Finding the Hero in Your Soul and The First Time I Met Queen Camilla

It was clear that following the tragic events which took place at Woolwich Barracks and in Paris; our Charity Cycle Ride was to take on another dimension. The mood of the British People had obviously been stirred.

A dedication must go to the families of Lee Rigby, and the French soldier attacked in a Paris Railway Station.

??????????? My Heroes

It helps the motivation if you can personalise the reasons for your charity ride. My dedications are therefore to my father Leslie Kirk (Royal Artillery), grandfather Charles Lowe (Gloucesters), uncle Leslie Lowe (Merchant Navy), Julian’s grandfather Ambrose Keevil (Royal Munster Fusiliers) and fellow aviator friend’s grandfather Arthur Holmes (Sherwood Foresters).

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT

(‘When the Going Gets Tough the Tough Get Going’)

The ride supposedly was over 380 miles, but my colleagues measured it at 420 miles and in my case 450 miles (750 kilometres in the Eurozone) having taken the scenic route a couple of times. ?In total, we climbed the equivalent of 14,500 feet, almost the height of Ben Nevis every day!

The route took us through single track farm roads with nasty water-filled potholes, loose gravel, and mud, not to mention those blasted cobblestones that both shook your body and could throw you off at any moment. The rain and cold wind were incessant, apart from the very last day. At one stage some of us started to suffer from hypothermia so we decided to ditch lunch and continue cycling to keep warm. The ride was taking on the guise of a ‘Paris Roubaix’ rather than a Tour de France Stage.

The terrain took a great toll on the bikes, and stress on the mechanics, and we were all kept busy carrying out repairs. I went through two sets of tyres and inner tubes, whilst others faced more punctures than me, broken spokes, chains, and gear sets.

When ex-Marines and TA’s start suffering, you know you are in for a battle of wills and stamina.

All the effort proved worthwhile, as the Ride raised in total some ￡2m and our team ‘The Four Musketeers’ raised over our minimum target of ￡10,000 and we are still counting the contributions.

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

I cannot say, in all honesty, my desire to undertake this challenge was driven by a burning altruistic compulsion to aid a charity. I am approaching 68 years old and live a very comfortable lifestyle in Saint Malo, France. The most exertion I normally contemplate is raising a glass of red wine at one of the many superb cafés while I watch the rest of the world go by.

It was our leader of ‘The Four Musketeers’, a lieutenant colonel who asked by email whether I cycled and was I doing anything at the end of May. It wasn’t until I apparently had answered Yes and No that I realised I had volunteered. Talking to my fellow Musketeers they, too, were a bit mystified as to how they had become involved. My other fellow press-ganged members numbered two, an ex -Royal Marine and a corporal with long experience of the TA’s.

It all seemed such a long time away the previous year, when I managed to put out three vertebrae in my back and neck and spent 6 months trying to reduce the pain, and yet still do some limited training. The serious training had to wait until the beginning of April, when my neck pain had reduced, and I could ride the longer distances to get fit and try and lose the ever-present excess weight.?

GETTING STARTED

Now I am at the Saint Malo Ferry Terminal with my bike packed in the car boot, plus spares and personal luggage; on my way to the UK to get to the starting point in London for the return by bike.

The weather was perfect, nice and sunny, and I was even able to sunbathe on the aft deck. It could have been a Mediterranean cruise; except I knew I was going to need every ounce of energy over the coming week to ensure I finished in London.

Paris Arrival

(All for One and One for All – Alexander Dumas)

The Four Musketeers gathered at St Pancras Station, registering our attendance with the Organisers, collecting the Eurostar tickets, and delivering our bikes to be taken by lorry to our hotel in Paris. We had pre-arranged to meet at the Champagne Bar, our lieutenant colonel required us to wear our Musketeer hats complete with coloured feathers (red, white, and blue) representing the main arms of our Forces. ?Liz, a delightful RN lady, asked us to join her with the still half empty champagne bottle, supplemented by TA Man to keep the bubbles flowing. We all pledged our Musketeer allegiances and wished ourselves a safe and successful challenge.

Boarding the Eurostar to Paris, we were able to mix with other participants, including teams from some City Law and Accountancy Firms. There was even a team called ‘The Five Fat Cavalry Officers’.

