£3,400.25. Not. Bad. At. All.

EdTwestival a charity event arranged through Twitter by Twitterers for Tweeters. Confused? So were we. Initially. To every tale there's a backstory and as usual in this blog we end up thanking people. So, here goes.

• In the beginning there was @mikecoulter. One conversation. Two men. Twenty beers. A thousand ideas. Ok, there have been a few more conversations since but basically Mr C got me to dip my toe into the whole social media thing and more specifically, Twitter.
• Eight months down the line and after a successful 300 mile trip to the Outer Hebrides in aid of CLIC Sargent, supported by the cast from the Edinburgh Coffee Morning, @darciec nominates us as one of the candidates to become the official charity for Edinburgh Twestival Local.
• A titanic battle with @lynneschallenge (who this month, September 2009, is trying to raise an amazing £100,000 for Teenage Cancer Trust) saw us, @300miles, victorious. CLIC Sargent became the official charity for EdTwestival Local 2009!
• The amazing team from @EdTwestival including:  Thanks to @darciec for the photo

• @btocher 
• @bettinaantonina 
• @cityferret 
• @jimwolffman 
• @littledishy 
• @salidatious

Rather charitably, they added our name on the website as part of the planning team. This is confession time: we didn't actually do a whole pile. Hats off to the team for arranging what was an amazing night. Further details of what went on can be found at the Edinburgh Twestival website but suffice to say there were a few beers drunk (and there was cake)!

Lee

We've been nominated as a candidate to be the official Twestival Local charity at EdTwestival held in Edinburgh on Thursday 10th September. We're hoping that the publicity and amazing support we received during our challenge will help us raise even more money for CLIC Sargent. Get voting for us here.

Tonight we did a LIVE TV interview on STV's The Hour show with Stephen Jardine and Michelle McManus. Despite the friendliness and obvious professionalism of the crew and presenters I still found this one of the hardest things I've had to do. As is the fire service way, I fully expect plenty of abuse in the coming days!

To view my nerves click here.

Lee

Day three already? Where did all those hours go? As we cycle out this morning we face a fairly stiff headwind for the first time (we’re temporarily heading South West) and this serves to blow the cobwebs away. The torrential downpour is a little unnecessary I feel... I mean seriously, we’re up, we’re cycling what more do you want?

Anyway..

We’re heading out to Great Bernera which represents a bit of a landmark, it’s our 15^th and final island. Lee and I stop to take a couple of photos as we cross our last causeway around half 10 and we head on to summit our last bump and head North East towards our mid-day rest stop at the Calanish Standing stones (which are amazing, incidentally). We meet up with the safety vehicle in the visitors centre car park and, as the sun begins to show itself, it starts to feel like the end is in sight. Everybody is in great spirits as we head out for the last 35 miles up to Port Nis, the small town 2 miles South of our finish line at the Butt of Lewis Lighthouse.

The cheeriness kind of dissipates as Lee and I settle back into the grind of another couple of hours of pedalling. It’s funny, these should have been the easiest miles but they prove to be a struggle as the tanks are quite empty from the previous 50 plus hours of exertions. I reward myself with a High-5 Sports bar after 10 miles, it’s amazing how dependant my mood is on my level of hydration and fuelling; the bar gives me the lift I need and we start yet another inane conversation to pass the time. It’s quite remarkable actually, 56 hours together (Not to mention a year of planning and organising) and Lee and I still haven’t run out of nonsense to talk about. Today’s topics have included favourite 1980’s sweet, drinks to be taken upon conclusion, food, sweets again, food ( I see a pattern developing) and lots of chat about how our various kit has performed.

This part is worth documenting as I reckon as time goes by the memories will fade. First off, the Felt road bikes from Chris up at Cycleworld have been outstanding. Genuinely outstanding. Lee and I knew nothing about biking when we started off and welcomed the input from Chris, we had initially thought we’d use hybrids or even mountain bikes; that would have been a horrible decision. The F70 bikes are entry level race/triathlon bikes with a lot of carbon and a very aggressive riding position, however, we’ve never known anything else and they genuinely eat up the miles.

Around half two we head downhill with the North coast on our left and the East coast on the horizon (does that make sense?) and the end is in sight. The scenery is amazing: the sky is now completely clear, the seas aqua marine and I can feel my legs burning as I realise that I never quite thought ahead to put sun cream on this morning (it was raining then!). We have been joined on our journey by all the massively supportive members of the Peyton and Mackay Clan who have made their own incredible journey to what must seem like the edge of reason when they see how far they have come. It means a huge amount to both of us and seems to validate the efforts we have made to get this far. Genuine thanks to them all.

