This is turning out to be a summer holiday of service to others – thankfully the break will soon be over; I am exhausted. After ‘mastering’ the joy of dog sitting, I move on to offer domestique cycling support for Himself when he decides to complete the Devon Coast to Coast cycle route in one day – all in day light hours. (Not being a teacher he needs to condense his holiday adventures into the limited time span bequeathed to other lesser mortals).

At the risk of pumping up my own tyres, when this cycling adventure is first mentioned I have the good sense to to instate some clear boundaries – namely;

• I will not be cycling
• I will need access to coffee
• there must be toilets

Actually these are my only riders (sorry) and in hindsight perhaps I should have been more demanding. Himself starts planning and consulting maps (he even does some cycling prep) and fails to mention that the alarm will be going off at 4 am so that I can transport Himself and his bike to Ifracombe for a 7 am start.

I once tried to offer Himself domestique services and on that occasion I failed miserably because I arrived late to every meet up. This is a galling track record because Himself has gamely supported me in various long distance running adventures – always arriving at a check point before me, always providing water and always smiling – he even rode the ambulance with me during my abortive Brighton marathon attempt. For the Coast to Coast, I am determined to be reliable, cheerful and encouraging; I know that Himself will settle for reliable.

He tells me that this time it will be impossible for me to fail as long as I consult the card of postcodes that he has prepared for me (i.e. consult in the right order) and remember to fill up Winnie the Mini with petrol before we set off.

Himself knows me very well because the card he has prepared includes 7 different post codes – each denoting a cafe. He even shows me where to park/use the conveniences (in that order) on Google Maps. I can even read his handwriting.

You may be wondering how a bike can be transported in a mini – I soon learn that the wheels come off a Ridley (more specialist intel) in a non metaphorical sense and that I am not expected to provide any mechanical support. It is still dark as we leave Bristol but I feel strangely excited. I am less excited when Himself demands a first pit stop at Taunton Services for breakfast. McDonalds is not listed on my handwritten card so I feel a little blind-sided; watching a cyclist eat an Egg McMuffin at 5 am is probably a romantic moment best edited out of this adventure.

As with dog sitting, I am happy to record my domestique learning with you just in case you ever feel the urge to be the support crew for a MAMIL (Mature Man in Lycra):

• Cycling is much harder than driving and Devon is much hillier than I remember – and steeper than any long distance event that I have ever run. At no time did I wish I was running beside Himself’s bike.
• Driving the support vehicle allows a superb way of reccing the county for future holiday outings. By arriving early at each destination I have time to complete due diligence on Trip Advisor. I am already sorted for my 6 week teacher holiday next summer.
• Everyone should be gifted a handwritten card with a list of cafes. On the day I feel that I am on a caffeine related scavenger hunt rather than providing specialist support services to an increasingly tired and sweaty cyclist. He got me by stealth.
• Sausage rolls appear to be nutritional ambrosia for cyclists.
• I am grateful that some of the cafes are closed – even I have hit peak caffeine by the fourth post code.
• When you start off with the best cafe (John’s Cafe in Instow – cafe, deli, coastal view and the friendliest staff) anything afterwards may lack in lustre. Thankfully a cyclist is too tired to notice the standard of hospitality after about 40 miles. A water bottle and an energy gel are king.
• Forensic planning (by Himself, I was just the driver remember) ensures that unlike my last experiment in cycling support, this time I am early to every pit stop – and even remember to fill up the spare water bottles. There is one tense moment in Oakhampton when the planets of a closed cafe and a grid-locked Waitrose car park threaten to eclipse my winning streak, but thankfully the ‘lumpy climb (cycling jargon) up out of this meeting point simultaneously challenges our trusty cyclist and he arrives late to the next meet up (Cafe Liason in Tavistock – can recommend) in quite a grumpy manner. I wave goodbye for the last two legs and tell him to get on with it for we have a pub booked for later.
• If you are matching the cyclist drink for drink en route, it is advisable to double check that you have postcodes for ALL the local public toilets. Just as I can now rank cafes in order of preference, I can also offer a hygiene rating for each toilet stop. (Oh, and remember to take a credit card with you to Plymouth, there is no ‘spending a penny’ here).

Anyway, credit where credit is due, transfixed though you will be about my navigation and support services as I wend my way from one coast to the other, real kudos should go the man himself. Good legs for an oldie and he smashed his self-imposed challenge. Glad he has got this one out of his system for his has been wanging on about it since last year when rain stopped play.

At tea time (we are done with coffee) Himself glides on to Plymouth Hoe and it is starting to rain; he is in no mood for a finisher’s photo. I take a photo of myself instead, and watch supportively as he dismantles the Ridley and squeezes himself – uncomfortably – back inside my mini.

Apparently life is not such a beach after nearly 100 miles of cycling – even with bespoke cycling shorts, but the tide has turned just a few hours later in the pub. Himself is now showered, nursing a Guinness and eating Fish and Chips. He raises his glass awkwardly (stiff wrists), saying, ‘Cheers. Great team work. Could not have done this without you.’ He is a liar, but I am happy to be of service – yet again.