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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