London, United Kingdom
I've done some crazy things in my life, but how the hell I find myself sat in a taxi en route to Gatwick to face a death-defying, ass-destroying, white-knuckle ride across the outer fringes of the Sahara desert and into the Atlas Mountains is a mystifying conundrum that even Carole Vorderman would struggle to solve. But, then, she's never met Rod Smallwood, manager of the biggest metal band in the world, and a veritable force of nature.
Rewind ten months and you find myself and my colleague Paul at lunch in Geales Restaurant, Notting Hill, with said Mr Smallwood and some senior members of EMI. Rod is telling us all about his next charity expedition, a cycle ride across Zanzibar, and suggests that EMI should field a team, declaring that Paul and I would be fine candidates to take up the challenge. And not only that, but EMI can support us as we raise money for Childline, Teenage Cancer Trust and Nordoff Robbins Music Therapy.
Some far distant idea of cycling across an island as ludicrously exotic as Zanzibar seems kinda appealing, so I foolishly make positive noises, as do my superiors, and all of a sudden the deal is done, confirmed a few days later by an email from Rod with all the details. Hmmmmm.
Come the new year and plans change. Zanzibar is deemed a risky destination, due to the threat of East African piracy, so now we'll all be setting off for Marrakech instead and rather than a jaunt through tropical paradise, we'll now be pedalling for 72 hours across deserts and mountains, in 100 degree heat, avoiding religious uprisings as we go. How did that happen?
And now, after months of preparation, and many hundreds of miles spent in the saddle discovering a new found passion for cycling that's given me thighs to rival Chris Hoy, I'm about as ready as I can be for this lunatic adventure.
The Cycle Surgery shop in Kensington has seen my life's savings pour through its coffers as I've purchased everything from padded shorts and cycle helmets to isotonic energy gels and chamois butter for ruined cheeks! And I even have a French Foreign Legion style sunhat to go under my helmet and protect my delicate features from the harsh, unforgiving sun.
But most importantly we've raised over £10,000 for good causes and the money's still coming in. I'm not sure my cab driver is going to donate though. His maniacal laughter when I tell him what we're planning suggests he doesn't think I'll be needing his services in the future. "You're crazy man, crazy!! Cycling across the desert? Oh Lord Jesus. I am from Africa and me, no no no I wouldn't be crazy like that!! Oh, ha ha ha," he chortles with undisguised glee and amazement, "I wish you luck my friend. You're going to need it!!"
Well, there's no turning back now....
