LEJOG Day 7

How glorious is an extra hour in bed? It couldn't have worked out better for me. Fed and watered, bathed and looking forward to an army drill approach to completing the road to JOG (Dad) with the comfort of catering (Mum), all breakfasted and ready for off at 10.15am, my front tyre seemed to have sighed heavily overnight. Dad tried his pump but it's the wrong type of fixing and my pump is pronounced useless (I've never used it) so it's game over unless there's a way of improvising.

My improvisation is to get in the Ruston Rover and find Halfords in Warrington as there must be one but I get called back as Mum has flagged down some suspicious Sunday cyclists and Dad borrowed their pump. Reflated to 80 somethings, I'm on the road by 11am and feel sad to see my Ruston Rover heading back to Leeds without me in it. I love that car. Very much. It's my best personal relationship right now.

I checked Dad's boot though and there is treacle tart and chocolate cake so it's a Good News day today! No son stashed in there but when you're in the sixth form, I don't suppose keeping your old Mum happy is your top priority. Or a priority at all.

I've begun a rag bag collection of minor aches and pains now. Having popped an enormous blister - which I don't normally get - that throbs away annoyingly it makes you more aware of creeks and groans. Meanwhile both knees are quietly protesting but not in a serious way. The bit between my shoulder blades hurts in a stiff uncomfortable way. I feel like I have a cold but it's more that tight chestiness you get from having been out of breath or breathing hard in the cold. There have been a lot of hills the past few days. I don't feel bad. I feel like I've done my first ever week's skiing that's all. Hopelessly inefficient and without technique to glide effortlessly through the snow like 4yr old children do, you end your first week needing a month in the Maldives to recuperate. Note to self, I've been banging on about the Maldives for more than a year so that could be a reward voucher to end all reward vouchers.

But this is Day 7 and at the end of today I might over shoot target and get to Kendal with mintcake for tea so it's focus on the task in hand Ruston. 'Allez, come on' as Miguel, my tireless ski instructor has said millions of times. He likes a challenge I can tell you. No one in their right minds would attempt to take me down a Black Run. You can imagine.

First off, ten miles of every traffic light through Warrington and Wigan being on red, I start to wonder what on earth is going on. The traffic is ten times worst than on any given day so far. Not so much Morrisons HGVs but every conceivable Sunday driver. After a while, I start to watch where they are going and it turns out that Warrington to Wigan is one long out of town retail park, interrupted by a road network. Not that I'm complaining because frankly, I'd rather be in T K Maxx myself (I'd like to work there because you get discount too) but Lancashire was out spending it's body weight in Halloween decorations and guff. I saw the most gorgeous little girl all dressed up and almost stopped to take her picture but thought the Dad would think I was a weirdo so captured the memory in my head. My gorgeous taller than me girl is similarly engaged in festivities rather than being in the boot on the proviso that she does a street collection for me rather than endlessly tweeting to the world that I'm a nutter. Beware if you see her this week. She's feisty with a collection tin and doesn't understand the concept of 'no'.

My new support crew have stopped at Halfords to buy an industrial strength tyre pump (my Dad doesn't take chances) before getting to grips with the protocol. I didn't know there was one until it had gone. Anyway, it goes something like this. I set off and then, when you pass me you toot. I don't know why but it's comforting. You stop at the agreed next way point but not before hand in the morning or until the first pint (whichever is sooner). You can only stop on the left hand side and preferably at unscabby pubs. If scabby, I will have to stand outside in the rain with my medicine and crisps. It doesn't bother me because I seem to smell - a lot - and it avoids eye contact with strangers regarding my curious get up but I can't sit down so it's nice to be inside.

Once it gets to the afternoon, I need 5 mile markers. Not earlier and I don't need to stop but mentally, it's nice to know you've just done five and have five to go. It's even nicer when its your last five. I can tell if it's shorter than five so no cheating. I also tend to tire suddenly and once the legs get a bit wobbly late afternoon, it's time to keep on top of the calories.

Those awesome guys in the bike shop the other day, sold me pocket rocket fuel. It's a bar no larger than the size of my palm or a smallish flapjack that packs 1000 calories straight in to my bloodstream or motor. Whatever, the only time my legs work better is when there's a line of 40fters all queued up behind me to take their shot.

They are twilight wonders and though I don't really like sweet things, I couldn't down the treacle tart as the new support crew were causing concern. They kept disappearing! Tonight I learned that they had fallen for the great Sat Nav con - that a Sat Nav can actually get you from A to B without a detour to Australia.

I've seen quite a lot of signs by the roadsides not far from dead badgers, rabbits, pheasants and rodents that say 'Sat Nav Error route' so I guess M&D are new but not last to this game and can't be blamed. I'm more worried how Dad's expletiveomiter and blood pressure are doing for their day 1!! I really need support now all the way to the end. The thought of doing it unsupported is just miserable.

Anyway, the outcome works great. While they are wearing in their support crew legs, my little short ones put in a fantastic day and instead of stopping at Garstang, decide to bat on for Lancaster.

It's been a great day for cycling if you're doing Avenue Verte on London-Paris somewhere in Northern France but it's actually been a mile munching day. M&D are exasperated by the walkie talkies that neither walk nor talk but I quite like the police look. It makes me feel safe, particularly as neither my BB or phone have been great on signal all week and have consequently been virtually flat most of the time. Very annoying.

Of course, here in the North we need to stay in touch as it's not the Good Life oop ere, you know. As the nation's engine, we are friendly, social types and we are better behaved motorists even though there are a lot more of us. I bet insurance premiums are cheaper for dinosaurs like me up here than in the dastardly south.

The landscape has changed considerably although that might be because I can actually see it now. It feels familiar even though largely its not. I went to Manchester University but we had better ways to stay out of the rain as a student than going cycling around the countryside - if you get me.

