DAY 1 Saturday 24 July DID I REALLY DO ENOUGH TRAINING?
Drove the 326 miles from Hertford to Land's End on the Friday, and drove another 10 miles looking for the campsite! The kamp kommandant parked us precisely in our allocated pitch, having told me off for straying off the made up path to reach it. In the morning, we made our way to the theme park that is nowadays Land's End - it had changed somewhat since I was last there in 1963. David took the wheel of the faithful VW campervan - which would do nearly 2,500 miles during the two weeks of our trip, without so much as a hint of trouble (our thanks to Donald Hale of Ware Garage, who sourced the vehicle for us). My eight year old FW Evans bike also performed faultlessly throughout.
All ready for the off. If only I'd known what lay ahead! Shades from Highway Cycles, Ware (£17). Haircut by Mick's of Hertford - thanks to Richard, who donated the £7.00 haircut free!
David sports his authentic Breton shirt (if you wish to explore the tentative link with Cornwall, email me). The stick was to prove invaluable, as David managed two weeks of driving, shopping and keeping the camper tidy despite not having fully recovered from his hip/leg injury.
I never expected to get this far on the first day! Seriously, I encountered this village sign only a couple of miles from Land's End. A little further on my tour nearly ended spectacularly when I hit a pot-hole hidden in the dappled shade as I was doing about 20mph down a hill. The noise sounded like I had at least broken my forks or front wheel. Its a testament to Evans Cycles that no damage was done at all - 15 stone of lard at 20mph is some force to withstand when hitting a pothole - didn't even buckle the wheel!
I had chosen to use the back lanes to Penzance as I was nervous of the A road we'd used the previous evening (I'd quickly get over that, as the ride progressed!). In the 10 miles or so to Penzance I encountered the deepest pothole, the steepest hairpin bend (? 1 in 4) and the scariest descent of the whole ride (into Newlyn, so steep that my brakes would not hold me, even though I tried to stop!).
My first lunch of the tour was taken at this OK pub at Ashton near Helston. Nice pint and a very acceptable Tuna 'n Mayo baguette.
No more photos today, as things started to get tough - any thoughts of scenery and photography slipped from my mind as I struggled with the Cornish hills (are there no flat roads in Cornwall?)
Second thoughts, did try several times to photograph buzzards sitting on telegraph poles but they always flew away before I was ready!
DAY 2 Sun 25 July OH WHY, OH WHY DID I TELL EVERYONE I WAS GOING TO DO THIS?
Having spent the night at St Blazey Gate, I asked the campsite owner what the terrain was like on my proposed Day 2 route. Well, he said, the first half mile is downhill! Then there's a three quarter mile 1 in 10 hill to climb, then its sort of up and down! Right!
This picture is taken on the way up that first hill. The village is St Blazey, at the bottom of the climb! It was going to be a tough day.
Cyclists are understandably unpopular on busy holiday roads, causing the poor motorists to lift their right foot too often. These chaps on their steam traction engine were really causing some serious mayhem though as they began the descent of the 1 in 10 hill at 5mph , with perhaps 200 cars behind them! Cheered me up no end when I was feeling like going home.
After another monumental climb, I'm looking down the Tamar Valley towards Plymouth and Saltash, from about 800 feet up. I know that I must cross the Tamar in a couple of miles at Gunnislake, and that all that work in climbing will be thrown away in seconds. Its very hot and I'll have to do it all again after Gunnislake. Chuckled as I spotted a car sticker "Keep Cornwall tidy, dump your rubbish in Devon"!!
Insanely, I had decided to cross Dartmoor today. Tip - don't do it on a bike! This sign was at Gunnislake at the bottom of yet another stonking hill.
No more photos today - I could hardly stay conscious. Got to Tavistock, past families doing family things in the local parks on a sunny Sunday afternoon, oblivious that the old chap cycling by was about to expire!
Passed a walker on the way up to Dartmoor. Climb wasn't too bad as I left the walker miles behind. Went round a bend and saw that the road suddenly reared up towards Heaven! Walked up much of it, sat down a lot. The walker caught up and overtook me (to be fair he was about 30 and looked like a Royal Marine Commando!). I knew that I had turned my last pedal of the day. Walked another 50 yards round a bend and there was (a) the view point at the top, (b) an ice cream van and (c) David and the camper van!
I had done only 39 miles of the day's planned 60. It was about 12 miles over the top of Dartmoor and then 8 to the booked campsite. This was my low point of the whole trip, and on only the second day. David provided tea and food, and great encouragement. Even after a rest though, I felt that I would fall off the bike on the descent, as I felt so ill. We decided that David would run me to the campsite and we'd see how I felt the next morning.
