And now, the ride report.....
When I first thought of doing a London to Paris charity ride, I looked at quite a few of the many, many possibilities. But one stood out in my mind, head and shoulders above the rest- the Royal British Legion's Pedal to Paris (P2P as I'll call it hereafter). Apart from being for what I consider a very good cause (servicemen past & present and their families), the reports I'd read were overwhelmingly positive about the organisation of the ride & support for participants. There's only one other time during the year that cyclists get a clear traffic free run to the Arc de Triomphe, the final stage of the TdF. Very importantly for me was the Legion's transparency about costs & sponsorship. Many other charity rides are run by event companies, and more often than not they'll say something like 'your minimum sponsorship target is x amount, of which y pays your costs for the trip'. That disturbed me- sponsorship can be difficult enough to raise without people getting the idea that they're subsidising someone's cycling holiday (if 290 miles in four days actually sounds like a holiday!). P2P is different. The basic entry fee of £500 was cheaper than many other rides that lacked the same support and advantages, and it was a requirement that sponsorship was kept entirely separate & did not contribute to those costs. There was also the option of a single-room supplement, which others didn't give. I was doing this on my own, and frankly I'd rather not keep someone else awake with my snoring, or have that problem myself!
So I signed up in January, and began training. I set myself the target (which, to be honest, I probably would have done anyway) of riding at least 100 miles a week from March (once it had warmed and lightened up a bit!), and despite a couple of setbacks (problems with the chosen steed, my Viner Magnifica, which had to go back to Italy for repair, and then a crash on July's Friday Night Ride to the Coast which left me rather sore and off the bike for ten days) I pretty much kept to it week in week out. By the day of the start, September 2, I'd done over 3,600 miles for the year.
Day One: Greenwich to Calais
The big day arrived. I was up bright and early (well, early!) in my b&b, handily both bike-friendly (the Viner was parked in the hall, and the landlady had hosted P2P riders before) and in Blackheath, not far from the start point at the centre of Greenwich Park. So after walking the bike and luggage over, I quickly got signed in by the friendly Legion staff. The bag got packed into a waiting van, and after words of introduction and a photocall, myself and 275 other riders were off at just after eight.
The second part of the brilliant organisation then kicked in. To get us out past the M25, we had a team of motorcycle outriders, who skilfully and effectively both showed us the way and cleared our path. If you've ever wondered what being in a pro peloton is like…well, that was it. No traffic in our way, roadblocks where needed, even legal RLJing. It was absolutely amazing. As had been made clear at the beginning of the day, our objective was simple: get to Dover in time for the ferry we were all booked on, at 4.30. Effectively, it was every rider for themselves, no set times for stops, though a broom wagon would ensure everyone got to the port. Once we were out of the M25 ring, the full 'tour peloton' was no longer in effect, but the outriders still helped on major junctions, and clear & well placed poppy signs pointed the way elsewhere.
The first refreshment stop was at the British Legion Village in Aylesford. Those of you who've ridden sportives will know that supplies of food and drink are sometimes rationed out if not actually in short supply- though not a problem on the couple I've done. But there were never going to be any problems here. Tea, coffee, water, Science in Sport products (both in powder form and mixed), bananas (of course!) sausage rolls, pork pies, jam tarts…….the choice was massive and so were the stocks, here and at every major stop. Plenty of items to eat there and then, and for between stops, A team of masseurs were on hand to sooth aching muscles, and again they were helping out at all the stops. Same for the bikes- an expert team of mechanics were kept busy sorting underinflations, punctures and all sorts of fettling.
Twenty or so minutes and I was off again. The terrain was much like that I knew from Friday Night rides to Whitstable- rolling rather than really hilly, but a good work out, particularly with the need to press on (I wasn't going to be going in the sag wagon!). I also had a quick word with our celebrity rider, former England manager Graham Taylor. A credit to his former profession- no airs and graces, more than happy to talk to all and sundry, even me! He admitted that work commitments meant he hadn't been able to train as thoroughly as he'd have liked. He was in the sag wagon at least once during the trip, but nonetheless he kept going and made it all the way. As far as I know, so did everyone else, with the exception of two who bailed at Dover. One poor guy suffered an allergic reaction to a wasp sting on day two and needed to go to hospital, but was back on the bike the following day. A young lady riding in a family group seemed to be suffering a bit on the first day- when I asked how she was doing during the wait for the ferry, she said her training had consisted of three thirty-milers (!). But she seemed to get a lot stronger from then on, and she too completed.