We were good at building old houses. Enormous gothic mansions and Victorian dreamworks drip around every corner of these parts. The wealth generation schemes may have gone but the wealth is still very evident. Yes, there is poverty and we have a lot to do to relieve that still but there is a sanguine reality to life here that shows in spirit and personalities.

M&D finally make it to Lancaster just as I begin to consider sending out a search party. They are worried they haven't been much help but I enjoyed racing up the middle of a steep hill of stationary traffic in the manner that Type A man showed me a couple of days ago, past my Dad and knowing he would be wondering what on earth I was doing. Keeping safe. Stationary traffic opens its car doors to let kids out to do wees in the gutter and I don't have the energy left to avoid them. God love them.

Rolling down hill for the first time today, in to Lancaster the University looks very different to how it did when my best friend Richard was here. I want to ring and tell him but he's somewhere far flung like Singapore these days and I don't suppose he really cares all that much.

I spot a Travelodge on the right just as M&D push past in to Lancaster's one way system and rock up in to the first floor reception where a wonderful woman directs me to the on-line booking system to save myself a few quid. Now I know I've previously been a B&B Queen but there's something about trying harder to get out tonight that I fancy so I check in and start calling my Dad who has now circled the one way system three times and is probably about to blow a head gasket.

Half an hour of Sat Nav errors later, we are decanting the car of a week's kit for the great sort out that I've promised myself. The kind receptionist has just said to me 'I can smell burning' which I imagine is me. We burn a lot of wood and coal through out this country and particularly in the run up to bonfire night, I've really taken on Eau de Countryside.

Ok. The truth is I really smell. Which starts me wondering whether that's why Type A's are so unfriendly. I bet they all have the stench which would, I admit, make even George Clooney unattractive. Still, with 450 miles under my belt and the half way point reached, who cares?

I booked a family room for the bike - aw, sweet - and found, as well as a sofa bed for the big kit sort out, it also has a bath. Two days in a row. Get me!! So minutes later I look at this bronzed face (yeah, I know weather beaten) and leap in to the bath before calling home in my favourite ancient trogsuit sprawled on the large clean, double bed. Darkness descended at 5pm so I'm out looking for a pub meal by 6pm with my parents. My Mum fessed up to being up for a pub crawl, because we couldn't find one that was still serving but in the end we found an Italian through a lovely landlord in one pub that turned out to be a hoot. It's owner came here 50yrs ago from Sicily for the language and never found his way home. Etna is highly recommended for food, hospitality and a great Sunday night re-carb. A carafe of Italian red for £12 isn't a bad way to celebrate half way.

I think, I hope, I might make it, you know.

XX

LEJOG Day 6 Ironbridge to Warrington

We could start with a newly wed Michael Winner style review of where he would never take his new (first) wife Josephine to stay but my view of life after 6 days at sea is that it's good to focus on the positive.

Fizz Friday and waiting to be picked up in a layby, you wouldn't think it would be that hard to find a clean bed for the night but it's half term so folks in these parts are declaring a full house. For the last time in months.

Fair enough but Ironbridge was 16 miles north of my rescue spot and cheating won't work so I want to stay in the first likely place. Finally, I see 'A bird on the Hand' in Ironbridge and see it as a sign (my Godparents were Maurice & Eileen Bird RIP). Only it's full.. the lovely chap behind the bar says though he suggests somewhere likely to have beds at this time with the sort of face that says 'If you are desperate'. I go where he says on the basis that a bed is a bed. It is. But sometimes, the only difference between a 'yes' and 'no' is a clean (I checked) laundry set on the bed because it was 7pm and I simply wanted a hot shower. Making do with a cold shower having taken the stable was tough.

Meanwhile doing a swift army march in the bracing cold back to the 'Bird in the Hand' things are really cool. If you look as desperate as me, they give you chocolate cake with ice cream -awesome - even after they have stopped serving. Only problem is that with the prospect of turning in to that awful room, Fizz Friday turned in to a late one which is tricky to justify with 160 miles over the next two days to do.

The cleaner thought she was seeing a vision as I went in to pay for my pleasure this morning. I could have done a runner - perhaps should have done a runner - but as discussed don't complain. 'But there's no one here to cook your breakfast'. 'I didn't know there was anyone staying'. That will be because I doubt the tax man will ever know I stayed either. Cash only and no record of my details. But that's not my focus - I just want to leave - as there are other things to do today.

Saturday morning 8am, I couldn't wait to go back south 16 miles. Yeah, right. The truth is that it nearly bloody killed me. To spend a whole hour, after refusing breakfast this morning (you just wouldn't risk it - yes, that bad) the night before, going back to the beginning of an awful route is terribly demoralising. Even if is Saturday morning. Perhaps especially because it's Saturday morning.

Still, after an early late start on the day's mileage to Warrington, I did quietly well, considering the miserable weather. Mile after mile of cycling caution until it was getting later and later with only a brief stop for soup and a pint after a particularly scary set of junctions, 'A' roads and dual carriageways. Even a last minute diversion due to full road closure didn't harm. What's 10 miles out of the way on an 80 mile day anyway?

The Morrisons shopping bag spotting continued unabated today. Don't get me wrong, I've seen loads of other supermarkets but the very noticeable thing is the number of bags of their shopping that get carried around. I know Morrisons is a Yorkshire company in origin so I guess I just feel silently cheered on when I see them. Not so silently when a car whizzed by me with a very large LUFC logo in the back and I broke out in to a spontaneous cyclo-dance of joy (wait until you see in on You Tube Sis) at the sight. I don't support any team but I'm hoping to get a season ticket for my 40th next year on the basis that it will be way out of my comfort zone to watch competitive sport!

All in all, I had an awful route, not a bad day, as an increasingly tired cyclist. Tonight, I realised that nothing is given, routine or straight forward on this Tour. The skill of flexibility is a skill I've really had to re-learn - mixed with a lot of caution, a big dose of (often black) humour and a twist of lime (not darkness). Anything that can go wrong, might go wrong. There are so many factors to long distance road cycling that are outside of our control. It offends my OCD that even where there are cycling routes, they are debris strewn obstacle courses and you are better taking your chances with a HGV.

