So a day of 2 half’s. We set off from Clun about 10am and straight into a stupid leg burning climb. I was zig zagging all over the road just to get up. Bit of a wakeup call for the legs. The view from the top was great but not worth the pain. We rode on to Hereford for a coffee stop which could  not come quick enough because the 30km to get there was the coldest, nasty, soaking 30km ever. Quick coffee refuel and a chocolate fudge cake later we were off to Monmouth  The descent down the Wye valley was great as the weather had cleared up and was more sheltered in the valley.

I hand you over to my other editors for the real story.

Rain, rain rain and pissing rain —  that was the story of the day wasn’t it Paul…. 

of course the piss part happened to be an offering by Mark to appease the Rain gods, as the fatigue and lack of intelligence brought the idea to swamp himself to keep warm.  The desperate ravings of the madman did appease the gods as the rain slowed and the day turned quite nice in the afternoon with only the profound stench of urine on his left leg left to let everyone know of his personal sacrifice.  This was widely appreciated by the fine folk of wales as he lounged in their cafes in the afternoon sunshine.

The wise decisions lasted late into the evening with a good curry for all and a few rounds.  The extra propulsion provide might just carry them across the Atlantic if this morning is any indication.  160 k plus expected out of them today and more rain — and i am sure to the preference of all residents of the southwest less of these bright ideas….. right … i will let you know how they choose to horrify Devon tonight.

Oh thank god…. for flat ground. I woke up and went though the routine, 4 Ibuprofen, 10cms of anesthetic gel into my back, and a very large toothpaste squeeze of Butt Butter to be applied liberally into areas no one should ever go.

The stage was flat to start with, so good progress was made until the rain set in. Hour upon hour of dire pissy weather (not cold) Miles after miles of rain. It was a good job I haven’t touched a salad for days, I mean you dont want to risk that in weather like this.

There were 2 nasty digs before the end and then we sat in the local pub in Clun sampling all their poky beers. Back at the hotel the salad rebellion continued. I had a steak, jimbo had a mixed grill (KUDOS) meat fest. Paul had a steak  but he declined chips !!!!!!!!! and had something called a “Gratin Potato” .. I hope they liquidize the chips and add mayo ? even so its not right !!!..

We may make it over the bridge tomorrow…    we shall see.

You see that he cleverly skipped around the one part that is pertinent to the discussion Clun.  A lovely little town and all but 45 minutes away from the evenings accommodation.  Why 45 minutes, well the mornings conversation went:#

Driver: Hey there are no hotels in Clun — you need to push on a bit more so we can get into an area

Donkey 1: yeah got it, go ahead and book it dude

Muppet 2: mmmm bacon

now while i agree with Muppet 2,  the main point here is that they missed the need for them to sack up and push through  their biffin bites and show a bit of resolve.  Instead the driver had to rescue our maidens from the tall tall tower of pints which threaten to engulf them.  

Our poor idiots of course sat there as the driver scuttled back and forth and back and forth wasting his valuable pub time to take care of these two weaklings who crumble at the slightest hill.  So do please send them as many pictures of balls as you can in the hopes that they will be so shamed they might move past Hereford without the need for a welsh dragon appearing to singe these English dandies

So today was never gonna go well, maybe because some idiot has been extending our distance quota on each day (Yep … Jeremy Clarkson is  with us) AND today the elastic snapped. Things started bad with some bad assed up and downs and then got worse as we entered the forest of Bowland. Basically a brutal 25km of leg breaking … morale supping evilness.

The road (although very pretty and nice scenery) was a 45 degrees .. wall of death or a 45 degrees decent of crazyness. with the wet weather half the corners were a river. All we could do was limp the bikes though the metropolis of Manchester / Liverpool and finished at Runcorn – where our fantastic driver picked us up and took us to Chester for the stop over.

We booked ourselves into the local pub quiz where we realised we have no chance (although Quizzy McQuizFace as a team name hopefully got a laugh) although not as much as the question…

“How many Toes does a camel have ?”

