Chris Bennett

I’ve always loved cycling. It started as a kid just playing outside on our bikes and as I got older it turned into pretending I knew where I was going.

I haven’t done any official tours however I cycle every year in Valencia when I go to Las Fallas festival. We cycle from Alicante down to the beach, treat ourselves to some tapas and then cycle back.

Cycling at Club La Santa in Lanzarote, there was about thirty of us riding together, which meant there was a rule that whoever ended up at the back of the group had to cycle to the front. It sounded like a great way to keep everyone moving until you realise it turns into a never-ending game of catch me if you can. By the end of the day, I’d seen some incredible scenery and my legs had officially reached the consistency of overcooked spaghetti.

I was just arriving at Luton Airport with a group of friends, heading to the Republic of Ireland for a wedding. Spirits were high, bags were packed and everything was running suspiciously smoothly…right up until we reached the car park and I realised I didn’t have my passport.

Naturally, my friends assumed I was joking. I briefly considered pretending it was performance art but unfortunately airport security tends to prefer documentation over personality. I did attempt to confidently present my driving licence as if I was testing a new travel loophole. It did not work. The next available flight was from Stansted the following morning, which meant waving my friends goodbye while trying to look calm and composed, before immediately boarding a coach and calling my parents to begin what can only be described as a high pressure game of “hotter and colder” through my indoor Ring camera while they searched my house for my passport. They eventually found it and heroically drove it up to Stansted, where I repaid them with a truly luxurious Beefeater dinner, the universal currency of parental gratitude.

My mum then handed me what we all believed was my passport. I confidently placed it in my pocket, ready to finally relax… before deciding, at the last possible moment, to double check. I opened it. The first page read: “Get milk and eggs.” My mum had accidentally given me her notebook. Identical size. Identical colour. Slightly less helpful for international travel. Thankfully, she did still have my actual passport, we swapped back and after what felt like several minor emotional breakdowns disguised as humour, I made the wedding.

Never underestimate the importance of a good lunch stop. It can completely change your outlook on the second half of a ride.

I’ve worked in America at a summer camp as a lifeguard, soccer coach & videographer.