Raid Day 5 and Home

Madonna del Ghisallo

Arm raised in triumph, the victorious cyclist outside the Chapel of Madonna del Ghisallo in the Italian alps. I mentioned this in an earlier blog as it seemed an apt metaphor for our adventure, encompassing both the joy and the suffering of riding. Also in the chapel is the ruined bike ridden by Fabio Cassertelli when he crashed and died on the descent of Col de Porte d'Aspet.

On the founding of the chapel, the story goes that the Count of Ghisallo was attacked by robbers on this spot and saved by an apparition of the Madonna. The apparition then became the patroness of local travellers and later of cyclists. Our story has overwhelmingly been that of the victorious cyclist and, whoever has been looking over us has done a quite splendid job because in about 400 man hours of cycling, the only mishap has been one puncture between us and a couple of wrong turns. And what a 400 hours it's been, nothing short of miraculous in no small measure due to the incredible support from Rob and Frank from Le Domestique Tours. If we found it quite tiring doing the riding, I can only guess at the stresses and challenges of having to shepherd a disparate group of cyclists  across some of the most challenging roads around. I guess the measure of how good they were is that none of us got lost and it never felt difficult to follow the route. You just couldn't do this type of thing without someone with Rob's incredible knowledge of the area - and Frank's unquenchable enthusiasm.

This is more of a wrap up than a description of another day of riding, with some pictures thrown in.

On Tuesday morning, we woke at 6.30 to complete the formality of 20km to the official finish. Quite way we felt the need to be on our bikes again by 7.00am, particularly as a hardy few of us had been giving it the full beans in the bars of Argeles, I will never know. The result was an hour of cycling up and down a hilly coastline on wonderfully smooth roads with an appalling hangover, but with the morning sun on the 'cote vermeille' - the vermilion coast - there was little to complain about.

We pulled into the finish town around 8.00 and celebrated by swimming in the gloriously refreshing Med. Unfortunately for the locals, I had no trunks with me so, rather than sitting around in wet gear for an hour or more, I stripped naked and treated all concerned to the glorious pasty-whiteness of a stout English backside. Damn it felt good.

Then it was time to pack up the bikes, drive to the airport and return to normal life. Uneventful except for my legs, now completely exhausted, folding underneath me as I attempted to dismount from the van at the airport.

What an incredible, brilliant adventure. I can hardly express how much it means to have done it. When I think back to a time just over a year ago where I could barely walk and was in constant pain due to a bad back to now, where I have just completed one of the great cycling challenges it makes me think that nothing is impossible.

I was met at Gatwick by my poor, long suffering wife who doesn't quite understand the Hanscomb urge to seek out new and elaborate ways to inflict suffering on ourselves. With a pained expression, she asked me; 'Please tell me you haven't signed up for anything else yet?'

Note the 'yet'. It's going to happen, but what do I do now? Whatever it is, the training starts here. Wednesday morning was a cycle to work day, no excuses.

Thanks for supporting, thanks for the generous donations to Great Ormond Street and keep in touch.