ON Y’BIKE

A JOURNAL AND PERSONAL ACCOUNT BY RON KIRK OF

BRITISH LEGION CHARITY BIKE TO BRUSSELS

FROM THURSDAY 7^TH JUNE TO MONDAY 11^TH JUNE

AYLESFORD – CALAIS – YPRES (LEPER) – BRUGES – BRUSSELS

Until last year I had not ridden a bike in earnest since being a teenager. If I was to be on two wheels I preferred motorcycles with at least an 800cc engine between my thighs.

My entry into this event was borne from a series of chance events. Last year I purchased a racing cycle to help me control my weight increase without going onto a strict diet. This encouraged my long term buddy Keith Rimmer to ask me to accompany him on a training run for his charity ride across Ireland. He needed a long run and decided we should try cycling from Barrow – Upon – Soar to Skegness, a distance of 85 miles, rest the following day and then return on the third day. The outward journey went well as we had a strong wing behind us. The return leg, without the planned rest day, was somewhat different as the wind never changed direction and with 35 mile to go I felt I could go no further. With frequent rest, however, we finally managed it. During the winter, and having the acute memories of the ride fading away, he then suggested we might try cycling for the British Legion to Brussels.

On May 12^th I had a serious car accident that wrote off my Mercedes car and could have been fatal had the oncoming car, which had lost control, hit me head-on rather than a glancing blow to the side pushing me completely off the road. This disrupted my preparations and training until a week before I was due to leave.

As Keith loaded my bike on his car for us to stay over in Aylesford on the Wednesday night before the event, it began to dawn on me perhaps what I had allowed myself to get into.

I had to remind myself the principal reasons why I should even contemplate this imminent torture.

Firstly, it was a homage to my Grandfather a regular soldier who had fought with the ‘Glorious Gloucester’s’ in the first World War at Mons, Gallipolli and Passschendale. He also served in China during the Boxer Rebellion and was in Egypt when the Regiment was awarded the honour of both wearing their badge at both the front and rear of their berets.  He had been my mentor especially during my formative teenage years guiding me through those important decision making years on my chosen career path. In the process he taught me to play the trombone to orchestral standard.

Secondly, it was as a very small contribution to our brave service personnel still protecting our liberties and international order in Afghanistan, Kosovo, Iraq and until recently Northern Ireland. At least we have moved from the scale of sacrifice of the two World Wars. Nothing I was about to suffer would measure up to their tribulations.

Thursday June 7^th – Aylesford to Calais

Well here I was with a formidable group of keen and experienced cyclists covering both sexes and age ranges from 20 year-olds to the oldest member of 69, and what a sprightly character he turned out to be!

The British Legion had kindly stored our bikes overnight in their warehouse and Keith and I stayed over at a local B&B.

The first stage was signposted all the way accompanied by motorcycle out-riders and a sweeper van of mechanics and medical team for those in difficulty.

After a briefing, photo call and a request to keep together to the first major roundabout off we set at around 9.30am.

The first few miles involved climbing out of Aylesford before we hit the open road. Virtually immediately I was struggling. The others seemed to shoot ahead like hares from a trap leaving me struggling to keep up. I was breathing heavily and it felt I had no energy in my legs. How was I going to cope if it was like this all the way? At this rate I was going to be collected by the sweeper van if I could not keep up. At the top of the second hill I could not see anyone in front of me although there were a few riders in the back, they had suffered early punctures. Eventually I found my rhythm and began to make ground on the rest.

Then a stroke of luck the leading group had gone down the wrong road in Folkestone allowing me to catch –up. The wind was strong but normally in a crosswind direction. On occasions, however, we turned into wind making the ride even harder. Towards the lunch break and after 30 miles we began to close on Dover some 20 miles further on. Then wallop we turned round a bend to be faced by an enormous long hill out of Folkestone. By this time I was feeling much better, dropped into the lowest gear and took a steady pace up the hill. Turning round the next bend thinking I was near the top I realised I was only half-way up and the hill was kicking up in front of me. It was now necessary to stand up in the pedals as my gears did not have one low enough, I pedalled a bit further and then decided to walk the rest just in case I pulled a muscle so early in the event and being so close  to Dover.

At last we had a nice long downhill run into Dover and at around 1.00pm we arrived and reported at the Ferry Terminal in the first 8. Some of the fittest group had stopped on the way for a drink while the rest had caught up.

This was really the first opportunity to talk to some of the other riders as we organised ourselves for the shipment across the Channel. There were club cyclists, rugby players, a farmer, mental health nurse, care worker, businessmen etc.

On arrival at Calais we were allowed to pass through without showing our passports and were led by the French Co-ordinator (an ex Tour De France Rider Alain Cordiere) and police motorcyclists who escorted us as a group to the overnight storage warehouse for our bikes and the awaiting coach to our Holiday Inn Hotel.

Over the evening meal I noticed Denis (from Redditch) was taking heartily to the French bread rolls. His accent mirrored that of Jasper Carrot (a fellow Redditch Man).

