh! 

Sit with the Scousers and are somehow last out of the bar .

Monday 8th September

Awakened at 0422 by an incoming ferry from Helsinki. Curse it and wish it would sink in Hell. Get up and find an internet site and attempt to update this blog. You try typing on a keyboard where the letters have all been rubbed out with constant use. I can remember QWERTYUIOP so I can work out roughly where to find those, but the rest are trial and error. I still havent found the apostrophe. Then, just to make matters interesting, they use a Cyrillic alphabet as well.  Breakfast is at 0700. Stock up on a peculiar mixture of porridge and muesli because we don't know when we will next eat. Kms done 0 : still to do 500

As chance would have it, I was the last one into the hotel carpark where we would be allocated our bikes for the trip. As a consequence, was confronted with the last bike left -  a forlorn looking girl's bike.with no mudguards that would be my trusty steed for the duration. Somehow managed to be the first casualty before the ride even got going. Just as the hooter went for the grand start, my back brakes locked up solid. It transpired that I had re-routed the brake cable when I pushed in my water bottle. Travelling mechanics have already marked me down as a potential trouble-maker.

Leave Tallinn in high spirits basically because we still don’t know what lies before us. Stop every 20 kms or so for a fruit and nut intake. Stop for lunch at a ramshackle country home that has been converted into a restaurant. Stock up on a strange mixture of cabbage and mushrooms because we don't know when we will next eat. Douglas does a spectacular somersault over his handlebars as he fails to remember that bicycle brakes are the other way round in the Eastern bloc.

Arrive at the first night’s hotel to find that it is reminiscent of a Finnish log cabin and is very sumptuous by Estonian standards. Seven of us decide to go and see an entirely humourless tourist video about the fascinating native trees and stones of Estonia's National Park in a warm and dark auditorium. Get continually poked and told to stop snoring within two minutes of the start. Afterwards at dinner, stock up on a strange mixture of cabbage and mushrooms because we don't know when we will next eat. Estonian beer proves to be very palatable. Whilst making new friends, end up last in the bar once again. First day’s kilometres : 92

Before light’s out, warned Andrew to watch out for raised step going into bathroom.

Tuesday 9th September

Awakened at 0538 by foul oaths and curses emanating from Andrew having stubbed toe on said step whilst attending a call of nature. Stock up on a bizarre breakfast of muesli, cheese and tomatoes because we don't know when we will next eat. Today’s ride has been seared  into the group’s collective memory.

Firstly at 118 kms, it was the longest distance of all the five days, so each of us had plenty of time to ponder over the sheer stupidity of volunteering for such torture. We were also given ample time to marvel at the unrelenting lazy Siberian headwind. It’s called “lazy” because it doesn’t go round you; it goes through you. And then to top it all, we had wall to wall rain. Where all the other experienced cyclists had a minimum of seven layers of Goretex armoured leggings and jackets, I only had my Mum’s old shopping cape, (or should that be my old Mum's shopping cape.)  Anyway, at least there was no possibility of sweating. The only detrimental feature that I have to report was that it filled in the headwind like the sails of an ocean-going tea-clipper. I had to resort to tacking up some of the more exposed roads as the wind took me backwards faster than I could pedal forwards.

The Dutch flyng Doctor Jens was called upon to deal with some minor abrasions to Anna’s limbs when she decided to investigate the flowers alongside the road more closely. It was a definite case of Anna’s Knees and Bumps–a–Daisy.

(What do you mean – that’s awful ?)

We eventually arrived at our hotel which turned out to be a luxury Spa Hotel overlooking the Baltic. It was full of aging Russian shot-putters of indeterminate gender wandering around in dressing gowns looking for the masseurs. Stock up on a huge buffet of lasagne because we don't know when we will next eat.

Take the opportunity to text my boss at the office in shorthand code as he is ex TA. RWM to RSM DBM : “ Am intending to invade northern border tomorrow whilst Russian attention is diverted by Georgia. Send re-inforcements – it won’t be a dance”

RSM DBM to RWM : “Short of troops at HO so p*ss off and conquer on your own. VC awaits you on your return if you win.

PS - VC’s can only be awarded posthumously ”

Somehow get involved in heated debate with Anna and Tom about whether or not several Cointreau’s would provide for a good night’s sleep and end up last in the bar once again.

Wednesday 10th September

Awakened at 0630 by the ever cheerful tour rep Sarah to watch the sun rise in all its majesty over the Baltic Sea. That proved to be the last we saw of it that day. Stock up on a breakfast of Estonian CornFlakes because we don't know when we will next eat.

 I have befriended Jim the Scouser on the daily rides as he is going exactly the same speed as me. He tells me he is a joiner, and I know this must be true as he keeps going round looking for a screw. I think he is also an ornithologist because as soon as we reached the Baltic Sea, he started looking for a shag. We got a right telling off from Francesca and Fiona who obviously didn’t understand that Jim is also an animal lover when they caught me photographing Jim looking for Pussi, which was a town near the border.

