The father, the son and the cycling challenge

The son: Will's view
The expletives emanating from my dad's mouth reverberated around the campsite.

The ruination of his false teeth, brutally crushed by his own fair feet, was just one of the series of mishaps and annoyances which plagued his time spent travelling with us, contributing to his early departure.

There were the lost and broken sunglasses - at least three pairs; the flies and mosquitoes which he swatted in vain; and the heat, which one should perhaps anticipate when cycling south through Europe in spring and early summer.

When Clare and I began planning our cycling trip to India, the idea of inviting my father had slipped in quite early on. He'd always yearned to cycle there and, with his mortgage gleefully paid off and a pension coming in, the timing seemed perfect. We've always had a close and jovial relationship and Clare felt the same way.

And so it was that we met, with great bonhomie, at Portsmouth one sunny April evening to begin our adventure. An overnight ferry to St Malo and we were away, pedalling delightedly across a sunny, flat, northern French landscape of scattered hamlets and green pastures.

Sitting by the campfire that night, downing red and feasting on local sausages, it seemed nothing could stop our team from conquering the planet.

Yet just a week later the cracks were beginning to show. By taking the flattest route south, we had been travelling continuously through similar, though pretty, landscapes. The monotony was starting to tell.

So, instead of following the River Vienne, we struck off out of the valley and into the hills in search of a change of scenery. Yet on the first steep incline it became apparent that all was not well with the grey element in our group. Back at the base of the hill, I could see that Bob had dismounted and was wearily pushing his machine.

Finally catching up, he complained of feeling dizzy and too hot. A similar pattern emerged throughout the day and with tempers fraying, Bob declared: "We could have been there by now if we'd taken the main road along the valley."

"We're not trying to get from point A to B as quickly as possible along main roads. Are you using your gears properly? Because the hills are only going to get steeper," was my less-than-sympathetic retort.

That flashpoint past, the weather soon warmed, yet this too proved a point of conflict. After a leisurely time in the tent, our habit was to strike camp and depart late morning. But Bob, it turned out, would rather make an early start to avoid the heat.

Despite efforts to compromise, it had become pretty obvious that all was not well. Our pleas and reassurances that he would get fitter (many French cyclists racing past us were well over 60) fell on deaf ears and he left us after only two weeks, though he did return to us in his van afterwards.

Now that he's finally gone I'm left with many cherished memories which include him teaching us how to pick out Lennon from McCartney on Beatles tracks; the way he often described red wine as liquid sunshine and a skylark's song as falling from heaven; nude cycling at the campsite.

But there is also a sense of disappointment that we didn't plan together better. For anyone considering a trip with a parent, here is my advice.

Will's tips:
· Involve them in planning from a early stage so they are not just along for the ride, but an equal partner.
· be realistic about physical strength: they may be fit but age means they are not invincible.
· "Iron out" the nitty-gritty of organisational details beforehand, for example a rough time for morning starts. · Have a shared vision for the trip, for example covering miles quickly or a leisurely exploration.

The Father: Bob's view
I don't know what Will's written but this is my version of The Trip!

Back in November, when Will and Clare invited me to cycle to India with them, I was taken aback. I was also very flattered that they should consider me to be: (a) fit enough, and (b) not so much of an old git that they could stand my company at close quarters for an extended length of time. I didn't give them a direct answer but decided to let my decision evolve. What follows are some diary extracts about the trip and my preparations for it.

February 5: First cycle training session this morning. Pathetic. I got "the knocks" (feeling weak and exhausted) after five miles!

February 12: Now up to 10- to 12-mile cycle runs without too much stress, so ... today told Will that I am going. "Going" to mean that I start off with them. I have no intention of going to India. In my own mind, honour will be satisfied if I manage a fortnight's cycling but I would really like to say that I cycled all the way through France to Italy.

February 17: Sought Doc Griffith's advice. He laughed.

February 18: Training going well - up to 20 miles some days now. But my ageing fundament is playing up. Have been suffering from a numb scrotum after 5 miles or so. You would think that as it's numb you wouldn't feel anything but not so. It's a semi pins-and-needles effect. Feels rather, I imagine, as it would when being vasectomised. I have no intention of riding to India, or anywhere else, whilst undergoing a prolonged vasectomy, so have ordered a new saddle.

February 20: New saddle fitted and it's a beaut. A good old-fashioned leather Brookes with springs all over the place. It looks and feels like I'm mounted on a small sofa.

