2009 Trike Ride - Aberdeen to London.

In March 2003 I had bought a recumbent exercise cycle. So bad was the circulation in my left side that I figured that the best way to prolong my life expectancy, and live as long as most other people, was to get the blood racing round my body. So I started pedaling. I wanted to occupy this body of mine for as long as possible. I had started to enjoy life again after a pretty severe accident, which most people thought I’d never recover from.

Some people assume that, having partial paralysis, I can’t ride a cycle. I can, so long as it’s got more than two wheels – there’s enough strength in my left leg to follow the right leg round. Lack of balance, not paralysis, is the main problem for me.

When I had thought about a three-wheeler and a reclining exercise cycle, I began to conceive the Everything Is Possible In Life Cycle. After many different ideas, I decided on a journey by reclining trike from Aberdeen to London.

One of the reasons (apart from staying as fit as I could) that I wanted to make this journey was to help change attitudes towards disability. After my accident 10 years ago I had very quickly realized that people with disabilities tend to be unseen.

Right up and down the UK, disabled people are invisible – you see comparatively few in our towns and cities, shopping, living their lives, relaxing with their partners, using public transport…in short doing most of the things that other people do every day.

The more people with disabilities are seen, doing both extraordinary and ordinary things, then the more integrated into our society they will become. And the more that the media around us projects being disabled as being part of the fabric of society, the more normal and accepted it will appear. I wanted this ride to help make this happen.

Sunday 21st June, was a day that will be etched in my mind for many years to come - the last day of my training in Richmond Park. In the final weeks of preparation, I had trained here on the trike I’d bought and grown sick of it.

Since I had first conceived of this idea I have spent most of my training time going nowhere like a hamster on a wheel - spending two hours most mornings every week on a recumbent exercise cycle.

In my first year of 'training', I remember listening to the run up to the Iraq war on the radio many years ago. Since then, I've gone nowhere, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, climbed many imaginary hills, burnt many calories, and clocked up many miles on my digital readout - so much so that I don't think I'll ever be in a better shape than I am now to achieve this pretty big task. There are no guarantees, but if I'm going to do it, it might as well be now.

I chose Richmond Park because it seemed relatively traffic-free and not far from my home in W11. Neither of these things turned out to be of any great benefit. The air, particularly at recumbent tricycle level, is thick with car fumes - and cars there are many on fine Sundays leading up to the summer.

Because London is now so chockablock, you can't even escape crowds of people, or automobiles, or cyclists in any of the parks on Sundays!

Richmond Park is also smack bang next to several main arteries out of West London. It can therefore take an age to get to. Riding a trike doesn't allow you to nimbly nip through spaces between pavement and car, like you can on a bike.

It may be even more environmentally friendly than a G-Whizz or a Smart car, but unfortunately it's just as wide. So you have to treat it like a car when you're riding it. A one hour crawl to Richmond Park from Notting Hill is just that, with the added luxury of gulping in lungfulls of carbon monoxide.

After I bought the trike in early spring, I thought that getting off the exercise bike, once a week, and onto three-wheeled pedal power would re-invigorate me - reawaken a hunger inside me for the ride ahead.
Unfortunately, it didn't. I don't think that crawling, in traffic, and choking my way through London, has contributed to a fitter healthier me.

I can't wait to see parts of the country I've never seen, and to have more independence than I've had for ten years, when I begin my journey. But when I break the finishing tape on July 19th, I won't be saying to myself "Gee Richmond Park, thanks".

Leaving for Aberdeen

My wife Justine, Peter, and I set off for Aberdeen at 8:30 in the morning. Not only was the ride about to begin, but also Michael Jackson and Farah Fawcett both had their lives cut short the preceding night. This was an unforgettable day.

Although the ride to come is going to be at snail’s pace, we managed to hot foot it up to Aberdeen in under 10 and a half hours. Before the cycling started, our culinary tour of Scotland began in the hotel restaurant with team Aberdeen Angus steaks.

The calm before the storm.

The weather in Aberdeen was clear and sunny. Storms are predicted for tomorrow. We took advantage of the good weather with a quick tour. The grey austere stone contrasted with the bright blue sky.

Our quick tour turned into a reccie of my day 1 route along the coast southwards. It quickly became clear that I was going to be wiped off the face of the earth within minutes if I stuck to the roads that I’d planned to ride. Suddenly, nothing would be possible if that happened.

So, we bought some new maps and started figuring how to re-plan a safer route.

Whilst we checked out the new route, and later as we wandered around Aberdeen, there seemed to be a proliferation of people in wheelchairs – in contrast to environmentally challenging London.

Day 1: Aberdeen to Montrose

I started out from Victoria Dock in Aberdeen harbour. An old university chum, Adrian Phillips, saw us off, and convinced the harbour master to allow us to take photos of our departure at the quayside.