The reality of what we had let ourselves in for was now beginning to dawn on us, especially as we began to be surrounded by our soldier amputees.

I suppose it was at this point that my approach to such people began to change. Like most of us who are not often surrounded by so many wounded people, we tend to look at the injury first and then the person second.

During the trip it changed from seeing the person, and then observing the obvious injury. At times some black humour came into play, when one forgot oneself and for instance, I asked at a crowded bar for someone standing behind to give me a hand with the drinks, to be given the answer “I would if I had one!” The humour and fortitude of these guys did get to you emotionally. You either wanted to cry for them, or just laugh along in their highly motivational company.

Paris to Compiegne

(‘Beam me up Scottie’ – Captain Kirk, Star Trek)

After an 8.30am start from the Paris Hotel, we cycled through the city rush hour in the drizzle, navigating our own way to the official starting point at L’Hotel National des Invalides. The French wished us enroute ‘bon courage’ and somehow, we all managed to arrive together.

Our Royal Marine, however, was the first to have problems, splitting his tyre and having a puncture as a result. Wet roads are difficult for cyclists at the best of times but if they are not swept clear of debris, including gravel, bits tend to stick to your tyres and start working in until the tyre casing is ruptured. Hard luck on him that it happened so soon.

Historical Note: Bearing in mind the purpose of the Ride, the choice of the starting point could not have been more appropriate. Les Invalides was the first, purpose-built, hospital and home for the wounded veterans created in Western Europe. It was the inspiration for our own Royal Hospital, Chelsea. We were guaranteed a ‘Grand Depart’ as it also the home of Napoleon’s Mausoleum. Standing in the Courtyard there was a statue of him looking down on us in his characteristic pose.

While we stood around waiting for the 11.30am start, we were entertained by a small military band and were able to meet the British Embassy Equerry and have our photograph taken with him. We did not realise that we were to be officially sent on our way by the Duchess of Cornwall, to become Queen Camilla, who arrived in an official cortège and came over to shake us by the hand and wish us well.

I expected her to concentrate on our wounded participants and took the opportunity to take photographs. To my slight horror, she then decided to move amongst us all and so I had to scramble to put the camera away and take off my wet cycling glove as she shook hands with us and gave us words of encouragement.

The Military Commander to Paris gave an official speech reminding us that Napoleon was looking down on us (met with some amusement). He recalled the tragic events of just a week ago and made it known we were all brothers in arms fighting against barbarity and evil in all its forms.

At last, we were on our way and after riding four miles from the hotel, spent the next twenty miles or so winding through the suburbs of Northern Paris, seemingly stopping at every traffic light. At last, it was great to get out onto the open road and at least start putting some miles behind us.

It continued to rain, and the wind made it very cold, despite our rain over-jackets. The first challenge of the day was navigational, as we had caught up with the first bunch off who had taken a wrong turn and we saw were doubling back. Clearly a red arrow sign had gone missing, but quickly we resumed our ride through a village and then down a long steep hill.

The next minute the rider in front of me went down and I had to steer round him before braking and going back to check him out. He had apparently tried to pull into a slip road and didn’t see the small lip to the pull-in taking the front wheel from underneath him. We cleaned up the skin rash on his leg, applied some bandages, straightened up his bike and then resumed on our way. Kindly, a French pedestrian and lorry driver also helped with first aid.

There were lots of punctures enroute, even at this stage, so I was making good progress by just keeping rolling.

By lunchtime, we were all wet and miserable. Whilst I was looking forward to some hot food and drink, I could only manage the drink and had difficulty taking in any carbohydrates without feeling nauseous. The venue was somewhat surreal, with two camels and a long-horned cow tethered in the ground by us; the circus had come to the village. Within a few minutes of stopping, we were beginning to shake with the cold and were in danger of suffering hypothermia, so we cut short the lunch and resumed cycling to get warm again.

If we did not know already, this was going to be no stroll in the park. Our wounded comrades were an inspiration. No moaning, they just stuck to the task. We just had to keep going as we couldn’t let them down now. A few had no legs and were powering themselves along just using their arms on specially built contraptions.

