LONDON TO PARIS: THE MOVIE

I've put together a little mini-film about my London to Paris adventure. It's a wee concoction of all the little clips I filmed along the way. (Yep, I can cycle and film at the same time - I have MISSED MY CALLING!)

Hopefully it captures the moods and merriment, the ups and downs, the whinging and the winning. ENJOY!


No horses were harmed in the filming of this video.

However, one camera might have perished.
And many hours were killed.

DAY 4: BEAUVAIS TO PARIS!

"Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go."  ~T.S. Eliot


My initial thoughts when I woke up were:

1) WHY DID I HAVE BEER?

2) That sadness I had about this being the last day? THAT WAS THE BEER TALKING.

I was tired, and I was sore. Although truth be told, this was an emotional day. It would be the last morning we'd have to wake up and get on our bikes. We'd come so far and now what... this was it?

 

Dorota and I hit the road, both of us feeling our aches and pains a little more today. In fact, after having such a good day yesterday, we both felt disappointed that today was difficult. I for one was really struggling, with stiff legs, a sore knee, and another night of not enough sleep.

And just to make things even worse, we found ourselves facing a two mile hill. A TWO MILE HILL! This was like a hill conjured up in some sort of lab of evil. Steep, busy roads which carried on.... FOR TWO MILES! (Did I mention the hill was two miles?) Needless to say, we walked up the hill, along with many others. One chap had a bad knee like me but had to attempt the walk up with cleats on his shoes.
"How women walk in high heels," he remarked, "I'll never know".

Once at the top of the HILL OF DOOM, Dorota and I stopped to dose ourselves up with various gels and potions. I took two painkillers for my knee, which was burning like the fires of hell. I'm not big on painkillers, but this time they were needed. I also started swigging the sports drink supplement my roommate Raquel had given me. I really wondered how I'd make it through the day.

Within an hour I WAS FLYING.

The painkillers worked their magic - pain? WHAT PAIN? - and the sugar drink had me buzzing with energy. I couldn't believe how good I felt! Why had I not thought of these things EARLIER?

We hit the last ever water stop, and everyone was taking time to chat, eat snacks, and enjoy the moment. The next time we'd stop together we'd almost be in Paris! It was hard to believe how quickly this day had come round....

And so I FLEW onwards, pepped up on sugar, feeling amazing. The route took us through cornfields, leafy roads and farmland. We were leaving the countryside behind, but what we had left of it was beautiful.

The Love Bus drove by blasting Fatboy Slim through their open windows and the beats just propelled my invigorated mood. (I WAS HIGH ON SUGAR!) I whooshed through a town and then flew up a horrible hill that seemed to keep going and going... as did I. I RACED up that hill. Who would've thought? My fitness, coupled with the numbed knee and sugary supplements meant I was cycling faster and more easily than ever before. I wished we had some more days under our belt!

The scenery slowly became more urban, and a group of us gals cycled together as we made our way through the back streets of small, quiet suburbs. It was nice and sociable, but for about 6 miles we had to deal with the most awful potholes (ARGH! OUR BUMS)! Even more frustratingly, we had to stop at traffic lights every 100 metres or so. For cyclists pepped up on sugar and desperate for lunch, this was SUPER annoying.

Yet we got there, and felt the buzz of mass excitement as we arrived at our last ever lunch stop. It was a stunning spot, right on the edge of the Seine. We were now on the outskirts of Paris, and it was a beautiful day. We had just 11 more miles to go to the holding point, and from there we'd all travel in convoy to the Eiffel Tower!

(As usual I ate too much lunch. BECAUSE I'M WORTH IT.)

It didn't take long to get to the holding point and it was here that the celebrating began, as people cheered and hugged. WE WERE HERE! WE HAD MADE IT!

Everyone was allocated a blue Skyline tshirt which clearly announced our achievement. The last of our independent cycling was finished. From here there was just the convoy all the way to Le Tour Eiffel. It was hard to take it in... And before I knew it we were ready to complete our final 8-mile stretch of this crazy journey.

After a briefing from James we all congregated on our bikes. James stood up through the car window, air horn in hand.

"ARE WE READY TO GO, PEOPLE?"

A huge cheer went up from the cyclists, James sounded the air horn and WE WERE OFF!

The river of blue cyclists snaked its way into the heart of Paris, the sound of a hundred bells tinging in unison. At each set of lights we’d stop, the sound of countless pedal cleats clacking on and off every time. The air horn would blast and we’d all ting our bells and whoop and cheer! Such was the jubilant mood there were even several attempts at Mexican waves at each red light. At one stage a bus got stuck in the middle of our trail and the driver sat there, throwing his hands up in a shrug, helpless as we wove around him.

We cycled up the Avenue Foch - the Champs Elysees' northern twin - and saw the Arch de Triomphe rise up ahead! Everyone went crazy, screaming and cheering with excitement. There were some nerves all round as we turned onto the roundabout, the most chaotic ring of traffic in France, but we soon turned off again.