5 miles short of target I saw a place next to a petrol station on the left that said something about 'Happy Days Motel'. I was so intent on making Warrington before nightfall though, I'd have slept in a hole to over shoot target but not much further past on the right as the light faded fast, the street lights stopped and the cold mist started to descend, I knew the way forward was about not being stupid. Stopping at a country Inn that looked like a fantastic cosy Saturday night in spot, I asked if they did rooms but a soggy smoker lurking outside said, "Not here. Just back up the road there's a place'.

So back to the Happy Days and a very warm welcome which nearly earned kisses all round. So used to LEJOGers are they, they even have a brightly coloured sheet to put down on the floor of my room so I can sleep with my bike. That's a funny thing too. I'm not really one for possessions (unless it's my lifelong book collection) but I've developed an umbilical cord with my bike and I need to be near it. It's a bit like being on one of those programmes where an expert teaches a novice how to fool another expert in a competition that you're not the novice and someone with 20yrs experience comes last. Deep immersion conditioning  - maybe there's a Type A in me after all!

Even better news though was the sight of the bath (last one was Dartmoor) and the clean, warm room where the TV was on the wall, not sitting on the floor with the live wire dangling off the wall. The pub that was the last pub before darkness did great food. Plus the cabaret was a welcome comedy from a group of Warringtonians who'd probably have been better in McDonalds since they vociferously didn't want to wait for a large table order of Hot Rock food. The dutch South African Landlady has introduced some fabulous food concepts to these parts and their amusement value beat the X-Factor (which just isn't doing it for me this year).

I'm pleased with myself today. I've done a lot of hard miles. Steadily. Plus caught up and not let everything get me down. I actually feel quite cheerful though that's possibly because of one of two things:-

(1) I've just read in one of those magazines that I only confess to looking at the pictures in, that George Clooney is only with his latest squeeze because he has two films out and he needs to have someone gorgeous dripping off his arm by way of a comfort blanket. Everyone would think he couldn't pull otherwise. I'll never be an A-List celebrity skinny minny gorgeous thing but I've kept my eye on him for 15yrs since the first series of ER and since I don't want marriage or babies and could fancy endless weekends away in the Cotswolds for as long as he can spare, think I might have to try to ambush him at the next window.

(2) My Mum & Dad arrive tomorrow with a shopping list of items that very hopefully (though unlikely) includes my son and an assortment of random items like bin bags (they are so necessary as everything is growing mouldy after the continual deluge). If all else fails though, I've asked for Mum's home made treacle tart and chocolate cake. If only one, treacle tart.

Well, you're only a kid once and it's nice to have something familiar. My children will ask for Yorkshire Puddings, Onion Gravy, Spicy Fish risotto and Shepard's pie if they become charity nutters. My taste buds are salivating at the prospect!!

XX

LEJOG Day 5 Stroud to Ironbridge

I knew it was going to be a good day today. As darkness fell last night on the nerve racking descent in to Stroud, I realised there was something wrong with my brakes when I had an extremely uncomfortable encounter with a lamp post. I'd show you the graze on my face but as discussed, I'm not big on photos that prove how I look without Dior's help. My lovely lady in Boots in Leeds would kill me.

Waking up at 7am in the Close in Tetbury and knowing the bike shop in Dursley didn't open until 10am meant that a well earned Friday morning at relative leisure could be pursued. The best breakfast so far on the Tour. By a long, long way. Which is saying a lot as followers of the blog will know. We know how to do a full english in this country.

Tetbury is somewhere close to Highgrove. Apparently you can spot all manner of royals using the coop if you want to. But get this - the sun was shining - and the gardens behind the Close are quite lovely. Also Prince Charles has a Highgrove shop which opened at 9.30am so there was a spot of pre Christmas shopping opportunity.

The bike shop is Dursley is FANTASTIC. Delta sorted out my battered bike with a whole new breaking system and replenishments. They also pumped up my half pressure tyres. Meanwhile I managed a look around Dursley Church and pedestrianised shopping zone and I can tell you, it's a fine place to while away a LEJOG hour or two. A super gift shop where I could buy a gift for one of my former team that has just delivered a gorgeous baby Zara and I was happy. Refreshed, rejuvenating and revelling in the glory of the sunny Cotswolds.

Leaving The Prince of Wales pub on the A38 at 12.50pm with 80 miles to go, there was a tall order ahead but I didn't mind. The bike was as new and the sun was shining and I made quite a bit of fast hay. The traffic was fast and furious but I hand it to Stroud &  Gloucester district council. Miles and miles and miles of safe cycling. My latest love affair with the Cotswolds which began when my former business opened at Aston Down is a committed one.

Today, I've been thinking a lot about how important it is to work in a great team. Over the 20 years of working in one business, people came and went but Good people (and generally most of them were Great people) stayed and stayed and stayed. With locations throughout the UK sometimes the travel to get there could be awful but you were always guaranteed a super warm welcome and a happy group to work with. For me that was the hardest part of leaving the business behind once it was sold. So many fantastic people who have given so much so far who you can rely on in any weather. I like to think they were all my Friends. I do miss you all!

Meanwhile, the Friday traffic started to hot up but some well placed (for me) roadworks and a rare chatty chance Type A Cyclist did wonders for my batting average. Somewhere short of Worcester there was a queue that went on for mile after mile after mile. Wondering whether this was an accident, I started to deliberate whether to carry on or look for another route. Type A whizzes up before me and says 'Where you heading?'. JOG, I say. He laughs - I've worked out why but we'll get to that - and says 'Tonight?' I said, Ironbridge. His face turns pale and says follow me. So we wind through all the stationary traffic for mile after mile after mile, generally on the wrong side of the country road and make great headway. Towards the end of this he says, 'You're not going on the 449 are you?'. Of course I was.

