updates

Clearly this blog hasn't bee updated in a while.

Points of interest
I got to Paris alive
I'm back again (alive too)

The full story of the journey will be written up, I promise (it's worth the wait too). I can't do it until the sensation in my fingers has returned and my wrists have healed (I don't have enough strength in my hands to open a bottle of ketchup).


Checking out but not CHECKING out.

Dan

Day one (imaginative title, eh)

so the first day's ride is over. I've fallen short of my distance by 50 miles but the going was really tough. The increased load on my bike from all the food water and clothes added alot of drag on the climb, plus the inclination of the hills was something I hadn't expected. I hit bad weather, and bad food at the border. The thing that had been creatively named a cheese burger was tough to force down, but i was hungry. standing in rain and a gale was beginning to depress me so I headed straight off.
Nothumberland had two distinct features, desolate steep hills and hundreds of scooters. The two are not related. The ferocity of the hills meant I felt like I was climbing to the top of the world at times. Even to push the bike up was a struggle. I carried on through Nothumberland where people live in isolated farming communities, mostly to do with sheep. Their dogs don't really know the difference between me and sheep as one tried to herd me into the pack on the journey. Dogs really dont like me.

I was beginning to struggle and it was getting really cold and windy. I knew that I had to finish the first day early so I needed to find a place to sleep. As time dragged on I was becoming more desparate to find a spot. Eventually I saw a sign for a camp site and chose to head towards it. 6 miles out of my way but what the hell. as luck would have it, 2 miles later I found a perfect field and chose that instead. I'm now overlooking the derwent reservior and it is beautiful in the sunset.

I must check front tyre in the morning, green goo is oozing out of the sides

As a side note I've seen 3 dead deer, 2 dead badgers, 2 dead rats, loads of dead pheasant an rabbits and one decapitated head from a barbie doll. Good night.

10 hours to go

This is going to be short because I have a lot of packing and preparing to do and I have a killer headache too. I'm almost prepared mentally, but I'm not sure I have enough pants for the entire journey, I'm looking forward to eating a couple bags of nuts, I have finally washed my red t-shirt, my headlight batteries are charging and I'm really thinking hard about printing out my insurance certificate but I'm also thinking about drinking the nice champagne that Catriona bought today.
Tomorrow I'll be on my way. Once I set off all this will mean nothing because I have just one thing to do. Get there.

Essential new toys for me, a boy.

With only a week until I head off I have to admit that I've been procrastinating a little dealing with the finer points of my trip. Last night I had another look at my route but really all I did was fiddle with way points without any real aim or outcome. I've been thinking about putting dried banana in a bag on my handlebars but I still haven't got round to getting the bag, or the dried banana. I'm even thinking of passing on my visit to the bike station in favour of sitting in the living room and playing Xbox. I think it's a protection mechanism, a way of allowing me to accept the reality of my decision to ride to Paris in the time I've given myself. If I weren't dreaming of killing zombies right now then I'd probably be insane with worry about the journey. I know in reality that I'll get all the little things completed in time and all will go swimmingly but it helps to try to play down the seriousness of the plans sometimes, it's necessary to have some distractions.

This morning I got up super early. I was woken up by Catriona handing me a bowl of cereal telling me that she'd poured the wrong type out. That was nice because I didn't have to get out of bed to eat, which no-one can complain about, but also it was handy because I needed to be at the post office really early to collect a package. After a quick ride to the sorting office and back I jumped into bed to unwrap the package because, if we're honest with ourselves, unwrapping your package in bed is where it should be done.

The package turned out to be my free loader, a solar powered charger. It was a happy moment as I'd been worried about running out of power for my phone and PDA on the trip.

When I got back from work later that day I had another surprise, a big blue polythene bag. I guessed that it must be my bivvy bag though I was a little surprised at the size. It was much larger than I thought it would be. As with all things that are wrapped I had to unwrap it quickly and messily. After the unwrapping it was very necessary to get into the bag. Oh man, that thing is great! It may be made for a giant but it is so comfy and cosy that I am actually looking forward to sleeping rough just to use it.

Well it's the evening now and after having unwrapped stuff, charged stuff, drunk cider and watched South Park I feel that I have had just the right amount of distraction. I'm going to finish off my bike maintenance tomorrow and by sunday I'll have all the songs together and a printout of the route. I'm really looking forward to going!

