Day 3 started with a bump. Mark woke me up and I fell out of my camp bed. I was starting out from the campsite today destination Arras or as close as possible. There were several must visit sites today, Allendale and Tynedale men. I was to travel through the most evocative of names, etched on many a historians heart. Poziers, Beaumont Hazel, Bucquoy, Gommecourt. I had to bypass many evocative battlefields as I have a job to do, and that is reach Dunkirk in the hottest June for years. 

Left the chaps waving me off tearfully at 9.20 and headed off up the notorious Albert-Bapaume road. Many thousands of men came to hate that road; like the Voi Sacre to Verdun. I personally visited 10 cemetaries and placed poppies for 13 men, 6 from Tynedale or the Allen Valleys. Independently, Marc and Ray visited several sites off route and did the same. Today was very different to the first two: no wind at last, very very hot and wonderful receptions from the local people. 

Poziers has 14000 men listed as missing on the memorial and many thousands of graves. I placed a poppy below an Allendale man there. The Pair went later and saw others from Allendale. I left the road after Poziers and went cross country. Really gorgeous but I could make out the obvious, well prepared killing grounds that we sent our lads into. From a distance I spotted a lovely looking CWG up an escarpment so diverted off route to Courcellette Cemetary. After that I saw a sign for Regina Ridge Cemetary and remembered we have a Hexham man there, one Melville Dent who emigrated to Canada to make a new life, then as soon as war broke out volunteered to come back and fight and die for his old country. He now lies in France, and today I went to see him. 

I saw the sign and went off up a road, which became a track, which became a horrible rutted path. Finally after 2 km of horrible battered buttockfest I came across an absolute wonder. How many people visit this site? I felt so honoured to have been there. Bloody Melville Dent got his poppy and well deserved too. Then I self flagellated my way back the path to meet the lads at Adanac C which I had agreed to meet them at 1100. I was late, by one minute. 

Adanac was extraordinary. Very straight lines with 5 Special Memorials, 2 of which are our lads from Tynedale. Capt Plummer, MM and Bar, grandson of the founder of the hexham Courant, and Lt John Bagnall of Riding Mill. Also there was William Jefferson, another Hexham lad who emigrated to Canada and came back to die for his king. Full Tunic on for the photographs and a good snack and water break. Then the lads departed and I was on my own for the next 4 hours. 

And what a wonderful 4 hours it was. Unbroken blue sky, poppies everywhere, rolling hills and lots of freewheeling so I could stand up and give my bum some respite. The steel helmet issued to the troops which I was wearing gave me deliverance from the scorching sun. Sleeves were rolled up by now, but I was still wearing service leather boots, puttees and barathea jodpurs, vest and heavy shirt. Plus a 20 ton tin helmet. But my heart was singing as I trundled through the Picardy chalklands. Even the piles of poo at the side of the road took on an aromatic beauty. 

Lt George Walton, previously of Acomb, Hexham, currently resides in Queens Cemetary, Bucquoy. He looked very peaceful as I gave him a poppy for his buttonhole. I tried not to wake him. Thence the nicest town I have been through, Bucquoy was full of smiling wavy people taking photos of me and sounding their horns. I diverted off to an utterly charming tiny place called Shrine Cemetary with only a few men, one of which was a Yorkshireman with the delightful name of John Winpenny. He got my poppy. As I was about to leave a lovely lady turned up with a camera; she had seen me cycling through the town and had ran to grab her camera and had followed me to take pictures! The rest of the day was repeats, lots of mobile phones out taking pictures and waves. And at Bucqoy there were tempting estaminets where gentlemen supped ice cold beers. But I had miles to do and heroes to visit. 

After Gommecourt I was out of the Somme battlefield and out of chalk country. Long cycles between cemetaries now as this was between that and the Arras sector. I sat back, pedalled away and admired the views. There are trees now, and shade. After a few more tiny, lovely sites where I selected my men at random, then finally arrived at Journeys End, Croiselles. There was a very tempting estaminet, and had done 52 km in sweltering heat; but I saw a sign for Courcelles Railway Cemetary, so I thought I’d just pop along to it and leave a last poppy. Off into the bondu yet again, road became track became path, became grass and finally one of the most true delights of the journey. Tucked behind a wood and a cornfield in a hollow was a really gorgeous resting place for 150 men, 20 Germans. It was bloody hard work getting there, and back. But it was the highlight of the day. I was born in Keighley and I found a lad from there and gave him a poppy and arranged to have a drink at a later date when I have joined him. 

I trundled back to the village, visited the estaminet and downed several large beverages whilst waiting for the Pair to pick me up. Sitting outside I was interroged in a friendly way by some chaps who showed great interest in my project and in appreciation, allowed me to share their copious cigarette smoke and kindly protected my clothes with protective ash. The pair turned up, and back to Arras on an imaginative route only they could have concocted, then an evening in the heat, home cooked food, some small beers and the world put to rights.

