Marie Curie Coast to Coast - In the Night Garden meets Man vs Food

It's fair to say I probably underestimated how hard this weekend's coast to coast would be. Apart from the beginner's routes at Dalby and Hamsterley Forests where I usually get overtaken by little kids with stabilisers, and a bit of riding up and down kerbs occasionally, I don't really do off road.  Technical riding is not a concept I'm even remotely familiar with.

Roads?  Where we're going, we don't need roads!

Part of this underestimation led me to think it would be no biggy to cycle 52 miles to Helmsley with luggage the day before the ride in order to catch the bus to Grange over Sands.  Some of this decision was undoubtedly due to my aversion / borderline phobia of getting on trains with my bike.  I can't stand all the staring competitions and jockeying for position on the platform.

Even I should be able to find Helmsley from here....

I set off for Helmsley at 8 am on Thursday.  I stopped at halfway at Beningborough Hall for a big bowl of porridge, but even taking my time I was in Helmsley by around 2.30.  I was way too early and I was having that first day of school feeling.  For a while I thought I might just cycle home again.

Something tells me that pannier is going to be well within the 20kg  baggage allowance

Eventually people starting arriving and as I watched them unloading mountain bikes from car racks and out of the boots of cars, I thought, this is probably my lot.  Predominantly the riders seemed to be very athletic looking women with virtually no body fat.  Holy shit, I thought, these guys don't look like the kind of part time pot bellied middle aged joke riders I'm used to riding with, they look like proper athletes.  Not only do I not know anyone, I'm going to get killed.

Whose idea was this again?

No-one else was in cycling kit but me, since no-one else is nuts enough to prepare for a cycling challenge by doing unnecessary miles the day before.  When someone asked me about it, I said I'd cycled to the start.  No you haven't, you've cycled to the bus, they said, the start is in Grange over Sands.  Technically correct I suppose, The next person I spoke to was Sarah, who had just cycled John o'Groats to Land's End in 9 days.  Bloody hell, these guys are good.

On the bus I mostly spoke to Cheryl and Susan, telling the latter about previous Coast to Coast efforts I'd done since 2006, probably trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Sea View 2 England 1

The bus seemed to take ages, and we didn't get to Grange until around 8.20.  I thought about going out for something to eat, but England vs Uruguay was on TV so I just had a dry brunch bar I'd bought which seemed to absorb all the moisture out of my body, and a coffee.  I wasn't even disappointed about the lack of food.  I was just glad to have a sea view, and a telly and a bed.  And to get those bloody lycra shorts off that I'd had on for over 12 hours.  England lost.  I wasn't bothered about that either.  I'm used used to it now.  It hurts less now each time.

Robin Van Persie's header - possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen (on a football field)

The next morning, after a breakfast of fruit salad and yoghurt, laid on early by the B&B, I went down to registration around 7.15.  One of the best decisions I made all weekend was to decline the use of a yellow day bag.  I decided to carry my own stuff in the giant seat pack I'd brought.  Just as well since the day bags seemed to spend the weekend going on a completely different trip to the riders.  I think they were having a holiday of their own.  It seemed a bit cruel of the organisers to get people to think of the stuff they might need throughout the day, and then use those essentials for a giant game of yellow hide and seek (only joking organisers!).

Milling around at the start - Would you like a day bag with that?  Er, no thanks...

I got chatting to Paul the French translator at the start, and then I introduced myself to another first timer Rebecca.  Not long after that Reggie and Wayne turned up  (I tried to write a description of them in this part, but I gave up because it's impossible to describe them with words only, you really need the sound and pictures too).  I had the great idea of trying to get my picture taken with them, to make myself look cooler by association.  I'm not sure it worked.  I probably just looked tiny instead.  I don't even have biceps.

Reggie and Wayne - So fast they can bend the very fabric of space and time

Something I found out by accident.  If you don't know anyone, wear an interesting cycling jersey, one that gets you noticed.  Good thing I chose Green Eggs and Ham.  It helped to break the ice.

Green Eggs and Ham - pretty much the only food group I didn't eat this weekend

Something else I was about to learn.  If you're going on a trip with 60 strangers, who happen to be cyclists, it's like getting to know double that number.  Because everyone looks completely different in the evening, minus lycra, crash hat etc.  At first you think it's an amazing coincidence how many people have similar life stories, but then you realise it's because you've had the same story twice off about 50 people, once with and once without lycra.

Hanging out with strangers gets a bad press at times, particularly when you're a child and you're told to avoid men who want to buy you sweets and show you puppies, but as an adult it can really work out well.  You just need to find the right group.  Over the 3 days I found that a Marie Curie Coast to Coast is a good starting point.

Hanging out with strangers - Statistically safer than hanging out with people you know

At the briefing at the start we were told basically to eat and drink loads.  We weren't so much supposed to eat as to subject ourselves to violation by food.  It was like Man vs Food on tour.  I've had so much sugar in 3 days the whole structure of my face has started to collapse.  By the last night, I couldn't even chew.  I've lost the top layer of skin off tongue and mouth.  One positive from this, is that my mouth being sore, took my mind off the outer bruises I was about to get.

Tracy, Sue and Sarah - compared to these girls I ride like something the cat dragged in

Part of the attraction of the ride was the lack of responsibility, and also that all the meals were provided.  Other rides I've done but not been able to enjoy or relax into because of the responsibility of leading, or because they've been so bloody long that I didn't feel able to relax about the distance to be covered.

Here's me looking miserable - about to ride Coast to Coast in 2012 with shoes full of water

Last time I rode through beautiful Barbondale was in 2012 on my way to Redcar.  I was about 15 miles into a 108 mile ride, my shoes were full of water from the day before and all I could think about was how far we had left to go.

At the side of Reggie's, my bike looks like a clown bike....And that's pretty much how I ride it

This time going through Barbondale I fell into a small group led by Mick with amongst others Wayne, Reggie and Rebecca for company.  One of the drawbacks of solo riding is that when the going is hard, there's nothing or no-one to distract you from your own thoughts.  There's no danger of that with Reggie and Wayne.  I've no idea what they are going on about half the time, but I'd be happy to listen to them reading out of the phone book.

Wayne and Reggie with Lorna the Marie Curie Nurse - the real star of the show

You know those supposedly soothing whale song cds they sell for about 15 quid in new age shops, which are not in the least relaxing because all you can think about is why you've spent 15 quid on this recording of absolute bollocks, well they should record Wayne and Reggie talking about stuff like why they've just eaten a Mars bar that they didn't really want, and whether they want any crisps or not.  I'd buy them.  Put that together with Rebecca's infectious laughter and those are just the kind of soothing sounds that you need around you when you're about to have a near death experience, wondering whether the pain in your chest is a pulled muscle from trying to fight to stay on the bike, or if your family history of heart disease is about to come back to bite you in a more permanent way.

Barbondale - I had time to enjoy it this time

After lunch on Day 1, and before we got to Dent Fell, we rode through the village of Dent.  I thought there must be some sort of school sports day going on, because as we rode over the cobbles into the village I could hear the sound of school children cheering.  One of the best parts of the whole weekend was discovering as we passed the school that they were actually cheering us.  If there's one thing that can make you smile and feel good about yourself, it's being cheered by schoolchildren.  What a lovely surprise!

