Day 6 - Cologne to Koblenz

After a pleasant and peaceful weekend at the house of Finn, a Kolner student and teacher, I took to the road again at around 8 am on Monday morning. There had been snow over the weekend and the air remained cold, the sun refusing to break through the cloud all morning, despite my several requests. This, in combination with a knee-preserving low work rate, left me numb for the first couple of hours and I stopped off in Bonn after 20 miles or so to warm up. I found Bonn to be quite unfriendly. I was turned away from one café and in the second the waiter was colder than the morning frost until he received his tip, after which he would barely let me leave, having taken a sudden interest in everything about me. I was pleased to leave and soon found a cycle path which followed the bank of the Rhine so closely I was rarely more than a few metres from its waters.

The further south I travelled, the higher the landscape rose around me and the narrower the river became, poking through headlands and cliffs. The water also turned from the lazy, muddy brown of the slow lower river to a deep, dark grey blue and it reflected the now clear sky beautifully. I found new inspiration in my surroundings and made my way quickly to Andernach, stopping off briefly at the remains of the Ludendorff bridge at Remagen (pictured).

I had a brief lunch at Andernach before leaving through the ruined gates of some Schloss and making my way towards Koblenz. The final part of the journey was easy as I wound my way through the scenery before crossing the Mosel in plenty of time. I had a good 90 minutes spare before meeting my host for the evening, Kai, and I made my way to Deutsches Eck (“Germany Corner”) which is the nib of land at the confluence of the Rhine and the Mosel. This was marked by a number of flags and an enormous statue of Kaiser Wilhelm II astride his horse, which was all totally out of proportion to the barely detectable mixture of the two great rivers. A good sight to see, nevertheless.

I met Kai shortly afterwards and we had a good night together at a bar in the company of a certain Frankie, a patently drunk and aging man who claimed to have spent his life wandering between German cities surviving by a variety of undisclosable means. While we did not believe much of any of his anecdotes, he was good company and we enjoyed several good German beers as he spun his yarns before returning home to sleep.

Distance covered 67 miles

Day 5 - Duisburg to Cologne

The sleep I needed did not come easily and I woke at half six to have breakfast with Petra, having slept for only three or four hours.

After breakfast I walked down to the industrial port to take in the scale of the operation and try to get some good shots. This was not altogether successful as the port was far too large to view in a morning and much of it could be seen only from high bridges.

Returning to Petra’s at about 10, I found that no one was in the house to let me in, as I had expected. Suspecting that her kids, who had recently finished exams, were still in bed, I stubbornly rang the bell for around forty five minutes before conceding to walk to the nearest high street to find a computer and phone to contact Petra. On the walk through the quiet neighbourhood I noticed an open garage door, under which a man of about seventy was sorting and packing his various effects. In two minds, I gingerly approached the man and asked for his help. Within ten minutes I was set up in his office armed with laptop, phone and coffee. Seeing me studying Petra’s profile, the man asked her family name and on being told, announced that he played tennis with her father. The latter lived just across town and had a spare key for the house. A further fifteen minutes and I was lavishing praise on my slightly embarrassed helper and being led away by Petra’s friendly father. I packed up my stuff while he fixed the letterbox and soon I was ready to leave.

Leave I did at noon and made good time to Dusseldorf, averaging 17-18mph. The road I was on became a tunnel in central Dusseldorf so I had to find a back route. The path along the Rhine took me through parks and cool, clean riverside developments and, though slow, was very pleasurable. I came out along a track which followed the back fence of a compound which I later discovered held the higher regional court of law. A bevy of cameras and correspondents was gathered around the back gate to the compound to record the transit (in a Transit) of the ‘Sauerland cell’ of German Jihadists, who had been sentenced earlier that day. At the time I was, of course, not aware of this and passed across the background of several newscasters, no doubt spoiling the sobriety of their reports with the silliness of my spotted jersey.

The convoy of police vans then caught up with me at the junction where the track met the main road. I asked directions from the van at the front of the convoy and, apparently unmindful of the gravity of his day’s duties, the policeman happily gave me directions and pulled out alongside me, ahead of the rest of the convoy. There then followed a slapstick scene where by way of several miscommunications I played leapfrog with five police and one unmarked van as they failed to come to a common position on whether they should overtake or let me go. I can’t speak for the police or the fundamentalists but to me it was all very amusing.

