A Tent, A Girl, A Bike and A Mountain … or Two! (le Tour 2006) If you had asked me a couple of months ago if I’d like to spend a precious week of my summer holiday cycling up some mountains, I would have laughed to such an extent that my sides would have hurt. However, two months on from being introduced to the wonders of a road bike by my very fit and highly keen partner, as well as cycling around the countryside, I thought that seeing a few men in lycra, sitting around in the sun, eating French food and having the odd leisurely ride would be rather splendid. Little did I know what was to come.

So it’s June and I am avidly reading the Official Guide to the Tour de France. I am learning a few names like Ivan Basso, Jan Ullrich and so on. Just to confuse me, days before the tour begins both those names and about 10 others vanish from the Tour. I am stunned. I can’t quite come to terms with the fact that a race of such enormity has suddenly lost its potential top riders, why would they risk taking drugs and being banned from the sport they love? Obviously sport attracts these problems but these cyclists must know the consequences of their actions. So I am back pouring through the magazine trying to work out who may win. Anyway, as the tour starts, I am in America. I lose track of what is happening and American TV only shows highlights, so I am not sure who is doing what or who has the yellow Jersey. By the time I return, Floyd Landis is wearing the Yellow Jersey and is performing well in the Pyrenean mountain stages. At this point, I can honestly say that my enthusiasm is a passive one. I am not enthralled! After all, I keep missing bits and all the riders I’d heard of are out of the running.  

Heading out to France on the 16^th July, I am more interested in where I may be riding than if I will see any fast moving bikes at all. I have booked a friend’s Chalet in La Clusaz little realising that it’s located on the road that leads down from the Col D’Aravis! I am feeling rather smug as it looked like I planned it (I didn’t it’s a coincidence, but a rather brilliant one!). Not only that, I am surrounded by beautiful mountains in one of France’s traditional ski resorts. There’s no purpose built apartment buildings here or ugly skiing hotels, just traditional chalets and farm land. It’s wonderfully peaceful, in fact. I am grateful for the cool night air as the temps during the day in France are hitting around 35 degrees C, how will anyone cycle in this heat? The next day I find out. So the madness begins. 

The first day’s riding is a gentle introduction to the area, after a long drive from the UK. 22 miles around Lake Annecy in the midday heat! Of course, the Tour is on a rest day and so it’s worth getting out of La Clusaz in order to see something of the surrounding countryside. Annecy is cooled by the breezes off the lake and there are hundreds of cyclists pounding their way along the old very flat, former, railway track, small children, the old, the young and the serious cyclist who is going so fast that I become irrationally worried about small children on bikes wobbling in front of them. I tell myself to get a grip and look at the scenery. As we complete the circuit into Talloires, I hear the first of what becomes a familiar cry from my faster, more experienced and braver partner, “get off those brakes!” I am not yet confident in my bike going as fast as a car, especially as I am reminding myself of some of the nasty crashes I had seen on the Tour already. The thing is it’s very easy to believe that this is as hard as it will get. After all if the truth be known, I’ve only been on a bike for about 8 weeks and I hadn’t ridden one before that for about 10 years. So there’s no way I am really going to be cycling any mountains, particularly as it’s so hot. I mean no one in their right mind would do that, would they? 

At 8 am the next morning, I am on my bike attempting a category 2 climb up the Col D’Aravis. It’s cool because it’s 8 am and I should be in bed. Why am I doing this? Well I wasn’t pushed, in fact I was quite keen (my legs would tell a different story!). So I’m on the bottom chain ring, legs spinning and remarkably, I’m ok. In fact, if the truth be known, I’m enjoying it! I’m not really looking at the romantic setting or the lovely alpine cows, just focusing on the next bend in the road. I discovered something too as I ride my first hairpin bend, you can accelerate uphill out of a bend! I know all the seasoned cyclists will be thinking, “and?” but I hadn’t realised that the camber of the road can seem to catapult you uphill! So even though it’s hard and the top seems to take forever, I am delighted by the fact that I get to the top. A rather kind Dutchman (who looks like he was born with a bike attached to him) congratulates me on my first mountain climb. I feel a growing sense of pride, I had done something that not many people are going to do in their lifetimes. On that same day, the Tour has hit Alpe D’Huez, somehow my ascent of 400m pales into insignificance but for me this was Alpe D’Huez, I conquered my mountain, I am Queen of the Mountains! 