Having already completed 50 miles, tomorrow would be a relative short ride of 60 miles in order for us to arrive in time for the official reception at Ypres.

That night the weather turned sour with thunder and lightning and rain crashing against the bedroom window like stair rods.

Friday June 8^th – Calais to Ypres

Having not slept very well the weather had not abated and it was still raining heavily over breakfast and continued on our departure by coach to reunite ourselves with our bikes. This was going to be tough day in the rain with slippery roads and cold wet weather. Just as we were leaving the warehouse the rain stopped abruptly whilst still overcast. I looked to the heavens and thanked the Good Lord for his pity on us.

The ride was now arranged differently with a lead car up to 300 metres in front warning on-coming traffic followed by a pace car which no one was allowed to overtake followed by the sweeper vans containing mechanics and medical team. In addition we had a team of four French Motorcyclists operating a rolling road block. They apparently had authority to stop traffic enroute.

The route out of Calais took us by the canal network keeping us for the most part away from main road traffic. The pace was still brisk averaging 15 mph until the convoy had to be slowed for accidents and the rolling roadblock. That day we encountered around 5 accidents and three retirees, all self-inflicted, with cyclists not used to riding so close to each other touching wheels and taking a tumble. Mercifully most were just bad grazes or painful bumps. I saw two accidents myself but kept out of trouble by leaving at least 3 metres from the bike in front although this at times encouraged others to come through.

At lunch we arrived at a village on the French/ Belgium border for a scheduled break. Unfortunately for the organisers of the British Legion it also included a formal reception by the mayor, a guard of honour from his veterans and reception at the town hall with samples of the local beer and wine. This delayed us somewhat but was most pleasant for the riders nevertheless to receive such a warm and friendly welcome. The villagers had clearly a great empathy to the British as they occupied the village throughout the war keeping the Germans at bay. From my limited understanding of French the mayor referred to the village’s wartime history and that he regarded us as brothers in the maintenance of peace.

The entry into Belgium marked deterioration in the road surface. You both faced slippery and nut numbing cobble stones or monotonous concrete slabs. As you ran over each joint the wheels gave you a shudder and you were finding your self tensing the leg muscles anticipating the next joint.

All through the ride villagers would cheer us through, farmers would stop in their field and wave and even school children would shout allez allez anglais as our procession passed through with the Union Jack blowing proudly in front of us all.

We arrived at Ypres with just twenty minutes to spare for a quick change and freshen up before a visit around the First World War battle sites and cemeteries. This included a visit to the Passchendale Cemetery located on the very German line of the battle.

The German pillboxes were now white towers joined by a continuous wall inscribed with the fallen under each regiment. There were the names of the Gloucestershire casualties. I looked for the name of my uncle James Lowe who I know was killed by a German grenade whilst riding a motorbike, but to no avail. Suddenly the emotion of the moment began to take hold and it was difficult to hold back the tears of grief for my grandfather when I looked down on the slope that so many had fallen. Ypres could be seen in the distance which, whilst only occupied the Germans for a day, was completely flattened. How odd to contemplate that 90 years later my Grandfather’s grandson would be standing on the very hill he was trying to capture and would have been facing me out of range of the German gunners.

How my Grandfather was able to survive during all this carnage was difficult to comprehend but maybe it ran in the family that we manage to cheat a premature death. He would often reminisce, if the bullet has your name it will come round a corner to find you.

Holding tight on the emotions we went onto a private function held by the Last Post Association for the British Legion displaying the new bugles for the Menheim Gate ceremony. Cold in our British Legion Poppy Appeal tea-shirts Keith and I decided to slope off to a nearby restaurant for a coffee before we went to the scheduled ceremony at the Menheim Gate. To our horror as we sat drinking the hot coffee we saw the military band round the corner with our colleagues at the back suddenly realising we were supposed to be part of the parade.

We managed to slip in the back and marched through the centre of Ypres to the applause of the watching crowd. At the Gate we were met by several thousand people already waiting for the start of the commemoration. The celebration was observed impeccably and again it was difficult not to be moved by the whole event. Our national anthem was played and we marched back to the strains of Colonel Bogey.

Saturday June 9^th – Ypres to BrugesSaturday June 9^th – Ypres to Bruges

This was to be the shortest trip of all with just 45 miles to cover. This was to be my best day. The pace was brisk with speed up to 18/19 miles per hour over sustained periods except for slowing for accidents or rolling roadblocks. We arrived for lunch knowing we could put the bikes away and have some R&R in the main town after lunch. Strolling in the main square we both enjoyed a most delicious shandy (Panache). However, I was trying very hard to stay awake and went back to the hotel for a two hour nap. Over dinner Denis was still nicking the bread rolls. No style these Redditch men!!

Sunday June 10^th – Bruges to Brussels

This was going to be a tough day with 95 miles to go. I have never ridden this far in one go and never want to again.

