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!).

17 July 2007

Today I thank God for Tiger Balm

It was an epic ride yesterday, 77 miles from Tintagel to Lynton over 11 hours, not a bit of it flat. On one downhill, I managed to sprint at 40.3 miles an hour, feeling terrified and elated in equal measure. Don't try that at home.
Coming up the steep hill out of Boscastle Harbour, I passed two other tourers on their way to John o'Groats, sweating like hams in the sun. I felt like a wise guy just passing them by like that, and I was just feeling sorry for them when I heard someone whisper 'Morning!' in my right ear. I turned to see that I was being overtaken with ease by an old man - grey hair, wrinkles, grandfatherly smile, the works. I told him that he was humiliating me and he laughed and slowed down to chat to me. 'This is one of the few places you can climb 1,000ft from sea level,' he said with alacrity. Wise guy. He turned into a little blue dot as he accelerated towards infinity in front of me. At the top I could se the whole world, disappearing in the distance into sunshine haze - when sweaty dribbles of sun cream weren't filling my eyes. The lesson here is never to put sun cream on one's forehead, let it burn because the pain is less? Anyway, that was only the first big hill of the day. From there it was down to sea level again at Bude, up across single track roads up-down-up-down-youmustbejokingup-down and up to Torrington then further up over the tops and a roller coaster ride down to Barnstaple at sea level. Finally, there was the long 20 mile drag up into Exmoor in the showers - a beautiful lonely ride through deep green and quiet, emerging into the sub-tropical dank profusion of the Lyn Valley and Lynton Youth Hostel. It was a long day's ride and I felt exhilerated to have made my destination. Unfortunately, I could no longer move my limbs, so before bed, I rubbed Tiger Balm into them. It was my friend Anna's idea to bring a small pot of Tiger Balm. I suddenly felt like I was in my own private bubble of fire. Powerful, exotic vapours enveloped the dormitory and the last thing I remember before disappearing into sleep was my room-mates' shifting uncomfortably in their beds in polite agitation. I woke up an hour later to the sound of one of them opening a window. In the morning I slept through my alarm but my room-mates didn't. They didn't complain, though - their stoic patience with me was salutary.
This morning I'm sitting in the cafe by the clifftop railway in Lynton. There's a photo in here of the railway just before it opened in 1888. Originally built to haul cars from Lymouth at sea level to Lynton on the clifftop, it is based on two carriages hanging from a large pulley at the top of the cliff. The carriage at the top fills a water tank from a stream, which then pulls the other carriage up the hill, the two passing half-way. The route is dead straight down at about 45 degrees, blasted out of the rock. It must take a certain monomania to embark on a massive project like that for such little purpose. I salute it for its unreasonableness, its refusal to care for the question, 'But what's it for?' It's one of life's eccentric mysteries that some of the most enjoyable things are those least necessary, like this journey, for example, and life itself of course.
Later I have to go up Countisbury Hill, up over the top and down Porlock Hill - the steepest A road in Britain - to Minehead, just 20 miles today. In 1899, a few men and horses managed to pull a lifeboat over the same hill, which is ridiculously steep, travelling overnight in rain and high wind in an attempt to save a stricken vessel off Porlock; at one point they even had to demolish part of a cottage to get round a corner. It's an amazing story remembered in a little display in Lynmouth. Now I'm going to descend via the crazy railway to Lynmouth in a cloud of Tiger Balm vapour.

David

PS Blessed are those who have posted comments on my blog - thank you.

PPS I'll send some pictures soon - it's a bit of a complicated process from my mobile.

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