Perhaps as a sign of things to come, there was an initial steep climb out of Aberdeen to join the picturesque National Cycle Network route, thus avoiding the horrendous A90. Instead of the dangers of speeding vehicles, we were confronted by curious long-horned Aberdeen Angus cattle. It was slow going. For the first time in my life, I experienced being overtaken by a tractor!

Avoiding the main road out of Aberdeen also added miles and hours to our route and we ended up having lunch in Stonehaven very late. We left there at 4pm and managed to catchup a lot of time on the smaller and safer A92.

Then the heavens opened and we all donned our rather smart new white waterproofs, and Pete and I started cycling through the rain. Despite this, the progress we made was infinitely more enjoyable than the journey in the morning.

We finally arrived in Montrose at 8:30pm at the Park Hotel - very homely and disabled-friendly. This seemed to be principally because of the kind and empathetic Grace, the owner. Coincidentally, her 29 year old daughter had also received a head injury - 3 years ago in a car accident.

Day 2: Montrose to Dundee

We started this 34 mile leg with a smile on our faces. Grace, the owner of the Park Hotel, donated one of our 2 rooms to the campaign. Thanks Grace. Perhaps, her personal experience of preconceptions and prejudices around her daughter’s head injury led her to understand that changing people’s attitudes is important.

We left Montrose as the sea mist was beginning to rise. In comparison to yesterday’s baptism of fire, today’s leg was a gentle one. There was only one thigh-burning climb, and that was at the beginning out of Montrose. Then the ride became benign on the slow and traffic-free A92 and on the cycle lanes into Dundee via Carnoustie.

The climb I mention above threw up one big problem that jeopardised the whole ride. The trike’s left handlebar started rubbing my thigh as I became more tired, creating a huge sore that made cycling difficult and painful.

In a lay-by overlooking Montrose, Pete therefore made some alterations to the handlebar position (complicated by my special alterations to the brakes).
Max and Pete Resting on Roadside
The later miles of the leg to Dundee took us by cycle path along the links of the beautiful Carnoustie golf course. Peter and I pedaled through heather and gorse, dodging the occasional golf ball.

The path then passed through some of Dundee’s docks. It was getting late in the day, and the mist was falling again. Alongside the water’s edge the chimneys of an oil or gas refinery disappeared into the mist as they soared skywards.

Our hotel was impossible to reach by trike. We therefore finished the ride by the Tay bridge where we were aiming to resume tomorrow.

Day 3: Dundee to Kirkcaldy

Andy Murray is steamrollering into the quarter-finals at Wimbledon under flood lights and in the middle of a heat wave. Could have fooled me! Dundee is still shrouded in mist.

On this leg the first mile involves an experience even more surreal than a Brit doing well at Wimbledon – crossing the Tay by a road bridge disappearing into nothingness ahead, and surrounded on both sides by the roar of speeding traffic. It also involved another new experience for me – traveling by trike upwards, by elevator to the bridge cycle path.

We’d started to get underway earlier, in anticipation of a long day’s cycling. So we missed a piece about my ride in today’s Dundee Courier. Hopefully this is the first of several pieces of publicity about the campaign.

Certainly, there appears to be much interest. Yesterday, we learned that ITV regional news want to do a film about my campaign for broadcast next week as I pass through the North East.

Justine is riding with me for the first time today. Beyond it being a great experience to share this with the person I love, Justine’s technique of pointing out potholes as she passes them in front of me proves indispensable.

I can’t always spot holes or bumps in the road, and without someone ahead pointing them out, when I pass over them too fast I have a habit of momentarily losing control of the trike. This is making the ride pretty hair-raising!

We are of course predictably getting a load of curses from irate drivers, stuck behind us as I crawl along at around 7mph. However, we’ve also been getting loads of comments from well-wishers and a few claps as we pass through towns.

The 34 mile leg ends in Kirkcaldy, after a final few miles of uneven and bumpy old road, more potholes and dodgy manhole covers. Justine’s working overtime.

Day 4: Kirkcaldy – Edinburgh

At only 18 miles, this leg was the shortest of the whole ride. It was also not too damaging on the body, as there were hardly any hills.

It was supposed to be the longest day of the journey so far, at over 50 miles. However, the unanticipated ability to cycle over the Forth Road Bridge shaved hours off the day.

It’s tempting to think that this whole endeavour, as well as this gentle day in particular, would be a quiet pedal through the countryside for me, and an opportunity to enjoy the scenery. Unfortunately not.

My sight and hearing impairments, coupled with my relatively slow reaction time, mean that I have my attention firmly focused on the tarmac in front. This is hugely frustrating. At one stage, from the coastline, a few miles before we arrived at the crossing, my curiosity got the better of me and I tried to make out the bridge through the mist and haze. A wheel went into a rut at the side of the road and I lost control of the trike, almost wrapping me round a tree.

