Cycling from London to Edinburgh and back for Saint Francis Hospice

In August Lee Putnam took on the gruelling London-Edinburgh-London challenge, cycling an incredible 945 miles and climbing up to 14,000 metres, in 100 hours and just under 4 days! Here Lee tells us why he took on what motivated him to test his mental and physical strength to raise money for Saint Francis Hospice.

Something I’ve realised about myself is that once I get a bee in my bonnet it’s almost impossible to get rid of. In 2007 aged 35, I was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma. It was a shock to say the least. After 6 months of steroids, chemotherapy and literally 100s of tablets, I was given the all clear. Five years later I was told that I was no more at risk of developing cancer again than anyone else.

Getting back into shape

At 40 I was seriously unfit with my only form of exercise coming from playing golf, I had more chins than chinny chin chin. I’d ballooned up to 14 stone and was ignoring the fact that I was in the worst shape I’d ever been in. Fast forward another five years and still not much had changed, that is until both my Mum and Stepdad died of cancer seven months apart.

That’s when I had a reality check and knew I needed to look after myself health wise. I started running and dropped the weight down to around 12 stone and then quite by chance got into cycling when I aggravated an old knee injury.

Cycling was the release that I needed but I just didn’t know it was there, the sense of freedom and control of what you are doing I personally don’t think exists anywhere else. For me it’s where I’m able to block out all of the distractions of everyday life and reorganise my thoughts so I’m rational and feel more at ease. The time spent on the bike re-energises me to be better positioned to deal with life’s problems.

Cancer tested my resolve in ways I’ve never really fully understood until that is when I got on a bike.

How I got involved in the London-Edinburgh-London cycling challenge

In March I got chatting to one of the guys who runs Audax UK and is the organiser of London-Edinburgh-London, a single event that much like the football World Cup or the Olympics only occurs once every four years (in this case 5 years, 2017 being the last one due to Covid).

The event is brutal and not for the faint hearted but I completed it in one piece!

Please keep reading for my full experience of the event!

T-minus 24 hours

On Saturday 6th August I drove over to the start point in Debden to register and fill my ‘drop bags’ I was surprised to see a real mixed bag of competitors - young, fit, some not so fit, old and ageing (me!). I spoke briefly to a guy who introduced himself as Matt (Page, look him up). He was very unassuming but quite clearly a guy whose attention to detail meant he wasn’t leaving anything to chance (turns out he was the first person home). All day Saturday I readied Spartacus and got all the kit I thought I’d need in the bags I’d bought in the run up to the event.  I had a reasonable sleep, given that pre-event I don’t normally sleep all that well.  

Day 1 - Sunday 7th August

At 03:30 I was woken and showered before having breakfast. Jen drove me over to Debden where I was dropped off by the front gates having decided not to pay for parking, a needless expense in my humble opinion as it wasn’t going to be a long drawn out goodbye as I was only going to be away for 4 days.  Jen took a quick photo of Spartacus laden like a journeyman’s tourer, except he’s not that he’s a wind whisperer, aero, stealth and lightweight, only not for this journey instead he’d become a Trojan horse. 

We kissed and that was it (Jen and I) not Spartacus! The old adage of if I wasn’t ready now I never would be came to mind. As 5.00am approached there was no roaring crowd of supporters and crew just a quick briefing about noise and local residents and then it was good luck and go.  

Almost immediately things went awry, the plan  I had spent months drafting, refining, redefining went completely out the window. I was supposed to head to St Ives in a nice steady, disciplined approach, instead I was caught up in the moment going hell for leather for the 1st then 2nd and 3rd hours averaging over 20 mph. I knew in my head it was a mental pace and hoped it would settle down but alas no it went on and on relentlessly. In hindsight I could of let the group go but the recurring thought I had was better to use the collective efficiency of the group than try working alone, that would come at some point undoubtedly!  The Lincolnshire fens passed by in a blur and before I knew it we were at the control point in Boston.  

By 4:15 in the afternoon I had crossed the Humber Bridge and had covered 300kms, or in plain English a 186 miles, in just over 9 hours. My intention according to the now defunct plan was to end up in Malton where I’d have a nice shower, something to eat and grab one of the many makeshift beds for a 4-5 hour sleep.  Instead what was completely obvious was that myself and the group I’d been working with were going to sail through Malton and would most likely head to the next control point Barnard Castle, which is precisely what happened. Malton was reached by late evening where I took the opportunity to dip into my drop bag, switch into clean shorts, socks and jersey and offload some baggage that I decided was excessive.

