Terrified

Julie Balen writes:
It's time to voice my fears…
Three years ago, I had never ridden more than a short commute to work and back. I didn't own any lycra and I had never fixed a bike puncture. I was living in Thailand and coming to the end of a post-doctoral contract, followed by six weeks of free time before the start of a three-year fellowship at Imperial College in London. I was desperate for a personal challenge of a sporting/adventurous nature, before starting my new life back in the UK. A bunch of things happened – it's hard to explain without simply saying that the Universe had a plan in store. Before I knew it, I owned a bike and was hatching the plan – a solo ride down the East coast of Thailand, taking me from Bangkok to Krabi province, where I planned to live on the beach for a month, rock climbing. ‘Why fly or take the train, when you can cycle there?’, I thought.
With almost no training, I invested a small fortune into my adventure and spent the evenings either reading cycle-touring websites or speaking to cycling friends (old and new), desperate to learn every piece of information I could. A good friend who was about to depart on an Asia-Europe ride showed me how to change an inner tube; I practiced twice in my living room (it was HARD!). He also went shopping with me: I bought waterproof panniers, a bike-mountable GPS, riding gloves, helmet, padded bike shorts, spare brake and gear cables, handlebars with extended ends on them, etc. I took advice from a British-Thai couple who had ridden the route previously, as well as others. And then I set off.
The first 25 km were very hard. I wondered what I was doing and why on Earth I was doing it. From nowhere, a bunch of road cyclists appeared, overtook me, raced on ahead – I tried to keep up for a few kilometres and eventually couldn't. I let them go faster but, with that, I got a sudden enthusiasm and sense of community (‘Hey look, I'm not the only mad cyclist in Thailand’). I took a left turn and came face to face with the ocean. Here, 30 km into a 650 km challenge, I thought for the first time: ‘I may, just may, be able to pull this one off…’.
That day I rode 36 km before reaching my planned stop. I felt great!
On my riding days I woke at 5.45 am, ate breakfast, packed the panniers and set off by 6.30 am, riding until about 10.30 am. Then I ate a second breakfast (delicious Thai street food) and rode until 1.00 pm or until I reached a hostel/guesthouse. On the longer days I would hide from the sun between 1.00 pm and 2.00 pm and then continue riding. One day it took 110 km before I found a guesthouse. I don't think I could have made another kilometre on the road that day, and I cannot explain in words the feeling of relief when I checked in. This was made even sweeter by the view of the ocean from the hammock as I drifted off to sleep feeling very content with myself.
My bike (named Greta) performed exceptionally – I had no injuries, remarkably no pain (!) and not even a single puncture! The ride was by far the best challenge I had ever set myself, and a remarkable growth-inducing experience.

Post-110km amazingness in Thailand.

And now, a ride of a very different sort. Matched up with some of Gambia's best athletes and MRC's most dedicated sports men and women, I’m worried that my total lack of training will show. (In fact, I know it will show). I have never yet ridden more than 110 km in a day. Yes, it's true I won't have heavy panniers and I have a newer, sleeker bike. Santa even brought me SPD pedals and cleats (though I am yet to test them out). For sure the support team/vehicle and strong team spirit will help. At my ‘comfortable’ riding speed (18 km/h) it would take far too long and the remaining riders will expect more from me. Will I burn out? Or worse, collapse?. How far can I get? What if I get trapped by the cleats, can't unclip in time and fall over? I've never ridden in a ‘peloton’ – and I even had to Google search the term (typing in: ‘bikes riding in line name’]. Will I be a ‘squirre’? (NB: squirrel: ‘a nervous or unstable rider who can't be trusted to maintain a steady line.’) Can I even ride in that strong Gambian sun now that I‘m not so used to it? Will my new bike (named Suchin, a Thai name meaning ‘beautiful thought’) be as fantastic as Greta? Will beautiful thoughts be enough to get me through it????

Training in Thailand, with Suchin.

The only thing I am sure of is that I’m getting on a plane from London to Banjul on Tuesday 21 January. I will come with a lot of work, my bike, an open mind and a team spirit. I am also happy to bring along any spares you would like from the UK, so please send me a list asap and I will buy things this/next weekend! And… lastly, I should pass along the best piece of advice I had before setting off on the Thai challenge: invest in some butt lube and apply it before each ride.