An all-night bike ride, Mr Smith, Lois and clark and why Lance Armstrong still inspires me.

I’ve always felt overwhelmed in crowded places, and this bar was no exception. The atmosphere was electric and the ambient bar lights dangled freely above the rich, polished oak tables. The tumult of London workers, supping a hard-earned pint of their favourite tipple, was framed by a back drop of dream-like lanterns, suspended at varying heights and illuminating the faces of every pub-goer from a varying angle, adding a previously unseen depth to each and every facial expression. I hadn’t been to a pub or a night club for some time, so it felt uplifting to spend time with fellow human beings and connect by sharing our own experience of navigating life’s maze. It was one of those spring evenings where the temperature has arrived at an optimum level - the fresh breeze prompts its receivers to wrap up cosily in a reasonably substantial coat, but the fresh air welcomes outdoor wanderers and adds a spring to one’s step. Furthermore, the seasonal rise in temperature and the clear night sky invites all who are still awake to step outside and enjoy its wonders. With this environment as our platform for the evening, we enjoyed the night-time air and chatted around a waist height table. I felt inspired by one particular lady I met who shared with me her passion for running and nature. I felt heartened by the way in which this lady had managed to maintain an inspirational, conscious-driven philosophy towards life. In addition, I also felt inspired by a friend from work who shared with me his passion for music and song writing, and shared his life-story about reaching for the stars with his love for music and words. These inspirational people made me realise that obstacles will always stand in the way of hopes and dreams. However, these obstacles need not stop us; instead they can serve to strengthen our resolve and make our goal all the more meaningful and rewarding and the process of getting there all the more challenging and fulfilling. While sharing our life-stories, I inevitably ended up confiding in my new friends about my journey to complete my PGCE and become a primary school teacher, along with how I had to walk away from my dream of emulating Mr Smith, my inspirational primary school teacher who came in to my life when I was 8 years old. I had battled with heart and soul and completed my first placement. However, when I began my final placement, I had no choice but to reluctantly withdraw. I explained how this came about because I suffered from what I can only describe as a form of stage fright that I would always experience whilst being observed in front of the class. This used to compromise all my hard work and, no matter how much effort I put in, my lesson plans would fall apart. It felt consoling to share this story with my new friends - I felt inspired by their heartfelt encouragement and talk of a fighting spirit. However, talking so openly about this experience forced me to look the pain straight in the eye in way I had never done before. I felt overcome - I knew I had to do something about it. I suddenly felt driven to ride in to the night and let all the hurt and sadness from last October, when my PGCE came to an end, out of my system. It was getting late, so I bid my friends farewell and rode in to the night. I rode across the streets of London. Glowing red double-decker buses ruled the roads and the tumult of the London highway pulsated through my veins and fuelled my every pedal stroke. I cannot begin to name all the parts of London I covered that night. However, what I can say is that I rode and rode and rode, without direction or orientation. I decided that tonight wasn’t going to be an ordinary night - I was going to ride all-night and meet the sunrise.

 

After 3.5 hours of cycling, my gears broke down on me. I found myself stranded in a deserted, unhospitable corner of London. South West trains had long since retired for the evening and I didn’t relish the prospect of abandoning my bike in this corner of London in order to seek out a night bus. One way or another I was going to get home, and I was going to arrive at my destination on two wheels. I flipped my bicycle on to its saddle and inspected its moving parts. It became apparent to me that the gears were beaten up and worn out. I had covered almost 2000 miles on this bicycle; the majority of which was up and down the Kent hills, to and from my placement school. The children’s school books sat  in my backpack after I had ridden them home to mark them. I remember how, at that moment in time on my first placement, the weight of the children's books bearing down upon my back was heavy, but the sense of hope and purpose in my heart was elating. However, I brought my attention back to the task at hand and tried to figure out a way to repair my bicycle. I felt like Han and Chewy frantically trying to repair the clapped out hyper-drive in The Millennium Falcon with Tie Fighters in hot pursuit. Time was pressing on and I started to panic. What was I going to do? I felt close to sitting on the kerb and having a good cry, but I knew I had to keep focused. I could see that my gear derailleur had somehow curved inwards - goodness knows how - causing the chain to become misaligned with the freewheel. In a flurry of anger, determination and desperation I heaved with all my might and forced the gear mechanism back in line with the cogs. I eagerly orbited the pedal mechanism and put my improvised repair job to the test. The chain embraced the freewheel and the tyres span and hummed with that unmistakeable gliding sound of a spinning bicycle wheel. Houston, we have lift off! I felt like Anakin Skywalker when he constructs his first pod racer and sees the engines roar. However, I was probably going to travel a hell of a lot slower than a pod racer. Never the less, I would still be moving forwards. And whether it’s a bike ride, a run or any other challenge in life, moving forwards is all that matters, no matter how slowly that may be.  

