Epilogue

It's been a while in coming, and inevitably it's far from worth the wait. But here it is, my last blog entry...


All physical form gained on the Tour as been lost somewhere beneath Birthday parties, May Week and Glastonbury. My cycling kit lies rotting and still in my paniers in my parisian flat and will probably be unusable ever again. The bike lies disassembled after I drunkenly took it apart for a bet. But, the memories are still there. (Cue wretching in disgust from several readers I'm sure).

All that remains is for me to thank you all for spending your valuable time reading my ramblings, and to thank those of you generous enough to donate to Save the Children in the form of sponsorship. The total stands currently at £2,350 , an amount which will make a huge difference to many lives. So, thank you all again. Ed xxx

(If you wish to make a donation and haven't yet done so details are online at www.justgiving.com/edstourdefrance)

And now, the ends is near...etc.

Here it is, the last entry (until the inevitable epilogue).

Today I travelled out from Versailles to Jouy en Josas (my old stomping ground) so I could see just how far I've come over these last few months. The answer is about 6 kilometres. Now that is a bad joke.

Either way, I triumphed French administration (at least for a while) today, defeating my old landlord by recovering my deposit, and conning the French police into thinking my passport had been stolen rather than carelessly lost.

Aside from such frippancies (is that a word?), I'd like to conclude this entry, and indeed my Tour with a rather disgustingly soppy message. My friends and family already know me as a rather soft and sentimental git, so this should come as no particular surprise to you.

If I've learnt anything over these last ten weeks it's this...

Give everything your all, and fuck it if it's not enough - sometimes you're gonna have to take the train.
Look after yourself, but never forget those around you. Friends, family, and the people you meet on the way are what makes life worth living.

So thank you to you all. Whether it's been by text, phone call, facebook abuse or whatever, I couldn't have done it without your support. And thank you to to anyone reading this who I met along the way, Daniel and Sonia, Jacques Isabel and Eliza, and all those whose name I didn't catch, but tooted me and cheered, bought me a pirates of the caribbean fun cone, or offered me a free Opel Corsa, thank you all.

I told you it'd be soppy, but there it is. I've missed you all dearly, and can't wait to see you. X

Easy

Well, I'm in the last week, and my adventure is drawing perilously close to its end...meaning I shall soon have to confront the real world of landlords, exam options, dissertations and the like. On a more positive note however it brings me all the closer to parties on the Champs Elysees, in a field by a river, at John's Ball, and at Glastonbury. La vie is indeed dure...

It'd be unfair if I didn't let you all know the results of the weekend's special, though I'm sure you can guess them already. Superman was ALLEGEDLY faster than a speeding bullet. I am OFFICIALLY faster than a train. Ok, a regional train. Travelling over lunch time with an awkward change.

But the fact remains that by the time Hammond and May made it into the station, I'd had a shower, looked around Deauville, and got bored of waiting. I will point out that in that time I however did not attack any ladies with a suitcase. Unlike Chewstep. Tut tut tut.

I'm staying in Rouen for a rest day here, as it really is rather pretty. However until I get to look around I really have to get through some of the couple of months of admin that's built up...nightmare.

I'll try to post another entry before it's all over...until then, a la prochain x

Top Gear Special

Thought I'd give an update about the 'Top Gear Special' happening this Saturday, because I'm sure you've all been dying to know about it... or something.

Joel and Chewstep are coming out to visit in Caen this Friday, and the concept is that I shall race them to Deauville in true Top Gear fashion, myself playing Clarkson, Joel as Hammond and John appropriately as James May.

THe course is approx. 50k on the bike, which I think I can do in about 1h45 if all goes well. In the mean time they shall have to get to the station at Caen, take the 49 minute train to Deauville, and then make it to the rendezvous.

In theory it should be pretty close, though it will probably all hinge on a few factors...

How hung over I am, Whether they miss their change, whether I puncture, and if biscuits are indeed sufficient fuel for such a feat, they haven't failed me yet. There will of course be a sufficient forfeit for the loser(s), possibly some form of Karaoke at my birthday party, or some sort of head shaving...