Because of works on the bridge itself, we were in contact with the head of operations before crossing, such was our concern that the bridge might not accommodate a unusual vehicle like a trike (this had only occurred to us after we had crossed the Tay bridge outside Dundee). Luckily, we got the green light, and the workers were informed of our impending passing.

After a quick photo in front of a ‘Welcome to Edinburgh’ sign, we headed off the bridge and were checked into our hotel within minutes.
Justine had driven ahead and almost accidentally found the hotel in the middle of a Tesco car park! The Dakota looms like a 2001–style monolith amongst the retail world of out-of-town shopping centers and roundabouts.

The rooms in this breathtaking hotel were kindly donated by the management. For once, we had a bit of time to enjoy them.

Day 5: Edinburgh – Dunbar

We left the Dakota early. The high, wispy clouds gave every indication it was going to be a scorcher.

It was lucky we left when we did because, at 50 miles, the leg to Dunbar proved to be the longest yet. Because Dunbar was on the other side of Edinburgh from the Dakota, we had to first traverse the city itself. We did this by hugging the coastline via Leith and the docks, avoiding the traffic and hills in Edinburgh center.

Our traveling convoy, and the unusualness of the trike, have been†provoking curiosity. Apart from the now usual friendly beeps on horns, we are getting people coming up to us and enquiring as to what we are up to. For example, an elderly man in Leith gave us a handful of coppers as a spontaneous donation.

After we broke out of the Edinburgh suburbs and onto country lanes, the temperature started rising noticeably. Pete and I parted company with Justine as we took a cycle path across country, spectacularly passing between the sea and an iron foundry.

We wished we had had a camera (it was in the car) for the next two incidences. The cycle path in question presented us with completely unforeseen obstacles that occurred in quick succession and could have brought us to a complete and total halt.

The first was a set of bollards designed to keep out any vehicles wider than a regular bike. This in itself is not an unusual feature of cycle paths, however, the way these bollards were configured made them impassable in a normal manner for a trike. Given that two people are needed to help me get on and off the trike, this situation was made suddenly quite serious indeed. After a few minutes of deep thought and lateral thinking, we realised that the trike, being significantly closer to the ground than a regular bike, could just fit under the obstacle if I craned my neck sideways and backwards. After I did my impression of a three-wheeled limbo dancer, we went on our way!

Just round the next corner, we were confronted by a further and far greater obstacle: steps…

Five big steps on either side of a small footbridge over a stream brought a feeling of finality and deflation into our minds for the first time. Incredibly luckily, we managed to recruit several burly blokes and a couple of kids, who perchance were fishing next to the bridge, to carry me, still sat in the trike, up and down the steps!

This was a dramatic example of how the built environment isn’t designed with all of us in mind. This is one of the reasons that people with different disabilities are less often seen out and about than others.

We had a very late lunch in Longdiddry, after which Justine took over from Pete on the bike. By this time, the heat combined with a few wrong turns had conspired to make it a really tough and long day.

Day 6: Dunbar – Berwick

This 33 mile leg kicked off with an awe-inspiring flat ride along desolate coastal roads passing first a vast cement works and quarry and then a power station.

Our route for the day took us on calm roads running alongside and occasionally underneath the much busier and more dangerous A1. Unfortunately, at one point the cycle path failed us, and provided no alternative but to join the A1 for a mile. We couldn’t do this because it was just too dangerous, not only for ourselves but for our fellow road users as well.

After spending an hour trying to find an alternative route, we rendezvoused with Justine (who had gone ahead again) and were compelled to pack the bikes into the car and drive the mile to our next B road. This was the first time we were forced, albeit briefly, to drive a small section of the way.

Back on B roads, a local cyclist warned us of the ferocity of an upcoming hill. Although he suggested an alternative route, we decided to go for it.

At the foot of the hill, a welcome shallow stream lulled us into a false sense of security. Then, the climb began. The first mile was exceptionally savage, being as steep as a road can realistically be built.

We then continued to climb more gently for a further two hours, during which time it started raining. At the top of the climb, we were rewarded with a damp 5 mile coast down to Eyemouth where we had lunch.

In Eyemouth, Justine took a photo of me in the harbour, as requested by the local paper.

Leaving Eyemouth, we climbed more hills in the rain and ended up on a humid and misty plateau, the most memorable bit of which was the sudden swarming of flies upon us. There was no escaping them because they could fly faster than I could pedal the trike!

As we started to coast down to Berwick from the moor, it stopped raining and the flies thankfully disappeared in our slipstream.

Berwick had assumed a real significance for us. Arriving there meant we had just crossed the border into England and our journey was a third complete.

When we got there, Justine took more photos for the local press of me with my trike in the main square.

Interestingly, there are two editions of the local paper – one Scottish and one English. So, twice as much coverage for our campaign’s message!

