This story starts and ends with a bed.

The first was one of those beds that comes with a control box. You know, the one where you press buttons and various sections of it goes up, down or changes position.

Well, when Claire’s father, Richard, was very poorly, he had one.

Initially, it made going to bed less painful. By the time the cancer had done its job, we wouldn’t have been able to move his head without it. Everything was agony for him. It was also agony for Claire and Jennifer.

And there was me feeling helpless, frustrated and annoyed that someone was in so much pain and there nothing I could do. I just couldn’t solve it. No one has been able to solve it.

And like any new experience, there were loads of questions and no one to give answers: Is that the best way to move the bed? When we sit with Richard, should we be quiet? Can we laugh? None of us knew what to do.

It was a quiet, sad, sad home.

Then the doorbell rings. On the other side is a big beaming smile in a pair of crocs.

His name was Paul – still is probably - and he is here to provide home hospice care to Richard on behalf of the St David’s Foundation. That’s the official line anyway.

In reality, he was a rock.

A great big smiley, loud, wonderful rock for the family just at the right time.

Yes, he helped make Richard more comfortable, but he also brought energy into the home. Gone were the hushed tones and sombre tears. There were smiles - sometimes even laughter - and, sometimes, things seemed somehow more bearable.

He also showed us how to use that bed. You know when something seems so blooming obvious only AFTER someone has shown you? Well, this was one of those forehead-slapping “of course” moments.

So what’s the point of all this? Well, a very dear friend of mine, Jim, had suggested doing something to celebrate our looming 40^th birthdays, and I wanted to use this to raise some cash and ensure that Paul is able to visit other families for years to come.

Jim and I had already completed a charity cycle ride for St David’s. That was 26-miles. Our 40^th birthday challenge would things up a notch…

The grandly-titled ‘Lon Las Cymru’ is a gruelling five-day, 260-mile cycle down the spine of Wales, from the tip of Holyhead to Cardiff Bay. Hills, mountains, main roads, canal banks – the works.

And, at the end of June 2011, we took it on.

There were five of us altogether – four cyclists and a support driver. With six months to go we’d planned the route. Six weeks to go, we’d arranged the stops and booked the B&Bs. With a day to go, we’d packed some clothes, checked the bikes and were ready.

Tuesday 21^st June rolled into Wednesday and we were off.


Wednesday
We set off at 7.45 in beautiful sunshine. Hang on… the bikes may bottom out on Pete’s driveway.

We set off at 8.15 in beautiful sunshine. The lads are excited and comparing packing lists. Andy seems agitated, but we’re happy and on the road to Holyhead. We stop for brekky in Builth Wells - a bit of quality pig in the Little Chef, and then take off again towards Rhayader. We pass Tresfynydd and start a 20 min debate over whether that thing was a power station, pumping station or castle. The longest car journey of all time is one great vista of green hills, trees and countryside.

We finally cross into Anglesey and on into Holyhead. Less than a mile from the start line and… calamity.

“Umm, the bikes are on the road,” says Pete, all matter-of-factly. It seems Andy was a little over zealous at that last speed bump and the whole bike rack just gave up.

There’s no major damage, but we take that as a sign and decide to start the challenge from here. We’re a mile away from the official starting point, but there’s no debate.

We head out across Anglesey’s winding country lanes to the sounds of the RAF. Tornadoes everywhere. Then we meet a group of lads, also from Newport, also cycling the Lon Las Cymru in five days. What a small world.

The island is the flattest terrain in Wales which, while being good for the legs, doesn't make for great scenery. There are a few hills and Andy suffers big time. His body finally packs in and, when we arrive at Llanfair PG, he takes to the support car feeling gutted.

We spot the famous Kate Middleton Waitrose, and then cross the Menai Bridge. I get my first puncture halfway across and have to walk it to the other side. Oh joy. We’re not even on mainland Wales and half the team are down.

We pass Portmeirion (nine quid!? Jog on fella…) and finally arrive into Caernarfon around 8.15. It’s Bernie’s choice of hotel tonight, so he’s chosen a backpackers’ hostel. We file into ‘Totters’ to find our top floor dorm (three double bunks – thanks Bernie) atop the steepest staircase ever. No time for sitting though. We’ve 10 mins to get showered and out to the pub before they close their kitchen.

