Stepping off the train in Exeter's St Davids train station, not even the cool afternoon drizzle could dampen the excitement I felt at the prospect of joining 4 of my all time favourite sporting heroes on their glorious voyage from the bottom to the tip of this British Isle.
Having briefly consulted a map of Devon, marvelling at the quaintly named roads, such as the 'Six Mile Hill', I happily set off on my trusty iron steed, casually turning down the offer of a lift from the station from the man of van, Mr Jerry Eccles, in the name of showing willing and generally having a bit of a warm up for the following day.
It turned out that Katy, briefed by local sources, was right in her assertion that the road to Chagford is pretty much a steady climb (for 16 miles) up from sea dwelling Exeter.
However, the decision whether or not to give up was taken out of my hands in that there was a complete lack of mobile signal for the entirety of the journey, so I pedalled on and eventually reached a smiling Katy in Chagford, before panic-buying an armful of Snickers for the day ahead.
Having completed the famous Dunwich Dynamo from London to the Suffolk coast in 2009, I am no stranger to the "Pants? No thanks!" rule of long distance cycling, as well as the joys of anti-chafe creamery... But never would I have dreamed that my bottom would be anointed with the very same udder cream that graced the rears of such cycling titans as these 4 (apart from Camillo of course, God help him), and so it was my honour to take part in this deeply emotional initiation ritual, proudly taking on the proverbial baton from Rosie, the fallen hero.
Only slightly miffed to discover that the first 16 miles of the day were the same 16 miles I had cycled just 16 hours before, I happily led the team out of Chagford back to Exeter, and all I remember is there being some more hills before lunch - my favourite of which was the voluntary 2 mile quasi vertical climb beyond and over Huniton. At the summit; dripping, nay burning with sweat, we resorted to asking a nearby postman, who couldn't hide his confusion as to why we had chosen this particular route, and pointed us back down another hill which led us safely into Huniton where a delicious lunch lay in wait. (For me, a cheese and chutney baguette, teamed with a delicious organic lemonade, for the record.)
Having until this point managed to resist Camillo's Jedi mind trick attempts to garner votes for the dual carriageway option, after that morning of thigh splitting hills we were weak and impressionable, and thus I found myself creeping along the side of the A30, surely the subject of intense mockery from all the lorries and cars shooting past as I cowered in the ditch....
Luckily for me, we ended the day on a high with a glorious (i.e. relatively flat) final 20 miles, before a well deserved cup of tea in Somerton.
It all happened so fast - with my heart in my throat, I was swept off in that infamous white van for a train to then whisk me back to an inexplicably war torn capital city...
Team, it was an honour to join you on your brave journey - if I could have stayed but one more day....
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