How to make things difficult

So yesterday morning it dawned on me that I had 11 days until I had to get on my bike and ride to Paris. Things have crept up on me quickly. Knowing from experience that pedalling takes a lot of energy and given the massive gaps in my training, I decided to 'mod' my bike. I had been in a bike shop earlier on in the month and had been talking about what I could realistically do to my bike to make it better. There were really only three choices; get a new, larger, chain set (the front cogs on the bike), make my wheels bigger or buy a new bike. The last option would cost a small fortune (I'm so broke that even the thought of buying a bike wilts my bank card) the second option isn't even possible but the first option, by some miracle, became a reality because I happened to be in the only shop in the UK that had a discontinued product that was exactly what I was looking for at a bargain basement price (don't ask me how I know this, lots of phone calls, web searches and a really lumpy malt shake were involved).

I had become the proud owner of a new Shimano chain set. I know the theory is that by increasing the size of the cogs I can pedal less and gain more speed (great!) and as a someone who has dedicated many years of his life to looking for an easier way to do something I could see great potential in this product. Only one thing stood in my way. I didn't know what I was doing. Not seeing this as a problem I enlisted the skills of the Internet to find me the answer. The Internet didn't let me down, it produced the bike station, a charity organisation where you can rent space and tools to help you maintain your bike as well as give you expert advice and a cup of tea, all for £3.00 an hour. Weyhey!

After finishing work yesterday I was itching to get to the bike station and start the job of upgrading it. I wasn't really sure where the place was so I figured that I'd use the GPS navigator I've attached to my bike (yes, I have TomTom on my bike, what can I say?) to help me find the way. I fired it up and started typing in the city to locate the building I was looking for.

"E...D...I...O, damn, fat finger syndrome, I'll start again, E...D...I... err what's that predictive answer coming up with? Looks like El something or other."

I couldn't quite see from the glare on the screen, it was a beautiful sunny day.

"E...D...I...N... now I'm sure this isn't right. It says El Rosario. Start again, concentrate, type the whole city in, the thing must have heard of Edinburgh. E...D...I...N...B...U...R...G...H. What does it spell? EL ROSARIO!"

I was stunned and confused. All I could find were weird Spanish sounding places that I'd never heard of. After going through all the settings I discovered that the PDA had conveniently deleted all the Western European maps and left me with the Canary Islands. Clearly I was going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Ride to where I thought the place might approximately be then cycle up and down the street, avoiding asking anyone local where it was, particularly any cyclists, (I am a man after all) until I happened upon the place by accident, which was exactly how it happened. I love it when a plan comes together.

Once there things had to look better. I was in a building with loads of other cyclists busily working on their bikes. It felt homely. I had a plan, sort of, I would strip my bike until I got stuck, then call for help. I took the bolts out of the cranks, then called for help. It had been a good 5 minutes of unassisted work. I was proud of myself. Unfortunately it was really busy and the guy's who worked there were unable to get to me very quickly, fortunately there was someone on hand who I thought would be highly qualified to help. There was a Dutch guy replacing his chain set was next to me. What more qualified person did I need? He was probably born on a bike. I asked his advice and he kindly gave me the tool I was looking for. It was a special extracting tool for removing the cranks. It looked simple enough to me, screw one bit on, screw another bit till the crank pops off, have a cup of tea.

Try as I might I could not get the dam thing to screw in, even after one of the assistants showed me how, then actually did it himself on one of the cranks. I turned to the Dutch guy again, he had been so helpful the first time.

"Could you help me do this? I seem to be genetically unable to screw this thing in or I seem to lack the special screwing skills needed for this type of job."

In that really cool and comedic accent that the Dutch have he said "sure, I'll put it in for you" and he did.

So the screw bit was in the hole, all I had to do was tighten it up, do the other bit and hey presto, crank removed and time for tea. I tightened it up, I started extraction and kerrrunch. I had stripped all the threads off the crank. The Dutch guy had cross threaded the tool, I hadn't checked it and now I was sweating bullets. I grabbed an assistant and he confirmed my worst fears. The crank was ruined and there was no easy way of removing it without causing extra damage to the bike. My only option was to use a pipe splitter and a mallet and thump off the crank. I was told this method was going to damage the frame and break the bottom bracket shoulder then asked did I want to do this. What could I say?

"Have you got another shoulder?" I queried. He told me he did and so I elected to whack the hell out of my bike.

Final damage:
one ruined chain set.
one damaged frame.
one smashed bottom bracket shoulder.
Me very sad indeed.

Time was running out, and so were my wits. There were thirty minutes left before the place closed and I had a very poorly bike. After a tense moment where we thought there was no replacement shoulder, one was found then I very quickly rebuilt it, with the help of a wild haired one eyed man and a lot of nervous energy. The bike still needs a new chain, possibly a new rear dérailleur, a new bottom bracket and some more work in the garage to correct loose brakes and cables and currently has excessive drag on the cranks when pedalling but apart from that it is fine.

