The Club’s annual trip to the Yorkshire Dales is a highlight for many club members and rightly so. It’s a wonderful place to ride a bike with fabulous scenery, challenging hills and decent road surfaces.  The Dales Bike Centre (DBC) in Grinton provides a warm Yorkshire welcome, ably supported by the Bridge Inn a short stroll down the road where we re-fuel and re-hydrate each evening.  What’s not to like?

This year’s cohort totalled 7 Dales “regulars” plus Richard, making his first visit.  Levels of preparation and fitness varied.  At one end of the spectrum, Adam had only ventured out on his bike 5 times this year prior to the trip and Tom was still working off his sea legs after wintering in New Zealand.  At the other end of the spectrum, Justin was stunning us all with regular epic feats in preparation for his Pan Celtic Race later in the year.  The rest of us were somewhere in between.  The weather forecast was for rain, but that wasn’t about to stop us.  As Alfred Wainwright said, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing”, so we’d all packed rain gear.

Friday’s leg loosener involved the customary pilgrimage up to the Tan Hill Inn, Britain’s highest pub.  You may recall the Inn being on the news in Jan 2025 when the clientele were snowed in for five days – not a bad place to be stranded for a few days!  The Tan Hill ascent is one of the gentler climbs in the Dales, but it’s not without challenges: namely a couple of double-digit sections to get the legs pumping.  Having all reached the Inn intact, pints were quickly drained in eager anticipation of the epic descent back into the Grinton valley, where speeds are only limited by bravado and the antics of meandering sheep!  There was only one squeaky bum moment on the descent, with Simon and Stephen trying to negotiate a fast S-bend, with some gravel and an oncoming van thrown in to add to the excitement.  Fortunately, both had packed spare bibshorts.  Nearing the bottom of the descent, there is an option to climb the mighty Stang, with only Justin taking the challenge.  Simon said he was going to but “missed the turning”.  Don’t worry Simon, there’ll be another chance to climb it tomorrow.

Saturday morning turned out just as forecast – wet, wet, wet – so the consensus was to do a shorter route than planned which packed in several classic climbs: Tan Hill (the other way round from Friday’s ride), Buttertubs Pass and Fleet Moss with Grinton Moor thrown in as a finale, over 6,000 ft of ascent all told.  Having thrown down the gauntlet with this challenging route, Adam declared that his fitness wasn’t up to such an arduous route and that he was going walking instead – thanks mate!  A few miles into the ride and Simon, on the front, came to the Stang turning but surprised us all by riding straight past – keeping his powder dry for later, perhaps?  By the time we got to the Tan Hill Inn (no pint today), the rain was pretty steady and so everyone donned their rain gear.  It stayed wet until we reached Hawes where a bikers’ café provided a welcome respite from the elements.  Leaving Hawes, Buttertubs Pass and Fleet Moss were tackled in fairly quick succession, both with ramps over 20% to focus the mind.  Any fuel left in the tank after that was soon drained over Grinton Moor, a long grind of a climb.

Sunday’s ride is normally a relatively gentle affair prior to the long drive home.  Adam, our route master extraordinaire, suggested a 30-mile loop to Leyburn which met everyone’s approval, bar Justin who declared that he was going to ride home – a mere 227 miles!!!  Needless to say, Justin took a little longer to get home than the rest of us, but what a great way to finish the weekend.

Whichever mode of transport was taken to get home, everyone agreed that it had been a cracking weekend and looked forward to doing it again next year.  The DBC now offers some additional accomodation options with 4 luxury glamping pods added last year.  Hopefully, these will entice a few more members to participate next year – it really is a great weekend.

(addition from Tina – we already have a number of the ‘femmes’ that are looking to sign up next year, i’m sure we’ll take full advantage of those glamping pods)

 

At my Annual Town Council meeting held last week, it was a privilege to hand over a donation to the club’s chair and secretary. I’ve been raising money for three brilliant clubs this year. I’ve seen firsthand how New Saints Boxing Club, St Neots Cycling Club and St Neots Hockey Club support their communities and members. I’m so pleased that £6,831 raised through the golf day, dragon boat festival and other events will go directly to supporting the people who make these clubs tick. Thank you to everyone who took part, donated, or cheered us on. It genuinely means a lot.

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.

MIPIM, described as the Global Urban Festival, is the world’s leading property trade show held annually in Cannes in March. A major event for the property industry it attracts attendees and exhibitors from all sectors of the property industry – architects, engineers, contractors, local authorities, developers, investors…

Held against a backdrop of spring sunshine, private parties on yachts moored off Le Croisette, bars on the quai side, bursting early-afternoon, with Champagne quaffing deal-makers (nobody cares it’s 5 o’clock somewhere), late lunches that extend to dinner, big gold watches and air kisses.  It’s social media curated glamour, experienced in real time, at an event often criticised for excess.

