Final Fundraising Figure

I closed fundraising today after a final collection at Queenwood Golf Club in Surrey. The collection came to a mighty £936!!! I also received a very generous £250 from the Young & Co brewery, for whom I used to work. Together these figures put a good, thick layer of icing on a tall cake of donations received over the last six months.

The final sum raised was £7,387.13 including Gift Aid supplement. I am pleased and very grateful that together we have been able to pass my target of £5,000 by some distance. I know all the funds will be well applied by the Cystic Fibrosis Trust.

Erratum - Emergency Thanks!

I knew I would forget somebody important. I remembered my error just this morning and apologise for the tardiness of this item;

I owe great thanks to Mr Micky King at the Old King's Club for his support in arranging the ample grant which helped me to fit out my bike to the required standard. I imagine I would have been stopped up three or four times as often repairing punctures, replacing spokes, tightening bolts and the like were it not for his help.

Please check back at the end of June for the final figure raised.

Epilogue

After two weeks in Istanbul I feel it is time I returned to the journal to summarise the journey and share some final thoughts.

Since arriving I have made a few excursions around the city in between long sleeps and large meals. I feel very comfortable in Istanbul. I am living in Beyoglu, a cosmopolitan neighbourhood which has much in common with my favourite areas of London. The youth fill the steep streets with style and confidence, old men gather in clubrooms to take tea over tavla and colourful housewives peg washing out high up between close houses.

I spent much of my first day napping in the gardens of the Topkapi Palace complex. Since then I have been to see Aya Sofya and Sultanahmet Camii inside and out and have visited several other of the obligatory attractions. I have seen the Asian side of the city, the two grand bridges over the Bosphorus and the quiet, green Prince’s islands. In getting to and fro these places I have passed through countless districts and neighbourhoods each with its characteristic balance between the very old, the old and the new. Wherever I am, what I most like to do is sit with the old men for tea and play fast games of tavla with my host Mehmet.

Last Friday I went to a quiet little hamam and paid a few pounds for an old man to beat the last stiffness out of my limbs. The vigorous massage and the heat, steam and water left me limp and peaceful on the wet marble floor of the bathhouse. I stood up prematurely and my heart failed to get working blood to my brain. After a succession of stumbles and black spots I passed out in the corner of the toilets. In seven weeks I had made it across the breadth of Europe strong and healthy and it was a pat on the back from a geriatric in a loincloth which brought me to my knees.

The experience of moving across Europe by bicycle was of slow alienation. The first thousand miles took me through country very similar to that with which I am familiar. I was among people whose lives and language were substantially the same as mine. Moving into Italy, little changed but the quality of the coffee and I remained able to communicate with the people easily. When I passed into the Balkans things began to change more quickly. The most immediate difference was in the language. I found it difficult to decipher the several Slavic tongues. On a trip where the speed of my progress was to a greater or lesser degree dependent on discourse with the locals, linguistic difficulties quickly made me feel further from home. With Bosnia came the novel and regular sight of rural village mosques and in Mostar I saw for the first time in my life the scars of recent warfare. After a brief coastal holiday through Croatia and Montenegro I entered Albania, a country subject to consistent and vile xenophobia throughout Europe. The place and the people were the most welcoming of the trip and I was happy to conclude that all the hatred and horror stories were nothing but puff founded on fear and ignorance. This confirmation helped me shrug off any last predispositions for the remaining few hundred miles and after a long, hard push I was across the final border and closing in on the finish line.

I started the trip on the back of three weeks’ revision and examinations followed by a week off eating my way around New York. I hadn’t been on the bike for over a month. Even so, I knew I was up to the physical challenge, even if the first week was going to be a struggle. I felt far more threatened by two months of solitude. I had no idea how I would react to spending the majority of my waking time alone and arriving in unfamiliar places every day.

I was foolish to fear these things.

On the bike, my progress kept me company. I always had targets in mind and always kept myself busy breaking the day down into obstacles and taking these on one by one. My discipline was broken a handful of times, most notably by the four day headwind through Bosnia and by the rolling hills and endless gusts of the penultimate leg, and during these periods I did struggle to get my head round keeping going. For the bulk of the ride, though, I remained in good spirits.

Off the bike, the myriad kindnesses of numberless people helped to change my mentality from a timid prejudice to an easy faith and confidence in approaching and interacting with people I knew only fleetingly or not at all. For much of this change I owe a great deal of thanks to the CouchSurfing project. I stayed with twenty six different hosts and through them met dozens more from the community. The meetings and conversations I have had with these people elevated the trip from something to endure and enjoy to something to really value. I encourage everybody to get involved in the project, it is a good thing.