'A LEJOGer was killed on that road a couple of years ago. It's really dangerous. Fast and unsafe for cyclists. Take great care. Good luck.'

Well, it's never a bad thing to be given local knowledge. Think national, act locally I thought. I mean, boy do I know how awful the roads are in this country largely. On the other hand specific warnings are well meant, particularly in the unfriendly world of cycling.

Type A Cyclists are those (generally)blokes who have all the kit, the bike (that they love more than any woman) and the look. Superfit, superdetermined, faster than the speed of sound, they rarely acknowledge your existence except in an irritated, get out of my way, sort of way. Of course, that will be because I don't look like any of them (pink is not in their vocabulary) and never will. They've been inside all week until today because I guess they don't like the inconvenience of the weather.

Type B Cyclists are those that have the kit and are largely Type A wannabees. Again, normally blokes, they have maybe just taken up cycling and haven't yet discovered cycling weekly (there will be one because Type A's couldn't wait for a monthly rag) and are probably taking part in triathlons of varying lengths and wanting to improve their fitness. They aren't friendly either but only because they are still in training. If they join a triathlon club, they will make it. I've seen about 6 of these in the past days.

Type C cyclists have neither the kit, the bike nor the distance gene. They are using their bikes to transit on short journeys to and from home and are normally encountered from town edge to town edge. They use pavements and road the wrong way, know how to beat lights, cut corners, weave through traffic and generally scare the wits out of me.

There are two further categories:-

Students - OMG - say no more.

Charity nutters - me.

Anyway, still tonking on while thinking of all this, I do well until Kidderminster. You can tell a town that has seen better days by the number of letching, leering white van men of about 18yrs old whose only chance of fun is to p*** take. I have developed a Type A aloofness in their regard. Pretend they are invisible to me. After all, I'm riding well today.

The traffic was awful and the roads awful. Everybody had fizz Friday on their minds or Friday-ittus anyway and wanted to be at home, in the pub or anywhere other than work. Fair point. In fairness to me, I didn't want to be on the A449 either but with my support car miles and miles behind, there was either a bat on or stop risk to take. In the end, at 6.30pm as the light faded on the winding roads out of Kidderminster and it got more and more steep, scary, dark and fast on the A449 which I'd been so clearly warned about, I pulled in to a well placed laybe and called it a day. 16 miles short of target but on a short day's cycling in good weather in difficult road conditions, I didn't care.

There's always tomorrow for a LEJOGer.

Happy Fizz Friday Gals.

X

LEJOG Day 4

Not sure where to start today.

The lowest of all the days so far. Before 7.30am I received two texts telling about how terrible the weather would be today. I love the messages of support but they did what I have been fearing - I've used every trick in my mental vocabulary so far to overcome the inner voice which says 'You must be joking' and would happily beat my Head - and thought, well, might as well stay in bed then.

Of course, I wasn't asleep. But when you've been distracting the Head from the inner voice with promises of reward vouchers, it takes a reward voucher to secure further Head loyalty. The truth is, I know the weather is against me. It has been from mile 1. Today it didn't get light. It was pouring down from before dark and still is. Meanwhile I had 65 miles to do and it wasn't going to be in anyway pretty.

Clearly, I could now bang on about 65 miles of misery but at a certain point today I wondered whether people will start to think I'm Big Miss Moaning. To end further discussion about the weather shall I just say this - my misery knew no bounds today. Perhaps of more interest is how I dealt with it?

The people that have complained (nicely) that there haven't been enough pictures. FGS. How many pictures of me looking like something the cat wouldn't have bothered to drag in, google me and see all the previous monumentally awful pictures you can find. For a Girl whose comfort blanket is high heels, makeup, nail varnish and a Margaret Thatcher 'Try me' Handbag, I'm really, really fed up of never having a single glamorous picture of me. It's all very well being on page 3 of the YEP but at the end of the day, looking like s*** isn't your finest hour.

In fact, today I've been quietly thinking of all the inspirational people that I've been so lucky to have in my life and have met in my life. When there's no natural light to see by, it helps to focus on something other than the weather, the traffic and your own misery. And definitely the road.

For starters, I'm a product of a fantastic state education. I went to Woodlesford Primary School and Mr Dennison was the Headteacher. Mrs Bradley, Mrs Cluderay, Mrs Browning, Mrs Naylor.. they were amazing people. I remember them all.

When I went up to Royds secondary school, I don't know where to start. A lot of amazing people really, really helped me a lot. I don't exactly know where to start so I will mention the people who most made me who I am - in no particular order - Richard Finney (RIP), Alex Hume, Mr Turton, Dave Sowden, Mr Roberts and Mrs Boulton. My friends, generally, were boys. Richard Ball, Jason Baddeley, the Ford boys, Tim Kilburn (RIP), Gavin Smith and a whole load more. My Girlfriends in chief are still my all time friends. Julie Simcox, Rachel Knubley & Sandra Millar. Our paths may all have wandered but our underlying friendships remain. Even though these friendships need energy every now and again, they will always be just about picking up on time and never about if.

You can distract yourself a lot, you see. Your head is really suggestible. Tell it what to think about and it will. Allow it to hear other impulses and it will. In spades.

Most of my tricks, I found through my first marathon - in Shanghai. Typically, when I don't know how to do something, I get a book. In that case 'The non-runners guide to the marathon' just like my Dad always did and just like my Granddads would have done. Granddad Hargest died on my first day at University, in a hospice with my Dad there. I wanted to be there but I guess you can't be everywhere on your first day at University, when you're the first in the family.

My Granddad Frankland, I knew more. He passed away nearly a year ago and I think about him every single day. It was only when my Son Tom went on an exchange trip to France a couple of years ago and mentioned one of the D-Day beaches that he'd been on that my Granddad mentioned that he'd landed there and how scared he was. They dug themselves in to the beach and hoped they wouldn't die. That was the sort of Man he was. Understated. Last year, when I looked for something to read at his funeral with my children, we had to find a few things - and read them all. In the end, all I can say is I read 'Desiderata' and there you will find him. He would never tell you what to do. He would say, 'find your own way'. A hard act to follow.