DAY 3 Monday 26 July I WANT TO GO HOME!
Although I wanted to go home like no feeling I'd ever had, David persuaded me to continue.He ran me to Crediton to begin the day's ride towards Cheddar ,around 70 miles. Got on my bike and set off, feeling about 15% effective. After a mile I encountered a "Road Closed" sign! The diversion would add 7 miles to the journey - nothing in a car, a considerable annoyance for a cyclist feeling well, but an absolute disaster for me!
I 'phoned David, who hadn't yet left Crediton and he came and picked me up. Again he persuaded me to continue and ran me to Exeter to begin the day's ride on a different road.
Dreading the endless miles of up and down which had featured so far, I was relieved to discover that I was riding up a very gentle Exe Valley, with practically NO HILLS. At one point, a camper van looking remarkably like ours flashed past, with a front seat passenger hanging out of the window shouting encouragement. It WAS our camper - David had given a lift to a hitchhiker. The young chap lived in Tiverton and had been to Dartmoor with his mandolin to play at a gig, without the means to get back home. Saint David quite rightly rescued the young man, although we declined his offer for his mum to make us lunch!
Met up with David at Tiverton for lunch. Being used to the sophisticated eating opportunities of Hertford and Ware, Tiverton was quite a shock. Large town centre but practically no eating places - the pubs were just bars and the tea rooms implored visitors to switch off their mobile phones before entering. David elicited from a local lady that there was a burger bar round the corner and this odd looking pair eventually found it (I felt particularly odd, dressed in full cycling kit but sans bike). David needed his stick to walk and was clearly developing the art of waving it about in true little old man fashion! Good food though, pleasantly served.
On the way out of town I looked for Tiverton Town's football ground. A couple of months earlier, at a football quiz in Walsall, we had met some people from Tiverton Town - don't ask, its a long story not relevant to this one. I didn't locate said ground, but found this one.
It was a lovely new ground, and pre-season friendlies had clearly begun. Good luck for the season, Elmore AFC!
Tiverton and Taunton are great rivals in football, and, I expect, in all other fields. This picture was taken as I moved into Somerset, and reminds me that the acceptable road surfaces of Cornwall and Devon were replaced by rubbish ones in Somerset. Memo to Somerset County Council Highways Department - its dangerous for cyclists when the roadside drain covers are sunken into the road and surrounded by holes!
Although I say it myself, this was an heroic day's cycling by me! Unwell, unmotivated, I still managed to do over 50 miles. The plan to go to Cheddar had been abandoned earlier in the day, and David had booked a campsite at the notorious seaside location at Brean Sands (something to do with seeing a notable lighthouse at Burnham on Sea). I made it to Bridgwater from where David transported me and the bike to Brean Sands. The camp site was packed and the only space available was on a field with no flat spaces, foot high grass, no electric hook-up and a gale blowing off the sea! David had explained to the lady running the campsite that we were on a charity run, and she had refunded £1 as a donation. We were surrounded by wall-to-wall caravans and holiday camps and I SO wanted to give up and book in to a hotel before going home!
We sat in the van surveying the scene in silence. I could not summon up the wherewithal to erect the tent. After 10 minutes or so, I convinced David that it wasn't throwing £10 away if we moved on. It was only £9, and that was £4.50 each! Persuaded that it was worth £4.50 to move on, David agreed and we set off towards Weston Super Mare. Nothing there. Aware that my continued involvement with the project was on a knife edge, David pointed the camper towards the Severn Bridge and drove. We crossed the bridge and entered the Principality near Chepstow. No campsites! Eventually we got as far as Tintern Abbey. By now we were exhausted. Tintern is an idyllic location, with some very expensive hotels and b&bs - great place for the well heeled to hide away for a while. Baulking at £65 each at the first place I tried, we set off out of the village before spotting a b&b sign. At the end of our ropes, we set off up the long track to the house (the Nurtons)to discover that they had a vacancy at £25 each. Done, even though we were advised that breakfast was organic vegetarian! Lovely lady. Lovely place - recommended VISIT THE NURTONS WEBSITE
Down in the village, we got a really good meal at the Moon and Sixpence, barmaid of your dreams, and met a couple from Bishop's Stortford who were doing the end-to -end for the NSPCC, with a support vehicle plastered with advertising etc. They were doing 1017 miles in 12 days, and were on day 3. Never saw them again - hope they made it.