Leaving Dusseldorf a little later than expected I made my way towards Cologne and the house of my fourth hosts, Barabara and Nils. They were into climbing and immediately took me to the local park to try slacklining. My tired legs failed to conquer the shaky slackline but I was quite impressed by Nils’ efforts and it was nice to let some local children play along the line as the sun set over the housing estates of north Cologne.

Distance covered 45 miles

Day 4 - Nijmegen to Duisburg

Another day, another error.

Allowing myself to be bewitched by Google maps' report that Duisburg lay just 53 miles away, I had a relaxed morning, eating toast and writing up the previous day. At length, I left Loes at around noon.

I had been told by several Nijmegenians (Nimegeners/Nijmegans?) to cross the bridge over the Waal to get the best view of the city. On this recommendation, I headed towards the bridge and directly away from Duisburg, thinking that following the north bank of the Waal and then Rhine would amount to a similar distance to that predicted by Google. This was an error and one not compensated for by the underwhelming view of the city (right).

Still wallowing in ignorance of the day to come I enjoyed the first hour of cycling along the north bank dijks and crossing a tributary by a pont in the company of a pair of friendly Algerian expatriates. With their best wishes I continued towards the German border, slowed slightly by a gentle headwind. Germany arrived unannounced but for a change in signage and a severe downgrading in cycle path quality. After a quick photo, the latter of these changes made the geographically short trip to the bridge at Emmerich-am-Rhein seem never ending. It took so long that I had to forgo a refreshment stop at Emmerich and head straight to Xanten, on the south side of the Rhine. On reaching the other side of the river, the wind picked up and began to turn the wind farms and kill my speed. I struggled through bare fields at an average speed of around 11 mph, and doubted whether Xanten would ever materialize and, further, whether I could make it to Duisburg that day. The slow progress was compounded by the German cycle signs which took me on the winding scenic route and eventually to a mud track, pushing my speed down further to around 9 mph, about half that required. I eventually made it to Xanten weary in mind and in body. I stopped off at some sort of kids activity centre where I was served a plate of bockwurst and ‘spezial’ chips along with a leaflet on go-karting. I chewed my way through two syrup thick coffees and by the time I was back on the road it was 5pm and the sun was starting to set.

Racing the sun home, I joined the long, straight and mercifully downhill B road to Rheinberg. The wind having died, I managed to rack up an average speed of 18 mph and was through the other side of Rheinberg in around an hour. At this point I allowed the German cycle signs to fox me again and shortly found myself on a flooded ferry point waiting for a distant boat to cross a turbulent Rhine. While I was waiting the sun shone its last feeble rays and I felt aggrieved that the signs had taken me from a path which may have delivered me to my destination on time.

The ferry dropped me off in the industrial north of Duisburg and I wound my way through plants to the city proper. Arriving in the first residential district, I stopped to ask directions and was advised to go to the police station just a few doors away. I rung the security doorbell and shortly a rotund man sporting unbelievable facial hair and a badged, beige turtle neck buzzed me in to 1974. Surrounded by shades of brown and cream, mechnical telephone exchange machines and flaking leather utility jackets, I waited about twenty minutes for my moustachioed friend to find a yellow pencil (?) to draw my route on a map which I tried to indicate I understood from the start. Politely indicating my need to get on, I left the police station with the yellowed map folded into my jersey and made my way through Duisburg in darkness.

I found the house of my third host, Petra, without further incident and was welcomed into her comfortable family home and treated to a supper of blue cheese and meats. Petra then took me to a local meeting of language enthusiasts and I spoke English with a Russian nanoparticular physicist, which was nanoparticularly lucky as my GCSE Russian has faded to hashed Bond villain impressions.

Returning home, I wrote up the day before passing into sleep I desperately needed.

