Hi. It’s Forbes Mutch here. You may have read my blog earlier this year when I supported my wife Jenny as she walked Offa’s Dyke in Wales to raise money for Steel Bones. That was fun but the weather wasn’t brilliant, so this September we decided to go cycling in the guaranteed warm climate of Portugal.
Since I had a BTK (below-the-knee) amputation five years ago, cycling has replaced the walking that I used to enjoy so much. Using a travel company called Love Velo, Jenny and I have been on several cycling holidays to France, Greece and Italy. Portugal this year was a first for us. And what a lovely country it is. The people are laid back, the food where we were is fresh and tasty and, most important, when you’re cycling, the motorists are accommodating and patient.
I ride a power-assisted bike – usually called an electric bike – because it compensates for the loss of power in one leg and takes the fear of steep hills out of the adventure. My prosthetic is battered a bit getting on and off the bike and occasionally it clashes with the bike chain. But, by-and-large, my NHS limb serves me well and I have no complaints. The prosthetic team at Luton and Bedford hospital always give my leg a thorough MOT before I go on a holiday like this.
The biggest problem cycling, particularly when covering 65km a day in temperatures of 25 – 30C, is the sweat. I wear a sweat sock next to my residue calf (ok, let’s call it a stump), overlayed by a silicone sleeve and a cotton sock. This is usually enough to secure the prosthetic, despite the constant up-and-down motion of cycling. Unfortunately, one hot afternoon on this trip, because of the sweat, my false leg suddenly slipped off and I found myself peddling in thin air and, yes, I fell off the bike.
But hey, I bet even Sir Bradley Wiggins CBE fell off his bike occasionally. Jenny laughed, and so did I.
I have learnt over the years that wearing shorts on holiday is the best thing. At first, after the amputation, I tried to cover up my disability by wearing long trousers. I was embarrassed. But now, I realise that it’s best to advertise openly why I’m setting off alarms in airports or going to the front of the boarding queue or struggling to cycle up a steep hill. Everyone can see what the problem is and no-one ever makes a derogatory comment.
In Portugal, we cycled the length of the Algarve coast, from the Spanish border east of Fargo to the southwest-most point of Europe at Sagres on the west coast, a total of 300km (185 miles). It sounds a lot but, believe me, even with only one – or maybe no – legs, on an electric bike, it’s not hard. And the sun, the breeze in your hair, the well-earned beer at the end of the day, makes you feel alive.
If anyone wants to hear more about it, drop me a line at forbes.r.mutch@gmail.com and we can have a chat.
Forbes Mutch
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