One Fine Day

OK, I'll cut straight to the chase: I DID IT! I cycled all the way to Brighton.  Well, apart from the couple of nasty hills I walked up, but then so did loads of other people, so I'm not bothered about it.

We got up in the middle of the night (I mean it this time, 4.45 am), did a few final checks on bikes and kit and wotnot and then spent 10 minutes fighting to get both bikes into the back of a people-mover taxi.  The sun was shining, I was still asleep and James had realised he'd left his cycling waterproof at work.  Awesome.

The taxi driver couldn't quite believe that we were intending to cycle all the way to Brighton (the implication being that if we wanted to go there, he would take us, for a price), and nor could he believe that 27,000 other folk would eschew his services in favour of pedal power.

We arrived at Clapham Common in plenty of time for my 6.30 am start and, after bumping into one of my workmates, James and I went our separate ways to find our respective teams, the intention being that James would meet me after the start so that we could travel together.  While we were waiting in our starting paddock, there was a PA announcement that there had been an accident, presumably among the 6 am starters, and we would be delayed as a result - just what everyone wanted to hear...

We finally got under way and I dutifully checked for James at the first set of traffic lights after the start.  Unless he and his workmates were hiding in the bushes, they were not there (and they should have been by then) so I carried on to the next lights, and then the next, and I still hadn't found them.  I stopped at Marshall Point 7, about 2.5 miles in, to answer my phone - James was at the first set of lights, waiting for me.  They had lost a team member, so had to wait for him and then came to meet me. Twenty minutes later, we actually got on our way properly.  I discovered that there is something quite liberating about following a load of other people blindly without knowing where you are and only having a notion of where you are going.  The first part of the course was typical London suburbia, through Croydon and Mitcham, under the M25 and out into Not London.

Just before the 10-mile refreshment stop, my gears started playing up again, so we had to stop to check them.  They still weren't great, but they held out until the first stop, where we had a chance to give them a proper look.  We had a quick snack of jelly babies and water and then went on our merry way again.  Not long after that stop, there was a very long slow hill that a lot of people had difficulty with, and I came across one of my hapless team mates whose chain kept coming off in spite of having been looked at by the mechanics at the rest stop.  I tried to help her fix it, but in the end she had to call for assistance, and she told me to continue while she waited.

At some place around this point in the journey (I can't remember exactly where) we went past a building with a first floor balcony, on which were stood the Queen and Prince Philip (or at least a man and a woman with the requisite masks on).  I shouted "Good morning Ma'am" up to the Queen and got a royal wave in return.  Indeed, it was incredibly obvious throughout the day that we'd just had a Jubilee celebration and we're about to have some Olympics and Paralympics - everyone was waving Union Flags wherever we went!

The potato and the teaspoon.  Sounds like a fairytale or a
bad New Romantics band.

By the time we reached the next main stop, I was ravenously hungry.  We bumped into some more of my team mates there, one of whom had already been knocked off her bike and had the plasters to prove it (no serious harm done).  James went off to get us some food and came back with a pork sandwich for him and a jacket potato with cheese for me.  The organisers hadn't quite thought the jacket potato through - here is a picture of me eating it with the only available cutlery - a plastic teaspoon.

At this stop, I learnt one of the ways in which long-distance cycling is very different from marathon running (apart from the obvious) - it seems it is perfectly acceptable on a long-distance cycle ride to stop for a fag.  Weird.

We stopped at the Hedgehog Inn at halfway for a quick drink and stretch and James was able to help out one of his team mates with an anti-histamine to combat his hay-fever.  At this stage, my shoulders were really starting to get sore, so the stretch I'd been shown just a few days previously was proving its worth.

We carried on through the rolling countryside, along tree-lined lanes and alongside fields with cows and sheep and horses in them.  Then I saw a rather ominous-looking signpost - Turner's Hill, 2 miles.  Now, I'm just about canny enough to realise that if (a) a place is called Turner's Hill and (b) one reaches the signpost to Turner's Hill after a fairly steep descent, it is likely that in order to get to Turner's Hill one is going to have to go up a mahoosive hill.  I was right.  It was long, tedious and actually quite steep for a large part of the way, and I had to get off and push (like about 70% of the participants).  When I finally got to the top of the hill, there was quite some reward - the local church had set up shop in its car park, giving away free tea, coffee and custard creams to all comers, with a donations box there for an orphanage somewhere distant sounding.  By this point, I needed tea.

