Day 3 Bury to Cleckheaton

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8am and I cycle out of Bury car park and after a couple of turns I am facing my first hill of the day - first of many. I leave Bury along the Rochdale rd, a road that appears to be completely made up of distribution centres, full of lorries that trundle past me rather too close for comfort. Each new driver appears to want to play chicken with me and I mutter various latin phrases under my breath as another driver squeezes me into the potholes and curbs of the Rochdale Rd.

Eventually I travel through Heywood and then into Rochdale itself. I have to say that to the passing cyclist, it is not an inspiring place. Row upon row of dark terraces and windswept hilly cobbles and middle aged men walking angry looking dogs -not a great place for your long distance cyclist. It feels like I am cycling through the dark heart of the recession. I activate Britney's suspension and turn onto the Rochdale canal that will take me through the Pennines.

Shockingly quickly Rochdale's depressing streetscapes are replaced by large pretty stone cottages with expansive and friendly couples walking rather gormless labradors give whose enthusiastic attentions try and bound me into each new canal lock.

I can see the Peninnes now on the horizon and I scan the hills looking for the way through - unfortunately there is only one way and it isn't through it is over. Each new lock takes me up and up, until eventually I see a pub called "The Summit" and feel I must be getting somewhere. I am now at what a sign informs me is the highest canal lock in England - not a place I ever planned to be but I feel it is time for a photo opportunity and a mid morning snack.

Highest lock in England - must be all downhill from here - and it is for a bit. Through lovely Todmorden and Hebden Bridge. Then my route takes me off road through a forest glade (wasteland to you and me). The track narrows, becomes indistinct and then peters out completely. I lug my bike onto the nearby road and cycle back to the intersection. To my left the road winds up into the clouds and to my right it veers down into the valley,. A quick look at my navigation app reassures me that it is down not up. I wheel right and pick up speed quickly. Then my app tells me I have gone wrong I should have gone left and up. Screech of breaks and more muttering and I turn around. 5 minutes later and I am back to the point I started. The road goes up and up and round and round. Finally I reach the top and have to descend down a psychotically steep cobbled path back to the canal - it takes all the fun out of the descent.

I realise that despite taking the precaution of having two Ipones each with a navigaiton app my second one is now low on charge. I have to get my head down and into top gear and speed along the canal. More crazy labradors try and get themselves run over or push me in the canal but I am making good progress. I have really put the effort in and I reach Brighouse in good time. Just a few miles cross country to Cleckheaton where I have arranged with Nicola for her to pick me up.

I turn off the canal and round the bend to what I can only describe as a bloody big hill. My legs are really tired from the long canal sprint and I look up at the hill like Jack surveying the beanstalk. Big deep breath and off I set, down a gear, pedal, down anouther gear, pedal, down another gear and then, on no, nowehere else to go. I think at this stage I let out a whimper - or something equally unmanly. Out of the saddle and squeezing the pedals round. Eventually I am at the top really spent and a little bit emotional.

A short ride into Cleckheaton and I realise that I have not chosen the best place to rendevous - it's a bit rough looking to say the least. Nic is glad to see me as she has spent the last 30 minutes moving the car from space to space to avoid the special brew swilling teenagers. I slump into the car. Day 3 complete by a long way the hardest so far. Just want to get home and get in the bath

Miles completed - 90
Calorites burned - 5100
Special Athletic supersnack - Melton Mowbray Porky Pie (individual sized)

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Day 4 - Cleckheaton to Leeds

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I fell asleep in the bath last night after my day in the hills and cobbles of the Lancashire/ Yorkshire border. This morning my legs are telling me with every step that they have had enough - only 10 miles to go but they want out. I have had great weather all week but it now looks according to the weather man like it is going to be rain on the run in.

I arrive in lovely Cleckheaton and with no little trepidation, I leave my car and set off. Straight away a long and winding hill. The route takes me off road over rocks and through mud - not exactly the easy run in I had envisaged.

Then I am back on the road - not any old road, the A62 and it is very busy - back to the game of chicken with the lorry drivers - they always seem keen to play.

