The Final Chapter

As we came to amongst the surf bums and euro trash of Tarifa campsite, the usual morning lethargy and mutual hatred gave way to a palpable air of excitement. The end in sight and with little knowledge of what Morocco would bring, team C2C boarded the ferry to Tangier: we couldn't wait.

Once out of the port and winding our way through the streets of Tangier, we felt separated from the European leg by more than a half-hour ferry. Narrow, bustling and an assault on the senses, we were surrounded by the beeping of horns and the broad grins of Moroccans who were clearly better informed than us of what lay in store. Passing the first evidence of many that a crash had just occurred, we pedalled tentatively out of the city, glad to be safely away. All, that is, apart from the indefatigable Hugh, quick to inform us that the streets were busier and the donkeys more aggressive in North London, and continuing to flash a wave, a stupid grin and a terrifying wobble at any passing locals.

Once out of the city and with the first few nervous runs in the bag, we settled into a rythym, with the quality of both roads and drivers surprisingly good, and we soon completed the short day to Larache. Even on the coast, however, the heat was worse than expected, and much would depend on finding the "cracking coast road" (as your tubby correspondent unwisely remarked) that would allow us to avoid a punishing detour inland the following day.

To cut a long story short, the cracking coast road either doesn't exist or is pretty well hidden, so cheers to anyone who has briefly considered putting up a sign post before deciding it was too hot and naffing off for a mint tea. It was left to us, therefore, to man-up and take on the 95 mile trek away from the coast and back to Kenitra. It would be a long day and it looked as if there was a steady headwind, but surely it couldn't be as hot as Salamanca, Seville and the barrens in between...?

Under the baking sun, with a headwind like cycling into an enormous, unrelenting hairdryer, the sweat pouring off us and burnt instantly away, we toiled through a morning session that felt never-ending. Dragged along by an incredible set at the front from Ed (perhaps the strongest cyclist standing up to be counted at just the right time) we staggered through the forty miles to lunch, to be greeted by numerous bottles of water for which we were thoroughly ripped off, and a brief respite from the sun. Whilst the heat in Spain seemed to come from the road itself, in Morocco the enormous, blazing sun was the order of the day, and following a timely puncture in George's rear tyre and an 8 mile set that was by far the hardest we had ever worked for our miles, things were looking pretty daunting. Some of the team were feeling pretty sick and tempers were frayed, but gradually the wind eased and the heat began to dissipate, and with Ed still pounding away at the front the tide began to turn.

In the fading light, and with our hardest day looking behind us, the legs seemed to acquire new energy as we surged to the finish through the outskirts of Kenitra. Then, suddenly I heard the now unmistakeable sound of a big crash and shouts of stop from Hugh and George, turning just in time to see Rory and his bike - now separated - emerging from an enormous pothole and flying into the verge. Jogging back Ed and I feared the worst, as Rors appeared to be clutching his shoulder in exactly the same way as Nat had in San Sebastian. Thankfully, however, it appears Rors had the good sense to leap his handlebars like a dolphin, absorbing the impact almost entirely with his head and saved by his helmet. With a bruised shoulder and a touch of road rash he battled on, and, tired, shaken but unbowed we finally staggered into a hotel in darkness, but safely in Kenitra.

After knocking off a casual twenty-five miles the next day, we were on the final straight, with Casablanca in our sights. Convinced that something would go catastrophically wrong, George was pacing and muttering to himself, whilst Hugh, increasnigly resembling a Butlins holiday camp supervisor, insisted that he should cheer up and that we should perhaps complete the tour in silly hats. During the last miles to meet Nat, whose collarbone was thankfully on the mend enough that he could come out and join us at the finish, time slowed to a trickle. For George, who throughout has hated  every moment of cycling, the pain was almost unbearable, but after an insufferable fifty miles we eventually came to the outskirts of Casablanca. Dodging the horrendous traffic through the sprawling suburbs, we were constantly cut-up by cars, lorries, scooters qnd donkeys, Ed and I having a particularly nasty run in with three of them attempting to overtake a truck. Although just another day in the big smoke for Hugh, chanting away and nattering to passing drivers, for George boredom turned swiftly to terror as he was forced to hand off a pedestrian attempting to give him a high-five in the middle of a motorway.

