Day 10 - Aleppo to Homs

Only two days are left but as the saying goes “it ain't over till the fat lady sings”.

Whilst Alan is giving his standard briefing and Fr. Pierre gives us his blessing, Mario and the rest of the drivers sort out the vehicles, branding them with Lifecycle stickers, making them recognisable for us when on the road.

Prior to leaving we all have one last look around to ensure we left nothing behind and off we go. I am quite relieved to see that we will be escorted by a police vehicle on our way out of Aleppo. I have never experienced such crazy driving as I did in Aleppo - not even in Malta! As we go along, traffic police salute us as we go by. It is very apparent that they are not used to seeing a bunch of cyclist riding en masse, battling the chaotic traffic they are entrusted to control.

Briefly stopping to get one final briefing before taking on the road, Alan reminds us of our timings. We are raring to go. The sooner we start the closer we will get to Damascus. Jesmond teams up with Robert and myself and together we pick up a good pace.

The road promises to be boring today, as we are cycling on the highway leading to Homs from Aleppo. Picking up an average speed of 23 kilometres per hour, we soon find ourselves at the first checkpoint where we are greeted by an amazed Alan and Shirley. The hot weather does not entice me to eat the staple fare, especially flapjacks – which we realise have expired and have become impossible to chew. Nevertheless with a lot of effort I manage to eat one and drink a litre bottle of cold water in the process. Filling up our bottles, which I know will become hot in a few minutes, we proceed.

Till now, I am feeling great. My knees and ankle are miraculously not giving any signs of bother, so much so that I actually removed all strapping and bandages and am feeling strong . As the day progresses into the afternoon, the driving becomes more chaotic. Cycling through the traffic becomes a slalom course. Although we are keeping to the side of the highway, we encounter traffic going in the opposite direction on our 'lane'. What a difference when compared to the respect shown by Turkish drivers.

No need for strapping!

A close shave that could have had tragic consequences was a result of such driving from Syrian motorists. Cycling next to each other on the side of the road, we suddenly we find a motorcyclist driving straight into Robert's direction. Immediately I shout to grab Robert's attention. Just in the nick of time, as Robert manages to avoid the motorcyclist. All of us instinctively swerve to the left, a chain reaction we had no other alternative to. Jes, being on the edge of the hard shoulder swerved onto the motorway. Seeing his sudden movement, I thought he would be hit by one of the speeding cars. I closed my eyes.. Thankfully Jes managed to edge back in but was left in complete shock, like the rest of us. The usually relaxed Jes had to stop to catch his breath. I shudder to think what the consequences could have been that day. It certainly was an eye opening making us realise how extra careful we must be on these roads.

Reaching Checkpoint 3 we are in for a treat – Ice! Perfect to put on our aching joints and perfect to cool us down. With temperatures reaching approximately 43 degrees, I decided to cool down by putting some cubes in my cycling top. The heat would not make them last long, but for those few minutes it would be bliss.

Syrian roads are dotted with President's Assad smiling face

The roads in Syria, compared to those of Turkey, are a case of you win some, you lose some. Whilst the driving is chaotic and dangerous, the tarmac resembles more the kind of tarmac we are used to, minus the potholes, so it makes cycling a bit easier. Being relatively flat roads, I am able to keep up with Jesmond's pace. The only incline is around Amanos but it is nothing compared to the hill we had in Belen or in the early days.

The heat is unbearable and Robert and I stop a couple of times to buy water, half of which is poured on our heads, soaking our bandanna in the hope of getting a couple of minutes respite. The rest of the water is gulped down in a few seconds. Because the heat is so intense I am not managing to eat enough and thus my energy supplies are low. I eat sweets in an attempt to get my sugar levels stable but it doesn't seem enough and I start slowing down.

Reaching the next checkpoint I have the luxury of sitting in an air-conditioned van, while Fran massages my ankle, which till now has not yet played up. The heat has really clammed up my stomach and I really can't bring myself to eat even though I need to give myself some sort of energy source. Alan comes to the rescue with a concoction called Muscle Juice – the name is enough to churn my stomach but the powder mixed with cold water actually tastes like a hazelnut milkshake. Just before leaving, Paul wets my bandanna with ice cold water which provides such a relief in the sweltering heat. Alan, tells us, before we set off, that we are only around 20kms away from the accommodation We should soon be home.