If this doesn't make you feel like a hero, nothing will

It's just as well I had received this boost to my morale, because as Wayne had promised at the lunch stop, the whole thing was about to get a lot harder.  Let's get this straight.  Off Road to me means cycle path.  The only stunt I do regularly is riding up and down the kerb.  To me that's pretty exciting stuff.  So I started to worry slightly when the ride leaders start using words like 'quite technical' and 'a bit dangerous' and throwing in things like 'last year there was a horror smash at these traffic lights' Ride leaders always play stuff down so if they're telling you there's actual danger then you know it's time to start paying attention.

Karl, Sophie, Shaun, Vicky, Tim, Mick, Gill and Peter - with guides this good you can't really go wrong

People had been talking about Dent Fell as if it was a mythical beast.  I assumed they were exaggerating for effect.  I've been up Dent Head via the road, and although it's long and steep in places it's easy enough with low gears and a bit of stamina.  I was about to discover the off road route is something else entirely.  The start of the off road section is so vertical and rocky-looking it's easy to give up before you start.

If you're going to be slumped over your handlebars, gasping for air, the least you can do is appreciate the view

The mile or so going up Dent Fell is probably the most I've ever exerted myself on a bike in such a short space of time.  I kept losing my rear wheel on the loose surface and having to jump off, ending up slumped over the handlebars gasping for breath.  This does not happen to me on normal hills.  On tarmac I can pretty much get up anything in a low enough gear.  Eventually, on the Moonscape of Dent Fell I just ran out of energy.  I managed to get a dose of purple sludge off Mick the guide to keep me going.  I felt a bit dumb for not following the advice to eat myself silly.

Just having a pause, and waiting for the purple sludge to kick in

It seemed to take forever to reach the top, and when we did we stopped briefly to regroup.  Because Dent Fell is such slow going we'd been split into small groups prior to the ascent.  We were then sent off at intervals, in the hope of avoiding a mass pile up of bikes part way up.  The sub group I was in was led by Mick.  I'd never met any of the rest of the group until the morning of the ride, but it doesn't take long to grow together.

Mick, Wayne, Rebecca, Reggie, Andrew, Sue, Alistair (oh and me).  

Maybe it's because you're physically vulnerable, out there in the fresh air with nothing to separate you from the earth and the sky, maybe it's because you're suffering at times, maybe it's because you all look ridiculous in lycra, maybe it's a siege mentality against the hill, I don't know what it is, but the bonds formed on these kinds of trips stay with you.  I've felt it before when riding with friends, but it was a new experience to feel this way with strangers.

Here's me bonding with people I already know

If I thought that reaching the top of Dent Fell was the hard part, then I hadn't counted on what it would be like to go down the other side.  For me going down meant literally that, as in that was the part of the ride where I started falling off.

Mick the Guide - always on hand with practical advice, like 'point the bike where you want it to go', ie not down a rabbit hole

For a while now, for reasons too dull to go into, I've been feeling a lot like Bruce Willis in the Sixth Sense, a ghost, a dead man inhabiting his own life.  If there's anything that can remind you that you're still alive, it's riding down a hill where's there's no obvious path, and where your front wheel keeps going down invisible holes.  I fell off 3 times in about a hundred yards.  But a bit like watching England's defending at the World Cup, I started to relax into it and see the funny side.   I even started to enjoy the sensation of falling.  It was only grass it didn't hurt.  especially the temporary relief of a lie down.

If I needed any inspiration or encouragement to keep going, I just had to look around.  I met a little lady called Chris, with an Orange bike and orange helmet, who'd had quite a bad crash recently, and compared to me she was absolutely flying.  Cycling is a timeless thing, she said, which took her back to the freedom she felt riding a bike as a child.  It's almost like magic.  Whatever is going on in your life in the background, when you're on the bike, you seem to exist outside of your own life, and the limitations of time and age and circumstance.

Here's some people who've transcended Time and Space taking some photographs - there's Chris in the Orange Hat

The smallest rider of all was Lynne, but she was getting well stuck in too, so I thought, bloody hell, if these tiny women are absolutely ruling these bumpy surfaces, while I'm riding round as if my bike is made of bone china, I need to man up.

Lynne - Can you spot her?

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot there was also 78 year old Mike doing it on his little skinny tyred hybrid.  He was making us all look bad.  Especially when he was riding through foot deep puddles and crashing into hedges while I was tiptoeing through the squelch trying not to get my feet wet.

Here's Mike - making it all look easy

The first day was around 45 miles long, but to me it felt as hard as doing around double that on the road.

The first night's accommodation was at the Green Dragon in Hardraw.  Probably the thing I was most nervous about the trip was room sharing.  I got allocated a room with Steve and Ali.  As much as anything, I was worried about my own potential for snoring.  Also, it can be slightly unnerving to have a semi naked man you've just met, wander past about a foot from your head on his way to the toilet at 4 in the morning.

I probably wouldn't have noticed that kind of thing, if I hadn't been awake from 3 am.  Whether it was a time lag energy drink pile up, or just because I daren't go back to sleep in case I snored I don't know.  For ages around 4 am after both Steve and Ali had been for a toilet stop there was a lot of rustling which seemed to go on for ever, like someone taking an age to open a single boiled sweet.  It's hardly the midnight snack of champions I thought.  It turned out Steve was trying to open a packet of ear plugs.

I was very aware of not making any noise myself, but when I tried to find my I-pod to listen to some music for a while, in the dark fumbling around all I could find was the packet of Cheese and Onion crisps I'd picked up at lunch that I didn't really want.  The rustling was deafening.  I carried those crisps around for 3 days.  I only ate them after I got home.  Although by then with all the falls they were less like crisps and more like crumbs.

Day 2 - Bring the noise!

Day 2 started with some off road, and I had an early fall.  This one hurt more than the 3 the day before because this time I fell on the rocks.  Matter is supposed to be full of empty space, and allegedly all the matter in the known universe could be compressed down to the size of an infinitely dense pea.  It doesn't bloody feel like you're hitting empty space when you fall on a rock.  At the point where I fell off the surface was really loose and what I really needed to do was get off and walk, but I was about to overtake Rebecca, so I thought I'd keep going.  It was the middle aged equivalent of that teenager thing of riding your bike past a girl's house hoping she's looking out of the window and just as she is, you  ride into a lamp-post.  In both cases a voluntary dismount is probably the sensible option.

Inappropriate uses of a Polka Dot Jersey - Part 4

I'd decided to wear my Polka dot jersey on Day 2.  As well as getting me noticed, and sparking up a few conversations I did get a bit of abuse too.  Not only from Lizzie telling me I looked like a jockey I also got quite a lot of abuse from random passers by.  Mostly Yorkshire's resident senior citizens.  Telling me I was wearing it inappropriately, considering I was in the social group and nowhere near the front on the climbs.  I doubt any of them had ridden up Dent Fell the day before, but I had to admire their knowledge of the significance of the jersey.  By now I was really starting to get into the off road part of the ride, and if any road cyclists went passed us with their teeny tiny tyres and their rubbish rim brakes and their lack of rolling resistance I started thinking 'Look at those losers, they're not even trying'.

The multi-talented Beth.  Cowbell ringer, stunt camerawoman, accommodation arranger and general all round superstar

Although I've done a lot of cycling since 2005, it's always good to experience new stuff. One of the new features on this ride was the cowbells.  In fact, noise pollution seemed to be a constant feature of the ride, if we're coming through a village near you, you're going to know about it.  Also, something I've never had before on rides is a Team Dog, Lizzie and Helen's dog Tilly.

