Shropshire Star feature writer ANDY RICHARDSON is hoping to raise £2,500 for charity on a mammoth cycle ride . . . and get home in one piece.

Adam laughed. “Are you mad?” There was a note of surprise and mild concern in his rhetorical question. “I wouldn’t want to drive that far, let along do it on a bike.”

He stumped up £20 for the charity that I’m supporting, Hope House, then wished me well. The kindness of colleagues and friends has been humbling.

Adam’s reaction was far from unique. Others have viewed me quizzically when they’ve ascertained details of my plan to cycle from John O’Groats to Land’s End. Expressions that have appeared to question my sanity have been written large on their faces.

As you read this, I will, hopefully, be somewhere along the northernmost tip of Scotland, beginning one of the longest journeys of my life. Ride Across Britain is the brainchild of double Olympic Gold medallist James Cracknell and his business partners from Threshold Sports.

The inaugural event sold out in short order and more than 600 cyclists will participate, each having paid around £1,100 for the privilege. Not all will finish. I only hope I’m among the fortunate ones who do.

Ride Across Britain isn’t a straightforward end-to-end attempt. With so many cyclists taking to the roads, organisers declined to funnel us along the nation’s A roads, which are generally the flattest, fastest and in the best state of repair.

Instead, we’ll be travelling along the back roads of Scotland, England and, briefly, Wales. The normal 870-mile journey that end-to-enders undertake has, thus, been extended to 1,000 miles.

Distance alone is not the only punitive aspect of Ride Across Britain. Our route along the roads less travelled involves plenty of ascent over foreboding hills.

Take Day Six, for instance, when we are scheduled to ride an “easy” 103 miles from Manchester to Ludlow. The route will meander, pleasantly, through picturesque terrain, bringing us to rural roads north of Shrewsbury. At that point, rather than bullet along the A49 to our destination, we’ll divert to the west of the town.

A climb over Stiperstones awaits before a vertiginous ascent to 1,626ft over the Long Mynd. An even-more-terrifying descent of Burway, into Church Stretton, follows.

You’d have thought, quite reasonably, that after such exertion we’d wind wearily to Ludlow, our bodies having been spent by the arduous climb through Shropshire’s Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

The organisers, however, want us to enjoy the beauty more fully and so, rather than schedule a gentle passage to south Shropshire, they’ll divert us over Wenlock Edge. The route, for all its pulchritude, is both a blessing and a curse.

Last Sunday, my training ended. My bike was deposited at Hilton Services, on the M6, so that it could be transported to John O’Groats. I met others who will be attempting the ride and discussed what lay in store. We’d all been busy with regular 120-mile training rides and other training sessions.

“I’ve got two aims,” said Janet, a genial lady from the north of England who took up cycling 12 months ago.
“I’d like to finish and I’d like to enjoy it.”

Janet was further forward in her preparation than me. The idea of enjoying the next nine days has, frankly, not occurred. I’ve funded my ride to the tune of around £1,600, I’m grateful to my employer for giving me the opportunity to write about it and I’ve so far received around £2,500 in sponsorship, all of which will go to Hope House Children’s Hospice. My only hope has been that I’ll finish.

Of course, it’s a very real possibility that I won’t. Not everyone on the ride will reach Land’s End. If I find myself among the number who don’t, I won’t consider it a failure.

Providing I give of my best, I’ll be happy to have taken part and I’ll return to my desk for any outstanding days when I’d hoped to be on the road.

Hope House will still receive the funds raised and the effort will not have been wasted.

In the few days leading to today’s claxon call at John O’Groats, the attempt came into clearer focus. The parts of my life that are part of the daily round assumed renewed significance. I’ll miss my wife and daughter terribly and count down the days to our reunion.

I’ll look forward to walking my merle collie in the park. I’ll eagerly anticipate long, lazy weekends, when I don’t have to cycle to Machynlleth or some other distant town.

Peculiarly, the time I fear most is Day Six, assuming I’m still riding at that point. Cycling through Shropshire, less than five miles from my front door, will be purgatory. The temptation to turn left and head home will be hard to resist. Similarly, the prospect of spending a night beneath canvass, tucked up in a sleeping bag in some Ludlovian field, is a poor substitute for a night of rest and comfort in a proper bed.

But, by then, I don’t expect to be unnecessarily worried by creature comforts. My only focus will be on keeping body and soul together. Negative thoughts will be anathema as I renew my efforts and make a final push through the last three days.

The finish won’t be a line across the road in the south westernmost corner of the UK. It’ll be my front door. While Janet hopes to enjoy it, and others will be looking to record a time commensurate with a cycling ability that this lumbering 39-year-old does not possess, I only hope that I make it home safely.

The theme of my ride, based on its link to Hope House, has been Riding For Hope. For the next nine days, that theme will change. Instead, I’ll be Riding With Hope.