A welcome physio break

He was wrong. With my GPS showing that we had already covered 30kms we start to get worried. In the meantime Jesmond catches up with us again. We start to get concerned and Soner's previous warnings not to take the road to Baghdad comes to haunt us. In reality we haven't seen the signs yet so hoping for the best we keep on cycling along the straight road. 5 kilometres later we see the signs – Baghdad, Lebanon. Hurray we are on the right track. We are only a few kilometres away from a country that was the cradle of civilisation now a war torn country. The road signs provide us with an amazing surge of energy – fuelled by the prospect of a warm shower and hot tasty meal.

In a few moments we see Soner waiting for us. Clocking us in he is surprised to see us. We are the first to arrive and he is visibly impressed. We have definitely gained on our time! Our enthusiasm at arriving first quickly fades when we see the state of the accommodation, which is an inter-faith retreat place. We are instructed not to speak to the residents and try to keep the noise levels as low as possible since they are in prayer. The sleeping areas are made up of tents and gypsy caravans. Both are quite dirty and flee ridden. The showers, although having warm water, are dirty so having a shower requires a balancing act. I decide to sleep in the truck, so I dump my sleeping stuff nearby.

Kitchen facilities are pre-historic, and I find a very frustrated kitchen team trying to prepare supper. Although cooking in such a situation is a nightmare for them they still whip up an excellent plate of pasta which sends us asking for second helpings! We also have fresh bread, which saw them almost crossing into Lebanon to buy!

An hour after we arrived, other cyclists start to trickle in. It is now dark when Nicholas, Lenny and Luke phone to say they are close to the Lebanese border and lost. They are tired and by the time they reach the accommodation, Lenny is not feeling well and they are not the happiest of bunnies. Julian and Simon are also late in arriving, with Julian still suffering from acute stomach cramps. One has to admire the tenacity of such cyclists who don't give up even when they are feeling unwell. However, sometimes illness strikes and there is no option but to stop. That's what happened to Ian who was suffering from acute gastric problems that not even an injection from Steph managed to control. Very upsetting when one considers all the effort carried out throughout the challenge.

Although the facilities are basic the atmosphere in the camp is good and light hearted. The boys start singing and playing the bongos. Liz and I had retired into the truck to sleep but were kept awake with the noise and laughter. Resigned, I took my sleeping bag and collapsed into the musty caravan. I was too tired to think of anything else and I really wanted to have enough energy to carry on with the last day.

As I settle into my sleeping bag I cannot help but think about tomorrow. I visualise the finish line which now is obviously feeling closers than ever. I try to imagine my reaction to reaching the final checkpoint. Will I cry or will I be too shattered to feel anything? My timings are good and unless some catastrophe happens I will be well in time to finish. Having said that I cannot let my guard down.

I have to stay focused for the last 150 kilometres.

Day 9 - Hatay to Aleppo

Damascus is getting closer. The feeling starts to sink in this morning as Alan, during his daily briefing reminds us to carry our passports with us. He and Fr. Pierre also give us some quick tips on Border protocol – removal of helmet and sunglasses, no animated conversations or loud laughter.

Going through the route card for the day

The border is approximately 60 kilometres away. Escorted for the last time by a police escort we all leave together. There will be no timings until we reach the border but we are urged to cycle as fast as possible, which admittedly is very annoying especially when the order is given from the interior of an air-conditioned van.

Approaching the Syrian border

As we get closer to the Syrian border, the heat levels start to increase drastically. The cold water in my bottle has become warm, good enough to make a cup of tea. The roads are quiet country roads, and we encounter little traffic. As we reach the 30km mark, we stop to get cold water and snacks. A packed lunch has been prepared for us and will be taken at the border whilst our passports will be vetted by border officials.

The approach to the border finds us cycling through a long line of trucks, carrying all sorts of goods. We enjoy this line as it offers us some shade and respite from the strong sun, which is beating strongly on us even though it is still mid morning. I shudder to think of what is in store for us in the afternoon hours.

Turkish - Syrian Border

Leaving Turkey is a sombre affair. Our passports are stamped as we exit in a group. Past the border into no man's land we cycle for a few kilometres through dry, barren and unwelcoming landscapes. A few cars drive slowly past us.

