An August camp with Dean

Meeting like minded folk is one of the pleasures of social media. Chrissie and have been in touch with Dean for a while now and he recently contacted us with a view to having a camp together. Fortuitously, I was just arranging to squeeze in a night out to keep up with my self imposed wild-camp-every-month-of-the-year challenge.

So it is that Dean and I are setting out late on Thursday afternoon.

It's utterly idyllic weather. Dry, not too warm, sunny. What more could you ask for? Good company? Tick!

We dine outside our tents. Dean enjoys photographing and videoing and we chew the fat on a wide variety of subjects before retiring, well after sunset.

It's a cool, clear night and we rise to the most beautiful morning. Our early walk back to Hayfield is wonderfully quiet and peaceful.

This view of Hayfield, the village where we're lucky enough to live, from the lower slopes of Kinder, is one I've never noticed before despite walking this area for years.

The most delightful of short trips. Thanks Dean. Here's to more.

Kidney donation, part 8

This journey really is a roller coaster.

We came back from a weekend away to find two letters re two different appointments on the same day, Sept 11th. One is for a glomerular filtration rate (GFR) test and the other for a kidney scan. These are two big ones. The GFR process takes 6 hours. I'll be injected with some radioactive stuff and 4 blood samples will be taken over the 6 hour period. This shows how quickly the kidneys remove the stuff from my blood. The scan involves another injection and a scan is taken 2 hours later to show up my kidneys. Both these test are done in the Nuclear Medicine Centre at MRI.

Rereading the donation info revealed that this leaves only two further tests; an ECG and an ultrasound scan.

The letter re GFR tells me not to take any excessive exercise (nor caffeine, nor alcohol) on the evening before. I wondered if cycling to the hospital would be ok. I phoned Guy, my Transplant Coordinator to ask. He didn't know but said he'd check and get back to me.

A couple of days later Guy phoned and told me cycling in would be ok, but I must be there an hour before that test to allow my body to settle down. That means getting in for 8am, which is no problem. An early morning ride sounds good. Traffic may be quieter.

I took this opportunity to ask Guy if I was right about just the ECG and ultrasound left after these two big tests and he said, essentially, yes. He also told me that my ultrasound was booked and I'd be getting a letter shortly and I'd probably see the nephrologist (kidney specialist) doctor on either 19th or 26th of September, his surgeries being on Wednesdays only. At this appointment I should have the ECG. This doctor will assess my tests and decide if any extra ones need doing. It seems there may be another due to my age. Guy also said he didn't anticipate any problem with my GFR since the blood sample he took showed a GFR of 90, which apparently is the highest rate a blood test can show. Finally, he said I'd have a final scan before seeing the transplant surgeons. According to Jamie's transplant nurse, once I see the surgeons we'll know the end's not far off.

So, from feeling everything was going to take ages, it now appears that many things are going on within the next month or so.

In other news Jamie has been added to a waiting list for a deceased donation and simultaneously suspended from it, since he has a potential living donor. He will though start accruing points so if something goes wrong with my offer he will then be a high priority.

My fingers, and Jamie's, remain firmly crossed.

Pebbles and Islay send Jamie their love and big, sloppy kisses.

Comments are always welcome.

To read the whole story go to my kidney donation page which you can access on the left side of this blog.

Kidney donation, part 7

Today's been a day of mixed feelings.

My thoughts are a turmoil. In part it's to do with our labrador, Islay, being so poorly after an operation to rid her of a fungal infection in her sinuses. She's had the front of her skull shaved to allow two needles to be inserted for the application of cream to kill the infection. Home now, her nose is running with a nasty mixture of snot, cream and blood, as expected, and her skull and muzzle is swollen. She looks a sight. But it's all as predicted by the vet. Worse, she is likely to need a repeat of the operation in two weeks. I feel for her. This is nothing at all to do with the donation process, but everything to do with my mood as I cycled into Manchester this morning to meet my new Transplant Coordinator.

I met Guy, at the renal transplant base in Manchester Royal Infirmary (MRI). I decided to cycle in to avoid any issues with traffic and parking. Plus it's good quality exercise and the 17 miles took less than an hour and a half. Guy was very pleasant and guided me through the work up to come. Today I had my height, weight and BMI checked. I also had some further blood samples taken along with blood pressure and I had a chest x ray.

Guy explained to me that the work up takes so long because access to the scanners used in a couple of the tests is prioritised towards folk with life threatening conditions. Since I'm healthy that puts me down the list. No account seems to be taken of the recipient's condition. But that's the way it works. As Guy explained, their team could do all the tests they needed in a matter of weeks but it's slowed by the access to scanners. 