All good teams need a mascot

A lot of my previous rides have featured a token priest, or even on one occasion a token Bishop of Whitby.  On this one we had a token popstar (although his manager / agent Liz tells me he's technically a singer, not a popstar).  Alistair Griffin.  Mariah Carey he is not.  I bet she'd be a nightmare to ride with.  Alistair doesn't have an entourage (although if he ever gets one, I want to be in it).  He appears to get dressed in the dark, just wearing the first 5 items he can find on top of his drawer.   But he's like the opposite of the guys who turn up to Sportives in full Team Sky gear and then fall off on the first hill.  Instead of all the gear no idea, he's none of the gear, but he can really ride.  Although he lacks serious body fat for the flat and for the descents, he's awesome on hills.

Alistair Griffin - the nicest pop star I know (and also the only one)

For some reason Alistair kept videoing me with his Ipad during the trip.  At one point he did a full body sweep of me starting with my one sunburnt leg.  Hopefully he's going to use the footage towards a promotional video for the event, not for his own personal home use.

The lunch stop on Day 2 was at Thornton Watlass where the wonderful sunny weather and the village fete feel of the place summed up everything that's wonderful about being English and living in England.

Could staring at somebody else's cake and really wanting it be considered poor social etiquette? 

We were met there by Lorna the Marie Curie Nurse, who gave us a short talk about how valuable the fund raising part of the ride is, and she gave out some long service awards to people who've done the ride many times before.  Lorna wasn't only the star of the show for the work she does, but she also makes the most amazing cakes.  I only wish I could have eaten more of them.

Su Latham - Top cyclist and fashionista - I used to stand next to her to make myself look better by association

We finished day 2 with a crazy bit of A684 between Brompton and Osmotherley.  In Brompton we were offered hi vis jackets to wear if we wanted them.  To make myself visible from space I put on a hi vis jacket that was about 9 sizes too big.  I tried to ride this section with Susan in case she was nervous in the traffic but she kept leaving me for dead.  She seemed to be powered by jetpack, especially on the descents, whereas I was being slowed down as if I was wearing a hang glider.  Anyway, we made it without any mishaps.

Ali and Lynne - Are you sure we're in Osmotherley?  For a minute there I thought I was on the Champs Elysees

The evening of Day 2 in Osmotherley, had a French theme.  French night got an early start for me, in that the one French person on the trip, Catherine, had been sent to the youth hostel instead of me, and solving the complete room randomisation that followed was like trying to solve Fermat's Last Theorem

Here's Sophie with the rest of her girl band (and Mike)

I tried to help Sophie and Tim out with sorting out the kinks but in the end I just decided to sit on the step and wait.  Steve brought me a cup of tea, and I remember feeling very peaceful and relaxed, and as if nothing really matters.  By failing to try and exercise any control over my own circumstances I ended up with a room to myself.  Sometimes it pays just to go with the flow, and be completely passive and accept your fate.

Speaking of flow, particularly as regards water, some of it would have been useful in the one and only toilet in the hostel annexe we were staying.  The main drawback of getting the room to myself was that it was next to the toilet, so I had to listen to one cyclist after another try in vain to flush away their business.  On the plus side, the hostel had both a TV, and a kettle, so cups of tea were available.

Steve - he makes a lovely cup of tea

The French night itself in Osmotherley Village Hall was another example how much effort people had put in, except for me who had made no effort whatsoever.  Steve had brought a box of moustaches but one of them seemed to have been modelled on Hitler / Charlie Chaplin.  Chris decided to wear this.

Admittedly it's one of his lesser crimes, but Hitler has ruined the wearing of that little mini moustache for everyone.  Chris managed to look quite menacing and authoritarian.  Just as well it wasn't a Prison Guard themed night, it could have got messy.

The French night - Lots of effort from other people except me

Because I wanted to try the transformative effect of fancy dress for myself, I did borrow Steve's beret for a while, and I have to say, it did make me feel both more relaxed and more French at the same time.

Day 3 started for me with a completely unnecessary Full English, then after only 3 miles I stuffed in a Mars bar, to see if the sugar could get to my legs faster than the fat and salt.  Not sure if it worked, or it the legs just warmed up of their own accord.

Osmotherley - non-flushing toilets and unnecessary full Englishes

Day 3 seemed very stop start.  The lunch stop was a bit early (11.20) in Helmsley, but there was some hanging around because the fast group had been sent on an extra loop for a bit more challenge, and it took a while to regroup.

As I sat having lunch, with pickle dripping out of my sandwich onto my burnt legs, trying to coherently discuss the origin of the Universe, the creation of heavier elements inside supernovas and the difficulty of splitting the atom with Rebecca, I wondered what they used to do for charity rides in the first few milliseconds after the Big Bang, when everything was within an infinitely dense point the size of a pea.  No Coast to Coasts in those days.  I guess we're lucky to live in the time and space that we do now, where hills and seas and skies have been invented and we live in a beautiful country where there's not only so much amazing stuff to look at, but bikes have been invented too, so we can get to see it in extra close up.  Even luckier for me, as I got to know some individual blades of grass as they came into contact with my face.  That's the kind of stuff you miss if you can actually ride properly.

Apart from having them try and sort out the hostel room randomiser on Day 3, I hadn't really spent any time with the guides Tim and Sophie, but I spent most of Day 3 with them.  They're like the physical embodiment of youthful energy and exuberance, they seem to have no fat, only muscle and at times they made me reflect on how old, overweight and jaded I can be.  I've heard it said that youth is wasted on the young, but in their case, they seem to be making the most of it, not wasting their twenties sitting at a desk, watching Blind Date, ironing and drinking Fanta, like I did.

Tim and Sophie - can you spot them in this Police line up?

I can be quite a timid cyclist in traffic which is why I quite enjoyed bringing Critical Mass to the town of Pickering.  The guides decided that it would be quicker and safer for all concerned if we rode two (or was it 5) abreast through the town, that way we'd be too wide to overtake but shorter overall.  You can't argue with the maths.  Following as we did the minibus with it's horn permanently on, we totally owned Pickering.  At one point Tim did a passable impersonation of the Incredible Hulk, riding directly at the driver of a 4x4 who was thinking of crossing out paths.  The controlled skid to miss the driver's face by inches using a combination of bike braking and the soles of his shoes was one of the best things I saw on the trip.

As we got closer to Scarborough, I started thinking that health and safety would have a field day with this trip.  This probably occurred to me because I'd just seen Beth hanging out of a moving van window for the millionth time on the trip taking photos with the Ipad.  Considering we live in a world of risk assessments where you need to erect scaffolding to change a lightbulb, it made me really admire the level of organisation required to move such a big group across the country and keep them safe.

Hey Scarborough - we're coming and we're bringing the noise!

I really like it that there are still people out there, who are willing to put all the effort into organising a trip like this (Ruth, Vicky and Beth in particular take a bow, but all the guides and helpers too).  What a responsibility to take a bunch of almost 60 randommers Coast to Coast.

The ride makers - God bless you every one!

As someone who doesn't always like to draw attention to myself in a big crowd, the final ride into Scarborough felt a bit strange.  As we pedalled along the sea front, a giant noisy mob of yellow and fluorescent green, it was like following the camper van from Little Miss Sunshine, with the horn stuck permanently on.