ANd I forgot to mention that a bee stung me by my right eye a couple of days ago, meaning I'm down to one. WHich isn't great for cycling. Hopefully the swelling will go down soon and make me look a little less ridiculous. x

And now, the shipping forecast.

Whenever you're watching football and you want something to happen, get your mum to stand in front of the telly. It works a treat. Similarly, if you get sick of Blofelt talking about the latest cake they've received at TMS, pray for the shipping forecast. It guarantees a wicket.

This isn't completely unrelated to my adventure, as the last few days have been spent in and around the department of Finnistere, known by me til now only for it's regular TMS interuptions.

The last few days have been a bit of a mixed bag really. Britanny, I thought, was flat. TUrns out it's not. Especially the Black Mountains. Where I took a 'shortcut'. And got horribly lost and ended up in the bottom of a valley it took nearly an hour to climb out of. I spent a night at Birgnagon Plage on the North coast of Brittany, which was a lovely place, and my tent practically had a sea view. However awakening Sunday morning I was in the middle of nowhere, and had to cycle, whatever the weather.

THe weather as it turns out was storms which claimed three lives, and had winds of up to 134km/h. I wisely called it a day after 30k when I hit civilisation, and gave in to the Level 3 alert. THat wind has persisted today rendering cycling far from wise, and as such I disappointingly trained to St Brieuc. Was pretty gutted as I'd got all the way from Carcassone to here without interruption, but if there's one thing I've learnt on this trip it's that you can't beat the weather.

A few random points... I set fire to a pair of Y fronts attempting to dry them on a halogen light and swiftly fled my room before it filled the hotel with smoke. I met a group of guys who thought my project was so great they bought me a Pirates of the Caribbean 'fun cone', which though not aerodynamic, did contain fun games though sadly no naughty pictures of Keira Knightley. And my daily routine has a couple of exciting changes. For breakfast I now have two baguettes rather than one, and take an afternoon break in a cafe betting on French horse racing about which I know nothing at all.

A bientot... Less than two weeks in fact. x

Red is the colour

Everyone has as some stage in their life 'caught the sun'. However few do so with the skill of the amateur 'cyclist'. Not only did I catch the sun today, rather I poached it with the panache of Strauss at second slip in the Trent Bridge 2005 test.

I'm currently camping in Carnac on the South coast of Brittany, which is delightful, and unsurprisingly rather like Cornwall. I've clocked up over 300km in the last 3 days, and feel 'sur le fil du rasoir' - approximate translation, 'on it'. 1250km to go, and 16 days left to do them. And a time trial from Caen to Deauville - news of that to follow.

Anyway, I have some Moules Frites and a demi to order. And the small matter of a football match to watch. I feel rather partisan dressed in my Liverpool Red skin...

"But this isn't the motorway, 'Dis ist die Autobahn'"

Never, ever, cycle on a motorway.

If you do decide to however, please heed this advice.

Do NOT, under any circumstances, do it after 6 hours and 130km of cycling.

Or when it's raining.

Or in rush hour.

That is all. x

Photos

For those who understandably have little interest in what I have to say.

Foolish

Only the most foolish/hardcore 'cyclist'/cyclist would have set off on Wednesday. It was one of those days where if you'd shown a blind man the sky he could have told you it was going to rain.

By a miracle however it held off, postponed for the evening. Dead certainty said the lady at the tourist information office. Now only the foolhardy would consider camping on an evening like this. And even they would look on with pity at the village idiot who sets off the next day on a bike into a 50km/h headwind, driving rain, and on a public holiday.

I however had no such sense of perspective or judgement. I was that village idiot. Such things are 'character-building' however, that's the phrase they use when they make you do something you don't want to do isn't it? Either way, it either built character, resilience, or thigh muscle.