Arrive at the Russian border for lunch, accompanied by a Russian accordion player playing 60’s pop tunes. Stock up on Estonian soup, five loaves and a couple of fishes because we don't know when we will next eat.

We are eventually allowed through the narrow guard huts with our bikes to cross the border. My high viz jacket has been specially prepared for the occasion. It has "ЛЮБЛЮ ВАС!  ГОРЬКО, ГОРЬКО!"

or “ya lyublyu vas, gorka, gorka” emblazoned on the back, which my Russian speaking nephew, Jon, assures me will bring happiness to all the Russians that I will meet. The hatchet-faced Tsarina that examined my Passport so minutely had her face set in concrete until I turned to reveal the message on my back. Her lips cracked briefly into the merest hint of a smile. On impulse, I took her hand, which incidentally was the size of a JCB digger bucket, and gave it the briefest of kisses in the style of Charles Boyer or David Niven.  Finally, even she was forced to smile and a Russian entente cordial was opened up. It soon collapsed however when all the Brits behind me started cheering and wolf-whistling, and I was rapidly ushered through the barbed wire defences. It transpires that the words given to me by Jon translate as “I love you; Kiss me; Kiss me”.  I like to think that she waits for me still, in her off-duty vodka induced dreams.

Once behind the Russian border, the traffic changed. In Estonia, there was none. Obviously no-one wanted to go to Russia. However, in Russia, there were huge lorries everywhere, taking goods to the border. And they were none too choosy where they decided to drive. The roads were so badly maintained that no suspension could possibly ever keep up with the demands of the terrain. You got used to seeing the whites of the drivers' eyes as they drove straight at you at improbable speeds.

We encountered our first railway level-crossing and had to wait 20 minutes while one train carrying heavy crude oil trundled past. One of the Yorkshire lads who knows a bit about oil calculated that just that one freight train was carrying a load worth $1.3 million at today's retail prices.  Eventually arrived at our resting place for the night. Apparently last night’s Spa was a former sanatorium. Well, this place was the nuthouse. We were in corridors of forty odd rooms and there was one gent’s toilet, one ladies toilet and one shower room per corridor. When I say forty odd rooms, I mean ODD rooms. The beds were arranged end to end which was decidedly novel, and had obviously previously seen service in the NHS hospitals of the 1950’s. Approached the dining room with some trepidation and stocked up on a totally anonymous arrangement of local peasant food because we don't know when we will next eat

Although in the minority, we Brits drink the place dry by the simple expedient of buying up every single one of their cans of lager.  The prospect of sharing the bed with the resident fleas fails to attract, so we have a prolonged session to reduce the exposure time. End up last in the bar once again.

Kms done today: 87

Today’s text to RSM DBM : “Intrepid band of rapid response cyclists have infiltrated Russian border. Now heading toward St Petersburg”

Text from RSM DBM : “Beware tracker dogs – keep pedalling“

Thursday 11th September

Awakened at 0630 by the still cheerful tour rep, Sarah. Decide that we must prepare a booby trap for her tomorrow. Stock up on chopped up stewed cabbage because we don't know when we will next eat. Look out of window and see that the sun is shining. Remember the pre-trip advice about "Be prepared for mosquitoes at the end of the Summer," and  decide that we are due a sunny day. Arrive in reception wearing a singlet and shorts and a Marie Curie hat, only to find that every other rider is still in their seven layers, and we are leaving immediately with no time to change. It’s cold in Russia. Very cold. The terrain is featureless, flat and empty, just like the Russian temperament. We persevere. I dismount to take a photo and am overtaken by Liz the Phiz and Rosie, who make very derogatory remarks about my posterior raised in the air. Try as I might, I can’t catch them up to get my own back. Lunch stop is at a Russian café and I have a beer with my beetroot and fish soup.This proves to be a performance-enhancing combination as I lead all the way to the afternoon fruit stop. Start hallucinating about the soon to be grasped glory of actually leading one stage.  Then, whilst in this reverie, in the very last half  kilometre, Ian from Bonnie Scotland comes sailing nonchalantly past with a cheery “Are ye all reet, then?“ as I am left floundering in his wake. These youngsters have no respect for their elders . . . . and No, I’m not bitter in the slightest.

The evening found us in a changed venue as the Russian military would not let us go in the vicinity of our first chosen site. Hotel Fawltski was memorable. Andrew and I were on the ground floor, presumably because as card-carrying members of Saga, the tour leaders reckoned we couldn’t make it up the stairs. Our windows were barricaded with a steel grid and I still don’t know whether it was to keep the local Russians out , or to keep us guests in . . .  . Eventually dinner is served by two impossibly beautiful scantily clad Russian girls who smile all the time. Five of us have to restrain Jim to avoid a scandal of international proportions. Stock up at dinner on chopped up cabbage because we don't know when we will next eat.

