Incidentally, in case any Mancunians wondered where the first settlers to out great city came from, there is also a Swinton, a Bolton and Conundrum in the same border country. Yes and an Eccles, as I was to find out later.
Day 1 began well enough. Good weather, to start with at least. A sense of enthusiasm and adventure. A challenge. We'd arrived at Newcastle, or was it Gateshead, one or the other. I can't tell which is which, but I'm sure it's important to them. Immediately we stepped out of the railway station my prejudices about these cities proved to be false. They are stunningly beautiful cities. Our room, from the Hilton, overlooked the Tyne and three or four of the seven bridges. They are proud of their bridges round here, and so they should be. The city architecture is varied and tasteful. We can even see St James Park from the hotel widow. Not St James's as is sometimes mistakenly quoted.
We set across the river to the other side, but by chance the swing bridge was opening. This is apparently a rare sight, but there we were on the first moments of our first visit. The bridge revolves around 360 degrees, with the precision engineering of a wrist watch. Even the locals stopped to take photos. The whole thing took about twenty minutes.
Dinner was had at the Miserable Mussel. It is a fish restaurant with live jazz Monday to Friday. Lucky us, it was Thursday. The mussels in white wine source was excellent, fresh Scottish ones according to the waiter. This was followed by fish and chips which wasn't as good. As we were finishing Mike and his wife came in, together with Mike's friend Mike. They were part of our team. After dinner we went for a stroll to spot any scantily dressed women, another preconception. There weren't any, but there was a steel band with enthusiastic young folk on the riverside. How marvelous. Then in the bar to meet the others and an early night for a six am breakfast.
When I say we, I mean Sarah and me, of course. Other members of the team were Kathryn (she who must be obeyed) and Martin, her partner; Jan and Andrew (Ted - don't know why he's called Ted); Rosie and friend Judith; Nigel and Chris (sharing a room, what a lovely couple); Angus and Liz (never met them before, but a hoot); Jim (speed cyclist). Harri Singh joined us later.
The next morning, day 2, the PCCS shirts were handed out at breakfast. Last minute adjustments to the bikes. Better check the tyre pressures, everyone else seems to be. The van drove us to Edinburgh where our journey was about to begin. Normally people travel South to North, but for some reason we had opted to go North to South. We were about to find out why most go the other way. The wind always blows South to North.
The Primary Care Cardiology Society is a charity that promotes research and delivery of cardiology in, guess what, primary care. It is for this charity that we are about to put ourselves through the most painful ordeal that I for one, have ever undertaking. It is a good cause. It better be. Sarah and I have raised over 400 pounds.
The van dropped us off at Arthur's seat. Once again final check, collection of instructions and snacks (mainly Jelly Babies), wee behind tree and we're off. The advanced group shot off by the time I'd worked out how to fasten my i-pod earpiece under my helmet so it didn't fall out. It would be some time before we saw them again.
A gentle ride through Edinburgh after descending from Arthur's seat. Sure some slight inclines, but nothing too difficult. Really I can do this on my new Specialized Stump Jumper bike, which has already been admired by several of the cognoscenti. 'We'll refuel at base camp, before the next hill climb, it's a gentle nine mile rise' said reassuring Tim, reassuringly.
As it turned out it was a pretty steady ride to the refuelling place. Once you're ahead of someone its really hard to know if they are keeping up. Anyway Sarah's gears were playing up and she slipped behind. She was five minutes behind, and came in on her own.
We refuelled in silence.
Then the long climb. The long never ending climb. The long, slow, windy, never ending climb. The 'you can't give up now' climb. I stuck steadfastly to Sarah's tail, and if this became too painful, stopped at the top of each long climb.
Then at the summit, the long descent to 'lunch'. We had lunch at 4pm. It was only then that I began to realise quite how sore my perineum had become. Your perineum is the bit you sit on. Funny really, well strange anyway that it should be so painful, as over my underpants I'd put some padded Lycra cycling shorts, and ordinary padded cycling shorts on top of them.Surely that should have done the trick. Lunch was good, very good. Twenty minutes later as we were saddling up Nigel arrived. He had caught up and was greeted with a round of applause. All accounted for.
'Only another fourteen miles to the hotel' reassured reassuring Tim, and off we went.
Melrose is a beautiful town even if it's townsfolk shout at you for going the wrong way up a one way street on the pavement. Still after 55 miles they can get stuffed.
Well done everyone. Dinner and off to bed
Day 3 is another early start. I've got the hang of it now and today, Matthew, I'm going to be Lance Armstrong. First break is going to be near a race course. I recognise the name but didn't take it in. Rosie has pointed out that you shouldn't wear underpants against the padded shorts, they only act as sandpaper against your nether parts. So no undies today.
I kept up pretty well but fell behind towards the end of the first stage. I arrived just behind the leading pack. The rest are miles behind, and just as they arrive the leaders decide to set off.
