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
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