Mission accomplished!

Today we completed the MAG Manchester to Liverpool ride. Many thanks to everyone who generously sponsored us.

The day started with smiles at the prospect of hours of sunshine for the trip.


8.54am: A quick snap at the Start line,


and they're off. So quick my photographer missed me!


10:47am: A snack stop for a quarter of an hour at Fiddler's Ferry.



Then onward to the finish at Otterspool Park, crossing the line a little after noon.


All in all it took us about 3 hours of pedaling (excluding the stop). I was very pleased with that, given I was on my mountain bike and frankly was having trouble keeping up with John on his skinny-wheeled road bike by the end.

But less important than the time was the fact that it was a thoroughly enjoyable day and more importantly still, the event seems to have been a roaring success with fabulous weather and lots of riders hopefully raising lots of money and awareness of MAG's work.

I'll try to post back here when I know how much the event raised overall.

Thanks again.

Ready to roll (and even pedal a bit)

I finally went for a half-serious ride along a stretch of the MAG route. All in all about 28 miles.

Things I learned:

I'm not as fit as people think.

I'm not as fit as I think.

Flat bumpy terrain leaves your shoulders aching as much as your legs. For days.

It all started in sunshine with a clean bike, the very bike in fact that will do the MAG ride itself which has just had a "no expense spared" service.



I took in the fancy bridge over the M60 near Sale Water Park...



the canal somewhere near Stretford...



this former station house out beyond Altrincham...



and then it started to cloud over.

Then rain.

Then I got lost. Twice.

By the time I got home I looked like this. (In case you can't tell, I am soaked.)



So come on, I nearly froze to death for the cause already, isn't that worth a few quid?

Injuries!

The big news is that both John and I have picked up sporting injuries. John, in a move I can only explain as temporary insanity, decided to play touch rugby with some colleagues after work. His body, in understandable protest at this diversion from its usual course, retaliated by giving him a side strain worthy of a trip to the doctor and several weeks of complaint to those of us sitting near him in the office.

Not to be outdone by this, I badly bruised my finger trying to catch my falling bike. Doesn't sound quite so manly as a rugby injury does it, but I assure you the force of the blow couldn't have been worse if I had decided to punch the wall with only the offending index finger.

Despite this, with a little under three weeks to the event training is going well, just so long as you consider short jaunts along the river towing my son on a tag-a-long bike to be training. John, for his part has bought his better half a bike and talked confidently about taking her out riding. Who needs personal trainers with this sort of commitment!