Days 7 and 8 – rest days

With fantastic timing, we arrived in Berwick-upon-Tweed for the weekend of a friend of Justine’s wedding. Having stopped the ride in Berwick’s market square the evening before, we drove the 10 miles back into Scotland to our base for the next three nights – the Wheatsheaf Hotel at Swinton.

Over this weekend, we came across some very generous people. The housekeeper at our hotel did our washing free of charge (an outstanding donation given the smell!) and a further £5 note. Our taxi driver back from the wedding, after hearing about our endeavours, refused to accept any payment. We are enjoying a well-earned weekend out of the saddle.

Day 9: Berwick – Alnwick

We were anticipating a hilly and therefore long 32 mile day along the Northumbria coast, so we left early.
Once we had negotiated the gentle climb out of Berwick, Peter and I left Justine to drive a few miles down the very busy A1 whilst we took a cycle track along the cliff tops. ‘Cycle track’ is a loose description of what was in fact a muddy path, made slippery by the rain the night before.

The grass and mud were so slippery that this path took us several hours to navigate.

It was also along here that the thing I feared most happening did actually happen – my trike, with me in it, tipped over as the camber of the path became too steep. Mercifully, I wasn’t hurt at all since we were almost stationary and this all happened on grass.

Peter heard a scream behind him, and turned around to see a trike on top of Max lying on his back in the mud, legs in the air, a bit like a stranded tortoise.

What then became a real concern was how the hell I was going to get back in the saddle. Pete summoned up hidden strength and I managed to twist and contort myself, until I got back in the seat.

After this episode, I realised that I did in fact have a camera on me in the form of my mobile phone for unexpected circumstances like this. Pity I didn’t realise it at the time. But here’s a picture of me afterwards, just before we reached the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

Soon after, we reached our rendezvous point with Justine and we got back on the tarmac.

In anticipation of the rain pelting down again, we donned our waterproofs and stopped for a meeting with a golden retriever from Newcastle.

Although we thought we had successfully skirted around a massive thunderstorm directly in front of us, we hadn’t. The heavens opened and we spent the next 2 hours miserably pedaling slowly through driving rain.

Thoroughly narked and sodden, the final straw was just around the corner. A few miles outside Alnwick, our car’s engine got temperamental and started overheating. Justine indicated for us to get off the road to switch off the car for a few minutes. I followed Peter and swooped into a farmyard entrance that turned out to slope dramatically down a hidden hill.

For the second time today, but this time at about 5mph and on tarmac, my trike and I tipped over.

It’s amazing what damage you can do to yourself at 5mph. At first I thought I’d been hurt so much that I would have to call off the rest of the journey. After my initial panic, and some TLC from Justine and Pete and our first aid kit, I realized that my prognosis might have been too pessimistic. It seemed that I’d just badly cut and grazed much of my left side and given my left knee a bang.

We packed up and drove on to our hotel in Alnwick. I needed a lie down for a few hours and a bit more patching up.

Day 10: Alnwick – Newcastle

“I like his wheelchair” said the waiter to Justine at breakfast, as I†munched on my toast. I’ve got used to this kind of Does he take sugar? attitude, where people ask questions of my companion which they should be addressing to me. I felt like turning to the waitress attending the neighbouring table and saying to her ‘can you please ask your colleague to bring us some marmalade?’

After spilling out of the trike the day before, I sat back in the saddle in preparation for this 40 mile leg feeling a tad sore, but nonetheless confident that I could continue.

First off, I was confronted by a very steep climb just beyond Alnwick. A few twinges came from my left knee, which I had knocked the day before, but otherwise everything seemed hunky-dory.

We all detected a noticeable increase in goodwill amongst the public. Exactly why became clear after we were stopped by a dog-walker called George on a remote cycle path. He had recognised me after having seen a short report on my ride on the early morning TV news.

George recommended we stop at the renowned ice cream store in the next village, Cresswell. We took him up on this, and whilst there met the owner of the shop who had also seen the news piece on our journey (incidentally, her homemade ice creams were superb).

The outskirts of Newcastle lay about 10 miles ahead. Planning safe and easy-to-follow routes into major cities can be a daunting task. We have found that the most effective approach is for Justine and me to abandon the support and reassurance of the car in favour of the flexibility of pedal power alone.

Notwithstanding this, a smooth and speedy entry into any city is challenging. It was particularly crucial that we expedite today’s arrival into a suburb of Newcastle (Blyth) because we were due to rendezvous with Mark, from ITV Tyne-Tees, in order to film another interview for the local news.

Unfortunately, our entry into Blyth was neither smooth nor speedy. Justine and I encountered more steps up onto a footbridge, and also more impassable barriers! Both times, we were lucky that passers-by came to our aid.

We arrived on Blyth seafront promenade an hour late. However, Mark had been told to wait for us. His patience resulted in the piece going out on the air only half an hour after it was filmed.

