Spotting Bermuda for 1,025 miles of Britain

 

James McCulloch begins his ride at the Lands End signpost.

From mid-May until early July 2010, Bermudian Resident James McCulloch had the great pleasure of fulfilling an ambition – to cycle the 1,025 miles from Lands End in southern England to John O’Groats in the northernmost tip of Scotland. Why would he do this? Why would he travel from one small island (Bermuda) to scale another on a bike?

Good questions and ones this charitable individual – he also raised money for Age Concern (a Bermuda based charity) as he cycled 1,025 miles – answers in the next edition of Bermuda’s Postcards:

Why, with all the modern conveniences would you bike? Because I have always wanted to do it in a vague sort of way.

Why this year? After a triple heart by-pass operation in 2008 I bought a second-hand bike to help in the recovery process.  From very modest beginnings where my limit was a few hundred yards I was encouraged by the nursing staff at King Edward VII Memorial Hospital in Bermuda, to build up my endurance slowly. During those months it occurred to me that if I kept on increasing my daily range I could eventually get strong enough to attempt the LEJOG marathon.

It sounded a bit ridiculous at first, especially considering my physical condition at the time, but then the idea flourished until it had become a personal objective.

Why ‘alone and unsupported’? I didn’t want to be beholden to someone driving a support vehicle containing all my luggage and spare tires etc. This was not a race; it was an adventure using a push-bike as a means or transport. So if I got a puncture or needed to mend a broken chain or something on the bike than I would do it myself.

A Practice Ride

Similarly I would make my own hotel or B&B bookings, do my own laundry, pick my own route, chose my own timetable and go at my own speed. If I got lost then it would be up to me to find my way again.

What is a Shinty Field? Something James learned about as he tried to find a B&B in Scotland. Read about his adventures in Scottish direction giving here.

What did you see? Pedaling along on a bike enabled me to appreciate the beauty of the English, Welsh and Scottish countryside in a way which is impossible from a car or a train. I had quite forgotten how lovely the countryside is with its panorama and wildlife and pastoral industry.

As well as the views I was also enchanted by the sounds of bird-song or the chunter of an old-fashioned lawnmower or the peal of church-bells on a Sunday morning. I also remember being struck by the evocative smell of new-mown hay, wayside flowers, hot tarmac, and that unique fragrance of fresh rain falling on sun-baked earth.

Weren’t you apprehensive? Occasionally. I never got lost or worried about that. Some of the unavoidable main roads were full of heavy traffic which left little room for cyclists when overtaking so that was sometimes scary. I was also concerned that I would not have the physicals strength to get up the steepest hills. (I am an amputee, having lost a leg in a traffic accident years ago.) But it all worked out in the end; all you need is persistence.

Did you miss Bermuda? Definitely. I got homesick sometimes and it was nice to be reminded of Bermuda when I saw roadsigns like these….

….Must be getting near St Davids!! (Actually this was high up in the Scottish Highlands).

But which one? (Bermuda is famous for its Goslings Black Seal Rum!)

 

 

Would you recommend others to do something similar? Certainly. You might need to do some preparation and training, depending on your present state of fitness, but that is part of the joy of things.  If I can do it ( heart by-pass, amputee, 63 years old, no serious previous cycling experience) then anybody can do it.

It’s a ‘once in a lifetime’ experience which you will never forget. You will meet some delightful people along the way. The sense of accomplishment upon finishing the journey is wonderful, and you will have helped someone else by way of your chosen charity.

Would you do it again? No. The essence of the trip was the newness and the sense of adventure. I think I would spoil the memory of it if I did it again.

What preparation did you do? Firstly I checked with my GP (Dr Sherwin) and cardiologist (Dr Doherty) to make sure I could step up and lengthen the physical training. I bought a heart-rate monitor and used it to maintain my sustained exertions within, and not beyond, safe but demanding limits. (I also used it throughout the journey.)

Then I lengthened and speeded-up my cycle runs around Bermuda, avoiding traffic wherever possible. By the time of the actual ride I was doing 25 to 30 miles a day, day after day.  I spent time during the winter evenings reading other people’s accounts of their long-distance rides on the web, planning my route, arranging insurance, booking myself and my bike on British Airways etc etc.

Did you raise any money? Yes.  I am the Treasurer of Age Concern Bermuda and took the opportunity of raising some money for them.  I was frequently humbled by the spontaneous generosity of people I met during my ride. When we got chatting I would mention Bermuda and my charity and they would immediately delve into pockets, purses, wallets etc and thrust money at me.  I didn’t even ask for any money; they just offered it.  We’ve raised over $6,000 so far. Please visit their website on http://ageconcern.bm if you would like to contribute.