No Man's Land

A few moments later we reach the Syrian border. Soner takes our passports and advises us that this procedure might take long. We settle down in an sheltered open area where an influx of cars, buses and truck pass at a steady pace after having passed a thorough inspection process. A sign “Welcome to Assad's Syria” greets us. Obeying Alan's instructions we sit down and eat our snacks. Francesca decides to carry out some physio much to the disgust of the male Arab travellers. They are shocked to see a woman, although modestly dressed, touching a male's thighs in public.

The people I love were only a message away!

During our three hour wait, Alan informs me that my timings have improved considerably but he wants to help us so he will organise the cyclist groups in such a way that the faster cyclists like Jesmond, Pierre and Willie will ride with us so that they can set the pace for us. Shortly after our passports are returned to us, and we can continue on our journey. Alan reminds us that Syria should be flatter than Turkey so hopefully we will get a bit of respite.

Jesmond, teams up with me and Robert and we set off at Jesmond's pace. The roads are mainly flat although there are some undulations with some steep inclines. I find it quite a task to keep up with Jesmond. Looking at my GPS I find that I am keeping an average speed of 22kilometres an hour. The heat is becoming unbearable and although my water bottles are full the water is almost boiling making it unfit for drinking. My heart rate is rising, whereas normally it averages 112 beats per minute, here it was reaching 150 beats. Thankfully we soon have a water stop and end up pouring water on my head to cool down. I can't wait for the next checkpoint.

Jesmond picks up the pace again, so fast that I can barely keep up with him. Turning round to keep an eye on my progress he encourages me, slowing down a bit. The heat is immense and I am parched. My water bottle is already empty. I have no Syrian money so we cannot stop to buy drinks. Thankfully, after about 20 minutes, although they did seem like an eternity, we see the backup truck and the welcome “Checkpoint” sign. Paul greets me with his trademark smile. What happened next is a blur as all I remember is telling him to hold the bike. Then I faint falling down in the middle of the road. Thankfully Robert is near by and manages to break my fall. Soner carries me to a nearby bench. I remember a flurry of activity and voices. I could hear Nicholas, from a distance, urging them to give me Diarolyte and Jesmond giving me a foul tasting drink, whilst someone else is calling on Steph the doctor to come quickly. Someone wets my bandanna with cold water and puts it over my head whilst someone holds my legs up so that the blood starts flowing properly. I feel Steph putting on a cuff, inflating it and monitoring my blood pressure. The heat has caused it to go down hence the fainting fit. I feel so embarrassed by all this and try to wave off the attention it has generated. I ask for my bike so that I can continue to go to the next checkpoint but Alan tells me that this was the final one and that I could ride into Aleppo in one of the backup vans. It seems that I have gained quite a lot of time today, even though I felt as if I was going to kill myself in the process. AT least I can sleep a bit easier tonight even though it's far from over.!

Going to our accommodation we drive to some of the main stress in Aleppo. The driving is chaotic and treacherous. Drivers, completely ignore traffic warden instructions even though they are frantically waving their hands and blowing their whistles forcefully. Driving is a matter of “survival of the fittest” it seems. More like a dodgems fun park scenario than a historical city. Having a police escort helps although it seems that drivers have little regard for authority when it comes to driving. Shirley, who is travelling in the same backup vehicle as I am closes her eyes. She cannot bear to look at what the cyclists are driving through.

Our accommodation in Aleppo is a Jesuit residence which also serves as a school. Therese and her team quickly settle down and start preparing dinner, whilst the rest of us prepare our beds for the night. Quickly realising that there are only two showers to cater for all of I, I sneak into the first shower just before the mob realises and attacks!

Shower ready. Lenny asks me to join him, Luke, Will and Robert to go to the city to exchange money and have a quick drink. We advise Ray and Steph, that we would be going out for a while and we find a lift from one of the residents who takes us into the city and stops us on the main road just in front of a Bureau de Change. Exchanging some Turkish Lira into Syrian pounds, we set off to find a decent looking cafe. My attire, although relatively modest is not modest enough it seems as I get a few disapproving glances from passers by – male and female. I guess a female accompanied by four males is not exactly the norm in this country. Sitting down, on comfortable armchairs we tuck into some Middle Eastern fare – tabbouleh, fattoush, hoummous and pitta bread. I am careful not to eat raw vegetables as I have had a lot of warnings about the effects these could have. The food is a welcome change from the usual pasta which although is excellent and plentiful it gets a bit too much at times.

