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.

Winter comes at last

Winter in Central Europe normally starts in November, with the temperature suddenly plunging to below zero. But this winter nothing really happened: the temperature dropped to a feud degrees above zero and stayed there, almost English.

On 21 January I left Budapest to join Helen for a two-week holiday in Thailand, where we sat around in 30° heat, avoiding the sun and letting our sweaty clothes dry. Then one day, to my horror, I discovered the weather report for Budapest said that the temperature had dropped to -16°, and we were going to be returning to these conditions within a few days.

I hoped that spring might suddenly arrive while we were flying over the Indian Ocean, but nothing like that happened and we arrived back to "Siberian conditions", as the BBC reported.

 So while a few days ago I was looking at palm trees waving in the breeze I am now looking at ice floating down the Danube and getting used to wearing multiple layers of clothing every time I leave the apartment. The weather forecast does not look promising: Spring still seems to be a long way away...

The rhythm of life

As I move ever closer to the prime of my life I find myself thinking about annual cycles and their markers more and more. Perhaps because each year there are more and more...

My latest reflection came as I walked back up the delightful Pozsonyi utca early one afternoon, thinking about the chilly January wind blowing over my shaved head. This particular reflection had been triggered by my latest session with Anna, my fodraszat, or hairdresser.

When I arrived in January 2010 I looked around for a `barber's`, but all I could find were women's hairdressing salons. Not wishing to make some western European metrosexual faux pas I asked my colleague Balint if he could suggest somewhere I could go. He recommended a place on Hollan Erno utca, and made me an appointment. So one winter lunchtime I duly walked down the ice-covered pavements in the sub-zero temperatures to organise my first Hungarian haircut.

I nervously walked into the salon clutching my Lonely Planet phrasebook and mumbled "hajvagas". Anna pointed to the chair and I sat down so that we could discuss style. Back in the UK I had a No. 1 all over, but this meant nothing to her, as she spoke no English. So we experimented with a succession of ever shorter passes until we got to a length that felt right - harom milimetres, three mm.

Ever since that day, every three or four weeks I go back to the same place, smile, say "Jo napot", sit down and get my 3mm cut. So we now have a relationship, and one that grows a little each time as my Hungarian vocabulary increases.

So as I walked up Pozsonyi utca the other day I smiled to myself about our conversation that day, which had.covered the date of my last visit, where we had each spent Christmas, our presents, her favourite perfume, my wife's favourite perfume, the price of a bottle of that, and which ended.with my final, pithy male observation that "Minden nok draga", all women are expensive, an observation whose enunciation in terrible Hungarian caused great amusement around the salon.

Learning Hungarian has been a long haul, and I can still only manage absolute basics, but it is worth it for moments like that, when I can make some unexpexted connection with another human being.

Moving home (again)

In the middle of January we moved home again, to our third and probably final resting place in Budapest.

The move was prompted by Helen's return to the UK in April, and the consequent desire to find somewhere cheaper. We had really enjoyed living overlooking Szabadsag ter for 18 months, watching the tourist groups, the dog walkers, the pairs of policemen endlessly walking round and round the Soviet war memorial, and, of course, monitoring the growing fortifications around the US Embassy.

So I spent some time in November looking at potential new apartments and reconciling myself to living somewhere smaller, darker and less convenient, although I was keen to move further from the office so that I could cycle more and get to know a different part of the city.

But I didn't find anywhere I liked until I suddenly started looking in Ujlipotvaros, the lower end of the XIII District, and immediately found a fantastic place overlooking the river and at half the rent.

So the deal was done and one cold day in mid-Jan I helped three likely lads move all our belongings the 2 km up the road. It took three trips and 8 hours, the long time being largely due to the difficulty  of betting stuff out of the old apartment, as the Embassy’s ring of steel meant that they could not get their  an near the front door. I had then to stay outside and watch the van while they moved stuff, and of course it chose that day to snow for the first time. So it was a rather chilly experience.

By 5 I was in the new apartment, surrounded by boxes. Home-making had to start again.