I'm not going to loose them this time, and off I go. Damn, my bottle has fallen out. Lean forward and pick it up as the rest of them press ahead. I catch them up. Racing up hill and down hill I can keep up, but then a sudden change of gears and it's too much. Then chain came off. Double drat. I have to get off and put back the chain. Thirty seconds at most, but they're over the next hill and disappearing. I'm going to chase them down, and after twenty minutes I catch up with them again. I've shot my bolt and the next hill kills me. My private parts are burning.
Oh well, I did my best. It wont be long to the next stop. I realise I'm on my own. Still Tim had said just stick to the Number One cycle route and you can't go wrong.
A highway code question. What does a white bicycle on a blue background, with a red number 1 mean? OK, what does it mean with a loop sign shaped like a bicycle mean? OK, neither did I.
So having noticed the names of towns and villages on the way round so far, it was quite interesting to come across the village of Eccles. I've spent some time in Eccles when a junior doctor working at Hope Hospital. This Eccles was tiny and quite charming. After Eccles a sign to Coldstream. I'm sure reassuring Tim had mentioned Coldstream, so that must be right. Still on my own in Coldstream I asked a bemused lady if this was the right way to Berwick. She's not sure, being a stranger to the area herself (how often does that happen?), but she has a map and to be sure if you carry on down into town you'll pick up the signs.
At a junction the route 1 signs points up the road. A little further on the road becomes a bit busy. then there's a sign to Kelso. Ah Kelso, Tim mentioned Kelso, so that must be right. The road is awful busy. I guess the proper route was along country lanes, still I'll get there before the others on the short route. No route 1 signs though. I hope I'm OK. I'm standing on the peddles more and more to relieve my sore bits. 'Isn't there a race course at Kelso?'
Oh joy. A sign appears. It could easily have been missed. Lucky I spotted it. The odd thing is there's a loop sign in the shape of a bicycle above it. Never mind this must be the right way. A bus with Berwick on the front goes by the other way. that can't be right, he must have forgotten to change the sign.
'Oh Lord, please make this the right way' I pray at one point, as none of the scenery looks familiar. If it is the wrong way the others will be coming to wards me, and they're not, so I must be right.
Hang on, those road tracks look familiar. No can't be. Yes they can. Yes they are. Oh no what's happened? Where am I? Don't panic.
A little further and it seems I've come all the way back to Eccles. I have successfully, if wittingly, completed the Kelso loop. I bail out and phone Tim. 'I'll be 15 minutes, just make yourself visible' and fifteen minutes later Tim arrived. 'What happened' he asks. 'I forgot to bring a map and I must have gone back on myself'. 'That's your first mistake' he reassuringly said. ' No it's not' I thought, 'my first mistake was to try to keep up with people that are just more used to cycling at speed'.
All's well that ends well, but strangely I wasn't allowed to forget it when we got to have dinner that night at Bamburgh Castle. Another day complete and another seventy odd miles done. Lovely place, Eccles. Don't mind if I never see it again. I should have soaked my testicles in meths to harden them up.
Day 4, the last leg. We all line up for photos in front of Bamburgh castle and away we go again. I'm going to stick with the main group today. Oh yes. Learnt my lesson. The main group turns out to be three groups itself. So I'll stick with Sarah. The previous two days have taken their toll. The group s stretched right out. Jan, Liz, Nigel and me have become team Sarah and end up bring up the rear. Jan's knee is not good and she has to phone Tim for a rescue. Nigel falls behind the girls and I wait for him. We have decided not to leave anyone on their own. It seems that we will never reach lunch. Nigel stops for a snack. he had luckily brought a bar of something and an apple. I had an 'energy shot'. A disgusting sweet jelly thing you squirt out of a narrow plastic container. This has got to be the longest slowest part of the trip. Nigel is an absolute whizz with the map and for sure we'd have got lost without it. Then it begins to rain. Not just rain but rain and wind, right in your face. This is exhausting and I'm on fire down below.
Eventually we arrive at lunch in Blyth very late. The first group had been and gone an hour ago. Tim has been waiting for us before he can go and get Jan. Nigel too has had enough. Liz, Sarah and me set off to Tynemouth. First we have to get out of Blyth. Sarah is getting crosser and wants to head straight for the A1 to Newcastle. The rain has stopped but the wind is worse. We stop and ask the way from a very helpful Gordy man. After several council estates e end up on the right way, heading towards Whitley Bay. It's the coastal path, and it's exposed. Battling against a head wind just saps what energy you have left.
We got to Tynemouth, two hundred miles exactly for Edinburgh. We'd gone the wrong way against the wind all the way. We'd gone up long hills and down windy valley. We'd got lost and our muscles were sore. But none of this, not any of it compared with the feeling of sandpaper being rubbed between your legs for 200 miles.
They say you should train for these things. The training isn't for stamina or strength. The training is to get your bum used to the rubbing and sanding. No amount of cream is going to help.
Would I repeat the experience? Ask me again when I stop being on fire.
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