London to Paris Cycle Challenge - June 2007

Well, I made it... I'm here in Paris, standing under the Eiffel Tower in gloriously warn sunshine. There are thousands of tourists around and many of them are clapping and cheering us as we file under the great iron arches, eighty eight tired and weary cyclists.

As I wander around, stopping occasionally to pose for photographs for my fellow riders but also complete strangers who just happen to be there and want a memento for their holiday photo albums, the enormity of my efforts become apparent to me.

The last four days represent 300 miles of probably the hardest work I've ever had to do in my life. I'm not only referring to the physical strains, the pounding of the pedals to climb those steep and endless hills in the Kent Downs and the Abbeville region, but the emotional and mental strains we've all been under.

Almost without exception, every last one of my companions on the trip have been inspirational in keeping each other motivated. Especially Kevin, who after rooming together on the first night, became my riding buddy. We kept each other going, taking turns to set the pace and stopping to help each other when weary muscles protested too loudly, or the bike decided it needed some TLC...

There was a real mix of people of different ages, sexes, backgrounds, occupations and personalities. I've enjoyed getting to know most of them, hearing their stories about training and the charities they support, learning about their lives outside of cycling and being inspired to do more on the bike but also in life.

The first day in Kent was probably the hardest. I'd never done more than 50 miles in one go before, and I'd certainly never climbed hills like those before. Holloborne Hill will remain in my memories for years to come and will help be to be inspirational when faced with a seemingly insurmountable challenge. The second day from Calais to Abbeville was also tough. The hills were less steep, but much more frequent and longer. These were unexpected as I believed Northern France to be flat... Overcoming that shock and keeping the goal in mind got me to my destination.

Day Three was a revelation. The morning was hard because it was cold and wet. My energy levels were low because I'd decided to take less energy drink and more water and mentally I was at my lowest ebb. Kevin had a timely puncture, in the middle of a torrential downpour, by the side of a main, busy road. However, the respite from spinning the cranks against the undulating French countryside gave me a much needed boost as I cracked open an energy gel. A few miles later, we were at the lunch stop and after refuelling with risotto and chocolate cake, I climbed back on the bike and was like a man possessed. People wanted to know what "medication" I'd taken with my lunch and whether I'd visited the same pharmacist as the infamous cyclists Landis... I was flying. The next stage was completed with an average speed of 18.2 mph, which was remarkable. I'd found my rhythm and was 'in the zone'. The countryside was now similar to my training haunts of the Suffolk countryside. Gently undulating with plenty of flat runs, winding country lanes and gentle, short climbs. My iPod sang in my ears and hills were no match for the beat of Jamiroquai as my legs pumped in rhythm. The miles flew by and before I knew it I was at the hotel. The final day was a similar story, due to a misunderstanding Kevin though I'd left the hotel without him and so left without me as I had a sore leg massaged and fixed my broken bottle cage. I was determined to catch him again before the next water stop, about 25 miles away, mostly up hill. I set off like a hare being chased by six over-excited greyhounds coasting past fellow cyclists, climbing hills in a standing position, the bike rocking to and fro in rhythm to my music, rarely dropping below 10mph uphill and cruising down vales at 35mph. At one point I hit 38mph but resisted pushing to break the big four-zero in fear of burnout, as the hills were only gentle slopes and pedal power was still required to reach decent speeds.

I reached the end of the stage minutes behind Kevin and after we laughed at our mix-up, rested and ate bananas and cereal bars, I was back on the bike and flying again...

Someone commented that if I kept improving day after day as I had done over the last four days, that I'd be in the Tour de France next year... This felt good as, to be frank, I'd found the first day harder than I expected. I was disappointed with myself that I'd not trained hard enough. However, to be fair to myself, I could never have trained enough as we just don't have the hills in Suffolk. I'd pushed myself to my limits, and beyond, and it felt good that I'd improved day after day and that I'm now, probably, fitter and healthier than I've ever been.

I experienced a number of firsts whilst on this challenge. It's been the first time I've done more than fifty miles on one ride. The first time I've ridden large rides on consecutive days, the first time I've ridden on proper hills, the first time I've ridden in the rain and the definitely the first time I've ridden 300 miles...

The ride into Paris was 'exhilarating' and riding around the Arc de Triomphe was both exciting and terrifying. Cars were coming at us from all directions and their drivers seemed oblivious to me. I somehow managed to get myself to the front of the paleoton (big mistake) and so was trying to stop the traffic coming onto the roundabout but gave up and slammed on the brakes as they actually accelerate onto it.

When I turned right at the end of the Champs Ellysee and caught sight of the soaring, iron work tower, I knew I'd finally reached the end but my emotions were mixed. It was great to have achieved my goal, overcome physical and mental pain and to have achieved the most significant athletic challenge I've ever set myself. On the other hand, the trip was over. Part of me wanted to ride straight by the Eiffel Tower and carry on. "How far to Marseille?" I was wondering to myself..

But, I turned left across the traffic and arrived on the Place d'Eiffel, dismounted and lifted my bike toward the sunny heavens. We all hugged, shook hands and congratulated each other on our achievements. What a fantastic trip, I was extremely tired, my muscles ached and mentally I was drained.

But, call me insane if you like, I can't wait to get back on the bike. When I get back I will give it some TLC. A good clean, oil and polish and then back out into the Suffolk countryside... Problem is, a 'quick twenty mile ride' will be grossly unsatisfying now. Looks like my wife, Jo, will have to get used to me being out on the road for 3-4 hours every other day.. Another cycling widow on the register...

Here's to the next ride. My fellow riders and I are already talking about London to Amsterdam next summer, so David - get training mate. Seriously, now I know I can do something like this I seriously want to do more. Top-to-toe from Northern Italy to Sicily sounds appealing, or maybe even visiting my charity in Malawi, riding from the airport to the villages on a mountain bike...

We'll see. For now, it's time for a hot bath and maybe one or two cold beers....

Au Revoir...

Simon

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