No one mentioned Biggin Hill
It is difficult knowing where to start for this first of many entries into my journal and funny to wonder who may read this.
The sun is setting here in France and it is truly glorious weather. I cannot imagine the English channel dividing the weather patterns so greatly, I can only presume it’s a scorcher in blighty too?
I have just completed my second days full cycle. It feels like a very long time since I wobbled onto the Uxbrige road in Shepherds Bush. The wobbling of the Bike was almost definately compounded by a farewell pub lunch and pint (delaying the preceedings some what). The trip out of London was a pleasant reminder of the chaos I was leqving behind. Rush hour traffic surrounded me, my lungs started to hurt with the effort of peddling such a cumbersome weight which moved only with the greatest of force. I could feel my heart rate increasing as my speed slowly decreased. The only part of me to be enjoying its self was my fowl language! I have read accounts of the differences between trundling along on a normal days cycle trip to the monumental peddle pushing required to maintain an upright posture on a loaded cycle. I was not prepared!
It all started at biggin HILL (capital type is no accident!). it looked like an extended version of Nottinghill, a pleasant climb, achieved with ease. My lungs started hurting, I say this as I have never felt them hurt like this before. They kept saying “ stop! You can’t do this to us, we expect to be trained and nurchered into that of athletic capacity” Man oh man, then my legs went and my speed was dropping below 5mph. It is a funny thing to be a man, wrestling with my ego to then confront Biggin bl**dy Hill on a loaded bicycle. How can one write there first account of getting up a real hill and say “I got off and pushed”.
Walking pace is 3mph and that was my speed for 10 bl**dy minutes. when I reached the top there were 2 Spitfire planes to great me. I collapsed on the side of the road.
It was then I began to notice all the place names with a suffix of ...hill, after which I gazed over the landscape and nearly wept. What a day, oh what a day.
Photo taken after I managed to stand up again
I was a very proud man indeed to discover my first secret den to camp in, doing well to contain my paranoia of being discovered. To be woke by the rising sun and a cacophony of birds was truly wonderful. I sat there with my freshly brewed coffee watching the sun dry the morning dew. Brill !
My very first camping spot
The following day had me place an immovable psychological pin on French soil. The whole thing turned into a 9 hour marathon where I learnt a hundred things about the mentality needed for long distance cycling. For the first 4 hours i never set tyre on flat ground. The whole of South East England appeared to be constant barrage of insane climbs at 3mph followed by giddy high speed descents (I successfully managed to break the speed limit with a huge grin and water streaming eyes).
For a small section before the approach to Dover I enjoyed over an hour of flat ground with a subtle tail wind, my only company being Mozart and the beautiful hedgerowed lanes.
After treating myself to a cycle along the cliffs of Dover preceded by more fowl mouthed knee wobbling climbs I boarded the Ferry, bound for foreign Soil.
I was very nervous, but giddy with excitement.
The sun is setting here in France and it is truly glorious weather. I cannot imagine the English channel dividing the weather patterns so greatly, I can only presume it’s a scorcher in blighty too?
I have just completed my second days full cycle. It feels like a very long time since I wobbled onto the Uxbrige road in Shepherds Bush. The wobbling of the Bike was almost definately compounded by a farewell pub lunch and pint (delaying the preceedings some what). The trip out of London was a pleasant reminder of the chaos I was leqving behind. Rush hour traffic surrounded me, my lungs started to hurt with the effort of peddling such a cumbersome weight which moved only with the greatest of force. I could feel my heart rate increasing as my speed slowly decreased. The only part of me to be enjoying its self was my fowl language! I have read accounts of the differences between trundling along on a normal days cycle trip to the monumental peddle pushing required to maintain an upright posture on a loaded cycle. I was not prepared!
It all started at biggin HILL (capital type is no accident!). it looked like an extended version of Nottinghill, a pleasant climb, achieved with ease. My lungs started hurting, I say this as I have never felt them hurt like this before. They kept saying “ stop! You can’t do this to us, we expect to be trained and nurchered into that of athletic capacity” Man oh man, then my legs went and my speed was dropping below 5mph. It is a funny thing to be a man, wrestling with my ego to then confront Biggin bl**dy Hill on a loaded bicycle. How can one write there first account of getting up a real hill and say “I got off and pushed”.
Walking pace is 3mph and that was my speed for 10 bl**dy minutes. when I reached the top there were 2 Spitfire planes to great me. I collapsed on the side of the road.
It was then I began to notice all the place names with a suffix of ...hill, after which I gazed over the landscape and nearly wept. What a day, oh what a day.
Photo taken after I managed to stand up again
I was a very proud man indeed to discover my first secret den to camp in, doing well to contain my paranoia of being discovered. To be woke by the rising sun and a cacophony of birds was truly wonderful. I sat there with my freshly brewed coffee watching the sun dry the morning dew. Brill !
My very first camping spot
The following day had me place an immovable psychological pin on French soil. The whole thing turned into a 9 hour marathon where I learnt a hundred things about the mentality needed for long distance cycling. For the first 4 hours i never set tyre on flat ground. The whole of South East England appeared to be constant barrage of insane climbs at 3mph followed by giddy high speed descents (I successfully managed to break the speed limit with a huge grin and water streaming eyes).
For a small section before the approach to Dover I enjoyed over an hour of flat ground with a subtle tail wind, my only company being Mozart and the beautiful hedgerowed lanes.
After treating myself to a cycle along the cliffs of Dover preceded by more fowl mouthed knee wobbling climbs I boarded the Ferry, bound for foreign Soil.
I was very nervous, but giddy with excitement.
posted by glen at 8:55 AM
1 Comments:
So you're finally away! Good luck matey
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