The day that Rhoda went viral

Well, that was a bit of a surprise. We got back from our training trip to Northumberland and popped up a video clip, and 24 hours later over half a million people have watched the clip on twitter. Rhoda has been retweeted by Chris Boardman, Susan Calman, Jeremy Vine, police forces up and down the country and seemingly the majority of the cycling community in the UK. The BBC, ITV and Road.CC all got in touch to ask if they could run a feature of the video. 

So often we see or share videos of awful driving around cyclists, so this textbook pass from an exceptionally patient & careful HGV driver for D&W Agri coming into Jedburgh deserves sharing, as does Rhoda's response! They're not on Twitter but we've thanked the haulier directly. pic.twitter.com/t46zQvfFoU

— Family ByCycle (@FamilyByCycle) June 3, 2018

The internet appears to have been ready for a cycling good news story, and we are more than happy to oblige - you see, cycling IS a good news story. Cycling with our children allows us to share with them something that we and they love. 

 Cycling with our children teaches them good habits and makes exercise and the outdoors normal and enjoyable. Children are designed to move. They need to move to develop properly. 

Cycling shows us the world in a different way to other modes of travel and has taken us to places we wouldn’t otherwise go. 

 We need to be seeing children in all our public spaces, including our roads, and not just travelling in private cars. The roads are public space, for everyone to use. If they are going to cycle on roads themselves in the future, they need to be taken on the roads and to learn how to cycle with consideration and how to keep themselves safe. 

At the end of a long, wet ride, we encountered a lorry driver whose consideration and care in passing our family impressed us. The clip on the internet doesn’t do justice to the patience shown - the lorry was sat behind not only Rhoda and Daddy but also Mummy and Ruth, and sheltered us as we laboured up a climb, crossed a bridge and negotiated the busy stretch back into town. The lorry followed at a decent distance from our back wheels to make it clear to us that he was willing to wait and give us the space to negotiate that stretch of road safely. 

 In a world where everyone is in a hurry and those passing us are often closer than they need to be, all four of us were grateful. It stood out. 

We are raising our children to be thankful for kindness shown to them, and to show appreciation, so both Ruth and Rhoda gave a cheery wave and a thank you to the driver, so that he/she would know that we had noticed the care taken and that it meant something. 

We didn’t see the video of Rhoda until we got home and downloaded our memory cards, and we had to say thank you to the driver. We had no concept of how far it would go. We hope it triggers more good passing and more thumbs up and thank yous on the road - what’s not to like about that?! 

What did Rhoda make of “going viral” - well, not a lot, to be honest! It’s all a bit abstract when you’re 4! She was VERY excited that Susan Calman had retweeted her. She’s a big fan of Susan’s, particularly her Strictly Come Dancing appearances. And she was VERY excited to speak to the lovely chap from D&W Agri who called us last night, equally astonished at the scale of response to the video, and rightly proud of his driver, whom we look forward to meeting again, to thank him properly and reflect on a truly remarkable couple of days!

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How do you say 'broken spoke' in French?!

This morning we woke to rain: heavy rain. Tom got up early to walk into the village again in search of 3G signal to send a message to the two nearest bike shops and to visit the boulangerie for breakfast fare.

While he was gone, our lovely neighbours (who made me tea last night) came over and offered us a lift with the wheel into Morlaix for a repair. Truly they were angels, ditching their own plans, to do us a favour.

I set off with the wheel in the back of the car. My A-level French did not include bike maintenance vocabulary. For our next trip, I must spend some time creating a crib sheet for bike terminology. I know the words for wheel, tyre, puncture and brakes, but after that I'm officially stuck. Luckily, when I visited the tourist information office yesterday, judicious use of the 'international language of the gesture' (in combination with the French I do have) yielded 'rayon' as my first new word to add to the cycling vocab arsenal. We arrived in the shop (now open) and half an hour and €10 later the wheel was fixed.

