ARR ME HEARTIES!

ARR me Leggies!  ARR me Lungies!  ARR me Testies!  Arrrgghhh!  Shiver me timbers!

We're in Penzance after the final days ride to Lands End yesterday.  A couple of sore pirates are we.  We both used the same lavatory.  La de da dum tra la.. all together now!  Pirates of Penzance!  You know the song??

Oh woe is me.  This ride from John O Groats down to Lands End has been hard work.  

Did you not remember Wayne just how fecking tough it felt back in 2018?  Well, yes I did.  I remembered the days, especially the early days in Cornwall even after the short rides.  Of legs positively on fire and bubbling in baths of cold water!  And, whilst laid on the bed with my weepy eyes hidden under a pillow, of Kathryn stealthily applying fecking deep heat to my sore bits.  Aaarrrggghh!  It took the fire brigade over half an hour to remove my fingers from the holes and so break me free from the bedroom ceiling.  Ohhhh!

Nonetheless that's it. All done.  The Garmin crap nav, which for sure is also on its last legs having occasionally died too, is under reporting 967 miles ridden, 96 cycling hours taken and 90,000 kcals used.  Nine, nine, nine.  Very very appropriate.

The first two days were horrid.  Like an idiot I'd changed my seat post a day before setting off.  My position on the bike was so messed up that my knees were over tensioned and ooh the pain!  Like having hot pokers stuffed under my kneecaps.  I know for sure ma boy and our lass had been doing some decorating going by the sandpapery feel from time to time but wow!  Who the hell gave then both a bloody blowtorch?  Arrgh!

There were hot sweaty days where Balloon Dog turned into porridge going by the feel of him.  Others where thankfully ma boys had given up heaving a medicine ball to each other chuckle brothers style.  Instead they just played with my partially inflated balloon dog, squeezing him between their fingers watching his googly eyes pop out.  You remember? As we all did at Christmas with a partially inflated balloon; watching the bulge of rubber emerge between ones fingers.  For sure that's what it felt like this time.  Oooohhhh!

Poor old Brad the Lad.  New bike.  New saddle.  No training.  Well very little prep.  Well done him!  The tears in his eyes as he carefully placed a shiny set of sore testicles and his throbbin John Boy on the seat at dinner just before sitting on them was so sad to see.  Only able to eat soft foods through a straw so bad was his riding with uncle Wayne car crash of an adventure.  I watched carefully every morning how he ever so slowly placed his wedding tackle on the bike saddle with beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.  I recall how he cried mummy during the night looking for the feel of a soft cool emollient to be rubbed into his nether regions.  And how, like his uncle Wayne he would walk like a dalek to breakfast each day.  

Here we were at the end of every day, unable to walk, ravenous and desparate for food.  Willing to eat anything!  Even curry!

Nonetheless he somehow got good energy from his liquidised food and with sufficient pain killers down his throat he somehow continued to ride the next day, and the next, and the next.  And still beat me to the top of every fecking hill!  Good Boy!

Yes I did learn from the first one.  Not only that its gonna hurt most days.  A soreness at some time in just about every part of your body.  Hands and feet are positively numb with the pressure.  Thigh muscles burning with lactic acid on every steep climb.  Elbows and shoulders / neck sore cos of the constant pressure on the bars.  For sure you have to be some kind of masochistic / sadist contortionist to do such rides.  Have I painted a sufficiently negative picture for you?  

OK then.  So why? 

Its easy to forget how time is flying by.  For sure there's not many years left before such impossible dreams really do become impossible.  I do not have a bucket list.  Just get on with the things I want to do in life and let the list makers do their own thing.  I don't ever want to get to the end of a list cos I fear it would truly be the end..  But no, that's not it.  

There's something special doing such long journeys.  I could chat all day about the positive effects it has on the body.  Physically, I'm due a Type 2 diabetes review and suspect I'm gonna get some good feedback :-).  My skin is good and the lack of going to the toilet every night tells me so too.  Muscles feel stronger and bigger.  Have a golden suntan in all of the right places.  And so on...

But for me it is the mental wellbeing of it.  There's the huge amount of time allocated to sorting out the crap as I ride.  Decompressing.  Mixed with the monumental highs laughing my tits off, to the deep lows crying my eyes out thinking about things that are most important to me.  The lovely time spent with my face raised towards the late afternoon sun.  The fizzy high speed wind in my watery eyes.  The cold rain and the freezing wind effect of harsh downhills on a wet sweaty body.  The smells and sounds of fauna and flora.  Sharing the journey with family and friends and strangers.  Boy!  Is this not one of the best ways ever to FEEL ALIVE!

With careful planning and limiting the daily rides to between 50 and 60 miles and 2000 Google ft of ascent or so, then anyone with a bit of fitness could do this.  For sure a 59 year old 20 stone bloke has done it twice now.  If I have done it then so could you...

Remember the importance though to have one day off per week.  To eat well.  To rest well.  For sure I continue to be amazed at the strength of my almost 60 year old body.  For sure I don't feel my age.  Yes the hills in Devon and Cornwall were hard.  Very hard.  Spiky nasty baby Garrowby types that for 90% of the time have you raking your lungs out then 10% of mad free wheeling at high speeds with the cool airs ripping the shirt from my back.  

One question was about comparing 2018 with 2022.  For sure I have many cycling miles logged and under my belt in the years between.  Not a surprise then to say that this one felt easier.  The Scottish hills are big and long and so a better training ground for your legs.  This time of the year the weather in Scotland is normally the best and for sure it was.  Predominantly a wind from the north / north east meant a tail wind most days.  And the legs were best prepared after 700 miles of riding for the gnarly stuff in Devon at the end.

Here's a photo of me and Brad at the end of the ride.  

Unlike John O Groats in 2018 where I arrived alone cos of its remoteness it was great to have Brad finish with me at the end.  Great moments and memories forged this time.  I have gigatons of video to play with so some better crafted video summary of the ride will follow in due course.

The time is now to be kind to oneself.  To have a wee rest.  And let my testicles recover :-)  Thanks to my family [Brad the Lad] and friends [London Alan, South Side Mark and David the Gentle Giant]  for joining this fat man on one of his adventures.  You made it so special...

And finally, thank you very much for reading / following folks.  I truly hope you enjoyed it as much as I did :-)

Ciao for now