After four days together, Andrew and I are a well oiled team, and totally in tune. We can finish each other’s sentences, and can even remind each other where we’ve forgotten things. It was a measure of just how familiar we had become in such a short time that when I stepped out of the shower; asked for a towel; and complained that what he was offering me was only the size of a postage stamp, he simply retorted “ That’s all you need, isn’t it?”  I have to tell you that it was very cold. The Hotel management came under fire as there was no hot water, but they simply explained that “Hot water starts on October 13^th”. Maintained the, by now long established, tradition of accompanying the old lags at the bar to the very end.

Text to RSM DBM :”Have penetrated deep behind enemy lines. Bits closest to the saddle are blue with cold. Fear that I shall never father children again.”

RSM DBM to RWM “ Have no fear - Accounts girls say U R 2 old anyway”

Friday 12th September

Awakened at 0630 by the depressingly cheery Sarah. Last day and it’s main roads and urban sprawl all the way. Several accidents brought about through a dangerous mixture of euphoria and weariness. All caused by or to the ladies though . . . .  

I only make an observation.

There was one couple who were totally un-phased by anything that was thrown at them. Nothing strange about that you might think, until you learn that David is 72, Margaret is 69 and they are doing the whole thing together on a tandem. Mind you, I still think Margaret had it cushy – all she did was sit at the back, smile and take photographs, until David demanded more “POWER!” And they had already done 1,500 kms prior to this week. Today, the magnificent seven reach their 2,000 kms and that is very special. What a fantastic achievement!

We arrive at our hotel in mid afternoon in the outskirts of Saint Petersburg, a total distance of 487 kms in five days. Immediately text  RSM DBM :”Have reached St P with fellow intrepid cyclists. Await instructions”

Get reply from RSM DSM :  “”Report back for work, Monday. Cushion awaits”

Andrew’s family have flown out to see him so I get billeted  with Rupert and Gary, the two Yorkshire giants. They very kindly made up a camp-bed for me; well, it seemed kind until it collapsed at 4:30am following too much vodka in a late night party in the Scottish team room. Apparently they were chortling to themselves as they carefully prepared the legs so that they would collapse with the maximum impact. I suppose it was only rough justice as I had previously secreted a hairbrush in Rupert’s bed, and a shoe in Gary’s apple-pie bed. The worrying thing was that Gary never even noticed.  

You get to know people rapidly when you share a room They seemed so tough on first acquaintance, but it soon became apparent that all they wanted to do was talk about embroidery patterns. At one point, I was just about to go to the bathroom, when Rupert warned me advisedly not to enter for a good half-hour as Gary had been in there first. Unfortunately and very stupidly, curiosity got the better of me. If ever the UK needs an alternative source for Russian Gas, I have discovered the solution. Gary could single-handedly supply the National Pipeline for several decades to come . . . . .  

In this week of many incidents, we were even unable to leave the country without drama. Unfortunately my luggage, which contained my saddle and saddle stem, failed to get through X-ray security at Frankfurt airport, and has been impounded as terrorist risk as a potential rocket launcher. I hope to be re-united with it sometime later today. One gets quite attached to a saddle after 487 kilometres, and it had to be surgically removed.

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There were 43 riders on the last leg of the course, and we were exceptionally fortunate as we were joined by the CEO of Marie Curie, Tom Huge-Mallett, and the CEO of Classic Tours, the company that organises these trips, Charles GetaLife . The commitment of both these guys was tremendous, and a real inspiration. We were all left with utter respect for their determination in the face of continual adversity, and ceaseless hostile banter.  I also want to give a mention to Edwina who egged me on all the time. I will never forgive you, Edwina, for getting me onto this 2008 ride - you should have got me onto one a lot earlier !

We all finished. It was a truly amazing once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I still believe that the biggest achievement was actually making that Russian border guard smile.

It is of course invidious to single out individuals, but one person will stay in all our memories. She was M.C., a tiny Belgian lady and such a special person. She is a Marie Curie nurse working in an Edinburgh hospice, and she has personally helped over 1,900 cancer sufferers through what she called “their last journey”. She chose to ride 2,000 kilometres over four weeks, taking up all her annual leave, and losing a month’s pay. This humbled and inspired us all. 

The final gross total collected from all the riders on all four stages will be over £400,000.  Of this, over £250,000 will go to support angels like Marie Christine above and that makes it all worth while. As the Olympians say, one week of pain, but a lifetime of glory. 

Finally, I would like to thank my sponsors without whom this last week would not have been possible. A big thank you to DiarrCalm, Ibuprofen and Smirnoff for their innovative new product - Vodka in a back-pack.

I shall be taking a few days off now to re-learn how to walk .Very sincere thanks for taking the time to read this, and for contributing and for all your support. I never thought that I was capable of doing it before I gave it a go; now I know that anything is possible.

Why not think about doing a ride yourself ?