The day was to start and end in drama. Just as we gathered in a narrow side street by the hotel a Mercedes car driven by a glamorous blonde came to a halt behind us chased by three policemen on foot. They were rapidly joined by two motorcyclists and patrol cars. Whatever she had done it was not for driving down a one way street the wrong way as she was bundled into one of the patrol cars and a policemen driving her own car off. I was impressed that there were so many police around on a peaceful Sunday morning. I am not sure we could replicate it where I live.

The terrain by now had changed to long rolling hills interspersed with cobble stone streets through the villages. Our lunch stop was at the top of a long hill but it was good to get your feet up. Just as we started I realised I had left my waist bag back at the restaurant but as I cycled back the sweeper van said they would find it for me and asked me to catch up with the rest. The next half hour was tough as I pedalled hard to catch the rest especially as I then caught another hill. My breathing was heavy and my thighs ached with the pain of it all. Just as I was making progress through the tail-enders the next drama was to unfurl in front of me.

The tandem riders had stopped and the wife on the back seemed to be struggling to hold the bike up as her husband was getting his feet out of the pedals. I thought they had ‘blown’ and had stopped for a rest. The biker immediately behind at the time overtook them but then turned to look back and immediately came off his bike. Again I thought, like me, fatigue had set in for the both of them. Realising he had taken a hard fall I went to his aide and within a couple of minutes the sweeper van arrived to assist and I knew I could continue on again and catch up with the rest. What I hadn’t realised is that the husband on the tandem had had a heart attack and fortunately for him the rider who had fallen in front of him was a mental health nurse skilled in CPR.

Speaking to him later the patient died ‘twice’ he had gone grey his eyes had rolled back and stopped breathing. With the application of mouth to mouth and pumping his chest he managed to get him to breathe again only for a minute or two before he stopped breathing again with the same visual symptoms He had to repeat the exercise. Fortunately this time he stabilised him and within six to seven minutes the ambulance arrived with a doctor and full cardiac apparatus. The rider was admitted into Brussels hospital to check he had recovered and then moved to the cardiac hospital in Ghent for a few days. Of course the ride was stopped for half an hour while this was all happening and for the schedule to be rearranged for a later entrance into Brussels where a convoy of police motorcycle outriders who were waiting for us.

Despite all the warnings there were further crashes going into Brussels triggered by the tram lines. Despite repeated warnings to Keith he was one of the victims falling off and grazing his knee. He had tried to restart but found he had busted his gears and made the final few miles in the sweeper van.

In the approach through the centre of Brussels the police out riders were determined to keep us as a tight group shouting “allez allez Anglais” as we punished ourselves up the last remaining hill before we turned right to our final destination of the tomb of the unknown soldier.

As I rode into the square for the last few metres I felt I wanted to cry through sheer joy of making it without mishap and doing my sponsors credit.

After congratulating and hugging each other we all rode back to the hotel about a mile and a half away to load our bikes onto the lorry and for us to change for dinner.

Coming out of the hotel bedroom, which Keith and I were sharing, an American couple noticed us going to the lift together. We kept the lift doors apart for them but they seemed reluctant to join us. After saying there was enough room the lady said they were a bit shy.

Having guessed the reason for their embarrassment I explained that nothing funny was going on but we were on a cycling tour with the British Legion having journeyed from England. They clearly became relieved and chatted to us explaining that the lady was originally from Belgium and her husband was in fact originally from Gosport in Hampshire. Both were visiting Brussels in their work for Continental Airlines.

Over dinner we were presented with our medals by the wife of the heart victim as she wanted very much to be with us at a difficulty time and personally wished to thank all the guys who had helped her husband.

In a sense it was lucky he had been on this ride with aide rapidly at hand. If it happened on one of their normal training runs the outcome could have been more serious.

Leaving the dinner we again bumped into the American couple with two of our compatriots including our older cyclists Dave. Jokingly the lady said we must have sore bottoms and needed a massage. I responded by saying that Dave was looking for a massage elsewhere and before we knew the whole conversation was getting out of hand with the husband looking on utterly perplexed by it all. We were all given a kissed and promised to fly Continental in the future.

Monday 11/06/07 Brussels to Ashford

During the morning after breakfast we had a short tour site seeing including the Grand Place before taking the Eurostar back to the UK and to be reunited with our bikes before going home.

Lessons of the Trip

(a) Never take notice of a friend, no mater how long the friendship, who drafts you into 4 days of torture

(b) People who undertake these charity events are the salt of the earth and really do care for one for others

(c) Don’t let the media or the politicians lead you to believe we are Anti-Europeans or they are antagonistic towards us. We had an emotional and very friendly welcome from everyone we met who quite clearly deeply admire the Brits. Belgium’s every evening play the last post at 8.00pm every day to honour us. That’s something like 27,000 times since it started. They regard it as an honour and patriotic duty.

(d) I was taken close to my limit but it is amazing what you can achieve with the support and encouragement of others.