The varying reactions of the people we passed was interesting.  Middle aged white people were definitely the most apathetic.  Some kids on BMXs joined in for a while.  The most enthusiastic waves we got were from several car loads of Indian families.  They're used to the sound of car horns blaring being blown all over the place, they seemed to like noise and colour.  Lots of dogs were barking, God knows what the horn was doing to their delicate hearing, but some of the most fun people to pass were little children.

Getting ready for the last push into Scarborough

Children have no idea what's going on, but they wave anyway. To them, all the noise and the colour must have been like a 3d moving kid's TV programme. To me if felt like In the Night Garden on tour.

Apparently, on In the Night Garden, the characters explore the magical place that exists between waking and sleeping in a child's imagination. I think for me, for 3 days, the magical place between sleeping and waking had been the ride.  The less magical place was the eyes wide open middle of the night feeling of 'why the hell didn't these energy drinks work during the day like they were supposed to'.  

One of the plus points of the ride - Gratuitous hugs

At the end, there was an unnecessary extra lap of a mini roundabout followed by lots of cheering, and then hugs from waiting relatives.  There wasn't anybody there to meet me, so I quickly settled into a pattern of hugs for girls, handshake for boys.  Mostly I restricted myself to one each, but I did build in some gratuitous and unnecessary extra hugs from Sophie (1)  and Rebecca (2).  I didn't go into the sea though.  I had some chocolate milk instead.

Su, Julie and Lynne - some more women who made me look bad on the ride

After the third world lack of running water situation in Osmotherley, the Crown Spa Hotel in Scarborough was something else entirely.  I got a room with another sea view.  It wasn't the same sea as on Friday morning, because we'd now crossed over to the other side.

Some of them loons went and gone in the sea

After check in at the Crown Spa, there was about 20 minutes to get showered and changed before the celebratory meal and then it was the presentation night.  I knew I had no chance of winning King of the Mountains, Sprint Champion, or Best Rider, but I was really hoping to get best newcomer.  Although there are very good reasons why Chris and Lynne shared this award, I still really wanted it.  I had a speech prepared and everything.  In the style of an Oscar also ran I tried to look happy for them and applaud, but I really wanted that white jersey.  You only get one shot at being best newcomer, and I'd blown it.  I got a medal though, and a certificate.

In the end we were all winners (but I still wanted the White Jersey!)

I have a terrible aversion to discos, so as soon as the music got turned up around 11, and those disco lights came on, I pretty much ran away.  I watched the football till nearly 1 and then I went to bed.

I was sharing a room with Steve.  I left a bedside lamp on so he wouldn't fall over on his way into the room, but like an anxious parent I kept waking up from time to time, wondering where he was.  By 5 am I was thinking he must have wandered off into the sea.  I thought about going to look for him, but then just as I was getting up at 6 he wandered in.  He was fine, he'd just been getting smashed on Jaeger bombs and sandwiches for the past 5 hours.

Nice sea view - but where the hell is Steve?  It's 5 in the morning!

I'd been contemplating riding home from Scarborough on Monday, which almost everyone had tried to talk me out of, but my resolve for this was weakened over my third totally unnecessary full English in a row.  Why do I even eat this stuff?  A lucky side effect of sitting next to him at breakfast, was that Paul offered me a lift to just West of York.  This reduced the distance I needed to cycle to only 20 miles.

Alone again - all that's left are memories (and a worrying amount of sugar residue stuck to  the roof of my mouth)

After Paul had dropped me in the village of Askham Bryan, I changed back into my Green Eggs and Ham top and set off for home.  There was no ringing of cowbells, no-one to mark the junction for me, there was no-one launching Mars bars directly into my mouth, there was no van full of Pussy.  I was lost within a minute.  I hadn't needed a brain for 3 days, and now it didn't work.  Luckily I soon found my way again, and although I wasn't exactly what you'd call mentally sharp, my legs seemed to work fine, and I was soon home.

It gets on my nerves in reality TV shows where people say they've been on a journey, when what they really mean is that they've mostly been hanging around the house practising their singing.  Well, this weekend I really did go on a journey.

Marie Curie Coast to Coasters - Way better than Avengers Assemble

When it comes to being positive in life, I need all the help I can get.  Thankfully by some fluke I've managed to hang out for the last few days with one of the most positive groups of people ever assembled.  Life affirming doesn't even begin to describe it.  They made the Avengers who got assembled in Avengers Assembled look like also rans.

I really hope that some of it has rubbed off on me.




PS.  I hope you enjoyed reading this (I enjoyed writing it).  There's still time to donate to Marie Curie if you want to.  Here's a link to my Justgiving page

PPS.  Thanks to everyone whose pictures I borrowed to help me pad out this ride report.  Reggie and Lynne in particular but there are others, I just lost track of what came from where.  

Of course England lose at penalties - our goalies are just not mad enough

Some people say England lose in big football tournaments, because they can't take penalties, I say it's because England goalkeepers are just not crazy enough..

It can't be any coincidence that the only big game that has ever ended satisfactorily for us on the world stage was at the end of the Second World War in Escape to Victory when someone snapped Kevin O'Callaghan's arm in half so they could send on a big dumb American to play in goals.  He didn't even know how to play football but he still managed to save the last minute penalty.  The German penalty taker didn't miss it because Sylvester Stallone was any good between the posts.  It's just that he was larger than life and he had a right gob on him.  And he jumped around a lot in slow motion.

I occasionally used to play in goals when I was a kid. Mostly when none of the first five choices of goalkeeper were available. I once played in goal in a pre-season friendly against the age group above us that we lost 13-2. I was about 12 at the time. The only save I made in the whole game got knocked in on the rebound. And do you know what the manager said to me afterwards?

He said: “To be fair, although basically your all round game was shit, your main problem was that you were nowhere near angry or dangerous enough. None of the attackers at any point were afraid for their lives, none of them expected to lose a limb when they got near the penalty box.”

I'm 46 now and I've got arthritis and if I drop a tea towel on the floor it can take 15 or so minutes for me to bend down and pick it up, but I think if you stuck me between some goalposts doing my tea towel thing in slow motion I could probably still save one penalty in 10. Most of them just go down the middle anyway. And if you were to wonder where you'd seen that old tea towel recovery manoeuvre before, that's right you've guessed it, it was Peter Shilton in Italia '90.

I don't blame Stuart Pearce and Chris Waddle for 1990. It was Shilton. He was 40 at the time, and he wasn't so much going down in instalments, he was going down in those weekly instalments that you get from the newsagents that you used to spend your pocket money on. You know, the ones that were cheap for the first two weeks, and then they cost a fortune every week after that for an unending load of old crap. He seemed to spend the entire shootout waiting for Issue Z.

Now, admittedly Shilton is the most capped England player of all time, and I've won, well no caps for England, but let me advance a theory...

England don't get knocked out because they lose on penalties. They get knocked out because their goalies just aren't hard enough. England goalkeepers are neither the right sort of crazy nor the wrong sort of dangerous to make truly world class stoppers.

And Robert Green throwing the ball into his own net wasn't even the start of it...Oh no...

Maradona in '86, for example. All that controversy about the handball should have been academic. Maradona shouldn't have got anywhere near that ball. The much taller Shilton, who was actually allowed to use his hands, should have cleaned him out well before he got even close. I'm not sticking up for Schumacher and his atrocity against Battiston in the 1982 World Cup semi-final when he nearly killed him, but at least in that incident, and despite the clumsiness and recklessness of his actions, Schumacher was at least alive to the danger. The ball hadn't even got into the penalty area.