The effort of these guys and the now seasoned professionals of our support crew culminates in an amazing finish line at the Butt of Lewis lighthouse around 1510hrs. Dad heads our peloton into the finish line in the oldest hire car we’ve ever seen; Rosco is bouncing around in the back of the open boot filming our progress. Very Tour de France.

As we approach the end of our remarkable 300 mile journey, Lee and I don’t really speak to each other. We don’t really need to, we know exactly what this means in terms of successful planning, blood, sweat, toil and steep learning curves.

We cross the line to rapturous applause (well, our supporter mob plus a few tourists they roped in) and quite a few hugs. Good times.

Rosco leaps back into action at this point in the Producer/Director role (he’s clearly missed his calling) and guides us through a number of interviews on the Adventure Show cameras. It’s a fitting end to an amazing 60 hours (well 57 hours 10 minutes to be exact!) and we’re both suitably proud of our efforts. Ahead tonight lies an amazing meal and rakes of Magners at the Hotel Hebrides in Tarbert... bring it on.

Oh, and maybe some sleeping...

To view photos from the finish line go to Flickr.

Gaz

Up sharp this morning, feeling pretty good considering the exertions of yesterday.  It’s worth saying a big thanks to the retained Firefighters of Lochmaddy at this point as they clubbed together to make a generous donation to our cause. Thanks very much guys.

So the day kicked off with a 10 mile bike up to the beach on Berneray, which in all honesty is one of the nicest in Europe. Admittedly, my perception might be slightly skewed by a lack of sleep and a genuine sense of relief at the calm paddling conditions but it is still an unbroken stretch of white sand, flanked by dunes and the blue water of the Sound of Harris. Amazing.
Lee and I paddled out with the half-way halt in sight; approximately 6k of paddling takes you to the uninhabited islands of Ensay and Killegray, which stand like a couple of grumpy nightclub doormen in the middle of the Sound of Harris, impervious to mad tidal flows and wild weather.
From there it is a similar distance to the harbour bay on Harris, but this half is punctuated by many small islands and reefs. We meet the safety boat as we pass (rapidly) through the straight between the two islands and Neil’s cry of “Christ, you must have an outboard on those two!” confirms what we suspected that we are moving well across this potentially dangerous stretch of water. I’m chuffed, as the end is in sight. The safety crew boys are mildly grumpy as they believe we’ve been ignoring their increasing desperate sounding radio communications but a quick check confirms that my VHF handheld is receiving but not transmitting. These things happen and the lads are quickly over their little tantrum. Toys firmly re-instated in the pram.
It has been fantastic to have the security blanket of the safety boat but, again, we are both delighted when the increasingly inconsistent depth forces the guys back out the ferry channel: this is type of scenery, tides and territory that requires no chat, no engines and just the regular plonk of paddles on water. It is remarkable; if you get the chance… go.
We paddle up to the deserted ferry terminal around mid morning, knowing we will have a wait for Jo to bring the van, trailer and bikes across on the ferry. Lee and I successfully negotiate with the owner of the “Butty-bus” (a converted bus, selling butties… but you could have worked that out) to provide us with a couple of bacon rolls, with the promise of payment from our “friend on the ferry”. It is a welcome rest after a decent effort and we sit in buoyant mood (excuse the nautical pun) awaiting everybody else, but most specifically our bikes!
As Neil and Ross bring the safety boat into the harbour, the look on their faces is clearer than the lighthouse behind them; something has happened. What transpired is that a pinnacle of rock on the massively tricky route into the harbour has won it’s “square go” with the propeller and the boat is now limping more than an NCP car park attendant. Not good. Phone calls are made, replacements are ordered and the rueful “what-ifs” begin. Overall, fortunately, the general consensus settles on “today is still a good day, nobody died… nobody even got particularly wet!”
Once back on the road, Lee quickly remembers why he hates biking, and the miles begin to tick by. We reach the Clisham (899m) around late afternoon and this proves to be a quite grotesque climb taking even longer than the hour and a half we had allocated for it. Never mind. As a reward we have one more hill and three more hours of biking to complete after it. Good times.
We finally call it a day some time between nine and ten by which time we are about 15 miles West of Stornoway, the end might just be in sight! But that’s tomorrow’s problem…

Garry Mac