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I awoke in considerably less pain than I had anticipated, rain slowly dribbling down the window pane. I staggered John Wayne like to the bathroom, and after a hearty breakfast of croissants, cereal, bread, eggs tea and fruit felt ready to at least attempt getting back in the saddle.
Straight away I hit the wall. A steep climb into the lower Pennines through seemingly endless undulating farmland was a killer, mentally at least. I was not willing to accept I couldn't make it.
Eventually, I found a rythm, which generally involved letting Craig get miles ahead, hopping off on the worst bits, and swearing loudly where only sheep could hear me. Shortly after lunch, we made the main road, and the first pass of the day at Hartside. From there, we clocked off mile after mile in succession on a long downhill stretch before climbing again out of the village of Garrigill on what has to be the steepest road I have ever cycled on. Believe me I know, the farm where I currently live is on the joint second steepest road in the country. It was one of those moments where you truly cannot remember why you decided to do what you are doing. I mean I could have been sat at home, casually reaching for the remote and breaking wind.
Then it started to rain. I was a broken man, yet within seconds of reaching the summit I was on top of the world and couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Craig was his usual cheerful self, and hadn't even got off the bike once. Not man but Machine!
And then, a first big border crossing! Into Northumberland and then within another mile, County Durham. One last climb out of Allenheads and a dizzying 5 mile race through pouring rain to Rookhope, where what seemed the most plush accomodation awaited. Don't get me wrong - it was superb, but after that day it may as well have been a five star hotel! As we sat eating a huge vat of pasta that evening, I suddenly had the faintest feeling I might just complete the damn thing...
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