I owe a great deal of thanks to people at home. One of the major purposes of the trip was to draw attention to the work of the Cystic Fibrosis Trust. As I write this, we have raised £4,676.28 excluding Gift Aid supplement, just short of the £5,000 target. I hope that, with a bit more pestering on my part, we can reach and surpass this mark. I am due to receive what could be a considerable sum from a collection in June and will post the final figure shortly after. I would like to thank all those who have donated and are named at www.virginmoneygiving.com/marcdavies and Mrs. Debbie Edgington, Mr. Donald Leggett, Mr. Andrew Pearse, Mr. David Greenhalgh and the staff of KCS Wimbledon who have made generous offline donations. I would like to offer special thanks to Messrs. Jeremy Lowe and Matt Selby of St. George’s Hill Golf Club, who guided me and helped me to promote my cause at the club. The most substantial contributions to the pot came from my law school and my future place of work and I would like to thank Mr. Peter Crisp from BPP and the partnership and staff of Herbert Smith for their assistance and generosity.

My close family and more distant relatives have offered me unfailing interest, concern and support throughout the trip. My girlfriend, Holly, has been with me from a continent and an ocean away and I owe her a great debt of love and attention which I hope I can meet when we are together again. The care of these people steadied my mind in the hardest times and made my smile broader in the happier moments. I can’t wait to celebrate Kirsty’s marriage to James with you all on the 22nd.

I have set out below a few statistics and summaries to finish the journal. Thank you for reading, I hope you have enjoyed sharing my thoughts and experiences in the same way that I have enjoyed recalling and recording them. Until the next trip, farewell.

MD

Distance covered 2663 miles / 4286 kilometres

Days 47

of which cycling 34
Average distance per day 78.3 miles / 126.1 kilometres
Nights on the road 46
of which Couchsurfing 34
of which friends 6
of which hostels 3
of which hotels 2
of which ferry cabin 1
Average cost per night ~ £4
Highest point 2284 metres, Julierpass, Switzerland
Highest speed 35.8 mph / 57.6 kmph Down the Edessa bypass
Blood None
Sweat Loads
Tears 2 or 3 escaped before setting out one morning, not telling where!
Bike repairs 5 punctures, 2 knackered cleats, 1 broken spoke
Bananas ~ 120
Oranges ~ 70
Chocolate ~ 10,000 g
Body weight
London 28.02.10 15 stone 2 lbs / 96 kg
Istanbul 15.04.10 13 stone 5 lbs / 85 kg

Best leg: Ljubljana to Zagreb
A fast and beautiful road winding down the quiet valley beside the sparkling Sava followed by a gift of a tailwind blowing me across the border and into the weekend.
Worst leg: London to Harwich
Wet, cold and slow with nothing but Essex to distract me.
Longest leg: Amygdaleonas to Alexandroupoli
Though it fell just shy of the Bitola to Thessaloniki leg for distance, the navigational nightmare of the Greek countryside had me on the road for 11 hrs
Shortest leg: Hoek van Holland to Rotterdam
A wee little baby leg along the dijk roads gave me the afternoon off to write my first couple of entries.
Earliest morning
On the road by 6.30 am in Ljubljana to get to class by seven.
Latest night
Arriving in Tekirdag after 9 pm following a late start from Alexandroupoli and hill after hill after hill from the border
Most scared
Harangued by a pack of strays in the pitch black just short of Tekirdag
Most excited
Looking west down the valley towards Chiavenna as the cycle computer clocked up higher and higher speeds.
Most distressed
Screaming again and again into the unabating wind around 20 miles short of Tekirdag
Most peaceful
Rolling out the last few flat miles of the day to Pogradec as Lake Ohrid lightly lapped its shore.

FINISHED

2663 miles and I have finished. I arrived at Sultanahmet Camii just before 5pm GMT+2 today.

Day 34 - Tekirdag to Istanbul

The morning of my final day and I was refreshed from a good, deep sleep. I went through the routines I knew so well. I found myself a sugary breakfast, slid into lycra layers and greased myself up before packing all my things in their right places. The inner tubes I had bought in Thessaloniki were for tyres 3mm narrower than mine so I decided to save them for an emergency and instead used the one I had patched up in Amygdaleonas. I refitted my front wheel as several townspeople started their day around me and soon I was on my way.

