Day 4 - Saved by the German police

Cologne - Wilgersdorf  (created by http://bikeroutetoaster.com)

 I had breakfast with Frida and Niels and then set out on a cool, grey morning. I found my way across one of the bridges over the Rhine and then headed out through the eastern suburbs. I was starting to discover that cycling through cities was frustratingly slow, lots of traffic lights and navigational problems. Several times I had problems with drivers or pedestrians who pointed out that I should be on the road when I was on what I thought was a cycle path and vice versa.

A glimpse of Cologne Cathedral in the morning mist

Fortunately, my trusty Active 10 kept me going in the right direction and I was soon clearing the suburbs but felt that I needed to turn in a more south-easterly direction. The A4 motorway was something of a barrier and I was glad when the GPS told me to take a right turn down a side road through a motorway tunnel. I was less impressed when I found myself in a forest with a rough track ahead of me.

The 28 mm tyres on the bike are great for travelling on the road but are really not designed for off-road use. They dig into soft ground and are much more prone to punctures than off-road tyres. But it was nice to be away from the traffic and grumpy road/pavement users so I pushed on through the forest. It was indeed very beautiful, climbing slowly on reasonable quality tracks, just me and the birds singing in the trees.

Then suddenly, the track dropped down a hillside, I emerged onto a tarmac road and the countryside had changed completely. Gone was the softly swelling flood-plane of the Rhine and in front of me were steep sided forested hills winding away in every direction.

I dropped quickly down into the first small town, saw a sign for a cycle path to the next place on my route and suddenly found myself confronted with a 15% climb. That was the moment where I decided that this would be a combined cycle ride and push. When I had ridden from Land's End to John O'Groats I had managed to avoid pushing at all, but the bicycle I had used then had mountain bike gearing (and I was eight years younger). So I pushed and pushed to the top of the hill and then flew down the descent on the other side into Overath. This set the pattern for the next few days.

I've definitely left Holland ...

Another long climb out of Overath and into beautiful, green, rolling countryside. There were hills around the in every direction that I could see, and the scenery was truly splendid. I reflected that the route the GPS had plotted me was indeed in a straight line according to the map but took no account of topography. Apart from the sheer physical effort of climbing, my average speed dropped considerably. Over the first few days I was averaging about 11 mph, but was now down to little more than 8 mph. This meant that during the average cycling day I would not be able to cover more than 50 or 60 miles which would have implications for how long it would take me to complete the trip. Not knowing the countryside, I had no way of judging whether or not I had miles or hundreds of miles of this ahead of me. All I could do was press on and try to interpret the map to follow flatter routes.

At the top of one ascent I collapsed on the grass for lunch, bread, cheese, tomato, banana, what was becoming my staple diet during the day. A walker came along and greeted me in German, but we managed a few words in English. He was walking through the hills on a pilgrimage to Cologne and must have been on the road for many days. It felt like a very gentle and rewarding pursuit, to be walking through this lovely countryside heading for somewhere where you could make some peace with the world.

I took a break in Wiehl and reviewed my GPS-led strategy. A straight line on the map maybe, but topographically a struggle. The map showed some roads that skirted a lake, and I imagined that this might be flatter so I abandoned my electronic line of blue dots and set off following the paper.  For a good few kilometres all went well, but then I turned a corner at one signpost to see this enormous hill winding off into the hills again. My lowland lake was a hilltop reservoir. Plan C? What might that be?

The afternoon continued with more climbing and descending, including one particularly exciting swoop down a series of hairpin bends into Wildburgerhutte. It was now starting to get late in the afternoon and I wanted to find somewhere to camp for the night but could not find any campsites. I pushed on until I arrived in the industrial city of Siegen at around six o'clock. There was no tourist information office in sight, and when I asked some taxi drivers at the railway station if they knew about any campsites they said there might be one 40 km north. I was heading south east and 40 km at this time of the day after over 50 miles of heavy climbing was not even worth considering. So they suggested asking a policeman.

