With just one week to go before Robert Taylor takes part in his Blind Bike Ride Challenge, he has updated us with the news of his ‘dry-run’ for the big day.
If you would like to support Robert in his efforts, you can donate here.
“Well, I have now completed the dry run with Pilot Michael Jay. I have to say, it is probably the most physically demanding thing I have done since my second-last marathon back in 2003 when I got taken out by a Womble at about mile-eight.
On that occasion, and it must be said, rather stupidly, I carried on regardless, despite minor, but stinging, gravel cuts all up my leg. There was also a blazing sun, well, as blazing as a sun can be in April, leading to acute sunburn, rendering me no good whatsoever for nearly a week after. It most definitely was the most pain I have experienced in the pursuit of pleasure.
The practice run, completed on the last bank holiday, 31st August 2026, didn’t come anywhere close to that day in 2003 but I was much younger then and the power of recovery has diminished significantly since.
Things started off well, leaving the Swan at South Wootton on time. We headed into King’s Lynn for our first port of call, the Minster, before leaving the urban reach of the ancient town in our wake.
At least it was dry and, quite mercifully, the forecast was to remain so although it was wet under tyre from overnight precipitation. Gusty winds were on the agenda but not until later in the day.
We did, however, experience a taster of what was to come as we rode along the right bank of the Great Ouse, where we took a slight battering from the delicate westerly. We were then out among the Terringtons and Tilneys, the Fens were beckoning, no trees for shelter.
Elevated roadways raised us above the flood plains, turning us into the playthings of Zephyrus, Greek god of the west wind, who exerted a physical toll from me, if not Michael. We probably weren’t even a fifth of the way to completing the task in hand, I could easily have got off, St Andrew’s, at that stage, only seemed like a notional target. On turning towards the east, I had Zephyrus up my chuff, a cycling term for a tailwind, propelling us at such a rate that we easily exceeded 20mph with minimal effort. Relief, maybe I could do it!
We stopped in at Church Farm Café, Stow Bardolph, for a welcome break from the pedalling. Although pretty new to this cycling lark, I have soon learned that cafes and pubs play a huge part in the planning of routes. No ride is complete without a scone, cheese or fruit, it’s up to you, and a restorative cup of black gold.
As we hit the foothills of the Norfolk Alps the effect of the wind abated and the going became easier, albeit uphill at times. Give me an uphill anytime over a headwind. We skirted around RAF Marham.
We realised the value of a properly thought-out scouting mission, perfect planning, poor performance and all that sort of thing. We discovered that poor old St Mary the Virgin, Wimbotsham, was undergoing a makeover, I guess she is knocking on a bit. She was shrouded with scaffolding. Michael quickly recalculated his plan and settled on Ryston as a substitute.
As we passed through and around the Acres, we were confronted with lanes partly washed away by floods, hills of both types, up and down, feeling more like up than down it has to be said.
It was time for me to offer up a recalculation of my own, and I know I am going to come across as a little wimpish here, but I suggested, rather nervously, that we remove Rougham and Harpley from that day’s itinerary. Michael said it was okay. I really was beginning to ache in the Acres.
And, so it was, we headed straight along to St Andrew’s. Mission completed, sort of! All I needed to do was waddle up the road to Great Massingham whereas Michael was facing another 16k, solo on a bicycle made for two, not as easy as it seems. My legs were on fire, my chuff felt like it had windburn and my hands were more akin to claws. In short, I hurt all over.
We had covered 98km at an average speed of 21km/h. We achieved a top speed of 52km/h as we descended out of the Acres toward our final destination. During the ride we climbed nearly 500m in all. I notice that when cyclists talk among themselves, they never seem to refer to how far they descend, and neither shall I. Truth be told, I don’t actually know.
Most stories have a good end, and this one is no exception, I was expecting the mothers of all aches and pains when I shook a leg the following morning. I am pleased to report, not that you will really give a jot one way or the other, the lactic acid appears to have vacated the muscles overnight.
Just maybe, I can do it on the day. Alas, it wouldn’t last. When I tried to pump a little bit of iron later on, the muscles screamed in distress.”
We, at the Trust, wish him well for the big day next Saturday 12th September.