Elaine and Laura were also kind enough to wait while I nipped into the Intermarché to buy some fresh provisions for lunch and dinner. Meantime, Tom was washing the children back at the campsite.

Given the weather (and the effect of boggy paths on our pace with the trailer in tow) we decided to stay put for the day and to try to make up the mileage the following day. The next section of our route takes us back onto the 'Green way' to Carhaix.

Judi (the campsite proprietor) offered to put the trailer, my bike, the girls and I in her van to drive us to Carhaix to try to make up some mileage, leaving Tom and Thomas free to ride at a faster pace if they wanted. Having already lost a fair bit of mileage in England (and knowing that we had left room for slippage in our plans), we decided to stay together and enjoyed a leisurely afternoon at the campsite.

We therefore got chance to spend a bit longer at 'Camping des Bruyères', which is one of the quietest and quirkiest sites I have ever stayed at. In the evening, the toilet block is illuminated by oil lamps. There is a huge selection of bikes to borrow, caravans with toys for children and the Shed- a communal space with tables and chairs, a cooker, and games tables (ping pong, pool and a space for children to do colouring in).

The site clearly attracts a lot of repeat visitors, mostly British and Dutch it would seem, doubtless attracted by the tranquil setting and the real sense of "getting away from it all".

Roscoff to Le Clôitre St Thégonnac. Deuxième désastre!

We were woken gently on the ferry by piped music. We had an 'interesting' night in the girls' cabin. Ruth and Rhoda were sharing the bottom bunk, top-to-toe. Rhoda rolled out of the bunk twice before I gave up and chucked my duvet on the floor for her to sleep on. Ruth managed to stay in her bunk until at least 2.30am when she announced she wanted to go to the toilet to be sick. I dashed down the ladder as the boat pitched and rolled, but by the time I got down to her, she had nodded off again, adopting a novel kneeling posture for the rest of the night.

 It was much less exciting in the boys' cabin, by all accounts.

We were greeted by a drizzly Roscoff morning. Briefed by fellow cyclists, we made an immediate turn off the main road and up a hill out of the port. We passed along a lovely stretch of segregated cycle lane, plenty wide enough for the trailer, and took our time to help Thomas Ivor build up his confidence after his crash and to get used to riding on the right. The promise of breakfast at St Pol de Leon made the first couple of miles easy work, and Thomas Ivor ordered himself a pain au chocolat in a patisserie, quite amazed that the French he learned in school actually worked.

This is what a proper village cycle facility looks like!
Not entirely clear where the pedestrians go at this point, though...

I had a slightly larger linguistic stretch to go to the pharmacy for more paracetamol and ibuprofen for our injured cyclist, to make sure I got the children's versions, but apparently I did pay attention in class fifteen years ago, so all was well (thank you Kate Golder and Caroline Gower for the A-level tuition!).

Administering drugs to cyclists - in full view!

After breakfast in St Pol de Leon, we set off again aiming for Morlaix as our lunch stop. Today was a hard-work day for me with the trailer- a fair amount of climbing to be done as we moved inland. We had a couple of moments questioning whether we could get the Croozer down some narrow stretches of the Tour de Manche route, but in each case we managed.

We paused for some lessons in farming: despite living in Devon with his mum for the majority of the time, Thomas Ivor knows astonishingly little of what raw food looks like and where it comes from.

The road into Morlaix that we chose at Lanvéguen (D769) in preference to the signed cycle route was lovely- wide, smooth, lightly trafficked. We rolled into Morlaix, under the motorway viaduct and towards the double height railway viaduct feeling good.

Then disaster struck "TWANG!!".

Another spoke, drive side, on Tom's rear wheel snapped at the hub. We didn't realise at the time quite what a disaster it was, deciding to retire for lunch and use some of the data bundle we'd bought for the phone to look up bike shops.

