As some of you might know one of our congregation rode from Lands End to John O’Groats in aid of East Cheshire Hospice earlier this year, this is his account of his journey.
As some of you will have known, thanks to Felicity Laurence, in June this year I set out to cycle from Lands End to John O’ Groats. Principally because I had always wanted to do it (think Edmund Hillary & Everest), and also because I have a love of touring by bicycle, having spent several years criss-crossing round Europe with my beloved Chris on our tandem.( I should say that however much I hoped to enjoy the adventure, nothing could match the joy we had in France, Germany and The Netherlands over several summers both on our own and with friends.) And lastly, initially as an afterthought, I sought to raise a few pounds for East Cheshire Hospice, a wonderful place caring so beautifully for people at possibly the most difficult time in their life. Now, with much more thanks to Felicity, many more people know that I completed the challenge in late July, raising about £3000, due in no small part to the generosity of the congregation of All Saints Congleton.
I wrote a journal whilst on the journey, and I am writing here a slightly different summary of the adventure covering the length of the UK. During the year, I ride on Friday mornings with a group of U3A friends, about 20-25 miles through the leafy lanes of Cheshire. So the challenge of 30-40 miles, in a whole day, albeit with luggage, didn’t seem particularly daunting. There are three elements to undertaking this sort of thing. Planning (it takes a lot of time), what to take (much less than you need), and what to expect to happen (almost anything).
And so it came to pass. On only the first day I encountered the 1st & 3rd elements starkly. As I tried to find my hotel, in St Ives, it appeared not to exist. Well, it did, but in Huntingdonshire, not Cornwall ! Doh ! That problem was overcome, to be followed by the 3rd element again (and in which fortunately, ignoring the2nd element proved to be beneficial. On the Cornwall Devon border I picked up a sickness bug, which kept me company in unpleasant ways for 3 days. I have always carried with me a substantial medical kit (son Richard, a GP, once memorably described it as a field hospital) mainly in the hope I don’t have to touch it. After that, things picked up quite a lot. I stopped in a tiny village in Devon, on a Sunday, to find the Village Hall offered tea and home-made cakes to the community, and all and sundry. (I represented sundry). Lovely people, enjoyable conversation, great cakes, and a glimpse of the delights that can be found in parish and country life.
Life on the road improved. I enjoyed the cycling, the views, the weather, the conversations, with strangers, much generosity when they saw my ECH collecting tin, and the food. One of the benefits of touring by bicycle is you can eat what you like and it doesn’t have any harmful effects. The day I stopped for tea and cakes was the day I had hoped to go to Church in Launceston that morning. Unfortunately, the service started –or rather finished – too late for my journey. The landscape changed from the small undulating (i.e. hilly) lanes of Devon to the flatter larger fields of Somerset levels. After navigating Bristol, Chepstow, Ross (where I stayed with lifelong, as in 60 years lifelong, friends) I rocked up in Ludlow, and the following morning wandered into the magnificent Parish Church for morning prayer. Not just any morning service, it transpired, but the Mayors’ annual civic service. Quite splendid, conducted by the chaplain to the Bishop of Hereford. And quite a sermon, as she had spent her entire working life moving from place to place, which she used to describe Christs adult life. It must have been a decent sermon, as I remember it now. Not a lot of sermons get remembered 6 hours later, let alone 6 months. Not surprisingly, I was the only attendee dressed in bright Lycra, cycling shorts and noisy shoes. So when, on the way out, the Chaplain asked me how I came to be there, the answer kind of surprised her. I was treated to a private prayer, for my onward journey just the 2 of us. Special. Meant a lot.
And so, onward, reaching home some 2 weeks after setting out. I surprised our happy band of Wednesday morning celebrants at Holy Trinity and headed off again on the Friday, with bigger challenges ahead. My guide book said the scenery is grander, the hills higher, the distances longer, the countryside emptier as you journey north. It’s not wrong. But the extra solitude was not an issue, rather an opportunity to think about the environment, what we are doing to it, how beautiful it is when we leave it to God’s purpose, and it enabled me perhaps to reflect on the sheer good fortune that enabled me to experience these things. I stopped overnight in Clitheroe, in a wonderful B & B, ( Argyll House) quite the best on my trip, with definitely the best breakfast. The proprietress, and her daughter and granddaughter run a great establishment, within walking distance of the Parish Church. This time I enjoyed a normal Sunday morning 8 am communion service, followed by a surprise. Richard arrived – with his bike, to ride a few miles, as expected. Not as expected was the accompaniment of our dear granddaughter Celeste, with bike also, who presented me with a beautiful cycling top that she had designed and had made especially, appropriately festooned with logos – LEJOG 25, ECH, and ‘Papa’, her name for me. Wow ! They accompanied me for a few miles, before I headed off onto the lonely Forest of Bowland. Dramatic, wide open, challenging (that’s a synonym for long climbs) but adorned with glorious views. Ingleborough from that direction is stunning.