Fed and watered, we (the group of now 10 riders) rolled out of Malton with a gritted determination to conquer the North York Moors, a tough enough prospect in daylight but at night only the strong or foolhardy take on a 5-6 hour stint crossing a barren unforgiving landscape that consumes the weak of mind and body.  The descending was nothing short of scary, the sound of loose gravel brings a fatigued rider quickly to your senses even if dulled somewhat by exhaustion, joy at riding on a tarmac surface as opposed to a sketchy farmers track cannot be overstated. 

Arriving at Barnard Castle brought about a sense of relief, tiredness should have meant that sleep would come easy but sadly for me I think of the 3 hours I was horizontal 2 1/2 hours was spent with me willing myself to do the seemingly simple task of sleeping. How can you do a 21 hour day and 300 miles and not sleep!?

Day 2 - Monday 8 August

Day 2 started with a sense of unease, not so much with the riding required to keep the kettle boiling but personally would I have the will and strength to hold my own in the group, do my turns, whilst physically feeling drained. The discussion over a hastily consumed breakfast was of starting steadily and riding into the day as it wore on.  Plausible, but these were guys I’d met 24 hours earlier didn’t know from Adam yet we were already a band of brothers sharing a single purpose to complete 653 miles in the next 76 hours across some of the most demanding terrain the UK has to offer. 

The first leg from Barnard Castle to Brampton was a continuation of the night before relentless climbing and most notably Weardale a seriously steep climb followed by a 2.4 mile descent (reversed on the trip South). It would be punishing if part of a club ride, but LEL doesn’t care who it chews up and spits out. 

Mild relief at arriving in Moffat having passed through Gretna and Lockerbie meant that the Scottish Borders had been reached inside a day and a half, but there was no time for mutual backslapping as thoughts were tempered by the prospect of further climbing pretty much all the way to Dunfermline, which being the furthest point North would then signify the turn for home and the road South. 

Scotland it has to be said has some truly mesmerising scenery but alas there was no time to soak it up and stare in wonder, the roads and my band of warriors were heading North and taking no prisoners. Dunfermline would be reached but we’d decided again that Innerleithen offered a better chance of sleep in relative calm.  This meant night 2 would be another one navigating a route through Edinburgh City centre. By now the group had fragmented into just 4 (we learned Jakob a South African who’d dropped off earlier in the day had scratched, it was desperately sad but equally understandable) Aaron another lad, a previous finisher had also scratched due to knee pains, his doggedness was testament to a desire to get it done! 

Ken, one of the 4 and a native of Edinburgh was going to see his family so Dave and myself agreed to wait for him at Dunfermline. Mark pressed on to get a bit more rest and said we’d see him there. What happened next came as odd and for me the first sign that allegiances are as fragile and fickle as the spoken word. Dave impatient and obviously restless decided that he could no longer wait and so he left without much discussion and took off South. Ken literally arrived 15 minutes later and proceeded to guide us through Edinburgh, which was in the midst of the Fringe, throngs of people oblivious to the LEL riders sharing the roads and cycle paths of Scotland's capital. 

Once out of Edinburgh the ride to Innerleithen was another challenging night ride through some elevated sections leading to some nervous descending before arriving for sleep number 2.  Thankfully I managed to grab a few hours sleep, only time would tell how I’d fair being sleep deprived.  

Day 3 - Tuesday 9 August

Mark had decided to set off early as he felt he’d fair better getting some early mileage in, Ken and I set off around 6am and had a game plan to find a breakfast more substantial than the toast with jam and no butter, the best on offer at Innerleithen and to be honest an utter disappointment as I’d been hankering for a fry up of some sort.  

Eskdalemuir offered up very little by way of a lift food wise as toast was again all that was available with jam and no butter.  Anyone who has been sleep deprived and has ridden whilst well into calorie deficit will understand the toll it takes on a mind strained by tiredness and fatigue to add. Every rise in the road becomes a monumental effort nevermind the Weardale reverse climb that loomed ominously later in the day.  

Ken and I resolved to end up somewhere and eat heartily in readiness for an afternoon climbing all that County Durham could throw at us and make amends for the previous two control points. What happened next I couldn’t have anticipated in my wildest dreams. 

First off I had a puncture, which in itself wasn’t such a big deal, although not the norm as the valve had split from the tube itself. Back on the road and steadily climbing about 10 miles up the road I changed gear and slipped the chain with it ending up wedged between crank and frame. I pulled it out and got it back on but found that it was slipping repeatedly and was obviously gonna be a real problem when climbing. Ken and I stopped and in fairness to him, he found the problem - a twisted link in the chain.  I had a few quick links, which one of seemed the obvious answer. Ken popped out the dodgy link and replaced it with the quick link problem solved right?

Not quite further up the road and with Ken way ahead my chain was causing me serious anxiety because there was no way it was going to take another 300 odd miles. Earlier in the day we’d agreed that we’d stop in a cafe Ken knew of just before Weardale but some how I rode straight past and ended up a few miles further up the road but luckily struck gold.  A bike shop literally on the road. 

