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And so training for Coast2Coast 2009 is underway with a 20 mile round trip of the Isle. Everyone is happy and excited at the prospect......

 

C2C Blog - weekend 5-8 June

Written by Richard Vergette.

C2C 2009 – Blog

Friday 5 June 8.00am

It’s 8.12 and an air of quiet intensity has descended on the group of cyclists as they make their way by coach to this years coast to coast adventure. At one point during the last few weeks I think I calculated that our combined age is roughly equivalent to the height in feet of the highest point on the route but then I think I might have been getting the figures confused with Ranulph Feinnes and Everest or the amount of quantitative easing that our treasurer has suggested for the club account. Figures - especially mine - have never been my strong point.

In fact our average age has been considerably reduced by the inclusion of the group of my fifteen year son, Alex. At the moment he's cross with me because I inadvertently put his draw string bag containing all his travelling entertainment- book, phone i-pod etc in the boot of the support vehicle. He has been left with the sports section of the Telegraph and is rattling the pages with noisy annoyance as I attempt to doze.  At 7 there was that kind of over optimistic carnival atmosphere that one imagines accompanied the night before some major battle the kind of 'isn't this fun chaps!' Self delusion as hordes of hapless conscripts march off to certain doom. Yet we volunteered! We actually thought somewhere in the distant past that this would be a good idea. And I suppose this time on Monday evening I will think that again. But right now I wish I was at home and sleeping. As we gathered two of our fellow Rotarians came to wave us off. The all round good chap John quipped that we didn't need water bottles as we would be drinking from mountain streams. I commented that they would probably all be frozen. Was I always this cynical? Gail Corbett - looking a little bleary eyed - came to my rescue with some wet wipes as I proceeded to do battle with my chain in the removal of the back wheel of the bike. Photos were taken and a rather feeble cheer raised as we embarked.

Friday 11am

As we travel on I become aware of the matrix signs above the motorway: “think Bike” the signs say with a certain grim irony. I wish I could think about something else. Last year - our first year of cycling coast to coast- I had felt like Jimmy Stewart in 'Spirit of  St. Louis'  tossing and turning the night before anxious about whether I could make it across the Atlantic (or rather the Pennines.) This year I feel more like John Gregson in Genevieve wondering whether the bikes will make it. Mine has seen better days and Alex's gears jammed in a 40 miler across the Lincolnshire Wolds . We'll see. 'Think bike, think bike! Why doesn't it say 'Think sanity', 'Think you're nearly 46 and you reallyshouldn't be doing this' or even 'just think'. There is a moment of celebration as Alex finds his i- pod followed almost immediately by torpor as he realises that he has mislaid his camera. Seconds later all is well again, as he finds it. I tell him that I cannot handle 4  days of this and wonder privately how and when he became so like me. I also realise that I've forgotten my hay fever medication and am worried that the tears of allergy that will later be streaming down my face may be mistaken for tears of emotion or agony as I face yet another hill   We stop at a motorway services not far past  Bolton. The cashier looks down at the two reluctant bread rolls filled with bacon and rather watery tomato and  asks what's in them. I tell her and she then astounds me by  asking how many havewe got. I effort fully count them but like lightening she beats me to it: 'Two?'  She asks. 'No seven' I mutter in Alex's ear wondering whether it's a  good idea  to pass on the example of sarcasm to one so young.  

I feel rather self conscious walking around the service station in tight fitting  lycra, putting off the innocent   travellers from their already unappetising  breakfast. We sit and eat with our friend Robin, a Rotarian from Humberside anda great friend to us and our club. We compare  notes on the terrible service and prices and he tells me he thinks he's becoming a grumpy old man. Not for the first time I realise how much I instinctively like this man.

We're about to re-board the bus and Alex has disappeared back into the shop having recovered his wallet from the support vehicle. I get tetchy as we all wait for him and at last he comes running up. I'm about to lecture him on the importance of punctuality when he produces a packet of Benadryl he's just bought from the shop.. 'For your hay fever Dad' he says. I am utterly disarmed.

Friday 9.30pm

When we stopped at the services the weather was quite glorious and we thought that maybe the forecasters had got it wrong. Well it wouldn't be the first time would it? The sun was shining and we felt a good deal more optimistic. However as we travelled nearer to Ravenglass the skies darkened and the rain started to fall. By the time we arrived it was pouring. The problem was that we had to getto Silloth by the end of the day and we didn't get started until almost 1pm. Getting started was more problematic than it should have been. With selfless heroism Dave Parslow rode off first - in entirely the wrong direction, presumably to prove that he was unafraid of the challenge. The rest of us started more tentatively, hampered by the increasingly intense rain.