Meanwhile the shockingly awful weather. OK, well, this is where I got to. At about mile 35, I got totally, monumentally and desperately lost in Bristol. I know that Leeds has an unforgiving one way system but whoever sorts out signposting in Bristol should look at it from an Outsider's point of view. In Leeds we used to be so ashamed of the city centre that we sent everybody outside. Perhaps Bristol should consider that the best thing to do is keep everyone in the centre? The environs are terribly undesirable, confusing and incoherent.

At around this time, totally at the end of my teather and displaying the unlikely characteristic of being about to lose it (only three times in the past 40yrs), I had a complete sense of humour failure. As in, totally, no question - want to die - cannot be worse and don't even try to console me, sense of humour failure.

So some Random Bloke met me as Princess of the Pavement, lost and frightened in central Bristol. He had no idea how close he came to getting a total volley. My training has taught me that less is more. Think before you open your Gob. If you do open Yorkshire Gob, make sure its appropriate. I will never see him again but when he said 'This isn't a road, you know, it's a pavement' well, truthfully, he nearly got Wrath of Yorkshire.

Instead, I just smiled at him. In that deep grimace sort of a way that make people who have no idea how you could return with venomess interest, absolutely totally mad. On the other hand, the trick with me is never to cross me. Believe me, if he'd had to cop for 200 miles of unrelenting rain - Leeds to London - he would have done. My misery knew no bounds, remember?

I'd like to say it was a piece of cake thereafter but I'd be lying. I had to do an extra 10 miles to reverse and then get back on the right road. I got the serious shakes and had to stop when I found somewhere that I felt safe - 'The Wellington - and downed a pint of Sagres, a full rota of all known tablets and a packet of crisps. All at 3.30pm. With 35 miles left to go.

After that, it got truly scary. The Airbus and Rolls Royce Factory adds it own steam to the A38. Described in my book as 'fast and furious', I will always be grateful to a doctor that gave me 'Permission to cry' five months ago. Today, I did my body weight in Crying. Gigantic, heavyweight, from my soul tears, like nothing I've ever known. I'd like to say it was pretty but looking at me later in the day, I can see it wasn't.

Instead, I would like to say the following and close until tomorrow:-

(1) Thank you to the world's Best GP, Dr Carole Gregory (of Burton Croft Surgery in Headingley) that has looked after me for the past five months in a way that goes beyond the call of duty and in my opinion constitutes true Friendship;

(2) Thank you to my Best Friends (they know who they are) and formed a committee to make sure I'm still here. They knew how ill I was and without them, I know I wouldn't be here. In May this year, I said I wasn't bothered if I wasn't here anymore - it took a lot to get me back. Thank you;

(3) Life is an obstacle strewn journey and sometimes going back is the way to go forwards. The Haven has given me an amazing centre of Friendship. The people that are there - Debbie Horsman and her team of Therapists and Team Haven (Office & Fundraising) are amazing, exceptional people that Visitors need. And so have I.

(4) When we are stripped back by the forces of nature, we encounter ourselves in a way that may embarrass or engage others. I'm not afraid to say that I was very unwell and that Dr Gregory turned me in to Sleeping Beauty that could get well again. She said, 'You know, normally I say to people that are unwell, exercise but in your case, had you not been so fit, I'm not sure you would have survived'. The Haven's lead is Dr Caroline Hoffman and a few weeks ago, we were discussing my past five months and she said, 'Well, Sarah, given the past 20yrs, it's not surprising your body decided to rest for a while';

(5) Morrisons has been all over the past four days. Everywhere I went, everywhere I rode, everywhere I looked, there has been Morrisons. Yorkshire is a cool place to evolve from.

The point of all this, is this. Hard times come and hard times go. The best we can do is be a bit gentle with ourselves.

My brakes failed in the dark mist on the way in to Dursley at 6.30pm tonight. I'm glad. I'm in 'The Close' in Tetbury at £85 B&B and happy tonight although I would really like the following (in no particular order):-

(1) A bath;

(2) I never wrote to Jim-L-Fixit as a kid and I know Sir Jimmy is unwell but if he can arrange for me to have a photo shoot with Mario Testino to show I scrub up OK for a South Leeds Girl or Council House Hull Girl (as anyone wishes) - I'll wear his gold badge with pride;

(3) A worldwide 'Thank you' from Sally Traffic to all users of the A38 who have encountered me the past two days from Taunton to Stroud and not immediately begun road rage - a huge 'love you'. There is a lot more of me where that came from;

(4) A better weather day - but that's beyond my ask and tbh, what's the point in asking?

Thank you again for your messages of support. They mean a lot, lots more than you will ever know. Particularly when you have Rain Burn!

XX

LEJOG Day 3

I left Moretonhampstead after a great night's sleep. My hosts at the Longhouse B&B had suggested the Union for dinner but in order to complete the LEJOG gastro tour fully, I had a half in the two other pubs in the village. The medicinal effects of Lager as a recarb drink should never be underestimated. Plus it had been a killer day, in every sense.

Anyway, the Union was true to form. I selected three items from the menu (I was starving) but the manager said after Spag Bol was ordered, 'Can I stop you right there? Eat the Spag Bol and if you're still hungry, carry on.' A decent chap as he also gave me £5 in change as I had neither BB or mobile signal and beat a hasty retreat up the hill to the red telephone box. I knew my Dad was worrying. Minimum charges are now 60p for a call. Good God. When I were a lass..

Anyway, I got back to a ski size portion of spag bol and devoured it beyond my appetite which is meagre at best usually. He was impressed but so was I. I could only manage a glass of red and then had to plead tiredness to go and lay down in a darkened room in consequence of feeling like I'd eaten the entire EU subsidy of Italian pasta (there will be one).

