Katie's epic rescuing...

When I had to be rescued …

I had picked up my new bike from the bike shop less than 10hrs before I began the longest ride I’d ever attempted - probably not the best plan I’ve ever had. When my grandparents who live in Warwickshire asked me when my train back to Norwich was and I told them I was cycling back they laughed thinking I was joking!

“But you can’t ride back to Norwich” they kept saying, “how long is that going to take you?” I kept saying that it would be fine and tried to reassure them by saying “it’s only 150 miles” and showing them my highlighted route on my photocopied pages of maps. (all 13 of them)

Secretly I was aware that cycling 50% further than I’d ever cycled before would not be such a breeze. The first time I cycled 100miles was the Norwich 100 and that was only 5 days ago. I’d never cycled more than 80 miles by myself and last time I tried to follow my maps I got horrifically lost and ended up cycling nearly 20 miles in the wrong direction. Not to mention the fact that it is was my first time (other than 2 miles from the bike shop to my grandparents house) that I had even ridden this new machine. I realised they were speaking sense and my plans were bordering on the insane and probably not sensible but I was determined.

My uncle kept offering to drive me and my new bike back, but that would completely miss the point. I wasn’t cycling because I couldn’t afford the train, but because it’s a perfect opportunity to get in some training! I was determined and looking forward to the challenge I’d set myself, but at the same time realised it was a bit silly, but then the Triple Crown Challenge itself is not a particularly sane activity to embark on!

It wasn’t the first time I’d done a long distance ride using a bike I’d never used before. The Norwich 100, was my first 100 mile ride, and I was forced to borrow Alex’s home-built bike (that he’d only finished building that day) due to my bike “braking” (pun intended) just 10hrs before the start of the race. It was my first taste of a proper racing bike, and it felt great. However, a 60cm frame was far too big for me, I might not be a dwarf but I’m certainly not a giant. (and I don’t mean the bike brand)

After the Norwich 100 I had some trouble with my knee, but I had put this down to the oversized frame that I’d been using. However, before I embarked on the 150 mile ride I was worried that maybe I’d discover that actually this is a cycling injury with long term effects and not just from overstretching. Another reason why my plan was not sensible. Obviously my grandparents knew nothing of this, but still did their level best to persuade me not to go.

I’d made such a big deal out of it, there was no backing out, I had to go and it all had to be fine. I set off at 6.30 and left for Norwich knowing that my grandparents would be worrying all day until I phoned them to tell them I’d got home safely.

The first 40 miles was positive, there were some amazing hills that I could let my amazing new wheels and gears (what a novelty!) do their work! The difference from my old bike was unbelievable, it felt as if the bike moved by itself and pedalling was just if you wanted to go faster. But the excitement of the new bike soon wore off when it began to rain, and I realised I gone an extra 10 miles making my long journey even longer! My backpack was beginning to take its toll, I had acquired blisters on my hands, and my knee was beginning to hurt. The seat was too far back and I couldn’t find the screw that needed to be loosened in order to push it forward and I was still 75 miles from Norwich and due to map reading, toilet stops and bike adjustments it had taken a bit longer than expected.

I stopped to phone my grandparents to tell them that it was all going great and had a morale Clif bar and a couple of Clif shots and carried on! I got to 120 miles and was feeling great, it was raining but I was whizzing down some lovely country lanes and hadn’t seen a car in ages, I was really enjoying it and then PUNCTURE! This was the first time I had had to sort out a puncture by myself,  so I was a bit worried but was glad it had happened as I knew it was inevitable at some point and I needed practise. So I set to work on the side of a little country lane in the torrential rain replace the inner tube. Every car that went past was another tidal wave over my head. I’m sure it amused many people in their cars, but I found it funny too as I was already drenched through. I was nearly there just trying to get the final bit of tyre back on and then I heard the dissatisfying noise of air coming out of my new inner tube. I had managed to puncture it with my tyre levers, exactly as I had seen Trev do on the Norwich 100. So I began the task again and this time was successful. It was now 6 o’clock and I still had 40 miles to go. I had now been with my bike for nearly 12hrs, but I was still enjoying it! I phoned my gran to tell her to expect me to call by 9 to say I’m home!