Whilst we were experiencing all this, Peter was having his own problems on his route into Newcastle. He had called out the AA in the mistaken belief that the car had broken down – only to learn on their arrival that it was the steering lock preventing the key turning in the ignition!

We all met up at the mouth of the Tyne, where we would return the next morning to pick up our route southwards after a night in Gateshead.

Day 11: Newcastle to Darlington

In one sense, the day couldn’t have started better, as we all marveled at the breathtaking view over the Tyne from the Hilton hotel where we were staying.

In another, I started in a terrible mood. I was expected to pay for my parking space at the hotel. When the hotel insisted, I remarked to the manager that to him and most other guests a car is, in reality, a luxury. But to me it is, apart from my trike(!), the only way of getting around. And I should pay for that?

The 48 miles of this leg, and all the future ones, have been made a lot safer by the arrival at our hotel (courtesy of Victoria sorting things in London) of two key devices: First, a flashing orange emergency warning light. Second, a magnetised ‘Aberdeen to London’ sign. They certainly appeared to have the desired effect – traffic seemed more cautious and less aggressive both behind and in front of us.

It’s difficult to say whether these things or the media exposure we are getting is responsible for a substantial increase in spontaneous acts of support and goodwill. Either way, we are certainly getting a lot more friendly beeps from cars and comments from the roadside.

This morning, as Justine and I were riding towards the cycle path southwards from the Tyne, our convoy was overtaken by a mini-bus of people hanging out of the windows and applauding.

A short while later, in the pedestrianised shopping streets of Sunderland, whilst Justine was buying a support for my knee, a middle aged woman told us how she had seen us on the news this morning.

An hour or so after this, in Ryhope, still part of the Tyneside urban sprawl, Gary from the Garage on the Green chased us down the road.
When he caught up with us he told us about seeing us on the lunchtime news only 5 minutes earlier.

Exiting the Newcastle area took more than half the day. It was punctuated by further encounters with various barriers designed to impede everything but pedestrians and two–wheeled cycles.

Some of these were, again, impassable without the help of a third person. On two occasions when we needed that help, we were incredibly fortunate to have other cyclists at hand.
Many thanks to Martin and Brian.

This was turning into a very long day. By the time we were in open country, when Pete took over from Justine, it was 4pm and we still had 25 miles to cover. Those miles were characterised by being covered fairly swiftly but also by one particularly tortuous hill.

In normal circumstances, although the hill was punishing, I would have been able to scale it easily, albeit slowly. However, my knee twinges were becoming less twinge and more pain. Worryingly, my left hand was also starting to throb. Monday’s spill onto the tarmac was finally beginning to take its toll.

We arrived into Darlington as night was beginning to fall, and worse, as the rain began to tip it down.

Day 12: Darlington – Harrogate

We had planned to start the longest leg of my journey very early indeed. However, when I woke up, my injured hand was throbbing so badly that it was obvious I needed medical attention.

The decision to get it checked out that morning meant that completing this leg to Harrogate before nightfall was going to be impossible. We came to the view that, after visiting Darlington hospital, we would drive onwards to Harrogate.

The hospital gave me antibiotics and re-dressed my injuries. The doctor also advised me that, because of the bang my left knee had received, the most likely way to continue my journey southwards was to give it complete rest for a couple of days.

I concluded that I would try the overnight test and see how I fared on the way to Halifax tomorrow.

Day 13: Harrogate - Halifax

I woke up feeling much better. The antibiotics appeared to be doing their trick because the throbbing in my left arm and hand were less severe.

After a day off and a good night’s rest my knee also felt like it might withstand the trials of the hills ahead of us. The journey seemed to be re-aligning itself after the accident just outside of Alnwick on Monday.

The hills on the way out of Harrogate were challenging to say the least. Halfway up the second long climb, my knee began to trouble me. I was really concerned that if I continued pedaling, I might cause myself a long-term injury that I would seriously regret. The notion of jeopardising any future endeavours is not something I want to contemplate.

So, we pulled over into a farm track for a breather whilst considering the options.

For me, there was only one sensible and realistic course of action – to give my knee a real chance of recovery ie. more than just one night off.

We therefore reluctantly decided to call off the legs between here and Manchester, where we were due to arrive tomorrow evening.

In the schedule, this is to be followed by a rest day, which would allow my knee a full three days to be inactive.
As we drove on to Halifax, I reflected on the fact that the journey I had planned didn’t have the flexibility built into it to accommodate for unforeseen circumstances such as this – whether an accident on the road, the car breaking down, or any one of myriad other possibilities.

Configuring a less tight schedule for future journeys is just one of the many aspects to what was becoming a very sharp learning curve.

Days 14 and 15: Rest days in Manchester

Day 14 was an enforced rest day which involved driving from Halifax to our hotel in central Manchester. We took advantage of this by having a lie-in and a late breakfast.