After a short set of low climbs I was out on a flat road by the sea, a light breeze blowing in my face. This was nothing on the wind of the previous day and I was very pleased with my fast pace. The day was much clearer too and the change in conditions helped to soothe the stress hangover of which vexed me for the first few miles. The morning went by quickly and I surpassed every target I set myself. My legs enjoyed being able to use all the fitness I had built up over the preceding six and a half weeks.

I found my way onto the required turn offs without difficulty and made it through to lunch on course and with nearly sixty miles under my belt. I kept a cap on my excited disbelief that I had less than forty miles left and sat on a step outside a petrol station eating a junk lunch.

I can barely remember the last few hours. There was a substantial climb through Buyukcekmece which signalled the outer limit of the conurbation. From the downhill that followed I lost control of my leg speed and belted out mile after mile as fast as the thickening traffic would allow. I lost my planned route as I rounded the airport but I did not care as I found myself on the coastal road from which I could see dozens of grand minarets. I knew that six of these enclosed Sultanahment Camii, my final destination.

I confirmed my approach with passers by and soon I found myself at the junction allowing me up the cobbled hill leading round two or three corners to the base of the south wall of the mosque. I passed through a dark archway to a small marketplace to the east and from here I could see the building in all its majesty. I dismounted and decided I had arrived. I announced this to a passing Frenchman in order that I could justify asking him to take my photograph.

I soon realised this was not the front of the mosque as my host Mehmet was waiting to the north side, between the mosque and the Hagia Sofia. This being so, I took my bike on my shoulder and carried both my panniers in my left hand to climb the steps leading round to the front. I met Mehmet and he took the photo above, bike held aloft in front of the mosque.

I felt quietly satisfied. I sat smiling with Mehmet and his other guest, Steve. I finished Mehmet’s ice cream.

Distance covered 89 miles

Day 33 - Alexandroupoli to Tekirdag

Dimitrios and his friends were medical students and had arranged for me to come to the medical school in the morning and talk to their class about my trip and the cause. Further, they said they would try to introduce me to a Dr Demosthenes Bouros, a leading researcher in pulmonary diseased generally and Cystic Fibrosis in particular. I knew that the trip to the hospital would mean I would arrive in darkness at Tekirdag. This was not ideal but I reasoned that if I could justify arriving in darkness the previous evening for no reason but my own folly I could certainly justify doing the same today. There could be no better reason for doing so.

I met Dr Bouros and gave a little talk and was very pleased I had. After getting my things together and stopping briefly at a cycle store for inner tubes, I left Alexandroupoli close to noon. A strong wind blew from the east and a thick, low blanket of cloud hid the sun. These conditions made the going slow and cold. I arrived at the Turkish border after around three hours and stopped to talk with the young soldiers at the border. They were friendly, took photos for me and assured me I had a flat and easy ride to Tekirdag.

I was then waved through three stages of border control only to be stopped at the fourth and final booth. I was instructed to return to the beginning to obtain a visa and police stamp. These processes stole a further half hour from my day but, going on the assurance of a flat road, I felt fairly confident that I would arrive in Tekirdag in low light rather than no light.

It soon became clear that the road was anything but flat and I climbed slowly up bulging hills before descending slowly down steep drops into a brutal and persistent headwind. I was stuck in this pattern for five hours and I had to forgo any breaks longer than five minutes as I could not tell how long the day would take. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally. At Alexandroupoli, Dimitrios, who had recently studied psychiatry, had explained to me the psychological phenomenon which causes castaways to drown within a few hundred yards of the shore, though they might have been swimming for several miles. He had joked that I should be careful not to meet a similar demise in my final stretch. Looking out over endless successions of hills, I saw the close relevance of this phenomenon to my situation. I had less than two days left in a seven week trip, but the next few dozen miles felt impassable. More than once I found myself screaming at the wind which kept my speed between ten and twelve miles an hour.

Fighting through the hours, I came to the base of a large climb at around half past seven. The light was beginning to dwindle but I had not eaten anything more than 200g of chocolate in several hours and I needed a boost for the final 15 miles I was expecting. I stopped at a petrol station and devoured a stack of junk food. The proprietor came over from a nearby building and spoke English to me. He told me I had just this next climb and only 10 miles left. One of his attendants, a boy in his late teens, made me my first glass of sweet Turkish tea and these human kindnesses helped me ready myself for the final short push.