The tour's going well now, and I've done 6 days on the bounce. Tipped 2000k today, so have around 1550 to meet my Duckworth-Lewis target (adjusted due to the 2 weeks lost to illness). The weather brightened today as I pulled into La Rochelle which was a bonus, and there's a jolly to the Ile de Ré on the cards for demain.

Ed

Inspector Clouseau, Doping and Ian Thorpe...amongst others

Well, I 'turned the corner' of this belle pays in Biarritz, where I spent a lovely weekend, and am now positively tearing up the West Coast, and currently in Bordeaux.

I can't really be bothered to structure this entry too much...so it'll just be a few completely unrelated ramblings.

Firstly, the Aussies seem like a nice enough bunch, though I was horrified by the attitudes of a few Aussies I met towards Ian Thorpe and gay men in general. They seem to feel that they and their nation 'owns' Thorpe and his gold medals, and he only retired because he's a 'f#cking poof'. And this was all said without any hint of sarcasm and rather with genuine anger.

The Saturday night, after a foray to San Sebastian and the error of Tapas and Rosé for lunch (which though delicious do not fulfil a 'cyclist's' hunger and get one a horrible afternoon headache), I had to change room at the Biarritz hostel, and found myself sharing with an Inspector Clouseau lookalike. There's simply no way that tache could be genuine...

I then ripped up to Mimizan plage, buoyed by the fantastic news of the pigs' relegation to the Championship. Yesterday saw me visit La Dune du Pyla which, being serious for a minute, was seriously incredible. It's a 117m sand dune and the biggest in Europe. From the summit you have the Atlantic to one side, and France's largest forest to the other. Yesterday it was blowing a gale and raining so there was hardly anyone their, and both the conditions and the solitude made it all the more special.

Back to talking about ridiculous stuff, there was naturally no bus to get from the hostel (in a forest in the middle of sodding nowhere) to La Dune, so I took the 'executive' decision to hitch. In the rain. And in shorts. Needless to say it was pretty grimy, though I was very lucky with my first ride, and the second, with a learner driver (sorry mum, they didn't tell me til she'd dropped me off) passed without incident.

Finally, last night was spent in the cabin in the woods with a chap, allegedly 63, who turned out to be a cyclist who cycles 30,000km a year. Which makes him either a liar - realistically probably the most likely option - or a mentalist. Or he's dopé, which judging by his anti-Armstrong attitude he could never be...though he wouldn't be the first French hypocrite now would he...

Thanks, Ed

And what does pride come before...?

Yep, a fall. No sooner was I feeling at one with the bike, or as at one as one can ever feel with something that probes such private parts of one´s anatomy in such a painful way, than I´ve come a cropper.

Not a puncture, I ´own´ punctures now, or this Spanish keyboard (Im currently day tripping in San Sebastian) which I can just about work out...but the infamous French administration system. I´ve lost my passport. Now a day waiting around in Plymouth is bad enough, so God only knows what they have in store for me here.

This ´setback´ aside, I´m feeling good. Did 5 days back to back on the bike for the 1st time last week, and I´m looking forward to my journey through my homeland* along the Cotes de Gascoigne towards Bordeaux. Sand dunes to the left of me, pichets of Red to the right, here I am, stuck on the road to Bordeaux (mispronunciation necessary for my jingle to work).


* I can by no means guarantee that this is in fact the origin of my ancestry. However for the purpose of this blog, and making me seem sunkissed, exotic and glamorous it is. Ok?

Smug

Today was a good day.

I repaired my puncture before setting off. It punctured again, on a hill, after just 20km. Not to worry, I was a picture of serenity. Then on the day's biggest climb my chain slipped off. Not a problem, I fixed it. Then, suddenly, a blissful downhill that unleashed all the height I'd climbed, and at 60km/h (sorry mum), I was facing the Pyrenees and the Southern sun.

Leaving a delicious lunch, I bumped into a bloke who it turns out was a journalist. He's now running a feature on me. Getting into Tarbes, today's destination, I found the Youth Hostel without a problem. Ive got a room to myself. And they let me bring my bike into it. And it overlooks the Pyrenees.