It took us quite a while to get out of Turner's Hill.  It seems that all 27,000 participants had stopped there at the same time, and so were all trying to leave at the same time.  The organisers had no choice but to let some motorised traffic through (trying to cross over the route at a crossroads), and we ended up with an almighty bottle neck.  By this point, thirty or so miles into the ride, some tempers were getting a little frayed and I bore the brunt of one particularly objectionable lady's frustrations when she tried to overtake me on the inside while I was trying to get out of the way of the speedy people legitimately overtaking me on the outside.  She'd already had a go at some people behind us, so I mentioned something about how this event wasn't the place for that kind of attitude, she stuck a small number of digits up at me over her shoulder and we went off at our separate speeds.

The best thing about Turner's Hill is that what goes up must come down.  The worst thing about the descent is that it is very steep and all of those participants who consider themselves to be speedy cyclists seem to think it is sensible and safe to go down the hill as fast as possible when most of the road is taken up by cyclists who are much less experienced and much less speedy.  We saw one nasty looking crash on this part of the course and were overtaken by an ambulance with blue lights flashing on the way to another, and the attitude of the speed junkies led us to believe that there should be a separate, early start for those who want to treat the event as a race rather than the fun, fundraising day out it is intended to be.

After Turner's Hill and the following descent, a sense of anticipation set in.  Everyone knew that there was something looming in the distance, something so terrible it didn't bear talking about, but everyone could sense its presence.  The hill that shall not be named.  You know what.  Ditchling Beacon.  There, I said it.  After all, what comes down must go up, right?  We stopped in Wivelsfield at a rest stop run by the Scouts and stocked up on flapjack to see us through the ordeal, then had one last stop immediately before the Beacon itself, where we bumped into the same group of my team mates that we'd been playing tag with for most of the journey.

Me and my Calippo

James and I had swapped bikes for the ascent up Ditchling Beacon.  I had always planned to walk and James' bike only has seven gears, compared with the 21 on mine (which is also fairly lowly geared), so my sturdy steed would give him a better chance of riding the whole way up.  Walking up the Beacon is tough.  I had thought that James would say cycling up was tougher, but he said that although it was painful, it was over more quickly, so was preferable over all.  When I finally made it to the top and finally found James ("I'm by the red ice cream van." "Which one?" "The red one." "Yes, which red one? I can see three.") I had a well deserved Calippo while enjoying the magnificent view over the Downs.

At the top of Ditchling Beacon, we were faithfully promised by an announcer that it was downhill all the way to Brighton.  This was lies.  Codswallop.  Nonsense.  There were several more not very steep hills which felt like mountains after fifty miles of cycling, the worst of which was a slip road onto a dual carriageway.  After that one, though, the going was pretty smooth along straightish flat road into Brighton.  The last obstacle I had to overcome was my old favourite nemesis - a badly behaved bus.  It was trying to get to a bus stop from the inside lane, across a lane full of cyclists.  We won.  Hurrah!

As we went down Madeira Drive, along Brighton seafront, I felt myself welling up.  The people lining the finishing straight, cheering us on, must have thought I was a nutter, bawling my eyes out as I went over the line.  I can't wait for the official photos of me finishing - what a sight!  I couldn't quite believe (and still can't) that I'd actually done it - I'd cycled more than 50 miles, over two marathons, in one day from one city to a whole different other city.

Me and my pint!

After finishing, I had a well deserved pint and then I think I went to sleep.  As we picked up our bikes from the concierge at our hotel yesterday, he told us that he'd had a heart attack a few years ago and when he was in the hospital, a large proportion of the equipment had been provided by British Heart Foundation.  He had previously assumed that the equipment in hospitals was provided by the taxpayer via the NHS, but that turned out not to be the case on the cardiology ward.  He said he was extremely grateful to us (and the rest of the participants) for supporting British Heart Foundation, because it had made a huge difference to his life.  Cue welling up and mild bawling again.  It is fantastic to know that what we did on Sunday really helps real people.