The police station was just a few hundred metres down the road so I walked in and explained my problem. The policewoman on the desk listened most sympathetically, explained that this was not a tourist area and that there were no campsites, but that she might be able to find the name of a hotel. Off she went to her computer, clicked away, wrote some telephone numbers down and made some calls. She came back to the desk with a piece of paper bearing the name and address of someone in the village of Wilgersdorf who had a room that night waiting for me. I thanked her profusely and said she was most kind. Which she was.

The only problem was that Wilgersdorf was another 20 km further on down the road, and as it turned out I had to push the bike up a 15% climb to get out of Siegen and then do yet more climbing to arrive at Alfons Leyener's house, which was, of course, at the top end of Wilgersdorf. I had now done 73 miles of hard climbing and was totally exhausted, but felt the need to be sociable.

Fortunately, a shower revived me somewhat and I went downstairs to the Leyener's dining room to find a table laid out with bread, cheese, sausages, red peppers, yellow peppers, pickles and beer. Alfons was there with one of his neighbours who spoke good English, and they were keen to find out what had brought me to this corner of Germany. I explained my journey, and it turned out that Alfons had at one time been a professional cyclist. He proudly showed me his 30-year-old carbon fibre racing bike, which had a distinctly retro look to it, compared to today's carbon fibre machines. He also drew me a cyclist's map of the route I should take to my next destination, Marburg. It showed all the things that were important to cyclists, like tricky junctions, gradients and distances.

They also explained that the policewoman in Siegen lived in Wilgersdorf and knew that Alfons and his wife kept a room for lost souls. Aren't their police wonderful?

The conversation moved on to football. They wanted to know what I thought of the Champions League final, which had been on Saturday night. I admitted that I had collapsed halfway through the second half and had no idea of the result, and with some delight they told me that Chelsea had beaten Bayern Munich. I was somewhat surprised that they were pleased that an English team had beaten a German side, but they then explained that Bayern Munich were not actually Germans, but Bavarians. They are also so successful that 'Germans' love it when ever anyone beats them.

It was by now and well after 10 o'clock, and both Alfons and the neighbour had to get up at six o'clock in the morning so I made my excuses and wearily climbed up the stairs to bed.

Day 3 - And as I wind on down the road ...

The day dawned sunny and bright, but not so my spirits when I saw that I had my first puncture of the journey. I cheated by swapping in a new tube, took the opportunity to put a new chain on (as I have a rotating chain policy) and eventually set off by 9:15.

Eindhoven - Cologne

 The first part of the journey was a long day long, straight road, through a canopy of trees and I reached the small town of Asten by 10 o'clock, so I stopped for coffee. When I had set out on Saturday it had been about 10° C, but now it was about 25° and sunny. As I sat enjoying my coffee and cheese on toast the church bells chimed the hour with a short tune. It sounded familiar, and I realised that it was Led Zepplin's "Stairway to Heaven". Appropriate, I guess, for a church, but I wondered what Messrs Page, Plant and Bonham would have made of it when they were busy throwing TV sets out of hotel rooms to know that one day one of their songs would be rendered by church bells in a small Dutch town. I waited for the guitar licks, but they did not come.

The stairway to heaven ...

On again, and I eventually came to the River Maas, where I had to take a ferry. From there it was but a few miles until the German border. The first country crossed.

It was now a case of adapting to a different approach to bicycle lanes. There were some, but they were inconsistent and of not such good quality. It was also not clear when they needed to be used. The terrain was starting to swell a little, not hilly, just not the pancake flatness of the Netherlands. "Stairway to Heaven" continued to go round and round in my head.

The GPS was still proving to be very useful, and it guided me effortlessly through the city of Monchen-Gladbach and out along a series of narrow lanes that stretched in a straight line across ploughed fields in the direction of Cologne. Things were going really well until the lane I was on became a ploughed field itself and the GPS unit battery ran flat. Unfortunately the back roads I had taken left me with absolutely no idea where I was, so I had to retrace my steps, guess the right direction and cycle off until I found a landmark, a railway station at Rommerskirchen. I knew then that I had about an hour and a half to go to Cologne.