I told you it was a good day. I am happier than Larry.

Painful wind

Yesterday's ride saw me leave Carcassonne following my mum's visit (aaahhh, and "Hello mum") direction and destination Toulouse. The journey was 100k, in a completely straight line and never deviating from the D6113, however this does not tell the story of the pain at all.

I've talked about punctures, rain and hills, though yesterday the wind played a major part in ly comedy of errors for the first time. Heading West-North-West, the wind was blowing East-South-East, in layman's terms, straight into my face. I've not looked up yesterday's windspeed (mostly in fear that it will turn out to have been nothing more than a breeze), but I can tell you it felt like a gale. Effort that normally powers me along at over 20k/hr was yielding only 12, and it took me over 6hrs to cycle the 100k...

Aside from this little moan, I'm afraid there's not much to tell you about of the route, it was fairly uneventful, bar the moment when I looked over to my left and could see Andorra and mountains of over 3000m. That was nice. The plan is now to mission across to Bayonne, a little over 300k, before taking a well earned day off in glamorous Biarritz and possible nipping to San Sebastien just on the other side of the France-Spain border.

I hope you are well, Ed

Orange Alert

This is more of an amendment than an entry... I would like to include 'Rain' in the list of things 'cyclists' like myself despise.

Attempting to set off this morning I was practically physically prevented from doing so by the reception staff who went on to explain the area is on 'Orange alert' level 3 apparently...which transpires to mean a high risk of storms and dangerous flooding. Roads closed, traffic diverted, trains delayed and cycling certainly not a possibility. Apparently it's still sunny in Paris...

A 'cyclist's' worst nightmares

In this entry, I thought I'd refer to a few of the things that give 'cyclists' like myself cause to wake up in a cold sweat. (Incidentally the inverted commas shall remain around the word cyclist until I can change me rear tyre without wanting to kick lumps out of it and anything around.)

I'll begin with getting a puncture. It's horrible. I did the first 900k clean as a whistle, and have punctured twice in the last three days, both on the rear tyre. This means hoisting off the paniers, and pretty much everything else, before beco,ing entangled in the chain trying to get the wheel off. Then you've got to get the tyre off the rim, replace the inner tube, replace the tyre on the rim, and slot the wheel back into the frame. I'd imagine a pro can probably do this blindfolded in a couple of minutes. I have no idea what my PB is, though I shudder to think. Today's flat in fact saw me taking shelter out of the rain in the entrance to a cemetery before enacting this awful ritual - nice.

Another cause for concern is any road that requires a sign saying whether the road is currently open or not, rather like you have on ski runs. Such a sign is never a god omen, as you're in between a rock and a hard place. If it's shut, you're buggered and can't get anywhere. If it's open you're buggered anywhere because anywhere that may have to be shut due to snow is seriously steep.

And last night I discovered a new worst nightmare. A plane takes off from Heathrow every 7 seconds, or something like that, and the sound is over 100 decibels. There was a guy in my dorm at the youth hostel last night who did his level best to recreate this effect all night. At 2am I moved to the next door room, only to discover it had in fact been replaced seemingly by a sauna.

But, at the end of the day, these hardships really aren't bad compared to what many people face. So if you're reading this and you're student loan cheque's just come in and burning a hole in your pocket, get sponsoring me and help Save the Children!

Ca monte....et ça déscend....

The last few days, it must be said, have been pretty wonderful. On Friday I left Nice out along the promenade des anglais, popped around the Cap d'Antibes, had lunch at a beachside restaurant in Cannes, before spending the night in St Raphael. The next day I decided to do a half day, seeing as this area of the world frankly merits taking one's time. I did about 10k before bumming on a beach for an hour, then cycling to the port at Sainte Maxime before getting the boat across to St Tropez! The night was spent camping nearby, where I was most wonderfully welcomed and spent a lovely dinner with two French cyclists, Daniel and Sonia.