After a few miles, however, the towering figures of the Hyatt hotel and Nat hove into view and we realised, ecstatically and disbelievingly, that we were here. Exchanging hugs, kisses and firm handshakes and delighted to be reunited with Gimson, we celebrated cycling 1700 miles from (most of) our homes in Cambridge to a place where there are camels. It didn't sink in then, nor will it for a while, but at least we don't have to do any more bloody cycling.

Although it hasn't been easy, it would have been impossible without the help of people too numerous to mention in full, but they know who they are and that we're greatful. In particular, thanks to the bike shop owners who have fixed the steeds along the way, especially Steve on day one, and to Shanti, the lovely Basque cyclist who stopped to help us when Nat broke his collar bone, calling the ambulance and driving us and the bikes to the hospital. Also thanks to our families and friends for their aid, support and encouragement both before and during the trip. Most of all, however, a heartfelt thankyou to everyone who has donated over the past few weeks. The total so far stands at an amazing 6894 pounds, and there could be no better motivation to keep turning the wheels than such incredible generosity.

It leaves me to finish with a few profound words from Ed Pearson, great cyclist and thinker:

"Guys, just keep pedalling and you'll keep going".

We made it...

Details to follow soon but just to let everyone (Alice) know we arrived succesfully yesterday.

On the brink...

A very quick note (Arabic keyboard) to say we ahave nqde it to Rabat, just 55 miles shy of Casablanca, where we hope to arrive tommorrow afternoon. Morocco has so far provided a real challenge in terms of the overhead conditions (extremely hot), wicket (potholes), umpiring (unmapped roads) and opposition (hazardous drivers).

Despite this everyone is in good heath and excited qt the prospect of finishing tomorrow; Day 27, oe ahead of schedule.

Full match report to follow shortly

GD

Not bad for a fat lad...

Cambridge to Casablanca survived a testing final two days to secure victory over a resurgent Spain side. The team currently rest in Tarifa, the southernmost point in continental Europe recovering from an arduos fightback from the Spaniards.

Leaving Seville, the previously anonymous Spanish wind entered the game with a vengence, and with Hills returning from the gasworks end, runs were suddenly very hard to come by. Suffering most was the previously unshakeable Davidson, requiring regular attention from the physio for saddle sores throughout the day, he then hit ´the wall´ ten miles from the overnight destination of Arcos de la Fontera. With his muscles depleted of glycogen and the wind reaching force 4 levels he looked in trouble, but gritting his teeth he ploughed on, and eventually limped to the finish.

The final day of Spain dawned even windier, and with energy levels already low, punctures galore and Dean´s bike finally beginning to suffer from a month of torrid abuse, the team faced their toughest day yet. With twenty miles to go until lunch and the wind continuing to rise, morale was perhaps at it´s lowest ebb since the loss of Gimson almost two weeks previously. Step forward Thomas Brian Doble. In the manner of his hero, Andrew Flintoff, Doble produced a potentially series winning spell of cycling. Just as Flintoff, despite a career threatening knee injury, produced defining spells in the Ashes of both 2005 and 2009, so Doble cycled through the pain of his own dodgy knee and dragged himself to the front of the peleton. Shielded from the wind by his sizeable frame and inspired by his talismanic prescence the rest of the team found the going easier and suddenly the twenty miles before lunch was gone in the blink of an eye. As Flintoff himself once said, ´not bad for a fat lad´.

With the south coast of Spain now appearing on the horizon the team once again sniffed victory and inspired by a combination of Doble and caffeinated bevarages knocked off the remaining runs after lunch to secure a hard-fought victory over Spain adn the series against Europe.

Tomorrow the team depart for Africa and a 4 day test against Morocco, hoping to arrive in Casablanca on Friday 13th(!). Fast bowler Hugh Pemberton commented ´Spain has been tough in many ways, especially the loss of wicket keeper Nathaniel Gimson, with the heat subsided and the wind increasing I´m looking forward  to the challenges that lie in wait in Morocco, woof´.
 
Jonathan Agnew, for TMS, in Tarifa

A commanding position...

