The London to Brighton cycle ride was the finale of a summer filled with fundraising. When we started Balls to Parkinson’s, we set what we thought was an ambitious target of £10,000. By the morning of September 22nd, we had already hit that goal. By the end of the day, we would double it.
This is the first part of that story. In these next two posts, I hope to give you a flavor of the camaraderie and the “B2P spirit” that encapsulated the day—and what this milestone meant to me personally.
The Pre-Ride Jitters – For a few weeks leading up to the ride, I had been struggling. My “off” periods—where I become slow and have difficulty walking—were occurring frequently and unpredictably. The night before was restless. I was terrified of “freezing” in front of the 20 teammates who were there in support.
Rob, our designated driver, arrived at 6:00 AM. I dosed up on levodopa and hoped for the best. As we drove into London, my anxiety began to lift. The sun was appearing, and I was buoyed by the high spirits in our car and the constant stream of WhatsApp messages from the rest of the team converging on the capital.
We had been religiously refreshing our weather apps, hoping for a window of calm before the forecast gale-force winds and heavy rain hit. Miraculously, the storm’s predicted arrival kept slipping later and later. By the time we reached Clapham, it looked like we had just enough time to conquer Ditchling Beacon before the heavens opened.
The Bandstand at Clapham – It was a surprisingly bright morning as friends and family gathered at the Clapham Common bandstand for the pre-start photo. To have so many people there was incredibly special. I was especially moved to see Gilbert, a friend from my Aston University days, and his friend Tony. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and I was blown away that they’d join me just because I’d asked.
As the “peloton” grew, I chatted nervously. I felt self-conscious about looking “Parky.” It’s a strange paranoia—everyone there knew I have the condition, yet I found myself second-guessing their thoughts: Should he be doing this? He looks a bit unsteady? Anxiety feeds my symptoms, like wind fanning a forest fire. Breathing deeply, and acknowledging my fears, I calmed myself ready for the start.
We’re Off – I managed to thread my way through the crowds to the start line. I hung towards the back of our group to remove any self-imposed peer pressure; I didn’t want the team to see me if I did look a bit wobbly. But as we cycled through the Sunday morning craziness of Clapham and headed out of town, I finally started to relax.
The “leisurely” half of the team stopped at the Woodmansterne Scout Hut where the scouts happily provided us our obligatory tea and cake. Comparing notes with the Scoutmaster was life-affirming. Like me, he had stopped work earlier than planned and was now more content, spending time with his family and pursuing his own hobbies.
With my brother and nephews, catching up over a cuppa, I felt a bit emotional as I told them how great it was we were able to experience the day together . It was the first of several “man-blubs” that day as I reconciled the effort my teammates were making for a concept I’d dreamed up on a restless February night.
The Tectonic Shift – I’d taken part in this ride 20 years ago, but didn’t remember quite so many hills. In my mind, it had been all downhill until the Beacon. Either I was much fitter two decades ago, or the tectonic plates surrounding Croydon had shifted significantly without anyone noticing.
Despite the climbs, my confidence grew. I realized Parkinson’s wasn’t holding me back. I swapped our B2P story with those of several other riders as I cycled along the route—from ambulance drivers riding for charity, to a lady recovering from a breakup, riding to prove something to herself.
The Beacon and the “Stair-Rods” As we pushed toward the final ten miles, the weather finally caught up with us. The sky over Ditchling Beacon turned menacingly grey. With the rain falling and a headwind rising, we reached the foot of the “monster hill.” I decided having put in a respectable ‘shift’ over the previous 50 miles, I deserved a walk to the top.
By the time I reached the summit, the wind was howling and the rain was coming down in “stair-rods.” My mental soundtrack kicked in: Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain at full blast. I sped down the final miles into Brighton, leaving others literally in my wake.
The Finish Line – The crowds had mostly dispersed due to the horizontal rain, but the sense of achievement was massive. Seeing my wife and daughter at the finish line triggered “man-blub” number two—a mix of relief, exhaustion, and pride.
We headed to the shelter of Dalton’s on the promenade. As I walked in, the rest of the team applauded and handed me a beer. Seeing so many friends gathered for the B2P Beach Ball heralded the start of my third and final “man-blub.”
It was a day of mental and physical challenges, but above all, it was a day of friendship. It set the perfect tone for the celebrations to follow .
Find out how we celebrated at the B2P Beach Ball and doubled our fundraising target in Part Two!
Balls to Parkinson’s 