And Maradona's second goal in '86, you know the greatest goal of all time and all that. If it'd been Ramon Quiroga of Peru circa 1978 he wouldn't only have stopped the first Maradona goal, he's have stopped the second one too, by strangling him on the halfway line.

Going back to Shilton, it should never even have got to penalties in 1990 against Germany. If Shilton hadn't fallen over into the net after Paul Parker's deflection, it would have been 1-0. If Peter Schmeichel had been in goal he wouldn't have even needed to jump for it, he would have scared the ball away just by screaming at his defenders. And in the penalties themselves Shilton was like a statue. The German lad was half his age. Why didn't he retire in about '87?  He didn't even think to try and put the Germans off by doing a jelly legs Bruce Grobbelaar impersonation.

Then there was Seaman in 2002. Falling into the net and crying into his ponytail, because he got chipped from the halfway line by Ronaldinho. If he'd been a nutjob like Higuita from Colombia he wouldn't have only stayed on his line, he'd have cleared it with a Scorpion kick. Or if he'd been more like Chilavert from Paraguay he'd have gone up the other end and smashed in a free kick of his own to equalise, then if they'd still got knocked out by the world's first ever Golden Goal from Laurent Blanc he wouldn't have sat around crying in the goal and feeling sorry for himself, he'd have gone round and commiserated with all his team-mates

And I wasn't old enough to watch Bonetti in 1970 but I do know his challenge on Gerd Muller for the winner was non-existent, I've seen the replays...

It's not as if the English haven't had any role models to follow. If only we'd paid attention. When Bert Trautmann was running around with a broken neck snapping the legs of anyone who dared come near him in the 1956 FA Cup Final, why wasn't this being put into an FA coaching newsreel to be shown to our up and coming goalkeepers. I could have done with a dose of that myself. I might have only lost 12-2 then.

Some people have said that I can be a bit harsh on Shilton, and admittedly I'm no football expert. So here are some words from Brian Clough, someone who managed him for a number of years at Forest, from around 1989. (I met him once at a book signing, but every bloody local journalist in the greater Teesside area was trying to get 5 minutes with him, so I never got the chance to ask him about the 1990 penalty shoot-out)

"Shilton has shot his bolt," insisted Clough, after the veteran keeper gained his 102nd cap against Sweden.

"The World Cup finals are 18 months away, but 18 months is a long time for a goalkeeper who is already 39 years old".

If he'd retired sooner, instead of going on to amass a record 125 caps, he could have avoided the spectacle that was his final game, the third place play-off against Italy at Italia 90 when he ended up wandering around his penalty box for about half an hour, like a man who'd forgotten where he'd parked his car. Of at least if he'd chopped Baggio or Schillaci down, like Trautmann would have done, he could have gone out in a blaze of glory.

I suppose in retrospect he was still a better goalkeeper than I was. I never got another game in goals after that 13-2 defeat. Although I did go on to become quite an aggressive outfield player, who at one point circa 1982 did my very own Ramon Quiroga impersonation, by rugby tackling a big fat kid with tree trunk legs who I otherwise just kept bouncing off. I didn't even get booked. Everyone just laughed, including the referee. It was in the days of Schumacher when football was more like cage fighting, and you had to more or less kill someone to even get a yellow....But that's another story....

Foals and Chimps 2 – Return of the Chimp (now with 74% extra chimpiness)

It's 11 months since I went on my first solo trip to Edinburgh, which I wrote about here. That trip was my first proper solo trip anywhere, so I tended to play it safe and spend time in multi-national conglomerates where I knew I'd get a smile and a welcome (sometimes it might have been the fake sort required by corporate training programmes, although in truth in Edinburgh it never felt like that).

And some known ones too

So this week I had a bit of time on my hands, and it's after the Spring Equinox and I thought there might be some blossom on the trees of Edinburgh again, and I thought it was just warm enough not to go slipping around on ice, so it's time to go back I thought.

Some blossom I found near the Royal Mile

I've been doing some internet dating recently. Or rather I joined a site. Judging by some of the people who use the site, it maybe should be called an Internet Avoidance of Dating Site. Some people on there, the best way to scare them off into the undergrowth / guarantee their abduction by aliens / have them relocated under the witness protection programme, is to suggest a meeting in the real world. Thankfully that's not the case with everyone, but you would think that being able to match up your interests with someone in advance would be pretty foolproof. In fact, it's made me reflect that maybe drunken disco dancing isn't such a backward way of meeting people after all. If it's true for a woman that you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, I think it's probably also true that as a man you have to email a lot of frogs who don't reply, before you even get a shot at meeting your princess. More of that in a minute...

Here's my internet dating picture.  See how those offers just flood in!

I don't really know how to think up my own holidays, so I often borrow other people's ideas. I once spent two years on a single minded mission to cycle round the Isle of Arran, which resulted in near divorce, just from a conversation I had whilst delivering some leaflets with Carol Burr at North Tees Medical Illustration. The plans for the two weeks I spent in India in 2012 were completely turned on their head by a talk with an Indian waiter called PS who said we should go north to Rishikeshinstead of south to Agra (he was right).

There's a whole other side to the Castle, which I missed before

So in the tradition of borrowing from other people good advices, I did that again this week. One of the pleasant side effects of the internet dating site, even if it hasn't delivered much in the way of dates, has been accidentally coming into contact with people who know things about things I don't know things about. One such person is Louise, who is not only Scottish, and a travel consultant by occupation, but also someone who used to live in Edinburgh. You see, talking to strangers isn't all being kidnapped and looking at puppies, there are happy accidents too.

More Blue Sky - 2014 Edition

Louise used to live near my blue sky thinking picture from my first trip and partly due to my over-reliance last time on Starbucks, McDonalds etc she was happy to recommend some different places to go instead. So once again, I set off on a trip, propelled by someone else's recommendations.

I'd booked the 07.07 from Darlington on Monday, but I could have had a lie in as it turned out, as it was 40 minutes late. I wasn't too bothered, as I was only doing this for fun. There were some people in business suits on the platform, worrying about being late for meetings etc, all with Costa coffees and smart phones.

It's not the End of the World - it's just a delayed train

When the train came it was a replacement for the one which had my seat reservation tucked into the back of the seat so there was a bit of a scramble for seats as all reservations were still in the broken down train. I thought it would make a change this year to listen to Doves rather than Foals and so I tried, but I fell asleep for a bit. When I woke up there were some white doves visible out the window (they were probably gulls or pigeons, I don't know) and also we were just passing Dove Building Supplies. It was at this point that I thought about calling the trip Doves and....something else, but I wasn't sure yet.

Dogs maybe?

I sometimes feel overwhelmed by big things, like cities and mountains, and by the time I exited the escalator onto Princes Street in Edinburgh on Monday at 10 am this week, I felt very small. There were people everywhere, and big buildings and a big blue sky. I thought about climbing the stairs of the Scott Monument, as I'd seen someone do that on Cloud Atlas, but then I remembered I'm scared of heights, so I decided not to.

Other Food options are available, but hey, this is Scotland!

