Jon on a bike…La Vélo Francette

My journey to Portsmouth was largely uneventful, creeping out of Twickenham by train while the rugby match was on. Annoyingly fate dealt me the “bus replacement service ” card meaning that I had to cycle the last bit from Havant to Portsmouth. I got there in plenty of time which gave me time to chat to the other cyclists at the head of the queue.

All the talk this morning, as passengers were woken suddenly by the lights being turned on, was of the spectacular thunderstorm I had missed in the night. I made my way out to the deck with a double espresso just as the Normandy landing beaches came into view.

All the cyclists bar three were heading for Caen so we all rode together. I must mention two in particular who are riding from Bourne near Peterborough to Almeria in Southern Spain in aid of a breast cancer charity. Crazy idea but chapeau to you both. We all stopped at Pegasus Bridge which was so bravely taken and held on 5th/6th June 1944.

Then onwards to Caen where we all split and I was soon on my own pedalling along the Voie Verte de la Suisse Normande. Except I wasn’t alone, I always had the meandering River Orne close by and an unremitting chorus of birdsong. Heron, goldfinch, and pied wagtail were commonplace with the occasional turquoise flash of a kingfisher too.

One thing about cyclists is that we always have something to moan about. The Voie Verte is spectacularly beautiful but the path is dead flat so in my mind I was looking forward to the steep climbs the afternoon would bring. Big mistake.

As I started to climb the constant headwind intensified and the heavens opened. I was also getting dehydrated and every hamlet I passed through was deserted. The last 15 miles were a real struggle but eventually I rolled into Pont d’Ouilly wet and exhausted. It’s a pretty place with schoolchildren making the most of the break in the rain to paddle along the Orne.

 

In the last couple of days my final preparations have fallen into place. I have even survived my first brush with typical French bureaucracy. Unbelievably, in order to stay in St Fraimbault one is required to sign a contract with the Mayor!

On Thursday I went for the results of my bone and CT scans. Dr Mazhar (and nurse Amy) said I am doing so well that I now need only to be monitored with blood tests every three months. Very good news..

I had received more good news earlier in the week when I discovered that I had won 2 hospitality tickets for the Chelsea Flower Show. It was a fabulous day, though too hot to look at everything.

We made sure we visited the garden for Maggie’s where we were allowed into the garden by Emma, who was working there. We also chatted with the delighful Sophie Raworth. I hope somme of her strength and determination rubbed off on me.

And finally…..

Thanks to everyone again who has sponsored me so generously via my fundraising page,  http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/JonDowrick  . This week the donations topped the £2000 mark meaning that both charities will now receive a decent sum of money.

 

As the day dawns with soft unbroken sunshine I am reminded that what started out as a vague nebulous idea in the dark days of December is now in sharp focus as I sail for France tomorrow. There is no turning back, nothing I can do now to get fitter. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t not be on that ferry because it would let too many people down, including myself.

In terms of fitness I have been trying to keep riding but at the same time aware that I must ensure I don’t damage my back again. It is still uncomfortable but bearable. Last week I managed quite easily a 37 mile ride to Waterbeach and back along the Cam towpath from Cambridge . Then on Sunday we had arranged to meet Mark, Wendy, Fin, and Pippa at Royston Heath. We look after their adorable cockapoo, Penny, during the week while they are at work/school.

The weather was fine so I decided to take a circuitous route there on the bike, clocking up 33 miles and feeling OK. It was good to catch up with them all during a stroll among the cowslips and skylarks followed by lunch in the cafe. If only I had half of Penny’s energy…

 

Any weirdos out there logging on to the blog for another riveting tale of a bike ride through Cambridgeshire are going to be disappointed this time I’m afraid. Each time my confidence in achieving my goal has grown, some unpredictable factor has intervened to burst the bubble.

I’ve suffered with sciatic back pain before but this was different. The most annoying thing was that it was down to my own stupidity. With the prolonged dry spell the need to water the seedlings at the allotment led me to carry too much from the communal tap. The resulting pain was bearable but a few days later, while tying my shoelace, it felt as though I had been shot. An hour passed while I painstakingly inched my way to the bedroom and stayed there for 36 hours, unable to move.

Because my drugs cause brittle bones and I already have some cancer in my spine, the Oncology doctor advised Ros to call 999. My uncooperative veins meant a shot of morphine was out of the question so my passage to the waiting ambulance was helped by gas and air. A few hours later, after a lot of questions, prodding, and X-rays I was told it was not cancer related and then being dosed up with painkillers I could go home.

Three weeks later it is still not completely better but luckily I have found cycling to be beneficial so after a frustrating delay I have now resumed my training. It’s been a blow but I can’t give up now.

There have been two major items which have impacted on my attempt on La Vélo Francette, one good, one not good. Let’s concentrate on the good.

I finally opted to do the ride to raise money for charity and I had it in the back of my mind to choose Prostate Cancer UK. It is ridiculous that the testing for the disease is so haphazard. The inconclusiveness of PSA tests can lead to men in my situation (whose reading is relatively low) being diagnosed too late and conversely men whose reading is high being over treated unnecessarily.

However I have been helped so much by the Maggie’s drop-in centre at Addenbrooke’s Hospital that I had to include them too. Despite my initial cynicism the counselling I received really made a difference. If you read this Jude, thanks, and many congrats with the baby.

Andrea, the fundraiser at Maggie’s, has an infectious enthusiasm which has encouraged me. As things stand donations have topped £1700 which includes £455 raised at the weekly pub quiz in the village. People have been so kind.