Morlaix's only bike shop would have been open (Google had assured us) but a paper notice on the door declared it shut on Mondays through July and August. The lovely man at the tourist information office told me that the only other store in town was Decathlon. Zero chance of repair that afternoon. That left us with a dilemma: ride another 16 miles to the campsite on a broken wheel, or try to stay in Morlaix for the night make up the mileage later. We decided to get to our campsite and re-evaluate our options tomorrow.

Our route from Morlaix to La Clôitre St Thégonnac was along part of the former Réseau Breton 'voie verte'. In the rain, the surface was soft, and the going was slow with the trailer. There were also lots of gates to navigate with the trailer. It made for a fairly miserable afternoon, with me dragging the trailer along mile after mile of climbing and Tom nursing a broken wheel.

We were glad to find some tarmac once more, roll in to 'Camping Les Bruyères' and get the tent up. Fellow British campers gave us a lovely welcome: Laura and Elaine made me a hot cup of tea, which small gesture lifted my spirits a hundredfold, and turned out to be the first of several kindnesses they did us. We crawled into our sleeping bags and decided to make a new plan in the morning.

Road-rash rescue

We had a good night's sleep on the edge of Dartmoor, but woke to find the weather had deteriorated, as per the forecast. There was no point hitting the road early, only to end up with many hours to kill, in dodgy weather, at Plymouth ferry terminal.

Fortunately, things were expected to pick up, and in any event, Toby and Nicky had very kindly offered to show us their amazing collection of vehicles.

The one thing we don't have at home, that I wish we did, is a garage, to store bikes and allow me to tinker with temperamental little Peugeots under cover. We have a lovely big basement, slowly drying out after years of mistreatment by a former occupier, but you struggle to get bikes down there without scratching them, never mind park a car in it! Aside from Toby's simply stunning wood workshop, we were shown bikes for every conceivable situation, before being led into a garage with the matchless aroma of petrol and oil. Little did I realise, as Thomas Ivor posed for pictures round Toby's lovely early 50s Land Rover, that he would wind up riding in it before the day was out.

Toby and Nicky have not only been very kind in extending an offer to accommodate us, strangers known only as fellow cyclists with children, but have really inspired us with their use of their bikes for every day utility, not just a holiday conveyance. John, their son, took a keen interest in our trailer, and Thomas Ivor's Islabike, whilst we saw tandems, tourers, racers, an antique trike and even a cargo bike. Everything is substance over style, and their kit clearly 'just works'. Smart as our matching Trek frames and Ortliebs may look, we are already having a long, hard think about some of the clever and evidently hard-working cycling solutions we've seen.

The highlight for Thomas Ivor was his first ride on a Tandem - Toby and Nicky have a Thorn 'Child Back' which they use to take John to school. A pair of these in three or four years' time might be just the ticket for us with the girls! John's stoker seat also featured cleverly shortened cranks, tapped out to allow the pedals to be moved later on. In return for letting Thomas Ivor try his seat, John was treated to a trip in the Croozer, which went down equally well!

Turning to our bikes, Thomas Ivor pointed out that I had a flat rear tyre - and depressingly, he was right. First one the bike has had! It transpired that something had apparently got inside it when the spoke was changed afterwards, as the shard of metal had not pierced the tyre. After the events of yesterday afternoon, Toby very kindly also put my wheel in his alignment jig and got it straight and tensioned for me, whilst we repaired the tube. We couldn't have been in better hands and we were so grateful to be setting out for Plymouth with the best possible prospects.

The time came to set off, all too soon, and we bade farewell to Toby, Nicky and a rather put out John, who wanted to come with us! The damp conditions made for a tricky descent down the narrow, hedge-lined 'Devon lane' to the main road, but by the time we reached the old road to Buckfastleigh, the surface was drying in the breeze. 

Taking my first stint with the trailer, I pushed on into a dip, trying to gain enough momentum to 'slingshot' us over the top of the next crest. Katie dropped onto Thomas Ivor's wheel to coach him at a more sedate pace.

Just before I reached the top, I heard a loud, pained cry.