After the first day I was seriously worried that I had made a big mistake on this trip, But each day gets better and better. I now realise from the superb support from the Pair, and the fantastic messages I have recieved, that this is a very special quest; afterwards I hope to share my emotive experience and help people understand what happened. I have cycled throug valleys and over hills that men fought, suffered and died, but I am also having enormous fun. 

I have, and still will, pushed myself to limits I never realised I could achieve. I hope that alone provides inspiration along with what we are achieving here. Goodnight. 

What a difference good planning and experience makes. Lots more water, loads to eat and a direct line to ride. Not the best nights sleep in spectacular thunderstorms all night, still wet early on. Of course I’d left my towel outside in the night. 

 First stop Tincourt for JW Fairless, a local lad from Whitfield, another Fusilier. Lots of Chinese there, brought over as labour to clear the wreckage up; all died 1919, almost certainly of Flu. Then up to where I was picked up yesterday and back on my bike, leaving Mark and Ray on our never ending search for cooker gas. My weaving around Picardy yesterday may have got in lots of visits, but didn’t help me get closer to Dunkirk! So a straightish line direct to Albert. Dropped off north of Peronne it was time to head into the Somme battlefields proper. Which are hilly, and into wind. After a couple of 1917/18 cemetaries the `16 ones started to come thick and fast, and how! At a small one previously I found a South African Jewish soldier that turned out to have come from Tennessee?! I put the poppy on his in the Jewish manner, on top with a stone to hold it down. Today I was wearing the full regalia; it was bloody cold in the headwind at first. Got lots more reaction today as a result from other drivers and passers by. 

The first big one was Combles, and that was special so sat and ate my bait in the sunshine.There I found Gerald Patterson of Hexham; handwritten in French in the register was that he was the first tank crewman to die in the war.  Yesterday the crops were all wheat, sugar beet and potatoes; today that changed to peas and barley, plus a purple flowered crop that smelled devine. Towards the end of the day, ripe rapeseed ready to harvest. Vast piles of cow dung at the sides of the road. The skylarks were out too, and the ubiquitous poppies at the side of the road. It’s a lonely ride this; long straight roads with almost no people. On these back roads there are no trees to shade you or provide blunting of the burning headwind which dries and blisters your face. The chalk landscape is identical to Salisbury Plain or the Berkshire Downs. The villages too have little character; empty dormitories of modern buildings with no estaminets or village shops. In the retreat to the Hindenburg Line in spring 17 the German army left a scorched earth with poisoned wells and utterly destroyed villages. I saw a bizzare sign saying I had just left somethingcourt or other; I was puzzled until I saw a picture board with photos of the community that was once there, now just barley and potato fields. 

We are trying to visit lots of men from Tynedale and especially the Allen valleys. At the Guards Cemetary near Lebeufs Marc rang me to say we`d meet at Longueval as the grandson of the founder of the Hexham Courant was there , and not to forget another local lad at Delville wood. They then called again and said they were struggling for gas and they’d see me at Albert. I found Richard Brooks of Cockshaw Terrace, Hexham, then Pte Maughan of Allendale then set off for said Mr Plummer. There are about 5 cemetaries near Langueval, one each on the 5 roads radiating out of the village. Fantastic, an estaminet, and its open! Bugger, there are a gang of youths opposite abusing me. One young wag decides to wheely along side me while telling me I looked stupid. I told him he’d look stupid when he falls on his arse. I went to the next Cemetary but found no Plummer, but a Bather, no relation. Back to Langueval for more abuse. No luck at the third, so I went back and recieved the appreciation once again of the local youth branch of MENSA. No luck at Caterpillar Valley so after lots of calls to the lads, no signal or no answer, I decided to leave the village to its own IQ rather than go back. 

My first tumble! From the road I could see a small compound but in the middle of a cornfield. There was a very steep and rough track to it but I thought, Its a mountain bike! What could go wrong? I rattled my bones down it, and my by now very sore buttocks, and reached it safely, until I was doing snails pace, hit a rut, and went backside over breakfast time onto some lovely soft grass. As I stood up I heared a twang and I’d lost a button for my trouser braces. This was Thistle Dump Cemetary. I selected a young lad from the Warwickshires and rattled back up the track.

Only two more, both delights. A tiny grass path led from Contalmaison to a small Cemetary where I was ogled by several lusty cows. Then on to the final one of the day, way off the road in a valley, more downhill to battle back up on the way back. I found it was the delightfully named Gordon Dump Cemetary. It was originally called Sausage Valley, but one of Teresa Mays advisors renamed it, I assume. There I found Lt Donald Simpson VC, who had single handedly charged an enfilading machine gun post, shot the operator with his pistol and blew the rest up with grenades, allowing his company to reach their objectives with much less loss of life. 5 days later he thought that as it went so well last time, he`d try it again. And now here he lays eternally. Brave, good man. Worth a poppy of mine to go with the others on his grave. I`m welling up writing this right now. 

