Day 38 - The Final Stage
Wednesday 20th July 2004
Andy Ogilvie, my one and only support man had parked our motor home in a lay-by next to a road sign that marked the city limits of Troyes, to the east of Paris. My bike was propped, and my body was slumped against the motor home door. I had never felt so mentally and physically spent, ever! Despite having consumed my daily ‘slack handful’ of strong painkillers

anti-inflammatory, and joint lubrication tablets my whole body felt totally wrecked. My thigh and calf muscles were sapped and aching, my neck and shoulders and lower back were locked rigid and painful, and my vice-tight and mildly arthritic neck had generated enough pressure on nerves to render my left hand numb. My knee and hip joints felt raw, like someone had inserted sheets of rough sandpaper between all my moving parts. What my bottom lacked in outer skin, was more than made up for by the presence of infections. They would have scared even the most hardened dermatologist, had one been brave enough to examine my nether regions. I had had enough. After more than seven tough hours in the saddle I had cycled 127 miles during the day, the furthest daily mileage I had ever achieved in my life.
Andy was busy whipping the caps off two ice-cold celebratory beers. My magnificent all consuming obsession was about to be realised. All that was ahead of me the next day was the formality of a final ride up the Avenue des Champs Elysees in Paris. This was now perfect good time to make that telephone call. A telephone call I had imagined making countless times during the past year of intense planning, preparation and training, and even more so over the last five weeks and three days of cycling the entire route of the hardest cycle race in the world. It had been more than 2,200 miles of physical attrition, pain and pleasure, with each day probing the limits of my mental resilience in different ways.
This was therefore the perfect moment to give the news to my wife Julie, who had been with me for every mile of every day. She just happened to be in England. It went something like this.
Wayne
‘Hi Julie it’s me…. Well that’s it, I’ve done it… I’ve only gone and cycled the bloody Tour de France haven’t I’
Julie
‘Fantastic, fantastic, fantastic. I always knew you could, now please just come home safe’
Wayne/Julie
…………. (There then followed a long pause, with occasional muffled blubbing emanating from each side of the English Channel. There were unspoken thoughts that passed between us that did not require spoken words then, or written words now. Neither Julie nor I have any proper recollection of what we said for the remainder of the call. You may be interested to know how I might have felt at that moment. Amazing? Ecstatic? On top of the world? Excited? Awesome? Euphoric? Tremendous? Thrilled? None of them at that time actually. It may be hard to understand now, but as you read my written account, you may come to appreciate why I just felt relieved. Simply relieved. Oh yes and proud, extremely proud. I had actually cycled the entire route of the Tour de France!