 

By now it was 3:20 am. The fast-paced hustle and bustle of London night-life had been replaced with a magical stillness. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw the famous Wimbledon tennis museum. This encounter made me cast my mind back to Andy Murray’s epic battle against Roger Federer. I remember how, at the time, I had felt in awe of the will-power and determination being shown by these two Wimbledon warriors; two athletes battling with heart and soul, refusing to give up on a dream. I remember how, when Andy Murray eventually conceded defeat, his pain was apparent and his tears flowed freely. I could not help but feel won over by Andy Murray’s candid display of raw emotion and heart-felt passion. However, although Andy Murray was clearly upset, he still held his head up high. This is because he had a sense of pride; pride from knowing that he had stepped out on to that court and given everything - his very best. Although Andy Murray hadn’t walked home holding a trophy, I believe that Andy Murray walked home with the greatest prize of all; self-respect. At the point, surrounded by the solitude of the London skyline, I realised something - I had tried my absolute best to pass my PGCE. I had dug deep in to my heart and soul and left everything on the table. Yes, I hadn’t passed, but at least now I’ll always know that I worked as hard as I possibly could at something I truly believed in. From then on I made a decision; if I wake up every morning and strive to be the best Jack I can be, then I really cannot ask for anymore from myself. If I can make a positive difference to at least one person’s life on a daily basis, then my life will always have meaning. Whether that takes the form of smiling at someone working behind the till in a supermarket, stroking my cat or somehow inspiring someone to fight another day. We can always enhance the quality of someone else’s existence and make the world a better place. With these thoughts in mind I felt a renewed sense of energy and continued to ride towards the sunrise.

 

The time was fast approaching 4:30am. The lights on Richmond Bridge spoke of December magic at Trafalgar Square when St Martins on the Field - the Church of the open Door - welcomes those in need to its warm sanctuary and all who are inside hold a candle to signify hope. The River Thames and the night sky merged together and formed a sea of crimson red. It reminded me of the rich, velvety red of Superman’s cape in the 1993 T.V series; Lois and Clark. The golden starlight seemed like an echo of the golden S emblem that Martha sews upon her son’s cape. This particular adaption of Superman has always been my favourite because it offers such a sensitive homage to Christopher Reeve’s legacy. I distinctly remember how, at 9 years of age I had felt a sense of sadness upon discovering that Christopher Reeve had been paralysed in a horse riding accident. However, this had been counteracted by a sense of joy upon discovering that a new Superman was going to rise again in the form of Dean Cain. I recall my sense of elation after watching the pilot episode of Lois and Clark where Superman lifts the broken down space shuttle out of the stratosphere and in to orbit in order to enable astronauts to carry out spinal cord research in the required zero gravity conditions. A girl in a wheel chair asks Superman; “will I ever be able to fly like you?”

“Fly? I’m not so sure. But walk again; quite possibly, thanks to the help of these scientists and doctors”, replies Superman with reassuring calmness.

This scene made a 9-year old boy very happy and it continues to fill a 30-year old man with a sense of hope. The Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation continues to inspire me on a daily basis and Christopher Reeve’s fighting spirit is still a light house in the middle of life’s stormy seas. With the night sky evoking this memory I continued to ride along the beautiful stretch of the River Thames from Richmond to Hampton.