Here's hoping that all goes well on Saturday when I take the bike back to the workshop. I guess as long as I'm really, really far away from it then what could go wrong?

As one light extinguished another was lit

Since preparing for Beltane this year it has come to light how my family has influenced me in my path. I discovered that many of my family members are followers of an earth faith or social based belief of one sort or another. My grandmother was a humanist and my first knowledge and experience of this was at her funeral, one of the most beautiful tributes to a person's life I had ever witnessed. My great aunt a member of a Celtic community has strong beliefs in the pagan calendar and my mother, a hippie at heart, has strong beliefs in natures power within us (interesting that it is all the women in my family that believe these things, in a matriarchal society one can truly see that love, sharing and nurturing are the fundamental reasons for existence, not war, power and oppression); however even with this background the preparation for this Beltane was particularly difficult for me.

My work commitments and money problems aside I also had to deal with the harsh reality of my Dad's illness. On the 1st of April I was given the news that my Dad's brain tumour was confirmed as terminal. After a two year battle ,where things had looked victorious, it was a shock to discover and hard to come to terms with. After visiting him I felt that although the inevitable would eventually come there was plenty of time left for us, though we lived hundreds of miles apart we could still enjoy each others company.

Two weeks after this I received news that my father was critical. Two weeks. I rushed to see him to find that he had deteriorated at an alarming rate. No longer was he the powerhouse of a man I knew as a child. Only through sheer determination could he manage to walk a mere couple of feet. His eyesight gone,and the left half of his body limp he was almost helpless. Yet his strength still shone through. He was determined to battle the rigours of his disease and approached his end with dignity, there was still a flame within him that burned brightly.

On April 30th, during the final walk through I received word from my mother that my dad was unlikely to make it through the night. I asked my mother to let me know when the moment had happened and she agreed to my request. At this point a strange calm came over me. I could think of only my father and Beltane. I wasn't sure how I would cope with the photography if my father passed away during the event; however I knew that he would want me to finish the job. He was the kind of person that showed dedication to what he believed in and I felt that it would be an honour to him to do the same.

At 10 pm, as the Nied fire was lit, my father passed away. The poetry of this is something that will stay with me forever. It's as though my fathers death, his return to mother earth, was part of the story of the seasons. As winter is ushered out, the energy and vitality of the coming summer begins to affect us, like a father, like a reincarnation of him, it will nurture and protect us and prepare us for the harshness of winter, our future as adults.

As I have processed the photos of that night I have recalled all the parenting that my father has given me and I realise that though he has passed away he lives on in my actions. It is because of his beliefs and his guidance that I am who I am. He lives on, in part, through me, and the people in his life that he has touched. It's an immortality we will all achieve, our only choice being how we are remembered, positively or negatively.

So, I want to thank the society, with their views on life as we know it, for providing me with the support I needed during this time. Without knowing it you have helped me through this difficult time, all of you.

I want to thank Photo point. As a group of shy, retiring photographers we find it hard to be openly emotional about things at the best of times, but even so, this year the group bonded tremendously, as can be seen in the photos of the night, and with this bond I was able to work within that unit during an emotionally rocky time.

Lastly I want to thank Catriona, my girlfriend, who with female intuition knew exactly how to support me and help me through this period of my life. Without you I would be nothing but a compass with no needle, you give me direction and purpose and I love you for it.

So I hope once you have read this that you can take something away from it. Look towards the future as a path carved by those from the past. How you walk that path is your choice and how you treat those that you meet on that path will determine their own journey too.

Feel free to pass this message on if you feel it touches you in any way. Light, no matter how dim will always help guide us.

My first 100 miles...awww

In a bid to prove to those around me that I could ride long distances and be fine the next day I set myself a challenge. I was going to cycle from Dalkeith to Jedburgh, buy a cake and a cup of tea, carry on to the border, take a picture for proof then skip on home for supper. That would be a round trip of 110 miles and something I felt was easily achievable given my fitness and determination.

After having a chat with Catriona and her mum and doing some chores, I set off towards Jedburgh on the A68 at 12pm, 4 hrs later than I wanted to.

My inventory consisted of:
1 bike
1 rain/wind proof jacket
1 bike lock
1 bike pump
1 litre of isotonic drink
1 bag of crushed, home made cereal bars
£5.00 in cash and a bank card
1 phone
1 PDA (for music)
1 idiot on a bike.