Comedy tan lines

So far, I've raised £721 in total (online and offline, but not including gift aid).  My fundraising page will be open for another three months, so it's certainly not too late to make a donation in the name of my completing the London to Brighton Bike Ride - follow the link to Justgiving in the top right hand corner of this page.  I also have some comedy tan lines from Sunday - guess which wrist my sports watch was on - but they're not as comedy as those on my dear husband's head (sun + cycle helmet air vents = stripy James!)


It's probably about time for some thank yous.  Thanks to BHF for great on the day organisation.  Thanks to Sandee Smith and the rest of the Sidley Flying Hearts for organisation of our work team and support along the way.  Thanks to all the people who have sponsored me, sent messages of support or just asked me how the cycling's going - it's made a real difference to know that people are thinking of me.  And finally, many, many thanks to my husband, James, who has put up with a lot of nerves, tears, tantrums, abuse and non-stop cycle chat for the last couple of months (oh, and he taught me how to ride a bike!) - I really couldn't have done it without him!

The First Aid Unit is not of any particular significance!

The Night Before the Morning After

This time tomorrow, I'll have done it.  I'll have cycled to Brighton.  Or at least I hope I will have, and if I haven't by this time, then I'll probably be lost or injured (more likely lost, because they have systems to deal with injured people).

In order to even start this majestic feat, I'll have to be in a taxi at 5.15 am tomorrow.  I can hear some of you pondering why I'm not cycling to the start - Clapham Common, where the start line is, is just about diametrically opposite my house if you draw a line through the centre of London on a map and about a 10 mile journey, so I would have cycled almost a fifth of the distance from London to Brighton before I'd even started.  I'll be meeting up with the rest of my work team for a picture at 6.15, before we set off on our merry way at 6.30.

Needless to say, I'll be getting an early night tonight.  I'll need to make sure my tires are pumped up, pack my pyjamas, teddy bear and associated accoutrements (we're staying overnight in Brighton) and lay out my kit for the morning.  I'm stocked up on jelly babies, so I must be ready!

I have absolutely no idea how long it's going to take me to get to Brighton, but I don't really care as long as I get there.  Just arriving in Brighton will represent a huge life-changing journey for me; I can't quite believe that I couldn't ride a bike two months ago and now I'm about to cycle 56 miles in one day.  I also know that this change is for life - I can now cycle to and from work whenever I want to (which is probably going to prove invaluable during the Olympics) and James has grand plans for cycling holidays around most of Europe - he was even trying to persuade me last night that doing a 190km race in a few weeks would be a great idea (I'm thinking perhaps not).

I also hope that my journey can help change some other people's lives too.  So far I've raised £543 online and another £80 or so on my traditional paper sponsor form for British Heart Foundation.  There's still plenty of time to sponsor me using the link on the right hand side of the page, and don't worry if you want to wait to see if I do it first - the page will be open for three months after the event.

Thank you all for your support, good wishes and for reading this blog throughout my training.  I'll write a full account of the day early next week, but for now, wish me luck!

The Final Countdown

Altogether now: "Na na naaa naaaa, na na naa naa naaaaa....." Mad-haired Swedish rockers (who incidentally don't have such mad hair any more) aside, this enormously long bike ride thing is getting rather close now, isn't it?  There are just three sleeps to go until kick off.  Or, should I say, two and a half sleeps, given that my 6.30 am start time necessitates me getting up in the middle of the night - I knew all my early starts in the early days of my training would ultimately stand me in good stead!

I got on my bike today for the first time in a week.  A spate of bad weather, plus the desire to start the bike ride on Sunday with fairly fresh legs, have meant that my Oyster card has had a bit of a bashing and I've left my wheels at home.  My ride into work was quite pleasant (apart from the van driver who decided (a) that it was my fault that he was driving in the cycle lane and (b) to shout at me about it), and after James and I had gone our separate ways towards our respective offices, I gave a lift to a honeybee which landed on my handlebars and didn't get off until I reached my destination.  I hope he didn't end up too far away from his hive or get lost, but I was pleased to save him some wing power.  When I got to work I realised I'd left a particularly important item of clothing at home, so I had to rush to the shops to remedy this issue.  I'll be riding home again this evening after the most inconveniently timed conference call ever (OK, so that's probably not true, but it is pretty inconvenient).

