Before I set off

The night before I left, I found myself at Beer at the Hut, opening a beer festival in aid of the 1st St Neots Scout Group. Not a bad way to spend one of my last evenings as Mayor. If you’d told me then what the next three days would feel like, I’m not sure I’d have believed you.

I was feeling genuinely nervous. A 300-mile ride across England and into France, culminating in a visit to our twinned town of Fâches-Thumesnil, was always going to be a challenge — but it was one I’d been determined to do. The twinning has been part of St Neots life since 1990, and I wanted to mark it with something more than a handshake and a flight.

A huge thank you to Justin Lomas, chair of St Neots Cycling Club, Tom Stead for being my coach, mentor and planner and David Harris of BikeNV — the only cycle repair shop left in St Neots — who serviced my bike before the trip. It made a difference.

After six months of planning with Tom for this trip it was unfortunate that he could not make the trip with me after an injury. It is such a shame but I have suggested we go back next year.

Day one: St Neots to Folkestone, 240km

I set off at 6am. Justin and David joined me for the first 50km or so, which was a lovely start — but cycling alone for the rest of the day turned out to be a bigger challenge than I’d anticipated. Without Tom Stead setting the pace, I forgot to stop and fuel properly and paid for it later.

The weather was kind early on. I went through London, round St Paul’s, across the Thames and through Greenwich Park, which was glorious. By 113km I’d already climbed 700 metres — more than most rides in Cambridgeshire.

Then came the flat tyre coming out of London, using up my only spare. Then two road closures — one roadworks, one a serious accident with police and fire engines — which had me walking through fields to find a way through. By the time I reached Tenterden, 200km in, I was running on empty and feeling emotional. Tenterden is a place I’ve loved since childhood, visiting family there, and arriving exhausted and a little overwhelmed, it hit me harder than I expected.

Pizza and a Coke next to a departing steam train at the station sorted me out. Back on the road for the final 40km to Folkestone, I didn’t quite outrun the rain — and nobody warned me about the large hill right at the end to the hotel.

That first day was the toughest physical challenge I’ve ever set myself. 240km, 1,800 metres of climbing. A new personal record, and not one I’d recommend chasing in a hurry.

Shower, dinner, sleep.

Day two: Folkestone to Fâches-Thumesnil (via Le Shuttle) 120km

After a night of aching muscles and broken sleep, I was back up and heading to the Channel Tunnel. The crossing was quick and, pleasingly, I had the shuttle largely to myself. I got chatting with a local Folkestone man called Alex — does the crossing seven days a week on top of being a dad, and has just started a women’s football team in memory of a father who died in a tragic accident. The kind of person you meet once and don’t forget.

Out into France, remembering to switch sides of the road and take roundabouts anticlockwise, and suddenly the sun was out and everything looked and felt different. France was glorious.

I made a stop at Cassel — a steep climb up to a lovely old hilltop town, a burger, and then a very slow, very deliberate kilometre of cobbled road on the way out. Anyone who has ridden Paris–Roubaix in their imagination will tell you cobbles are romantic. After 300km of riding, they are considerably less so.

As I got closer to Fâches-Thumesnil, I was joined by Jean-Jacques Cogez, president of the local cycling club ECFTR, along with several of the town’s deputy mayors, who had all come out to ride the last kilometres with me. That gesture meant a great deal. Arriving into town not alone, but alongside people from the community I’d cycled all that way to visit — it felt exactly right.

At the town hall, I was met by further elected members of the council, members of the twinning committee, and a real warmth I hadn’t fully expected. There were speeches, gifts — including a beautiful medallion bearing the town’s crest and a local sweet delicacy — drinks, food, and a welcome that was genuinely overwhelming. Jean-Jacques presented me with a symbolic keyring in the shape of a chainring, which I’ll treasure.

Mayor Brice Lauret, newly elected just weeks earlier, was unable to be there in person due to a prior commitment, but his first deputy Mohamed El Allali spoke on his behalf with real generosity. He spoke about the renewal of the twinning, about shared commitment, and about the hope that this visit might open new chapters in sport, education and culture between our two towns. I was deeply touched.

After freshening up at the Hotel Agena — provided as a courtesy by the twinning committee and its chair, Bernard Dewasch — I was collected by deputy Frédérique Coisy and colleagues on a minibus and taken to dinner in Lille. We ate Le Welsh, a proper Flemish brasserie staple: melted cheddar, beer, ham and bread. The food was wonderful, the company even better, and we spent the evening swapping stories about our towns, our councils, and our very different experiences of local democracy.

Day three: the return

By Monday morning, the body had issued its verdict: 360km was enough. My legs were protesting loudly and, more decisively, the bearings in my rear hub had developed an interesting noise that suggested they shared the same opinion. The bike and I agreed — we would take the train to Calais.

I’m glad I did. The French rail system is half the price of the equivalent journey in the UK, and the trains have dedicated cycle racks that actually work. You can tell they love cyclists over there. It was a civilised end to what had been anything but a civilised few days in the saddle.

On the way back to the hotel the previous night, my hosts had taken a small detour to show me something: a street in Fâches-Thumesnil named Rue de Saint-Neots, laid out in honour of the twinning. Thirty-five years of friendship, marked in stone. It was a quiet moment, but it stayed with me.

From Calais, Le Shuttle back through the tunnel, and then the train home to St Neots.

What I brought back with me

The cycling was one thing. But what I’ll carry longest from this trip is what I saw and heard about how Fâches-Thumesnil works as a place.

The council there runs everything: the infant schools, the junior schools, the crèches, the roads, the library, the arts centre, the sports facilities, social welfare. Each deputy mayor has a specific portfolio — education, sport, finance, ecological transition — and residents know exactly whose door to knock on. It’s a commune of around 19,000 people, a dense urban suburb of Lille, and it functions with a clarity of accountability that I found genuinely striking. One tier, one set of people to vote for or against based on whether your life is actually getting better.

St Neots is bigger, more spread out, faster growing. We operate in a different system. But spending time in Fâches made me think about what we value in local democracy and whether we always make it easy enough for residents to know who is responsible for what.

The twinning began in 1990. Over 35 years, it has had its ebbs and flows. But what I found in Fâches-Thumesnil was a municipality genuinely invested in the relationship — a new mayor, a new council, and a twinning committee full of people who care. In such a short time, I made real friends. And we’ve committed, together, to giving this partnership new energy.

The fundraising for my chosen charities continues, and your support — every donation, every kind word shared — made a real difference to how this felt out there on the road.

Thank you, St Neots. And thank you, Fâches-Thumesnil.