Nery

Later the weather abated and in time we arrived at Nery, not a particularly well-known site but in the view of some military historians, the pivotal point when the Germans were prevented from eventually taking Paris in the First World War.

Historical Note: Nery is an ancient village made up of large houses with thick walls which, over time, had formed natural fortresses. It sat on the edge of a deep ravine, on the other side of which was a large plateau. It was here, on this plateau where I now stood, on the morning of 1st September that German Cavalry suddenly appeared out of the morning mist. What happened next became known as ‘The Affair at Nery’ and led to the awarding of three VCs to members of ‘L’ Battery.

Up to this point the Germans were advancing quickly across France and had they been able to maintain their momentum, would have taken Paris. It was here that ‘L’ Battery, with its capability of firing 15 rounds a minute straight into the advancing charge, and in the mayhem of a very bloody conflict, was able to repel the advancing German troops. This caused the German High Command to reconsider its tactics and in doing so, the French and British were able to reinforce their lines around Amiens and the River Marne.

A Captain Bradbury fought valiantly, despite having both his legs blown off when fetching ammunition, and whilst commanding the last three guns to oppose twelve on the other side. Two were quickly knocked out, leaving only one gun under the direction of Captain Bradbury. Private Nelson and Battery Sergeant-Major Dorell resisted the advance for two and half hours before reinforcements arrived. When the fighting subsided, Captain Bradbury had his injuries attended to and then they dragged him into the local cemetery to recover. Unfortunately, he died of his wounds, and was buried there, but Sergeant-Major Dorell survived to a ripe old age.

Had it not been for their fierce resistance, the First World War may have taken a different turn. In the Imperial War Museum there is a British Cannon, taken at the time where a German shell had fired into precisely the hole in the barrel, splitting it apart. It is now displayed with a flower protruding where the shell had struck.

After this short breather it was time to continue.

Armistice Clearing

(The Triumph of Barbarity and Evil over Freedom and Liberty?)

From Nery the Ride heads north to a small clearing in the Forêt de Compiègne, not far from our next overnight stop.

Historical Note: In 1918 this clearing witnessed the capitulation of the German forces to the Allies and, in 1940, the equally deliberate humiliation of the French, the site of the capitulation of the French Leadership to Hitler. Whilst General Petain may not have much choice if he was to save the lives of literally millions of Frenchmen, he became detested because of his acceptance of the non-repatriation of French prisoners, and agreement they were to be executed should they take up arms with the allies. This was regarded by many as unnecessary conditions. ??

To me, I felt this was the most poignant historical site of all. It brought many factors together onto one physical location. I suppose it demonstrated the linkage between the First and Second World Wars, and the failure of politicians to construct a future policy to avoid potential conflicts.

Given that all the German High Command attended the signing with Hitler, I suppose it also represented a triumph of sorts of barbarity and evil over fellow humanity. The whole of mainland Europe was under the control of the Fascists. ??It is difficult for me to imagine how decent, free loving people must have felt at that precise moment when Europe appeared to be falling into the abyss of a new Dark Age. Nothing seemed to be able to prevent the perceived inevitable happening. The French must have been devastated as they lost all they held dear, seemingly forever.

The rain was now incessant, and I was glad to get moving, and get a hot shower at the hotel.?

Compiegne to Amiens

(European Union of the Living rather than the Dead)

I was now having trouble taking in any carbohydrates at breakfast (bread etc.). Once I was rolling, I realised I had developed a heavy cold. I tried continually wiping my nose with tissue until it was a soggy mess, then resorted to the cycling glove, and in the end just gave up and let my nose freely run. I must have been a sorry sight with rain dripping off my helmet and a gooey mess from my nose! I needed to try keeping the food intake up if I could but was still finding it difficult.

Vignemont French and German Cemetery

Not far into the Ride, about 10 miles, we stopped at the Vignemont French and German Cemetery to pay our respects. There were other nationalities too, as well as headstones denoting Christian, Jewish and Moslem Faiths.

The thought struck me that this was the European Union of the Dead. This is what happens when fellow human beings cannot resolve their differences, and conflicting interests, peacefully. Was it this, and its causes, that drove the Founding Fathers of the European Union to try and create a better political and economic structure to resolve our differences? Had the EU been formed half a century before, would the World have been a totally different place, with a far more peaceful history as far as Europe was concerned?