I toiled feverishly up the last few yards of the climb and pulled off the road. Turning round, there was Thomas Ivor, being picked up off the road, with a car very close to where he'd landed. I turned the trailer and sped back down the hill as fast as the load would let me.

Despite appearances, I quickly discovered that the motorist had simply arrived at the scene after the accident happened, and was rendering assistance. He'd not been hit. Phew. Fortunately, not only did Thomas Ivor have a perfectly lucid recollection of what had happened, but Katie had of course seen it unfold right in front of her. He'd caught a seam in the surface where the road had been repaired, and at about 15mph it had pitched him off. Not really the lad's fault, but no consolation for him. He'd bitten his lip in three places as he'd landed, and whilst his helmet had done nothing for him (not a mark on it apart from a minuscule scuff on the plastic visor) he had a bump on the forehead and some other knocks and grazes. He had a wobbly tooth, but after some debate it was concluded that this was a milk tooth which was probably due to come out as it was!

Thomas Ivor hadn't had a proper fall from his bike before, and temporarily forgot that wailing and gnashing of teeth wouldn't soothe his wounds, which made things a little more testing. We needed to be certain he was ok - not only because we were about to leave the country and do some serious miles, but because when you are a separated parent, an accident or serious illness in your care is one of the worst occurrences possible.

We felt awful doing it after all the kindness and time they had given so far, but it seemed most prudent to give Toby and Nicky a shout for some help. Before we knew it, Thomas Ivor was back at their house and I was cleaning him up whilst Katie and the girls were brought back with the trailer in the trailer, as per yesterday. In the aftermath of the accident, Ruth had sat in a bus shelter, very concerned for her brother but most of all for his bike, and 'Beinn' was suitably 'mended' by the laying on of little hands.

Newton Abbot minor injuries unit was not somewhere I'd planned to visit on our trip, and I probably wouldn't have done so were it not for the specific circumstances, but with time now ticking to departure time at Plymouth, we had to be absolutely sure and cover our backs to regain some confidence. Praise God for the lovely nurse, a fellow cyclist, who triaged the little chap and prescribed getting back on the bike - which was far more helpful than the dramatic 'Oh my GOD!' he had from someone else who should have known better. We left the hospital having been seen promptly and efficiently, with an impartial opinion that we should carry on with our adventure - and Thomas Ivor with a 'trauma teddy' (knitted by the WRVS I think!) - they chose him one specially with a yellow jersey - who has joined our team and been nicknamed 'Froomey', in honour of today's winner on the Champs-Élysées.

A ride in the Land Rover later, we were all back together again at Toby and Nicky's house, and wound up arriving at Plymouth just as we had left Teignmouth yesterday. We cannot thank the guys enough for giving up much of their weekend and deploying their resources to save our trip. If we'd missed this ferry, we'd have had our work cut out making any of it work. We look forward to seeing them again to say 'thank you' once more when we get home.

And so a sore but sleeping Thomas Ivor, having ridden into the ferry terminal and shared his 'war story' with fellow cyclists in the queue, is in the berth beneath me on board Brittany Ferries' 'Armorique' as I write; fast asleep, hopefully dreaming of France. I've had a quick visit to the restaurant for some French cuisine to keep me going, and am probably going to have nightmares about spokes...

Broken down and befriended

The 'Grand Départ'

Knock on delays from our journey down the M5 on Friday saw to it that it was rather later than we'd have liked when we finally bid farewell to our friend Ruth and set out by bike from her warehouse on an industrial estate in Exeter, bound for France.

We were soon onto the recently improved path from Exeter to Starcross. Unfortunately the view from the new path is very much restricted, being, as it is, well below the level of the wall along the estuary - which, to be fair, is now better placed to serve the walkers it is only really suitable for. Nevertheless, the first ten miles passed pleasantly, the sun was shining, the wind at our backs...

Cockwood Harbour

'BOINK!' 