I hadn't even left Dalkeith when I realised just how up hill the route was going to be. Up, up, up, up, it never seemed to stop. I had a little giggle with myself when I passed Dalkeith's cat hotel but apart from that it was a bit of a slog. The signs telling me how far I was away from Jedburgh weren't exactly decreasing rapidly, I was going to have to adjust my perceptions of time. My first challenge came when I arrived the bottom of Soutre hill (as described by George Taylor, 1885, the bringer of Celery to Kalamazoo). I hadn't foreseen a large climb like that and I had to change my attitude to speed very quickly to compensate for the climb. Once I had navigated that hill it was fairly plain sailing all the way to Jedburgh, with the exception of my toes going numb due to the wind chill factor, something else I'd not accounted for when setting off. When I got to Jedburgh (43 miles from Dalkeith) I was greatly lifted in my spirits with the anticipation of a small cake and a cup of tea as a reward for my efforts. After a quick circuit of the town I discovered to my horror that all the cake shops had closed. I had arrived at 3:30pm and they had shut 30 mins before I'd got there. Typical. With no cakes on offer I popped into a chocolate shop and had a quick conversation with a woman behind the counter. We discussed whether it was a good idea to head to the border. She rightly said that I'd be disappointed if I didn't go, and then told me it was 10 miles up a giant hill. I thought she was right about the disappointment and wrong about the size of the hill. It couldn't be that bad. I bought some chocolate with my 5 pound note and then headed off. After the hardest slog up hill I've ever done I stopped to ask a motorcyclist how far I had to go. He said

"you're almost there, it's only 5 miles from here, but it's all up a really, really big hill".

Maybe the chocolate woman was right.

After cycling the hill from hell I finally made it to the top and the border. Surprisingly there was a bloke selling tea and hot dogs up there. Unsurprisingly I hadn't enough money for a hot dog, I'd spent it all on chocolate. I dug around hopefully in my bag and managed to scrape enough shrapnel together to buy a tea. It was like drinking a piece of heaven! After a really interesting conversation with the old chap in the hot dog van about cycling, cyclists and killer wild goats I prepared to set off back home. Not before getting a passing motorcyclist to take my picture at the border, as proof that I'd got there. It had taken me nearly 4 hrs to arrive at the England/Scotland border and I figured that to get back would be about another 5 hrs of pedalling given my level of fatigue. I thought that I was prepared for the worst, but I was not.

I'll be honest here and say that after cruising down the massive hill I found the going tough. Tougher than I'd ever imagined. I wanted to just lay down and sleep but that wasn't an option I could take. The road was full of magic hills too. To look ahead you'd swear that you were going down hill but in fact you were going up hill. It was so de-moralising.

The night began to descend. I now realised that the lateness of my start would leave me cycling in the dark for the last 20 miles. Also the weather had closed in. It became freezing cold. My fingers sang out in pain from the wind chill. They twinged and twitched from the constant pressure from the handlebars too. I couldn't feel my feet any more. The wind chill flowing through the tops of my trainers had frozen my toes and the pedalling wasn't allowing the blood to get back into my feet.

I eventually saw a sign telling me it was 14 miles to Dalkeith. I briefely felt elation, only to realise that meant an hour and thirty minutes cycling minimum. I had no idea of the time, no food left (I had some sugar sweets I'd bought for Catriona, which I refused to eat as they were a gift) and no will. I broke down, I couldn't cycle any more, the bike wouldn't move no matter how hard I pushed the pedals, I became convinced my bike had developed a fault. I phoned Catriona and told her I couldn't do it and that I needed rescuing. I was cold, tired, hungry and stupid to have thought that I could do this. She comforted me, she told me how I would feel if I gave up. She encouraged me to walk until I felt better then to try to cycle again. If after that I was unable to do it then I was to ring her back and we'd sort something out.

"You can do it!" she shouted down the phone.

It reminded me of the Adam Sandler movies; I smiled, agreed and then started to walk. Just as I did a murder of crows alighted from a scary looking tree and circled above me. It was like in the films when someone is in the middle of the dessert and the vultures are overhead, waiting for that moment when the victim draws his last breath before gorging themselves on his pitiful corpse. Then I remembered that in the films they always make it out of the desert alive. I recalled that fantastic scene in Ice Cold In Alex when the group emerge from the desert, head to the nearest bar and sink the most satisfying lager they'd ever taste. It convinced me that I'd make it home so I carried on walking imagining really tasty beer, ice cream, cakes and biscuits, hot sweet tea, anything to keep up my spirits. After about 20 mins walking I began to realised why the bike wouldn't move earlier on. I had been on another of those magic hills. I had been going up hill not down. I'd bonked (in marathon terminology, hitting the wall) and as a result has become confused and disorientated and without realising I had just ascended the last peak of my journey and the next 30 mins was going to be all down hill! I jumped on my bike with renewed enthusiams and cruised down the other side. I was practically home.