On we all went, to the lunch stop at Sellinge. More bountiful offerings, and a chance to look over some of the two-wheeled lovelies my fellow riders had brought along. All sorts of people, with all sorts of bikes. Perhaps unsurprisingly, road bikes were in the majority, and most of those from all the usual manufacturers- Spesh, Trek, Focus, Boardman- and with all kinds of specs, including a Cervelo R3 with full Di2- but there were plenty of hybrids, a solitary tandem, a single recumbent, and a Moulton New Series.
I was grateful for all those calories when it came to the one big climb of the day- a nasty one at Capel-le-Ferne. I've since seen this described as 'infamous' among other things. 1:6 gradient, apparently. Many of my fellow riders resorted to walking up it. I didn't. Hard work to be sure, I took a breather at the top, but to my mind it was not as bad as Ditchling Beacon. Capel is twisty, but less so than the Beacon, and whereas the last time I went up Ditchling on the Viner (back in March) I used the 25 tooth sprocket and was breathing heavily, here I only needed the 23 and found the going a lot easier. The bike's a bit lighter now, I've done a fair few miles since, and the weather was just about perfect (warm enough without being too hot, light winds), all of which might have made a little difference. Some of my fellow riders reckoned it was worse than Ditchling, so it was nice to hear from one of them the following day that it wasn't, either in terms of altitude or gradient. Capel is the site of the Battle of Britain memorial, so I took the opportunity (fittingly given the cause of the ride) to combine a break with paying my respects.
From then on, it was all downhill into Dover, great payback for all the climbing earlier on, and I got into the town at about three. There was a meeting point in a car park, where a Seafrance rep handed out tickets for the ferry, then on to the port. Security checks were rather minimal, at least for the group I was in (just a query if any of us had sharp metal objects- we kept quiet about all the Allen keys…), and that was it. On to the waiting area for the boat, where we were joined by the remainder of the group. And we waited, and waited……We weren't late, the boat was, and our departure would be about half an hour late. After the vehicles had disembarked, we were first on, and bikes were crammed into all the nooks and crannies either side of the vehicle deck. The journey was pleasant enough, and after enough of the cars and trucks had unloaded to let us off, we gathered up in the port, where our team of motorcycle outriders were waiting, and then set off on the short ride into Calais. A gentle introduction to riding on the wrong side of the road. Total mileage for the day, on both sides of the channel, came to 80 or so. All the bikes went into a municipal garage for the night, we picked up our bags and then we were on to the coaches for our various hotels, in my case a Holiday Inn. Because of our later than planned arrival, there was just enough time for a quick wash and change into civvies before an excellent three course dinner. As on most of the other days, the menu was set, but fortunately I enjoyed everything. After a good evening and pleasant conversation with my table of fellow riders and crew, I turned in for the night.
Day Two: Calais to Abbeville
As on each day in France, an early start was in order. Breakfast was the usual hotel buffet fare, and we all piled into a coach to go back into town just before eight. Bag dropped off at the lorry, bike collected, and then there was a short but poignant ceremony at the war memorial, a reminder of why we were here. Paul Harding, Hertfordshire Legion branch member and rider of the aforementioned recumbent, was the Legion's flag-bearer and said the Exhortation, with its final call of 'we will remember them'. As at each start point for the rest of the trip, support crews were busy, fettling bikes, fettling limbs, and making those copious supplies of food and drink available. To suit riders' abilities and to stagger arrival times as stops, we'd head off in three groups- no need to register or anything, you just got ready and set off when the announcement came. I had a bit of a wait, so I ended up snacking and chatting while first the social (sounds so much better than 'slow'!) group (average speed 10 mph), and then the fast group (18 mph) set off. I'd decided the medium group (14 mph) was about right for me. Quite a few people who joined the fast group on this day found they just thought they were fast…apparently they were averaging 22 or so! I didn't get the logic of us starting last, until someone pointed out that if someone in the social group found it a bit slow, or someone in the fast group wasn't speedy enough, they could wait at a stop for a bit and join us. If the fast group left last, the only place for someone who couldn't handle it would be the sag wagon, even if they were more than OK to continue under their own steam. Understandable, but it did mean a lot of sitting around (some chose to do so in a local bar).