Whatever we may think of politicians and our view of the current workings of the EU, we must all recognise that they carry a heavy responsibility, which they ultimately bear on our behalf. Over the next few years, when the debate over UK’s membership of the EU may intensify, will we give it the quality of debate and critical serious thinking it deserves, so the men lying in these graves can rest easy that any future long-term commitment will deliver peace, security, and economic well-being for all?

Ceremony at Thiepval

The site commemorates 72,000 graves of British and South African men who died in the Battle of the Somme but have no known grave. It is the place I particularly wanted to be, to give my personal dedications to my grandfather Charles Lowe, and prayers on behalf of all the families that suffered.

I did look for my great uncle’s name (who forms one of my middle names and who died in the area from a German grenade whilst acting as a motorcycle dispatch rider). I sometimes believe I still have his gene that gave me a love of motorcycles throughout my life. Sure enough, I saw the name and wondered whether it was him, James Lowe.

At each of the ceremonies our ‘embedded’ Jesuit Priest said a few words, we lay our wreaths, we sounded the last post and recited ‘we will remember them’ and sometimes a poem. On this occasion the words from our priest struck a chord. His theme was, we have a choice in approaching our lives, as though we were’ entitled’ or based on ‘gratitude’. Thankfully, I believe I fall largely into the latter camp and could not be more grateful for the happy and contented life I lead with my dear wife.

That’s not to say I am immune from moaning about the minor irritations, especially those that seem to emanate from the UK every time I visit. However, I was now learning that this is wrong and will try in future not to let such minor moments stand in the way. When we encounter the inefficiencies and greed culture, by which it seems the UK is now, it is best to take it in a good, humoured way and poke fun, rather than get screwed up in the process.

It was a nightmare coming through Amiens over very rough cobblestones. I decided to walk, as the front wheel was slipping all over the place and was in danger of wedging the narrow rim into the large gaping gaps. It proved sensible as my Royal Marine went a ‘pearler’ and fell off, trying to avoid a tractor.

Lots of mechanical problems for riders on the way included a broken saddle, spokes, chains, split tyres, and punctures. These are quite rare occurrences normally but on this ride were popping up with undue regularity.

The last 8 miles to the hotel, I am not sure how I completed them, as I was absolutely shattered. ?It must have been the lack of food intake that was beginning to take effect. Fortunately, the roads were by now quite good, and I was able to gently pedal to my hotel stop and have a hot bath to relieve the pain in my legs.

Amiens to Le Touquet (Etaples)

(‘When it Rains it Just Pours.’)

I still couldn’t take breakfast but managed to force down a croissant. Today was going to be quite eventful. I still had my runny nose, but it was not so bad.

Despite being under the weather, I was managing to cycle reasonably well.

About 20 miles into the Ride, I was climbing a long steady hill and began to feel this was more work than it should be. I thought I should take a water break near the top in case I was dehydrating. Then I noticed the back tyre was going soft, and knew I had a puncture. Just as I was taking out the spare tube and tools, my two ‘Guardian Angels’ turned up in the form of Danny and Davey, two Coldstream Guards.?

As they were about to pass me, they shouted,

“Are you OK Ronnie, do you want a hand?”?

“If you could,”

was my reply and before I turned the bike on the saddle, the wheel was out, and the tyre and tube were off, ready for replacement.

As it looked as though a piece of flint had penetrated the tyre, I decided to change both the tyre and tube. It was just like a Formula 1 pit stop and I was on the road again in a jiffy.

After our first stop, disaster struck. I had been struggling to keep my eyes forward far enough to see the red arrow direction signs because of my stiff neck, which by now was giving me real ‘gip’.? At a crossroad, where I should have turned right, I carried straight on encountering a 1500 metre steep climb.

I remember seeing the sheep in the adjoining fields looking at me with some curiosity, as they don’t often see cyclists pounding up the hill towards, as it turned out, nowhere. I began to wonder why nobody seemed to be overtaking me as I wasn’t going up that quickly. At the top I came to a T junction with no direction markings. Apart from a bus shelter on the corner of the bend, there were just two houses, all shuttered up, and one road sign. Spookily there was no traffic at all, which over the next hour turned out to be continuously true.