However, when we saw the first tip of the Eiffel Tower through the trees, the feelings of excitement and jubilation went up to ELEVEN. The air horn blasted, the bike bells were ringing, and everyone whooped and cheered and screamed. For many of the group it was the first time they'd seen the Eiffel Tower. I wondered what that must have felt like, considering that for me, this was my third time to Paris and I felt OVERWHELMED with emotion!

We took the route all the way around to the Avenue d'Lena where we made the approach to le Tour Eiffel directly across the Pont d'Lena. Tourists on either side of the bridge stopped to watch, taking photos. As people read our tshirts there were murmurings in many languages, with the word "London!" said in awed tones. I felt ON TOP OF THE WORLD. I thought I might cry. Later everyone - even the blokes - admitted there were tears.

Our river of cyclists rounded the gardens of the Eiffel Tower and made our way to the back, where we completed our journey with a victory lap of the fountain on Pl Jacques Rueff. Cheering, bell-ringing, we all decided to do another lap. Oh go on then, LET'S DO ANOTHER! Friends and family of some of the cyclists were there holding banners, tourists gathered to watch, and the crew started spraying champagne in celebration. I rolled up to a final stop and was handed a plastic cup of champagne. Dorota and I screamed and toasted our achievement.

There, beneath the Eiffel Tower, I tasted success. I JUST RODE MY BICYCLE FROM LONDON TO PARIS. Two countries, 300 miles, four days. This was the hardest thing I had ever done, yet - and probably for that exact reason - it was the BEST thing I had ever done. I like to think that in time I'll look back at this and think what a walk in the part it was compared to other challenges I'll have undertaken... but for now, this was my EVEREST.

I bought myself a souvenir Eiffel Tower as a trophy, which I'd planned from day one. Other souvenir-sellers made use of their entrepreneurial skills, popped to the nearest off-licence and came back to try and sell us all beer and champagne. There were plenty of photo calls, family reunions, and celebrating going on. Two Japanese tourists stopped Dorota and I and asked if they could each have their photos taken with us! This was, I realised, the closest someone like me could ever get to feeling like a competitor in the Tour de France.

It was amazing to think how much had happened; how differently I felt than I did back on Wednesday morning, standing in Crystal Palace park screaming into my fist. Proof that in just three days you can completely smash your own perception of your personal limits. 

Finally, Tom from the crew told us to start making our way to the hotel. Oh yes, we had a little more cycling left to do! Just a couple of miles through Paris, following the last of the arrows (SOB!) to the Hotel Concorde in Montparnarsse. Those of us cycling together were on cloud nine, and even though we lacked the effect of the massive convoy we were still waving and cheering as we drove through the streets.

At the hotel it was time to hand over the bikes. They'd be taken back to London overnight in a truck, and meet us at the other side. I felt very emotional handing over Claud. Every night when I'd had to leave him stored away it was always with some reluctance, but especially now, after he'd got me all this way.

But now my only priorities were:
Check in!

Shower!

Clean clothes!

And down to the bar.

Outside in the hotel beer garden the party was well underway. For the first time all 120 cyclists were staying in the same hotel, and everyone was in a great mood. Some were showered and changed, while others had not even bothered and sat celebrating in their lycra.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of banter, beer, and bicycle talk. Dinner was steak and the wine was well and truly flowing. After dinner James led everyone to a local bar he was clearly all too familiar with, and before long everyone was dancing, throwing their previously-aching bodies around the dancefloor, and generally releasing all the excited energy from the afternoon. I spent most of the night dancing atop a table wearing a straw hat, alongside three other cyclists who were dressed as superheroes. That pretty much sums up the mood.

I fell into bed at 2am (much earlier than many did) and thankfully, mercifully, was too tired to contemplate the achievements of the day.

I think I would have cried if I did.

Beauvais to Paris: 56 miles (90.1km)

TOTAL DISTANCE LONDON TO PARIS: 300 MILES

DAY 3: ABBEVILLE TO BEAUVAIS

“To overcome difficulties is to experience the full delight of existence.” ~ Arthur Schopenhauer

My roommate's alarm was the technological equivalent of someone screaming "WAAAAAKE UUUUUPPP!!!" directly into my ear. It works a treat.

Today we had a staggered start, to allow cyclists of all speeds to be nearer one another. It was a much smarter way of doing things, although I was surprised to see the odd speedy road biker still determined to set off before anyone else. WHY? Why would you do that when you could stay in bed an extra hour?? MADNESS.

As for Dorota and I, we set off early, and despite the initial stiffness we were both feeling energetic. Even though my knee hurt, the brace was helping, and I was determined to not let it stop me.

Up ahead we saw cyclists climbing up around the side of the hill, and we both prepared ourselves for the eventual walk up. (I being especially conscious of my knee.) But we attempted to cycle a little way at least. And then... kept going. And going. Wait... we just cycled up that big hill. DUDE, WHAT JUST HAPPENED? 

Clearly our legs had developed into SUPERLEGS and we were now equipped with hill-cycling powers we didn't have before. Awesome! There really is something magic about the moment you notice your fitness and strength increase. Seriously. MAGIC.

Our orange-arrowed route carried us through little villages, with quaint churches, and at one point we came upon some friendly horses. We stopped to say hello.