I'd diagnosed the broken spoke before I'd had chance to pull up, and call to Thomas Ivor to wait. It had failed some way out from the hub - apparently a tensile failure rather than work hardening of the bend at the end.

I started to walk into Dawlish Warren, texting Ruth, whilst Katie stopped to call the bike shop in Dawlish. We were glad Thomas Ivor had taken the time to sit with Ruth and mark up the map with bike shops whilst we'd been loading panniers in the morning.

The 'walk of shame' through the Warren, as I cursed my having said only yesterday that we were 'due a mechanical', reminded me just why we do what we do on holiday. People with few clothes and many tattoos, poorly behaved dogs and children, carrying cheap-jack inflatables and the spoils from the arcades. I reckon I would sooner visit hell itself than spend a week in a static caravan in Dawlish Warren. What they would make of our kind of holiday, one can of course only conjecture at!

Approaching Dawlish, Katie passed me and said that the bike shop hoped to be able to sort us out. She pressed on; having identical wheels to me, she would be able to give them a head start on what spec spoke we needed. No sooner had this information been imparted than a text message from Ruth came in, to say that she, too, had spoken to 'Bob' and we were in good hands. It was so encouraging to know we had someone to introduce us in that moment. Saturday afternoon isn't the best time to break down, even without a boat to catch.

It was frustrating to walk into Dawlish, but I wasn't taking any chances with the wheel when I was so close. We could well do without further failures, and in any event I was now worrying about the wheels generally. Once one spoke has gone, who knows what the others are like! Nevertheless, spirits lifted as I arrived at the shop, 'Braking Wind Cycles' - something of an understatement if you were to describe my inward disposition! Thomas Ivor was glad to stop walking.

Bob won't mind me describing him as a small chap, I feel sure, since it was he who pointed it out! What he lacked in height he made up for in enthusiasm, tempered with natural concern about the weight on our bikes and the failure we'd suffered. He told us to take a rest, to wander into town and get something to eat and drink, let the girls out, and if he needed us, he'd come and find us. I left my bike and my panniers, and we did as we were bidden. Sat amongst those for whom Dawlish was their holiday destination, not an unwelcome and premature stop en route, we got the girls, and the ball, out. It seemed wrong. I am no wheel builder, but despite being pretty much useless I felt awful not being with my wheel whilst it was on the operating table. We have a lot of miles to cover together, yet, and although this is the first such failure in hundreds of miles since we bought the bikes, which we were assured by the Trek dealer would cope with the load, I will carry this worry for the rest of the trip unless a new wheel presents itself.

It was time to call our hosts for the evening. No way were we going to make it to Ashburton for our planned arrival time now.

Toby, it turned out, is a man of many bikes and almost as many trailers. I figured that by the time he had got rolling towards us, as he kindly offered, we could make it to the quay car park at Teignmouth, and put some modest distance on the repaired rim to see if it settled, so that's what we did. Bob swapped out the failed spoke, I had a quick run round the block to check all was well and we got rolling once more. 

The main road out of Dawlish begins with an evil hill, on a busy and narrow stretch, and I must confess I had forgotten just how many times the road went down and up again between the two towns. It's no wonder Brunel put his railway where he did! 

I do hope Toby hadn't been waiting long as we rolled into the appointed car park to find a 4x4 and a trailer big enough to take our entire outfit, with a friendly fellow cyclist at the wheel of the ensemble. A long evening's ride and a big hill had been averted thanks to the kindness of strangers. Toby, Nicky and their little boy John are another cycling family, with a wealth of experience on two wheels, and it's been affirming to meet likeminded people so early in our trip.

With the added benefit, unexpectedly, of a night in a proper bed for us, and covered storage for our fleet, we have the slightly confusing luxury of not having an early getaway, since the weather forecast is poor but improving, and we don't get to board the ferry until late at night - Brittany Ferries were unable to promise us anywhere sheltered to wait at the terminal in such a way as to keep our children warm and our bikes safe. That's for tomorrow, anyway...