Clearly, I was taking the scenic route to the next stop two thirds into the ride. Studying the map, I recognised that the road sign did correspond to a village we were supposed to pass through, and decided to follow the road to the right, way back down the hill again the other side, only to meet another T junction and no road signs whatsoever. Rather than compound the problem by not having any clue where I was, I retraced my steps, went back up the hill and picked up the previous sign with the village direction, the number of the road and as it transpired, I could name the two-house village where I was, as there was a village road sign on the way back.

The only thing left was to call for technical assistance. I managed to call the number on my French mobile and left, so I thought, a message of my location and call for assistance. 30 minutes went by without a call back and when I tried to ring again, I found my mobile was out of coverage and probably the first message never got through.

It seemed the only thing left to do was retrace my steps and get back onto a busier road and possibly get mobile coverage from there. Unfortunately, I then noticed my front tyre was as flat as a pancake and I had used all my spares that morning!

Well, I was really stuck now! ?Fortunately, in the next ten minutes whilst I considered my options, a lady strolled down the road from literally nowhere and in my best French I explained my predicament. She hadn’t a mobile ‘phone with her but said if I could just wait for the school bus for her daughter she would try and get help.

Ten minutes later the school bus duly arrived and luckily, after an animated conversation with the whole of the bus, it transpired that the driver had a mobile and she called in my technical support. Another 30 minutes later the van arrived to pick me and the bike up and I was transported to the lunch spot, where I had something to eat, and my bike forwarded to the mechanics for repair. What a day, but at least I was quite proud of myself. I did not panic, and my French was much better than I had thought. With some splendid help, I could now continue. Surely, I must now be through the worst.

Agincourt

The lunch time stop was at Agincourt and whilst most riders had already departed, I managed to grab a piece of fruit cake and warm myself by the open fire, decked in a room decorated as a medieval hall with armoury and longbows.

Le Touquet (Etaples) to Calais

(A Cauldron of Emotions)

Emotionally, I suppose this was the most demanding day for several reasons. I had been given the honour of reading the poem at the Canadian Cemetery. There are 290 Canadians buried there. They were an important force in liberating most of the French Ports from Le Havre all the way up to Calais. My brother-in-law’s father landed with the Canadians on Juno Beach, so I resolved to do my best to recite the poem for him, the lost, and the 11 Canadians who had joined us on this trip. It is difficult saying the words at the best of times, but when you feel the responsibility of doing your best for everyone it is difficult not to choke on the words in such a setting.

Etaples Cemetery

I am very familiar with this cemetery, as I undertook many flights as a private pilot to Le Touquet for weekend visits. On the one occasion when I had to undertake an emergency procedure of diverting to another airport in very poor visibility, I was grateful that day for a Ryanair co-pilot running through the checks to ensure we landed safely at Southampton Airport in thick fog. Bless him.

Our Royal Marine read ‘The Ode of Remembrance’ and did it very well.

Wilmereaux Cemetery Grave of Col. McCrae

Climbing out of Boulogne, one passes the cemetery of Wilmereaux where the poet Col. McCrae is buried and is well known for his poem ‘In Flanders Fields’. It seemed very appropriate that his words would be repeated at our next stop.

The climb was long and tedious and made even more demanding by the headwind as we reached the top. I managed to take a breather at the top and take on some water, as I now could be sure I would make the next stop in time for my reading.

Canadian Cemetery - ‘In Flanders Fields’

Our priest again said a few words beforehand to focus on what we were doing, our wreath was laid, the Ode of Remembrance recited, the Last Post played, and I read John McCrae’s Poem just well enough not to choke.

Our team had come through quite a lot at this stage, but we were still together, cheerful and determined to complete the Ride into London.

Fortress de Mimoyecques Site of V3 Rockets

Historical Note: This is a little-known location, an old quarry hidden away in the French countryside, and which was at one time the home to the German V3 rocket. Fortunately for us, the intelligence collated on thousands of prisoners of war (mainly Polish) being gathered in an unlikely location, and its railway tracks, identified it early on as a potential rocket launching site. It was to be one of Group Captain Cheshire’s last raids, which successfully bombed the site and eliminated the threat.