At 11pm I carried my bike up 3 flights of stairs and finally crossed the threshold of my home. I had made it. Unfortunately my ordeal was not over. After eating and bathing I went into what I can only describe as shock. I was sitting in a hot bath shivering. I couldn't warm up. Catriona put me to bed, got me some liquid and a banana and looked after me until I was normal again (if I ever was in the first place). I slept fitfully but at least I rested, and I was home.

Injuries sustained
Sore legs
The ends of the second to last and little finger on my left hand feel weird.

Lessons learned.
The road from Edinburgh to the border is horrific.
Planning is really, really, ridiculously important.
Rest when you need to. Don't ignore your body and push on regardless.
Local women in chocolate shops are more likely to know what the road ahead is like than a bloke who's never been to the area before.
Old people are really interesting.
When you ask someone to take your picture it's almost a guarantee that they can't use a camera.
Cycling country roads at night presents all sorts of problems from speeding cars to dead deer in the road, avoid cycling back roads at night if at all possible.
Last but not least. If you are going to do a 100 mile round trip for a cake, check what time the shops close!




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A certain sense of satisfaction

At 08:35 on the 16th of April I set off to work in what I can only describe as soul destroying weather. I'd woken up feeling like a fat man was sitting on my chest and it had taken what felt like super human strength to get out of bed. I was running seriously late, which always ruins cycling to work, and I was becoming more agitated as the seconds ticked on. Having put all my stuff in my bag I zipped it up when, POP, the zip broke. Blood pressure rising. "OK, forget about it and move on," I thought as I zipped a fluorescent jacket around my bag. POP. The zip broke on that too. I threw the broken pieces on the floor in anger and disbelief. How could those two zips break at the same time? Had the world got it in for me? The weather was so atrocious it was essential that I had a bright cover over my bag so I hunted for the other dayglo jacket I had and zipped it on. Now I was really late. The morning got worse when I discovered that although it was really, really misty, it was also windy and cold, like winter. I got to work flustered, sweaty and wet from the mist. I was going to have a black mood most of the day.

Day, finished I cycled home in much more clement conditions than I'd arrived in. After getting a bit of food I slept on the couch for an hour. At 10 pm I was back out the door and cycling to Edinburgh to photograph a club event for Beltane. A night of different drumming styles from 11pm - 3am it was going to be visulally exciting and incredibly noisy. Brilliant!

3:15 am - A crazy night of eclectic drumming and about 400 photos later and I'm back on the bike home again. I got in about 3:45 and after a little faffing around was asleep for 04:15. The following day I was back in work.

Advice from the stupid.

In case you ever find yourself in a situation were you need to cycle a moderate distance home remember these words...

Prepare for inclement weather. If it's misty and cold in the morning then the chances are (in Edinburgh) that it'll be no better late in the evening.

Always carry a small pair of pliers with your screwdriver set. When tightening nuts and bolts one can not work without the other. Much like being drunk can not work without alcohol or being chunky can not work without daily ice-cream breakfasts.

Eating a large lunch in lieu of the fact that you'll have little chance for food later on only works if you eat lunch later. Don't be a gouger and scoff your massive pasta surprise before mid-day.

When at a social gathering where food is laid out for guests it is acceptable to have one or two pieces of food and a couple of little treats. It is not advisable, nor acceptable to eat one or two packets of breaded chicken goujons, a packet of gluten free chicken and mushroom kievs, half a tub of mini rocky roads and half a tub of mini chocolate rolls. Especially when you knowingly have to cycle a long way in terrible weather.

Listen to your body. If you feel a little queasy don't try to sing rock songs whilst cycling up a hill. It makes it worse.

If you ring your security console bell and your girlfriend answers with a hiccup, giggle.

I need food

This is just a quick one. OOoh, Catriona's home, I'll tell you in a minute :P

I've been meaning to tell you...

I have put this off long enough to allow my mind to accept what I saw some days ago.

I was cycling to work when I was overtaken by a more enthusiastic cyclist on a road bike who was wearing cycling shorts. That in itself is not unusual but what was really disturbing about this was that the shorts he was wearing appeared to be made from stretch see-through Lycra. We were proceeding up a hill and his technique was to stand up on the bike pedals and flex his sweaty arse muscles at me. As his bike was faster than mine and I was unable to overtake him I was forced to look into his athletic undulating bum hole for the last few minutes of my ride to work. It was an image that was to haunt me for days before a punishing migraine managed to push that image out of my head long enough to stop having nightmares.