 

John O’Groats signpost. The very end.

Where is your next trip? I don’t know but I am beginning to get itchy feet. Maybe I will try going round the USA, Canada and Mexico – but not on a pushbike!  Perhaps by motorbike. Then there’s Australia, and New Zealand.

If you’d like to read a fuller account of the LEJOG bike ride then please visit my Blog.

Mont Blanc conquers its climbers

 

Attempting Mont Blanc

 

Almost a month ago Bermudian Resident Martin Williamson and his wife Kim, departed the 21-square-mile island to cramp-on his kit for mountain climbing. He had been training all summer. Unfortunately Mont Blanc was not as keen for this team filled with mostly women to make it’s way up the mountain. Avalanches sent the team back down, but not without feeling accomplished. In his second installment of How to Climb a Mountain Martin tells his tale:

The Unsuccessful Continuation

After our arrival at Geneva airport on the 17^th of September our friend was there to meet us and drive back to Combloux just under an hour away. The rest of the team comprising friends Lesley Jane and Helen were due to arrive the next day.

I was in the lucky (?) position of climbing with and all girl team and a female guide, so no testosterone charged posturing necessary but I did need to make sure I wasn’t dragging too far behind. Guide Isabelle called us on Saturday to tell us that she wouldn’t be accompanying us (as she had a filming commitment for the BBC that had overrun) and had delegated the guide job to her husband Rick, this made me feel a little less out numbered.

We all met in the car park at the base of the Aguille de Midi Cable car at 10am. for a kit check, this usually involves the guide throwing out most of the things you thought you needed and reducing pack weights by half then looking at everyone’s footwear and making tut tutting noises. The weight reduction wasn’t considered necessary as we had agreed to make the attempt on the summit from the Cosmiques refuge and return to the same refuge afterwards, this enables even more cheating by dumping overweight kit at the refuge during the summit attempt.

After assuring Rick that all our boots would take some form of crampon we crowded onto the 10:30 Cable car for the Aguille. I have to admit to a feeling of some smugness getting on the cable car full of tourists in jeans, with a team of serious looking climbers with ice axes and ropes dangling from every pack strap. The tourists snapping photos don’t know that I have no more idea about mountain climbing than they do.

 

Martin showing his Bermuda pride (even if it's backwards!)

 

We had already decided to modify our plan to walk to the Torino refuge by taking the Helbronner gondola to the Italian side of the Glacier du Geant and walking to some of the local peaks then staying at the Torino refuge before we walked back to the Cosmiques refuge to rest up before our attempt on the summit. The change in plan was due in some part to the exit from the Aguille de midi on to the glacier. There is a small cave cut through the rock which exits to the North side of the Aguille onto a shoulder that descends for about 100metres to an open plateau. Normally this shoulder is about 2 meters wide and despite sheer drop offs either side it feels quite secure. Due to recent weather the shoulder was barely a foot’s width and Rick decided that going down it was too scary (for us not him!). We of course had to come back up this shoulder after our climb but going up is not as scary as down.

Amazingly in the winter season (when the snow has built up a nice path) this same exit leads onto the famous ‘Valley Blanche’, an off piste glacier ski route that thousands of skiers enjoy every year. I have (with crowds of other skiers) walked down the same shoulder with ski boots on and skis on my shoulder.

The Hellbronner gondola whisked us over the Glacier du Geant and into the Torino station where thick Italian hot chocolate was waiting to welcome us. Even if you are not into mountaineering the cable car system from Chamonix to Courmayeur (Italy) is a great day out, but the Helbronner link across from France to Italy (and back) is only open in the summer, in fact the day (19^th September) we used the Helbronner was the last day it was running in 2010.

After the chocolate stop we ventured onto the glacier (the exit from the Italian side is a doddle), clambered into our harnesses and roped up as a team of 5. I think I mentioned before that the guide ratio for summit attempts is 2 climbers per guide but for glacier walking one guide is happy to take 4 guests. In fact given that the main danger on the glacier is disappearing down a crevasse 5 per team is better than 3.

We tried out our crampons and ice axes by climbing the gentle slopes around the Petit Flambeau a minor peak at 3440mts on the glacier du Geant. Crampons are fantastic inventions that enable slide free walking on ice and snow; amazingly they also work well on granite and crystalline rocks offering purchase in the most unbelievable tiny nicks in the rock. The downside is that you have to walk like John Wayne in order to avoid snagging the inside of your pants or the straps of your gaiters with the inner blades of the crampon.

We were well under 1000mts below the summit height for Mont Blanc but the altitude was telling and we all we huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. The weather was perfect with a clear blue sky and temperatures well into the teens centigrade in the sun.

