They’ll never take me alive

So I made it from the Med to the English Channel (or The Channel as the french call it). Without petrol or gas or trains or anything. Under my own steam, powered by food. Some days I had four Mars bars in addition to the other five meals. But I made it, mainly in one piece. Except I can’t feel the index finger of my left hand, aside from some pins and needles from time to time. The experienced hypochondriac in me suspects carpal tunnel issues from the six hours of serious handlebar vibraions per day. Any other ideas?

Today was a good day. 50km by second breakfast. 100km by lunch, which is usually the start of a gradual decline in performance. But I made another 45km to get on some big boat to take me to England hopefully later this evening.

All I have to do now is resist the urge to celebrate in the four hours before boarding with as much cheap champagne as I can squeeze into my overactive stomach.

I’d be more effusive and expressive, but I normally pass out for a few hours as soon as I stop pedalling, and I’ve only had one Mars bar today so I’m verging on the psychoglycaemic.

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