This morning's ride was similarly gorgeous, though things got a little tougher this afternoon. It was almost tangible moving away from the most moneyed parts of the cote d'azur as I got closer to Toulon. Plans to catch the train and spend the night in Aix-en-Provence were abandoned after an 'incident voyageur' (so it's not just Paris then), and I'm staying here in Toulon tonight.

Not all sweetness and light though. I've punctured, and my little handpump is nowhere near suitable to fully inflate a tyre, and my 'pignons' (rear gear cogs) are giving gyp. Not a problem, I can pop to a bike shop tomorrow you'd imagine. "Tomorrow is a Monday though..." said the man at my hotel. Perhaps the south of France hasn't heard of a working week. And Tuesday's a public holiday....But, as they say, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and even if the bike's having a mare, my hotel officially has no stars and Wednesday can't make the playoffs, it's a small price to pay for the joys of the last few days.

It's time

As some of you know by now, and as I have expertly hidden from others to this point, I haven't been cycling for a week and a half now. There's lots of great possibilities that could have lead to this; meeting a delightful French girl and having to take time to persuade her to shave her armpits and hence become perfect, getting 'lost' in the Alps and spending the time skiing etc. Sadly, the reality has been none of these.

As my previous entry mentioned, I fell pretty ill with what I think was dehydration, though now believe may have been food poisoning. I set off from Lyon towards Grenoble on the Tuesday, though was horrified to find I had no power in my legs. I managed just 25k before holing up in France's 'Travel Tavern' equivalent (Formule 1 - cue a great gag about being 'in the pits') for two days. With my condition getting no better however, and no shops or doctors for miles around, I took the difficult decision to fly back home. This gave me a base for a long weekend, and, having flown back out yesterday I now feel a lot better.

Today I'm catching a train to Nice to get me back on schedule, which unfortunately means I'm missing the Alps. I really wanted to cycle them, but they just don't seem the best idea for my first few days back. Instead the plan is a gentle reintroduction to cycling passing through Antibes, Cannes, St Tropez and the like.

Time to find that girl with the hairy armpits I feel. Thank you all again for your continued support and interest, Ed

A time and a place...

Well it would appear there is indeed a time and a place for everything. Even falling ill. Having arrived in Lyon on Friday evening, by Saturday night I was having a restless night's sleep feeling like my whole body had been beaten by iron bars. I then couldn't face eating on Sunday, and have been suffering from what once could politely refer to as an 'upset stomach'. In short, I have been showing all the signs of dehydration, not of my body's water supplies, but rather the deplenishment of my stores of sodium, potassium and various minerals caused by long term abuse and lack of care.

However, as the title suggests, I (luckily for me, unluckily for Emma) found myself a wonderful host this weekend. Not only has Emma put me up, and put up with me, but she's also been fantastic for dietary advice and has really helped me get back on track.

I feel far from being in as good shape as before, but I'm definitely on the road to recovery. The plan is to set off for Grenoble this afternoon (which is only 110km away) taking it easy over a couple of days. Hopefully this should give my body chance to sort itself out before a full on assault on the Alps!

I guess if there's a moral to the story, it's not to take any challenge, however big or small, too lightly. From now, I'll be drinking electrolyte mixtures, taking Sodium tablets, mineral supplements, and I've got some EPO and amphetamines on order.

A la prochaine donc, and in the words of Tom Simpson, "Put me back on my bike".

Some photos...

"I know this is a bit embarrassing, but I noticed some tan lines..." - Mike Skinner



Home is where the bike is



Murphy's Law



"I call it, scatter love cushion. It represent my love for Alan" - Sonia

No pain, no gain

"Well come on then, step into the painy season" - Howard Moon

As the more intuitive of you will have by now worked out, this installment is set to focus on how, and why cycling hurts, rather than this stage's route. Which was boring.

Imagine May Week, good times. You're sat on the paddock and it's 25 degrees. Lovely.

But you suffer from hayfever. Never mind, it could be worse. And you have to sit on a barstool. For 5 hours at a time. But it's not an ordinary bar stool...oh no. It's been massacred by a sadist who's taken off all the padding, and cut it into such a shape that all your weight sits on the base of the penis.