I also had to decide whether to publicise this blog beyond the handful of people who were already aware of it. It includes some quite personal thoughts but after a lot of consideration I reached the conclusion that I should “publish and be damned”. I know a lot of it is pretty dull but I suppose if you have read this far it can’t be too bad.

So that’s the good, now I will explain the bad in the next blog post

I don’t know where to start, so much to catch up on. I’ve been feeling so much better, none of the depression that suddenly enveloped me in the winter months.. until tonight. I have no idea what triggered it but I am trying to occupy my brain by doing things such as writing this blog. If I don’t then I am worried, if left to wreak havoc uncontrollably, it will cause damage. If only I could get to sleep the gremlins might have gone back into hibernation by the morning.

Is this why a large number of the great writers,  poets, and painters have been a little   deranged? While my head is doing an impression of a spin dryer I perversely feel creative and clear of thought.

The name Dowrick originates from Cornwall but my father and his twin brothers spent their childhood near Torquay living not far from the beach. The family was quite well off even though their grandfather lost a large part of his accumulated wealth to a well known swindler of the time, Jabez Balfour. Unsurprisingly the three boys growing up together by the sea developed a love of the outdoors and sport.

It is for these reasons that I attribute the burden I have of following Torquay United. The first match my father took me to was a 1-0 defeat at Luton in the 1960’s but the affliction was only reawakened when I moved to work in Dover where coincidentally my uncle Colin was a teacher. I learnt a lot from him about my father’s early life, (he died in 1979), as we drove to far flung football grounds to witness another inevitable defeat which he always described as a travesty.

A couple of weeks ago the Dover v Torquay fixture was one I felt shouldn’t be ignored, especially as it could conceivably be their last ever away game. My usual companion at matches, Pete, was away but I was confident that my cousin Phil would be there too. His wife Jude and Ros gave the football a miss and instead took afternoon tea on the seafront. Remarkably, Phil and I witnessed a rare Torquay victory.

I have a lot of happy memories of the 8 years we lived in Dover. There were always cricket and football teams to play in at work and I even did some running.

I was lucky enough to have been based at the hoverport, which at times had more the air of a gentleman’s club than an office. It certainly belonged to a bygone era where during a lull between arrivals it was commonplace to partake in a game of pool, practice one’s putting around the office furniture or to relax in the bar. Nowadays it seems rather shocking that drinking at work was allowed, as indeed was smoking.

However the work always got done to a high standard and if anyone wasn’t pulling their weight they soon knew about it. My colleagues were idiosyncratic and tremendous fun. This time we visited two of them, John and Vicky, all too briefly for lunch and had a great time catching up with all the news.

 

Since I last posted rather a lot has been going on in my life and I have found it difficult to put pen to paper, (or should that be thumb to iPad screen?) and I have subconsciously been putting off my next blog. One of the macedoine of reasons is now that people are actually reading my ramblings, for some strange reason I feel more inhibited about what to publish. Oh well, here goes..

It is interesting how I have changed in the last few weeks. I would have previously focused on negative things, the panic attacks, the feeling of worthlessness….They still emerge from time to time but I can now deal with them much much better. I put this down a variety of things; to a course of counselling which helped me considerably but also the encouragement given to me by the people closest to me.

So what have I been up to? As you might have guessed, lots of cycling. One day I was even joined by Ros and son Nick when we rode along the busway from Cambridge to St Ives. I don’t think Nick had ever ridden that far so he did well to finish. Lately I have been practising going up some of the steeper hills round here to prepare me for the Suisse Normande section of La Vélo Francette. Parts of the climb from Ickleton to Elmdon are 11% so it is a good test.

I have also been increasingly preoccupied with my elderly mother. She has reached the stage where she is unable to look after herself and the family has found it stressful to make other arrangements but thanks almost entirely to the efforts of Ros and my sister, it has not got to me too much.

April also saw me resume work at Newmarket Racecourse. There was a training day to attend followed by three days at the Craven meeting. Thé weather was certainly kinder than in 2016.

It was tiring, especially as I had cycled there on the first day. At the same time it was comforting to catch up with friends and colleagues who I hadn’t seen for five months, refamiliarising myself with their curmudgeonliness, humour, and eccentricity.

I also had the opportunity last month to watch Camilla unveil a new statue of Charles 2nd at the racecourse.

This is such a wonderful time of the year. Quite apart from the message of resurrection associated with Easter there are constant reminders that the world around is reawakening from the cold dark winter.

As I cycle through the South Cambridgeshire countryside the sight of new born lambs in the fields, birds busily nest building, and lines of daffodils lift the spirits. I have been clocking up the miles in the last couple of weeks, feeling much stronger than before. However I am also devoting a fair amount of time to working on our allotment. This is the busiest time of the year; weeding, preparing the soil, and sowing.

There is always time though to find time for a break with the neighbours.

As the seedlings tentatively push through the soil seeking sunshine I am reminded that come what may life goes on.

Most of you won’t have heard of Maggie’s. In fact neither had I until a couple of years ago when I saw their publicity posters adorning the walls of the Oncology Department at the hospital but I instantly dismissed it as a place that other people would use. But ever since I started going there I have been made to feel so welcome and they have done so much to help me cope with the side effects of the drugs that I have decided to give them half of the money I raise on the bike ride.

Maggie’s is a charity which provides drop-in centres for cancer sufferers and their families. They originated in Scotland but now have centres across the UK and I can testify that they provide an amazing and vital service.

The staff and volunteers are always cheerful and welcoming and it is a real haven of bonhomie where having cancer is normal and where you don’t feel as though you have to pretend you are OK. Having said that, nearly all the other visitors I have met are incredibly positive.