I set off for the last 40 miles, I was gunna go hard, but my knee was giving me a bit of gip so I decided to take it easy so as not to permanently damage myself. 20 miles to Norwich now I know I’m nearly there, the sense of satisfaction was beginning to creep in, I was beginning to think, “I’ve done it.”

I thought I was about 20 miles away from Norwich, but then I saw a sign for Norwich saying 17 miles which was a major morale boost. I knew where I was now, and only an hour to go! Morale raised I picked up the pace, but then 5 minutes later I pass a sign that says 23 miles to Norwich. My pace reduced dramatically, I felt deflated, and then a massive pothole made my tyre follow suite. Another puncture! I was cold, wet and tyred! I was now about 19 miles from Norwich but I was stuck on the side of the A47 after deciding to take the easiest route straight back. My hands were freezing and I knew that if I tried to sort out my puncture with my one remaining inner tube it would take me ages, and I wasn’t sure whether my hands could physically put the tyre back on. I knew that if I was to tell my gran that my new ETA would be after 9 her stress levels would go through the roof! I was a cold and wet and tired and it was beginning to get dark and I just wanted to get home!

I decided to go for a last resort and phoned a few people I knew in and around the area who wouldn’t mind coming to rescue a wet demoralised and beaten cyclist. I was just 19 miles away I wanted to complete it, but I gave in knowing my hands couldn’t do it! I admitted defeat and ended up interrupting Rich and his friend Joe at the pub who came to rescue me! THANK YOU!

Lessons = More gloves (waterproof), garmin is faster than maps, tell grandparents you’re getting the train to save their stress and cycling long distances if more fun with friends!!! 

Having personally been in the pub when we had the call that Katie needed to be rescued I admire her trying something quite so brave!

A Poem...by Katie Rellis

Rider Katie Rellis has composed a poem about her experiences with the Norwich 100. Please take a moment to read it and then think about donating for such a worthwhile cause. Enjoy. 








Just 12hrs before we begun the race,
All thoughts were on the 100 miles we’d soon face.
We gathered the night before for our penultimate meal,
But it was only at the start line that it began to real!


As we all stood proudly in our light blue kit
We took a deep breath thinking, “Now this is it!”
Riding through the picturesque Norfolk countryside for the first 
40 miles,
Our legs pedaled away as they’d practised and we were all 
smiles.
Practicing drafting with Hannah as our lead,
Head down and forward, that girl has speed
A cluster of yellow and black uniformed riders, cyclists by profession,
Proved no match for Hannah who, with Oxford in mind, flew past them with aggression.
Staying close and working as a team is a must,
We overtook them with style and left them for dust
This was one of the highlights of the day
“Wow, look at them go!” I heard one of them say.
An ominous man warned of the hills up ahead,
Just the thought of an incline fills us with dread,
Tired moans and groans as we conquer one hill only to see 
more undulating terrain,
Yet, ‘Norfolk is flat’, Scotland is where we’ll have to tackle real 
elevation gain.
But the Norwich 100 starts where it ends, just like the Triple 
Crown,
So at least we’ll have comfort in knowing that where there’s an up there’s a down.
Sheringham High School meant half-way so far,
But to go any further we’d need fuel from Clif Bar!
The RSM was there with support and supplies,
After enjoying some Clif and a rest, Trev said “Lets get going guys!”
We said goodbye to Mr Shaw,
Then set our minds to 50 more.
As we cycled through Blakeney, Cley, Salthouse, 
Sheringham, Runton and of course Cromer,
Memories of childhood holidays occupied my mind as the miles rolled over.
As it neared midday we rode on as the hot sun shone,
The RSM drove passed shouting words of encouragement to cheer his team on.
We kept going strong thanks to Tom’s pasta,
Last nights carbs, and lots of Clif meant we went fasta.
A puncture with just 8 miles to go forces us to stop,
But we’ll have spares in the bus when we’re against the clock.
The last 5 miles flew past like a breeze,
Garmin = 5.59, under six hours with ease!
We completed the hundred and unclipped our shoes from our 
pedals,

We got to the finish to receive our certificate and medals.
So now we can tick off the Norwich 100 as complete,
But our race in September with ten consecutively is a serious 
feat.
So follow us on this blog for the hardest ride of our lives,
Oxford better watch out because it’s on competition that 
Cambridge thrives.
But please understand the cause at the heart of insanity,
It’s all in aid of Combat Stress and ABF The Soldiers’ Charity!