Time to head back. We look out for a taxi. I see a little taxi dropping off a whole family – I swear about ten people came out of the little vehicle. Packing ourselves into the taxi, Robert sits in front striking a conversation with the driver, while I squeeze in the back with Lenny, Luke and Willie. What a laugh, the driver was extremely friendly and very amused to see us all laughing our heads off. Getting to our accommodation we tip him generously and he is very pleased to pose for photos with us.

Back at the accommodation I am in time for Mass. Part of our daily routine, that I must admit I look forward to. I might not always follow what Fr. Pierre says but that half an hour gives me time to take stock of the day's events and say a little prayer for all involved and for all those who will benefit from our efforts.

Day 8 - Kozan to Hatay

As I walk to the breakfast area in a zombified state after having slept for just three hours, I am greeted by Fr. Pierre who wishes me a happy feast - 15th August. I have forgotten which day of the week or date of the month. All I am focusing on are the days left till we get to Damascus, and I am sure I am not the only one.

Tonight, we will be sleeping in the last Turkish accommodation in the Hatay, which extends like a stumpy finger into Syria. An Arab enclave it has closer cultural links to the Arab world that with the Turkish hinterland. In fact these links go back to the seventh century AD, when Arab raiders began hacking at the edges of the collapsing Byzantine Empire.

Cycling over 200 kilometres, tackling a 13kilometre hill with inclines of 11% – 15% coupled with the lack of sleep from last night's adventure will not give anyone points for guessing that this will be yet another difficult day. Alan warns us to check out for any signs of tampering on the route signs, even though we have our route planned today, we do not want a repeat performance of yesterday's adventure.

The first 40 kilometres are fairly straight forward, with long straight roads that enable us to reach average speeds of 24km per hour. Lenny and Nicholas' attempt to draft to closely with each other ends up with Lenny having a close encounter with the tarmac, resulting in bruising and scratches and a hole in his helmet.

The first checkpoint is reached within an hour and a half from departure. Having our usual fare of jacket potatoes, bananas, Powerade and flap jacks I sit down for a couple of minutes and mull over the last few days. Everything seems to have passed in a blur. I look at the cyclists and backup around me having a laugh – of course that is very easy when Edward is around. I envy their carefree attitude, something I wish I had more of especially in these challenges. I am not saying that I am not enjoying the whole experience but for me failure is not an option. This self inflicted stress is not conducive to a carefree attitude and as much as I try to keep positive the pain in my ankle does not help. My thoughts are stopped when Carolyn comes up to me armed with biofreeze and bandages. Massaging my ankle and offering words of encouragement, I feel better. The fact that there are quite a few people out there who want me to succeed is heart-warming and gives me the push I need to carry on.

Our directions lead us to Iskenderun, which was founded by Alexander the Great to commemorate his victory over the Persians. Iskenderun became the main port for Aleppo from where trade routes fanned out to Persia and the Arabian peninsula. Cycling along the seaport we encounter the busiest main roads and chaotic driving so far. We do get some doubts as to whether we are on the right track due to lack of signs, so with each sign we saw Rob and I gave a sigh of relief.

The road south east from Iskenderun rises up in to the mountains, passing through the small hill-town of Belen. The road strains and curves through the Belen pass, which was of great strategic importance during Roman times.

Just before we start tackling the long 13 kilometre hill, we have a checkpoint. My ankle is now swollen again, and giving me a lot of grief. I ask Steph for a jab but to my dismay, she cannot find the vials in her bag, which got slightly disorganised when most of it's contents fell onto the van's floor. Not wanting to waste too much time, I take two Panadols and move off, agreeing with Steph that we would meet on the way and get a jab there.

Nigel, Lenny and Luke catchup with us and we start tackling the hill. Luke, seems to have found a surge of energy and disappears up the hill, whilst we remain cycling at a constant speed, trying to avoid a number of crazy drivers who give us strange looks. Well I guess, it is a tad crazy to cycle up such a hill so you cannot blame them for looking at us as if we were little green men on flying saucers.

Checkpoint Four offers us an amazing view. Whilst the others stop to take photos, Steph sticks a needle into my left butt cheek. Most welcome as I almost have to hop on one leg, the pain has become so intense. As a reward for being a brave girl, Hulya offers me some Turkish sweets made out of filo pastry, pistachios and honey. A good surge of energy!