All I can say is, I promise never to inflict that kind of attire on anyone, ever.

A little bit of history

I've told you all before that I'm cycling to Paris because my friend is going to buy me a Monaco but I haven't ever told you why the bike was the natural choice for mode of transport. As I've not cycled in a couple of days I'll take this opportunity to give you a little background information.

It all began one evening during a quiz night in the 5th Bar. The Fifth; a tiny, dark bar found in the Latin Quarter on Rue Mouftard, was the perfect hang out for penniless idealists such as I was. This bar was to become the place where most of our Parisienne adventures would begin or end, but on this particular occasion it was mearly a plan to get free beer. I had been invited to join a new friend, Jorge, at the bar to help answer questions. The first prize of a free drink for the winning team was a goal we really wanted to achieve, however the last prize of a really disgusting free drink was also worth it, given that we had no money and we wanted alcohol.

I arrived late, a trait I'd picked up from Karim "I'll be there soon" Fekar, and the team weren't doing well. They were positioned 3rd or 4th which was definitely not in the free beer zone. I was quickly introduced to everyone on the table as "the guy whose gonna answer the questions" and then thrown into the last round, music. Fifteen minutes later we had managed to come first. Being hailed the man with all the answers was a little embarrassing as it had been more like luck for my part. The quiz master, a Glaswegian barman called Roddy, had managed to pick all the songs I like and the rest of the bar was filled with non-English speaking drunkards. That fact aside, I was now celebrating with a new group of friends over a free beer. A nice tasting free beer. Returning home that night on the Metro I was smiling quietly to myself because I'd made new friends and gotten a little tipsy on free beer on an empty stomach.

The meet at the fifth became a regular occurrence for us. I'd usually stay until the last train was due then rush off home but inevitably, one evening, I missed the last Metro. After the bar had finally closed Karim, Jorge and I walked to Hotel de Ville where Karim and I could catch the night bus home. Jorge had a bike. I remember thinking that it would be nice to be cycling the streets of Paris that night. It was quiet, warm and I was drunk. I asked Jorge where he'd gotten the bike from.
He said "I was doing some work for a guy clearing an apartment, We were chucking everything out to make room for renovations. This was thrown in the skip along with all the other rubbish but it was an almost complete bike. I wanted it because I can't afford to ride the Metro so I grabbed it and took it home."
"So, what was missing," I said.
"Oh, it had bad wheels, no brakes and no seat, but everything else was there."
"Right," I said. "So how did you afford to get all the bits for it?"
"Ha, I didn't buy anything, have you seen all the abandoned bikes this city has?" To illustrate a good point he waved his arm vaguely towards the Hotel de Ville to reveal a pile of abandoned bikes. They were chained to railings that had been removed to make way, ironically, for the Velib, the cities new public bike hire initiative."
"So, you cycle around Paris reclaiming old bits of bike?" I said, a little surprised that it could be that easy.
"Yeah, I'll show you. I need a new wheel, and tires too if there are any good ones."
I called Karim over to let him know we were going to hunt for a new bike wheel and off we went to the pile of bikes to get an upgrade.

That was my introduction to Jorge's bike Petronilla, an old 80's Italian road bike. When Jorge left Paris for Montreal he handed me petronilla on the condition that I look after her in the same way. Only from reclaimed parts. When I left Paris for Edinburgh I did the same, giving the bike to Karim on the same terms. The only thing that changed was her name, from Petronilla to Petronina, because Karim and I couldn't agree on what Jorge had called her. His Mexican/Irish accent had blurred things a bit.

When the subject of me visiting Karim for a drink came up around the same time that I had absolutely no money I knew I had to improvise a way to get there. It was a natural choice to honour Petronilla and cycle to Paris for a Monaco.

So that is a brief history of how I've come to be cycling to France. Why is a Monaco involved. Well, beer is usually involved in these sorts of ventures but a Monaco has particular significance as it is Karim's choice of drink. Mainly because it is almost entirely made out of sugar and has almost no alcohol in it.

The glasgow run has been postponed

Due to some upsetting news concerning a member of my family I've had to postpone my trip to Glasgow. A new run will be announced soon. Needless to say the bad news has made me more determined than ever to see this through successfully. By successfully I mean getting to Paris and raising money for the society.

Do You Doubt My Commitment?