After an enjoyable day messing about on the glacier we trekked off to the Torino refuge. Because it was late in the season the newer (but colder and draftier) large building was closed and we had to descend a huge underground stair well to get to the old refuge. This refuge is attached to the arrival station of the Courmayeur cable car.

The dining room is tiny and we crammed in with about 20 other climbers. The toilet facilities in all refuges leave something to be desired but the Torino refuge takes the biscuit. From the communal dorm on the second floor you have to walk down two flights of stairs through the dining area, outside past the cable car arrival area and into the toilets. When you get there it’s a hole in the ground! So lots of incentive not to drink too much before bed.

At 3,300mts altitude sleeping is fitful at best but despite a full dorm which usually means lots of noise, we

 

The Team!

 

managed a few hours rest.

The next day (Monday) we set off for the Cosmiques refuges back across the glacier du Geant towards France. We were beginning to acclimatise and get the hang of walking John Wayne style to avoid crampon snags.

En route our second guide (Stuart Macdonald) joined us on the glacier and Stuart and Rick started plotting an exciting route back to the refuge. The Cosmiques is perched on a granite ridge affectionately named after the lady who runs the refuge, ‘L’arrette de Lolo’. It’s a sinch for a real climber to scramble up to the spine along the ridge and arrive dramatically at the refuge climbing over the open sun terrace. However I’m not a real climber. I still don’t know why I didn’t opt for the easy route up the snow field to the front door. All three of my companions had more climbing experience than me and they happily scrambled along the rocks apparently oblivious to the 1,000mt drop to our left.

Of course the guides had us securely roped and I tested the integrity of the rope when my crampons didn’t stay in the tiny crack in the granite that everyone promised they would. Fortunately I was dangling over a mere 50mt drop on the glacier side not the sheer face I mentioned earlier. After all my more dexterous companions had made it effortlessly over the same section we arrived at the refuge in time for hot soup and, in my case a shot of genepi. The local herbal (alcoholic) cure-all.

The Cosmiques refuge is comparative luxury, a veritable 5star refuge with flushing toilets and running (though not hot) water. I thought that this was because it was close to the Aguille de Midi cable car, but guide Rick assured us that most refuges are now supplied by helicopter as the speed of supply enables them to charge just 1€ per kilo delivered.

We didn’t need a helicopter as Stuart had kindly dragged a huge pic-nic up the cable car (and down the scary shoulder from the Aguille) which we all dived into with gusto. In addition to the picnic Stuart had brought a light weight back pack for Lesley (as her frame pack was deemed too heavy) plus an assortment of fleeces and gear that various members of our team had forgotten.

We managed a few hours of fitful napping during the afternoon woken later by a team of paragliders who were hoping to fly off the top of Mont Blanc tomorrow morning.

Dinner at 7:00 pm was hastily dispatched followed by ‘Happy Birthday’ to Rick and wonderful cake that Stuart had brought in his bottomless back pack. I think the candles were easier to blow out at this altitude!

By 8:30 we were all in bed and fortunately our paragliding dorm companions were too, so a few hours rest was on the cards. We planned to have breakfast at 1:00am and be under way by 2:00 but the paragliders were up at midnight and so were we.

The refuge staff are either angels or insomniacs, they provide breakfasts at 1:00, 4:00 and 7:00 am., in addition to lunch and dinner. Amazingly they all seem to stick with the job for years and some of them transfer from one refuge to another.

After a high calorie breakfast we started to panic with packs, clothes, head lights and crampons.

Fortunately our guides had insisted that we had everything packed the night before and we only needed to put on extra clothes (you sleep with most of your clothes on in the refuge) boots and crampons (outside).

We were in such a flap by the time we ventured out that the chill air at 2:00am didn’t seem too cold, crampons were duly cramped, straps checked and we were off.

We could see the faint glow of head lights from a couple of parties ahead of us and one other party was starting about the same time as us. It was a perfect night, not a cloud in the sky, and not too cold, the lights of Chamonix twinkled 3 kilometers beneath us.

As I mentioned the guide ratio for the summit is 2 climbers per guide and we had already decided that our teams would be Jane and Helen with Rick and Lesley and I with Stuart.

The key to making it to the top of Mont Blanc is to set a pace that you can maintain all the way (5 to 6 hrs.), that is quite difficult because there is an overwhelming desire to set off at a trot which would end exhaustion after a couple of hours. Once again our guides made sure that we were pacing ourselves and this was helped by the fact that we soon reached the steep face that climbs towards Mont Blanc du Tacul (a lower rocky peak that we pass to the west en route).