At breakfast, ‘Billie Jean’ was playing in the background. The hits from Jackson’s back catalogue have been punctuating our every meal (we left London the morning after he died). We sped down the motorway to Manchester. Traveling with such speed and completing a planned leg in such a short time was a bittersweet experience. It was, of course, great to keep the journey on schedule, however, sitting in a car and not a saddle was almost heresy to me now. I also realised more than ever how vulnerable cyclists, and me in particular, are on a road designed for cars. In Manchester, it rained and rained.
When it had finally stopped raining the next day, I took a trip out to Old Trafford.

In the absence of many traditional sights in Manchester, just about all tourists flock to Old Trafford Stadium.

I had one particular reason for visiting. The Manchester United Disabled Supporters Association is run my good friend Phil Downs, who I planned to see.

Every time I have visited before I am pleasantly surprised at just how enjoyable the experience is from a disabled person’s perspective.

The stadium was built long before the introduction of various legal requirements to cater for disabled people. Despite this, a visit to Old Trafford exceeds that of any other sporting venue I know. I’ve been to a few! There are even special TV screens in front of some disabled supporters seats enabling visually impaired people to follow the match!

I hadn’t felt for a whole day now the pain in my knee that had forced me to rest up, the pain which had made me so worried that I might have to abandon this journey. And the cuts and bruises that I’d also suffered as a result of that spill outside Alnwick seemed to be on the mend. I went to bed confident that all would be ok tomorrow when we would resume the journey southwards as it was intended: back on the trike.

Day 16: Manchester – Congleton

After the experiences we had getting into Newcastle, we decided to begin today’s ride well outside the city centre. It’s a valuable piece of learning for any future endeavours, that heavily urbanised areas are extremely difficult to negotiate for a trike rider – and especially a trike rider that cannot walk!

So, we set off from just next to Manchester Airport where we were able to pick up a reliably signed cycle route southwards (this involved the surreal experience of cycling under the main runway).

The name of the road that we started from reflected my desire to get a move on after a couple of days inactivity.

Our departure point’s name augured well, as we made incredibly good speed during the first hour. This added to the cheer I felt by the fact that I couldn’t feel any problems in my knee. However, this buoyant mood was punctured with a puncture…

…followed by another, 100 yards down the road.

The first one, on Pete’s bike and the first of the trip, was repaired relatively swiftly. However, the second one, to my trike, was a little more involved. When we got going again, we started eating up the miles at the quickest rate so far on this journey. By the 26th, and final, mile of the day we had been cycling for about three hours.

In the third hour, my knee began to make itself known on the climbs. The rest I had given it had undoubtedly, I thought, saved the ride. However, it was also beyond doubt that I would have to be kind to my knee in order to get back to London without further unplanned interludes.

Day 17 : Congleton – Stafford

In a conversation with the owner when we checked out of our hotel in Congleton, we learned that, because she had a disabled sister, she had decided to go to long lengths to create a room that catered for all.

Hers was a relatively small hotel. In contrast, the majority of hotels we have stayed in so far have been large. This is not because we are fans of the ‘corporate life’! It is mostly out of necessity.

Finding hotel rooms I can get to (on the ground floor or via a lift) and with level access showers is not very easy, despite hours researching online.

It is mostly the larger and better-equipped hotels or the well-funded chains that have ‘disabled’ rooms. This is another example of how people with disabilities sometimes have to spend more to get the same basic level of service as everyone else.

We anticipated covering the 29 miles to Stafford in good time, given that the topography is fairly flat and the cycle paths seemingly straight and simple.

Generally, once on cycle paths themselves, apart from negotiating barriers (more of which later…), finding the correct paths through built up areas can be problematic.

It was just so this morning. After a smooth and speedy first few miles through lanes, the town of Biddulph appeared, but the cycle path didn’t. After a full thirty minutes of searching up hill and down dale we eventually found the bridle path we were seeking.

We were even more heartened when the first cycle barrier didn’t impede us at all. But, as we half expected, a series of other less sympathetic barriers followed. By now though, no obstacle could get in our way – at least not without a degree of lateral thinking and physical dexterity.

We had hoped that the first half of the leg would be over in time for an early lunch. But we didn’t end up eating until about 4pm.†As often seems to happen, the day’s progress balanced up nicely as myself and Justine were rewarded with a few hours respite and fair sailing along a canal towpath – flat, straight and easy to navigate, leading nearly all the way to Stafford.

Day 18 : Stafford – Birmingham

We started out the 28 mile leg to Birmingham from our hotel car park. While we were preparing for our departure, as has often been the case, we have briefly described to onlookers and curious hotel staff what we are doing. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’ you can almost hear some people say to themselves.

Today would be characterised mainly by a flat 28 mile canal cycle all the way into the heart of the ‘old’ industrial Birmingham, via Wolverhampton. Having returned to the towpath, we were faced by an ever more numerous array of barriers. The first of these was a gently stepped bridge across the canal (nowhere near as steeply stepped as others we had met further north, but at least this time we had a camera).

