So D-Day is nearly here. The four weeks since I agreed to do the 800 mile ride back from Crans-Montana to Holkham Hall have gone by in a flash.I’m now sitting rather apprehensively on a train with part of my fellow peleton heading from Geneva to Crans-Montana for tomorrow’s Grand Depart.
Despite the time having passed in the blink of an eye there have been a few indelible scars created from the crash course training that I have been doing in the vain effort to try and shed at least one of my multiple spare tyres so that I am in some form of shape to get up the mountains that await us.
The most painful, but equally the most useful memory of the last four weeks has been the torture of spinning classes that my training has introduced me to. For those that haven’t been spinning, in short it’s a 45 minute session on an exercise bike where you simply go as fast as you can with an incredibly intimidating female fitness instructor barking orders at you.
My first session was a mix of torture and humiliation. Within 3 minutes I couldn’t see for the sweat streaming down my forehead and stinging in to my eyes and it was only a matter of another minute or two before both my calves had cramped up and I was forced to jump from the saddle in cries of agony while the rest of the class carried on serenely. My humiliation was complete as the music picked up pace and the instructor announced that the warm up was over and the real session would now begin.
Thankfully the spinning sessions became more bearable as each day passed and if I am to get through these next 10 days then it will in no small part be thanks to spinning. Having built up a very basic level of fitness it was then onto the bike and braving the London traffic.
If spinning was torture then the roads of London were simply terrifying. The cars and trucks were one thing but the real danger came from my fellow cyclists. Still being relatively wobbly, and not to say incredibly slow away from all the junctions I was being constantly screemed at by the armada of cyclists who were zooming in and out of the traffic taking no prisoners with anyone who got in their way.
So four weeks of spinning and dodgy death defying situations on the London roads have led me to this train journey and the impending 10 day ride through the Jura mountains, across France and back to Holkham Hall in Norfolk.
As I write this and look out of the train window, the Jura mountains look incredibly daunting. I’m not sure a couple of outings into the South Downs and three weekend worth of rides through Norfolk’s notorious hilly landscape are going to be sufficient preparation to get me through this. Oh well, there’s no turning back now.
Having watched the Walking with the Wounded documentary last night and seen the bravery and fortitude of the servicemen who made it to the North Pole actually puts this ride and my apprehension into perspective. This should be a walk in the park compared to the atrocities which servicemen go through day-in-day-out for our country. Hopefully our little ride though will help raise some funds and awareness of the great cause that is Walking with the Wounded.
