London to Scotland: The test ride - and how it ended all so abruptly!

Saturday 18th July 2009 Day 0

ODO 195-205 10km

Packing is a rush; the house is a mess. Tired from the school term. Still shopping; I need some shorts. Excited!

Considering this trip was to be a preliminary test for the big cyclenavigation from London to Australia I really left things until the last minute. Whilst this may not be completely unusual for me, this time I felt much less prepared than I otherwise would have. Normally I'm mentally prepared and it's just the physical preparations left until the end. For this particular trip lists had been written, revised and written again several times over and yet I still hadn't managed to tick all the boxes. Equipment had been researched and purchased, however not organised or tested but more importantly I hadn't prepared my mind. Once you have calmed your thoughts there is nothing the world can throw at you that develops into any more than a slight detour in the road but attempt anything whilst mentally unprepared and expect disarray.Too late for all that. I decided to leave anyway. It was now or never was my thinking

With a late start to the morning, I am no early bird; I woke and got straight to it. Missing breakfast, a regular approach when I have things I wish to accomplish, the first thing I needed to do was locate a pair of shorts to cycle in. I'd already secured some cheap socks and tops and thanks to my mate Jonathan I had a truly superb jacket. My old trainers had even been cleaned with a good bashing together but no shorts! Mountain bike shorts seemed more my style. Casual, not too cycle orientated and hopefully with a padded backside. Sixty pounds felt like too much of my hard earned cash to spend on a pair of shorts so my previous finds had been dismissed and left upon the racks in the shops.

So onto the motorcycle I climbed sometime late Saturday morning to search the cycle shops of north London with some sort of haste. After several shops and much deliberation I settled upon a pair based entirely on how they looked whilst standing in front of a mirror. At thirty pounds I guess my thinking was that if this cycling business doesn't work out I want to at least get some wear out of them. No padded backside however, something at the time I thought I may live to regret later. As it turns out I should have just bought the sixty pounds pair a few days prior because the sixty pound parking fine for parking my motorcycle on the footpath makes for some very expensive shorts indeed. Thanks Camden council! I saw her too, thought she was walking the other way.

The rage. The anger! I should have learnt my lesson last time. I tried to calm myself with thoughts such as; what's done is done and nothing more can be done about it now. Its only money. But still my blood boiled. Why I am allowed to leave my fully loaded touring bicycle which takes up nearly twice the space where ever I please but the single cylinder moto must be parked in designated parking bays on the road I don't think ill ever fully come to terms with but that's a whole different discussion. Now there's nothing like tearing up some pavement and deafening the neighbourhood in order to let off some steam. So after a short but mighty quick round trip to the army surplus store for bungees and mosquito repellent my shopping expedition was complete.

Packing was finished in a rush, the anger slowly subsiding. Everything I could imagine I'd need to cycle for two years self supported from London to Australia and then some was stuffed, jammed and crammed onto my bike. Wow! Heavy! And I hadn't gone anywhere yet. A slightly worrying and yet at the same time comforting thought. It would be unlikely I'd left anything behind. I had a paper trail of equipment lists leading out the door and enough gear to hide out in the woods for a week or six but would I be able to make it past the end of the drive? And what happens when the ground inclines?

I wobbled away from the garage, with these among many thoughts racing through my head. As I pedalled my way to Jonathan's sister's house in Barnet to help erect his niece's tree house I reminded myself that this was an adventure. An adventure that needed no build up for the excitement had already begun. It was at Rebecca's house where I stayed my first night away from my own bed and from there where my journey really began. An afternoon basking in the sun drinking tea whilst watching others erect an elaborate garden shed on stilts can't be considered work or part of my trip.Nor can the evenings risotto followed by strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Experiences worth every minute but not part of this story.

Just prior to heading to bed I made my final preparations. I plotted a course from Rebecca's house, through the boroughs of north London to the start of national cycle route number six in Watford. From there I hoped it would be signed. Not knowing what to expect I was unaware that it was to be the start of what would turn out to be very nearly the end of my life.