Sitting here in that world famous beach bar and restaurant, The Bag Of Grapeshot, contemplating the miracle that is the peristaltic reflex, starved of a decent motor and nary a connection to Club Arnage to be had for months, my thoughts inevitably turn towards June and food poisoning. Yup, good 'ole LM, where the spectators are overcooked and the food underdone.
I know it wasn't Lazarus on the road to Damascus (everyone knows that was Bob Hope...), but for the sake of argument, and an inability to use Google since they changed the toolbar, let's say it was, and I too have experienced a conversion (or I've been raised from the dead, -already I'm getting confused). Anyway, during a recent session of idle banter and serious drinking, it was suggested that some sort of fundraising may help with St Peters anticipated frosty view of things when that personal and inevitable Pearly Gate Moment arises. And what better place to do it than in Le Mans? a place where surely even Mother Theresa would mash the loud pedal, drop her cassock and go large?
Sadly, that was where the good ideas stopped, and I experienced one of those moments (and I'm sure we all have, haven't we?) where someone else seemed to be in control of my mouth and brain, two organs nearly three feet apart, and I could hear myself saying things, and nodding, while inwardly I was screaming "no, NO!! what on earth is the damn fool doing?!", but all people could hear was this idiot in charge of the mouth. Well, what I've come up with is.....instead of sitting in the classic (although slightly dowdy and with more than just a whiff of anusol and Vicks Vap-O-Rub) surroundings of one of Coventrys finest machines and contributing in no small way to Shells yearly profits, I decided I was going to cycle to Maison Blanche this year. You heard it right, cycle.
Now, it's about 300 miles to Maison Blanche from my place (not being a crow and lacking the ability of flight I may need to round this up a tad. I know I'm getting off the track a bit, but have you ever watched a crow fly? -the ones round our way fly like they've been sniffing Tippex, more like 3000 miles the way the crow flies if you ask me, anyway.. ) and the mouth-idiot reckoned that three days would be more than enough. 100 miles a day then. So, come Tuesday morning on the 12th of June I'll be packing some cucumber and salad spread sandwiches, a half bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale, turning my cap backwards and setting off, whistling, in a generally southerly direction, with hopes of arriving in Maison Blanche on Thursday evening in time for a fish supper and a little dancing. I hope I'm wrong, but I suspect that the reality may be much more grisly (and probably involve much more than just a whiff of anusol and chamois cream...)
In order to keep my chin firmly pressed to the butchers basket which will surely be attached to the handlebars, I'm going to need a little incentive, and that's where the fundraising bit comes in. Surely, I thought, all my cyber mates on the world famous Club Arnage forum will give me a little help with this noble effort (it took a long time to type 'noble effort', - every time I looked up to check, I'd actually typed 'chatastrophic plan'), and I've set up one of those popular web pages that make contributing a doddle, and all funds (excluding embrocation and unguent expenses) will be heading the way of Kidney Research UK. Let's face it, the little fellas usually have their work cut out that weekend. (Mrs H almost beat me to St Peter last year, but after a quick oil change and one of her brothers kidneys, she's now very firmly at the back of the queue).
It won't be pretty, certainly there'll be blisters and mechanics language involved, but at least it'll give me something to write about in July. If you pass me on the way down, please don't run me over. My sincerest thanks to all who dare pledge a sum. Oh, and the seat of my 'cycling trousers' has space for a sponsors logo....
Here's the page , go there now
http://www.justgiving.com/H-on-a-bikeH
Oh God, what have I done?