That afternoon, tent packed and ready, we head for the next stage of the Tour to camp out and enjoy watching (yes I said watching) the real experts climb what was considered the hardest day of the Tour, Stage 16 from Bourg D’Oisans to La Toussuire. We are in a shady spot which is wise considering the rising temperatures and the ground is relatively flat. My little tent perched on the side of a French road and I’m making tea, to be drunk out of china mugs I hasten to add … There is a sense that we English know how to have a good cup of tea in any circumstances even at 9pm in the evening outside a tent on the side of a D road. Undeterred by the confused and amused looks of our French counterparts, we carry on, civilised and refreshed of course! Sleeping is easy, I’m shattered. 

It’s Wednesday 19^th July, 6am I am awake and outside the tent making more tea. To my surprise the gaps that had been surrounding the small plot that had become home, are full of excited race followers. There are tables and chairs around us, cars parked in a fashion that only the French can get away with and voices travelling on the cool morning air. I am beginning to wonder if our limited territory can be preserved. The two French couples next to us, seem somewhat bemused by the bacon sandwiches that are made on my little stove, I don’t think they do that in France! I also know that I will need the sandwich to take on another climb. I have no chance of cycling the whole of the Col Du Glandon this early in my cycling career but I am determined to go up part of it. So from about 650m up I am set to climb to 1113m to St Columban des Villards. The prospect of this is worrying me. I am not sure why. I think the thought of the searing heat is setting me on edge and I don’t like the idea of being fried and exhausted all at the same time. But, as I am not a girl to be beaten by a little sunshine, I get on my bike and start the steady ascent. To say it felt like a long way would be an understatement. I am pleased that not too many people over take me and that somehow I seem to pass a couple of mountain bikes and the odd 65 year old (yes even this gives me cause for celebration!). However as I reach the top, I begin to realise it’s because most people are still eating their croissant and drinking coffee and not because I have gone at any great speed. As has become the tradition, I am photographed at the top; pleased that I have managed a tiny section of a Hors Category Climb.  

The race itself was a complete surprise. The caravan experience had been explained to me but I could not have imagined the assorted vehicles that would pass by me. There were giant ice-creams, a large Sylvester the cat, a giant water bottle, oh and a London taxi! All very surreal and great fun. Like a child, I stood there waving my arms desperate for the assembled cars and girls to throw some piece of Tour tat at me. Standing on the opposite side of the road to our French neighbours, I seemed to be a target for rather more goodies than they were, luckily it caused nothing but amusement, no resentment at all. I found myself caught up in the carnival atmosphere and sunshine, enjoying the all the paraphernalia of this extraordinary event. There is no doubt in my mind that there are few events in the world where a) you can get so close to the competitors that you can touch them and b) the people around you are all there for a common purpose to have fun and share the experience with you. No fighting on the roadside, just sheer enthusiasm.  

After a whole day of waiting, the Gendarmes come up the hill with blue lights flashing and Michael Rasmussen is in the lead. There is no sign of Floyd Landis. The fact is, he’s crumbled under the heat and it’s taken its toll on him. I feel sympathy for him and the other riders who are struggling to make it up the mountain after already cycling105km. I am shocked and stunned by the speed these guys are going. They seem to be going as fast as I would be on the flat. What I find even more surprising is the collection of cars that support these ultra fit men as they scale the mountain. They seem to weave their way between the riders, shouting at them and handing out drinks and even making super fast bike changes when necessary. It’s overwhelming. You cannot imagine the noise of the crowd, sirens from the motorbikes and noise of the cars. A cycling cacophony like nothing I have heard before, I am enthralled.Then … they are gone. There is a stillness and then a general buzz of activity as everyone who has made friends say, “Au Revoir” and disappear, home or back to their campervan, tent or, like us, back to a chalet and another day searching out the Tour. 