I tested out my "race shirt" today.  It fits well, but the zip has sharp corners on it which dig into my neck, so that will need some adjustment.  I also tested out my new panniers, which arrived on Tuesday.  They are enormous.  I could probably go on a three week holiday and just carry my things in them.  Initially I had a few problems with them, because the front edge of the bags was fouling the pedals on one side, so I had to stop to adjust it.  It was better afterwards, but not quite right, so I'll need to fiddle about with it a bit.  I'm also at another breakthrough point: I need to raise my saddle another half inch or so, and I'll need to do that this evening so that it isn't a brand new development on Sunday - after the ride home tonight, I won't be getting on my bike again until the big day!

I mentioned in my previous post that this blog was very close to its thousandth page view, but that I was still a little way off my fundraising target.  Well, since then, the blog has smashed through the 1,000 views barrier (1,014 and counting) and, thanks to a few very generous donors, I am now just £2 short of my fundraising target of £500.  Could you be the person who takes me over the fundraising threshold?  If so, click the link on the top right hand side of the page and follow the instructions.

Right Royal Inspiration

The big news today is that I'm not cycling to work after all.  Don't worry, I'm in fine fettle for Sunday, but the weather is so atrocious that it isn't worth risking having some kind of accident, catching a cold or otherwise doing myself a nasty so close to the event.  As I type this, it is veritably tipping it down.  The weather forecast for the weekend is slightly better than the present misery, but not much.  I've been debating which I would prefer of the two most recent types of weather we've had: torrential and blistering.  I think I come down marginally in favour of the torrential as I don't do well in the sun or heat or both (I have very fair skin, so I have three stages of sun exposure: translucent, lobster and peeling).  The plan now is to ride into work, gently, on Thursday (assuming we're not all making a dash for Noah's Ark), as by then I'll also hopefully have my panniers to try out (more on them another time).

When I started this challenge, I didn't think I'd be writing in one of my last posts before the event that I had found some royal inspiration.  It was reported in the news over the weekend that Princess Eugenie (for those of you who are slightly less Anglophile, she is the Queen's granddaughter, the second daughter of the Queen's second son, making her, I think, sixth in line to the throne) completed the 100km (60 miles) Nightride in London.  She may only be 22, so has a considerable age advantage over me, but she suffers from scoliosis and her spine is held together by metal rods after having had an operation ten years ago to correct its curvature .  Sitting on a bike for that long cannot have been comfortable for her and she went four miles more than I'll be travelling next weekend, and all at night. She also raised more than £9,000 for her chosen charities, the orthopaedic hospital where she had the operation and an organisation building schools in Rwanda.  Frankly, if she can do it, I've got no excuse - congratulations and thanks, Princess Eugenie, for giving me that final spur on!

Given that we're so close now to the event, I thought I'd share with you a bit about who has been reading this blog - this isn't a showboating exercise, I just think it's interesting because the statistics I get shown behind the scenes on this website have a few surprises in them.  So far (and not counting your current perusal, dear reader), the blog has had 977 page views - come on folks, send it to your friends and let's get over the 1,000 mark by Sunday.  Unsurprisingly, given the geographic spread of my friends and family, the largest number of visitors are from the UK, followed by the USA, but there seems to be a significant minority following my exploits in Russia, a few people on the other side of the world in New Zealand and Australia and even someone in South Korea.  Because of the way I've been sharing my posts on facebook and twitter, it is not surprising that the majority of site traffic is routed from those two sites (and, indeed, there was a significant peak in page views when Brian Blessed retweeted a link!)  However, there has been a fair amount of traffic in the last week coming from a Belgian sports news site called Sporza and, try as I may, I can't find any reference to this blog on it, so if you know anything about that, please let me know!  Finally, more readers are using Firefox than any other browser, more are using Windows than Mac, and more are using Android than iPhone.  I can't say that any of this is particularly scientific, the site just counts stuff!