In light of this it's no wonder that Guy predicts a 6 to 9 month process ahead. Chrissie and I have an Arctic trip planned for late summer 2019 and it's beginning to look as if this could be compromised given the length of time needed to get back to hill fitness after my operation. Guy's suggestion is to schedule the transplant until after that trip, which would be September 2019. As he says, there is no point in trying to rush recovery, better to delay the process by a few months. 

This is all hard to stomach but it's important to realise that the transplant could easily be delayed right at the last minute because either Jamie or I have a cold. Not to mention any other hiccups which tests mightt throw up. Nothing is certain.

I talked all this over with Chrissie after I got home and then phoned Jamie and explained all the above to him. That was hard. But Jamie sounded stoic and positive. He's clearly doing his very best to handle all this. I admire him for that. Although it's been made clear that the donation process is centred around me I cannot help but be honest with Jamie about what's happening along the way. For me, Jamie is at the centre of this and deserves no less.

So now I await the appointment for my next test, which I think is an ultrasound scan. Not sure, because I was a little overwhelmed with all the information today. No criticism intended.

Sorry to seem a little demoralised today. As I said to Jamie, I was perhaps naive in thinking all this would be done by the end of this year. However, I remain resolved to help him and will try to stay patient through the process to come.

I wish my friend Jamie well.

To read the whole story go to my kidney donation page which you can access on the left side of this blog.

A July camp at the Hanging Tree

The sole premise of this night out is to maintain my self-imposed challenge to wild camp at least once, every month of the year. It might be said that, since I camped for 31 consecutive nights through France, this is a touch pedantic, but what the heck. So I manage to talk Chrissie and Dale into joining me and, along with the pups, we spend a pleasant night up by, what Chrissie insists on calling, the Hanging Tree.

We time it well. Over the past couple of days the weather has cooled a little. Yesterday we had a brief thunderstorm. As we walk up to the camp though it's fine and dry and a pleasant temperature. 

It's late when we get there and time to cook dinner. Just cool enough, with a few spots of rain, to make us sit inside tents, but we chat and laugh through the evening.

I'm unsure about Chrissie's assertion that this place is spooky but, in one of my pics, a hooded figure makes an appearance. See if you can spot him/her...

With morning comes rain and we don waterproofs for the walk back home.

All fun.

Smile!

Kidney donation, part 6

A few days back from my adventure in France, I today made contact with Suzanne, my donor coordinator. You'll remember the important blood samples I had taken back in June. While I've been bimbling across France tests have been done to establish whether or not my blood is compatible with Jamie's by cross matching. In these tests our blood samples are mixed to see if there are any problems with antibodies. Following the tests, the team's scientists met to assess the results.

Well, having spoken with Suzanne this morning, it seems the end result is that my blood is a good match with Jamie's, which means I have the go ahead to carry on with the process. Such good news!

Tomorrow Suzanne will contact her counterpart in Manchester to hand me over, so the rest of the tests can be done locally.

I was pleased to be able to phone Jamie to let him know this very positive news.

I now look forward to making contact with my local donor coordinator in the next few days.

As ever, my thoughts are primarily with my friend Jamie as he continues with the ordeal that is dialysis. Pebbles and Islay send him love.

To read the whole story go to my kidney donation page which you can access on the left side of this blog.

Channel to Med, reflections and an overview

I'm cycling up the steep road on the south side of the Verdon Gorge. My Thorn touring bike is laden with camping gear and everything I need for a five week trip right across France, from St Malo on the English Channel, to Nice on the Mediterranean Sea, over 1100 miles away.

I'm closely monitoring the route profile for the day on my Garmin GPS. A glance shows the red dot indicator virtually at the top of this Category One, 7 mile long climb. With some relief I round a hairpin bend and my spirit plummets. Ahead of me I see the road, clinging to the cliff, climbing further to a distant visible hairpin above. I can't believe it. I stop in some shade and recheck my calculations. I'm 13 miles into today's 30 odd mile route and I should be at the top. I mutter, grumble and curse before setting off again at a crawling pace in my lowest gear. And soon I realise that, hidden just out of sight, is the crest of the climb. From there it's ever so slightly downhill to that hairpin I could see. 

This is one of many, short, soon to pass, low moments on a long, long journey through France. Thankfully such moments were balanced out by the highs generated by beautiful scenery, fine weather, friendly exchanges and the kindness of strangers along the way.

My blog posts, written as I journey, are concise, often missing some of my better pictures. Hence, there follows a collection of photos from the journey, in chronological order, along with a few reflective thoughts now I'm back home.