Heading back to La Clusaz and the comfort of the Chalet, I am starting to realise that I am being gripped by some kind of obsession. I am thinking how I can fit a ride in before the Tour comes through in the morning. How can I prove that my riding has improved? What should I be doing next? Do I need to get out every day and become super fit and do I want a go at this? I am starting to wonder when the women’s race is. I know there is one (the feminist in me cannot let this be a male only preserve). I also know some of our British women cyclists are the best in the world. So what next? I fall asleep pondering the next day. 

Thursday dawns. Quiet and still. I am ready to attack the Col Des Aravis before the Tour comes through and I am determined to go just that little bit quicker than last time. After all I have done a Hors climb now! What could be easier than a category 2?? Oh how deluded I am, but I allow myself a little indulgence and pride at my achievements so far. However disaster has struck. A broken gear cable and the morning’s plans are sliding away. With the help from some of the people in the chalet, we ascertain that there is a bike repair shop in Thones. Whilst not far away, it may well scupper our plans to make an ascent before the heat kicks in. Of course, that’s not the only problem. We don’t actually know where the repair shop is and between us we have limited French language skills. However, not one to be deterred by a mere language barrier, I run into the first available sports shop and ask where the nearest “magazine des velos” may be. The lady owner explains it’s around the one way system where some traffic lights are and then on the right. I am following this in the most basic of terms but I believe I’ve got it. As we pass the supposed bike shop, both of us look at the outside of what looks like a domestic garage with dismay. Despite the fact that the word, “bike” is on the outside of the door, it doesn’t look hopeful. We drive around Thones killing time before it opens at 0900hrs and wait. I sit in the car, we’re not about to have a great holiday if the bike can’t be repaired. In fact the consequences do not bear thinking about. To say that I am delighted when there are brake cables and a gear cable in the car is an understatement. All we have to do now is repair the bike. It takes less than 10 minutes and we’re off climbing the Col. 

 After our previous ascent, there had been us, the Dutchman a few other cyclists and the cows for company. Now there are thousands of people, cars and camper vans strewn all over the place. Parking is an art in France, do it where you can and hang the consequences! There are untold cyclists, everywhere you look another bike. We bump into another English couple, also gripped by the bug of following the tour. They saw the start in Paris last year and now they are here again in the Alps. An American who seems to be cycling the whole stage staggers over and asks us if there’s a water fountain. We have no idea but the bar will fill his water bottles. The atmosphere is carnival again, there’s a buzz about this tiny little place at the top of a hill. People are discussing the potential outcome of the Tour, how today is a really important day and the winner of this stage could change the effect of the time trail tomorrow. Photographs taken, we leave the Col and watch the Tour from the chalet, dashing outside to see the riders flash past downhill. Floyd Landis is making a super human effort and seems to be pushing himself to his limits in order to make up the time he has lost, some how he does it. Making up over 8 minutes and putting himself within 30 seconds of the leader. Stunning. 

Friday, the week seems to be flying by and so far I have not had a day out of the saddle. As my partner has decided to climb the Col du Columbiere today, I am contemplating a morning sat in café reading L’Eqiupe. I am happy to do this; climbing 700m over 12km is not really within my capabilities. However, I am happy to see how far I can get, taking it steady and seeing how I go. Having set off, I feel quite happy my legs seem ok and I am enjoying it, well mostly enjoying it. Around every bend I am convinced that I will see the top but as we keep going I realise that I am not likely to see the top for some time. After about 9km, I am starting to feel it. But wait a minute, I was only going to go half way, what on earth am I doing. That café at the bottom of the hill suddenly looked like a very sensible option but part of me, the stubborn, determined, pig-headed part now wants to see the top. After all I have seen 2km written on the road, I know I can do it. What I hadn’t banked on was the gradient. It has risen from a between a steady 5 – 6% to a massive (and believe you me after 10km it feels massive) 9%. I am struggling, in pain and exhausted, I am not sure for the first time that I can keep going. Belligerence is my only motivation now. The hand on my back and the push I am given, along with “come on, you can do this, nearly there” keep me going. As we pass the assembled walkers by the side of the road with about 200m to go, they cheer, very loudly, the pain is worth it. The Col de Colombiere is conquered. I cycle round in circles trying to make sense of what I’ve done. As I look down the valley, I can’t even see the bottom. At 1600m that was an awesome climb.   

