Day Five - Leominster to Wybunbury

Like Wiggo (I expect) my morning began in a greasy spoon with the full fry-up. Though to be fair, I did cut back; poached rather than fried eggs. It's these little sacrifices that we athletes have to make.

Steve had no such restraint, and boldly ordered the 'monster' option. I've added a pic so you can see the full artery blocking horror he waded through.

Once we'd fuelled up, we headed out of Herefordshire, through Shropshire and finally into Cheshire. It was a beautiful day; sunny, a light breeze, lighter traffic and another 80 miles under our wheels.

Tonight we are staying not at a YHA, but for the first time this trip, in a pub; The (rather lovely) Swan at Wybunbury. (see pic). Rather lovely but rather thin-walled. I can actually hear a bloke in the next room snorring so loudly I 've had to turn up the TV.

Today's heroes include Cynthia and Carol who laid on a feast (there is no other way to describe it) great hospitality and great conversation.... and also an unnamed baker in the unimaginatively named town of Ironbridge, who had the fine idea of adding black pudding to sausage rolls; genius.

Thanks also to Cynthia, Carol and Angelina for moving my fundraising total even higher; I'm now within touching distance of £2,000.

Now, you will have gleaned from
my blog that I am riding to John O'Groats with my old school mate Steve Morgan.

Some of you will know Steve, and given that he is a kind of Bono / Bill Bailey hybrid in the hair department, you might expect me to go on about his hair-cut.

But what sort of a friend would I be.....if in the pursuit of a few cheap laughs - I recalled a couple of embarresing anecdotes about Steve and his long hair.

For example, what sort of mate would recall the time an Italian waiter in a Brighton restaurant sidled up behind Steve in a rather predatory manner, inhaled deeply and said in his romantic Latin way, "ahhh what perfume is Madam wearing tonight"

And I certainly wouldn't mention the time while in Kenya, a bus boy came up to us both and said to me...."can I carry your girlfriends bags"..... Not least for my own self-respect.

OK - hair issues aside, while I am a very keen cyclist, Steve is a very keen and talented cyclist. It's only one additional word but it makes for a whole world of difference.

It has also caused me to spend many hours...trying desperately to hang onto Steve's rear wheel, huffing and puffing away, unable to talk, while Steve chats blithely about the weather....how many more miles there are to go...and how much more of the countryside you see when you are going as slowly as this.

It's always a rare pleasure to be complimented on my cycling by Steve, it happens on average every other year. Today I thought it was about to happen again...

"I'm really impressed", said Steve, (I could feel the compliment coming..) "really impressed with the way you .... (come on Steve, say it....) manage to stay upright on a bike when you are going so slowly".... Ouch.

But as I say, Steve is a much, much better cyclist than me. He has good stamina...an easy climbing style...in general he is excellent on the bike.

When he looks where he's going.

Which he hasn't always done.
Back in his college days...while in a race around Newick in Sussex he cycled full tilt into the back of a parked car.

It was a nasty smash but credit to Steve. With his palate fractured, blood everywhere...cuts on his face....and with a bystander trying to prise some of his teeth out of the cars back bumper where they had embedded themselves, Steve mumbled.....
"Is my bike alright ?"

Had he hit the car just a fraction faster, those words could have ended up up on his grave stone
So while Lord Nelson is famously remembered for saying, "Kiss me Hardy" before he croaked it
and Captain Oates for the immortal, "I might be gone some time" Steve's famous last words could have been, "is my bike alright".

BTW, unable to post this blog last night, i'm currently at breakfast, and can confirm that the snorring bloke was in fact a woman (or indeed her daughter). Or both. They look like members of Team GBs Greco-Roman wrestling squad, with - shall we say, 'developed phyisques', which might explain the sheer volume they were able to generate. (they both boldly went for the full English, in case you were wondering).

Now, I've been asked by a few people who read this blog, what happened to my pedals as I mentioned yesterday that they needed to be replaced in Hereford. To be quite honest, I saw this as a rather niche interest subject area, one for the cycling purist and hardly thrilling enough to keep the rest of you awake, let alone on the edge of your seats.

But since Ive been asked....I'll tell you.

Climbing over 'the unspeakable' hill on Monday, I suddenly found that my foot was no longer attached to the pedal. Instead, I had a bit of the pedal attached to my shoe, and a bit attached to the bike and I was pedalling against thin air; this was clearly not sustainable, and sure enough a slow-motion 'comedy-fall' followed as I toppled gently into the verge. Much swearing followed. Then a bit of 'heath robinson' type repairs before climbing back on and slowly grinding my way up the hill. Still, the repairs had given me a chance to get my breath back.

As I slowly and tentatively pedelled on, I wondered how the pedal had come to break (having never had such a thing happen before in over 20 years cycling).

I mulled over a few theories;
Was I 'Chris Hoy-like' putting so much power through the pedals they snapped. Maybe not. Had Steve sabotaged them, in a Mutley / Wacky Raced type of way. Or had I been plain minty and bought cheap pedals? Probably.

While I managed to fix them, the prospect of them breaking permanantly in the highlands, with me having to pedal the final few hundred miles one-legged, was enough for me to dip into my pocket and get them replaced.
But there is always a silver-lining, they are lighter than my last pair ;)

I'll be flying now....