Your body achieves what your mind believes

Before I start this blog, I must thank the support crew for looking after us so well and helping to drown out the negative voices in our heads at low points.

We stepped off the ferry, bleary eyed but somehow still reasonably cheerful. Despite the lack of sleep, I felt pretty good at this point and wanted to get my feet back in the pedals.  We rolled off the ferry and congregated on a roundabout to chuck stuff in the van, ready for the off. We let the fast/elite group disappear over the horizon before clipping in and heading out...
Look to the left, turn onto the right side... and away we went.

The 120 miles to be completed was split into 'manageable chunks' of 30 ish miles with stops planned, the first being breakfast. I hadn't paid too much attention to the route other than loading it up to my ETREX, but I did know that the first part was 'reasonably flat'. For once it seemed true, especially after the hills Day 1.

We rolled through deserted villages, quiet, pretty, quintessentially French villages. Our group was rolling well together and I felt pretty good at this point. Apparently doing lots of night shifts helps the body cope with enforced lack of sleep on something like this.  Breakfast felt like a long way away but the miles went by in a flash and soon we rolled up to a market square, hot drinks, bread and cheese and gummy bears ... square meal number 1.  We were focused on not spending too much time on the stops... it was also pretty chilly and any thoughts of removing the gillet were swiftly banished as the clouds remained obstinately grey and thec.f.sun was hiding. After the day before dehydration issues, I was pretty happy with the lack of warmth, but it did necessitate a need to keep moving. As a result, I provably did not take as much care of the undercarriage area at the stops... but more of that later.

The second leg passed by much as the first did and my head was in a good place. My body was doing what I asked of it at this point so I had few complaints at this point.
The group was still rolling well together ... sometimes one person would go a bit quiet, at other times it would be someone else.

It is unusual for me to be in company. And whilst the company was the best I could have found for this trip, it threw up some difficulties for my headspace.  On the hills, I like to start of slow, get into a rhythm, and keep my Heart rate out of my red zone. I found myself trying to keep up with some of the stronger climbers initially which threw my rhythm off and put me in danger of hitting a wall. With each hill that passed, I talked myself out of trying to follow, keeping to my climb plan, allowing myself to be overtaken and trying not to worry J was holding people up. Once in the rythm, I find that I can often speed up towards the second half of a climb and that eased my worries somewhat.
I was often faster on the downhills and normally I would use this speed to make up for my slower climbing, but in a pack of riders, and the spirit of keeping together, it meant my brakes were often employed.
The rolling terrain with false flats is where I am in my element. After the endless roads I have found myself on over the years, I find I can power away, with a reasonable mile eating pace and unlike the climbs where I was often near the back, I was happiest when I had my face in the wind and could see the road ahead.
In a pack, unlike when solo, care also has to be taken to keep in the line, not swerve or brake suddenly and to keep an eye out for riders sneaking up on the inside of you for a chat.
Despite the differences, there were benefits. Aiming towards someone else on a climb helped keep the legs turning, and seeing everyone else keep going helped my legs keep going up where perhaps I would gave stopped for a breather. There was chat and laughter, and morale boosting comradeship that I don't get solo.... but I also had to remember not to talk to the cows as we passed by! 

Of course the bonus of the climbs... is the downhills and there were some wonderful sweeping ones, where you could really enjoy sweeping down the road... unfortunately  Cedez le passage signs brought a sudden halt to some of them, ruining the downhill with a chorus of screeching brakes.

Ever since I had said yes to this... I had been regaled with tales of the '2 nasty hills' in the penultimate stage of this ride.. one with the doom laden title of '4 mile hill'.
I was trying not to listen to the countdown to these hills, my thoughts being that I would deal with it when I got there. Despite this, apprehension had been steadily rising to the point where I was convinced that this hill would bring me to a grinding halt, unable to continue.
Just before the approach to the 2 hills, we stopped briefly and my fingers seized up. Not uncommon for me after the nerve bashing over the years, it was excruciating and annoying in equal measure.  Despite the offers of help, they wouldn't unfreeze and unwilling to hold everyone up, I rode off, fingers splayed over the hoods in the hope the problem would resolve soon. It took about 10 minutes of keeping my fingers straight but eventually I could bend them again without them freezing up.