Saturday, time to go home, load up the car and head back to the UK. I’m tired but happy. There is one last thing to do, see the time trial at Le Cruesot. As we charge into the outskirts of the town, I am unaware that time has been playing a game with us too and it’s late. We might not see anything. My navigation has us parked just outside a section of the trial and the idea that I might not get on my bike today is scuppered! I am back in the saddle following my partner (as I have done all week!) as we head for the roadside. We watch as the big names pass us by and I attempt to take some photographs, not easy, as these guys are travelling at some speed. Then an idea takes over, can we get to the finish before the riders reach it. I am thinking this will be easy after all they have about 45k to ride and we only have 15. How wrong I was, my little legs are cycling along the side of the canal at such a rate that I am convinced I like climbing more, certainly seemed easier than this sustained push. I am tucked in behind, head down, hoping nothing disastrous happens in front because I will simply plummet to the ground. I am astounded that at 150m from the finish, we see the last 5 riders fly past in the time trial. Somehow we made it, with a little time to spare. I am glad we did. It was good to see the finish of a stage and all the drama and paraphernalia that goes with it.   

Wending our way back to the car and the thought of the journey home, I am contemplating how on earth I will carry on without the Tour. I have been easily converted to this sport. I am hooked on my bike and I love the mountains. So the only thing left to consider is … when will I be back?  

UPDATE       UPDATE       UPDATE       UPDATE       UPDATE       UPDATE 

After returning from France in the summer of 2006, another story played out before us. Floyd Landis had taken testosterone to make that incredible climb and journey on stage 17 of the Tour. The tale of his, in my opinion rather outlandish claims of innocence, seems to have scarred the tour and after last year’s debacle of drugs invading the sport it may be that irreparable damage had hit cycling. However, after my second year in the Alps, still trying to keep up with my much faster and stronger partner (although always with a smile!), the Tour still has a magical and almost magnetic draw. The spectators and the cyclists know what this event is all about; it is about the impossible climbs, the speed and the wonder of an event that cannot be recreated in any other part of the world. The drugs have been a minor story in the greater picture of the feats of endurance and bravery shown by human beings powering themselves up the mountains. I for one will be back watching in 2008 and beyond, a girl, a bike, a tent and the Tour de France!

Another trip and another city. In December 2007 I had the pleasure to stay in Indianapolis over a weekend and was keen to ride and get some exercise in and some fresh air in the lungs. So the usual google search was undertaken but this time I was a little disappointed with the amount of useful information that was returned. However, lurking in the midst of the junk was a little gem of a site run by the Central Indiana Bicycling Association that gave me information on a number of potential rides. The site has a good selection of maps for download and comparing those with google maps and my hotel location gave me a reasonable idea of where I could ride.

Since it was December I was not looking at riding in particularly good weather. In fact the day or so prior to my arrival I had been in Montreal where a foot of snow quickly fell and transformed what I considered a rather grey city into a winter wonderland. So as the plane descended into Indianapolis late Friday evening, I was looking out of the plane in keen interest to see what the snow cover was like as, having spent a week without a ride and with a weekend in a hotel ahead of me, I was rather keen to get out on the trusty Rocket Pro. What I found was that two to three inches of snow covered the ground, so things did not look too bad.

So Saturday morning I took the bike out of the case and got everything ready. As an aside, if anyone is looking for a travel pump, look no further than the cyclaire bike pump. Absolute top piece of kit! Found it by accident searching the web and bought it and it now lives inside the travel suitcase. Easily gets 100 psi into the tires with little effort.

