Day 1: London to Oxford by bike
London to Oxford is 70.3 miles (or more if you get lost). The map’s already shown that it’s up hill to lunch; downhill after. What I hadn’t realised is that after a gathering of all the cyclists at the Tea House Theatre in Vauxhall and some rousing cheers the group breaks up super fast. By 10am I’m cycling on my own. Deluded (and used to solo training) I assume there must be a group of slower riders behind me and pedal on steadily getting the hang of Ride with GPS as I cross and recross the M1 as we weave out of the suburbs, through a corner of Hertfordshire and into Bucks. The lanes through the wooded Chilterns are full of speeding cars and gated, well-maintained houses but the bonus is repeated views of magnificent red kites. No one seems to be around, though I do almost talk to one person, an elderly lady standing outside her house who congratulates me for being so “energetic”. Through the sweat (which for me collects on my upper lip and then pools in the hollow below my chin so I look as if I’m dribbling) I beam.
Around noon five cyclists shoot past me – at a speed that I absolutely can’t match. Apparently, they had a dramatic tyre blow out near Hendon and after an hour of failing to find the right spare part they manage to patch it with gaffer tape. Patrik Ewe, head of fundraising at the climate charity Possible (founded after the film the Age of Stupid came out), is itching to make up time so he can chat to people over lunch at Wendover Woods. This is why Ride the Change’s bike mechanic, Anna Hughes, who is lugging around two paniers of repair kit and had just helped sort out the blow out, is left behind to look after me. To be given such an experienced long distance cycling nursemaid is a total gift for me, definitely not so fun for Anna. However, as she doesn’t have navigation it’s up to me to shout directions towards her while she keeps the pace from the front. Almost immediately we are gifted by the sight of several red kites, and not long after that a muntjac crosses our route. But mostly we’re just trying to get to lunch…
After a steep and speedy downhill through Wendover beech woods which then have to be grimly climbed back up to reach the lunch point. We are definitely greeted by worried faces: I get the impression that the organisers wonder if they should bundle me and my bike into their van (lent by one of the sponsors Abel and Cole), but we’ve been told repeatedly that this is a “journey not a race” and so they don’t insist. I feel like it would take very little to make me sob. And I can see that Millennial Anna is h-angry, but thankfully two meals have been saved for us and fortunately, as Anna follows a plant based diet, it’s bean stew with vegan cheese and a vegan flapjack. Perfect, except it is getting cold and starting to rain…
In the end Anna and I cycle together for the rest of the day: we don’t make it into Oxford until 7pm just as the speeches are starting. But we get on well (although it must be infuriating for her that as I get more tired I keep reading the map upside down). When the rain starts she explains why she started her Flight Free campaign to encourage people to travel without using planes and racking up their carbon footprint. My family decided to use a plane every 10 years back in 2001, and have managed no problem so far – better in fact as we haven’t flown this year (which would have been the third flight in 20 years). We've also had fabulous staycations and taken the train to Europe. So it’s not a difficult decision to sign up to #flightfree2022 too, as I’m certain I’d have never made it through day one without her thoughtful companionship, which also included fixing my derailleur to make the very lowest gear work again.
Deep water
We’re only 12 miles from Oxford when the journey starts to get proper tough – this is a 70-miler and I’ve never gone so far before. In fact I’d already done five or six miles that morning getting from home in Finsbury Park to where our ride headed out from the Tea House Theatre in south London. Even on the smooth surface of the national cycle signposted route (basically a main road) it’s hard to keep going. There’s one excitement when we have to dismount at a flood. The past couple of fields have been flooded and now there’s a ford that is out of control. This must happen often as there is also a raised footpath we can just wheel the bikes across, although it is tempting to go straight through. If I had waterproof Ortlieb panniers on either side of both wheels, then it’s possible my bike would have converted into a floating barge and let me drift to Oxford. Instead, we remount by the Old Fisherman pub (no going in) and continue through Shabbington. Over lunch Anna reckoned we could smash 35 miles within three hours so we should pedal until 5.30pm and then have a cup of tea. This target has kept me going, but of course it’s a Sunday and when the clock ticks up to 6pm she looks around and remarks that there’s nowhere to stop, so shall we just keep on after a banana for me and for her the last of her crisps? Agh. I’ve used psychological boosts enough on my family, and now it’s been used on me – strange how the person suggesting the plan (real or not) gives confidence to the others.
We may be in a group but everyone’s journey is inevitably different. Today I am very much a follower, grateful for Anna’s patient expertise and energetic speed setting.
Ring road
For cyclists and walkers the outskirts of any big town involve complicated crossings of the ring road – but seeing the well-lit bus depot and then the Cowley car plant fills me with a strange joy of familiarity. We’ve nearly made it! Oxford is fortunately a city of cyclists which means we can follow a nifty off-road route that brings us to a hill overlooking the amber glow of the city. There are no obvious spires, and this time I don’t even hear a bell, but it’s as exciting as being in a Philip Pullman storybook looking down on to the city after this long day pedalling.
I keep following Anna’s rear light, slightly bemused by the amount of people and lights on Iffley Road. Back in the mid 1990s I used to work off one side of this road, and live on the other, and it was Sunday dead. Now it is buzzing with people as they wait for their mates picking up kebab and pizza from brightly-lit restaurants. At last we are crossing Magdalen Bridge – there’s no need to detour under the famous Bridge of Sighs - instead we go down High Street, which is definitely is longer than I remember, past students in gowns and stone doorways opening into college quads. A final stop to consult the map and we’re flashing over Folly Bridge towards the White Horse at Tap Social on the Abingdon Road where it seems we are the very last to check in. Oh dear.
Instead of feeling elated – I’ve bloody done it – this just makes me feel like crying. I know, I’m tired and hungry (and will be hungrier still as you can only order food through Deliveroo and I neither have the app nor the space on my phone to download it), but it’s weird to feel like a frustrated teenager ticked off on a list and then forgotten! I need the world to tell me I’ve got here, despite my ineptitude and lack of bike know-how. I’m another one of the great British amateurs who bumble over long distances with just a bit of fishing line (in the modern world this would be a USB rechargeable head torch) to make the world a little bit better for everyone by asking people to acknowledge my effort not with money by making easy-to-do lifestyle changes…
But right now, I just need a slug of water and my kind husband Pete to call me with a short pep talk in which he tells me to (basically) keep on keeping on and get some food. As a West Ham supporter he is no stranger to getting over feeling low. Wheeling my bike down to Oxford’s main station, on the way to the Premier Inn Botley where I’m booked to sleep, I even start to long to find a supermarket (places I normally avoid) so I can buy something to eat – the restaurants of Iffley Road seem like a distant dream now. Luckily, I spot a man with a tell-tale Ride the Change green wrist band eating from a giant plate. He’s inside a little Keralan restaurant serving delicious vegetarian Thali so I chain up my bike, go inside and order just what he’s got. Nev is from Cornwall and a reluctant chatterer but he mentions that his companion for a little while (until he went off without her), Anne is in a similar age group to us three. I’ve got a new target for tomorrow: I will find Anne and cycle with her.