 

Trying to scramble up the mountain!

 

Since the last snow about 5 days ago teams had already forged a path on this face but they had climbed straight up it rather than forming a less tiring zigzag route, in parts we were making full use of our ice axe and the toe spikes of our crampons. This area is prone to crevasses and one had already been bridged using a normal aluminium ladder. Fortunately we couldn’t see much of the gaping hole by the head lights feeble glow.

As we reached the ‘Epaule (the shoulder) du Mont Blanc du Tacul’ the terrain flattened out relative to what we had just climbed and we trudged over towards the Col Maudit. At this point we had the first inkling that something was wrong as we saw the lights of teams ahead of us coming back from the Mont Maudit towards the col.

As we arrived in the slight depression of the col we met up with out paragliding friends who had followed a rather high route under the west face of Mont Maudit. They had triggered a small avalanche which had not caused a major slide but had indicated potential for a slab avalanche in this area. By now several teams had turned back and we had a discussion group of about 30 people on the col. Our guides chopped at the snow, recreated a large slab, estimated it’s thickness and debated the situation, after much deliberation they decided it was prudent to turn back. The consolation prize was a quick conquest of Mont Blanc du Tacul en route.

It was about 5am and still dark thank goodness when Lesley Stuart and I climbed the peak. Thank goodness because the rocky top is quite exposed and I realized that I was once again out of my climbing league. A quick photo on the top and we scurried down before the queue of other disappointed climbers arrived.

On the way back to the refuge Rick and Stuart decided to forge a new zigzag route on the steep face below the Epaule. Forging a route in new snow is quite tiring so doing it going down is easier that going up. The decent added some excitement to the day as we had to jump a couple of crevasses after Stuart had made sure we were securely belayed from a buried ice axe.

We arrived in brilliant sunshine under the refuge at about 7am, Stuart and Rick kindly trudged up to the refuge to recover the stash of equipment we left behind to lighten out load, while we munched on cereal bars and cursed the mountain.

Our ordeal was not over yet as we still had to get back to the Aguille de Midi Cable car and we had all but forgotten the knife edge ridge to get back to civilization. By now there was a stream of climbers coming down from the cable car to take advantage of the perfect weather. This lulled me into a false sense of security about the state of the ridge.

Once again my companions’ superior climbing experience paid off as they all trotted happily up the two boot wide snowy shoulder while I crept along in a permanent stoop with my ice axe permanently stabbed into the snow and my eyes fixed on Lesley’s boots in front of me.

Finally after the longest 10 terrifying minutes of my life we made it to the cave entrance of the cable car and safety.

During a hearty lunch in Chamonix we all embellished the story of our defeat so that by the time we got home the whole party had been swept away in an avalanche and we were lucky to be alive.

Thanks to my excellent companions Lesley Jane and Helen and of course our guides without whom none of this would have been possible.

If you fancy an attempt at Mont Blanc you can contact Rick here and Stuart here.

A taste of Bermuda in Chicago

 

Bermudian Doug Jones looking over Chicago

 

From wandering past a large eye-ball statue to imbibing a Bermuda-based drink, Bermudian resident Sam Strangeways and her boyfriend, Doug Jones, explored the highs (from the Willis Tower) to the lows (deep-dish style) of Chicago. Here Sam shares Chicago in the latest installment of Bermuda’s Postcards:

Ever noticed how Bermuda – tiny dot that it is in the middle of the sea – manages to leave little reminders of itself all over the world?

You can be in the unlikeliest of places on a desperately needed get-away-from-it-all vacation and still spot an obscure vestige of island life.

Hence why I shouldn’t have been at all surprised to see, in the sophisticated heart of Chicago, that Bermuda had worked its way onto a snazzy (and slightly pretentious) cocktail list.

Actually, it was the Drawing Room’s cocktail waitress who was, perhaps, a tad pretentious, albeit initially very friendly.

 

Bermuda is on the drinks' menu!

 

We’d found the North Rush Street basement bar and restaurant by chance after watching a hilarious musical version of The Breakfast Club on our second night of a long weekend stay in the Windy City.

After heading out of the theatre into the unknown and largely deserted neighbourhood of Lakeview, we hopped in a cab and hightailed it back to the centre of town.

Nothing could have been less pretentious – or more fun – than pH Productions’ adaptation of the classic 1980s John Hughes’ film about five wayward high school students.

So we were in pretty high spirits when we stumbled, starving, down the steps of the Drawing Room – and met (allegedly) the world’s most knowledgeable cocktail waitress.

She presented us with a vast, dazzling grin and a gigantic menu of gorgeous-sounding cocktails before telling us about the venue’s Master Mixologist (I had to suppress a giggle there).