I ventured out wrapped up like a polar bear – not sure polar bears wrap up, but you get the picture, three layers on top, cycling tights, hood under the helmet, very warm gloves, the only thing I had forgotten was the shoe covers – as the temperature was attempting to dive through the 0C/32F barrier. So I cycle up the path alongside the white river. It was good fun as the snow was still on the ground. Fine on the tarmac sections because the snow had melted to some extent but it became interesting when I hit the odd bridge that had wooden decking as the snow had not melted. Never fell off, but it came close once or twice. The tires on the Rocket Pro are thin road tires and hence not best suited to such conditions. Anyway had a good two hour ride, came back cold but smiling. Usual odd looks as I walked through the lobby of a nice hotel but hey! I then cut east and then south back to the centre of town. As I toured round I came across another trail so I took that and travelled north again. This time the ride was easy as this trail had been ploughed! Excellent service by the city, I was impressed!

That evening I had a look at where I had been and searched the internet to see if I could find the trail I had come across. Discovered the site Indiana Greenways Foundation and what a find. Superb info with great maps. Shame it did not come up in my original search.

On the Sunday I ventured out again. Unfortunately the weather was not quite as forgiving as it had been on the Saturday. Near-freezing rain was falling so the ride was cut a little short due to it being just too dam cold – really missed by overshoes here – but I got an hour and 30 minutes out on the road and rode the White River, Monon and Fall Creek trails.

Indy was good with some nice riding. Pretty flat but certainly kept me happy.

Cycle Shops

None visited.

Web Links

Central Indiana Bicycling Association: http://www.cibaride.org/
Indy Green Ways: http://www.indygreenways.org/index.html

So I have had the bike a few months now so I thought I would look back a little and recount as to what is it like flying with My Bike Friday Rocket Pro. Well, it has been pretty easy to be honest. I have done about 5 or so trips with the bike, some where I have moved from one city to the next over a period of one to two weeks while the others tends to be a week or so in the same place.

I fly with United Airlines enough that I have had no problems with checking in two items of luggage, either because I have two items to check or the weight factor of either single item or the two combined, so that does help. May be for those who don’t travel quite so much this might be an issue, not sure. As they say in all the travel magazines, newspapers and TV shows, “check with your airline”! I don’t actually know what the weight limits are to be honest but United happily accept the suitcase and it re-appears at the other end. I have flown several trans-Atlantic routes and a lot of internal US flights on some of United’s smallest aircraft – you know, the ones with metal things that go round on the wings and bounce around like a rubber ball – and it has been no problem.

So far the bike has survived without damage, the case and the associated packing items working well. Getting to and from airports is OK, the only issue is sometimes negotiating the odd transfer bus with two suitcases and a brief case, but to be fair, it is really not a big issue. One thing I do have as an advantage is that my other case has four wheels. This means that I can push that case while pulling the bike (it only has two wheels). I place the briefcase on top of the four wheeled case making myself pretty agile. I would recommend this. I have to confess that my suitcase does not actually have four wheels, it should have but it now has three courtesy of United and their baggage handling between Washington Dulles and New Orleans last year, but it still rolls pretty well with three (I can hear a song coming on here).

I have yet to fly within Europe with its associated low-level of customer service that we suffer over here. This is down to my trips in Europe tending to be 1 or 2 day affairs and therefore it is not worth taking the bike. So all of this experience is pretty much based on travel in the US and Canada.

The funniest thing with the Rocket Pro is the hotel. You get some odd looks when you leave the bike standing in the corner of the room, or walk out of the lobby carrying the bike ready for a ride but it is a great way to strike up a conversation. Best one so far is the gentleman outside of a hotel in Washington DC who was amazed as I folded up the bike. He laughed his head off and had me show him how it folded several times before he let me go.