Imagine the sight then of sixty, somewhat bedraggled, cyclists, rolling into Cannes, having ridden 100 miles earlier that day through the foothills of the Haute-Provence Alps, and spent the previous 5 cycling from London. Many of these sixty swap their Lycra for suits, to join colleagues who’ve taken a few hours to fly to the Cote d’Azur.

This year, I was one of the sixty who had just completed the 2026 Knight Frank Cycle to MIPIM. Cycling from London to Cannes via Portsmouth, Caen, Blois, Grenoble and Greoux-les-Bains.  The entire distance of 1372km with 16000m of climb, completed in 6 days.

Cycle to MIPIM began in 2006 when Peter Murray (a face in the London property scene), with a dozen or so other cyclists, decided to pedal to Cannes as a more sustainable way of getting to MIPIM, and raising funds for charity in the process.  From that inauspicious start, the ride has morphed into Club Peloton, a grant-making organisation that arranges property-industry connected fundraising cycle events, which has raised over £5m for charities in twenty years.

I rode the event in 2007 and again in 2012, and have had a longstanding relationship with the event and the organisation since its inception.  Only 5 weeks ago I mentioned to Nick, Club Peloton’s Chief Executive, that I was a bit sad not to be able to join the 20th anniversary ride.  He replied there’s one space left.  I didn’t really need to think about it overnight. I did but I was in.

5 March 2026, 9:30 am, Battersea Power Station. The start of a 6-day challenge to cycle to the Mediterranean.

Participants range from club cyclists to commuters to those who started cycling just to take part. The ride itself takes the form of a relay.  3 teams, each with its own industry sponsor, must complete a minimum of 2 legs, about 120km, per day. Some choose to ride more, and a significant number ride the entire distance. Many ride well beyond their expectations (and perceived capabilities), buoyed by the encouragement and camaraderie of their team-mates; for the challenge, to test themselves and to fulfil their sponsorship.  The distance and the ascent are not the only tests. Early starts and late finishes mean long days in the saddle. Conditions ranged from freezing rain to t-shirt weather, often in the same day.  The climbs are stacked towards the 2nd half of the week, with some climbs taking riders over 1000m.

Cycle to MIPIM is an incredible event.

With the benefit of a lead car and a motorcycle escort, there is no stopping at junctions, red lights or roundabouts.  Mechanical and medical assistance follow the group on the road.  Riders are well looked after at feed stops, with sports therapists to help with niggles. Hotels are excellent.  The only thing you need to do as a rider is make sure your bag is on the coach and you’re ready to ride when the next leg starts. It doesn’t take a small leap of imagination to think this must be just a little like riding the Tour De France!

During those low moments – cold, wet, early mornings, free-wheeling into the unrelenting spray of the rider in front, are not my thing – I reminded myself how fortunate I was to be able to spend 6 days riding my bike with absolutely nothing else to do.  Not a dad, partner, business owner, contractor, or colleague – 6 days with no other responsibility than to ride a bike, look out for the rider behind and generally keep spirits up, especially when others were clearly struggling.

Bon courage, a construction worker on the dam at the bottom of the spectacular Gorge du Verdun – think of helicopter footage from the Tour – as he made sure our passage through the roadworks was safe and unhindered. Bon courage, a leathery-faced old man – think moody Rouleur photography – shouted and waved as we sped past through a small village of cobbled streets tightly flanked by sand-walled houses. Bon courage, late-night al fresco revellers –  think friendly inebriated rugby fans or those who have spent the entire day drinking at the side of the road for the peloton to pass in a second – who cheered us through the winding streets of Blois as the motorcycle outriders showed incredible skill and bravery, speeding to the next junction so we could continue unhindered.

Bon courage roughly translates to good luck but it has a different meaning.  Bonne chance translates directly to good luck – good fortune in a situation beyond your control.  In German, the expression is Viel Erfolg – wishing you success.  It’s less emotional than the equivalent French but both languages have an expression that leaves out the element of chance implied by the English ‘good luck.’

It seems to me a shame that in English we lack an expression of encouragement for those who are taking on a challenge for which they have trained and prepared, which tests their capabilities, pushing them to realise new ones.   Those who have cycled from London to Cannes over the last 20 years have not relied on luck. Whether they rode their allotted relay legs or more or the entire distance, they completed the challenge through preparation, dedication, training and at times, grit and determination.

Our arrival in Cannes was certainly a spectacle but I’m not sure anyone sipping Champagne in a bar on Le Croisette would appreciate just quite what those 60 riders had achieved – individually and as a group.  Nor the significance of their contribution to Club Peloton.  Over £130,000 this year and counting, to fund the ongoing work of Coram, Cyclists Fighting Cancer and The Tom ap Rhys Pryce Memorial Fund, to transform the lives of young people.  But in front of the bus parked on the promenade as we all huddled in a little bit more to be in shot for the publicity photo, we all knew the courage of the previous 6 days, and how raising sponsorship and awareness changes lives. Not just of those who benefit from the work of Club Peloton but for all of us who have been involved and cycled to MIPIM at any point over the last 20 years.