Again, my Guardian Angel was on hand to help me out for the rest of the day. First my bell fell off my bike on descending a hill, which a grenadier doubled back from and then promptly did a temporary repair until the next break, when he fixed it permanently. I now couldn’t get the bell off even if I wanted to, as it is almost welded to the handlebars!

On the next occasion, as we were nearing the end of the ride, my grenadiers shouted again,

“Are you OK Ronnie, not far now and we’ll get you a nice cup of tea at the next stop.”

Sure enough, as I cycled in, absolutely shattered, there they were with a mug of steaming hot tea in hand saying,

?“Have a gulp of this, it will make you feel better.”

What great guys to have around.

It was a relief to get to Calais, even though we had another four miles more than the others for our Holiday Inn Hotel. It was well worth the effort, lovely rooms, nice hot bath, great staff service and I was even able to wash all the mud off my bike with a hot water hose at the back of the hotel.

Thankfully it was also the first time I ate a decent breakfast and I felt 100 million dollars again.

Calais/Dover) to Chatham

(Coming Home)

Leaving the hotel, we had a few miles to the ferry and then, thankfully, within a short while we were off, with all our bikes stacked at one end of the ship. Clearly everyone was getting excited that we were getting nearer to finishing, and as we came within sight of the White Cliffs of Dover, there was an impromptu sing-along on the aft deck with several photographs taken.

As we left the ferry, the Customs and Police Officers formed a Guard of Honour and applauded us off the boat, giving many of us a ‘high five’ to send us on our way.

I thought this would be the toughest part of the Ride. I anticipated we would be very fatigued by now and I already knew there was a long hill to take us out of Dover towards Folkestone. ?As it turned out it didn’t feel too bad. I don’t know whether it was having a breakfast at last, or the growing elation that the finishing line was approaching.

Battle of Britain Capel le Ferne

The first stop was literally at the top of the hill where we commemorated those Battle of Britain pilots, many of whom would be limping home on literally a wing and a prayer to land safely if they could on land. At the centre of the site there is a statue of a pilot wearing his flying jacket, sitting on his haunches looking skywards as though searching for his fellow pilots to return. Again, I remembered my Ryanair friend and the times we used to fly over the English Channel, calculating that if we had engine trouble, we had sufficient height to glide onto land. He would often say, despite the checks, including if we had to ditch, to make sure it was near a ferry making the crossing, remembering that the engine didn’t know we were flying across water!

After the formal ceremonies, we heard a Merlin engine and then appearing over the cliff was a Spitfire swooping over our heads and conducting a victory roll. He made several passes, to our excited delight, before it was back on the bikes again for our destination to Chatham.

Fortunately, the last few miles into Chatham are downhill as one passes over the escarpment and descends to river level. The only problem is knowing it’s necessary to go back up it again the next day.

Dinner at Gillingham Football Club

That evening we had a great dinner in the function room of Gillingham Football Club. The food was excellent, the band and singer terrific and the company wonderful. Everybody at this stage was letting their hair down dancing around the tables to the music. We even had the band play ‘Take me Home Country Road to West Virginia’ just the US State my Royal Marine had travelled from.

Chatham to Blackheath

(We’ve Made It at Last)

Not being sure how my stamina was to hold out, and knowing we had a strict time to arrive at Blackheath by 10.00am, I decided on my TA’s friend strong advice to skip breakfast and start before anyone else. I am pleased I did for several reasons. The climb out of Chatham went well but there were still more very testing hills along the original Pilgrims Way, which made progress difficult on essentially single-track roads.

You simply could not get rolling to a sustained speed. I also felt the fatigue setting in and it was getting tough to maintain any momentum, possibly the cumulative effect of the distance, my being under the weather and of course having had no breakfast.

There was a little light relief along the way as I managed to join up with Lacey, a Sun Page 3 girl, who had stopped for some more photographs and texting messages on her I-Phone. I had great respect for her. ?She had stuck it out and clearly was trying to make the best of what she could do to establish herself, and secure financial security through her business interests alongside the modelling.

About 10 miles from Blackheath, TA Man caught up with me when I had stopped for a rest and took on water. I explained that I would stop at the next available place for something to eat and a coffee as it was evident we would arrive well in time.