So all in all, the Bike Friday works for me. If you are as frustrated as I was about not being able to ride when working and travelling, get yourself a Bike Friday. But, as they say on BBC Radio, other makes of folding bikes are available!! 🙂

When I first rode the bike in the US, and that is my bicycle before there is any confusion, I was a little concerned. The US is a car culture, pedestrians are not well catered for. I have stayed in places like LA where it is impossible to walk 200 yards, you can see where you want to go, but getting there using your legs involves crossing a 10 lane highway in an action sequence that would put a Die Hard movie to shame.

It is not like the UK, it is not like France but, that said, it is ok. The hardest challenge is finding out where is good or is safe to ride. A little research helps. Google the city and cycling (e.g. “Boston Cycling”) is usually my first step to see what appears. Normally a link or two to a local cycling club reveals a few suggested rides. The other great source is city authorities (not sure this is the right term for the US). Some are great, Washington DC and the surrounding areas springs to mind as a great example of those that have good info on the web and the local bike shops usually have free leaflets and maps. These give a good feeling for what there is. There is a definite trend on the east coast cities for cycle routes, quite a few based on old railway lines, and the various parks often offer some nice and varied routes.

Having seen what I can find on the web the next thing I want is a map. I always try and find a local map, I hate not knowing where I am, just in case I take a wrong turn etc. Did this in riding around Boston MA once and it right royally pissed me off. Took me 30 minutes to get back on track! Finding the map can sometimes be a challenge but the local petrol (gas) station will usually provide a local county map with reasonable detail. I have yet to discover a nation-wide constant scale map series. In the UK we have the Ordinance Survey at 1 to 25,000 or 1 to 50,000 that are ideal for cycling. Similar maps exist in France and other European countries but have yet to discover anything similar in the US. My other usual source of maps is Border or Barnes & Noble. And again, the local cycle shops also are a good source.

So having determined the ride and got a picture of what is available locally I get out on the bike. Drivers are pretty courteous I find compared to the UK, generally giving you a fair amount of room when passing. I can only think of one incident on all my rides where someone got too close. Riding in cities has been OK as long as you avoid the roads of any size. Obviously avoid highways etc. Getting out of the cities has resulted in some glorious rides, most noticeable to date being Skyline Drive in VA.

As for the laws while riding in the US, they vary by state. I always wear a helmet ever since one saved my life a few years back when I got hit by a car so I don’t worry about if there is a law on that front or not. I try and check things like the need for lights and general conduct on the road. And then, obey the rules of the road. Fairly obvious but I have been stopped by a friendly cop in Arlington, VA who told me very carefully about the need to actually stop at stop signs. That brings me to the annoying feature of riding in the US, traffic lights and stop signs. They are so frequent in some places that they really do interrupt the ride, very start and stop; something to be aware of.

One other issue is the amount crud in the roads. A lot of crap collects by the pavements and as a result I have suffered a couple of punctures. This is frustrating as I have armadillo tires on my road bike back at home and I never suffer from punctures.

And one final thing, I have yet to work out about cycling on the pavement (sidewalk) in the US, really not sure what the law is on this one, but it does appear to be popular!

Weekends in London will never be the same for me after this one, a weekend of laughter and joy encapsulated in a series of wonderful moments.One of those was the moment, I stepped on the train from glorious Devon on a crisp, clear, Friday morning and stepped into the quiet and restful environment that is First Class. I may not be a snob but I could become one having tasted the forbidden fruit of free tea and biscuits and enough space to spread out my entire collection of magazines and books. One should not underestimate the view as Devon disappears and Somerset and Wiltshire take over. It is a sorry sight that greets you as you arrive in Reading, close packed housing and people, so many people. The pleasant experience of the First Class carriage becomes a sanctuary from the chaos outside.

On arrival in London, I leave the delights of Paddington and join the inevitable London Taxi queue. Somehow the lack of understanding of the simple act of queuing is beyond me. Why is it that it has become a somewhat British art of standing in a line being told what to do but it also seems we delight in worrying about whether someone else is jumping the queue? Queue Jumping, the fine art of frustrating fellow human beings, a book by AJ de Montjoie who has managed to get through most situations by observing the eccentric behaviour of those who are intent on getting completely stressed out! I am not often lucky enough to be treated to cab rides around London but there are certain intrinsic advantages to being in the back of the infamous black vehicle. For example, whilst being whisked through the back streets of any city, you can see little tucked away restaurants that would otherwise be hidden from the subterranean underground passenger. Also there is that rare opportunity to be terrified as you are driven at high speed in a narrowing gap between two double decker buses. I would not have missed this for the world, as you can tell this is not a familiar method of travel for me! 