I spoke to the old fella and explained my predicament, his answer was music to my ears, new chain and I’d be set for the remainder of the ride.  Whilst waiting and distractedly listening to his old war stories, Ken rode into view and said that maybe he’d see me at Brampton the other side of Weardale. I resolved to do exactly as I’d planned, simply finish by the only means I knew how, by reaching inside and reminding myself of all the other times when I’d risen above adversity and overcome the doubts and conquered the battle between mind and body. I told myself that the body doesn’t fail only the mind does, conquer the mind and there’s no limit as to where your body will take you.

Back on the bike I scaled Weardale and finally rode into Brampton.  Food on board I rode towards Barnard Castle knowing that the day was lengthening and if the stop there on the way North was anything to go by sleep would be unlikely. Malton was now the objective as that’s where my bag was, it meant a 3rd night of riding but the alternative I’d ruled out.  With around 20 odd miles to go a lad called Sam joined forces and rode into Brampton with me. We chatted and hatched the next phase to Malton, which turned out to be a 6 hour slog of endless rolling roads, which when seriously tired felt oddly up when down and down when up.  I can’t begin to explain the sense of relief pulling into Malton caused. 

I grabbed my bag, clean clothes and a quick shower, anyone that knows me knows I don’t do quick showers, but time being critical, shower time was lost sleep time end of.  End of day 3 and a sleep of 3 hours would mean I’d be up and aiming for a start no later than 6am.  Breakfast done and as I readied the bike bags and jettisoned what I no longer thought necessary for the final push, Sam came into the dining hall.  I wasn’t expecting to see him as he’d intimated that he’d  be away early but had come around to the idea that 2 was better than 1 and that we’d be more efficient, which made sense to me and I was glad for the vote of confidence and company.  

Day 4 - Wednesday 10 August

We headed out for what was going to be a ride to the finish, however long that would be was anyone's guess. A 4th day of over 250 miles with 700 in the bag seemed implausibly tough, but this was LEL not some ride in the park or a jaunt along the beach, only the strong turn up at Debden inside 100 hours. It’s not for the faint hearted as the stats were already demonstrating.  We’d heard that 60% of the 1750 starters had scratched, with a whole lot more realising that Barnard Castle was as far North as the time would allow.  

Anyway, back to Sam and I, we crossed the Humber bridge and somehow it felt like the road would start to flatten.  Hessle provided a good source of food but by now eating was becoming a problem, mainly because nothing seemed remotely palatable, it was plainly obvious that however much of a chore, not eating would just be plain dumb. So we ate what we could stomach and climbed wearily back on the bike to chalk off the next legs to Louth and Boston in the heart of the Lincolnshire fens and luckily a cross tailwind.  

The fens for anyone that has been to that part of the country will know just go on forever, with mind numbingly straight roads, which to tired eyes don’t have an end to.  You get the distinct impression you are stuck in some weird vortex but then just when you almost give up hope, you’re out and Cambridgeshire appears like an Oasis in the desert.  Ok maybe that’s a slight exaggeration but indulge me a bit of poetic licence. 

Cambridgeshire starts much the same as Lincolnshire flat and relentless, until it changes that is.  The route this year took us through Cambridge, the university capital of Great Britain, a spectacle of stunning architecture and learning.  No time to dwell and seemingly no red lights to contend with we literally sailed through the city and headed towards St Ives with 1400kms nailed.  

8:05pm and just 2 control points remaining. I’d forgot to mention that for most of the day my feet had been literally killing me and in fairness to Sam he’d acknowledged that my cure came from dunking them in whatever vessel I could find filled with cold water, which offered varying degrees of respite until the pain kicked in again. Anti-inflammatories aplenty I resolved to ignore the broken toe I’d caused when dropping my phone on it in Malton the night before as it almost acted as a ‘welcome’ distraction from the list of other body parts that were silently screaming at me to stop the ongoing suffering.  

Somehow as in previous long rides I get stronger, maybe it’s just sheer determination or an wavering belief that pain is temporary whilst glory lasts forever, but Sam was seriously struggling and it was now time to offer up a wheel and ride us both home.  Great Easton marked the penultimate control point, a bit of food taken on board and bottles renewed it was now time to get it done.  All that stood between us was all the hills that Essex has, seemingly strung together so as to make the last phase anything but easy.

But this was home, this would not be where it all unravelled, not this day, this day would mark the end of 4 days, well 3 days and 21 hours to be precise of sheer torture on wheels. But that’s not a fair assessment, torture it wasn’t, hellishly tough it most certainly was, for the faint hearted no. That’s why it’s once every 4 years because it takes that long to convince yourself you have what it takes to do it all over again.

Its not too late to donate to Lee's fundraising page: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/lee-putnam1