The hill before 4 mile hill (one of many, but this was the first big hill of this leg), was fairly steep and reasonably long, and at points my head was telling me to stop. Instead of telling my legs to shut up, I told my head to shut up and kept up the tapping of the pedals. Before I knew it, I was cruising down the other side and heading towards the dreaded crux of the ride.

We rounded a roundabout and the hill stared at us like a malicious entity, daring me to climb it. We hit the slope, not as steep as my imagination had made it and a line from a song by my very talented friend, Chris Summerill, came into my head... just the one line, repeated over and over, silently at first, but then as a whisper in exhaled breath....

we go round and around, away we go, away we go, away we go....

Over and over until I looked to my left and saw a stone cross in the woods and then looked at my gps to confirm that I had reached the high point.  I was confused... 4 mile hill had been fine... I had ascended with little trouble, keeping to my pace, keeping my heart rate in a good zone. That was the worst hill?? For me, some of the hills in the UK had surpassed this in difficulty. I had built it up in my head, and it had not lived up to the dread that it engendered. It just shows that everyone's worst points are very subjective and it is better to just surmount the obstacles as they come, rather than worrying beforehand.
The hills weren't done, there were more ups, but it finally felt like the back of the ride had been broken... with around 30 miles to go to Paris, we were nearly done. As I thought this, the cycling gods woke up and the initially chuckle soon turned to cackles as they rubbed their hands with glee... they knew the worst was to come!

We swept downhill to our final stop before the end to be greeted by cheering and clapping and ... well... what happens on the ride stays on the ride....(Harriet!)

It was this point where I felt most overwhelmed with gratitude for our wonderful support crew, who had their own stresses and obstacles to overcome, which we only heard about after we had finished. They served us food, poured our drinks, encouraged us, made us smile through the weariness and the aches and pains and kept us going throughout. Speaking for myself, I could have done this ride without them, but it would have been infinately harder and not as full of laughter.

The final leg... into Paris. The outskirts came quickly and the traffic built... the cycling gods laughter was getting louder and louder but eventually the noise of traffic drowned them out...
By now, we were all tired and getting a bit pissed off. Red lights every 10 yards, clip in... unclip... clip ... unclip. Mind the pedestrians... watch that car... that moped, that scooter... eyes in the back of our heads. A shout went up.... riders lost at the lights... pull in... wait...
ok we are good, all together.
Which way?? That way... there is a bike path... can we use that path... gravel... stones... back on the road... nearly hit, car pulling out, screech to a halt... rider down, helped up by a passer by.. no injuries.
There's the Eiffel tower... where?? ... There!
Never mind the bloody tower, watch the traffic crossing our path....
Arse hurts bigtime!!!
Nerves in my palms screaming at me at every bump. Mind the bollards!
Crossing the FCUK ing river  again!!

Cobbles!!!! The last kick in the balls by the cycling gods, rattling the teeth, bashing sore arses, battering our weary bodies to the last inch of anything!

The tower.... all pain falls away as I gaze up... where is everyone?? All riders together in our group as we started... sweeping round the roundabout to the waiting crew and cyclists already done. Off the bike... elation and weariness in equal measure.
Worth it. Pain is temporary... banished by completion.
Lift the bike in the air for that photo... proud of us all.

..................

Who is riding back to the hotel... ride? you must be kidding? Only 7 minutes to shower... ok then!

In retrospect having survived that last 10 miles, it would have been nicer to walk. Especially as we were nearly taken out by a succession of very bad drivers in that short ride. Shower... best ever. Going for a wee... most painful moment of the whole ride... apparently a sore undercarriage and acidic urine do not mix well (sorry, too much info!)

Out of shoes and smelly cycling gear into clean freshness. Hugs all around... don't we all smell nice!!

We went up to the rooftop bar and stared out over Paris... a lot nicer at this level. The evening passed with more laughter and hugs and shared stories of the road we had travelled together. The hardiest of us all decided to visit a bar... I got myself a takeaway pizza and settled on my bed to digest both the food and the ride. Whilst I wouldn't swap my solo rides for group ones, it has been a lovely experience.  Thoughts turned to the next challenge looming large (15 peaks of North Wales in 24 hours in June) and further ... to Ecuador where I will take on my 'Dirt Roads and Mountain Madness' challenge in September.

All journeys have to end so another can begin. Why not join me on the next adventure...

Love Hope and Strength

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