The route from Ravenglass to Silloth is almost entirely coastal and in places breathtakingly beautiful. Paradoxically the main towns which we passed through, Whitehaven and Workington, are really quite depressing. Furthermore, for whatever reason, the drivers in this region seem to have an unquenchable desireto kill cyclists.  As we went through Whitehaven, a motorist banged his horn angrily at Robin and me as we innocently rode along. Robin shook a fist (Ihonestly think his fingers were  closed) and the man shouted something back which seemed to question Robin's parentage. Robin's response was remarkable. On his bike he gave chase to the car and  - almost caught him. I asked him later what he would have done if he's caught the motorist. Now Robin is an inoffensive,charming man so you can understand my shock  when back came the reply: 'snapped off his aerial!'

Saturday 3am

The first hour of the ride was dogged by heavy rain and at least part of the journey was undertaken on the main roads. I'm not sure quite why but when we start these rides I always have the theme tune to one of my favourite movies 'A Bridge Too Far' going through my head. (Note to self: it's completely inappropriate to liken a bike ride to some kind of heroic escapade!) A combination of the rain and the busy roads rather compromised the enjoyment factor although there was some relief at being finally underway. The rain, however was relentless and whilst some of us had effective wet weather gear (Iain Hogg’s  galoshes were the envy of all) some of us did not. After an hour I truly came to understand the meaning of 'shower proof' in relation to my somewhat light weight and garishly coloured top: not bloody water proof! Theworst aspect of the rain on cyclists is when it seeps into your shoes as it did so today. It's almost impossible not to get very cold and even when the rain let's up - as it did- it takes an age for the socks and shoes to get dry.

As we had started Simon Cliff had observed that even though it was raining at least there was little wind. However as we emerged from Whitehaven on the second leg of the journey and our route kept us right on the coastal path, we were hit by the full force of the North Easterly gale (it was probably little more than a breeze but when you're heading straight into it, it felt like a gale). The beauty of the Solway Firth was perhaps some consolation, although the sight of a seagull flying backwards was not encouraging. As the rain eased it was possible to gradually dry out, although the wind made going difficult. Bill Lennox , a Rotarian from Hull  Paragon and another great friend of ours had completed the course last year on his legendary Raleigh. Sadly the old jalopy had finally turned its wheels heavenward and  Bill had replaced it with another heavyweight Raleigh. Never one to duck the potential of a challenge, Bill is still completing the course in his self styled cycling uniform of gingham shirt, jeans and sensible black leather slip on shoes; a picture of sartorial accomplishment if ever there was one.. Once though Workington we came to what was undoubtedly the toughest leg of today's ride. Although there were few hills, the strong head wind coupled by a lengthy stint on the main road to Silloth ensured that we could not relax our efforts. Furthermore, there was that disconcerting feeling of being nearer to our final destination than we actually were. Whilst the signposts read 'Silloth 7 miles' the reality was about twice that distance. The people who have identified this course have done so with the same attitude of mind as those macho misanthropes who create the instructions for DIY furniture: ' why make something straightforward and simple when with just a little effort we can make it unbearably difficult?'

Although Silloth was tantalisingly close, our route kept diverting us through one turning after another just to keep us away from our goal for just that little bit longer. Now I know that there will be some cyclists who will appreciate this deliberate attempt to make things difficult (rather like professional hikers who wait until it rains before they set out and put rocks in their rucksacks to make the experience more challenging) but I'm not one of them!  We had all faired pretty well although fatigue had well and truly set in as we made our way into Silloth, desperately trying to find the Golf Hotel. I can't remember ever feeling more grateful to get off a bike. All 14 of us met a little later and devoured a very substantial meal. It is a fact that I actually put on weight when I do the coast to coast on account of the gourmet indulgences in the evening! We were a tired crew who met in the restaurant this evening. None more so than Alex who is fairing brilliantly but who was virtually falling asleep at the table. It had been a six hour slog with few breaks and none of them for longer than 5 or so minutes. Tomorrow will be a similar distance but with all day to complete it.

For now, goodnight all

Saturday 1pm

It was impossible to tell what the weather was like the following morning for all the rain coming down. The sight of drops splashing on window pains dashed our spirits somewhat despite the good meal and hot baths the night before. The restaurant which had been efficient in serving us all the night before decided to make us pay for it in the morning and breakfast took an age. Clearly the Golf Hotel caters for golfers predictably enough and the unfriendly group in the corner scowling at us did little to enhance their reputation. Whoever it was who said that golfers are like rock stars: they're a set of old men who get dressed up in silly clothes at the weekend had it about right.  Followers of the blog will realise by now that Alex and I have a habit of losingthings. This morning I had lost a glove -  obviously having dropped out of my helmet as I carried it into the hotel. A routine search failed to retrieve it and I had to borrow a pair from Robin. Furthermore I realised  that my hopelessly inadequate shower proof jacket was simply not up to the job so I borrowedTrish’s top (which actually belongs to Joe in case anyone is surmising we  are the same size!).

