Anthony McPartlin & Declan Donnelly gifted 100 bicycles to underprivileged kids in northeast England — but what touched everyone was that they personally restored each bike in Dec’s dad’s old garage…
As part of their “Pedal with Pride” campaign, Ant & Dec bought 100 used bikes and spent weeks restoring them with volunteers in Declan’s father’s old garage in Newcastle. At a schoolyard Christmas event, the kids received the bikes—from Santa Ant and Elf Dec.

Pedal with Pride: The Christmas Bikes

In the gritty, windswept streets of Newcastle upon Tyne, where winter bites hard and dreams often feel out of reach, a quiet revolution was brewing in an old garage on the edge of town. It belonged to Declan Donnelly’s father, a place once filled with the clatter of tools and the scent of motor oil, now dusty and silent. But in the winter of 2025, that garage became the heart of something extraordinary—a gift that would light up the faces of 100 underprivileged children across northeast England.

Ant McPartlin and Declan Donnelly, the nation’s beloved Geordie duo, had always carried their roots close to their hearts. They’d grown up in these streets, where tight-knit communities made do with what they had. Through their “Pedal with Pride” campaign, Ant and Dec decided to give back in a way that was personal, tangible, and true to their values. They bought 100 used bicycles—rusted, wobbly, and forgotten—and vowed to restore each one by hand. No shiny new purchases or corporate handouts; this was about sweat, care, and second chances.

Declan’s father’s garage, a relic of family memories, became their workshop. For weeks, Ant and Dec rolled up their sleeves alongside a team of local volunteers—mechanics, teachers, even some of their old schoolmates. The garage hummed with life again. Bikes lined the walls, their frames stripped and sanded, chains oiled, tires patched. Ant, ever the joker, fumbled with a wrench, earning laughs as he smeared grease on his face. Dec, more methodical, took pride in tightening spokes, his hands steady from years of tinkering with his dad. They worked late into the night, sharing stories of their own childhoods—racing bikes down hills, scraping knees, feeling free.

Each bike was a labor of love. A dented red frame became a gleaming ride for a boy who’d never owned one. A wobbly blue cruiser was transformed for a girl who dreamed of exploring beyond her street. The volunteers painted the bikes in bright colors—reds, blues, yellows—adding reflective stickers and bells that jingled with promise. Ant and Dec insisted on doing much of the work themselves, their hands calloused but their spirits high. “It’s not just about the bikes,” Dec said one evening, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s about showing these kids someone cares enough to do this for them.”

The plan came together for a Christmas event in a schoolyard in one of Newcastle’s toughest neighborhoods. The school, St. Joseph’s Primary, served kids who faced more hardship than most—families stretched thin, homes where joy was hard-won. Ant and Dec wanted the moment to feel magical, so they hatched a plan to arrive as Santa Ant and Elf Dec, turning the handover into a celebration no one would forget.

On a snowy December morning, the schoolyard was transformed. Fairy lights twinkled around a makeshift stage, hot cocoa steamed in the air, and Christmas carols played over a crackling speaker. The children, bundled in coats, buzzed with excitement, though they had no idea what was coming. When a sleigh—really a decorated trailer—rolled in, pulled by a van, the crowd erupted. Out stepped Ant, his Santa beard slightly askew, and Dec, in an elf hat that kept slipping over his eyes. The kids roared with laughter, their cheers echoing across the yard.

Ant, ho-ho-ho-ing with gusto, called the children forward. Behind him, volunteers wheeled out 100 bikes, each polished to perfection, adorned with ribbons and name tags for every child. The gasps were audible, followed by a wave of chatter. “Is that for me?” one boy whispered, his eyes wide. A girl clutched her friend’s hand, pointing at a purple bike with a glittering bell. But what brought the crowd to a hush was Ant’s explanation.

“These aren’t just any bikes,” he said, his voice warm over the microphone. “Me and Dec, we fixed ‘em up ourselves, in Dec’s dad’s old garage. Every scratch sanded, every chain oiled—it’s all from us, to you. Because you deserve to feel the wind in your hair, to go wherever you dream.”

Dec stepped forward, his elf hat now comically lopsided. “My dad loved fixing things,” he said softly. “This garage was his place, and now it’s part of your story, too. These bikes are yours to ride, to explore, to feel free. Keep dreaming big, yeah?”

The crowd was silent for a moment, the weight of their words sinking in. Parents wiped tears, teachers hugged each other, and the kids—some too stunned to speak—ran to their bikes. A boy named Liam, who’d walked miles to school each day, gripped the handlebars of a green bike, his grin brighter than the Christmas lights. A girl named Aisha, shy but curious, rang her bike’s bell, the sound cutting through the cold air like a promise.

What touched everyone most wasn’t the bikes’ gleaming paint or the fact that there were 100 of them. It was the image of Ant and Dec, two men who’d conquered television, hunched over in a dusty garage, restoring each bike with their own hands. They hadn’t just donated money or shown up for a photo op—they’d poured their hearts into every turn of the wrench. It was a reminder that kindness could be gritty, personal, real.

The schoolyard turned into a festival. Kids zipped around on their new bikes, weaving through cones set up by volunteers, their laughter drowning out the carols. Ant and Dec joined in, racing kids on borrowed bikes, their Santa and elf costumes flapping in the wind. Parents shared stories of their own childhood bikes, their voices thick with emotion. One mother, watching her son pedal for the first time, said, “They’ve given him more than a bike. They’ve given him hope.”

The “Pedal with Pride” campaign didn’t end that day. The garage became a community hub, where volunteers taught kids to maintain their bikes, fostering pride in ownership. Local businesses donated helmets and locks, and the school started a cycling club, with kids riding together after class. The bikes became symbols of possibility, carrying kids to parks, libraries, and new adventures.

Years later, the story of the Christmas bikes was still told in Newcastle. Some of those kids, now teens, rode their bikes to college interviews or first jobs. Others passed them down to younger siblings, the paint chipped but the spirit intact. In Declan’s father’s garage, now a community workshop, a photo hung on the wall: Ant and Dec, grease-streaked and smiling, surrounded by 100 bikes ready to change lives.

The gift wasn’t just the bikes. It was the love behind them—the hours spent in a cold garage, the laughter shared over a stubborn bolt, the belief that every child deserved a chance to ride toward their dreams. In that schoolyard, under a snowy Newcastle sky, Ant and Dec reminded everyone that the greatest gifts come from the heart, one pedal at a time.