I couldn't check into the Travelodge till 3 pm, but I thought there was a chance they'd mind my bag for me till then, so I thought I'd go ask. The receptionist in the Travelodge gave me such an overwhelmingly friendly welcome that I nearly couldn't get through the door. She happily took my bag, gave me a raffle ticket and asked me what my plans were. I ran Louise's recommendations past her, and in a show of Scottish solidarity, she seemed to agree with them, so off I went.

The Grassmarket - Beggars ain't what they used to be!

Last year in Edinburgh, I never really went south of the Royal Mile, into the old city. I just didn't know it was there. But Louise had recommended the Grassmarket, so I headed there. First I went and got a leaflet from the Tourist Information Centre with an incredibly non-detailed map in it (which came back to haunt me later) and for reasons unknown and possibly to do with my still disorientated state, I chose a leaflet that was written in French. Probably the fact that Edinburgh was spelt Edinbourg on the cover was a clue, but not a clue I was remotely aware of.

It's a shame Black Dogs are synonymous with depression, because having them around is a lot of fun, even when they get into fights with other people's dogs and try to pin them down by the neck sometimes

Partway down the Royal Mile I saw my first dog of the trip. At this point I thought about calling the trip Doves and Dogs, but I wasn't totally sold on it.

As I explained last year, I always struggle to know what to do with beggars, and I can never tell if they're genuine or not. There was a scruffy guy sat down in the Grassmarket with his legs under a blanket, presumably a beggar. Just as I was wondering if he was suffering from some genuine hardship or not, he took a mobile phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through some messages on his touchscreen. Bloody hell, I thought, beggars aren't what they used to be. To quote John Cusack in Grosse Point Blank, 'I've always felt very temporary about myself', too temporary to even enter into a phone contract, and here's a street bum with a better phone than me. What's going on?

Victoria Street - time to get some cake I think

After walking round the Grassmarket for a bit, I went to visit another of Louise's recommendations, which was the cafe at the Queens Gallery near Holyrood House. Now, without that bit of insider knowledge, I wouldn't have even known there was a cafe there, as it's behind the gallery.

There's a cafe and toilets there, which are not obvious from this picture

I went in and ordered a coffee and some bakewell tart, which cost about a million pounds and was very sickly. It sort of made me wish I'd ordered something savoury, but there was free help yourself water at the till so I got some of that to try and get the tart off my teeth. One of the really good things about last year's trip was how sitting still made me relax, and sitting in the cafe had the same effect this time. It was really cold outside, despite the sun, but inside the glass roofed conservatory where I was sat, with the sun warming me through the roof, I felt much more centred. 

This was the view from my table.  Not bad eh?

 I had a read of the French leaflet, which made very little sense because it was in French, and then I decided to go to Camera Obscura: World of Illusions. I'd wanted to go there last year, but ran out of time after going to see some chimps at the zoo. What I hadn't realised about Camera Obscura is that you can make your own chimps there. It's a bit like build a bear, but for build a chimp you use your own face.

This is the cafe from outside - Also nice, but look out for the Bakewell Tart

Before I went to Camera Obscura, and to help walk off the bakewell tart stodge, I went and found Greyfriars, and the monument to Greyfriars Bobby. The statue is black, and during my two days in Edinburgh I saw lots of black dogs. Seeing black dogs always reminds me of my own big, dumb dog Hudson who died in 2006. There aren't any statues of him anywhere, I don't even have any good photos, but I still think of him often. I had to have him put to sleep in 2006, his heart eventually would have exploded otherwise and he would have been in pain, and I didn't want that, and as has been documented elsewhere, the final injection was given to him by an Olympic Gold Medallist Kat Copeland's mum (her dad also killed my hamster), so if ever there was any doubt that all things are connected, well London 2012 and dead dogs are. 

Not all things which deserve a monument get one - There isn't enough space

Hudson would have followed me anywhere I think, in fact he did even till his dying day. I keep his ashes in my bedroom, I kept imagining I would scatter them one day in his favourite places, but I never got round to it. I don't know the veracity of the Greyfriars Bobby story, but it doesn't matter. The loyalty of dogs is self-evident, it doesn't require anecdotes. I'm glad that it's me mourning Hudson though, and not the other way round. I wouldn't want him hanging around my grave, wondering where I'd gone. At least I understand what happened to him.

It means Dark Room apparently - Don't stay in there too long though, it's sunny outside!

I got to Camera Obscura about 1.30 pm. I paid the 12 pounds or so entrance, and the incredibly cheery ticket seller told me what a great day I'd chosen to come, as the views from the roof would be spectacular. And she even stamped my hand with a smiley face in case I wanted to go out and come back in again. She also told me I was just in time for the next Camera Obscura demonstration, so to head right on up to Floor Number 5.

View!  - Now that's what I call Blue Sky Thinking!

She was right about the views. They were amazing. The first time I ever saw Edinburgh live was in 2005 from a faraway hill, through a pair of borrowed binoculars.  And now here I was right in the middle of Edinburgh, looking out in all directions in more borrowed binoculars. I love this kind of symmetry.

History - Another word for stuff that happened ages ago!

The most haunting thing about Camera Obscura was a photo on the wall from the year 1900, showing the exact same set of steps we were about to climb up into the Camera Obscura booth. I thought about all the changes in history between then and now, and two World Wars and the Moon Landing and Nelson Mandela and Italia 90, and I also thought about how every single person alive when that photo was taken is now dead, and well, it made me glad to be alive. The views certainly helped with that.

Castle with some people - Small or far away?

A young Eastern European called Irina took us into the camera obscura booth and showed us the sights of Edinburgh reflected onto a big dish. I wasn't actually all that amazed by this. It seemed a bit nuts to sit in a dark room and look at things reflected in a mirror onto a dish, when the sights were outside the dark room to see in full 360 degree panoramic full colour splendour anyway. I think the history of the building itself was more overwhelming than the camera.

Here's me - Three Quarters Chimp!

After the show, I descended the other 4 floors of the building. A lot of the displays were interactive and probably better for children or in a group but I did have some fun with the photo booths. There were various options. You could make yourself Black, Asian, Chimp, Manga or Caricature. The choice was yours. I had some fun with this. In the spirit of last year's trip, I just had to turn myself into a chimp. For some reason I came out with a score of 74.2% chimpiness. I'd always thought it was nearer to 98%.

I don't really get how this is supposed to be a caricature - it's actually a good likeness!

I also had some fun with trying to find my hot spots with the heat sensitive camera. I took what may well be called a Selfie. I'm not sure about that.

I'm so hot it hurts!

It was nearly 3 pm by now, so I went back to the Travelodge, got my bag out of the raffle and checked in. My room was bigger than last year, but equally as untroubled by natural light. After the bright sunshine and sky of Edinburgh, it felt very dark. But it was everything I expected from a Travelodge room. Cheap, anonymous and clean. In fact, if the room had been full of seafood and dancing girls, I wouldn't have wanted to go out, whereas I find the sensory deprivation of Travelodges act more like a catapult, firing me back out into the blueness of outside.

I suppose recently I've been a bit fixated on stories of loss, not just fictional ones, but also losses of my own, things I've personally suffered, and as I left the Travelodge I was reminded of a book 'Lost Worlds' by Michael Bywater, which I used to own. It was full of nostalgia for things we remember fondly but which are gone. Sometimes I feel like the Spitting Image caricatures of Lawrence Olivier and John Gielgud, 'Johnny Gonny' and all that.