DAY 4 Tuesday 27 July RUSS
As I set off the next day, feeling so much better, I was caught up by another lone cyclist, who asked if he could ride with me. He was Russ from Abingdon in Oxfordshire and was on his fifth day.He had no support and was carrying his tent etc with him. He had sufferred a broken spoke in his back wheel and had a serious wobble as a result! We rode together for the rest of the day, and it certainly helped us both to have company. Russ was fitter than I was but was carrying far more weight, so that levelled out things a lot.
We rested at Monmouth where we met three other end-to-enders who were staying in youth hostels and doing a sensible 50 miles a day. Seriously, if you are planning to have a go at this, and aren't an experienced, young, fit cyclist, 50 miles a day is as much as you ought to attempt.
Our visit to Wales was brief and we were soon back in England. Russ took this picture of me as we stopped for a "comfort break", which I insisted on taking in Wales rather than England!
Just before Hereford, at the top of yet another cruel hill, David appeared with the camper, and Russ and I gratefully scoffed beans on toast!
Russ and I parted company near Ludlow, as I was meeting up with David at a campsite at Little Hereford, and Russ was pressing on to Ludlow or beyond, hoping to find a bike shop where he could get his wheel fixed.
DAY 5 Wednesday 28 July ANN's CAFE AND RED KITES
I stopped off in Ludlow to do some postcards. Lovely town full of visitors. It has a nice castle and is full of character. Postcards 20p each (remember this as the story evolves!)
On the way out of town, I noticed this brand new football ground - the advertising showed that it was built by Barratt Homes, and was called the "Coors Stadium". Wonder what was built on the old ground. Answers on a 20p postcard to ...
Rode all day on the A49. Stopped off at Craven Arms for lunch at Ann's Cafe. Three course Pensioner lunches for £3.00 - packed with silvertops! Wins my End-to-End award for value for money, pleasant service etc, and Ann offered to fill up my drinks bottles without me asking. Ann, you are a star!
A little further up the A49, I was amazed to find a small station on the Hereford to Shrewsbury line, and even more amazed when this train pulled in. No-one got on or off, but its the thought that counts!
In this area I also spotted two red kites - magic!
Met a Canadian couple on a tandem at Shrewsbury. They were magnificantly kitted out in matching Maple Leaf cycling tops and were totally unaware of the End-to-End concept but were cycling vast distances.
We had by now evolved our plan as to how we would get to John O'Groats before it was time to return home. I would ride around 50 miles a day and we would shave bits off the distance by driving through urban areas etc. Not what I really wanted to do, but it was an acceptable compromise.
David picked me up just short of Warrington and dropped me off near Preston, thus missing the Greater Manchester area. I then rode up the A6 to Carnforth and we stayed at the nearby Morecambe Lodge Caravan Park. The lady there very kindly waived the £15 fee when she heard what we were doing - if camping and caravanning in that area, please give them first shout - she didn't have to do that. VISIT MORECAMBE LODGE CARAVAN PARK WEBSITE This was a great day for me, as the A6 was empty of trucks (all on the M6) and was FLAT. To put icing on the cake, there was a southerly wind behind me (told you that was why people usually start at Land's End!). By now all my feelings of being unwell had disappeared, and I was now highly motivated. Must give a mention to Lancaster - fine city, well worth a look. Also, as I rode the A6 I spotted a hotel which pre-M6 must have done well, but was now by-passed. Outside was a poster promoting "Saturday Night ROBBIE WILLIAMS". Really?, I thought as I pedalled nearer. Surely not? the man's a megastar. As I got nearer, I saw in tiny print above Robbie's name "Johnny Lee is" (can't remember the impersonator's correct name but you get the idea!)
DAY 7 Friday 30 July SHAP FELL
A day to remember. The man at Morecambe Lodge Caravan Park warned me that Shap Fell was going to be a challenge - he was right!
He had shown me the spot on the beach where the dead Chinese cockle pickers were brought ashore recently, and there is a poignant memorial with both chinese and Christian tributes.
I rode the A6 to Kendal, stopping off at the delightful Milnthorpe on the edge of the Lakes. I made the mistake of buying, and eating, a really good cheese and onion pasty. In normal circumstances nothing wrong with that, but the prolonged and sustained effort of climbing Shap was to bring it back a few times! The hustle and bustle of Kendal, with its many many tourists was quite overwhelming after days of solitude on the bike, and I was so distracted that two old ladies with sticks beat me to a bench when I looked for somewhere to sit and eat my sandwiches! Amazing how fast they can move when determined!