Now imagine someone's blowing pollen into your face at 20km/h, there goes the hay fever. Oh, and you can't sit still. Instead you have to spin your legs up and down, up and down, around 75 times a minute. That 4500 times an hour, or 22500 times in the day. Everytime rocking on the seat of Satan.

Could be worse though, you could be camping when you finish...

All this said I'm in pretty high spirits at the moment, and looking forward to the Alps, and perhaps even a bit of skiing. Until then I'll leave it to Monsoon Moon to rain down the pain. If I may finish with the wise words of Jimmy Carr, "I'm with Bupa, do your f*ucking worst".

Bouncing Back

Firstly, thanks to Partridge for the title and this gem. Sonia: "Alan, I love you"....Alan: "Thanks a lot".

This stage took me from Metz down the East of France to Belfort, taking stops at Nancy and Epinal. Taking care of the knee I put in a gentle 60k on the first day of the stage, and felt good. Nancy was beautifyl, bathed in sunshine, and the main square 'Place Stanislas' really is spectacular. Stayed at the youth hostel there whichis actually in a Chateau, which was lovely, and had a room to myself. Only thing was it was Easter Sunday, and no food to be had anywhere, so I had to hobble 30 minutes to find a 'Golden Arch', and the scant consolation a Maxi McChicken meal provides a hungry cyclist. To put it more bluntly, I was tired, pissed off and hungry.

Epinal wasn't strictly on the most efficient route, though I figured I should visit seeing as it's the twintown of my hometown, Loughborough. Pretty unspectacular, thus bearing an uncanny ressemblance to its English counterpart. It did however have a central square called Place des Vosge, and as my Parisian friends know, I'm never one to turn down an espresso at such a place...

Today's cycle ride was pretty serious stuff. Taking it easy on my knee for a couple of days had left me with it all to do today, and I put in 85k on the hilliest roads yet.In fact I was travelling through the Parc des Vosges, that runs down the East of France, and I did my first 'serious' climbing. I should have known the omens were bad when my first uphill was on a street called 'Rue d'enfer', loosely translating to 'Hell street'!

Here in the confessional, I must get off my chest that I bottled it on the Ballon d'Alsace. Standing at over 1200m it's bigger than any mountain in England (I think and can't be bothered to ckeck), and having climbed to 550m resigned myself to hitching a ride. A young chap named Vincent was only happy to oblige, and found my plight hilarious especially when he discovered my overall plans, and I was unable to remove the front wheel of my bike for transport! I showed up even more what an amateur I am by then saying, "And I haven't even punctured yet". He ignored the obvious response of "Well obviously, if you haven't had to take a wheel off"...instead giving a small gallic shrug and knowing smile.

Anyway, I must go. I have a pizza being delivered, a game of football to watch and a train ticket to Switzerland for tomorrow. Cashback.

Down, but not out

As the title suggests, I'm a bit down writing this entry. My right knee's been giving me gip, so I'm taking a rest day today (a day in advance), and catching the train from here in Charleville-Mézières across to Metz. This will ensure my continued progress, but also hopefully allow an opportunity for my knee to calm down.

What's particularly frustrating is that otherwise I feel in peak form. From a cardiovascular point of view the cycling isn't posing too much of a problem, indeed I cruised the 100km from Lille to Sémières. Also I'm bearing up fine mentally, in spite of hours spent either alone in the tent, or being bored by werid frogs in Youth Hostel rooms.

Enough whinging. The weather is still (touch wood) absolutely incredible, though yesterday this cumminated in me developing what can only be described as some 'interesting' tan lines. Thursday also gave me my first true life/death experience of the trip, which was nice. Riding through a sleep village, some budget French cowboy builders were working on some piping beneath the road. As they hoisted a huge palette of pipes from the lorry, a cord snapped and they cascaded onto the floor. Had I been literally a couple of seconds sooner I'd have been squashed like a bug. Fate however must have been on my side.

Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful Easter wherever you are spending it and whatever you are doing. Ed x

Repos 1 - Bruxelles

Well...I suppose this counts as my first 'proper' blog seeing as I'm now actually on my way. Not really sure where to begin as so much has happened, but I'll try to keep it short and sweet as I know my stories have been known to drag rather...!

Set off Sunday morning with a spring in my step (not as useful on a bike as it sounds) following the great news I have a Glastonbury ticket for this year's festival. Made it out of Paris with surprising ease considering the previous day's unintentional forray onto the périphérique (the Parisian ringroad - not exactly bike friendly...)

The cycling was about as tough as I expected, although what has surprised me so far is how slow the progress is. I'm averaging about 16km/h...and it doesn't need a genius to work out that makes a 100k day take quite a while. Also I hadn't fully appreciated how much difference the wind makes (I've been riding NE into a South Westerly wind), and how the road surface affects. Essentially it just makes what the cyclists did in 1907 (20 hour stages, no gears, and dirt tracks) literally incomprehensible.

Camped the first night in my neon green mean machine of a tent, that weighs in at less than a bottle fo wine. Comfort however isn't really its strong point, and I can't even sit up in it. Youth Hostelled the next stop in Arras (the Campsite was shut...I say shut, it was literally a hole in the ground due to building work), and stayed last night here in Brussels. Got photographed for the Lonely Planet guidebook yesterday booking my TGV ticket with all my bike gear which is quite cool.

I seem to remember reading a Clarkson article slating Brussels...and he's not often wrong, but it's alright here. Weather's been great today and I've done a nice walking tour of the city - I'll upload photos when I get chance.

Anyway, it's been nice to be in the civilised world for a while. I've got tonight in Lille, then I set off on a humonguous 371km stage from Lille to Metz tomorrow. It's not going to be pretty, but to quote David Brent (already quoting the 'famous philosopher' Dolly Parton), '"If you want the rainbow you've got to put up with the rain." And people say she was just a big pair of tits.'

Thankyou(s), Good evening(s) and Goodnight(s)

D-Day's drawing closer, and in 48 hours time I should have completed the first leg of my journey! This is made all the scarier by the fact that 48 hours ago I was enjoying a farewell (hopefully au revoir more than adieu) visit from my friends Louise and Lawrence, culminating in the late night hair cut you see here...sorry mum and dad.

This blog gives me a great chance to stay in touch with you all, and I'd like to take this opportunity to extend my most heartfelt thanks to all who have sponsored me so far. I'm up over £2000 pounds now, and almost halfway to my target of £1 per kilometre. It is difficult to contemplate the scale of work the Save the Children face, but 'every little counts', and if you feel you can help, even if only in a very small way, please do. If Terry Wogan's reading he'll be proud.

If any of you care about the route, and don't just find the thought of me getting lost somewhere in France for two months absurd and hilarious, here's a little more info...I take the N-17 north out of Paris, ultimately heading towards Lille, to complete the first leg of the 1907 tour after 3 days and approx. 300kms at Roubaix. Hopefully I'll get to take in the First World War sights of Compiegne and Arras en route. If you fancy a laugh, search 'Paris-Roubaix cycle race' on Google, and you'll find why Roubaix has such rich cycling heritage. I'm just glad I've got a seat with testicle holders.

A la prochaine, Ed

The Route

Well...here it is, my first blog. May I firstly thank you for taking the time to even find this page. As you can see on the left, my route is now 'finalised'. This is of course only a rough estimation, and the place names marked were the stops on the 1907 Tour de France that I'm recreating. Whilst in their day they would ride from place to place in one day, these distances are often around 400km, so I shall be breaking the stages. I'm setting off on April 1st, and theoretically should arrive back to Paris on 9th June. Incidentally if you're reading this and thinking that you live on the route and would like to offer me a bed, or just somewhere with a roof for the night, then please do contact me on 0033 6 33 83 22 33. Otherwise it's the tent.