I'd like to thank all the people who've sponsored me for the Bike Ride so far, especially those who've done so in the last week or two.  I've made it up to £368 now, creeping ever closer to my £500 target.  There's still plenty of time to sponsor me - you can do so by clicking on the link to my Justgiving page on the right hand side of the page and following the instructions there.

A week from now...

...I'll be 3 hours into the London to Brighton Bike Ride.  I can't believe it's so close and I can't believe how far I've travelled, both literally and figuratively, in the last two months.  It's been quite a journey, physically and mentally.  I now have travel independence, which I have never had before. I can get to places that are really quite a long way away, but without having to rely on anyone else.  I'm fitter, a bit lighter, and (and this one's surprised me) a bit braver and more assertive.

Since my last post, I cycled to work and back on Thursday, on my own, without any significant occurrences (unless you count the bus which pulled out in front of me without warning, but she missed me and I felt better after shouting at her, after which I got praise from the cycle courier I'd just overtaken, which I'm not sure is a good thing).  I also had a long chat with a different cycle courier about my (full-size folding) bike when I was putting it away for the office.  He was asking me all about it because he thought it might be a good idea to get one for himself - I asked him if it had a few too many gears for him, as a (normally fixie-riding) cycle courier, but he said five years ago it might have been, but he's 42 now, so the idea of a bit of help uphill was very appealing!

Three very exciting things have happened in the last few days.  The first is that my race number and information pack has arrived - my number is 6269, so if you happen to see someone riding around with that number affixed to them, it's probably me (and if it's not me, you should probably ask them why they have my number!); the second is that my London to Brighton hoodie has arrived - I'm not going to wear it until the day, so here's a picture of it not on me; and finally, my race shirt has arrived - it's white with royal blue sides and my firm's logo on the front and back.  Classy.

With just one week to go, the focus fades away from training - I don't want to start with tired legs - and sets firmly on the fundraising.  With the help of some very generous donors in the last couple of weeks, my total has reached £313 for British Heart Foundation.  I'd still really like to get over my £500 target before the day, so if you haven't had the chance to sponsor me yet, then please click on the Justgiving link on the right hand side of the page and give whatever amount you can, no matter how small (or how large :) ).

The Emerald City of Hertfordshire

Today we had grand plans.  We were going to set out at 9 a.m. and cycle up the Lea Valley and across to Welwyn Garden City, and then get the train back to Harringay.  This would be by far my longest ride to date, and would be even more of a challenge because I still had Saturday's miles in my legs.

I woke up at 8.57 a.m., a whole three minutes before we had intended to set off.  At 9.06 a.m. I got out of bed and James wasn't too far behind me.  By the time we'd eaten another healthy breakfast (a sandwich made with oatcakes and caramel dessert sauce), sorted the bikes and ourselves out and fed the cat, it was gone 10 a.m.

I had a revolutionary (pardon the pun) breakthrough today - I'd done some research on the internet to try to find a quick fix to stop my hands from hurting so much; it turned out that tilting my seat backwards a notch or two might do it, so before we left, James altered the saddle and it immediately made an absolutely enormous difference.  My hands still hurt, but because they were already hurting, not because of today's efforts.  I also tried riding with my Garmin GPS watch for the first time today, so I actually have some pretty accurate data about our journey.

We set out along the now familiar route to the Lea Valley - it being a bank holiday, the roads were pretty clear and the only issues I had (but James managed to avoid) were a car doing a very bad three point turn and a car reverse parking without indicating, both on Spring Hill.  I did some choice swearing and we carried on.

For the first few miles, I found it pretty hard going, just because I hadn't recovered from the Waltham Abbey outing, but as we went along I recovered somewhat and we were at Waltham Abbey again in less than an hour and a half.  Then we went into uncharted territory (still didn't see any dragons, though).  We carried along up the river bank, passing cows and sheep and horses in the fields, until we eventually got to the town of Broxbourne and it was lunchtime.  We stopped at a cafe just off the main towpath before the Crown Bridge.  James had a fantastic looking breakfast baguette (it even had a fried egg on top) and I had a ham and cheese panini.  I amused myself over lunch by answering all the crossword clues for the neighbouring table's communal crossword and marvelling at how inept they were at crosswords - it was hardly the Times.