It appears that the further south we get, we journey into more frequently urban environments, and the harder the job councils have in preventing joy-riding on scooters – hence, the increasingly tricky barriers on non–vehicular routes.

Apart from the sophisticated ways to keep unwanted traffic out, we came across other less calculated obstacles as well.

Next to every cycle barrier is a locked gate to allow access to maintenance vehicles. These are usually secured with a rusty chain and padlock. However, as we approached Birmingham, all the gates along the towpath were locked shut with a RADAR key.

RADAR (Royal Association of Disability & Rehabilitation) makes available a key to all registered disabled people that allows access to public toilets amongst other things. Prior to today, the only time I had ever used my RADAR key was to get into a disabled toilet in a motorway service station. I have now found a second incredibly useful purpose for a RADAR key! It was a real stroke of good fortune that I was carrying it with me.

There were two more significant obstacles in our way before we reached our hotel.

The first of these was a 329 metre long, unlit, crumbling Victorian tunnel (protected at one end by, you guessed it, another cycle barrier), and with a pathway only just wide enough to accommodate my trike.

The second and last obstacle of the day was another puncture. Thankfully this one came at an opportune time (whilst we were refueling at a pub on the towpath) and in an opportune place (where Pete, driving this time, could easily find us to do the repair).

Tomorrow will be a rest day - a chance for my knee to gather strength for the final push to London.

Day 19 – Birmingham rest day

We woke up today at the Airport Hilton. Yesterday evening, when we arrived in Birmingham, we had (after research on the internet and phone calls and a reservation) planned to base ourselves at a hotel in the center of the city.

On arrival (at an unusually late 9pm) we wearily tried to check-in. After being directed to our rooms on the first floor we spent five minutes looking for the lift. We discovered there wasn’t one. There was a flight of stairs between me and the hotel’s ‘accessible’ room!†

Despite being pretty knackered and in need of a shower, I managed to see the funny side of it. My relative good humour has been coached into me over ten years. Since I’ve been in my current situation, I have become used to assurances concerning accessibility (in hotels, restaurants, theatres etc.) not necessarily being totally accurate.

Whether this is a deliberate untruth to sell some tickets or genuine ignorance from a temp worker etc, the net effect is that my plans are often scuppered.

My expectations, similar to many disabled people, are lower. In this case, we quickly constructed a plan B – to head straight for the airport – because experience has shown that where there are airports, there are fully accessible modern chain hotels. Stranded far from the central Birmingham, amidst motorways, runways and exhibition centers, we caught up with some blogs and watched the Ashes Test at Lord’s.

Day 20 - Birmingham to Stratford

Something I encounter every day, and which was particularly evident this morning when we checked out of our hotel at Birmingham Airport (after I queried some really questionable room service we received the night before) is that some people have the tendency to talk to the pusher of the wheelchair, rather than the person in it.

These people, when confronted by the wheelchair, can see no further than it, and cannot see a 3-dimensional human being sitting in front of them. As attitudes towards people with disabilities improve, this tendency will diminish. Until that time, my wife Justine (who most often happens to be with me) has a very effective strategy for dealing with these moments – she does not respond to any questions or comments which are clearly meant for me, and even subtly looks the other way, pretending she hasn’t heard.

After successfully resolving the room service issue, we embarked on one of the† shortest and least taxing legs of the journey so far – 23 miles in 3 hours cycling time. It had been threatening to rain all day. Mercifully, the heavens hadn’t opened yet. But I still managed to get thoroughly wet.

Indications were that Stratford upon Avon, Shakespeare’s birthplace was going to live up to its picturesque reputation. The barriers on the cycle paths were more quaint in appearance. However, they were just as effective as their urban counterparts.

This kissing gate kept cars and scooters (and very nearly one trike) off the canal towpath.

The Bard ends Twelfth Night with the words ‘…the rain it raineth every day’. He obviously had our journey in mind!

Day 21 – Stratford upon Avon to Oxford

It is almost impossible to stop yourself thinking, as you get nearer to London, that it is increasingly downhill the further south you get. If only this was the case.
We were all fooled into thinking that this leg into Oxford would be a relatively easy one.

The day started promisingly enough. We breezed along flat and straight fine gravel paths, meeting only the occasional people walking dogs.
In fact, snarling dogs posed the only challenging part of the morning. Curiously, apart from one or two friendly exceptions, most dogs become threatened and aggressive when a human, lying down, comes wheeling towards them in a contraption they have never seen before. So, whether it is yapping Yorkshire terriers or lethargic Great Danes, being attacked by dogs has been only marginally less of a threat than falling into ditches or potholes. Cows, on the other hand, have been just plain curious.

Our speed along these initial cycle paths was accelerated even more by further cycle barriers with RADAR keys. By early afternoon, we had already covered 35 miles. After a quick late lunch, we ploughed on, hoping for an early arrival at our Oxford hotel. The wiggly roads and forthcoming hills had not been evident in our research.

