In stark contrast to our heads, the morning is clear and bright as Harv and I wake up sad in the knowledge that this will be our last night together – he must return to his beautiful wife, and I must move on without him, however hard that is. This poignant moment is only spoiled by the pungent smell emanating from the cycle kit that now stands on its own in the corner of the room. My nostril hairs are singed as I put the offending articles on – the tide marks remind me which way round the kit goes – and I know that this will be the last time I go through this ritual for a few months/years/decades – or at least until someone comes up with an equally ludicrous idea.

There is a demob end of term feeling amongst the troops as we rally for our final processional call to arms – photos, banners, press calls, fireworks (not really) – all very moving, but no sign of the mayor, the old rascal. The forecast is not great and the plan we have cunningly hatched is to ride out for 95 km non-stop, and then stop for lunch at a restauarant in Imperia, recommended by Guiseppe, some 25 km from our final destination. What follows is the day from hell as the heavens open and the winds pick up. Led out by Guiseppe, who is a phenomenal athlete (he reminds me of Pietro Mennea, the Italian former 200m world record holder - all sinew and blistering acceleration), we battle for over 4 hours through driving rain and freezing conditions along the coastal roads. I've no doubt these are stunning towns when the sun is out, but the only thing I'm focussing on is my front tyre and the rather slippery brakes. The main motivation is the promise of a sumptuous lunch that awaits at the end of this damp, cold misery. At the bottom of the final ‘petit climb’ disaster strikes – my chain derailleur snaps in two as I start my final 4 km ascent of the 700 km journey. Being the mechanical ignoramus that I am, I fiddle about with the broken parts, and then think better of it and start walking up the hill with my bike on my shoulder. Think 'Cool Runnings' only wetter, and no John Candy and no Jamaicans, in fact forget that. In the end I free up the chain enough to jump on my trusty steed and grind out the last 2 km with Polynesian-esque thighs and oxygen deprived lungs, how I love this sport.

Guiseppe takes one look at my bike and sucks his teeth, rather like a plumber giving an estimate for repairs to the blocked cistern…doesn't bode well... We agree that I'll glide down the hill into Imperia where we will have lunch and call on the mechanics to try and repair the bike. When we get to the wonderful Chez Braccioforte we all change into some dry gear and try and warm up with a few bottles of excellent wine and some stunning food. I speak to French Fred and the event organisers who inform me that it is impossible for me to get the bike repaired due to logistics. My heart sinks as I come to terms with the full impact of this terrible news – my ride is over. I realise that I won’t finish with the Dirty Dozen, and be part of the collective euphoria of having ridden as a crack unit for 6 days through all types of weather and in the face of adversity. I am crestfallen. However, I am a pragmatist, if nothing else, and within a short space of time (approximately 4 seconds) I order another bottle of wine to try and get me through this darkest of moments. To compound my misery, when the time comes for my former team mates to depart and go on for the extra 25 kms, the rain is chucking down, and I reluctantly order another cappuccino and grappa to try and stem my disappointment. I wave off my fellow riders from inside the restaurant as I sit warming up by the fire and hope they understand how devastated I really am.

Imagine my distress when I found out later that some of my team mates have suggested that I actually vandalised my bike so I wouldn’t have to complete the ride, which just goes to show what a fickle world we live in.

I redeem myself by buying a load of drinks and snacks for the entire bus for the two hour journey from San Remo to Nice, so feel that I have been of some use after all that afternoon.

The bus is full of wet, tired and ecstatic riders when it eventually takes off two hours after its scheduled departure due to a few directional and timing issues. The First Stage of DCS is over and the mission has been accomplished. The euphoria is masked only by the smell that wafts around the bus. Harvey’s wife, Kate has flown out from London for this last day, and she is almost wretching with the collective odour of 50 wet and musty cyclists that engulfs her – a real eye waterer.

We arrive in Nice, and to conclude these very special few days for all of us we have the most spectacular send off party. Phil Brown and Peter Nagle, who along with Paul Madeira (the pocket rocket) and Ray O'Donoghue make up The Causeway Quartet - throw the most amazing party in an out of this world house set back high in the hills surrounding Nice. Causeway are a main sponsor of this event and the boys have raised a staggering amount for the cause, so we are extremely grateful for their generosity. As the night develops, we find out that this was the very house in which Cheryl Cole hosted her category finalists for this year’s X Factor. Our Chairman, Andrew Croker is beside himself with excitement and keeps welling up knowing that this was the very location where Joe McElderry found himself and won our hearts. At the height of his frenzy Andrew asks if the incoming group of Stage 2 Cyclists can adopt Joe's Christmas No 2 – The Climb – as the theme tune for some of the tougher hills in the coming 5 days. He puts this idea to the vote and, in no reflection of his standing as Chairman whatsoever, he loses out by a small majority of 28 – 1.

Also at the party are the new recruits – the new boys and girls coming into France to take on the baton of this remarkable challenge for Stage 2. Included in the next group are some mates of mine, not least Alex Anderson my long time RPA colleague and good friend. Rather like a first day at school, there is an air of anxiety and nerves about our successors and they all ask several questions about what to expect. In time honoured traditional scholastic fashion, we Stage 1 veterans guzzle all the free drink and food and ignore the new kids as much as possible. Tough love is the DCS way, and they will work things out pretty quickly when the climbing starts tomorrow afternoon.

Lawrence winds up proceedings at 1a.m knowing that he has to saddle up again the next morning in readiness for another punishing 170 km's. He remains a talisman for the entire project, and his love of life will no doubt get him through the epic adventure that awaits.

I fly off early the next morning, and the parting message to every other rider that follows in our small footsteps is 'Bon Courage!' – enjoy every minute, it will be the trip of a lifetime.

Thanks for all your support to date, and please keep supporting this fantastic cause. The efforts from every single member of the DCS is phenomenal, from the riders, organisers, medics, drivers and support team, this is a mammoth operation that I have no doubt will achieve its target of raising £1m for charity. I'll be catching up with everyone in Edinburgh on 12th March for the mother and father of closing parties, so am looking forward to seeing the state of the riders there.

First stop when I get home is the launderette, wish me luck.

Upwards and onwards people.
Big bike love
Damian.x

www.justgiving.com/dhopley

Back to blog index

Back to main DCS page

Damian's DCS Blog Day 6: It's raining...in my heart