APPLES AND PRAYERS

As we spin past Stony Cross, I try to assure myself that the Malvern Hills aren’t the Alps…

All is well as we crest the hill, smiling in the bright spring Herefordshire sunshine, with green shoots bursting into life around me. Then I look up and see that ancient wall, massive against the sky and yet hulking in shadow, impervious to optimism and utterly irrefutable. My legs weaken at the mere sight of it.

As we spin past Stony Cross, I latch onto the welcome distraction of a winding descent, trying to assure myself that the Malvern Hills aren’t the Alps. Well no, they’re not, but this is Britain and these unusually steep, often raggedy roads pose a formidable challenge in their own way. It’s no wonder that our ancestors built the British Camp hill fort here 3500 years ago, at the top of Herefordshire Beacon, 338 metres high – hold that summit and you intimidate for miles.

I’m regretting my hitherto cavalier attitude to gear ratios. Since setting out some 60km ago, we’ve been threading a golden, sun-struck