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
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