We eventually set off at 10 am and this time we rode more together. Ian Parkin was feeling a good deal more positive than yesterday and was making good progress. Annie was suffering from chest pains but had rejected various offersfrom the men folk to have ointment rubbed in it. Again it was quite a hard slog into the wind and we had arranged to meet Trish with the lunches at Angerton. The problem was Angerton didn't exist, so rather like the lost city of Atlantis we kept pedalling looking for somewhere which seemed only to be a rumour. Eventually we met with Trish and the lunches in Solway. This is where Hadrians Wall actually starts.

Saturday 6pm

Given the forecast the weather has been kinder than we could have hoped for today. Perhaps there's something about the coastline of the Solway but somehow it looked more dramatic in the grey blustery weather. Of course the openness of the terrain exposed us to the full force of the wind as we battled towards Carlisle from Solway. In Burton we passed a delightful hour in a pub with a roaring fire. Why would we appreciate a roaring fire in June? Well we did! Furthermore the landlord allowed us to eat our packed lunches and had the cheapest bar prices of any pub any of us had come across. As if that didn't provide a sophisticated enough service, a tame pig in the back room would sit on instruction if you gave it tit bits. This is no joke and I suggest you visit the Kings Arms in to see a Cuny Cuny New Zealand pig called JoJo who will sit for food. What a marvellous country we live in.

Saturday 8pm

Passing through Carlisle was a bizarre experience. There's something strange about travelling on quiet roads and cycle paths and then suddenly finding yourself in the middle of a busy town. Somehow it doesn't seem quite real and all road sense seems to desert you. What I also find quite difficult is why cyclists should be the object of so much ridicule. The amount of kids who have shouted abuse at us is really quite depressing and quite incomprehensible. On the other hand, walkers and other cyclists have been charming and friendly.  Beyond Carlisle we arranged to meet up in Warwick Bridge but again - just like Angerton - it failed to materialise and we could only draw the conclusion that it doesn't exist! Simon seems to have this knack of suggesting meeting places that have disappeared from the face of the earth. I strongly suspect that Warwick Bridge is a misprint for 'weak bridge' which we crossed at one point. I tell Simon that this kind of mistake has lost people wars. We do however meet up at a pub not too far from our destination this evening: Brampton. I feel instinctively fearful that actually it's Rampton and someone is trying to hide something from me. But I am forced to acknowledge that such fears are irrational and more a by-product of my terrible sense of geography. How can Rampton be anywhere near here?

Today has been altogether more manageable despite the high wind. Morale is much better and all of us seem to be coping better. James, Ian and Alex have done brilliantly and all of us are feeling more in the spirit of Coast to Coast. Noticeably, the terrain started to become noticeably hillier as we approached Brampton and we know that tomorrow we are in for much more of the same.  A rather sad post script is that Gail Perry may have damaged an Achilles tendon and may not be able to continue. I do hope this isn't the case. She has been a  tremendous part of the group and it would be terrible if she can't complete the course.

Alex and I lumbered into our room in the hotel. He is a delightful room mate as  he doesn't snore! The room is very basic. It has tea, coffee and milk but no kettle! How perfectly English.   Tomorrow we cross the Pennines

Sunday 7.45am

Brampton is one of those places a little like Crowle or Epworth. On first sight it is scenic and rather pretty and its ancient buildings – in one of which we're staying - suggest a rich history. Yet like both our Isle towns it has its rough  edges as the sounds of the revellers outside our window at 2am suggested.

We had dinner in the hotel restaurant last night. Frankly the steak and kidney pudding was rather disappointing - far too small. Someone asked why they only brought out one dish at a time and someone else remarked that it was probably because there was only one microwave. We were perhaps a little less tired than the previous evening although few wanted to venture out after 10. Iain, Dave and Simon did go out but returned some 5 minutes later having exhausted all the potential delights of Brampton. Alex and I found a trivia game and spent a few  minutes testing each others general knowledge as we drifted towards sleep. I'd forgotten from my O level RE days that St.Paul was born in Tarsus but Alex did  know that Fulham's nickname is 'The Cottagers'. How relevant is knowledge I wonder?

Oh- on the lost and found stakes: I have now found my other glove as well as the  hay fever medication that I thought I'd left at home. Alex, on the other hand, has now lost his glasses.