A diary entry from Zoe....

Wessex Wanderers.

Last month I joined up with most of the British public on the M5 to enjoy a bank holiday weekend in Somerset. By ‘enjoy’ I mean negotiating 200 miles of stunning (if lumpy) Wessex roads on my trusty Ribble bike. I had plans: I would ride out the first stage alone; then, after a restful night recuperating at the Kenney-Herbert household, I would return to complete the monster second stage with friends from the Cambridge multi-sports 

scene.

Day 1 led me across the Somerset levels; all ok apart from a slow-motion falling incident on the first hill when my chain pinged off. Oops. Worryingly, I soon passed some Cambridge ‘ironman’ friends by the verge. They were bleeding and attracting attention from an ambulance and the event safety officers. I pushed valiantly on in an effort to dissociate myself with such reckless company... past Glastonbury Tor, through the Mendip hills and 

Cheddar Gorge and beyond Castle Cary.

Naturally this idyllic scenery was all part of a cunning plan to distract participants from the misery of soaring lactic acid levels and sideways drizzle. From previous experiences on horseback I remember the Mendips as gently rolling hillocks. Next time I’ll show some empathy and lead the horse on foot... ouch Cheddar Gorge.

Day 2 brought me to the start line in Somerton, braced for 117 miles with Sabrina Verjee, a supreme cyclist, adventure racing queen and general endurance demon. I was numb to the sneering looks and thoughts of elite cyclists as they clocked my rucksack: ‘fancy wearing a rucksack, on a bike, such an amateur, doesn’t she know anything?’ No. I don’t. And ignorance is bliss.

Sabrina demonstrated the clever tactic of tagging onto the back of fast overtaking groups, probably in the hope that I’d manage to draft them for a while too. Wishful thinking! Hunger pangs and whining quads were appeased as we reached the 30-mile feeding station. We were joined for the next 35 miles by survivors of the previous day’s Cambridge pile-up: Jamie Brunning with a delightfully oozing knee wound, and Henry Gomersall whose broken fingers were swathed in so much bandage that they looked like a bunch of bananas. We worked through Cerne Abbas, past Dorchester, all along the coast and then headed north at Corfe Castle. We had only two near-death experiences with caravan drivers and just one foul-mouthed cursing session as I spotted TWO photographers poised at the top of a hideous 1:3 climb. Sadists.

After 70 miles I released the trio of speedy ironmen to chug on steadily at my own pace. This was possibly an error: one of my tyres then embraced something sharp and popped. I was forced to flag down and chat to an attractive group of guys sporting big smiles and very tight lycra. (Surely you don’t actually think I’m able to replace an inner tube on my own?)

Feeling refreshed I hammered out the last 40 miles. Bizarrely they were the most enjoyable of the whole weekend and my average speed ramped up. It must have been the delight of cracking 42 mph alongside the realisation that I would finish in one piece. Altogether it was an awesome tour… but I wonder where the cycling community would be without chamois crème.

The Tour of Wessex was a tough distance and made me realise that my bike set-up caused a lot of back pain. So off I trotted to see Tim Williams, the Cambridge tri club coach who’s also an expert on fitting bikes. He hooked up Ribble to a turbo trainer and analysed my body position and pedalling action. Next thing I knew we’d moved my shoe cleats, lowered the seat post and chosen some new ‘compact’ drop handle bars at Primo Cycles to alleviate my discomfort.

Steve Hawkes showed excellent taste in handlebar tape by matching its two-tone colour to the paintwork. Mmmm fit Ribble. And I’ve even ditched the rucksack...

Just a preview of what the team completed on Sunday....

A blog post about the team's triumph is coming soon, until then content yourselves with a map of their route and details of what the ride was life. For more details please go to our Garmin site to see how the Norwich 100 was managed. 
Remember, to donate text "ARMY CAMBRIDGE" to 70700. Or follow the JUSTGIVING links on the side of this page.