From End to End - over £3,000 raised to reduce carbon emissions

So I rode a bicycle from Land's End to John o'Groats between mid-July and mid-August 2007 because I wanted to and also to raise money to reduce carbon emissions.
Thanks to everyone who preferred to sponsor the trip for this mighty cause rather than wring their hands in despair. May the wind not be in your face, the rain not run down your neck, and the sun not burn your skin. Sponsorship as of 16 October 2007: £3,213 (92 sponsors).
The trip blog appears below, most recent posting first (i.e. start at the bottom and work up!).

Where the money has gone

The money raised will help to cut the carbon emissions of the organisation that I worked for and admire – British Quakers. If you’re not a Quaker (nor am I), then please take my word for it that they are worthy recipients of the money.

Simple, contemporary, radical: Quakers were instrumental in setting up Greenpeace, Oxfam, Amnesty, Campaign Against Arms Trade and others, and were also pioneers in the abolition of the slave trade. They've never made oats (that's true). Find out more about Quakers.

The money will help to buy a glamourous new combined heat and power boiler for the Quaker central office, Friends House - these boilers are ecologically responsible, shiny and horribly expensive. Yes, it's a bit boring but it will cut carbon emissions. Find out more about CHP boilers (oh go on!).

18 July 2007

Forest journey

At the top of Countisbury Hill, I needed a rest because it's a two mile climb to over 1000 feet and it was quite tiring. So I gasped and floundered like a drowning man and clung on to a farm gate as if the future of all things depended upon it. Then I smiled just enough to take a photo of myself before I fell over. It was a good honest hill though - it said, 'I'm steep, I'm huge, and I'm in the way, and when you get to the top you'll be glad, for you'll be enjoying most of God's creation for a few miles before going down again.'
After half an hour on top of the world, a blue cyclists sign suggested that I leave the main road on an alternative route which would avoid perilous Porlock Hill. I took it, although I couldn't tell where I was on the map; I was thrust into trust. The road became a single track far away from the rest of the world and plunged down down down into forest calm. Eventually I reached a gurgling river in the middle of the forest, touched here and there with patches of sunlight. Here the route turned off the road to become a dirt bridleway and I had to get off and push my bike. The path became narrower still and steeper, following the cascading river down with the road I had just left on its farther side. I soon realised that the signs had been misleading and I should have stayed on the tiny road but I couldn't reach it across the river. My bike bumped over the stones as I guided it down the path. I kept wondering why I hadn't reached the bottom yet but still the river tumbled down the hillside and my path became steeper and narrower. Then I came across a bridge over the river, so I rejoined the road and rode down to a strange gated stone archway, of which one side was a tiny round house with a small, worn hole in the middle of its white door. 'Toll: £1.50. Please ring.' I rang. The bell made no sound but soon something shifted about in the darkness behind the hole. Slowly, the door opened and an old woman stepped out. She was small, huddled up and covered in thick wrinkles as if a giant had scrunched her up in huge hands. I felt in my pocket and found a £20 note. She turned back inside and shook her head miserably. She returned with some change and said, 'I still owe you some money.' She did this three times until we were straight. 'What is this road?' I asked. 'It belongs to Lord Lytton,' she said. The toll money is not enough to maintain it, she explained bitterly. Then she looked at me for the first time. 'People say it's like a rainforest,' she said slowly, her eyes suddenly full of pride and wonder.
If ever there were a hidden road somewhere off the map where journey and dream mysteriously meld and profane and sacred cannot be told apart, then this tiny passage through the forest might be it, this woman its faithful keeper.
Finally, I'd reached the bottom - sea level again - and rode the rest of the way to Minehead, bits of forest still clinging to me and my bike and my dreaming.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hi David,
I love reading about your journey. Some of the places you've been through so far sound really magical. I'm going to Bude this weekend. It's a shame we were a few days off or we could have crossed paths.
Be careful and I look forward to reading your next bits.
Amanda