Sunday 1.15pm

Alas Gail's ankle was no better this morning so sadly she cannot continue.  Hopefully she will stay with the party and join us in Hexham tonight. Iain Hogg's cold is developing into something feverish and he started the day by ruling  himself out of the rest of the ride. Happily however his obdurate nature prevailed and with a 'never say die' spirit he mounted his bike with a  characteristic 'Ah sod it!'. We set off from Brampton at around 9.45 knowing that we were in for some challenging hill climbs. These seem not to bother Alex  in the slightest as his young legs carry him up the steep inclines with seeming ease. When I mount the bike I'm reminded how saddle sore I really am. I'm not as  fit or as ready as I was last year and beginning to feel it. However we must press on!

Today started brighter but still with a definite chill in the air. Water proofs  were exchanged for the lighter wind cheaters. Alex's glasses turned up in the pub courtyard and we were ready. For the first time we saw parts of Hadrian's  wall and our first stop saw us taking photos of an old tower along the route.

The wind is still strong and still ahead of us but being away from the coast makes it feel less unrelenting. Having not been able to find a tea shop yesterday afternoon we find three within the first seven miles of leaving Brampton. I can think of no other place where tea shops have been compared with policemen and buses but I guess this is it! We call in to one and soon all the  party arrive. It's a curious thing about climbing hills. Pulling all of my 15 stones in weight up as I am doing is a tough assignment and I struggle on some of the steeper slopes. However I find that I prefer the hills to the coastal planes of yesterday and Friday, affording, as they do, no shelter from the strong head winds. Being of that frame of mind that nearly always has a song in his head I find myself humming 'they call the wind Mariah' from 'Paint Your  Wagon' - a very irritating song indeed!

It is good that although Paul Seaman is not with us in person he is certainly with us in spirit. This was evident when a few miles from Haltwhistle we approached a stream. We had a choice between riding into the water and attempting to cross the stream without falling off or settling for the less exciting option of crossing the bridge. For Simon and Dave the prospect of traversing the stream the hard way was just too strong a temptation. They fell off - but no matter, they tried their best. One could almost hear Paul calling 'Good effort!' I really shouldn't have laughed. A few minutes later, ascending a particularly steep incline the chain jammed as I tried to put the bike into a lower gear. I was forced into the indignity of walking the bike up the hill. A little later we arrived in Haltwhistle and found a cafe for lunch.

Monday 4.07am

During lunch, Alex Started to look distinctly ill and at one point I thought that the adventure had claimed another casualty. We set off from Haltwhistle and clearly he was not himself. I felt horribly guilty as I had very much pushed myself before lunch, cycling as hard as I could and thought that Alex might have been over exerting himself to keep up. Whatever the case,

Robin stayed back with us and we approached the afternoon at a more leisurely pace. In fact it was an altogether more enjoyable experience for so doing. We appreciated the countryside all the more and at one point Robin pointed out the birdsong of a thrush. Having said it was a leisurely pace, I have to admit that Robin and Alex left me standing - almost literally - when it came to some of the steeper hills. A 1 in 5 gradient saw me resort to pushing uphill whilst Robin and Alex (with fewer gears and a heavier bike) soldiered on to the top.  As we approached Hexham from the river, the scenery was really very beautiful and Hexhamitself with its ancient abbey is a lovely town. Iain Hogg was feeling a good deal better, having refused to succumb to his fever. Under the influence of his ipod he blithely missed a turning but found the right destination nonetheless.

For whatever reason - and I'm guessing there must be one- many of the conversations have turned to matters lavatorial. Iain was declaiming - over lunch of all places - of the benefit of a healthy system and that if your rear end was working efficiently you had little to worry about.

There has also developed over the last few days a somewhat unhealthy fascination with Julie Inglebrecht’s gastric complications. Ah well, as my old Dad was wont to say: 'Better out thanin!'

Finding the hotel was a little easier said than done but once checked in all of us remarked on how pleasant it was. The bikes are stored in the ballroom- I don't think my bike has ever had room service before. We sat down to our final meal and were all tasked with paying tribute to the person sitting to the right of us. Among the loudest cheers that were offered were for Simon Cliff for his impeccable organisation of the trip, Bill Lennox for his support for other riders, Alex for his pluck and courage at completing this venture at only 15, Ian Parkin for his irrepressible good humour and Julie Inglebrecht for her discovery of an alternative power source.

It was all getting a little prematurely celebratory, given that we have another 35 miles to complete; but it was good to hear of everyone's fund raising efforts and to share the warmth of the company of a fantastic group of people.

