It's safe to say that I was at my lowest point on Monday evening. Every part of me hurt. My head was mashed! I couldn't see how I could cycle the next day.
I woke up on Tuesday morning and felt dreadful. I had a sore throat, my eyes felt dry and my nose was blocked....and then I tried to get out of bed. I met my dad for breakfast and he immediately said "You don't look good."
Just before 7am I set off from the hotel. The cathedral looked amazing with a red sky behind it (shepherd's warning?). "This is fine. It's flat around these parts." I told myself as I set off. And then I hit a steep hill which lead out of Lincoln. The first stretch down to Sleaford was a slog. It was more or less a straight road along featureless countryside. Unfortunately, the stretch between Sleaford and Peterborough was exactly the same. The only feature of note along the way was seeing the massive XM607 Vulcan bomber outside RAF Waddington. This was the bomber which first bombed Stanley Airport in the Falklands War (I strongly recommend the book Vulcan 607 which gives a superb account of the bombing raid).
Thankfully I decided to ride with my iPod so I had a bit of noise distraction. Having some pacey dance music playing helped me keep my pace up. By the time I got to Peterborough I had loosened up, was moving a lot more freely and was keeping a nice pace. It was a bit hairy through Peterborough on the dual carriageways but thankfully I made it through to the other side and onto the minor road which runs parallel to the A1(M).
From this point, the journey was broken up into shorter sections between points. I was at Huntington and Godmanchester in no time at all and then onto Royston. Again, the countryside was largely featureless and flat. However, the closer to Royston I got, the more hills there were. And this was a welcome distraction and added a bit of variation to the monotony of the constant straight and flat roads.
A fish and chip lunch in Royston (where there was a heavy police presence owing to what appeared to be a ram-raid on a bank) was a welcome break. This was the 90 mile point of the day, and unlike yesterday, I felt fresh. I think the adrenaline was kicking in. After a half hour break 2 cyclists went past and appeared to be heading in my direction onto the A10. I changed the playlist on the iPod to something a bit more "cheesy" and hopped on the bike. I had a sneaking suspicion that as I had descended a long hill into Royston there might be a climb out of the town....but I wasn't expecting the hill I had to negotiate. Luckily, the 2 cyclists I saw go past earlier were ahead of me. It was like having pace setters and it helped pull me up to the summit.
Now I had the bit between my teeth and nothing was going to stop me. The A10 was busy and there were a lot of HGVs out. Throughout the planning of the route I had tried my best to avoid dual-carriageways however the A10 north of the village of Puckeridge was unavoidable. I decided the best option was to pedal as fast as I could and get off there as quickly as possible. I then turned off onto the old A10 and followed it to Ware in Hertfordshire. The ride was now becoming less of a struggle and slog and more of an enjoyable ride. I started to take note of what was around me, appreciating the weather and generally having fun. The route was no a good mixture of downhill sections and steeper uphill gradients. Approaching Wadesmill I started to descend a hill, got my head down and went for it. Hitting 40mph and sweeping around a few bends into the village, I was finally enjoying things.
Ware was the start of, what to me, was the beginning of the urban landscape that would eventually lead to London. It had the look and feel of London suburbia. It was stop start stop through traffic lights and junctions. A few more climbs up through Hoddesdon, Cheshunt and Waltham Cross and I was starting to feel the end in sight. I was about 15 miles away and close to a final rendez-vous with dad who arranged to meet me at Waltham Abbey.
The idea was to follow dad into London and to Upton Park. I set the sat nav up for him, and off dad went. This was the final push and I was like a man possessed. I felt sorry for dad because he was constantly driving off, pulling over, waiting for me and then driving off again. I was averaging 20+mph, pushing on and full of energy. And then coming over the crest of a hill, I caught my first glimpse of London. In the distance I could see the skyline of The City. I was there. I was so close.
Dad was patient waiting for me to catch up. As we approached a roundabout I could see the choice was go left and up a steep hill to Chingford or right to Walthamstow. When I was planning the route my preferred choice was Chingford as it look more direct and the roads looked friendlier. However, I saw the warning on the sign indicating a steep incline. I was hoping dad wouldn't indicate left. Nothing. And then as he got to the roundabout he indicated right to Walthamstow. "Yes!!" I accelerated and caught him up just after the roundabout and gave him the thumbs up.
"You ok?" I could see him mouth. "Perfect!!" was my reply.
And then it happened. Dad was relying on the sat nav. London has changed a lot since he moved to Newcastle from East Ham in 1972. The last time he was in the east end was 21 years earlier. So, with dad being a bit unfamiliar, he duly followed its every direction. I saw the sign ahead but thought, "Nah. He wouldn't" But he did. Onto the North Circular....in the rush hour! I white cycling shorts!!! It was probably no more than 1 mile but I have never been so scared. There were cars coming at me from all directions. I have never cycled so fast!! I could see an underpass coming up and no sign of dad! So I took the next exit and there he was at the roundabout waiting at the traffic lights. I knew where I was...Walthamstow Dog Track. From there it was easy, through "The Stow", Leyton and Stratford, tailing dad all the way. Every so often I'd give them thumbs up to say I was ok, which was misunderstood at one set of traffic lights when a passer by asked if he had nearly run me over and that I should "chin him".
At Stratford, I left dad. He followed the sat nav and I went on to see my nan's old flats...only to find that they've been knocked down which hit me hard. I had so many great memories of summers spent there when I was younger. And now it's gone!
Onto Romford Road, a wrong turn onto Upton Lane and a quick detour down some back streets onto Green Street and there it was. The roof of the West Stand at Upton Park. I was there. Do I sprint the last bit or not. I decided to savour it and coasted in. I was still unsure about what to expect. There had been no word from West Ham United. But at least dad would be there......
Wrong! No sign of dad. Claudine from Cancer Research UK was there and was a sight for sore eyes. Bottles of water, lucazade, nut bars, everything!!! I was gobsmacked. I had my own welcome party/cheerleader! And I felt really bad for being a bit "snappy" with Claudine on the phone last week when discussing the Great North Run. And then she hit me with the news I was waiting for. "I've spoken to security and they've decided to let you go into the ground by the pitch". I could have cried! But we had a problem...where the hell was dad??
15 minutes later I called him. "I'm on Green Street outside the front of the stadium". Um, no he wasn't. And there he was, walking in through the John Lyall Gates. But where was the car? I had forgotten that the last time Dad had been to Upton Park was 1989 and it was before the stadium had been rebuilt and there was nothing outside the ground other than a school and portakabin (the club shop). So he'd parked in a back street (after taking the wrong turn and deciding to have a look at the house he grew up in - I can forgive him for that).
We made our way into the West Stand and were escorted down the players tunnel and out to the pitch....I had done it. 140 miles and this was the most appropriate end of the 3 days, under the gaze of Bobby himself. Dad was in awe. He didn't recognise the ground. I crashed out on the club crest by the pitch. It was time to savour the moment. It was great. Photos taken we were shown around the dressing rooms and had a good chat with the security guard who was a complete gentleman, giving us facts about what happens on match day etc. I didn't want to leave.
Eventually we headed off, said goodbye to Claudine and headed back to the car. Truth be told, it hadn't sunk in. I had done it but I couldn't appreciate it. The bike was slung in the back of the car and I drove to our hotel near Stansted Airport (with a bit of a commentary from dad as we drove along Barking Road, "I saw Roy Orbison when that was a cinema. The Beatles were the support act" as we went past a Mecca Bingo hall).
And that was the 3 days. Plenty of ups and downs, fluctuations of emotions. Blood, sweat and tears. But I had done it, and it felt good.
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