Eventually I am in Morley - getting close now. Another turn off the road and I am whizzing through farm tracks - I can see the white rose centre and the Arlington. Then a sign that warns cyclists that the farm dog will attack - even though this is a public byway. I spur myself on listening out for low growls and pick up speed as a dog emerges from a farm building bounding toward me and barking - but I am away and running the track is all down hill and before I know it I am at a railway crossing into the White Rose centre.



Wet, muddy and walking like John Wayne I approach the security man who points me in the direction of the bike shed. I pretend not to hear him telling me I have to cycle wll the way round and instead bunny hop over the curb through the one way system. Arrived in one piece despite the best efforts of lorry drivers, dogs, canal locks, hills and cobbles.

Miles completed - 100
Calories burned - 4450
Special Athletic superfood - Chocolate browny (with added pecans)

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Day 2 - PB to Bury

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7am and the sun is shining. I spent the whole of the previous evening sorting my bike out - two inner tube changes before I realised the punctures were because there was a thorn in rear tyre - doh. However good practice changing the rear wheel in case of emergency....

So I set out along the bridgewater canal the sun warming my back. Amazingly tranquil just 5 mins from PB into cheshire countryside. Unfortunately heavy rain the night before has meant the canal path is heavily puddled. Britney (my Mountain bike) has no mud guards so my lycra clad bottom was pretty wet pretty soon. A man with a striking resemblance to Peppa Pigs grandad puffs by on his canal boat and waves me a cheery Hullo - this is the life.

Being the digital native I am (whatever one of those is) I am using my iphone to navigate - fantastic Ordinance survey app with my route marked on it - every twist and turn in stunning apple detail. The canal turns into a great cycle path going from outside Warrington to Manchester. I am soon in the outskirts of Sale and back on a canal - less picturesque now though, shopping trolleys floating past instead of painted canal boats. I pass Old Trafford, the path is getting thin and less discernible - I wonder how deep the canal is and whether my backpack would drag me to the bottom - gulp.

I notice the battery on my phone is on red - I am half way through the ride and about to go through the middle of Manchester - I would have no idea where to go if the battery gives out. No map - I curse the digital age and speed up. Weaving my way through the Manchester traffic I come out onto the cycle way to Bury. There are big blue sgns every 100 yeard "Bury this way". I heave a large sigh of relief - even if my phone goes now I should be OK. The route take me through a country park folowing the course of the river Irlam. My phone finally gives out but I checked the route and I just need to keep on this track all the way to Bury - only about 5 miles away now.

5 minutes after the phone dies and the signs have stopped - its like a conspiracy. The route splits into 3 "eeny meany miny mo" take the middle one. 10 minutes later I am mired up to my pedals in mud - this cannot be the path but I am pretty sure this was the right route. My confidence crashes as I am overtaken by horse - this cannot be a national cycle way. I turn back and as I squelch back up the track - disaster my back tyre goes flat. Mud up to my knees lost in the forest and now a puncture. I feel like blubbing but man up and find my spanner.

Luckily all that practice at changing wheels means at least I know what to do. I set about it and in not too long I have a new inner tube on. I carry on back down the track, back to the 3 way junction. There it is - a big blue sign pointing the way I have just come saying "cycle path to Bury" - how could I have missed it. Back up the mucky track. I emerge out of the woods tired and dirty, blinking the mud out of my eyes. I ask a taxi driver they way to Dumers lane, he looks me up and down and cheerfully points me in the right direction. I turn into the call centre car park, wheel past the smirking smokers liquid mud trailing behind me - half way there.

Miles completed - 50
Calories burned - 2750
Athletic snack of the day - a Snicker and a Mars Bar (king size)

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Day 1 - Chester to Preston Brook

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Sunday evening was spent in careful readiness - I knew I had a slow puncture on my rear wheel so set to work with the help of Youtube in sorting it out. After two very oily hours (it should have taken 5 minutes according to Mr Smug bike man on Youtube) back wheel was replaced with new inner tube. Early night and all ready for the first stint.