Fortunately, I'd jumped at the chance to have porridge from the range for breakfast in place of full cornish or devon on the basis that so far, english breakfasts hadn't quite provided the nutritional requirements I needed. Good move. The 5 miles hill out of Moretonhampstead is deadly on porridge, never mind sausages and fried bread. I'd like to say I enjoyed it but in truth, I've seen more low (or is it high?) gears than ever these past few days. The one anyway that let's you pedal up Everest even though you don't move anywhere at all. I guess I'm hilled out.

It wouldn't be so bad if hills didn't go downhill. I decided today that I have to face facts. When I ski, I look down the hill, look at my feet and think 'It's a no from me'. When I climbed Mont Blanc, there's a picture of me at the top which has the fear of a woman who knows the trick is to get down (not up)and last year, like this year, in Ironman, I am to any form of downhill what Eddie the Eagle was to Ski jumping. Never in danger of being first and usually assured of being last.

I suppose I should mention the weather. On the basis that the weather card may need to be played later in the trip (and most likely a lot), all I'm going to say is it wasn't as bad as the past two days. I'm disappointed in was torrential in the middle section after the first 25 miles of hills were over and I knew I had only 30 miles left on 'relative' flat. I did see the sun. Well, glimpsed it. Bizarrely, I appear to have got sun burn but as I know it can't be, it must be wind burn. That, I know, it can easily be.

I saw a lot of fabulous churches today. I saw vineyards. I joined a new club as well. Cyclists are the lowest of the low in motorists world but today, when avoiding lots of old cars that seem to be the norm in Cornwall & Devon (driven very fast as if in an emergency) I got quite a lot of cheery salutes from tractor drivers and caravan drivers. It occurred to me that in motorists world the hierarchy is probably cyclists - caravans - tractors on the basis that at least tractors produce food, rather than deliver it. I think someone should contact Jeremy Clarkson because in some ways today, it felt like being in one of those Top Gear episodes where they race to let him win in the most ridiculous way. He's from Doncaster I believe. If that's true, he'll enjoy showing me how to do LEJOG. Though I doubt he'd approve of the push bike as a committed Motorist. Although maybe I could 'learn' him rather than teach him, a trick of two.

People have been sending me some fantastic messages. At about 4pm today, exercising minute by minute living once again, I remembered something that Prince Charles said to me last year when I had the honour to be invited to meet him as Patron of the Haven. When introduced his first words were 'Ahh.. Pink Power' and I immediately melted (as a die hard Diana Groupie). Considering I thought that 'brand' up round my kitchen table only nine months beforehand, you just don't expect our future King to know what you are about. Well, I didn't. Anyway there is a fabulous picture of us laughing as he chortled after asking 'But Sarah, don't you get saddle sore?'. My response was, 'Well, yes Sir, but there are ways of dealing with it'.

Here is my way. Before breakfast take two full strength paracetamol and Ibuprofen. Repeat as required. Generally, I've find on account is better than too late. A bit like childbirth. If you are too late for the epidural, catch up and pay at leisure.

I took a double dose today. I also took a whole dose of 'shots' which are jelly electrolytes at the same time because I still had 20 miles to Bridgwater and I knew it would get dark. Around that time I was rewarded by two of nature's greatest and most spectacular moments. Firstly, an extraordinary rainbow which caused me to sing the childhood song 'I can sing a rainbow' very loudly to a lot of amused passerbys. I'm hardly Top of the Pops in the voice department.

And secondly, a gorgeous pink sunset just as I had to decide whether to risk riding from Taunton to Bridgwater at least half in the dark. I saw these natural signposts as pointers to go for it. So I did. Riding in to town feeling rather pleased with myself to be at mile 166, I suddenly realised it wasn't exactly overflowing with somewhere to stay. An hour and a half later after being told there is no room in any Inn due to a major power outage at a local power station (you mean no one knew I was coming???) a lovely lady at the out of town Premier Inn with no room in her Inn, pulled a favour with her mate and here I am at the Old Vicarage next to a ginormously attractive Church across the way. I know I keep mentioning it but the Church was once so powerful and you only notice if you are cycling slowly through the landscape that there's one in every village, never mind in every town and city and multiples there of. It reminded me a lot of Cambodia. But that's a different blog.

I almost enjoyed today. I was less wet, less cold and less fed up. I met a nice man from Bolton who immediately offered me cash for the cause. I directed him to www.justgiving.com/pinkpowerchallenge2011 and hope he finds it. There's such a long way to go, I feel afraid to accept donations.

What has cheered me up - a lot - have been all the fantastic messages and support from people I don't even know. Social media may be incomprehensible to me but it seems to have a life of its own. When we need folk, we need folk. And boy have I needed all you folks. Thank you. XX

LEJOG Day 2

I'd like to point out, right from the off that I'm not by nature, one of life's whingers. In fact, having worked in the service industry all my life, I know that people do complain. About everything and a lot. Perhaps that's made me lead a pretty complaint free existence? I've only ever sent back one meal in my life and then only in a restaurant that I've eaten in several hundred times.

As I left the good cheer, excellent breakfast and lovely Cestria B&B in St Austell, my superb hosts Steve & Kay Bennallack couldn't have been kinder, more thoughtful and genuinely concerned for my welfare. However, with just a light drizzle and a good forecast to boot, it all looked a bit downhill after yesterday's utter misery.

Famous last thoughts. For starters, the road out of St Austell is very uphill. When I finally reached the top, a little distraught, I happened to turn and look from whence I came. St Austell bay in the far distance looked enormous. I was only at mile 6 of 55 planned and I was beginning to understand why the book is largely silent about the terrain. If the guy that wrote the book I'm following spelled it out in anything like detail, absolutely no one would attempt it for charity. The only reason you would attempt it is if you are one of those 'Type A' personalities that I met at the top of Mont Blanc and in the Ironman - you are a serious nutter, normally white, male of a certain age and generally have a high flying job. I apologise straight away to all the people who do not fit this category (like me) but since I didn't meet a single other cyclist today, I can only assume that like me, non stereotype LEJOGers were either in hiding (sensible) or would not consider doing this for charity (very sensible).