Eventually, at ten, we were off. The outriders did as superb a job as their British counterparts in shepherding us along, holding up the traffic and marking junctions as needed. Drivers were generally very courteous though, often pulling over and waiting patiently as we passed by. Horn blowing was only saying 'bonjour' not complaining. A very pleasant change from cycling in the UK! A pace car at the front kept the speed down to the guideline level, a little frustratingly at times, so I spent rather a lot of time freewheeling. The terrain was similar for the most part to that in Kent- rolling, but not overly strenuous (at least for a rake thin whippet like me). The wind was gentle, the temperature a generally pleasant 26 or so. Lunch was at Wirwignes, about 25 miles out, and the quality and quantity matched if not bettered what had gone before. I particularly liked the custard tarts at this one.
I (along with the others) soon needed the calories. At about half an hour out, we reached the first of two more than taxing climbs in quick succession. The first one was the worst, and the only one to beat me in the whole trip. It was twisty, we couldn't see the summit, and the midday heat was getting to me a little as well. After struggling for a while, I decided to admit defeat and walk up. One of the French riders with us (who paid their way and made their own arrangements for hotels) agreed that it was too much work in the heat for that. Plenty of others walked it too, though quite a few hardy souls did grind their way up. My annoyance at not doing so was not helped when I noticed I still had two lower sprockets I'd not used in my attempt. And then, to boot, when I got back on the bike after the climb, I suffered my only 'mechanical' of the whole trip, a chain drop. Grrr….The second one was a bit easier. Steep, but a lot shorter than the first one, and I was pretty determined not to get beaten again. As I passed a walker, he said 'Do it for us'. And I did make it all the way up, though I needed the 27 tooth sprocket to do so. There was a regroup at the top, and the chance to get some refreshments was much needed! At Forest L' Abbaye, about 10 miles out from Abbeville, we had another break, before we all headed off as one big group for Abbeville, arriving at about six. 76 miles today, and as much climbing as the run to Dover on day one- 2,900 feet or so. After arriving at my hotel, I had a bit more time before dinner than the previous night and took the opportunity to have a quick look at the picturesque town centre, and saw the tail end of the parade commemorating the town's liberation in 1944. Another very good meal- steak for the second night in a row, but I didn't mind- and an early night again.
Day Three: Abbeville to Beauvais
Another early start, another hearty breakfast, and then off to this morning's ceremony. As with all of these events, the respect for the Legion, its work, and our humble selves was very evident. After what I'd heard about the fast group, I decided it was sensible to stick with the medium one. So, like the previous day, chatting and eating for a while before the off. Terrain and weather were both much like day two, thankfully without any of the killer climbs. The Picardy countryside was beautiful, and the reception we got passing through towns and villages remained very warm, frequent calls of 'bonjour' going to and fro. One thing that did rankle a bit was the riding manners of a few others. I wouldn't consider myself a strong rider, I've been alongside enough of them to know I'm not, but among this group, at least, I was, particularly on the climbs. I was often amusing myself by getting up the slopes on the big ring (not really a good idea I know, but I came to no harm), and doing so much more easily and rapidly than many of the group were on the granny. But time and again, when I was running not far behind the pace car, people I'd gone past on the climb came speeding past me on the descent, and promptly tucked in right in front of me. I know they wanted to keep their momentum for the next climb, but did they have to do it at the expense of mine? Not exactly safe either.
Lunch in Croixault was more of the high-quality fare, and today's sweet treat was an apple tart. I had a good natter with some of the guys from the five-strong Kent Police & National Escort Group team. The NEG supplied the support riders for day one, and provide similar coverage for cycling events all over the country, including the Tour of Britain. Great guys, a pleasure to ride with, even if one of them did give me a little gentle stick about my rucksack and how heavy it must be (no, don't get that any other time…ha ha). Then off we went again, riding conditions remaining very pleasant. The waterproofs were staying in the luggage, they just weren't needed- unlike the sun block (which was doing its job and protecting my pasty complexion!).
This afternoon's midway stop was a little different. The village of Auchy La Montagne (population of about 400 or so) was, I found out from Paul Harding, liberated by the British, and the population are keen to maintain the link. After following enthusiastic welcome signs in English, we came to our stop, where it seemed like the whole village had turned out for us. Our visit is one of the biggest events of the village year, apparently. The Mayor gave a welcome speech in English (as with the other ceremonies, Sir John returned the greeting in French), before we sang both national anthems. Paul Harding had thoughtfully provided the words to La Marseillaise on a placard.