By now, we were cycling through ‘chocolate box’ villages.

Thached Cottage

The landscape was picturesque but very slow going. It was about to get even slower and very wet.
The long day (eventually 51 miles) prompted us to take the straight and flat canal route into the heart of Oxford.

As Pete and I were speeding along the towpath, he slowed right down to remove some branches that had got tangled in his rear wheel. I was following far too close and couldn’t brake in time. I cycled straight into his wheel and tipped (almost in slow motion) into the canal, along with my trike.

Now, unfortunately, I can’t swim any more. If it wasn’t so potentially grave, it would have been extremely funny. The water was no more than three feet deep. I pushed up to emerge covered in weeds and filthy water. Pete jumped in, thinking I was about to drown.

My main concern was for the trike – I was horrified to think that this could be a sodden end to the journey. When we had both gathered our thoughts and found our feet in the mud, Pete somehow hauled me and the trike out onto the towpath. Incredibly my mobile, if somewhat smelly, was still working. We phoned Justine and she came running. It turned out we were only 200 meters from where she was waiting to pick us up!

Day 22 – Oxford to Maidenhead

I was really looking forward to this leg. Sally Moore, from specialist personal injury solicitors Leigh Day & Co, cycled the route with us. Leigh Day made this whole journey possible when they provided me with the seed capital we needed to get the campaign kick-started. We met Sally just before we set out from a supermarket car park in Cowley. It was already threatening to rain and, for the first time on the trip, I’d actually begun to feel cold.

The miles flew by quickly as we left Oxford behind us and I warmed up rapidly. By mid-day we had already covered some 15 miles. Then the trouble began – the hills got steeper and it started to rain hard.

After a ferocious hill climb that went on for ages, we free-wheeled down into a damp and dark forest. There we got our first puncture.

Incredibly, within the space of 30 minutes, we had got two more. By the time of the third one, we were all thoroughly sodden and miserable.

The regularity of punctures seemed to be because we were cycling through very flinty countryside. This hard and unforgiving stone litters the roads and can cause much damage when it sticks to wet tyres.

Thinking that our troubles were behind us, we stopped for lunch in the very southern and genteel town of Marlow. But before we set off again, Justine noticed a fourth puncture on my trike. When Pete had mended it, we left as quickly as we could to get to our hotel a few miles on. But, bizarrely, half-way there we got a fifth puncture!

We couldn’t replace the inner tube because we’d run out of spares. But we were sufficiently close to our hotel to not feel too guilty about packing everything into the car and driving the remaining three miles.

It’s worth making a special mention of the last hotel we stayed in – The Holiday Inn. In our research before the ride, we’d discovered that Maidenhead lacked ‘disabled-friendly’ hotels. We hit the jackpot with The Holiday Inn, saved the best for last, and found ourselves in a hotel which has suitability for disabled customers built into its design, rather than just an afterthought, or just to comply with laws.

Day 23 – Maidenhead to London

Soon after leaving Maidenhead, the surroundings became increasingly urban. Along with a proliferation of concrete and tarmac, what became most noticeable was a dramatic increase in the level of background noise.
But, before the huge concrete jungle of London began where the Uxbridge Road starts, Pete and I cycled through several last miles of quiet country lanes and paths around Eton and Windsor.

Once we had passed through Slough, we crawled along the Uxbridge Road through Southall. In heavy slow-moving London traffic for the first time in over three weeks, I began to remember just how unbearable it was riding a trike at the same level as exhaust pipes.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to put up with this for too long.
I stopped at my home in Shepherds Bush for a quick pit-stop before cycling on to Marble Arch, where I’d arranged to rendezvous with friends to cycle in the final mile to Trafalgar Square.
About twenty of us cycled in convoy through Admiralty Arch. I was leading the way, my trike, in unpartisan manner sporting Scottish and English flags, with an Aberdeen to London sign stuck to the back.

I broke the finishing tape at the foot of the column, bearing the statue of arguably the most famous disabled Briton of all. Then the F1-style celebration started.

Many photos were then taken – of the whole group of us, of team EPLC and of Justine and me…by all of us, and by a few tourists!

Having now had nearly three days to reflect on the last three and a half weeks, I have decided to go ahead and start making plans for next year’s EPLC.

The goodwill from the public, the interest from the media, and my ability to cycle from Aberdeen to London, have convinced me to stage this trip again in 2010.

The original intention had been to intersperse my journey to London with day-long ‘forums’ on hot topics for disabled people – the intention had been to use my ride as a way of creating a more positive image of disability and to raise it up the agenda. The credit crunch meant that this year’s EPLC campaign became a less ambitious, but nonetheless formidable, task. Now that we’ve demonstrated in a small way that everything is possible, the work begins to create a campaign with lasting impact.