Yes, it's still blue out there!

Although my fondness for Waterstone's isn't maybe as great as it once was, since they keep firing me, I went there on my way out, and I was reminded of the joys of browsing. This was because I didn't find 'Lost Worlds' but I found 'The Age of Absurdity' instead by Michael Foley. I just don't think you can replicate the experience of looking for one thing, but finding something else entirely, like you can by actually walking round picking stuff up and looking at it, like you know, with your hands.

Last year in Edinburgh, another favourite haunt had been the Vue cinemas, where I'd seen various blockbusters. This year another recommendation from Louise was the Dominion Cinema in Morningside. She had said this was either a bus or taxi ride away. I don't do short distances by bus, so I decided to find it on foot.

Sometimes it's reassuring to know that despite my advancing years, I'm just as dumb as I always was, and also that I don't learn from experience. Spending 5 hours looking round Edinburgh in 2005 without a proper map wasn't a lesson I was about not to make again. So, with my French leaflet in hand, I set off to find Morningside based on a terribly inadequate map. Another reminder of previous ineptitude was that I actually passed the B&B I'd been looking for in 2005 on my journey to find the cinema in 2014. In fact, this time I went straight to it! Better late than never!

I'd been walking for about an hour, and my feet were getting sore, so I thought I'd ask some mums coming out of an after school club if I was in the right area for Morningside. Oh it's miles away they said, you'll need to get a bus, but it's quite a walk even to the bus stop. They pointed me in the vague direction I should have been going and so I turned pretty much at 90 degrees to where I had been heading and walked some more.

About another 20 minutes later I asked another lady, and she said I was going the right way, but it was still miles away. By this time my feet were really hurting. Joggers kept passing me, and I kept passing bus stops but they were all going back into the City. No mention of Morningside anywhere. I nearly got on a bus at one point, just to have a sit down, but after about another half an hour I found myself on Morningside Avenue (or Street or whatever I kept wanting to call it Mornington Crescent). I still had no idea which way the cinema was, and Morningside whatever it was seemed to go on for miles. I turned right, which added a third side to the square I'd pretty much been walking in, and just as I thought my legs might stop working, I found the cinema!

The Dominion Cinema - I'm glad I found it before dark!

I checked out the showing times, and I was about half an hour early for Labor Day with Kate Winslet, so I bought some water and just sat in a massive chair and was glad not to be walking anymore. Before I sat down, I checked with the ticket seller that I'd be able to catch a bus back to the City, as I wasn't doing any more walking. I also had to check which side of the street to stand on to catch the bus, as I genuinely wasn't sure which way I was pointing.

The ticket seemed expensive at £10.95 and the cinema seemed to operate largely on special offers and coupons, but I was just glad to be there. The doors opened at 7, and on the way in the usher offered me some free Pringles (not technically free given the ticket price, but nice all the same). Once inside, I knew why Louise had recommended it. No broken knee or numb bum syndrome to be had here. All the seats were properly massive and soft double sofas. And not only with side tables for your drinks and Pringles, but with footstools, so you could put your feet up. Sometimes things are made for each other, and my sore feet and the footstools were one such match up. I kept my shoes on though.

I like Kate Winslet. Well, I like her acting and she's nice to look at, I'm not sure whether we'd get on in real life, and she doesn't go to many of the places I do, so I may never find out.  I also like that she's aging at about the same rate as me, so I can often tell how old I am by watching her. Although in films like The Reader, and now Labor Day, she does keep getting made up to look even older, which can be confusing.

Labor Day was set in 1987 (why are there always so many reminders to me recently of 1986/87?), and Kate was hiding a fugitive in her house. It was actually a proper love story, and there weren't any explosions at all, although there was some quite detailed stuff about baking and making pies in it.

Somebody got pushed at one point, but Olympus Has Fallen it most certainly was not. No vice presidents getting kicked down stairs, no bazookas in the face, no hand grenades down the trousers. And thank goodness for that. I'm on holiday, I don't need Gerard Butler blowing people away, I'm trying to relax here.

After the film finished, I got the bus back into the City. After the hours of walking it had taken me to find the cinema, I was really hoping as I sat down on the bus that it was more than 200 yards back into the city. I hate short bus journeys anyway, but suffice to say, the bus journey went on for quite a long time, and the longer I was on it, the better I felt about all the walking. It did appear that I had done 3 sides of a square to get to Morningside and the bus completed the square. Not so much squaring the circle, but squaring the square.

I got back to the hotel room at 10 pm, with very achey feet, and I got a sandwich from Sainsbury's Local before retiring. Once again, there was a black dog in the doorway. They're everywhere!

Unlike last year, when I was always up before 6, I slept in till 7.30 the next morning. I really fancied a bath, since my flat doesn't have one, but the water was lukewarm, so it was a bit pointless, as what I really wanted was to have a good hot soak, especially my feet.

My train was booked for 2.30 pm, so I went off and did some more wandering in the morning. I had porridge at Starbucks (it was so 2013 in there, lots of people in grey suits on Apple devices etc, Spanish and Eastern Europeans chatting), and I read some of 'The Age of Absurdity'. All the window seats were taken by people on tablets so I had to sit in the middle of the room, where the lighting was poor, so I didn't read for long. I think I prefer it when I get there earlier, before all the suits arrive. Next time maybe!

Black Dogs - Look out, they're always behind you!

I walked round some more, getting my bearings even more re: the layout of the city, and then I went and bought a present from my brother from 'Unknown Pleasures' a vinyl record emporium on the Royal Mile. It's directly opposite the 'I Love Edinburgh' shop. I nearly had a Turkish breakfast for lunch at Cafe Truvas, but in the end I decided to go and get some watery pea and ham soup from the Queen's Gallery Cafe instead. I'd wanted savoury food from there yesterday but didn't get it, so time to put that right.

Quick - there's a sale on!

It wasn't as sunny as the day before, and I sat in the main building this time, instead of in the conservatory. Starbucks it most certainly was not! 9 of the other tables in the room I found myself in were occupied by pairs of people. Not just couples, lots of pairs of people chatting. Everyone else in the room had a full head of grey hair, and unlike half a mile up the road in Starbucks, there wasn't an electronic device in sight. A few leaflets and other things printed on paper, but no tablets, laptops, smart phones etc. And all the tables except mine (I was the only one dining alone) were full of the buzz of animated conversation and laughter. People meeting in the real world, comparing notes on things they'd done, and what they'd seen. There was genuine enthusiasm all around, and an absence of loneliness, except for maybe a little bit in me.

A different view - No dogs allowed

I left Edinburgh soon after, and I was left to reflect on what it was like to come back there 11 months after my first solo visit, and about the changes I've made to my life since then.  There have been some gains and also some losses but it's always good to know that whatever is going on in my life, Edinburgh is always still there, feeling more like home each time I go.  Like a giant comfort blanket filled with museums and parks and other historic buildings and places just to wander round in the sun.

I've heard the expression before, that it's impossible to jump into the same river twice, well I reflected while I was in Edinburgh, that it's impossible to visit the same city twice too. Even if a lot of the buildings are the same, there are always new things to see, which may have been missed before, and even the me that sees these things is different one time than it was the time before.

And now I've had a good run at Edinburgh, I'm all ready for the trip to London I'm going on this coming weekend. Two capitals in a week, what an adventure! Although for that one, I may need to get a proper map!   

