From Delhi to Dublin: All systems go

Stage 26: Paris to London (512km)

Day 1: 145.8km Verneuil
Day 2: 115.1km Bynd Lyons de Foret
Day 3: 119.5km Noyelle sur Mer
Day 4: 131.9km Near Folkestone (England)

"Hhhhmmmm", I thought to myself, "Alasdair seems to have a bit of a buckle in his back wheel. It looks worse than yesterday."

"Hey Alasdair, it looks like you have a buckle in your back wheel. It looks worse than yesterday. Stop a while and lets have a look at it."

Alasdair stops, we look at the back wheel. "Shit man, it's rubbing off your brakes, must have made cycling pretty difficult! We'll try fix it". Out came the spoke tightner. "Oh! You've got a broken spoke. If only we'd actually gone out and bought some spokes after we'd spoken about buying them in Paris, we could have fixed it up here and now. But not to worry, it's not that big a dilly of a pickle. We'll straighten the wheel a bit and pick up some spokes at the next bike shop we pass. Most large towns here seem to have them. It'll be sorted."

We didn't pass another bike shop, but cycled round Calais and managed to pick one up before crossing into England. It was all sorted.

Unfortunately, that conversation and those events never occured. Instead, it went something like this...

"Hhhhmmmm", I thought to myself, "Alasdair seems to have a bit of a buckle in his back wheel. It looks worse than yesterday...I should probably say something...But we're making good time...The wind is behind us...and the weather is awful. I don't really want to break the rhythm...and if we stop, the wind may turn. May as well make hay whilst the sun shines and get to Calais, it's only another 50km or so. We can sort it out on the boat".

I overtook Alasdair so I no longer had to watch his rear wheel wobbling in front of me.

On the boat...

"Hey Alasdair, I think you have a bit of a buckle in your back wheel. Let's have a look at it...oh shit, you have a broken spoke. We'll straighten it out when we get off the boat".

While looking at the broken wheel off the boat...

"You see, here's the spoke that's broken, but don't worry, I cycled 80km with a broken rim in Slovenia, it'll be ok for a few more kilometres. Hang on a second...wasn't the broken spoke you had on the boat the one with the reflector on it? Oh...you have 2 broken spokes...wait...no...you have 3 broken spokes. Ok, let's see what we can do. I think we can straighten out the worst of the buckle, hang on a second...(I get the spoke tightener out of my bag). Ping! Ok...right...em...you now have 4 broken spokes! Shit! Ok...right...em...what can we do?"

We stood there assessing our possibilities.

"Right. So it's saturday? What time is it? 8pm. That's French time? ...that makes 7pm British time. Any bicycle shops open in Dover at 7pm on Saturday? Probably not...

"Ok, what if we wait a day. What day is it tomorrow? Sunday? Any bicycle shops open in Dover on a Sunday? Probably not...

"Hhhhmmmmm"

And so, myself and Alasdair parted ways next to the National Express bus stop 0.8km into Britain. He caught a bus to London.

It had been good cycling with Alasdair. Cycling with another person had lifted my spirits by quite a way. The days had passed quicker and I didn't notice the hunger and tiredness quite as much as I had on the stretch from Switzerland to Paris.

Full credit should go to "the man". His fitness coupled with an absolute stubborness to appear even fatter than me had enabled us to get an average daily kilometerage of 125km over the 4 days we cycled together. That is a lot, quite a lot; particularly for someone who hadn't cycled more than 50km before joining me!

Our first day out of Paris had been a long day. 146km is an incredibly distance to do on one's first day ever cycling with panniers. Taking us 9hr 05min, it also meant that Alasdair's first day was the longest day I've spent in the saddle thus far this trip. Previous to this, 8hrs 58min had been the undisputed record holder. We arrived into Verneuill at 10 minutes past 10, about half an hour or more after sun down. I don't think we could have gone on much longer!

But we had a rest day spent with my aunt, uncle and cousin where we got cleaned up and pampered with good food and good wine. It is a pity we couldn't stay longer, but with a new deadline to be back home by the 17th of August, I felt we had to push on.

And push on we did. A case of tunnel vision brought on by the realisation that I was very nearly at the end of mainland Europe kept the revolutions high as we pedalled north from Verneuil across the rolling hills of Normandy and beyond. The roads were generally quiet and the wind gods were favourable as we strove to reach Calais in 3 days.

Reach it we did, though the weather turned nasty on the final afternoon. But my destruction of well loved songs continued unabated and we soon found ourselves on the ferry surrounded by English accents. It felt strange...very strange.

Following our bus-stop farewell where Alasdair had held up a white hankerchief and let the tears fall unashamadely down his chubby, rosy cheeks, I cycled off into the (nearly) setting sun to find a campsite next to a concrete listening post atop the cliffs between Dover and Folkestone.

I awoke at 04.50 UK time (I was still able to work off French time, so it wasn't as bad as it may first appear) to start my approach into London. Images of flat plains directly into London were quickly dispelled as I huffed and puffed my way up and down the hills in Kent.

Plans to attend Climate Camp in Kingsnorth (http://www.climatecamp.org.uk/home) had been shelved after our rapid approach to Calais. I had hoped to stay for one night, but the desire to get home prevailed and I found myself cycling passed where it was due to be held at about 7am on the morning of the 3rd. For hours, I was in turmoil. Do I stay or do I go? But unfortunately, like the actions of the masses when it comes to climate, I gave in to convenience. It was more convenient for me to cycle directly into London, then to wait an extra day; just as it is more convenient to take the car than to walk or cycle.

So London I have reached. Well, Croydon at least. The next stop is Leicester, and in doing I should pass through Oxford for a night on the way up.