After our lunch stop, the towpath got significantly worse under wheel and there were frequent tree roots making me wish I had suspension.  There was also a tangible increase in the number of idiots on the towpath, on wheels and on foot.  We had one incident where the number of dogs involved seemed to increase threefold the closer we got to the people supposedly controlling them - there were a few people dawdling along the path towards us, dogless, and another group immediately behind (probably hoping to overtake); we rang our bells as we approached, as the dawdlers were engrossed in conversation and may not have seen us, even though they were facing us.  They moved to one side and as we drew alongside, I noticed one dog behind them, off the lead, which then miraculously became two and then three dogs, all going different directions and none of them being called aside by anyone.  It was difficult to say thank you to the dawdlers without the dog walkers thinking they were included, and I think I ended up more or less hissing my gratitude into the ear of one of the dawdlers!

The river led us on through Ware, and then the path took a bend to the west, towards Hertford.  We knew that at Hertford we'd have to go onto another traffic-free path, but that we should be able to get onto it by continuing to follow the river.  As we neared central Hertford, there were a couple of sections of path marked "no cycling", and then the path was blocked off altogether.  We spotted a blue signpost for National Cycle Route 61 (now known as the Yellow Brick Road) to Welwyn Garden City and decided to follow it.  We hadn't gone very far when we lost the trail, the signposts dried up and we were faced with an enormous roundabout with dual carriageways going off in all directions.  At about this point we decided that enough was enough - Hertford also has a train station with trains direct to Harringay, and if we could find that, we could cut our trip a little short and be back in time for afternoon tea.  Next issue - how to find (and get to) Hertford North station.

We worked out that the A119 towards Stevenage went to the station, so we went through a subway to get to the other side of the enormous roundabout, planning to join the hideously busy road on the other side.  However, Hertford has clearly been hating cyclists since well before the safety bicycle was invented, and there was no access point onto the road from the other side of the subway - only lots of residential streets, (well-signposted) public footpaths and a rather large fence.  In the end, we had to go through another subway back to the other side of the road and work out a route to the station via the centre of town.  Eventually we got there, only to discover that the lifts aren't big enough for bikes, so we had to hoik them up the stairs.  Just as we were getting onto the train, it started to rain - justification for the shortened journey, surely.

Despite the non-existence of Welwyn Garden City (it was noticeable that there weren't any signposts for it at all, not just cycling ones), this was still my longest cycle ever at 26.1 miles, just about a marathon's worth.  When I think back now to the time (just seven weeks ago) when I struggled to do a whole lap of Finsbury Park without stopping, it suddenly seems incredible how far (literally) I've come!

One day I will find that mythical place, Welwyn Garden City, the Emerald City of Hertfordshire, and if you'd like to sponsor me to do so, please click on the Justgiving link on the right hand side - I'm up to £313 now, but I'd still like to get to £500 before I set off for Brighton in 12 sleeps' time.

Journey to the Ends of the Earth

Oh, OK, it wasn't the ends of the Earth.  It wasn't even one end of the Earth, it was just outside the M25; but that is a place called Not London, which may as well be an end of the Earth when one lives in Harringay.  And, there be dragons (fair enough, no dragons - but there could have been!)

More on that later - first, the big news from Thursday.  After our slightly more eventful than usual journey into work, involving stupid other cyclists, arguments and a nearly terminally lost bolt, I had the dilemma of knowing that I had to get my bike home and knowing that James wouldn't be there to escort me.  It was very tempting to wimp out, leave it folded and get on the train, but no!  I did not!  I came to the conclusion that carrying my bike on the train was actually going to be more hassle than riding it, so I donned my ridiculous Lycra (I'm actually getting used to it now), unfolded the beast, dropped the same bolt again and spent 10 minutes finding it, and was on my way.  I had the most uneventful journey home that you could possibly imagine until I got to the end of my road and I did finally wimp out.  To be fair, turning into the road is quite hard, even for the seasoned cyclist - it's a right turn, just over the brow of a hill, the hill is relatively steep and as you turn the corner, you're coming off a vicious speed bump.  There was loads of traffic, I was stuck on the inside, and frankly I couldn't be bothered, so I pulled up on the left, crossed over on foot and then cycled down my road to the front door.  But still, I cycled home on my own!