Beautiful Brittany is often overcast, cooler and green. On just the second night my Helinox Ground chair breaks. I've done hardly any cycle touring without this. I enjoy camping but can't sit comfortably on the floor. I email Helinox and the chair remains usable, with care.

Into the Pays de la Loire the weather becomes a touch warmer, the ground dryer, often hard for tent pegs. A proper lunch stop in a Saumur restaurant is just wonderful. I enjoy a beer with Trish and Andrew, caravanners from Suffolk.

Poitou-Charentes is steeped in history. Chateaux abound. In an urban campsite, someone steals my power pack from a toilet block. Luckily, I source two smaller ones in a nearby hypermarket. I meet up with my old pal Bernie who's travelling on his motorbike.

In the Dordogne region there are crops, cattle and heat...and thankfully, shady campsites. I hit a low point. Wonder what the hell I'm doing. But, with help from friends online, it passes...and I journey on.

I followed the Lot river for getting on for 150 miles or so. I find a book, in a telephone box library. The sun shines. Life is good. But my chair finally collapses. I try contacting Helinox again. No response from them in over two weeks. Two weeks in, my Thorn gets a service. At a campsite I meet a group of French touring cyclists on a pilgrimage route. we enjoy dinner together at the excellent campsite restaurant.

Now into the Massif Central, Cevennes-Ardeche is a region of high temperatures and harder climbs. I try to tackle most in the cool of the morning, but it doesn't always work. I meet Stuart and Julie though, from Cumbria. They're on the same journey as me but B&Bs so a little quicker. We spend a few days meeting for coffee, parting, then meeting again. Helinox UK contact me and promise to send a new chair to a campsite I'm headed for in a few days.

Into the Rhone region. Arriving at the appointed campsite there's no chair from Helinox. The landscape is dominated by vineyards...and road closures. Lunch in Chateauneuf du Pape is divine! And John and Sheena, Geordie caravanners, bring me wine, snacks and beer for with my dinner, apologising that they couldn't invite me for dinner because of a prior arrangement with friends.

  

And then there is Pays du Ventoux! A landmark as I ride my bike to the top of this 6273ft mountain, highest of the finish stages used on the Tour de France. It is a very tough ride. It's windy near the summit. I need to dig deep to get up the final slope.

And finally, the hardest climb of the route, up the Verdon Gorge and into the Alpes-Maritime towards the coast. At a quiet site I meet full time motorhomers Paul, Karen and their lovely dogs, Skye and Tia. They're really friendly people and adventurers. We swap tales into the night.

And after a long and alarming thunderstorm on my final night in the tent...it's Nice. A couple of relaxing days in a very pleasant Airbnb playing the tourist before my flight back home.

The flight back, my first with a bike, is without drama. Unpacked, the Thorn has survived its adventure unscathed.

I cycled 1114 miles in 32 days and climbed 41827ft.

The bike suffered no breakdowns. I needed to adjust a limit screw on the front derailleur to stop the chain coming off (which happened twice) and tighten the tension on the rear derailleur cable to help with down changes.

I had no punctures. My Schwalbe Marathon Mondials still have plenty of life left in them. They've probably covered around 3000 miles.

I'm glad I did the trip. For me, it was a proper adventure, since I was often outside my comfort zone. The physical effort of the many significant climbs made it very challenging on a fully laden tourer. I saw few undertaking a similar journey in such a way ie camping.

I was taken by surprise at how long and tough some of the climbs were, particularly in the second half of the journey. I should have perhaps done more research. But maybe that would've put me off.

Travelling alone was challenging too. Solitude, even in a crowd. I put quite a bit of effort into talking to people, both French and English. My French isn't good but I get by.The tactic helped to stave off much of the loneliness.

I felt let down by the book, France en Velo. It was written by folk who lead guided tours where road cyclists have their luggage transported in a van from one hotel/B&B to the next. Fatuous comments about, "rewarding climbs" don't consider an old bloke on a touring bike with all his camping gear on board. Stuart, who I met along the way, complained that the quoted daily ascents were often wrong. I certainly remember a climb stated as being 2 kms long, which went on for 4 miles! It's a good route, but the technical descriptions leave something to be desired.

As I write my Justgiving page has raised over £1600 for Cancer Research UK. Thanks to all who've donated. There's still time if you feel like chucking something in the pot. See here.

If anyone needs any further details about the trip do contact me.

And a final thank you to all those who gave me much needed moral support on my low days. You know who you are. Thanks so much. You helped me to succeed.

Cheers, and thanks for visiting.