Sure enough, a few miles later we stopped at a petrol station which had a wonderful café inside, and I thankfully tucked into a couple of large bacon baps followed by a Costa Coffee (tax paid). TA Man joined me and as we sat there, several riders had the same idea.

It must have been quite surreal for the Manager seeing so many cyclists turn up, many with arms and legs missing, unclipping themselves from their bikes. It reminded me of the scene from the film ‘Reach for the Sky’ when Kenneth More, playing Sir Douglas Bader, walked into a local pub with his chums, all of whom had been injured in some form and he, on his tin legs.

Finally, Blackheath was reached, where officially our event was completed and we would be presented with our medals, and in our Team’s case a red tee-shirt, to be worn on the Final Parade down the Mall to Horse Guards Parade. We were accompanied by 1200 other cyclists who had joined us from as close as Clapham to as far as Edinburgh. This was going to be quite a Cavalcade into London.??

Blackheath to Horse Guards Parade

(A Nation’s Welcome)

Lined up in groups of the three colours red, white, and blue plus the gold for the amputees, we gradually moved forward in convoy on our way to Whitehall. Just a mile into the ride, my gears were giving off the most awful grinding noise. I thought,

“Oh no, not now, with no back-up and just a few miles to the finish, don’t let me down.”

The problem at first wasn’t obvious, but then I saw a metal protection plate had worked loose off the frame, possibly because of all the rough roads, and was jamming the gear change underneath. Whilst everybody passed by, I pulled the bike on to the pavement and managed to yank the offending part completely off the bike and thereby free up the gears. It was then a matter of catching up with the rest and joining the back of the red tee-shirts. Phew, that was a close call.

It was then I became aware of the hundreds, and then thousands, of people lining the streets all the way into London, clapping, cheering, waving flags and sounding their car horns. The whole Nation, across all genders, ages and ethnicities and religions were cheering us in. At one point, as we crossed Tower Bridge, the noise was as deafening as if we were in the middle of a stadium for the European Football Cup Final. It was quite moving, especially as we were now so close to finishing and ending the agony and absolute fatigue.

Into Whitehall, we were completely filling the road from end to end. There were a handful of, I believe, Turkish Demonstrators but they were being completely swallowed up by our overwhelming numbers, they had picked the wrong place and the wrong time to make their point. The Two Minutes’ Silence at the Memorial to the Women of the Second World War was respected impeccably, which is at it should be in the Great British Nation.

After the Service, we continued down Birdcage Walk around to Buckingham Palace and then down the Mall to finish at Horse Guards Parade.

My family were there at the corner before turning into Horse Guards Parade and I was able to hear my name called out “It’s Ronnie, he’s here,” waving the Union Flag at the same time.

Afterwards I saw the newspaper pictures of the final ride in, and we made quite an impression.

In Horse Guards Parade there was a short 30-minute concert and announcements before we dispersed, in my case to ride to Wellington Barracks to collect my case and get a taxi to Saint Pancras. It was only then did I have a slight mishap when I fell over backwards wearing my cleats, the legs were a bit weak, but fortunately I landed on everyone’s soft luggage to give me a gentle landing and some amusement to my fellow participants.

On arrival at the station, I talked to the taxi driver, who kindly offered the fare as his contribution, which I thought was a magnificent gesture, and in line with all the other wonderful support I had received from people who did not even know me.

All my sponsors received a copy of my reflections, save for the taxi driver, whose email address I have mislaid amongst all my kit, blast!

Conclusion

The Ride had changed me. I think I am a little humbler than before, and very much more grateful for the life I now have.

I returned to Saint Malo and was recognised by one of my French students on the ferry.

I thought to myself, I was now back home with my wife and wonderful friends in a very nice comfort zone, but thanks to my lieutenant colonel, I had an experience I will always treasure.

I witnessed the finest aspects of the Human Spirit at all levels.

Could this be true for you?

There’s a hero

If you look inside your heart

You don’t have to be afraid

Of what you are

There’s an answer

If you reach inside your soul

And the sorrow that you know

Will melt away

And then a hero comes along

With the strength to carry on

And you cast your fears aside

And you know you can survive

So, when you feel like hope is gone

Look inside you and be strong

And you’ll finally see the truth

That a hero lies in you

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