I put my light in my pocket as I had done 24 hours before and started the climb. The light faded quickly and as I reached the top I was dependent on passing cars for setting my course. The downhills were dangerous. I had to pick my route well in advance as headlights were few and far between. I hit half a dozen bad patches of road and prayed that my spokes would stay intact. At one point a chorus of yaps and barks told me I had just missed a pack of strays making their way across the road. A few miles short of Tekirdag a sole policeman waved me down with his torch. I explained I had to make it to Tekirdag to sleep and he allowed me to continue.

Finally I arrived to find the hotels full with students at a university conference. A boy attending tables at a café came out to attend to my bewilderment and showed me the way to a hostel. The old chap running the place made me tea and took me to a restaurant where I was fed well on meat, rice, vegetables and yoghurt. I spent what was left of the evening repairing a puncture I had picked up in the final hour and burning holes through my shorts on the electric heater.

Distance covered 98 miles

Day 32 - Amygdaleonas to Alexandroupoli

I slept very badly so left Anna’s home later than I might have. Firstly I had to climb back up the hill to drop down to Kavala then climb back up a headland to get out. After this warm up the road flattened out and made a long course across a hot, flat plain. I told myself this gave me a great opportunity to make up some time so really punished my legs, setting myself outlandish hourly targets and working much harder than normal through the first hours of the day.

Towards the end of the third, I saw I had another puncture in my front tyre. I pulled aside and fixed it, using the second of my spare inner tubes. Having started the week with two good fitted inner tubes and two fresh spares, I now had just two to run on, one with a shoddily glued patch and one out of action. The tyre still seemed fine save for one breach where a sharp stone seemed to have cut through several layers of nylon. The inside of the tyre was still fine but to make sure I glued a patch to the inside of the tyre, since a further puncture could leave me stranded out on the long and quiet road. Aside from the technical concerns, the enforced break did me good. I had been winding myself up about time and distance and the delay made these concerns academical – I would arrive when I would arrive.

By lunch I had covered just over 60 miles and expected around 45 to remain. I stopped in the farming village of Nea Kallista and pulled into a taverna outside which three enormous farmers ruddy from sunshine and tsipouro argued loudly. Passing into the cool interior, another large man sat at a table eating from several plates and watching a television I found unintelligible. He turned to me and frowned and I thought I might be better moving on. In perfect English, he then announced “Good afternoon, I am Angelo, sit with me”. I spent the next half an hour having a great conversation with Angelo, who had been on a football scholarship to the States before suffering a serious injury. He was now proprietor of the taverna and had his mother prepare salad, eggs and potatoes for me. With sadness I announced I had to leave and took out my wallet but he declined any payment and, further, gave me two little bottles of tsipouro, one large of retsina and a whole litre of ouzo. I left with my luggage somewhat heavier but my spirits buoyed by yet another surprise kindness.

From Nea Kallista I could and should have stayed on the national road which bypasses a network of hamlets. However, Google maps had told me I could save nearly ten miles by crossing through said network and despite Angelo’s warnings I felt like an adventure so made my way to the next settlement of Porpi. My plan worked for the first hour as I hopped from village to village but I came to a grinding halt at a fork. No one around had heard of Venna, the next village on my list. I had to choose one way or the other and in hindsight I must have chosen poorly as I spent the next three hours zigzagging across countryside as I had done on the first day in Essex. At length I was helped by a patently drunk tractor driver who told me in passable English that he had worked in the shipyards at Southampton. I followed his enormous wheels through to the road which would take me over the mountains to Alexandroupolis. Stumbling out of his cab, he shook my hand and presented me with one of his warm tins of lager. I indicated I would save it for later.

This character cheered my spirits for the climb through the mountains, though I could not ignore the fact that it was getting cold and dark and I still had many miles to go. Further, I had not packed any chocolate or fruit for the afternoon so I had not had any sugar through the hours of climbing up hills and falling down dales. Dropping down from the mountains after another hour’s hard work, I took a break in the dark about an hour short of Alexandroupoli. I needed sugar and had only four options – ouzo, tsipouro, retsina or lager. I chose the lesser of four absurdities and grimaced the warm beer down, following it with plenty of water. For the first time in the trip I used my rear light, detaching it from its bracket and dropping it flashing into one of my translucent back pockets. My front light had broken sometime on the first day so was of no use.

The last hour had to be quick. The sugar and the alcohol helped me to get through it and I arrived at the town hall safely. My host, Dimitrios, came to meet me and I have never been happier to see someone I do not know. He took me with his friends for a large supper of good local foods and I returned to bed and a deep sleep.

Distance covered 115 miles