Distance covered 70 miles

Day 3 - Rotterdam to Nijmegen

After dragging Nicolas out of bed to open up the bike locker, I left Jacob van Campenplein at around 9. I decided to do my first bit of token bike maintenance at the side of the path, around a mile from my starting point. First item on the agenda was tyre pressure. I deployed my flash new pump and an aggressive hiss left my front tyre flat in a matter of seconds. It was clear I had the wrong kind of pump. Cursing the fact that I had not checked this before leaving, I trotted back to the nearest bike shop which was adjacent to Nicolas’ house. This was frustrating in the extreme. The shopkeeper was happy enough to sell me the appropriate adaptors and by the time I had messed around getting them to work I had good firm tyres but an hour’s less time.

This being so I thought I had better belt out the first section, Rotterdam to Gorinchem, so that I could reasonably expect to arrive in Nijmegen before dusk. This proved easy enough as the cycle path was very direct, following the route of the main road communicating between the towns. I paid for the convenience in scenery as all there was to see for 20 miles was a motorway wall on one side and an assortment of innominate buildings on the other. This tedium was occasionally punctuated by cheerful Dutch villages and the occasional glimpse of the Waal.

Arriving in Gorinchem I found it to be a delightful little market village, with a small network of cobbled streets. With the help of a local woman I found the central square and enjoyed a coffee and a large slab of Cadbury’s in the sunshine. I was soon on my way to my next stop, Tiel, along the Waaldijk. This was a great ride and I flew along the long flat dijk with the wind helping. I had a slight setback in missing a turning which added an extra few miles to the route but arrived in Tiel in good time and devoured a meal of ham, beef, other ham and three eggs. I crossed the Waal at Tiel by way of a ‘pont’, a Dutch colloquialism for ferry. This dropped me off at the start of a long and mostly straight road straight through to Nijmegen and I completed this last section without incident, arriving in Nijmegen around five o’clock.

My second host, Loes, came to meet me in the centre and we cycled back to her flat for dinner before going down to the oldest bar in Nijmegen and by extension the Netherlands. This was a great place but the Dutch beers were like wine with a head and I had to stop after three emasculatively small glasses.

The trains had stopped running and I had a chance to experience the savvy Nijmegen cab drivers who charge a base rate of €7.50 whether you travel half a yard or half the city. Not a bad business plan in a city where the last train leaves at twenty to twelve.

I attempted to read in bed but slipped off, book in hand.


Distance covered 80 miles

Day 2 - Hoek van Holland to Rotterdam

I started the day with the novel experience of cycling out of the hull of a ship. The terminal marshals held up a long line of freighted trucks as I swanned through on my bike. This was all very satisfying.

I soon discovered why the Netherlands is a cyclist’s paradise. Within seconds of leaving the terminal I was directed by signs to a cycle track independent of the road which would carry me all the way to Rotterdam. Much of the track wove through the dijks bordering the main channel of the delta that is fed by the Rhine and it was good to get acquainted with the river with which I will be spending most of the next month.

Again, navigation let me down once I arrived in Rotterdam and after an easy 90 minute ride it took me a further 90 minutes to locate my first host, Nicolas, who lived the other side of Kralingse Bos, a beautiful leafy area which I had chosen to name Cranny-yeah Park in my several requests for directions. No wonder it took so long.

On arrival at Nicolas’ flat I remembered that he had told me his bell wasn’t working and my heart sank. With my phone out of action and no internet (a request at a local insurance company was frostily denied) I had no idea what to do. Thankfully a passerby noted my distress and managed to locate and negotiate with someone to get me into the building.

Eventually I made it up to the third floor of the block and the home of the aforesaid Nicolas, who has been very accommodating. I have had the afternoon off which has given me a chance to run a few errands and prepare the next few stages.

Distance covered 22 miles

Day 1 - London to Harwich

Awake at 6.30am to the soft and harrowing sound of wind and rain at my window. The ferry from Harwich to Hook of Holland was booked for tonight and I could not cancel. I knew that whatever today brought I would have to ride through it.


I dressed into what will be another skin for the next six to eight weeks and applied various lubricating ointments to the appropriate areas.

I never normally look at Weetabix but this morning I had three, my decision informed by some remembered advert.

As we drove through Town I convinced myself that the rain is abating, wilfully ignoring the fact that it fell with the same relentless indifference on York Road, Battersea Bridge, Whitehall and Embankment successively. St Paul’s shrugs as we rise Ludgate Hill and soon enough my bike is set, my kit all on and after some brief but not easy farewells I am on my way.