In Cologne I was going to be staying with Frida, a daughter of one of Helen's friends, and her partner, Niels. The GPS had details of where their apartment was, so I managed to plug in the emergency backup and this took me through the city streets right to their front door. By now it was about 7 o'clock, and there was a very pleasant, warm, summery feel to the streets of the city as I pedalled on through. It felt like a nice city to live in.

Frida and Niels made me feel very welcome. This was just as well, as I arrived looking a mess, the first symptoms of the summer's hayfever just hitting me as I arrived at their apartment. My eyes swelled up with an allergic reaction and I could barely see. Getting under a shower was a lifesaver.

To my surprise, even though I had cycled 83 miles I was still feeling energetic enough to agree to go out for a look around the city. We ate pizzas and then they showed me the magnificent cathedral, the bridges and the ceiling of the opera house. This was of interest because the opera house is underground, and after completion it was discovered that if people walk across the roof, which is in a public space, their footsteps can be heard in the auditorium. So when there is a performance a small group of people stand on guard on the ceiling, stopping people walking across the open space.

They were keen to take me to a brauhaus, and introduce me to the traditional Cologne way of drinking beer. Waiters walk around with trays of 0.2 l glasses of beer and slap them down in front of you. When you finish one glass, with impressive dexterity they replace your empty glass with a full one in a one handed sweep. If you do not put a beer mat over the glass, it never ends. Anyway, after three or four of these rather delicious, fresh-tasting glasses of beer we tottered out into the warm evening air and walked home.

I slept well. 251 miles down, pretty well a quarter of the way there. But I was not really prepared for what was to come in the next few days.

Day 2 - Across Holland

I love overnight ferry crossings, the throb of the engine, the sense of anticipation at arriving somewhere new and foreign. By 8 o'clock we were slowly moving in towards Europort on a cool, grey and misty morning. Fortunately, I no longer felt sick.

 The few bicycles on board disembarked first, by 9:30. Remembering to keep to the right, I set off through the eerie quiet of the Dutch morning, cycling along smooth, flat cycle paths through an industrial area of cranes, storage tanks, chemical works and boats of all shapes and sizes. As a Sunday morning it was completely quiet, and the place had that strange post-apocalyptic feel. The only people around were occasional joggers and cyclists: at one point a small group all wearing Rabobank strip rushed past me in a tight bunch, and I wondered if they were the professional team out for a training run. They certainly had the tanned, tough-jawed look of professional cyclists.

I pressed on across the flat islands. Everywhere was shut being a Sunday and I was a little concerned about where I would get today's carbohydrates from.

Ferry linking islands

 Eventually I came across a small village on a tiny hill surrounded by miles of flat farmland and sat outside a closed bar in the sunshine: somewhere along the street someone was practising playing their bugle. Many of the roads followed the tops of dikes, and the few metres of height and gave good views across the huge open spaces.

I started to notice some of the peculiarities of Dutch rural life: many houses had a small patch of land outside where they kept animals, sheep and goats mainly, but I did see one house that had four cows grazing happily in the front garden.

Before starting the journey I had used my GPS unit, a Satmap Active 10 and its website, to plot routes for each of my days. For these few days across Holland it had picked out wonderful cycle routes, which gave me the sense of travelling in a more or less straight line across the entire country. Cycle provision in Holland is, indeed, fantastic. Everywhere has dedicated cycle paths, whether it is a clearly-marked lane by the side of the road or a separate track running alongside. Where these tracks score over the largely useless cycle tracks in the UK is that they have right of way at junctions, so motorists always stop at turnings to allow cyclists to continue. As any cyclist knows, keeping your momentum is important, and having to constantly stop at side turnings makes most British cycle lanes a waste of time.

Roterdam - Eindhoven (from http://bikeroutetoaster.com)

As a British cyclist, I treat cycle lanes as somewhat optional, but in Holland they are compulsory. If you find yourself cycling on a road where there is a cycle lane, cars blow their horns and people shout. You also have to be careful about if there are lanes on both sides of a road (in which case they are one way) or on just one side (two way). Signs to indicate what they are, are of course in Dutch, but by the end of the first day I had just about worked it out.