After an entree of various flavoured crisps / chips / whatever you call em in you country we were so hungry we walked 5k to a local shop and ordered midnight Kebabs (chilly sauce required) We introduced our driver to the custom of eating 5 bites of the garbage and then posting it into the first bin you can find….

(I woke early …. to spend some time in the bathroom “contemplating todays ride”)

Salads out, and kebabs in.. hardcore cycling diet in full effect. | finally getting things sorted on the nutritional front. you are welcome.  Now  look , i like a good kebab at the right moment and was this ever the right moment.  those flavored crisps above were the most awful blend of potatoes since the famine.   Who takes a potato and thinks you know what would be better — lets make this taste like a mushroom/beet vegetable medley — but since the pub couldn’t figure out how to make food and focused their Q&A  on obscure pop song artists from the 1980’s and camel toe the team was flagging.  

So leave it to the kebab man to rally the spirits and stay open late to serve the leftover kebab “meat” into some poor excuses to contract salmonella at midnight.  Apparently the defense for this was to only take of few bites and ditch it in the vain hope that only inserting the tip would somehow avoid the consequences that we all knew would follow.  Surprisingly no ghosts visited in the night, no cupboard rattling or eerie footsteps — also no women–because the stench and thunder that was firing out all night and morning could have kept Lord Nelson himself at bay.

So far this is setting up just like watching England play football.  A fast start, a good moment or three that you hope is more than it is, and then the slow steady decline into madness– but bloody meaty fueled goodness.  We have finally left the salad days behind us.

Ahh the lake district, the serene and peaceful place of quiet reflection in nature… reflecting on the pain in their asses (check out the Biffin Bridge status today) as they realize that lakes are formed between hills.

The duo set off this morning expecting an easy ride over flat ground since leaving the highlands.  1500 meters of climbing time in the saddle later they had paid the penalty for their hubris.  Hubris indeed, as the butt butter had lain unused since a rather unfortunate experiment for us all early on in the trip.  now with five coats applied each they can barely manage to sit and drink a beer and eat a steak or in Paul’s case a salad –a green leafy salad so he could watch his figure.  For those of you gambling at home the over/under on his km for tomorrow is +/-85 before his body rebels and demands that he sacrifice a sheep. 

But for those of you interested in the actual people cycling well they are bathing in the joy that is their much anticipated return to England — Say Cheese 🙂

(I lost Paul at the border – but picked up this chinese cyclist from Fuk Mae Bam provence)

and in case you thought that the madness had not taken hold of this ride, let me direct you to the following example of bigamy in the highlands — Mark and Alisha his darling bike were engaged to be married at 1202 local time.  So raise a toast to this unfortunate coupling as Alisha has proceed to pound him rawer than fine shashimi in her excitement over the announcement.  After the ceremony the best man stole off with the bridesmaid and rode her hard all the way to Burton travel lodge were he spent the night… well better not look in to closely at that room.  (pictures to follow on snapchat only)

As for our editor in chief he blew out his back tire at the end of the day and spent a long time this evening in quiet reflection with the local vicar.  He asked were the tarts were but we saved him before almost certain temptation.

And now with the scotch raided, the beers drunk and the blog posted it is time to once again make fun of Paul for his salad and shandy.  Being the driver tonight might excuse the shandy but a fucking salad will never be forgiven.  May the sheep and cows of Wales find him and show him their best features to bring him back into the fold. 

Through Liverpool tomorrow– more to follow

In my defense, there was some chicken mixed in with the salad and I did have a side order of potato wedges to keep the carb count up…..ok…ok..I plead guilty your honor, as punishment I promise to eat whatever road kill I can fine en-route tomorrow. I am just pleased that today my rubbers did not let me down and I got through the day without any incidents, which was fortunate as I managed to leave my spare tubes and tool kit in the car before setting of this morning!!!

I know you should not laugh at other peoples misfortunes but after the last few days, I did nearly wet myself when big bro punctures less than 2km from the finish. Of course I could have stopped to help but it was still raining and there was a mole waiting at the counter!