The hills are alive with the sound of Stephen’s squeaky brakes

After your first day of cycling, one dream is inevitable. A memory of motion lingers in the muscles of your legs, and round and round they seem to go. You ride through Dreamland on wonderful dream bicycles that change and grow. – H.G. Wells, ‘The Wheels of Chance’

Recently Ian and I were persuaded by our MD Paul, a keen cyclist, to join him and a couple of other aficionados on the epic Whitehaven to Sunderland, Coast to Coast bike ride across three days this August bank holiday. There was only one problem; neither of us owned a bike. I hadn’t even ridden a bike in nearly ten years. Still, it was but a minor detail.

Since this arguably stupid decision, the wheels have been set in motion for what has already been, and promises to be a great adventure, no doubt full of swearing, hangovers, unreasonably tight lycra and sore bottoms.

For the uninitiated, the Coast to Coast is Britain’s most popular long distance cycle route, 140 miles across the Lake District and the Pennines, taking in Whitehaven, Keswick, Penrith, the Durham Dales and Consett. Basically, a lot of very big hills.

The beautiful rolling hills of the Pennines

The first hill to climb however was the small matter of finding bikes for us two amateurs. Hitting Ebay, it wasn’t long before we’d managed to snap up a couple of bargains. For myself, a custom-built silver beauty and a lovely little red number for Ian. We were ready.

Well, that was on the Monday. By Sunday my new bike had been stolen. I never even got to give her a good ride. I guess it was to be expected living in Byker. The police came to collect evidence, but I knew she was gone for good. It was a sad ending to an all too fleeting romance.

We were now faced with a real problem. However, my Dad came up trumps, digging out my old bike from teenage years gone by, which, given a quick once-over, was good as new. Well, other than the UNBELIEVABLY squeaky brakes which even the man in the bike workshop couldn’t fix.

Since then we’ve been hitting the streets of Newcastle, squeaks and all, preparing for the epic journey, which will involve about 45 miles of riding a day. In all honesty our efforts have been half-hearted at best, meandering alongside the Quayside laughing and joking while being overtaken by hoards of serious looking men in wrap-around shades and unflattering shorts, or ‘Mamils‘ as they have come to be known. We have managed a good 8 miles, which is almost 45, so I reckon we’re more than prepared. How difficult can it be?!

As Paul keeps telling us: “It’s not a race!” However, there’s no way that five blokes riding together won’t eventually turn into a slightly flabby version of the Tour de France. I certainly think it will be every bit as dramatic.

With the reality of the challenge ahead of us becoming ever clearer, I am acutely aware of how unprepared we are, but also filled with a strangely masochistic excitement. No doubt blood, sweat and tears will be shed; but with the rolling hills of England’s most beautiful landscape and fresh, countryside air in our lungs, it is sure to be good for the soul, if not the buttocks.

In the immortal words of the great Freddie Mercury: “Get on your bikes and ride!”