The 15kilometre downhill following the steep hill up to Belen is welcome, and the boys, soon disappear amidst their shouts. The wind coming from the valley is so strong that I have to fight to keep straight. As I get to the bottom of the hill, I find Nigel, Robert and Lenny waiting for me. Since we have a flat road, and the winds are picking up speed we draft, but the wind coming from the side makes it almost impossible. We attempt to double draft, forming two lines side by side, however we never really practiced this technique, which ideally requires at least six cyclists. However it does give some respite.

As darkness falls we still have about 25 kilometres to go. We are all dead tired and most of us are in a foul mood, especially when we get to a junction with signs indicating a left turn to get to Hatay but no Lifecycle signs in the vicinity. Lenny flips. He phones Soner to ask for directions, the stress and exhaustion clearly showing in his responses. Soner tells us to keep on going straight and to follow the signs.

Lenny cycles determinedly at a pace that I cannot keep up with, and eventually cycles off leaving Robert, Nigel and myself to keep each other company. I am worried even because his back light is not working and the roads are not very well lit. There is nothing to do except keep on cycling, drafting trying to help each other. We finally make it to the stadium, relieved to find the backup team and other cyclists there waiting for us. Soner takes my bike and advises me that we have done good timings. We are happy to see that Lenny has arrived safely as well, although Nicholas, Tony, Simon and Julian are still behind us. Whilst Nicholas and Tony arrive shortly after us, Julian and Simon are still far behind, both of them not in the best of health but are being closely monitored by Steph the doctor.

Since, upon arrival, food is ready, I sit down to eat a hearty supper of pasta. Therese and her team work magic in the limited space and resources they have, combining proteins, carbs and enough quantities to give us the right amount of fuel into our systems. Second and third helpings are normal occurrences and Therese is concerned when we don't ask for more! - That rarely happens in reality.

Almost everything in Lifecycle becomes an automatic ritual. Preparing my belongings and bed for the night, charging my phone and GPS, sorting out my gear for the next day. Having done all that I proceed to my next ritual – physiotherapy. Removing the strapping my from my knees is a painful process even because the day before I inadvertently removed a small layer of skin, which has left an open wound on my thigh. Massaging my thighs, knees and ankle is a painful yet soothing process, that keeps us going from day to day.

Exhausted, I prepare to go to bed but not before having gobbled a pistachio ice cream that Lenny bought me after a quick visit to a store across the road! Walking into the gym shortly after my treat, I am greeted by the sounds of varying symphonies emanating from various crevices of already sleeping bodies.

Carolina and I have one quick look at each other, silently grab our inflatable mattresses and seek refuge in an unused shower, closing the door and shutting out all unpleasant and unwelcome sounds. Our usual banter is reduced to a quick good night.

We are both closer to Damascus.

Day 7 - Avanos to Kozan

The route card only gave directions for the first 15.5kms, showing us the way out of Avanos and Urgup. The rest would be announced later. We were warned that the total day distance would be around 240km so it would be a very challenging day. Alan advises us to watch out for the Lifecycle Route signs since it was not possible to trace the route during the pre-visit. Alan explains that there were two route choices, the one chosen during the pre-visit was dangerous and definitely not an option so the other route had to be taken but due to time constraints it was not possible to trace it on a route card. I am still upset about the time lost in the previous day due to the multitude of punctures, but there is no use crying over split milk. I just have to do my best to keep up the rhythm and increase my pace.

As we leave the accommodation we head towards Goreme taking the highway. In the distance we could see numerous hot air balloons manoeuvring their way, through the early morning mist, over the treetops and fairy chimneys. I felt a pang of jealousy. The people enjoying this scenic flight were on holiday relaxing. Focusing on the straight road ahead we arrive in Goreme. In the early hours of the morning it seemed less chaotic than it was in the afternoon the day before.

Early in the day, with our leg muscles barely warmed up we are faced with a killer winding road that takes us up to Urgup. The inclines, registered on my GPS, go up to 18%. I feel my leg muscles working on overdrive, almost bursting with the sheer exertion. In front of me Nigel is asking, in a loud voice, why is he doing this. I guess most of us had that feeling as we toil up the long, winding road.