I made a mistake leaving Kendall and rode up an unnecessary hill towards Windermere before realising that I was on the wrong road. Now nothing is more galling to the long distance cyclist than to waste effort on going down the wrong road! It was a very steep hill too! Never mind, still slightly lost, I found myself in the village of Burneside. Went in the pub for a pint (fine) and a sandwich (not good). Only other customer was a little old man who was worried that he couldn't have his daily pint because his doctor had put him on those "anti-static" tablets (? anti-biotics). Landlady assured him that a pint of shandy would suit him fine! The test match was on the telly - Andrew Flintoff was flaying the West Indies and it was a delight to watch a bit of this before setting off for Shap.
Eventually rejoined the A6 and up went the road straight away.
Its a long, long climb up the A6 over Shap - its no longer the main route, of course, as the M6 takes a better line through the fells, so the traffic is light. Didn't see anyone to speak to for miles and the cheese and onion pasty kept reminding me of its piquant flavour! Chugged up the hills fairly well though, with the wind at my back, until the last ultimate, final (unnecessay adjectives, I know, but I wanted to stress the point) hill. Wow! There stretching as far as the eye could see was a 1 in 10 climb of about a mile! Now, I'll admit that this was a a shock. I rode it about 200 yards at a time with prolonged rests in between. I walked one section. I got to the top to find construction workers building a reservoir. They carried on oblivious to my passing by, as I rode by like Lance Armstrong riding first over a Pyrennees col. My body temperature must have been very very high and as I plunged down the other side, I was quickly aware that I was cooling down as though refridgerated! Really needed warmer clothing, but it was such a thrill to descend at speed, I didn't want to stop.
Although a poor climber, I have always descended fearlessly (?foolishly) and enjoy 40mph speeds immensely. Don't do this! The amount of rubber actually touching the road on a racing bike is miniscule and the slightest loss of grip could be fatal. But its simply the best feeling.
At Shap village David was waiting in a lay-bye. Nice cup of tea and snack. David said that he had seen Russ miles back. I asked how far back and David said that it was way back. Just before we set off again, who should come pedalling along but an exhausted Russ! He could not believe his luck! Not only had he climbed Shap, but he had come via the Forest Of Bowland rather than the flat A6 route to Kendall. Hard man indeed.
We rode on together to Penrith. Russ told me that he had found a bike shop in Market Drayton and they had sorted out his back wheel for him.
Russ took this picture of me in Penrith shortly before we were nearly knocked off our bike by a young motorist who was not watching where she was going!
We rode on to Plumpton and stopped off for a pint or two at a roadside hotel. David and I were moving on to Ecclefechan over the border, and Russ was riding on towards Carlisle. Just up the road though, there was an horrific road accident, completely blocking the road. Even Russ was not allowed through with his bike, so he persuaded the hotel manager to let him camp in their grounds. We motored on to Ecclefechan by another route.
I put up the tent on the finest turf I have ever seen on a campsite - whoever maintained it must have been a greenkeeper at Troon!
DAY 8 Saturday 31 July WHAT A STRANGE DAY!
I rode to Lockerbie first to get cash from an ATM. What a depressing town! Lots of boarded up shops etc.
All right, I admit it, I was a trainspotter as a lad! I was looking for the toilets when I found myself at the station in Lockerbie. There were lots of people on the platform (well 20 or so) so I thought I would watch the train arrive. I checked where it was going and, to my amazement found it was going to PENZANCE!
Set off into the borders country for the most bizarre day of the trip. Miles and miles of empty country. I was heading for Eskdalemuir, where I planned to take lunch. This part of Scotland seems to be bypassed by most tourists (and everyone else if my experience is anything to go by). Eskdalemuir appears to consist of a church and a few houses. No shops, pubs etc! I was carrying three bananas, so I sat by a signpost and ate two of them.
I rode on towards Ettrick, with Peebles the ultimate destination. David, who can never resist anything historic, especially of a religious nature, had taken the opportunity to nip over to Lindisfarne, persuading me that it wasn't far off route, and that if I got in trouble, he could quickly get back to me. Feeling good and expecting a good lunch at Eskdalemuir, I had urged him to take the opportunity to go. Now I wished that he was nearby.
Forgetting about the signpost, I caught sight in the distance of a bizarrly coloured statue - I was clearly hallucinating. It was a hot day, and I was hungry. As I got nearer, I remembered the signpost - Samye-Ling Tibetan Centre. There, in the middle of nowhere, where you'd struggle to get planning permission to erect a sympathetically designed garden shed was the most tacky, brightly coloured, Tibetan monastery!
It was possible to get food, but it was all highly spiced Tibetan vegetarian dishes, and I decided to give it a miss. Had I not been cycling, I'd have tried it, but didn't fancy the idea of riding 30 miles on that stuff! VISIT SAMYE-LING WEBSITE
A mile down the road, I sat and ate my final banana. To my surprise, a small bus appeared, turned round and parked a few feet away from me. A lad got off and called someone on his mobile 'phone. A four wheel drive started off from a farm house about 400 yards away, picked up the boy and returned to the farm! Good old dad!