At this point I was at the very front line at the start of the Somme offensive. The ground is ridged, with killing areas, ideal for defence, awful for attack. But it had been decided that the artillery would destroy all resistance and the new troops of Kitchener volunteers would just walk over and take the trenches. Approaching from the German side I saw what a catastrophe it would be if the artillery hadn’t done its job. It didn’t. We all know the result. 

It was on the pullout from this site my bike told me it was tired, so I pushed the poor thing up the hill to give it a rest. I`d done 47 km by now so I sympathised. On the road it was still tired but did its best. I got to the main road with 5 km to go and selected a side road with an enormous uphill to get the last out of the battery, rather than the flat N road. It went on strike as It wanted the more direct route and turned itself off. So I pushed it up the hill and got back to the campsite via a delightful riverside and lakeside ride to much appreciation at the camping from our new sets of neighbours. En route I saw the lake had pedalos: i thought, on my down day on Sunday wouldn’t it be nice to… PEDALOS! Idiot. Back at the site I was asked had I gone to see a certain chap in Langueval and I said I couldn’t find him. At that point Marc checked his notes and discovered I had spiralled around Langueval getting abused because he had mixed up the names. Which is also why my battery ran out. But, serendipity, I would never have found my Bather, and the two of them have been utterly brilliant as a support crew, so I don’t mind one jot.

Talking of support, Karon asked me to find a Bell from Cumbria for her family. I found one, from Carlisle in the Guards Cemetary. That’s why we are doing this ridiculous thing. Thank you, the pictures will go in the gallery. Tomorrow to Arras and a whole different battle. Bonsoir tous les mondes x

Bloody hell, lessons learned today. Blogging this in the most furious thunderstorm, not sure of the wisdom of that! Finally got food this morning and got off to St. Quentin. Took us an age to find the first site I selected, a massive civilian cemetary with only one British lad in it. When we found it, it took 45 minutes to find a single isolated but beautiful grave, one Frederick Saville of the West Yorks, the same regiment as the cap badge I was wearing! Serendipity itself. ( N.B This is added after the Ride; read further to see the Last Man)

Off then to start the Ride proper. The lads left me to do my thing and I went off on a circular tour. In the end, just short of 50km. The weather was blistering and around 28c with massive headwinds. The bike was fantastic  but I cherished the battery and saved it for up hills. A few great moments today. A really long detour to find a cemetary with a backtrack afterwards but there I found my first Northumberland Fusilier. Found a Hexham man and had a long diversion off into a massive cornfield to discover a wonderful cemetary miles from the road. The sad reality is that as the area was utterly destroyed in the war there are no interesting or old buildings, just uniformly boring houses and the rural roads have no trees so there is no shade and boy…  I paid for that.

Lessons learned today. Take MUCH MUCH more water as shops and bars DO NOT BLOODY EXIST IN RURAL FRANCE! Take sugar snacks and don’t pull out in front of cameras or you will die. Steel helmets make excellent sun hats. Sun cream a must.

Tomorrow I have a plan change and now will only be cycling in straight lines towards the destination and not willing about. There are more than enough cemetaries to fit in like that. That said, it is great to find the unique ones in the middle of nowhere. Signing off now. Fabulous rainstorm and almost incessant thunder and lightening and so cosy sitting in the tent. Night all.

A simple statement. The first, the last, the best.

The first place we had to go was Mons. An utterly beautiful Cemetary shared by the Germans and the British. Side by side are interred the first soldier known to be killed, John Parr, plus Canadian cyclist George Price, the last man reputed to have been killed two minutes before the Armistice. Also, there was my first man from West Yorkshire, W. Stead. We honoured an unknown Irish soldier and a German, Daniel Bonn. Then a random Dutch woman hijacked me for pics.

On to Romiries where we laid a Poppy for George Ridley, from a friend from Redesdale. That was special!

Finally, to Ors where Marc had good reason to visit the famous Wilfred Owen, war poet. To Albert, and the first campsite. Lovely site, no toilet seats, nice! We finally got the Leviathon up but when we went out to buy food and beer, no shops open after 8pm. NOOOOOOOOO! No beer? Bugger the food. To the pub then. 

Well, we leave at 1pm tomorrow. Trevor and Pru brought this wonderful laminated tribute from George Newman, a friend since I arrived in Allendale 12 years ago. I will be placing this at his grave in Arras next weekend. 
This sums up why we are doing this thing. Thank you all.

We’ve just finished off my uniform and sewn one of Karon’s poppies on my tunic. Scary times: in 48 hours we’ll be on the boat from Hull to Zeebrugge. 7 months of planning will come to fruition in 48 hours. Blimey, scary but excited.
One of the drivers for me has been the response of people whose relatives we have located and promised to visit. I have seen grown men and women in tears. I will visit every relative en route suggested by anyone and honour them with a hand made poppy, made with love and care. Thank you all for your support.

The Centurion Ride will commence on the 6th June over a period of 12 days. In support of myself, Ray Bather, will be my good friends Marc Adams and Ray Tilley. We’ll be bringing you news of our progress and updates about the individuals and the Cemeteries we’ve visited as we go along on this website. Please feel free to share with your friends centurionride2017.com.