Half the week’s budget goes on £4.10 bottles of Peroni and fish n chips. Stuffed and far poorer, we stagger out to find a Wetherspoons across the road… I get the lads lottery scratch cards on the understanding that anything over a £2 win I get my money back. Sod’s law three of them win £2 each.

We get back to the dorm and pass out. Oh, apart from Jim who finds time to request Andy dons a T-shirt to cover his ‘evil twin’, and put his bike to bed in the room. He couldn’t leave it outside in the rain of course. One day down. Four to go.

Thursday
It's the best day’s cycling ever! We climb out of Caernarfon alongside the old steam railway and, after another healthy, pig-based brekky, head to Porthmadog alongside fantastic stone wall lined lanes. We stop for a game of pooh sticks alongside the river (I win. No cheating or anything!). The Station Inn in Porthmadog drops us a £5 donation, which made Pete cry.

On what becomes the norm for the whole journey, we take the official Sustrans route up an enormous hill, instead of the easy route via Harlech. We’re rewarded with a cracking decent. I hit 43.1mph, which remains the trip record. Both the sun and Andy join us for the last 12 miles’ glide into Barmouth. Spirits are high as it’s an early finish.

It’s my choice of hotel tonight (the seafront ‘Marwyn’) and we’ve all got nice rooms – some of which have leather padded doors. Bernie shows off his mankini, so we get out quick for a few beers and 'babs.

It’s a lovely evening in the sun, but there’s an elephant in the room: Cader Idris. It’s up there to the left, constantly covered in black cloud, looming over the town. It doesn’t help that Jim keeps telling us that tomorrow’s ride is going to be the longest and hardest day of our lives by a long long way.


Friday
Oh.
My.
God.

This is the longest and hardest day of my life by a long long way. Anyone ever thinking of cycling the Lon Las Cymru, learn one thing: it is not about the distance; it’s the never-ending ascents.

Sixty miles a day on the flat? Easy. Seventy? Bring it on. But today… it started with two 1000ft climbs in the morning into Machynlleth. That nearly broke me. After lunch in Munchies (big discount on food and a £15 donation – thanks ladies), we headed off in the pouring rain straight up a hill. It kept going and going.

Then it went on some more. One hour. Two hours. On and on and on and on. The bikes went onto the back of the support vehicle and we walked. Then I hit my wall. I remember it well: I was cold, wet and miserable. My feet were soaked and numb. Visibility was failing, the light was going and the boys had disappeared off into the distance. Yet I finally reached the summit… to realise it was yet another bluff.

There was yet another summit more than a mile away and I snapped. My body had had enough. My heart and mind agreed. Pete and Andy picked me up. The car was warm and cosy, but I was totally gutted to drive past Bernie and Jim as they struggled through on foot.

Jim was feeling faint, sick and dizzy, and took a long hard look at the car. Bernie said he was carrying on, so Jim joined him and remains forever grateful to his brother for that. After the eight mile ascent, they finally arrived at the summit, ‘Rhiw Fawr’: at 1700ft, the highest point of the Lon Las Cymru.

Spirits raised, I rejoined the boys. We did a further 20 odd miles in the rain through the forest (and yet more cheeky hills – oh great) and up to Llangurig. It was Jim’s choice of B&B today and we ended up in a cracking place. ‘Aubrey’s at the Clochfaen’ was our own single level annex within the Grade II listed building’s former servants' quarters. We had our own space, own living room and every freebie you could think of, even heated blankets for some. The owners even provided new pairs of slippers for us. Bless him. We watched Andy Murray win, drank lots of tea, dried our clothes near the Rayburn, and then sat around the table scoffing a Chinese as it poured outside. A real team effort today.

Saturday
Following a (too) big brekky, we left Aubrey’s in the rain and followed the Wye down towards Rhayader. As the mountains of Snowdonia melted into the distance, we had an amusing, 2-mile episode with two sheep that thought we were chasing them.

It was a difficult morning cycling alongside the Afon Gwyn, avoiding the hills which loomed on both sides. We hit our first unsuitable, off-road surface, a two mile stretch of old coach road. The worst part was right at the beginning, with a steep climb up a rocky path. It didn’t help that this skinny fella with a laden touring bike just glided past us with a cheery “morning”. Gimp.