The only reason I've heard of Type A personalities is because Simon Coach talks about them. Mind you as he has done a lot of Ironman triathlons and even more mentally (in my opinion) Marathon des Sables (total nutter alert) I guess you can safely say, it takes one to know one.

I decided that I would get to Liskeard before allowing myself to cry. At only mile 19 for me, it was barely a third of the way but it took a lot of blood and sweat to get there and I was determined to cry in to a pint of lager and a packet of crisps. I normally reserve form for the end and would not normally have anything more than a pint of water and maybe a half of medicine but as I pulled up at The Railway, the barman took one look at my bedraggled, dispirited self and ordered a medicinal pint. My friends would not recognise me but I was alone with strangers who I don't expect will want to see me ever again.

I didn't cry. But I downed Walkers cheese & onion with that pint of San Miguel and decided to get a grip. Fortuitously, there was a garage at the top of the hill (at least I thought it was the top) and I rewarded myself with a Starbar. Wet, cold but newly reinvigorated with carbs I thought, 'right'.

And more or less then, it started to rain. Not straight forward annoying torrential rain but extra freezing cold, hailstone type rain from slate grey clouds that seemed to have gathered during my ten minute stop. All the way up the second worst ascent of the day that just went on and on and on, I have never known anything like it. It was quite devastating. The roads were treacherous, the traffic righteous and I was, for the first time ever on a challenge, indignant with rage. It all seemed so terribly unfair.

In my challenges so far for the Haven, I've always wanted to finish. Always. I'm like that generally. If I want something in life I'm 100% about it. No quibbles, no moaning. I focus and I do it. But no amount of persuasion will make me want something I don't and there aren't that many things that I truly want. You hear this expression a lot on programmes like the X-Factor (I would NEVER want to be famous) but I do get what Simon Cowell means when he expresses impatience with contestants. I know it all makes great tele but at the end of the day he does need to find a star and usually they really want that.

At some point on the road to Tavistock, I realised I really, really, really didn't want this. It was too hard to deal with, too scary, too frightening, too unpredictable and totally out of my control. The higher I got, the colder it got and the harder it rained. When visibility deteriorated to barely beyond my front tyre, I realised that I was way, way, way out of my depth.

Lucky in some ways that I was unsupported today. I'd have given up. As in seriously. I'd have demanded to be picked up and taken home but with no one to do that I had no choice but to carry on. I did deals with myself, just carrying on minute by minute. How many beers, spa treatments (I don't even like these), books I would read - just keep plodding on.

Around this stage, I decided that all motorists that pay road tax are in a secret club that no one told me about. I bet there is a book called '50 ways to teach cyclists to get a car'. Unforgiving, uncaring and inconsiderate, the safest place to be was the left of the white line on tree lined, no verge single file roads. To be honest, I tried to use any bit of pavement I could. Not that there has been a lot. I do remember my cycling proficiency test 30 years ago when they said never cycle on the pavement. I can only assume that no one does these tests anymore. Presumably they have been outlawed by the Health & Safety brigade. And with good reason.

This country is bonkers. We put cycle lanes that stop randomly all over the place in places where no one cycles. We have pavements that no one walks along with pedestrian crossings every ten metres that no one uses. They wouldn't. You take your life in your hands if you are not in a motor. No wonder we are all getting obese.

Meanwhile, the minute any sign of urban life or just life is left behind, we make our roads a hazard to anyone who wants to use them on a push bike in the largely realistic hope that no one would want to try. With good reason. Less accidents, less road clearing and more road tax.

I have decided to start a campaign for cyclist tax. I realise this will be hugely unpopular initially but if it made the people who plan our roads, cycleways and general recreational routes think more clearly about what on earth they are doing, that has to be a good thing. In fact, it has to be a great thing.

Meanwhile, back in the misery of minute by minute living, I realised I was just short of Tavistock where a local garage had the look of a mart that might have something warn. My feet I'd long since given up on but my hands and face had lost all sense of being hands and face so I guessed it was only a matter of time before hypothermia set in. Being responsible for yourself is tricky when you are that close to the edge.

Luckily they had soup before the 18% descent in to Tavistock that could certainly kill you if the last ascent in to town doesn't. My Friend from yesterday that said ignore the weather had said be careful on the descent today. He had a point. It was like aqua planing for one of those programmes that give you cash for your funniest moments. Only this wasn't fun. Quite simply, it was awful.

In Tavistock, I had a decision to make. Would I go up and over Dartmoor with twenty miles to go and risk maybe having to cycle in the dark, never mind the torrential rain or do I accept failure against target and hole up in one of the inviting looking places I saw as I went through.

In part that decision was made for me from afar. I'd asked a good friend Caroline to find me a room in Moretonhampstead and she had so I felt that I had to go there, rather than to accept defeat. I was so wet, so cold and so monumentally fed up, tbh, I thought I wouldn't carry on again (at all, ever) if I stopped.

I can't say the 20 miles were great. Actually, they were bl**dy awful. Several miles of steep ascent and a lot of heavy undulations after that are just not pleasant on a day like today.

I cannot tell you how pleased I was to get here. The B&B looked distinctly unpromising with a gate that said push and go along the corridor. I thought, you have to be joking. I actually thought (sorry Mum & Dad) you have to be ******* joking but really, I was at my wits end.

A lovely couple answered the door. Lorely & Peter Murphy moved here 10yrs ago and have seen one or two cyclists. None as miserable as me but not far off. Within seconds the bike was in the shed (I hope it gets stolen) I was virtually undressed in the doorway and then handed a very large fluffy towel and pushed in to the bath with a large cup of tea. It was probably the third best cup of tea of my life. The first two followed the birth of my children.

