I’ve no idea why I have always wanted to go back to Hadrian’s Wall, it’s been on the bucket list for ever. I think it may be 40 years ago, when I pulled into a teashop half way along the wall, the wipers were on double fast, the car was rocking in the gale force wind, the June weather was virtually freezing, and the 20 yard dash to the just visible tea and cake refuge meant crossing an raging stream , which in other days would have been the car park. In walked three bedraggled walkers and they were full of the journey, smiling laughing, happy – the thought and puzzlement of that moment meant I had to return, and experience the wall again.

So last Christmas, which did involve a little drink or two, so I’m informed, a plan was hatched. This plan involved cycling the wall, not balanced atop of it you understand but on the nearby roman roads, with little forays off to see forts and teashops.

Brother Tim and Vron, decided to join in, Blanche said she’d do it, but in the car !! so we booked hotels along the cycle routes, gave a Blanche a list of pubs, so she could reserve a table for us thirsty cyclists, and she donated a large bag of talcum powder for us soon to be sore cyclists.

I’m writing this now, having trained all of 6 miles, which wasn’t too bad I have to say. However the grim reality of the task (147 miles) sort of dawned on me as we drove up to the starting point, in Newcastle. The cycle ride was the equivalent distance of Crowthorne to East Mids Airport, 3 and a half hours of driving, and we only have 4 days to do it. Wish us luck

The journey up was good, saw Andrew for coffee in Leeds, John in Sunderland for Lasagne and Wine, Bed and Laughter, George in Newcastle for a fish lunch, and it’s now protein bars, and sports drinks all the way to the West Coast. Apparently I’m a mamil (Middle aged man in lycra), but that light and shiny, as yet unworn, lyrca must help , surely ?

So even before we set off, here’s a picture of the Angel of the North, with some rusty old sculpture behind her.

Having completed this marathon bike ride sit down and I’ll tell you the story , honestly you sit down , – I’ll stand if you don’t mind !

Firstly I got it wrong , for 147 miles read 174 miles – never mind, what’s an extra 27 miles between friends, and I was with Family, as Al Murray had reminded us just last week “Faaamileeey” Anyway we had three separate objectives, Vron was to do a full loop as they’d already done three days through the Lakes and Pennines to meet us in Newcastle and back to the car in Workington , Tim to do the full loop, then finish off on Route 72 which is a national cycle path, and me to get through it without killing myself.

The route was sedate, 30 miles (Killer ) followed by 25 miles, lots of uphills and a 4 mile walk (Double Killer) , 32 Miles with the down hills (Toughie) and then a 70 miler ( Dream on – Still cant believe I did that) and to round it off a 25 miler on Sunday morning, to RavenGlass (Beer Ride) , see how confident Ive become ?

Tim and Vron are wonderful company , they ride as though they were born in the saddle, let me rest every so often , and pointed out every bird and mammal, even the lycra ones, – I had a different outfit for every day. They didn’t insist on protein bars or sports drinks, we rather got round on sausage rolls and beer.

Blanche was a magnificent support vehicle, keeping up with our routes, moving lycra and heavier clothes from hotel to hotel, and always there with a smile and a beer when we arrived.

We did have an afternoon sightseeing at Vindolanda, and saw a proper dig, like real archaeology, and touched a still warm, freshly dug up shoe from AD100 – Yet another Highlight

One other tradition I did enjoy was dipping the wheels, you put your back wheels in the North Sea, then some zillion hours of cycling later, you stagger down to the Irish Sea and dip your front wheels. Some crazy tradition I don’t quite understand, like Morris dancing.

I’m not going to say it was easy, but actually , from the comfort of my barstool, and we stood by a lot of those en-route! I’m fitter and more pig-headed than I gave myself credit for.

188 miles later, legs as straight as those bar stools, still breathing, praising my trusty cycle, and not too sore – the talcum powder and lycra shorts have obviously done their job.

Allez Allez as they say in cycling circles !