Yesterday, I had a well deserved rest day.  This morning, I woke up very grumpy.  I still don't know why, but everything was far too much effort and James more or less had to put me into my Lycra and frog march me out of the door (after an exceedingly healthy breakfast of cherry and fruits of the forest yoghurt and Battenburg cake).  We set off along the same route we took last weekend, towards the Lea Valley Park, with one little twist - instead of walking to the end of the road and heading for Finsbury Park, we cycled down the road and turned right onto Green Lanes.  For the uninitiated, Green Lanes is a busy trunk road and shopping street that heads from central London out towards the North Circular and beyond.  The bit where we live is extremely busy on the weekend with people driving there (why would you do that?), walking there or taking the bus there to do their grocery shopping - there are pedestrians everywhere, loads of buses and plenty of car doors unexpectedly opening.  So far, it's been an absolute no-no for me.  Today I attempted it, and survived.

We went through Stamford Hill again, and although we were slightly later in the day than on our previous visit, there were still plenty of folks walking down the middle of the road (I may have to bill the Synagogue for a new bell).  Once we got to the river, it was apparent that it was much less busy than last weekend, probably because of the 15 degree drop in temperature and the presence of some rather miserable looking clouds.

We cycled out to the point where we had turned around last time, and decided to continue forward, to the promised land beyond the bus garage.  It was clearly a condition of the planning permission for the bus garage that the bus company must renovate the towpath along the length of the site. Unfortunately, although it is a very nice bit of path that they've put in, it isn't very wide and it is completely open to the water on one side, with no grass verge and no railings.  We decided to use the adjacent road on the way back!

Me at the Sun Inn.  The pint belongs to James.
Sorry about resolution - taken on mobile!

At this point I should probably mention that we weren't entirely sure where we were going.  We knew where we were, but we hadn't settled on a destination. We carried on for a while longer, passing under the North Circular, and then James saw a signpost for Waltham Abbey.  This rang a bell with me, as I knew that Waltham Abbey was just outside the M25.  Outside London.  In Essex.  In Not London.  So, that's where we went.  We got off the river at Waltham Abbey, and went into the town.  We got some useful maps and info at the Tourist Information Centre, had a quick look at the outside of the abbey church (there was a wedding on, so we couldn't go in) and then stopped for lunch at a pub called the Sun Inn (recommended as cycle friendly as long as you don't mind sitting outside - they've got a nice courtyard and don't mind the bikes or the fluorescent Lycra).  We had a decent burger and a nice sit down, and then set off on our journey out of Not London back to London.

On the return journey I nearly killed a dog.  I didn't though.  I have good brakes.  It was a tiny little thing, the sort of dog I usually refer to as a "rat on a string", except this one had the string missing.  It ran straight in front of my bike at the last second.  Someone was watching over me and the little chap.  A bit further along, we saw another dog, this one enormous, quite happily yomping down the towpath unaccompanied.  Once it realised we were alongside him, he thought we were the best thing ever and ran with us for a mile or so.  Eventually, we came across his master, also a cyclist, who had stopped to wait for the dog.  We also stopped for a drink at this point and the dog and I became properly acquainted - he was an Alaskan Malamute, very hairy, a bit wet (I think he'd been swimming or paddling) and very, very soppy.

We stopped for an icecream just before turning off the river and attempting to go up Spring Hill (the one where we had the incident with the driving school car before) - I made it up in one go this time.  Now I'm sitting back at home, watching the football and my day seems a bit surreal - we went to a whole different place and back, under our own steam.  Total distance: 22.64 miles.  Nearly 37 kilometres.  A Long Way.