People ride bicycles everywhere, and older people are often seen on new electric bicycles. At one point I saw an elderly gentleman pull out on a side turning some distance ahead of me, and he set off along the cycle path at well over 15 mph, so I found it difficult to catch him up. When I did I saw that he was riding one of these electric bicycles. I look forward to having one myself, in later years to extend my cycling activity!

In fact, the whole country seems to have been designed for people, rather than cars, to live in. Communities seem to have a well-thought out layout. Junctions are often raised with no rights of way, so that everyone has to slow down and look. In many places there is no distinction between pedestrian space and car space: the ambiguity makes drivers instinctively slow down. Entrances to decide roads are raised, and the roads themselves have different surfaces, so they feel like different spaces. All of this goes to make travelling through Holland a very pleasant experience.

The water helps as well, everywhere there are ponds, streams and rivers. In Tilburg I sat under a tree and looked at a small river that meandered through a housing estate: people sapped by the waterside fishing, chatting, enjoying themselves.

Just before Breda I saw two cyclists with panniers looking at a map, and as one of them was wearing a jacket saying "UK to Venice, me, 2012" they were clearly Brits. I stopped and chatted to Dave and Doug. They were cycling to Venice, where they were going to meet their wives and spend the Jubilee weekend. They had also set off from Rotterdam that morning and we all hoped to arrive at our destinations at about the same time. We cycled along together for several miles and it was good to have some company. At one point Doug and I moved to one side to let someone pass, and it turned out to be a low-profile, aerodynamically-shaped white tube that was shooting along the cycle path. Doug called out to Dave to move to the side and when he looked around to see what was happening he almost fell off his bike at the sight of this wheeled missile heading towards him. It vanished into the distance, and none of us could quite believe what we had just seen.

Wilhelmina Canal after thunderstorm

This was a long day. I was heading for a campsite just south of Eindhoven, and was held up for some time by thunderstorms. But thanks to the GPS I found my way through the city and to the campsite at Heeze. By this time it was 8:30 and I had to quickly pitch my tent and walk into town to find somewhere to eat. A kindly Italian restaurant agreed to serve me with pizza at 9:15.

I eventually collapsed into my tent at just after 11. 100 miles in the day and 168 done altogether.

Day 1, 19th May 2012 - So it begins

Apparently the Olympic flame started out from Land's End this morning.

It's a place for starting journeys: with the Atlantic waves crashing in below and ocean to the north, west and south there is really only one way to go. I remember the excitement when I signed the End to End book in the Land's End Hotel back in 2004 and set off east to find John O'Groats.

Leaving Southgrove Road did not have that drama. Although it was really good to be setting out right from the door I felt flat and unsure why I was doing it. But Helen, Lew and Matt gave me a good send-off and even the neighbours Jenny and Alistair came out into the cool, grey, damp morning.

Some people may find technical details of interest. My bicycle is a Van Nicolas Yukon, a Dutch-made titanium framed model, described by the makers as an audax or light tourer. I was running on 700 x 28mm tyres, which is really the narrowest you can ride on for carrying any sort of load. Long Eaton Cycles, where I had bought the bike originally, had swapped the original carbon forks for a steel pair, so that I could mount front panniers. The total weight of bicycle and gear was just under 30 kg. I worried that this was more than a light tour, and that the Fulcrum Racing 7 wheels were not really designed for this sort of weight.

The power unit was a 58-year-old Devonian four-chamber heart muscle, fuelled for most of its working life on a largely meat-free diet and lubricated by red wine and hand-pulled bitter, where possible.

Training for the ride had been limited and in my mind, inadequate. But I knew from previous experience that I could build up my fitness as the days went along. Well, it was a plan.

I headed up through Tinsley, remembering the years that I cycled out to the British Steel offices at Ickles. Onwards through Rotherham and Doncaster and on across the flatlands of north Lincolnshire. The cold notherly headwind made it a bit of a grind: in my imagination I had pictured myself rolling on through warm May sunshine. Not today.

The first day's route (from http://bikeroutetoaster.com)

Eventually I climbed over the little hill at Flixborough to be rewarded by the sight of the Humber Bridge, but then it was a cold slog into the wind along the muddy river.

