Everyone who knew Dave was struck by his awesome dedication to bodybuilding, and so an endurance ride might seem like an odd way to remember him, given that cycling is probably the last thing Dave ever would have done himself (this is a man who has been known to drive to the tube station!). Nevertheless, I spent two days covering the 200-odd miles from Bodyworks Gym in East London, where Dave trained, to Anfield, the home of Liverpool Football Club, of which he was a lifelong fan.

I would be tremendously grateful if you would be kind enough to sponsor me with a donation, however small (but preferably big). ITP (idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura) is not a disease you hear much about, but the Association's hard work and emotional support go a long way to improving the lives of those who suffer with it. So please get clicking and give whatever you can spare, and think about me when you're stuck in a bank holiday traffic jam!

250 miles of fundraising fun…

See photos of the ride here.............

It's seven o'clock on Saturday morning in Bethnal Green, East London, and Jon and I are saddling up for two solid days of pedalling.

We had decided to ride from London to Liverpool, partly to raise funds for the Association, and partly in memory of my brother (and Jon's colleague) Dave, who passed away a year ago after suffering for some months with ITP. The journey from legendary East End gym MuscleWorks, where Dave trained, to Anfield, home of his favourite team, Liverpool FC, seemed like an obvious route when we were planning it. Now we had to go through with it, it was seeming like less of a sensible choice…

After cycling across an eerily quiet, early-morning London, we hit Edgware Rd, part of the mighty A5 on which we would be spending most of the day. We had chosen the route on the same basis that Roman road-builders did centuries ago - it's reckoned to be the flattest, easiest way to get from London to the Midlands. So it comes as a bit of a shock when we hit some major hills before we even get outside the M25!

By lunchtime we've arrived in Milton Keynes's picturesque Asda car park, to meet the team manager (aka my dad) for a refuelling stop. (I'm fully expecting teams in next's year's Tour de France to adopt our nutritional regime of Copella apple juice and Green & Black's oat bars.) Apologies to nearby shoppers forced to endure the sight of us answering the call of nature behind the petrol station - sadly there aren't many places to go to the toilet on a bike.

Several dozen miles later and we're in glamorous Daventry, leaving the A5 and heading west, thankfully putting the wind at our backs. With severe aches and pains setting in, we have another pitstop in Leamington, before coming unstuck thanks to the frankly shocking road signs in Warwick. The detour costs us an extra five miles - apologies to nearby pedestrians for the bad language, but we had been riding all day.

Finally, after enjoying the scenic delights of the Solihull bypass, we arrive at the team's overnight headquarters (aka my sister's house) in Birmingham, for some much-needed dinner and sleep. It's been 140 miles today, with the prospect of 110 more to cover tomorrow, so we head to the nearest restaurant with an unlimited salad bar, to stock up on some carbs. Apologies to my family for the lack of decent conversation at dinner - we were a bit nervous about getting up and doing it all again.

The alarm goes off on Sunday morning, and our worst fear has become reality: it's raining. We put on every item of cycling kit we brought, and head off into the elements, cursing the decision to do this on a bank holiday weekend. After the ride, we agree that heading through local beauty spot Walsall, soaked to the skin and struggling to stay upright against the wind, was easily the worst bit of the whole journey. After several hours of heading north, however, we seem to have cycled clear of the rain, and punching the air in triumph, we look ahead into the gleaming, sundrenched distance to see… loads of hills.

We attack the climbs with all the determination of a Tour de France 'King of the Mountains' (if the Tour ever had a stage that went through Stoke on Trent). In fact we tear through the route so fast that we arrive at our refuelling stop before the food! Jon suggests we get some "free miles" under the belt by carrying on until the team car can catch us up, so we head through Stoke's ludicrously hilly town centre. "It's all downhill to Liverpool after this," I confidently promise, although I turn out to be lying.

After the mother of all downhill sections, followed by more food, we make the mistake of getting a bit cocky as we head towards Warrington (surely the Paris of Cheshire), and our last food stop. Just a few miles from yet more oaty goodness, we fall foul of a signpost that has swivelled round and now points completely the wrong way, like in a cartoon (is the local council run by Dick Dastardly and Muttley?). Yet another huge detour follows, but by this stage we know we've broken the beast's back, and if anything it only gives us more strength. We almost power straight past my parents, who are beckoning us into a layby away from the now howling wind.

As we head towards Merseyside we start to think it might be nice to toast the final miles with some champagne - although it's probably not a good idea in this gale. Thankfully whoever designed the A57 very cleverly made it almost all downhill, and we arrive at Anfield to be met by a crowd of confused Japanese tourists (who I'm pretty sure only came to see the famous Kop End, rather than two sweaty blokes from London).

After a few photos we dismantle our bikes, sling them gratefully into the car and head to the pub for a victory pint. Thanks go my parents for food and on-route support, to my sis Kathy for putting us up, to Jon for coming along for the ride, and most of all to everyone who sponsored us and helped us to raise well over £2,000. And definitely not to whoever is in charge of signposts in Warwick and Cheshire.

Jon reckons the best bit was "getting to the mighty Anfield", although that's partly cos he's a Liverpool fan. Myself, as a fan of north London's only proper team, I can't help thinking it would have been a bit easier on our poor legs if we'd just cycled to Tottenham to visit the mighty Spurs instead…

Mike Hopkin (additional reporting by Jon Booker)