Simply - we cycled 120 miles through the night to Dunwich, Suffolk.
Jack cycled with me all the way though he could've easily raced along which was really good.
We headed out of London through Epping Forest keeping a cracking pace, egged on by the amount of people cycling in line. Along the way some people stood outside their houses to watch, children in pyjamas with their parents. At 2am there was an amazing old man with a bell stood outside shouting us all on in turn, what a hero. There were lots of cycling clubs taking part who were manic; they'd overtake you real fast shouting 'coming past' and talking loudly in bike speak then you'd see them standing round at junctions quaffing water and energy drinks or huddled round an upturned bike then they'd overtake you all over again, yelling all the while.
At around 3 my eyes went a bit mad with the endless grey road rushing by in the dark and really wanted to close. I spent an hour fantasising about a 20 minute nap at the roadside which never happened. It was really cold, I was feeling rubbish, everything hurt and I'd decided that Jack was a dick. I was thinking that next time I go to the seaside I'll just drive and that next time I think I'd like to do something nice I'm going to go to a spa and get a massage. At some point in the middle of this we passed the chap who had decided to do the whole thing on a Boris Bike, he'd set off at 6pm instead of 9 and when we saw him he was at the side of the road looking down at his big heavy bike; maybe he was having similar thoughts to me.
As the sun came up things got a little wonderful, my legs were tired but I was really enjoying keeping a pace. It's the best feeling when you peddle down a hill and the momentum gets you up the next incline without having to change gear.
I ate some sausages and energy gels by an old church and watched people glide by; a whole gaggle of them were singing Morning Has Broken which was sweet. Suffolk is incredibly beautiful, I've holidayed there all my life and felt a real surge of love for it. I decided that jack wasn't a dick at all and actually a dream.
The last thirty miles were difficult as the landscape gained some hills and I don't mind you knowing that Jack pushed me up some of the longer inclines; he didn't seem to mind and I got a little dependent.
We arrive at Dunwich at 6.30 in the morning after nine and a half hours on the road. My legs felt weird and I was a mix of ecstatic becuase I'd managed to do it and confused as to why I'd put myself through it. I had a sit down and a chocolate bar and a fizzy drink and a cup of tea and a cake and another sausage.
Now it's the Monday and I'm up-to-date with my sleep. I went for my usual swim and just flailed around in the shallow end marvelling at the new sensations in my knees and legs. Also, my bum really hurts. But I've got my new, inflated sense of self-worth to sit on so I don't mind.