February 22: Disaster has struck. I have developed a large and virulent boil in the middle of my right buttock. It is a deep shade of purple and the size of a small conker. It is impossible to sit on the saddle or anything else much. I am keeping quiet about this development down the pub, where I normally stand at the bar anyway. My scrotum was the object of too much misplaced wit. Cannot cycle!!

February 23: Took my boil to Doc Griffiths. He laughed! Antibiotics.

March 9: Back in training and the lay-off doesn't seem to have done too much harm. Doing 15-mile sessions.

April 11: In France! I have survived the first day's cycling! We did around 35 miles and I feel OK. We had a bit of a leaving party on the ferry last night and my prospects were not improved by waking up in our cabin at 2.45am with a humdinger of a hangover. The product, I suspect, of a bottle of Chateau Brittany Ferries. It took two doses of Ibuprofen and the first cup of French coffee in St Malo before I felt anything like a vertebrate.

April 12: Last night (our first) we rough-camped about 35 miles south of St Malo and it went OK. Except that I slept on my reading spectacles. Luckily I have a spare pair. This not true of the expensive sunglasses that I trod on this morning whilst loading the panniers. Two pairs of specs in 12 hours!! The odd obscenity may have escaped my lips and I might have shocked Clare. We have cycled another 35 miles or so today and I am quite pleased with the way I am keeping up.

April 18: Cycling has been fine until today, which I found hard. The weather is warming up and I found the heat difficult. We haven't done any more mileage than our norm but I am absolutely knackered tonight. The problem is partly that Will and Clare's regime does not really suit me. They wake up at around 9, start packing up at around 10 and we've been hitting the road at 11.30 at the earliest. This in itself is not a problem for me but it means that we are going straight out into the heat of the day.

April 19: Another hot day. Everything is sore between knees and appendix scar. Scrotum numb. And as it thaws it starts to itch. I have developed two large and painful spots on an equally intimate area that William tells me is my pereneum (he worked on a medical mag.) My buttocks are creaking.

Same problem as yesterday. The heat is really getting to me. I am needing more frequent rests and am not particularly enjoying the cycling bit of the trip at present. And Will and Claire are finding the countryside boring and want to strike up into the hills for some better scenery. Oh dear.

April 21: Same again. Hot day and this time we didn't get going until 12.30pm when it was absolutely roasting. We are also now doing, by choice (not mine), the hillier routes for scenic reasons. I was feeling decidedly flaky after 10 miles and I think Will and Claire are realising this. The time is shortly going to come when I will be either holding them up or affecting their choice of route and THAT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. I may have to fall on my sword soon which will be a great pity but this was always a possibility. If I were doing this by myself I'd be going the easy way down all the river valleys and bugger the scenery.

April 22: The day did not start off well when I trod on my ****ing false teeth whilst washing. (Luckily they were out of my mouth at the time.) Air was blue again. Current breakages stand at 2 pairs of specs and a £200 denture. I never wanted the bloody thing in the first place but thought that a gapless smile might improve my chances at the pensioners' discos. It didn't.

Weather still hot and the same cycling problems arose today. I really am not enjoying the cycling part of the trip and am thinking in terms of taking the train back to the UK and coming back to Europe with the Campervan, which was always an agreed option. I broached the matter with Will and Claire. They tried to dissuade me. Saturday night and we had a party.

April 23: Another hot and uphill day and I know I held Will and Claire up today. It didn't help that I was suffering from a pounding hangover after the party. I had to tell them that I'd had enough after 25 miles. I was getting dizzy spells on the (many) hills although that could well be the result of the industrial quantities of Ibuprofen I'd had to down in order to get on the bike in the first place. They have had to wait for me several times. I've taken the decision to abort the cycling but haven't told them yet.

April 24: I am undone. Have fallen on my sword and I'm taking the train back to UK tomorrow and coming straight back out in the campervan so that I don't miss anything. This is, I am convinced, the right decision for me (and for Will and Clare actually). They took it philosophically. I am disappointed with myself for not getting further and I return having made one vow. I have failed this time (although I did do 350 miles) but I am going to cycle to Italy one day soon, doing it my way, that is:

· I will not cycle every day.
· I will choose the easiest routes.
· I will start early on the cycling days.

Postscript: The fact that I only did a fortnight's cycling does NOT make this a failure. It's been the experience of a lifetime with my son and actually a great success in terms of the relationship between the three of us. And I had a whale of a time. Mind you, I don't know if he's said the same thing!

·Will and Clare Beacham (willbeacham@gmail.com) are still pedalling towards India. Bob returned to Frome in Somerset where he is resting his fundament.