 Crossing the bridge was exciting though: I have always loved suspension bridges and cycling or walking across them brings you into contact with the immense delicate strength of the cables and steel. Then in through Hull, trying to avoid the dual carriageway and find the docks.

Seeing the ferry was a great relief: 68 miles on my first day was exhausting. So I collapsed into my cabin, stayed a while under the hot shower then had a nap. Later I made my way up to the buffet restaurant to carbo-load on potatoes. To the point of feeling sick, so nauseous, exhausted and aching I slunk off to my cabin by 9:30.

Time to get on my bike

So tomorrow, Saturday, at about 10 o'clock I shall swing my leg over my rear panniers and set off down the gentle slope of my road to head off for Hull and the overnight ferry to Rotterdam.



Find more  in Sheffield

The first day's journey will take me through the delights of Rotherham, Doncaster and Scunthorpe, but at least there will only be showers and not the heavy rain that has followed my (admittedly) limited training programme. The highlight will be crossing the mighty Humber suspension bridge before gliding into Hull docks and pedalling onto the P&O ferry.

I shall then have the delight of an overnight crossing to reflect on the wisdom of what I have started. But I have told too many people now to back out, so perhaps I shall just sneak onto a train and then hide in Budapest for 10 days…

No, seriously, could I live with myself? (A moment's pause).

I have lined up meeting friends in Cologne, Marburg and Vienna, which will keep me going, and I reflect that once I hit the Danube it will all be flat and downhill. Perhaps a reflection on life itself.

Anyway, the hours on the bicycle will give me plenty of time for cod philosophy, and with luck I will be able to remember some of it so that I can upload it to my blog at the end of each day. So if you would like to share my pain, login from time to time over the next few weeks.

Why do it?

With just over a week left before I set off on the bicycle ride, the reality starts to become more and more daunting.

For many months I have just thought about the concept of riding a bicycle 1200 miles, and reflected on the joys of pedalling through sun-kissed countryside, gliding down gentle hillsides, having amusing conversations with bemused Dutch, German, Austrian and Hungarian people.

However, I can now start to imagine the reality of aching legs, exhaustion, bonking (technical cycling term for running out of glucose and therefore energy), punctures, falling off, traffic, getting lost, and so on.

So why do it, one of my colleagues asked me? Well, it is good to do it for a cause that I think important, and that whatever money I raise will go to help people who are less fortunate than me. There is also the sheer joy of cycling, of pedalling onwards, using no expensive fuel and just hearing the swish of rubber on the road.

But after a few weeks at home meeting and talking to old friends I realise that I just want to be able to celebrate the great fortune of my own health. At 58 years of age more and more people I have shared the world with are starting to suffer; various cancers, arthritis and tragic accidents. I feel very lucky to have escaped so far, and to be able to contemplate two weeks of heavy duty cycling.

We can take health for granted, but as time goes by it becomes more and more precious.

Stuck inside of Sheffield with the Buda blues again

This is the first Budapest Blog written from outside Budapest, but with Budapest very much in mind.

Before the pain begins ...

I am actually back in the UK, working temporarily here for personal reasons. However, in just over two weeks I will be jumping on a bicycle and cycling back to that beautiful city on the Danube.

There are a few reasons for doing this. One is that I enjoy the Zen-like process of cycling onwards and onwards day after day, just focusing on keeping the pedals turning and enjoying the countryside passing by. Another is the sense of achievement at getting it done, which becomes more and more significant as birthdays keep coming.

And a third is to try to raise some money for UNHCR's Syria appeal. This is a cause close to my heart as Helen and I spent some weeks in Syria late in 2010, and were very touched by the warmth and hospitality of everyone we met there. Seeing the human tragedy of what is happening in that country at the moment is distressing, and so I decided to try to do something to raise some money to support an organisation that is providing relief to people seeking safety.

If you would like to donate to this cause, please go to the Ammado community "Cycling for Syrian refugees". Or scan my QR code:

I shall try to update the blog as I travel along the road. I have invested in a solar charger for my mobile phone as apparently, in continental Europe the sun shines.

Watch this space.