7am Monday morning, the house quiet and dim in the early morning light, could I find the backdoor key - no not anywhere. Eventually having exited via the patio doors, I recovered my newly repaired bike from the garage only to find the back wheel flat as a pancake. Facing another two hour wheel change I made an executive decision to take Michelle's bike instead.

So much for my weeks of careful preparation on my specially adjusted charity ride bike. Michelles's bike is 20years old and affectionatley know as the "Iron horse" because of its frame being constructed mainly from melted down girders and waste pig Iron.

Off I set on the Iron horse and it wasn't too bad - in fact it went quite well considering. The weather was extremely kind and almost balmy and the Iron horse gets some gallop up down hill - although you do pay for it on the way up. Anyway arrived at PB at 8:45am and was showered and ready for action at my desk by 9.05am.

However this is just the warm up - Bury via central Manchester tomorrow and my evening will be spent wrestling with my rear wheel again tonight.

Ride Stats

Miles completed - 13
Calories burned - 685
Special atheletic replinishment - Large Sausage roll (Sayers)

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Thou shalt not covet they neighbours' wheels

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Of all the things I thought I might covet, I never thought wheels would be among them. However as I pedal along, I find myself craning my neck to get a lingering look at a fine pair of 700c racing wheels or standing out of my saddle to gaze adoringly at a particularly finely spoked, thin tyred, hybrid wheel, as it hums past me.

The problem is that my bike is a mountain bike, it is designed for well, mountains, whereas my ride is mainly on the road. Mountain bikes are robust, thick wheeled, bouncy with built in suspension to absorb the bumps and knocks off road. Fun, exciting and bubbly they are instantly appealling to your average red blooded male but lack a certain sophistication. I call mine Britney.

The road bike on the other hand is all wheels and finely crafted aerodynamic lightweight frame. Designed for speed, thin, willowy and devastatingly attractive they devour the road, their long slender wheels effortlessly converting rotations to road miles. In comparison my mountain bike is like pedalling a tractor uphill.

I should be averaging between 12 and 15 miles per hour on my rides but on my Mountain bike I am struggling to get to 10mph. I have been considering upgrading. However there will be some parts of the ride where an off road option is preferable. This is when the road bike's vulnerabilities show. Tempremental and very high maintenance the road bike cannot cope with variable terrains and those finely crafted frames and painfully thin wheels will bend and buckle at the smallest twig. She will also make you feel her pain - no cushioning or suspension means every jolt or bump is transferred to you.

So, my mountain bike may not be the most elegant bike on the road, she may take 40% longer to cover the distance. But she won't let me down when the going gets tough and she won't throw a tantrum at the sight of a few pot holes. No, there is more to a partnership than just appearances, my bubbly little mountain bike has got me this far and I won't cast her aside now, its me and Britney all the way to Leeds.

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Marooned in Frodsham

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It was all going so well. Got a load of miles under my belt, did a really good ride at the weekend to Kelsall which has lots of climbing, did 10 miles bumpy off road on Thursday and then I chose to do another cycle into work Friday morning which felt good.

Then 5.30pm on Friday night I set off home, my bag laden down with PC, cables and work clothes. Things were OK until I started climbing out of Frodsham through the Friday commuter traffic. I think I was taking too much pleasure from cycling passed the queueing cars, as things went rapidly awry.

The bike chain slipped, I wobbled but soldiered on, crunching down the gears, it slipped again, I veered close to a grumpy looking lady in a Ford Mondeo, almost taking off her wing mirror, much to her annoyance. I stood out of the saddle wrestling the bike into a straight trajectory, forcing the chain round, and then disaster. With a sickening crunch the chain snapped and fell into the middle of the traffic, leaving me freewheeling, going nowhere fast.

I got to the side of the road dead chain in hand and reflected on my situation. 10 miles from home, a broken bike, a very heavy bag, and then I realised my hands were completely covered in oil, as was my face as I had been wiping the sweat from my eyes. The lady in the Mondeo smiled evilly at me as she pulled away.