So, as an idea, going to Paris for a beer is a little out there. I imagine that there are a few of you who think my trip is either not possible or not a practical method to visit a distant friend. I need a challenge to prove my plan is sound.

An opportunity has arisen that can test my will and determination to cycle a really, really long way for a beer. It is in the form of a house party. This weekend Catriona's brother Kevin (the guy whose singing I have to listen to for 3 solid hours on my MP3 player) is having a belated birthday bash. He lives on the west side of Glasgow and I on the east side of Edinburgh, so with that in mind, and the fact there will be lots of beer at the end of the trip, oh, and the possibility of karaoke, I have decided to cycle there.

There have been many factors involved in bringing this decision together. The first and most obvious is that I'll be cycling approximately 14 times the distance from here to Glasgow and I'm only just beginning to think I should start to plan for it; the second is that a number of people have asked if I've cycled a long way before, to which my answer is always no; the third, which can also be counted as factor 2.1, is that I've planned a long ride on a number of occasions only to be thwarted by social engagements. I'm not going to let that happen again; the last one is really the one I like the most. When I thought about cycling to Glasgow for a house party I really liked the symmetry of the plan alongside my Paris trip. It's nice to be able to train for a ridiculously long bike ride for a beer with an unusually long bike ride for a beer.

Below you will find a map of the route I plan to take. If you feel compelled to you can wave me on along the way, pledge some money towards the bigger event or tell someone about what I'm doing and why (why is usually 'because he's an idiot') or of course you can do absolutely nothing the prerogative (thank you for the spelling help Miss Rasdale) is entirely yours.

Map link here...




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I Learned My Trade From B.A. Baracus

I have spent some time recently discovering the functions of my new PDA. I am, in fact, writing this blog from my bed. Such is the power of a tiny computer and WIFI. The question I hear you ask is, "what does this have to do with cycling to Paris? " Well, one of the many other features of this little box of magic is GPS and a full complement of Western European maps. This little baby's gonna get me to where I need to go.

The only real problem with it is that it wasn't designed for use on a bicycle. It comes with a car kit for sticking to a windscreen and can get power from a car's cigarette lighter (does anyone still use them for lighting cigarettes these days?) but it seems to be missing all reference to bicycle related matters. There's no 'stick it to the handle bars' bit and the engineers totally overlooked the problem of charging the device using pedal power. They just did not have me in mind when they knocked this thing together.

It was disappointing. All this raw power doomed to exist for its short battery life in my cycling shorts. That's when I heard George Peppard's voice in my head (that's Hannibal from the A-Team for all you kids out there). "Don't worry, have a plan!" he said to me. All those years ago, watching the A-Team build tanks whilst trapped in a garden shed, or my favourite, a tunnel boring machine whilst trapped in a coal mine, had prepared me for this moment. Admittedly, I didn't need to develop something that could fire off thousands of rounds of ammo without killing a soul, but I did need a way to fix this pda to my handle bars whilst still allowing me to remove it whenever I stop at a pub. After a quick trip to a DIY store I'd gotten what I needed. Using nothing more than a hose clip, a few nuts and bolts, a wing nut and half a rubber wrist band I'd adapted the car windscreen kit for the handlebars. Now all I need is something called a freeloader, a solar charged battery, to power the pda all the way to France.

Whoever said TV teaches kids nothing clearly never watched The A-Team.

You people have a dark side

It's becoming more apparent each day that you all have over developed dark sides. They were just itching to get out whenI gave them the perfect opportunity to flourish with my list of intolerable cruelty. The lastest recruit, my "friend" Keith, has obviously been developing his keen sense of eeevill into a pointy sticked poking device of pain perfectly represented in the form of this song. Of course you can all help validate Keith's suggestion by voting for it with your pledges. Alternatively you can try to exercise your malevolence by hammering me with an equally brutal song.

I hope to hear from you soon.

A mother's day message

Catriona and I visited her mum and gran for mother's day today with the usual quantities of fun conversation, soup and copious quantities of cake. The idea of the list of intolerable cruelty came up and a few more suggestions and some money were donated to the cause. After Catriona's grans we went to see Kevin and Victoria at their place. We got chatting about the journey and I mentioned my list in the hope of getting some more songs or sponsorship. That's when Kevin came up with a cracking idea!
The conversation went something like this.
I said " So can you think of any songs Kevin?"
He replied " I'll get you £500 quid if you listen to the same song for the whole day",
"I dunno" I said, "it, sounds reasonable but £500 is a lot. Listening to the same song all day is a lot too. How about £100 for 3 hours of the same song?"
"OK, but I get to sing it"
"Fine, I get to choose the song then."
So there it is. If Kevin comes up with £100 then I'll have to listen to a song sung by him for three continuous hours. Brilliant!

