The end is Nigh

Day Thirty

Fuck, our last day of cycling and Charlotte having to leave us to catch an unfortunately timed flight back to the UK. The night before Will and I had stayed up later than rest of the motley crew shooting shit into the night; seeing Ellie march off on the now all too familiar trip to the toilet. Apparently she felt on deaths door throughout the night, but thankfully in the morning was fresh as a daisy and ready for the final push.

For myself, the complete opposite can be stated. Felt fine during the evening, great throughout the meal, but in the morning I awoke to a questionable fart. Thinking not much of it, Will, Max and I went searching for a supermarket and some breakfast. We returned with 18 croissants and various fillings. After breakfast and some orange juice (naturally interrupted by rain) Some more questionable farts lead to the obvious, a toilet trip.

By the time I had returned the crew had gathered in the car park of the campsite, Charlotte all packed away and ready to go. We each said our good-byes, individually praising her outstanding effort in what she achieved and thanking her for all those glorious meals she had cooked for us. And the food poisoning.



Notice me bent over with stomach cramps. Awesome.

I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to enter into such a cliquey environment as a predominantly OTC led exped. Your commitment to the task at hand, always with a smile was an inspiration to us all. We’re dearly sorry that you couldn’t roll into Wertach with us, hanging out your arse as badly as we were, but thank you for the innumerable qualities that you brought to the group. To top it all off we even brought your cutlery to the table tonight – before realising we were three. Finally, always remember that you cycled further than Rob.

Before we knew it, the little Corsa pulled away and Charlotte had begun her journey home. This meant that is probably time for us to leave as well... Begrudgingly it was time to get back on the bike. No mean feat with an arse hole stinging to high heaven. Stuffing immodium down my throat like there was no tomorrow, we gently made our way towards Rettenburg.

While the going was flat, things were fine. Up hill, things weren’t too bad either. But the vibrations of going downhill mixed with a dodgy stomach lead to familiar tasting burps. Lasts nights spaghetti bolognaise. Before long I had chunks coming out my nose whilst cycling. Chunks coming out your nose aren’t ideal at the best of times. We stopped outside a house whose dog kicked up at fuss at our presence and my gagging. Crossing the street, a belly full of immodium and simply lead to stomach contents coming out the other side, my face.



Feeling totally shite, we pushed on. A few more minor hills and before we knew it, we had accidently hit the Red road going into Rettenburg we had been aiming for. A phone call to the lodge to tell them we would be arriving within the hour was frankly answered with “see you in half an hour then”. The hill before us just went up, and up, and up, and up and up. We must have climbed for longer, and higher, than that bastard of a 4km hill a few days previously before we all got sick.

Another couple of vomit stops, some rain and an hour and half of cycling preceded our arrival into Wertach.

A very humble, unceremonious finish to our 1600km cycle.

“Coyle – you said half an hour.”

“Yeah but there was a really big hill.”

“That hill wasn’t big, anyway, stick the bikes in the garage and your in room 19.”

So that was it. We’d done it. In bed by 4pm and didn’t rise other than to go to the toilet till 7am two days later.

Robs video pretty much sums it up:



Looks like Somerset but well worth it though.

Tom
xx