Bikes, Burgers, Bunting and Big Shoes - What I did instead of watching the Royal Wedding in 2011

In 2011, the year after guiding 14 cyclists Coast to Coast from Walney to Saltburn (including a Bishop) I was trying to think of another cycling challenge for my friends and myself to do.

Although it's a pretty arbitrary reason to organise a bike ride, I like bike rides that can be explained to non-cyclists. A start and end point they've heard of helps, as in one coast to another, although to be honest as soon as I start talking about cycling, they mostly just go to sleep in a big bed of disinterest.

People who don't cycle are astounded that I can even cycle to the corner shop. They have absolutely no frame of reference. A bit like how people who drive everywhere in a car are absolutely incredulous at any distance further than one end of a car park to another that can be covered on foot. The thing about both cycling and walking, is that you can pretty much go anywhere, if you allow enough time.

Anyway, since I like York Minster and Durham Cathedral, and because they are possibly the two most well known places in this area, I thought cycling between them would be an easy one for people to grasp. The actual ride was going to take place over two days, including an overnight stop in Ingleby Barwick, but the day before the official ride, some of us decided to ride to York Minster for the start.

A bit like with birthdays, where it's sometimes easier to enjoy the day before or the day after, this prelude ride turned out to be maybe better than the ride itself.

Stephen, Mark and I decided to do the pre-ride ride, and part of the reason we were able to do it, was because we got an extra Bank Holiday in 2011 for the Royal Wedding, otherwise we might have just got the train down, and only done the main ride.  

For some reason all our rides seem to involve a stray clergyman / bishop so this time we took Stephen's brother-in-law Dick the Vic. The route to York was about 60 miles. Dick doesn't ride a bike normally, so he'd borrowed one. 3 miles into the ride at Hilton we stopped to put our rain jackets on, and Dick announced that, 3 miles in, this was now his longest ever bike ride, although he does run up stairs a lot. This is going to be a long next 57 miles I thought.

I needn't have worried. As podgy as Stephen, Mark and myself are, Dick is a lean spidery specimen, with hardly any body fat. He made a mockery of any theories anyone might have about how to ride up hills by completely failing to understand how to use the gears on the bike, and riding up the hill incredibly fast in top gear, leaving the rest of us for dead. He just likes to get the hills over with, he said. Don't we all.

Actually the hills only started after Brompton (near Northallerton). There were a couple of big hills to cover during the day, but nothing too serious. My route planning ability was called into question a couple of times by other cyclists we met though. As we crossed the A684 near Northallerton, a thin reed-like cyclist we met said 'Oh, you're not going that way, are you?. It's hilly'. Then further on, we met another cyclist who was running alongside his bike holding it by the saddle. He was wearing tiny cut off running shorts and his disposition was that of a scared man running away from someone in a slasher movie. 'Don't go up there, he said, hilly'. He looked like someone who had spontaneously given up cycling on the spot, and he was taking his bike home to throw it in a skip.

Despite the scaremongering of the locals, we were having a lovely day. Each of the little North Yorkshire villages we rode through was decked out in bunting to celebrate the Royal Wedding, and none was prettier than Felixkirk. By the time we got there, we'd covered around half of our 60 miles, and it was just after lunchtime. We should probably eat something, we thought.

Clearly the pub (The recently refurbished Carpenters Arms) had just finished having some sort of Royal Wedding barbecue, there were big gas barbecues all over the place, but not many customers, we must have just missed the main event.

We went in the pub, ordered some drinks, and before we had chance to look at a menu, the barmaid said 'Oh, we've been doing burgers for the Royal Wedding, we can do you a burger each if you want'. Okay, that'll do, we said. Can we have chips too, we said. She looked puzzled and said she'd include them for free. That'll be £40 please, she said. Bloody hell, that must include the drinks I thought, but No. Blimey £10 each for a burger, I know it's sunny but I didn't realise we were at Wimbledon. Anyway, we went and sat outside in the sun, enjoying our drinks, while they powered up one of the giant barbecues. They chucked 4 slabs of beef on the thing, which didn't look like a tenner's worth each, but never mind, it's sunny, and what could be more English than this?

Once the burgers were cooked, they were brought over on some oversized plates, and they still didn't look much like £10 a go. Just then however, whole teams of waiters and waitresses started pouring out of the pub as if there was a fire alarm, except they were all carrying side dishes to go with the burgers. No wonder they looked puzzled when we wanted chips, there were jacket potatoes, coleslaw, whole boards full of salad, some sort of chilli salsa dip kidney bean thing which was a meal in itself. By the time we'd made a valiant attempt at all that, we could barely walk, never mind get back on a bike.

Anyway, we eventually wobbled off in the direction of York, we had to go up another big hill at Crayke. I guess eventually some of the food must have started being digested, because the pain from the food balls in our stomachs relented a bit, but then Mark and Dick started to get rucksack pain, both in their backs and also they started to get rubbed by the shoulder straps. Dick's rucksack in particular was very big and bulky, so I wasn't surprised. Seeing as I was actually more of an actual cyclist, I had panniers on my bike, so I wasn't carrying a rucksack, although for the last few miles I did carry Mark's, to give him a breather.

We got to the Minster around 5, where we were met by Ruth, and although we'd missed the Royal Wedding there was another wedding going on outside the Minster. The bride was quite a bit older than Kate, but she looked absolutely stunning and she was worthy of a Royal Wedding all to herself, but, as lycra clad middle aged men, we tried not to spoil the moment by wandering into the background of any of the wedding photos.

As I observed the wedding, and the tourists milling around, looking absolutely thrilled to be in York, and I reflected on the day, all the little villages we'd ridden through decked out in red, white and blue, I thought if there was a day you could bottle to define how great it is to be English, and living in England, this was it.

Once we'd all checked into our hotels / B&Bs and as if we'd not had enough to eat already, we then walked for about an hour into York to do that other very English thing, going out for an Indian. At the Viceroy of India.

As well as being very tall and thin, Dick the Vic has got enormous feet, and as we walked into York, I noticed he was wearing a giant pair of clown size beige shoes. Dick, where did you get those?, I said. Oh, I've been carrying them all day. I couldn't believe it. I've been on week long cycling holidays with luggage that weighed less in its entirety that just the leather in Dick's shoes. Further evidence of his amateurishness.

But there are some advantages to being a proper cyclist. Despite the fact that Dick had made a mockery of our hill climbing and then he'd cycled all day with a giant pair of shoes on his back, one thing you can't avoid as a novice is the damage done to your, how can I say politely, contact areas, if you don't have regular saddle time, and as well as the welts on his shoulders from the rucksack straps, he had some on his sitty down bits too. Not so me.

For the second time in a day, we ordered way too much food and mine came in a bucket. It was delicious except there was so much it wouldn't fit on the table, a fact which the waiter greeted with absolute apathy.

The next day we cycled from York to home, and then the day after that we cycled from home to Durham, and although those two rides had their good bits, I felt a bit stressed by the whole being the leader thing, whereas the pre-ride ride was a pressure free bonus day, and I probably enjoyed it more for that reason.

So to sum up, thank you for getting married William and Kate. Although your wedding was an irrelevance to me, the extra Bank Holiday was one of the best days out I've ever had.

I was going to put a link to this ride in a recent blog post, and I couldn't believe I'd never actually written the post I was going to post the link to, so here it is. Better late than never.