A month's worth of rain fell in Cornwall yesterday in one single day. The same thing just happened in Devon today. It really isn't fair but sat in the pub eating well and reflecting upon the enormity of what I just went through, I hope you will forgive me my massive whinge. Alternatively consider that route is extremely difficult in good conditions and try me if you don't believe me.

Luckily, tomorrow is another day. Unless the bike is nicked. I doubt there is a market for it in these parts though. Unfortunately.

Please donate at http://www.justgiving.com/pinkpowerchallenge2011

XxX

LEJOG Day 1

I had an inkling today would be awful. Last night in Penzance, the weather was so terrible, the lampposts were bending under the weight of torrential rain and gale force winds. Still, the beer was chilled at the pub I chose that had a room and it turned out to be something of a Gastropub with a great local following and a great chef. Unusually for me, I even said that to him! Having spent many hundreds of nights in crap chain hotels over the past ten years, for once luck was with me. The Inn of choice delivered an awesome Beef & Ale pie with mash (not chips when I asked) and green beans (not peas) and after watching the final episode of Spooks (unsatisfactory, in my opinion) remember not a thing until the 7am alarm call.

There will be two memorable things about today. The first was the breakfast served in my room at a time that I wanted. I suppose posh folks order room service breakfast but I never have so it was an extraordinary treat. Not known for my breakfast ability and always in trouble with Simon Coach for being rubbish at nutrition, I defied myself and downed almost a full Cornish hot breakfast. Swerved at the fried bread and tomatoes but otherwise, a hearty start.

Shame the weather was already showing its teeth. All the way to Lands End on narrow windy roads in poor light, I thought that things could only get better. Err no. But I had so many nice texts and one that said the weather would be awful but ignore it and keep going that I thought that today, all I could do is see what it brought.

Gordon Bennett. Have you been to Lands End recently? I have. Yonks ago. With my parents as I child. I knew there was a signpost to be photographed by but I had no idea that the place had been turned in to a theme park. I'm sorry but on a day like today, there was no way I'd pay £3 to park so in typical Ruston fashion, blagged it in to the Hotel car park and thought 'try me'. A lucky move as my bike chain had come off en route and two rather handsome and dashing young men helped me to re-thread it. In fairness, it isn't hard but I've always had someone else to help me on my rides and normally don't want my nail varnish to be chipped.

Before the Gals all text about pulling fortuitously at Lands End, can I point out that I've only once been GF to a younger man. That was when I was 17 and it confirmed my life long dedication to older men which I doubt will ever turn in to a Samantha nonchalance - though never say never, clearly. They were impressed that I was going to JOG. They were cycling to London. Quite honestly, the only two cyclists I saw all day.

So, given a hand, photo taken, there was no choice but to set off. I would like to mention that I was having severe misgivings. Obviously. Setting off in a severe weather warning drew on my inner Yorkshire - 'It'll be right' - gene and also my commitment to believing that this country has gone completely mad in its risk adverse intolerance of conker fights. A bit of cornish rain.. I mean, it can't be that bad. Can it?

Oh dear. The very same roads that I'd travelled on to get to Lands End and commented 'I hope I don't come back this way - I will cry' were clearly the roads of choice. The first ten back to Penzance were just dismal. Lucky I had my Friend's text ringing in my ears. I couldn't see a thing through the rain.

There is no inner racing snake in me. My only desire is to finish. The lovely route book I'm following religiously talks of the scenery and the attractions of the route. Clearly, no one has ever ridden this route in these conditions. Mount St Michael probably is visible on most days. Today, let me tell you, it was a looming mound in an angry sea so I think I've seen it but to be honest, I wouldn't swear to it!

The expletive-omiter is definitely on fire. I could regale hours and hours of miserable cycling but I want to forget it so here is what I decided:-

(1) Swearing is good;

(2) Crying is good (particularly when no one knows it isn't just rain);

(3) LEJOG has now been renamed as the LEJOG UK Gastronomic Churchathon based on the fact that the best thing about the start and end of the day has been the food and hospitality that the route took me past so many awesome churches (we were SO good at building churches in our day) and I'm following the route religiously;

(4) Next time I mention my next challenge, I'm not going to choose it. I'm going to let my Best Friends decide. Clearly, I'm fundamentally incapable of deciding what is good for me. I kept hearing in my ear, a previous Fundraiser for the Yorkshire Haven saying to me - 'But Sarah, there are easier ways to raise money'. Boy, did she have a point all day today;

(5) I wasn't designed to be by myself. All of my challenges have had other participants. Team work is good. Being alone, cold, wet and (sorry Mum & Dad) but f****** miserable is not a great place to be. Never again will I do a challenge alone.

So, there we are. When I eventually rocked up in St Austell, taking twice the time I should have, having completed only half an Ironman distance cycle, I realised that of the many difficult and thousands of miles I've cycled, today has been the hardest ever. First days are always hard. Today took my breath away. Particularly when I was almost taken out by a big blue truck that was in a hurry and carved me up in the interest of expediency.

At that stage, as I stopped and almost threw up in a layby just before halfway, I nearly gave up. I'm a nervous lady cyclist at best. Sodden, frightened and lonely, it was a close call. So to the Asda delivery driver that became exasperated by my caution in the down hill road flooding on a single file road in the middle of a debris strewn forest - and shouted 'get pedalling'- bet you've never cycled from Lands End to St Austell, never mind JOG.

My B&B tonight is a dream. Behind the door as I stumbled in, there were two fluffy white dressing gowns. Give you one guess who is laid out on the bed in it after a long hot shower. Would have killed for a bath but little things always make my day. I'm from a Hull council house you know!

Please donate at http://www.justgiving.com/pinkpowerchallenge2011

XX

LEJOG 2011 - Count down to Lands End to John O Groats cycle ride for the Haven

10 days to go. Nerves a little rattled. Completed the Royal Parks half marathon with a Haven Hero last Sunday who was in her first fundraising challenge for the Haven. The course is fab and the atmosphere a festival. Congratulations to the organisers. I really enjoyed the day. Even the medal was innovative!!