I arrive in Westminster, John Islip Street to be precise at the City Inn (http://www.cityinn.com/london/). Tucked away down near the Thames and away from the hustle and bustle of the Houses of Parliament, it seems an innocuous place to find a hotel and especially one like this. It has the air and ambiance of a design hotel and the usual trappings of quaint and thoughtful lighting and the odd sight of a series of chaise langues in the lobby. Despite our room not being ready, we are encouraged to take a drink in the bar, where we find ourselves being waited on like a king and queen, being offered the very best complimentary drinks in order to appease our confusion over the fact that guests are not required to check out until 4pm. We happily eat a fantastic burger each (one veggie and one carnivorous version!) and then retire to our suite. Yes, I said suite; it is an astonishing sight that something of such quality could exist in London and be at a reasonable price. Getting to the thirteenth floor was an interesting adventure in itself as after a fire alarm tests the main lift has taken leave of its senses and decided to stop, the only way forward it seems is to take a ride in the service lift.

So to the wondrous suite. There are few places I can imagine being more impressive than being stood on the 13th floor, looking out over the Tate Britain and the infamous art deco MI6 building glowing gently on the South Bank. Being able to lie in bed and take in the skyline is sheer indulgence. The suite is carefully laid out and some interesting and thoughtful touches takes it beyond the standard big chain hotel. There are the sofas, obligatory fridge and TVs in the lounge and bedroom area. The difference is in the detail: the TVs are flat screens and unobtrusive, there are DVD players too and the lighting has been carefully considered. Gentle energy saving halogen bulbs would appease even the most ardent eco warrior, as they cast their light across the room. The bed is huge and comfortable and somehow as I shut my eyes on the world outside, I am wondering how one can recreate this room at home.

We have taken the lazy way to breakfast in the morning and have opted for room service. We are lying in bed watching the aircraft make their final descent into Heathrow and perusing our Saturday paper when the prompt delivery is brought to the room. This is where our suite comes into its own. Normally I am not one for breakfast in bed, lying there trying to balance tray, plate, juice and paper whilst sitting on the bed hardly ever works for me. In my opinion being sat at a table is infinitely preferable. Here I have my little wish fulfilled. I am sat at a table that can accommodate not only a full English breakfast, a continental breakfast, toast, tea pot, mugs but also the weighty tome that is the weekend paper. Wrapped up in our pristine bath robes and relaxing over breakfast, it is hard to tear ourselves away.

Head for the streets we must however. We step out of the hotel to be greeted by a cold rush of air as the northerly wind is biting through our coats. I have left my beloved beanie in the room, I am in denial that I need it but I am regretting it now. We take in the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben on our way to the underground. It is eerily quiet on a Saturday morning. The sight of the ominous concrete blocks that have been placed in the road as an terrorist measures seem somewhat weak really, I am unconvinced that this show of strength is really anything other than tokenism but we are led to believe we live in dangerous times and here is the evidence.

 We have taken a trip to Oxford Street to test the shopping and I am indulging myself by going to admire the shop front at Selfridges. The bitter disappointment of having my childhood memories dashed by a substandard and poor show from Selfridges, does not dampen my spirits however. We decide to walk along Oxford Street and take in the madness of the silly season. There is a somewhat subdued feeling here however, the tacky lights and the lacklustre consumer suggests that perhaps we have at last been thwarted in our annual materialism. It is not busy here. We step onto the backstreets and walk towards Tottenham Court Road. These streets are the place to find the small and more unique shops for those truly interesting gifts. It is surprising that such places can continue to survive in a time of credit crises and sub-prime disasters but survive they do and they are worth a walk off the beaten track.