Monday 17.07pm

Monday morning in Hexham dawned bright and sunny. This was vastly different from the last two days. We breakfasted a little earlier than normal and there was a distinct atmosphere of anticipation as we prepared for the final day. We knew that it was mostly downhill although we were aware that there were bound to be some challenges. As we prepared to mount our bikes a be-suited elderly gentlemen approached me and asked why we had decided to stay in Hexham. Apparently he was something to do with the tourist board. Perhaps a little churlishly I informed him that Hexham was on our route so it was an obvious place to stay. But he also wanted toknow how the traffic had been as we had ridden in to the town and the facilities for our bikes etc. It was rather nice that he was so concerned about how we had found our stay and he displayed a real sense of civic pride. The same could not be said for the proprietors of the hotel we had stayed in in Brampton who had seemed to have given up on the place as well as the town (someone had asked for a ‘quiet’ room andgot the response that none of their rooms were quiet on a Saturday night!). Perhaps one of the most informative aspects of a trip like this is to ‘dip our toes’ into a whole range of different communities; some optimistic and proud, others less so. I also noticed that the Rotary Club of Hexham met in the hotel we had stayed at and were due to meet at 12.45pm today. I almost wondered whether it might be worth while getting someone to take my bike on and I'd stay for lunch with the club. However, I reflected that whilst they may be very happy to greet a visiting president they may not take to him wearing lycra!

The road out of Hexham was scenic and the route not too hilly; a couple of climbs but nothing too severe. Today we all stayed together as a group which was nice. The route into Newcastle takes us right onto the quayside for some miles and the rural scenery gave way to a more urban and developed landscape after only a few miles.

There is a smartness about this part of Newcastle with its bars and the millennium winking eye bridge. We arrived there at 12.00pm just in time to see it raised; quite a

spectacle! Then we were on our way for one last effort: the last 10 miles to SouthShields and the end of the course. I found it quite a struggle today although everyone else seemed to be riding very well. It was slightly depressing to ride past the dereliction of Swan Hunter, a sad reminder of the former industrial glories of the city and, indeed, the north east. It seemed ironically fitting that we should see these sightsof urban decay on a day of such appalling news: that the BNP has won two seats in the Euro Elections. I can only hope for better times that may dissuade desperate people away from such extreme choices.  Having decided to cross the Tyne using the purpose built cycle tunnel, it was a shame to discover that neither lifts nor escalators were working. However it was an interesting and slightly eerie sensation actually riding under the river! The eeriness was intensified by the fact that the place was utterly deserted; no staff there apart from a lone maintenance worker scraping away at an imaginary piece of graffiti on the tunnel wall.

And so to the finish. It took a little while to reconnect with the route after the tunnel but eventually we did. We made our way to the Roman Fort and a sign which informed us that we had ridden 174 miles. Annie's sister was there with a bottle of champagne for her and there was much shaking of hands, hugging and mutual hearty congratulations. After a few photos we made our way down to the beach for thetraditional dipping of the tyres in the sea. Alex was first in with his bike and others followed. A few more photos and we went off to find fish and chips. It was over. On the bus on the return journey and the atmosphere is as quiet as when we made our way to Ravenglass. This time it's a quiet brought about by exhaustion and the team are all taking a nap. Alex is looking out at the scenery, his eyes occasionally drooping.

Many of the other participants have said to me that I must be proud of him and I am: inexpressibly proud. But then to be honest I'm proud of all of us. There were times over the last few days when I felt like Ranulph Feinnes when he said that his ascent up Everest would be accomplished if he just 'kept plodding on'. And then I dismissed the thought as ludicrous self aggrandising. How on earth could I compare myself or any of us for that matter with a great explorer making an ascent of Everest? And yet in a kind of way it is. For some of us this is more than just a journey, more than just a brief interlude. It's the biggest physical challenge of our lives and we measure the achievement by the level of the challenge to each of us personally. Not only that but what we have done is to raise a little money for Breast Cancer and Downs Syndrome Association. What personal battles, milestones and challenges do the people who are recipients of our charity face? One of my sons came with me on what I think will be a rites of passage experience for him. And for our other son, Thomas - a child with Downs - this event may be something that he can never do - but there will be his own little Everests that he will face too and the achievement will be just as profound. And I guess we all encounter our own little Everests from time to time, and this one has been mine. Oh dear, fatigue and an over indulgent imagination is getting the better of me. But I want to say thanks to my companions for the last 4 days: for their friendship, generosity of spirit, determination, warmth and great humour: Gail, Trish, Simon, Dave, Debbie, Iain, James, Andrew, Annie, Julie, Ian, Robin, Bill and above all Alex.

Richard Vergette

8 June 2009