“I expect you’ll have a lot of questions about the drinks and I’ll be more than happy to get the answers for you,” she said, a little sternly, before heading back in the direction of the bar.

I turned to my boyfriend. “I have no questions,” I whispered.

“Neither do I,” he replied. “Except: how do I get a drink and some food in this place?”

Then his face suddenly lit up – Bermuda, his beloved homeland, had come to the rescue.

Nestled in the list of alcoholic delights was a beverage named a Port Royal Fizz, with ingredients including Gossling’s (sic) Black Seal rum and ginger beer.

“It’s basically a trumped-up Dark’n’Stormy, bye!” he snorted. “How cool is that?”

We were ready with a barrage of questions by the time the waitress returned – was it named after the golf course? Had the Master Mixologist been inspired on a trip to the island? – but, I’m sorry to report, we got no answers.

Our waitress – the same woman from five minutes before – looked vaguely irritated by the queries and said she had no information on the origin of the drink.

“Have you decided what food you’d like to order?” she said primly, shutting down discussion on the Port Royal Fizz.

We may never know how a bastardised version of Bermuda’s national drink made it to Chi-Town.

 

Anish Kapoor’s stunning Cloud Gate

 

But I can advise that it tasted pretty good, like everything else we had at the Drawing Room, which provided us with culinary delights, including delicious deep-fried guacamole, and plenty of laughs.

That was more than could be said for Uno’s Pizzeria on night number three. I’ve never been one for guide books but I bit the bullet and followed a recommendation for the “best Chicago-style deep dish pizza” in town.

Being a huge lover of Italian thin-crust pizza I knew this was a risky move – and so it proved.

To be fair to Uno’s, a cosy restaurant on the corner of East Ohio and North Wabash, it may well offer the finest version of this beloved city staple.

It’s just a shame that, to my mind, Chicago-style deep dish pizza totally sucks. Chicago gets so much right – breathtaking buildings, amazing public art, a thriving theatre scene and really nice people – but it has got pizza so, so wrong.

Picture a pie crust covered in thick tomato puree. Now picture eating it. I couldn’t and left Uno’s with a rumbling tum.

Champagne in the Signature Lounge on the 96^th floor of the John Hancock Center helped fill the hole.

No mention of Bermuda on the cocktail list here – come on, that would have been too weird – but the late night view of a million twinkling lights across Chicago and beyond more than compensated.

The great thing about the John Hancock Center is that you get to see this spectacular sight just by jumping in and out of an elevator and ordering a reasonably-priced drink.

There are more laborious methods, as we found out the day before, on a visit to the 110-storey Willis Tower, formerly known as the Sears Tower.

We queued for a long time to get to the Skydeck on the 103^rd floor – at least an hour-and-a-half. But it was worth the wait and the $16 entry fee.

I’m scared of lots of random things but, happily, not heights, so I danced about with glee on the glass Ledge positioned on the building’s east façade, 1,353 feet above street level. Not so my boyfriend, who eyed the glass box rather more gingerly.

Still, he made it out onto the Ledge of the tallest building in the Western hemisphere and second tallest building in the world – no mean feat for a mild acrophobic.

 

A second view from The Willis Tower

 

The Willis Tower, completed in 1973 and rising to 1,450 feet, highlights for me what is great about the talented, ambitious citizens of big American cities – they make stuff happen. And, often, it’s really cool stuff, like this Chicago icon.

They hear about a tall building somewhere else and say: “We can do better than that.” And they do.

It doesn’t always make the US popular but it ensures their vast urban centres are very exciting to visit.

Chicago is just that way with its 552 parks, 33 beaches, nine museums, two world-class conservatories, 200 theatres and vast number of public works of art.

I think the latter – even more than the dazzling sky-high views and tasty cocktails – were my favourite thing about the city.

 

Random eye-ball sculpture

 

From Anish Kapoor’s stunning Cloud Gate sculpture in Millenium Park to the random 30-foot eyeball we came across after stepping off the “L” train at the corner of State and Van Buren streets, there was so much to see and enjoy.

Best of all was the Crown Fountain, also in Millennium Park, which consists of two giant video screens projecting images of the faces of Chicagoans and spurting out water.

Watching the delight of scores of young children as they skidded in and out of the fountain waiting for the next blast of water was fantastic, smile-inducing, free fun.

Frank Sinatra once sang about Chicago: “I will show you around – I love it.”

I couldn’t agree more. Anyone fancy a trip to the toddling town?

• Travel info: We travelled to Chicago from Bermuda via Newark with Delta and stayed at the Palmer House Hilton Hotel.