The Cambridge to Casablanca team have moved into a commanding position in the first test match against Spain, and currently reside in Seville requiring just 130 runs in the next two days to secure victory. Overcoming the fall of the big wicket of Gimson early on day two, the team have recovered well, posting some impressive totals over the five days of 88, 90, 59, 70 and 60 miles respectively. The much feared heat of the Spanish quick bowlers, reaching 40 degrees in the last few days, has restricted runs in the afternoon session but runs have flown freely in the cool of the morning and early evening against less challenging bowlers, allowing such good totals to be compiled with ease.

That said, the last week has not been without incident, and today was the first day in five that the team have not been forced to visit a bike shop for running repairs. Most of these stoppages can be attributed to Hugh ´Niggles´ Pemberton and Ed ´The Puncture´ Pearson. Without a puncture in the first 14 days of cycling, Ed managed to have three in two days, the second caused by an errant tyre leaver that he had left inside the tyre from the previous repair. In more positive news the resurgent form of Tom Doble has been a joy to watch for all concerned, after a series of low scores against France and a testing opening spell in Spain, the team were worried as he bedded down for his siesta on day two. However on reawakening he appeared to find a new lease of life and has been the stand out performer of the last few days. Despite his improved cycling ability, his pompous gland has continued to swell to potentially dangerous levels.
For those interested in the wicket, the team have been on the same road, the N630, since the last report from Salamanca. The N630 can only be described as a road, a batsman´s paradise, 600km of straight hard tarmac stretching between Salamanca and Seville, with barely a car on it. The biggest challenge for the batsmen has hus been maintaining concentration in the long stretches of barren and often featureless countryside, whilst putting up with Pemberton´s relentless and moronic chanting from the back of the peleton, only occaisonly punctuated by the odd Sierra, pilgrim, cow and roadside brothel. An interesting break did occure with a visit to a government-run modern art hostel pilgrim centre thing sourced for us by logistics co-ordinator and 7th member of the team Jeremy Davidson. (I can´t descrie how strange the place was - so look at the website; http://www.embalsedealcantara.com/).
Today the team completed the alloted days miles in record time, arriving in Seville at lunchtime, giving a rare opportunity for the team to absorb some culture. In true ´Brits abroad´style the chosen culture was not Spanish, as the team quickly found the closest Irish bar and settled in with a round of recovery drinks to watch the England Pakistan test match...
With victory over Spain looking assured thoughts have been turning a potential final against the unpredictable Moroccan side littered with hazardous drivers but lacking in the hills or distance of the Spanish side. The team have also been boosted by the news that injured national treasure Nat Gimson will be flying out to join the team in what has become known as the ´David Beckham´ role, in which he will prvide motivational speeches and general positive input from the sidelines, though some critics have questioned whether he has the ability to look so good in a Marks and Spencer suit... vice captain Ed Pearson commented, ´we´re remaining fully focussed on the task in hand which is completing this test match against Spain, we know the heat that the spanish bowlers are capable of generating and being Engish an middle order collapse is always possible, but I´m condfident that we can close this game out over the next two days. I´m sure the input of such an experienced player as Nat Gimson will be invaluable´.
Jonathan Agnew, for TMS, in Seville.

A cheeky equalizer

Bloodied but unbowed, with Nat safely home but certainly not forgotten (weak impersonations of his husky voice and originial one-liners ring out constantly across the Spanish plains) team C2C set out from San Sebastian along the now familiar coast road with a score to settle. After something of a phoney war through imposing valleys a gruelling 600m climb ensued, in baking sunshine up beautiful, vertiginous roads. Finally, sweat pouring from Hugh´s brow like a waterfall, we reached an idyllic lake and began to feel were back in the saddle.

The mountains have slowly given way to increasingly arid plains, and whilst there is some disagreement as to the terrain difficulty (Rory: "flat as a pancake, mate", Doble: "Oh My God") the heat is ratcheting up constantly. The miles, however, have just kept comnig as we grind our way into central Spain towards Seville. The crowd in the increasingly sporadic campsites has got weirder, and more Dutch, their camping equipment generosity and funny accents making our stays all the more enjoyable and surreal.

I write from sunny Salamanca, where we have dived for respite from the heat of the day, and with 1000 miles for the tour passed today the mood in the camp is elated - Spain has been dealt a solid blow and with a couple more good days we might finally be heading towards the home straight and Morocco.