My ankle starts to bother me from the start of the day. The undulating roads are not helping at all. Following the signs, our eyes open to make sure we don't miss any, my ankle becomes increasingly swollen, ever pedal movement pure torture. I do not want to stop and waste time but I cannot keep on going. Robert phones Steph and asks her to come and check my ankle. In the meantime, he gently removes my shoe and starts massaging my ankle which has become the size of a tennis ball. I cannot put any weight on it, so I cannot really do much. Edward soon drives up, and Carolyn puts on deep freeze and bandages it. Steph is in another car further in front so we have to catch up with her. The boys, who have stayed with me so far, reluctantly leave, with Robert and Tony staying behind to ensure that I don't cycle alone.

Slowly we progress. Each pedal stroke I take is taking me closer to Steph and hopefully some painkillers. The journey, although not long, seems interminable and when finally we catchup with them, I am in tears. Steph explains that my tendons are badly swollen due to the technique I am using to try to avoid the pain in my knees. I forget my aversion to needles and I beg her to give me a painkiller so that I can proceed. She is reluctant, but I remind her that she is a Lifecyclist so she should know how important it is for me to continue. She gives in but warns me that if the inflammation gets worse she will make me stop, without any ifs or buts. My heart sinks as I know this will be the case. I know it is for my own good, as damaging the tendons could mean me giving up horse riding and cycling in future.

Whilst Steph is preparing to give me the painkiller, Space is hovering around. Full of concern towards my wellbeing, he is in the way and is unceremoniously turned away by Steph who asks him to give us some privacy as she gives me a jab in my bottom. I am very upset about it all and I silently pray that this will work and the pain won't increase forcing me to stop short of my target, after months of preparation and sacrifice.

Tony, Robert and I set off again. They are determined not to leave me on my own, especially now that I am at my lowest ebb. The road ahead is tougher than what we have experienced so far. A long, never ending, gravelly, off-road track. A car passes by at full speed ahead, causing gravel to spray all over the place, hitting Robert's arm in the process. A small gash but nonetheless painful and irritating. We keep on going and catchup with Lenny, Luke, Nigel, Nicholas and Ian. We group up, giving moral support to each other especially when we have to tackle a long and cruel hill. To this day I don't know how I managed to keep with the guys, not giving up irrespective of the pain, which although had subsided was still there nagging me all the time. I guess it is the adrenaline working on overdrive.

Finally reaching the top of the hill, we find a treacherous downhill path, which nearly sees Nicholas flying off the road and down the hill. Nonetheless we all enjoy a bit of respite from the cruel hills. Reaching a clearing we sense that something is wrong. We seem to have reached a dead end. An old man suddenly appears from nowhere, shouting, motioning with his hand as though he was shooting at something. Lenny, quickly nicknames him the Hobbit, who seems to take a liking to Nigel. Irrespective of the language barrier they seem to reach an understanding. It is a bit of comic relief for us, but we realise that things are not right. There aren't any signs in sight. The last one we saw indicated the direction we took but the road seems to lead to nowhere. None of us want this to be true as it would mean having to go back up the downhill we so happily flew down.

Nicholas suggests we phone the backup team but we realise that none of us have mobile reception. We are practically cut off from everyone. Robert suggests that we start heading back, the backup van was close by and seeing that they too were following the signs we were follwoing we would be able to meet up with them and get directions.

Following Robert's suggestion we start cycling back, to our relief we see Mario and his team driving by. We all realise that we are all lost, and that Simon and Julian are still somewhere behind us. Frustration starts to set in. It is already getting late and we still have another 80 kilometres to cycle. Perhaps I am the only one that silently, welcomes this break as my ankle is still swollen and the pain killer's effect is slightly waning. I don't know if I can go much further if the pain increases and I know that if it does Steph will definitely make me stop.

In the meantime we are joined by Edward, Carolyn and Steph who immediately proceed to feed us, giving us some fresh cheese and bread they bought on the way. What a treat! Such a refreshing change from bananas and flapjacks. Like piranhas on a feeding frenzy we devoured the sandwiches, leaving only a few crumbs as evidence of their existence.

In the meantime, Mario is attempting to reach Alan, but network coverage is unavailable. Seeing that we cannot do much he decides to take us up to a location where there is network coverage. It is obvious that the signs have been tampered with and since we have no route card showing the way we are all in the same situation – LOST!