After that the track did improve slightly, although the recent downpours made the downhill bits a sensation. Jim hated getting his bike all dirty, but there was something special about banging around the rocks, splashing through puddles, accelerating into corners with no traction or brakes. I was 12 all over again.

Fun aside, we passed through a final gate and were, once again, on paved roads. These took us into Builth Wells, where Andy and Pete were on hand with a welcoming brew and some food. Andy joined us for the next leg: to Brecon. It was a little confusing getting out of Builth’s one-way system, but we were finally on our way.

With long sections on a busy B-road, we didn’t like this section too much. Still, nice scenery and the going was good. In no time at all, we reached the point where the Lon Las Cymru divides in two: one route leading to Cardff; and the other to Chepstow. Jim had decided from the start that we would head to Cardiff. He says it was the symbolism about finishing at the capital, and nothing to do with avoiding the Black Mountains...

We had a steady ride to Glasbury, where Andy jumped back in the car. I got an early lead over the others and got a bit lost. I “cheated”, according to Jim. Hogwash. I went slightly off-route (a far more taxing route may I add) and beat him and Bernie into Talgarth.

Tal joined us for our last night in Brecon and paid for drinks and running repairs (thanks mate!). Well, not quite Brecon. Andy’s guest house was actually about 15 miles west. We had a comparatively quiet last night: just a few beers and a nice meal. We exchanged memoirs of the trip and were tucked up around 1am, all looking forward to the final push home.

Sunday
We’d had downpours and wind on the nasty bits of the trek, and sun on the nice bits, so it seemed apt that our final day was set for a scorcher. We were dropped off the other side of Brecon (just to make things even harder) and pointed in the right direction. Well, we actually found a local couple to help us out. That’s when the comedy half hour started. Jim was explaining that we needed to follow the bike route, but the guy just kept on about the main road in the opposite direction.

“You want to go that way.”
“We’ve come from that way. We’re looking for the bike route.”
“You don’t wanna do that. You want the main road. That’s quicker.”
“It may be quicker, but we want to take the bike route. Is it that way?”
“Bike route? That takes ages. You want the main road behind you.”

Meerkat? Market. Meerkat?

His wife gave us some sweeties and we set off in the opposite direction to where the guy was pointing. At least, we nearly set off. Jim had a puncture (Tal’s fault in his view) and, as he tried to fix it, Bernie had a valve explosion. Not a good start to our final day.

We wound through the lanes and into Brecon. A quick pit stop to pick up a bag of ice for our hydration packs (great thinking Mr Dupré) and we hit the canal. Several miles of stunning scenery and walkers later, we left the towpath at Talybont and had a second pit stop at the Talybont Reservoir dam. Then it was a nice steady climb (1 in 38) for eight miles alongside the reservoir and past Pen y Fan. That was actually the first climb we’d started and finished together.

We headed down, past Pontsticill Reservoir and found the start of the Taff Trail – our route home.

Jim and I had cycled this section of the route before, and we headed through Merthyr and sped through the valley. The scenery is much more urban in character, as we passed through the industrial sprawl surrounding us. We caught up with support team in Abercynon, where Andy joined us for the final 24 miles. The sun was blistering, but a quick five min blast with the car’s AC and we were back on it. Pontypridd. Treforest. A quick pint in Tongwynlais, then on into Cardiff.

Jim led us into the Bay to find our families, homemade ‘welcome home’ banners and a cold beer. We’d done it.

I said that this story ended, as it started, with a bed.

When I fell into mine that night, I looked back on the most frustrating, annoying, brilliant, stunning, painful, and memorable five days of my life. We’d cycled the length of our nation, more than 250 miles and, as some whizz kid calculated, two-thirds the height of Everest.

To Bernie, who just cycled and cycled and never stopped; to Andy who suffered more pain than the rest of us put together and still pulled through; to Pete who was our invaluable back-up and with us for every second; and to Jim who planned, conceived and led from beginning to end: thank you guys from the bottom of my heart.

And to you folks who sponsored me, I again say thank you. With my battered bike and body, and your support, we are helping other devastated families get a chance to welcome in that big beaming smile in a pair of crocs.