And on the second week he discovered...

Isotonic drinks. Yes that's right, isotonic drinks actually work! I feel ten times more energetic during and after riding my bike. My legs now feel like they are being pushed harder than ever. Walking up the 3 flights of stairs with my bike when I get home from work is even more difficult now I'm cycling harder home. Great. With all that energy I decided to clean my bike. I stripped it, washed it, have almost rebuilt it and as an added bonus I can remember the event forever as I now have thick grease and black oil staining the rugs in the kitchen and the hall and a nice hand print of oil on the door. Catriona is going to kill me.

The list grows

My fingers rest on the pulse of society, it's beat is powered by sadism. Yes, that's right, you are all enjoying the idea of tourturing me with songs. The list is growing slowly but its pace is picking up and soon I'll have enough songs to begin the voting process.

In case you need any help, and it would seem that you don't, I particularly despise Pop, Country and Western and Dance/Rave/House...

That should get you going.

Cunning and Cruel

Catriona and I have had an idea. Something to make the journey a bit more exciting for us all.

On the way I had planned to listen to my MP3 player. It was going to be filled with all the inspirational songs that I love. This was going to make my journey both easier and more pleasant and that thought just didn't sit well in our minds. We feel that this journey should be tough, an endurance test for the mind and the body. With that idea came the cunning and cruel plan to ask you, the donators, to vote on which songs I should listen to on the journey. The songs will be chosen from a list you suggest. I know you'll have no trouble there.

OK, so here's the catch. Although it is free to suggest a song for the list of cruelty, to make sure that I listen to the songs you will need to vote with a donation. The top 50 songs, the ones that get the highest amounts of money, will be included and I promise to listen to them at least once during the journey.

To vote for a song, make a donation and on the special instructions section name the song you wish to vote for. I'll update the running totals throught the following weeks so that you'll all know what is winning and what I'll have to endure on the way down.

On my return from London

I've been busy. Not cycling I'm afraid, that's just not my style. No, I've been busy harrasing people in London. Catriona and I went for a nice weekend in the capital. During that time we visited a Mexican bar called La Perla. Due to their fantastic tasting margaritas we had a fun and very productive night. Whilst under the creative influence of tequila I had the rare foresight to ask for a pen and paper. Ideas were flowing and I needed to jot them down, as I recall I also managed to smell £125 a shot tequila; however that's a different story altogether.
Next post will be the best of the ideas and then I'll need your input :)

The route

This is just a proposal. If anyone finds a glaringly obvious flaw in it then let me know.

Statements like, "it's a really long way" and "you can't cycle on water" don't count.


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The Plan

Ok so by now you may have seen the title, that's the plan. Edinburgh to Paris by bike. I hope to achieve this in 4 days, a rate of 200miles a day, more or less.

Why am I doing this?
I mentioned to my friend in Paris, Karim, that I wanted to do something impulsive. I wanted to do something just for the sake of doing it. At exactly that moment I knew that it had to be cycle to Paris for a beer (a monaco to be precise). Why? I don't know. Paris and the bicycle had strong links for us when we were there and, well, it just seemed like the right ammount of effort for a friend.

Clearly as this was a lot of effort for a drink with one friend I realised that I would also need to go through Bedford on the way to visit my other best friend Rob.

Once this was decided I once more thought about what I was planning on doing. It seemed a little selfish to go all the way to Paris for two beers that I wouldn't even be buying so I decided that I should raise some money for a worthy cause whilst I was at it.

So, what would that cause be?

The Beltane Fire Society. Created in the 80s to celebrate traditional festivals through street theatre, they have grown into an international community of creative individuals. They provide the city of Edinburgh with events which are attended by thousands of people from all over the world. The society provide these fantastic events with no funding from the City itself, each member being responsible for providing what little money they can. Thus, the Beltane and Samhuinn performances exist in a perpetual state of uncertainty, yet every year they scrape through with another amazing performance. I'd like to raise £2,000 for this organisation, a token to help them with another year.

Obviously Edinburgh to Paris will take more than one day so I will 'couch surf' on the way. This means I will attempt to sleep in strangers houses as I travel.

So to recap, I'm going to cycle from Edinburgh to Paris, via Bedford because I have two friends who believe in me (enough to buy me a beer) and a worthy organisation that will benefit from any money raised, enabling them to entertain thousands more people over the coming years.

P.S. This will take place the last week in May. Keep posted with updates here.