My route North encompassed 2 diversions from the guide book, to stay with friends. First in Silverdale , with my oldest friend -we met on a bus on the first day at secondary school – and unexpectedly, his daughter, over from Canada. That was lovely, such a lot to catch up on. Followed by a ride to Dent, through Barbondale, which is quite simply wondrous, unexpectedly gorgeous fell country. There to stay with a lifelong colleague from work. Again, lots to catch up on. It’s a bit concerning, that when you reach Sedbergh, between Dent and Langwathby you are only halfway to John O’ Groats. My, isn’t Scotland big ! In Langwathby, I stayed in the same hostelry that Chris and I used when we cycled the Coast to Coast ( in 1999 would you believe). It had changed, but was being run by the same family. And on closer and closer to Scotland. The landscape as I knew from the guide book, altered to present quieter, more impressive ( although I suppose it’s all a matter of taste) scenic vistas with the horizon further away than heretofore. I crossed into Scotland at a delightful bridge between Penton & Claygate , another ‘milestone’ ticked off and settled down to the most exacting challenges – longer rides, more dramatic vistas , larger breakfasts ( it’s a Scottish thing). A stunning ride from Langholm to Peebles – what a pretty place it is – and a night in one of life’s joys, a well-appointed, but not over the top, comfortable traditional hotel with baths not showers. It might be difficult to comprehend, but after a days cycling a bath is so much more welcoming, not least because you can soak in mineral salts. Very difficult that, in a shower. Excellent dining room, great views, kippers for breakfast, after an 8am communion service. Only 5 of us, but where2 or 3 are gathered together…
And thence, through Edinburgh to Queensferry , to rest up for 2 nights with our other son Tim and Carmem. As luck would have it, Santiago was staying with them – he resides in Portugal – and we were able to go on a short bike ride through and round Hopetoun house. (Unusually, and refreshingly it seems the wealth of the Hope/Hopetoun clan is not derived from skulduggery, larceny or slavery , but from talent and service to royalty and the application of the law. Still disproportionate wealth, but not as egregious as a lot of dynasties present with us today) As I had taught Santi to ride a bike some years before, I got great satisfaction from seeing how he has gained confidence. The roads in Portugal are not really designed for cyclists, and the drivers are mostly barking. Where Tim lives, there are great opportunities for leisure cycling. (When Santi is not playing football).
So, the last stretch, up through the gentle hills around Perth, the massive hills of the Cairngorm, through Braemar over the brutal Lecht to a delightful house in Tomintoul , on the day of their Highland games. Sadly, the rain foreshortened the games, so I couldn’t get to see them, but the local pipe and drum band marched through the town to close the days proceedings. Splendid. The following morning I enjoyed the most unusual Sunday service – one conducted in English and Doric – a dialect of Gaelic. Held on the day after the Highland Games and led by a local expert, the songs are haunting. The subject of the lessons, and many of the prayers were familiar, so it was possible to follow and enjoy something I’m unlikely to experience again.
Which brings me to one of my lasting impressions of the trip – gained through the 4 Sunday services I attended. It’s not surprising, not staggeringly revelatory, but it matters. And it chimes with services I have attended in Australia, South Africa, Singapore and indeed in France where the Chaplaincy of Poitou is enormous, and an enormous logistical challenge. (And where one of the team there did his curacy at St. Lawrence. Biddulph. )Wherever we have been lucky enough to hear God’s Word, accepting that generally it has been as part of the Anglican Communion, nevertheless, God’s message to us all is unequivocally the same! Those 2 commandments we say at the beginning of every Communion service should be the signpost for everything we do.
Whilst travelling the quiet open spaces of the final stages, beyond Inverness, and through them the vastness ( in Uk terms – it’s not exactly the bush in Africa) of Sutherland I had time to construct a simple daily service for myself. Reciting a passage from the Bible is beyond my knowledge, but I could reflect on a parable, recall an incident in the Gospels or Paul’s letters (the OT not so much) , sing a hymn (usually one remembered from schooldays) and say a prayer or two. It seemed both natural and appropriate and encouraged me and comforted me. Then I remembered – I had been this way before. As a Scout in the early 1960’s, whilst running a patrol camp in a farm by The Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital near Stanmore, our District Commissioner turned up to see what we were up to. He conducted a simple Scouts Own (service) in the field for our patrol. It had a lasting effect – I remember it now – and so I just followed a tradition instilled into me 65 years ago. It seemed right.
God Bless