 

I stood up and pedalled freely with the wind blowing in my face and hair, embracing the feeling of joy and freedom that a child discovers when they first learn to ride a bike. The lights from the long boats whizzed past me like shooting stars - I was drinking in every moment of this night-time adventure. Suddenly, my front light died. I was hurtling along in complete darkness - a most alarming situation. Foolishly I continued pedalling, after all, I had almost made it to Hampton Court, at which point I would be almost home. This was a bad idea. All of a sudden, I faintly perceived the outline of a wooden barrier blocking the Thames toe-path, hurtling towards me like a heat seeking missile. It all happened so quickly - there was no time to pull on the breaks and no time to swerve out of the way. I had no choice other than to hold tight and brace myself for impact. The solid wooden barrier collided with my chest with all the forward momentum accumulated by my pedalling motion. I felt as if I had just tried kissing The Flying Scotsman steam train! The impact catapulted me in to the air and I flew backwards while my bike continued to casually roll onwards, apparently indifferent to my plight. I lay on the floor winded - my eyes full of tears. I suddenly cast my mind back to a phone conversation I had had with my nephew earlier that night. My nephew always inspires me to keep fighting and this moment was no exception. My nephew and I were both excitedly awaiting a cinema trip to see Batman Vs Superman during the coming weeks. With this in mind the words of Bruce Wayne’s father came to mind; “why do we fall, Bruce? We fall in order to get back up again”. With this I rose to my feet, caught my breath and leapt back upon my bicycle!

 

During the last mile of my all-night bicycle ride I was relieved to find 24-hour garage where I feasted on a king-size mars and bar and eagerly glugged a bottle of orange Fanta. A cold, fizzy soft drink had never tasted so good. For some reason I started to think about Lance Armstrong. Lance had been a life-changing hero and inspiration to me ever since I was 20-years old and my dad introduced me to Lance’s autobiography: It’s Not About the Bike. I remember sitting down with my dad and watching the press conference where Lance revealed the extent to which the cancer had spread to his lungs, brain and abdomen. Lance’s words at this press conference will remain with me forever; “I want you all to know that I intend to beat this disease, and further I intend to make a full return to professional cycling”. From this point onwards, my dad and I loved Lance, and I think that if my dad were still here, he’d still love Lance. Lance’s indomitable spirit and determination had struck a massive chord in both of us. Needless to say, I found the revelations in Oprah’s 2013 interview with Lance hard to process - I didn’t quite know what to make of it all. However, I remember watching a recent interview with Lance - I couldn’t help but continue to feel inspired by this man’s fighting spirit. Lance said that, in spite of all that has happened, you won’t find him moping around; “I still aim to be a great father, a great friend and a great husband. It hurt me to stand down as chairman of the Livestrong foundation, but I’m still proud of what we achieved. If I can carry on doing my thing and making a positive difference in the world, then I’ll keep fighting”. I suddenly realised that Lance had remained an inspiration to me. He wasn’t going to lay down and be beaten by cancer, and be certainly wasn’t going to lay down and be beaten by this. I recently read that Lance is entering the ultra-running community. He recently completed his first ultra-marathon with flying colours and his fellow trail runners welcomed him with open arms. In the world of ultra-running, it doesn’t matter who you are, if you intend to put one foot in front of the other and enjoy the fresh air with your fellow companions, people will embrace you. Lance Armstrong is now 42 years old.  His best years of ultra-marathon running are still ahead of him, and what a great ultra-runner he will be. I for one would certainly love to share footsteps with Lance in the Western States 100-mile endurance run. Maybe one day. Lance’s story makes me think; whatever happens in our lives and no matter how old we are, our greatest hour is always yet to come.

 

I didn’t quite make it through to the sunrise. I made it to 5:00am and felt in desperate need of a warm bed. However, just like all of life’s challenges; you can always try again next time.