The Start: St Paul's Cathedral

The first hour went very well. The rain continued to fall fairly hard but it seemed all my waterproof kit was a match for it and I allowed myself to remain hubristically smug as I left London. Due to some poor navigation I ended up on the A12 to Chelmsford and this was where my troubles began. I thought to myself that since the A road leads directly into Harwich, it must be the shortest route. I have since realised this was false logic as A roads are obviously designed for car drivers to whom a few miles extra road is preferable to a town centre. For the next 2 hours I struggled up the hard shoulder on what seemed like a never ending incline. As I entered Essex my ‘breathable’ waterproof outer layers began to inhale cold water and I was soaked through within minutes, with more than 20 miles of the same to follow.

I finally left the A12, at Chelmsford, on a slip road I have since learned is called Three Mile Hill. I tackled this with my middle gears as my hands were too cold to manipulate the gear change levers and as I crested the hill I cramped up and had to dismount. Earlier than I had planned I had to duck into what appeared to be a Harvester to warm up. Sadly (for the waiting staff) this was not a Harvester but a rather plush gastropub and I immediately felt inappropriate – saturated and shivering among the leather clad furniture and tasteful mahogany finishes. The manager, though slightly surprised, was faultlessly accommodating and after a bowl of soup and a cup of tea I regained my spirits and set out for Colchester.

This was a navigational nightmare. I do not want to check the route I actually took as I fear it will appear as a bent spring, coiling round and round that which I had planned. At one point I climbed and descended the same substantial hill twice, though it lay more than half a mile from the road I needed. After this I was pretty peeved and thankfully a kind old man directed me onto a close by road that had a sign indicating 12 miles to Colchester. This was a great relief and I hammered out this last leg, punishing myself for all earlier idiocies.

On arriving in Colchester I ignored a couple of nice looking pubs on the outskirts and I thank Providence that I did because further into the town I came upon the Fat Cat. The name attracted me so I parked up the bike and went in. Within five minutes I had a full bowl of roast potatoes with crisp fried onions before me, accompanied by a pot of hot tea. Within ten minutes I had the numbers of two people who live on my route, with offers to stay in each at my convenience. Everybody there took an immediate and genuine interest in what I was doing and ensured that I knew exactly where I was going for the final stretch to Harwich. The only bad word I heard was a gentle chiding from the kind bar lady when I offered to pay. This great little company of people picked me up and for the final 20 miles to Harwich I had a smile on my face.

I have never been so pleased to see a ferry terminal. The bland, endless tarmac and the dim lighting of the waiting facility soothed my soul and with six hours until departure I had a chance to clean up and dry everything out. Though my jacket, gloves and overshoes were soaked through, my panniers had held up manfully and save for a couple of slight leakages at the seams everything inside was safe and dry.

A few hours later I was lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ship and the dull thud-thud of its engines.

Distance covered 79.5 miles

Prologue

Just before midnight on Saturday, 27 February and everything is ready.


On the advice of several cyclists more experienced than myself, I decided to forgo the above idea of carrying all my clothing courier style on my back. Instead, my kit fills out two panniers to be mounted either side of my rear wheel. These and many other items and services were provided by Cycle Store in Addlestone, Surrey and I thank James for his assistance and Tim for his generous adjustments to the final sum paid.

I should also like to thank all of my sponsors for their support hereto. Together we have raised just under £2000 for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust and I hope that as my journey develops and concludes more will come in to reach the target of £5000.

At this point I feel it is proper for me to inform those sponsors that I have received a grant from a trust supervised by my school old boys’ club which was conditional on the monies granted being used to support me in this charitable exercise. With Cycle Store’s help I have managed to include almost all of my initial kit costs within this figure. Please be assured that the statement made on the giving page and in other requests that all monies donated go straight to the charity remains true in respect of all other donations.

I thank my family Haydn, Beth, Kirsty and Huw for supporting me this week and for committing to sending me off from St Pauls at an indecent hour tomorrow morning. I thank Holly for her love, patience and attention. I thank all those who came to say goodbye on Thursday and all those who have sent me supportive messages this week. I can’t wait to see you all on my return.

Any substantial sleep tonight seems unlikely, but I’m off to do my best.