Mikey Hebden

First One

Whoever said riding a bike is "just like riding a bike" was a lying b*****d.

​Right now, my thighs feel like two bags of wet cement, my lungs are whistling like an asthmatic kettle, and my backside feels like it’s gone ten rounds with a meat tenderiser.

​Today kicked off my brilliant, entirely self-inflicted 100-mile cycling challenge for Social Bite. The grand total for day one? A whopping, heroic, absolutely pathetic 8.8 miles.

​That leaves just 91.2 miles to go. Somebody please shoot me into the sun.

​The master plan seemed innocent enough: leave the pub, pedal up through Ulley, climb toward Aughton, and limp back via Upper Whiston. What I conveniently forgot during the sign-up phase is that South Yorkshire is not flat. It is a sadistic collection of hills designed solely to punish idiots who haven't sat on a saddle since the Blair administration.

​Halfway up the incline out of Ulley, my soul temporarily exited my body. I stopped to take "scenic photos along the way," which was complete b******s—it was a desperate cover story so motorists wouldn't see a grown man doubled over the handlebars dry-heaving into a hedge. Every pedal stroke felt like pushing a fridge through treacle. By the time I crawled into Aughton, I was bargaining with God, promising I’d never drink a pint again if He just levelled out the tarmac. (I took that back by the time I hit Upper Whiston).

​Rolling back to the pub was pure relief, immediately replaced by the horrifying sensation of walking like John Wayne after a 48-hour horse trek. My taint has lodged a formal grievance with management, and sitting on anything firmer than a marshmallow for the rest of the week is completely out of the question.

​The only upside to this absolute agony is that it’s all to raise brass for Social Bite and their brilliant fight to end homelessness. If watching me publicly humiliate my cardiovascular system and destroy my groin over the course of 100 miles brings you joy, chuck a few quid into the pot.

​Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bathe in Deep Heat and reconsider every life decision that brought me to this day.

​Only 91 miles left. God help me.

What have I done?!

​Let’s get one thing straight right out of the gate: I hate cardio.

​Anyone who knows me is well aware that if I can find a way to avoid walking up a flight of stairs, I’ll take it. Stairs are my enemy. My natural habitat is firmly behind the bar, pint glass in hand, not hunched over a pair of handlebars pretending I know what aerodynamics mean.

​So, naturally, I’ve decided to cycle 100 miles throughout September.

​I am genuinely dreading every single metre of it. My legs are already protesting, and September hasn't even started yet. The thought of padded shorts alone is enough to make me question my life choices.

​So why am I doing it?

​Because Social Bite is doing work that genuinely matters. They’re tackling homelessness in a way that actually changes lives—not just handing out over 140,000 hot meals and drinks a year, but creating real jobs and building supportive communities to get people permanently off the streets and into safe homes.

​If me suffering through 100 miles of saddle sore and sheer exhaustion can raise a bit of cash and awareness for people who need it most, then it’s worth every painful pedal stroke.

​I’ll be posting updates here all month (mostly complaints, let's be honest). If you fancy having a laugh at my expense while supporting a fantastic cause, keep an eye on the bar or check back here to see how you can donate.

​Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.