We rest our legs in Boarders in Charring Cross Road. This is a strange experience to say the least. The contrast between the loud piped music and the library quiet of the coffee shop is marked with people curled up in chairs reading their purchases. This rather eclectic mix of people is randomly shaken by the underground trains passing beneath building causing it to vibrate like some kind of demented jelly (not something one expects of the usually solid bricks and mortar). From here we stretch our legs towards Covent Garden and here we find those who have cast off the credit squeeze and are spending wildly. For any frequent traveller and lover of all things map-like there is one place you should stop on your way to the chaos at Covent Garden and that is Stanfords Maps (http://www.stanfords.co.uk/). I am at the same time delighted by the endless opportunities to peruse maps of all shapes and sizes and beside myself that I will be missing Michael Palin’s visit on the 5^th December. Oh to be the new Michael Palin and being allowed to traverse the earth with a khaki bag and meeting some of the world’s strangest peoples and places.

Because of the job I have to travel, mostly to the US but elsewhere at times. After a couple of years of not having much to do at the weekends I started looking at travel bikes, a bike that I could take with me and get out at weekends rather than staring at the curtains of yet another hotel room. I love my cycling, not very good or fast, but love to get out and I like to climb. So I investigated. I liked the look of the airnimal bikes but after much deliberation came down to buying a Bike Friday. Went with a Rocket Pro because I wanted something that rode in a similar fashion to my road bike at home (a Scott, few years old, Shimano 105, a reasonable training bike).

So the good folk at Bike Friday had me measure my bike to provide the key measurements and then I waited for about four weeks. Oh, nearly forgot, most difficult decision, the colour! In the end went for black. Picked it up on my next visit to the US, no problem at all with delivery at all and excellent service from the folks at Bike Friday in getting it all arranged. So there I am, late one Thursday evening if memory serves me, new shiny toy being assembled across the floor of a Marriott hotel room. Took me about 40 minutes the first time, being careful and reading the instruction book. Now it takes me about 15 minutes to pack or unpack. The only issue I had was a stiff link on the chain. But here Bike Friday excelled. Wrote a quick email to the person I had been dealing with to say it had all arrived safely. Mentioned the link. 1 hour later there was a voice mail on the hotel room phone with a suggested remedy. So tried it and it was enough to ease the link. The link then ease over the first couple of rides and no problems since. Probably should have known the remedy having cycled for many years but not something I had come across before (the fix, clasp the hain with both sides either side of the link. Then flex, not the way the chain normally flexes, but at right angles to it). Just to say,Bike Friday were great throughout buying the bike and doing the initial set up.

So I have had the bike for a few months now and it has been excellent. Is it as good as the bike at home? As good but different. Good on the flat, you can get a good speed out of it but you spin out at about 25 mph because of the smaller wheels (20 inch). Climbing is good, smooth and stable. Descending is where you notice the difference. The ride is simply not as stable, I assume because of the frame not being as stiff. But that said, I would not give the bike up, it has been excellent.

So it’s a cold wet night and it would not be an evening to consider for any of our favourite pastimes. There is a time and place for climbing a mountain on a bicycle, sailing out on the open sea or screaming down a mountain on skis and this is most definitely not it. So what drives us to write about our experiences? Perhaps it is the need to share the sheer joy of reaching the top of Hors Category climb on the Tour de France route in the blazing summer heat, the feeling of the wind in your hair and the salt water coming over you in waves as you are screaming across a sunny bay on a full plain or perhaps the cosy moment when you sit down in a mountain restaurant and the snow is falling as precious powder outside. Who knows why we truly write but I suspect it is to try and capture those sublime moments when you have lost yourself in a truly inexplicable sensation.

This blog should be a place where we share our highlights and lowlights of all our mad travels around the globe, whether in a hotel or a tent we have had some extraordinary times amongst the mundane and the ordinary. We have laughed at some of the sights we have seen, been moved to tears by the simple beauty of our surroundings or simply feeling blessed to have been together, with our children or occasionally by ourselves.