The entire day was absolutely stunning. The weather was perfect. I was in an INCREDIBLY good mood, cycling through the picturesque countryside, feeling fitter and more energetic than I ever had on this trip so far. This was what cycling was all about! Seeing the world under your own steam! "IT'S GOOD TO BE ALIVE!!" I thought to myself. (In fact, I might have said it out loud.)

The mood was only exacerbated by the support of the locals. Just before we reached the water stop, we all passed a little boy stood at the gate of his house, astride his tricycle. "Bonjour! Bonjour!" he squeaked, waggling his hand in a wave. He got very excited when all us grown up cyclists said "Bonjour" back. It was SO CUTE my brain nearly exploded.

After 20 miles we rolled up at the water stop, and found it busy with cyclists; something we hadn't seen before the staggered start was implemented. It made for a fantastic, lively atmosphere, and everyone seemed in great spirits. This was our shortest day yet (about 60 miles), and we only had 18 miles 'til lunch.
"Eighteen miles? Pah! SIMPLES!"

The afternoon offered some of the most beautiful cycling yet. Plenty of undulations, but manageable, and the beauty of our surroundings offered a VERY pleasant distraction.

The lunch stop was busier than the water stop had been. The sun was scorching and everyone sat out on the grass, dining on yet another phenomenal buffet lunch. Hot sausage pasta, salads, cheese, baguettes and potatoes. I even went back for seconds, although I probably didn't need it. 

My gears had also started skipping, despite getting them serviced a week before the trip. GAAH. So before I set off I had Andy the fantastic mechanic tune them up for me. I was definitely putting Claud through his paces!

We rolled on, with roughly 12 miles left to Beauvais. I had an insatiable craving for a sweet drink, so Dorota and I made a pit-stop in a town to pick up some bottles of lemon Powerade. For this trip I was carrying my water in a camelback, inside my lightweight rucksack (both on loan from Ben - thanks dude!). It was an extremely comfortable way to carry water; I could take up to three litres (although I generally just carried two) and it meant not having to fuss around with multiple bottles. The downside was that I didn't have the provisions to carry energy drinks or add sugar supplements. So the Powerade was AMAZING.

The afternoon water stop was more of a rest break than anything else. (I was still burning off my lunch.) But it WAS conveniently placed at the top of a very steep climb, so Dorota and I stopped to catch our breath and relax. Y'know, just for a moment.

Right! Powering on! And soon we were sailing into Beavais on busy roads. I found myself locked in a steady pace, Dorota behind, as we flew into the city centre. Dorota later told me we were averaging 17mph. (Not bad for hybrids, and certainly not bad for us!) We were both in a great mood, having found our stride and I was stoked about finally arriving early, rather than late.

On top of that, we saw our first signs for Paris!

We were, by all calculations, nearing the hotel, when we suddenly heard a short, sharp whistle. It was three of the other cyclists, waving us back. Apparently we were going the wrong way. One of the chaps had called James, who said the hotel was back in town. (The arrows we were following were for tomorrow, they said.) So we followed the three cyclists back into town, the way we had just come... but it wasn't long before we realised they didn't actually know where they were going! I was getting tired and annoyed by this stage. Dorota looked up the hotel on her iPhone and we discovered that we HAD been going the right way all along! In fact, when we'd turned around we had actually been less than half a mile away from the hotel. The three cyclists seemed determined to go with their directions, so we parted ways and followed the GPS, eventually rolling into the hotel with an unnecessary extra 8 miles under our belts!

It was tres annoying, but an innocent mistake.
To be honest, I had to laugh... another day, another detour! At this rate I was setting a record.

There were several other cyclists sitting outside the hotel drinking beer, and cheering our arrival, so Dorota and I decided to go straight to the bar and join them. (It feels OK to sit and drink in your sweaty cycling gear when you're surrounded by other people in their sweaty cycling gear as well.)

THE BEER WAS GOOD.

Showers, then back for more beer, although even though it was not yet 6pm, the hotel bar reported a beer shortage. Surely having 60 cyclists booked into their hotel months in advance would've ensured they had beer in their barrels? Apparently not. Soon the bottled beer ran short too. WINE it is then!
Wine... and LASAGNE.

It was great to get to know more of the other cyclists and hear their stories. Some were workmates wanting to test their limits for a good cause; some were relatives taking on a family challenge together; and others had their own personal motivation. One young cyclist was raising money for his grandmother, whom he was very close to, but who was suffering from Alzheimer's. I said she must be very proud of his achievement; he said, "She won't remember that I've gone." That made me want to cry. Everyone had their story, their reasons, their goals. Overall I came to realise that I was in the company of an extraordinary group of people.

After dinner the wine flowed, and a bunch of us sat outside listening to music on someone's iPod, and talking about first gigs, great bands, and other nonsensical campfire banter. It was a lot of fun, but eventually I dragged myself to bed, feeling suddenly very sad that tomorrow would be our last day.

Abbeville to Beavais: 60 miles (96.5km)
Additional miles cycled: 8 miles (12.5 km)
Total distance: 68 miles (109 km)