After the break, we again continued in one big group to Beauvais. There was a malfunction in the otherwise faultless route-leading, when we managed to take a short detour into an industrial estate, quickly corrected. We went into the town centre for the ceremony at the war memorial (held in the evening rather than the following morning because of the need to get to Paris earlier in the day), as moving as all the others, before we took an amusingly convoluted route (a group of started off one way, were told to head in another direction, and-yup- ended back the way we would have gone in the first place). Added just a little to the 65 miles for the day! At the bike store for the night, a fire station, there was another reception (any excuse for a party…and it was the last full day before Paris) before our coaches arrived. The Mercure hotel wasn't in the nicest location (a bit of an industrial estate/retail park), but it was as pleasant as the others, and the meal was for me about the best of the whole trip- a bit different from the others, each course was a buffet (salads and cold cuts, sausages, chops etc for main, while desserts included a splendid chocolate tart and floating islands).
Day Four: Beauvais to Paris
And the other big day arrived..Like day one, there was a time issue today. There was a slot when the national police would close our path to the Arc de Triomphe to other traffic, for a just a couple of minutes, at 1519 precisely, and we had to hit that deadline. Fortunately the day was fairly uneventful, and there was generally a bit of a carnival atmosphere, unsurprisingly, among our peloton. I ummed and aahed about whether or not to join the fast group before sticking with the medium group. I wished I had- apart from the ongoing feeling that I was pootling a bit, and the ongoing annoyance of slow climbers/fast descenders, quite a few joined the fast group, and the average went down to 16-17, which I could easily have managed. Next time….
A few more not-too-taxing climbs, another splendid lunch at Vaux-en-Seine (today's sweet special- eclairs), which did seem a little more rushed for the last to arrive, and at 1 pm the reunified group headed into the City of Light. Not only did we make good time, we were early enough to need to take a couple of short breaks in the outer suburbs. The reception we got in the city was as warm as in the country, and we hit that deadline precisely on time. The final approach to the Arc, fittingly enough the Avenue de la Grande Armée, was absolutely amazing. The cobblestones weren't as bad as I feared (we'd ridden over some thankfully short sections in the country that were really uncomfortable), but I was still glad to have 25mm tyres and gel pads under the bar tape. We were quickly ushered off the road and we soaked up the atmosphere, plus copious quantities of beer and wine (I did drink a glass of wine, which quickly reminded me that I don't like the taste of alcohol. Sir John and his wife presented us all with finishing medals, before the final remembrance ceremony of our trip, in the Arc itself.
What happened next put me, I'm ashamed to say, in a absolutely foul mood for several days. We lined up either side of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Myself, and the vast majority of my fellow riders, paid the correct respect to both the location and the occasion, but a few did not. Someone next to me compared the line up of five dignitaries who were to lay wreaths to the opening of Reservoir Dogs- he did apologise when I complained- while others seemed to think posing for photos or cracking jokes was appropriate behaviour. Feet away from a tomb…I've emailed Dan Solley, the event co-ordinator, about that, and he has told me that I wasn't the only person to be offended, and a reminder about showing respect would be made next year. I was absolutely fuming, and the train of thought I went on wasn't pleasant. The sponsorship money I'd got in was pitifully small- less than a quarter of my £800 target- but if people actually doing the ride could be so disrespectful, how could I expect anyone else to take it seriously and donate? I didn't feel any sense of achievement at completing the ride either- in a sense, I still don't, as it felt really straightforward, though that was down to all the training I'd done and the excellent support from the crew. But the one thought above all else that was going through my mind that day, and for a while afterward, was 'Why did I bother?' It seemed that I might as well have stayed at home and just made a donation to the Legion instead.
After that, one final ride on cobbles down the Champs-Elysees and then on to Les Invalides, where the bikes were loaded for their trip back to London, and we went on to our hotel. 60 miles for the day. I didn't go to the champagne reception, spent as little time at the final dinner as possible, and wasn't very pleasant company when I was there. The Eurostar back to London couldn't come quickly enough.
I've calmed down about all that now, and though I still can't be happy about the amount I've raised, I intend to do the ride again next year, as I'd quickly decided I'd like to on day one. On the whole, it was an absolutely brilliant experience, with many great memories, shared with some great people (including Tony of course!) and the many good things I'd heard about P2P proved to be entirely deserved. If you want to do a charity ride and you don't have another cause you'd like to support- or you have room for another in your life- make it this one, you won't regret it. The Legion's work is as important as ever, and their team's efforts make it almost as simple as 'turn up and ride'. Well, almost….
And if you've enjoyed reading this and feel like making a donation, thank you in advance, there's a link in the sig