Mario decides to start moving us to a better location, one where hopefully we can get network coverage. The situation is tense. Tired cyclists not knowing what will happen. Concerned back up team entrusted with our safety. Mario doesn't have much options. He deposits us on a mountain road, which is the only possible road and heads back to where the bikes were left with Carolyn, Steph, Edward and Space. The latter being responsible to pack the bikes in the other van.

In the meantime, as is expected in mountainous areas, as night starts to fall the temperature lowers. In an attempt to keep warm, all huddle together, keeping in mind that cycling the rest of the kilometres is a posisblilty. During this time we work on a plan of action to ensure that our participation is not cut short because of this adventure. A few cyclists start preparing a not so friendly speech to deliver to Alan whilst others try to keep sprits up by saying jokes and singing songs. We don't know what is going to happen but we all know that we are in for a long night.

As we grow colder, the more our enthusiasm to keep on cycling wanes. Pitch black darkness envelopes us as we wait for the rest of the backup team. Although we are no longer in a valley, we have little signal and although we managed to get through to Shirley the line drops almost immediately, never to be picked up again. I don't know for how long we waited for Mario and Edward to reach us but it felt like forever. By that time the effect of the painkillers had gone completely. For the very first time since this adventure started I actually contemplated of giving up. I had no energy left to cycle more. I was exhausted, cold and hungry.

Freezing up on the mountain

Mario, having managed to get through to Alan, informs us that we are to cycle down the mountain road to where Alan is waiting for us. It seems that we were actually quite close to the final checkpoint. We all resist to these instructions but in reality there is not much we can do. There is no room in the vans to takes us and the bikes and the truck, carrying our luggages, is already miles away in our accommodation It will take much longer if we had to wait for it.

Slowly, we put back our helmets on and start cycling down, Mario driving in front and leading the way whilst Edward, at the back lights up the road with the van's headlamps. Going downhill was not a problem but we soon find another uphill. Gingerly I pedal, each movement giving me spasms of pain in my ankle. I feebly attempt to complain about cycling in these conditions, after having spent hours in the cold, but in reality there is not much we can do. Mario urges me to get into the van. I refuse. First of all I am part of a team and I am not going to go into the van whilst my team mates are walking up the hill and secondly I don't want to risk being kicked off the trip because I stopped cycling. Space rushes next to me, almost begging to take my bike up the hill, stubbornly I proceed. I barely take two steps when I hear a stern voice from behind - “Maria, stop being stupid and get into the van NOW!” Steph's stern voice catches me unaware, and automatically and meekly, I give my bike to Space and get into the van.

I burst out crying. Partly due to exhaustion, partly due to pain and partly due to the stress of the whole day. Mario reassures me that I won't be forced to stop. The circumstances were beyond everyone's control and now the focus is to get everyone safely to the accommodation. Shortly after we catch up with Alan and Shirley. The bikes are removed from the vans once again to be organised in a better manner and stored in such away that we all fit in the vans. I remain in the van, now half asleep having taken an anti-inflammatory pill to ease off the inflammation in my ankle. I hear a commotion outside. It seems that Space is concerned with the safety of a watermelon that has been on the journey with us whilst Mario, quite rightly so, is interested in getting everyone out of that area. But deep down, it did offer some comic relief to all.

Space and the infamous watermelon!

Again I fall asleep so I am not fully aware of what happened. All I know is that we are all squashed, like sardines, in the vans and start heading home. On the way Alan's van has a flat tyre, and although Robert does his utmost to change the wheel the bolts are so tightly screwed that no one is able to unscrew them leaving Alan and Shirley to wait for the guys from the rental company to fetch them.

At 2am, or thereabouts we get to the accommodation where we find Therese, Jennifer and Steph awake, waiting for us. The rest of the cyclists are fast asleep. I am amazed at Therese's team's capacity to provide us with a warm meal even in the middle of the night.

I quickly make a phone call home after finding a multitude of messages from a concerned mum and Conrad. It is not like me not to answer any message so their concern is obvious. Although I play down the day's events to my mum, I break down when I speak to Conrad. An accumulation of all the stress and fatigue and the thought of having another four days of intense cycling combined with my injuries.

Our instructions are to wake up at 7am. We will still be cycling the planned route the day after even if we wouldn't have had a good night's sleep. I don't stop to think about it much, all I am thinking about is the inflatable mattress that I have put in a quiet corner underneath the gymnasium's stairs, falling asleep as soon as I hit my head on the pillow.