Only 1 thing for it, ring Michelle get her to come and get me in the car. I fished for my phone and rang her, smearing it in oil as I did. She answered and I breathlessly explained my predicament. However, she had our 3 boys and 2 friends for tea, which she was cooking up as we spoke. She would have to feed them get them in the car (luckily a 7 seater) before coming to get me. I would have to leave the bike behind, because with all the boys there would be no room to load it.

I walked with the bike as far as I could in the hour Michelle took to get to me and chained it up. I stood waiting by a bus stop in my luminescent sweaty lycra, face blackened with oil, avoiding eye contact with worried pedestrians. Then I had the joyful journey home made up of 30 minutes of collective derision from a car full of 6, 9 and 10 year old boys.

All I could think of was what happens if my chain breaks half way up the Pennines. I can hear the icy silence now as Michelle bundles the boys in the car for the long trip to save Daddy - again.

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I love the smell of car fume in the morning

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Week one into my training schedule and I think it is fair to say that for most of the last 7 days you could have found me sat on my bike muttering one phrase over and over like some crazy lycra dressed cat lady. “What was I thinking?”

However always one to take the learning from a situation I can happily report that I have already gleaned some vital knowledge to pass on to the prospective long distance charity bike rider. Before telling the world that you intend to do a 100 mile charity bike ride over mountains in November consider the following 3 Golden rules:

1. Discuss the idea with your spouse. Hmm yes Michelle was a bit shocked when I casually informed her of my scheme having already garnered over £100 in donations. Suffice to say she was not that impressed that as a result I would be spending most of my spare time on my bike. “Think of the underprivileged Kids” I offered feebly, to which she replied “You have three children here who want to know why their Father keeps going out with those very tight pants on.” A challenge that leaves one pondering your role modelling behaviours.

2. Study your route – I have quickly come to realise driving is not the same as cycling. Just because the M62 goes direct doesn’t mean that your bike route will. In fact I have discovered with mounting horror that my bike route will take me in a very circuitous route round and about various previously unknown towns, villages and hamlets nestled in the darkest recesses of the Pennines. All adding significant mileage to my already daunting schedule.

3. Check what gear you will need. It is more than just a bike actually, and I realised after my first, rather sweaty training ride, that one pair of cycling shorts wasn’t going to cut it for a weeks riding unless I wanted my welcome in the contact centres to be somewhat arms length. Luckily good old Mike Ashley at Sports Direct has had a generous online sale of biking gear virtually giving stuff away and I filled my boots and got a free mug into the bargain. No wonder they can’t afford anyone decent at Newcastle Utd.

So it was with mounting trepidation I started my training this week, setting off on Saturday for a 10 mile ride, which turned into a 20 mile ride as I got hopelessly lost in the Cheshire countryside. There is something very 21st century about standing astride a bike for 15 minutes, in a deserted field peering at your iPhone as google maps struggles to download at 0.005 mbps and then realising you are 300 yards from home.

Having got, however inadvertently, 20 miles under my belt on Saturday, I felt pretty confident heading into the working week and planned to ride to and from work, which I duly did on Thursday. This is a trip of 13 to 16 miles each way, depending on which route you take and going in to work I chose the fast and direct route.

Riding to work really does make you appreciate the places that you whizz past every day in the car, and at 7.15am on Thursday what really struck me were the number of places on my route which had the suffix, “On-The-Hill” attached to them. Helsby – on the hill, Dunham – on the hill and of course last but by no means lease Preston Brook – on the hill. You also get a real appreciation for the variety of different commercial vehicles on the road and how their various exhaust fumes serve as a less than appetising breakfast treat. I was reminded as I laboured up another hill, sucking in another gulp of white van diesel fume, of the scene in “Apocalypse now” where Robert Duvall sniffs the Vietnam air and proclaims “I love the smell of napalm in the morning”. Frodsham high street is not exactly embattled Saigon but I kind of knew where he was coming from.

So in my first week of training, having covered 46 miles and climbed 1,078 feet , which roughly equates to the PB to Bury leg of the journey, I can confidently declare I now know what I have let myself in for. The most important lesson of the week I realise as I shift uncomfortably whilst writing this, is that you can never have too much padding on your cycling shorts – now where did I put that cushion?

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