I asked the bus driver if there was anything between here and Ettrick, 12 miles on. "Trees", he said. He did tell me that there was in fact a pub in Eskdalemuir but it was hard to find. "I know", I said. "Where's the nearest place to buy food?" "Lockerbie's your best bet" he said, with a straight face. "Bye" I said, and pedalled off.
Not best pleased with the absent David, I pressed on towards Ettrick, surely the source of sustainance. The road rose towards the Heavens again so I stopped to drink, listen to the deafening silence, and talk to the sheep. After 10 minutes or so, I remounted and rounded a bend, to see my second mirage of the day - there, stretched out sunbathing was Russ! He had been there, yards away, all the time that I had been round the corner! He didn't have any significant food either. Delighted to meet up again for the third time, we rode together through some of the most breathtaking scenery you could wish for (if you like pine trees, that is). Ettrick came and went without so much as a shop, and then we came across a caravan park with small shop attached. At last, somewhere to spend money! Strangely, all the items on display bore the word "Tesco"!, and were grossly overpriced. Run by a geordie woman who clearly stocked up at Tesco's when she went home. Still, we paid the extortionate prices as we had a lesson in the fundamentals of supply and demand. We managed to persuade the lady to let us fill our water bottles from her outside tap, although she clearly at least thought about levying a charge! You'll find nothing else for miles, she said cheerlily, as we rode on. She was right!
This weird day still had more surprises. My 'phone beeped to tell me that I had a text message. It was from David. Why a text? Now, I have known David for 14 years - he was scared to 'phone, what could have happened? I read the text in disbelief. He was stranded on Lindisfarne! Not only had he b**gered off and abandoned me in a wilderness, he was 100 miles away stranded on an island!!! Never mind. In his excitement at finally reaching the Holy Island he had completely ignored the state of the tide and would have to wait until 18.30 hours before the tide allowed him to return to the mainland. Still, the camper was safe, he assured me.
Russ and I rode on to Traquir, where he planned to camp. David and I had planned to camp at Peebles, seven miles further on. It was agreed that we would all stay at Traquair, with David joining us later when he escaped Lindisfarne. So we tried a b&b, to be told that there was a Fair on at nearby Traquair House, with all accommodation for 5,000 square miles already taken! Russ was resourceful enough to ask the man if we could camp nearby. Sure, he said, I'll let you camp on that grass over there, by the Village Hall. You can use the toilets in the Village Hall, but if you go in, be careful what you tread on, as there's a troupe of Bulgarian dancers sleeping in there tonight!!
Russ put up his tent as I just hung around with nothing but my bike, comforted by the knowledge that the camper was OK. Next thing I knew, Russ was talking to a couple of blokes with the dancers. I breezed up and asked the one who was speaking English which part of Bulgaria they came from (full extent of my Bulgarian knowledge being that Sofia is the capital). Bulgaria? he asked, whats that got to do with anything? Turned out that they were Turkish Kurds, mainly from Edmonton in London!
Three males and 11 females. One of the males spoke only Turkish and German - he was from Bielefeld. He was thrilled when he learned that I could sprechen a little deutch. I struggled to recall my schoolboy german, but he was very happy to be involved in the conversation. Seems they had spent 16 hours in a hired minibus coming up from London and were performing traditional Kurdish dances at the Fair. Nice people, made us cups of tea.
Russ and I decided to ride to the nearby village of Innerleithen, where, we were told, there were pubs and things. Sure enough, we were soon ensconced in the Saint Ronan's Hotel drinking real ale and eating real food! We returned to Traquair, and I checked David's ETA. He was off Holy Island but was lost on the way back. Only he knows how many miles he really did on this little jaunt, but he did get a nice tee-shirt! When he eventually arrived at about 8.45pm, we drove down to Innerleithen for more real ale. As it was now too late for David to get food there, we took him across the road to the chip shop where he treated himself to a haggis supper. The craic in this little town on a Saturday night was great, really friendly people - pretty blonde girl in the pub singing in a miniscule sequinned top - super.
Back at Traquiar, the "Bulgarian Dancers" had been whisked off to Traqaiur house for their evening meal, so David didn't see them. When we left in the morning, they were still in bed, so he never did see them! Russ was quite taken by the Kurdish girls and was sorry that we couldn't afford to take a day out for the second day of their performance at Traquair House! VISIT TRAQUAIR HOUSE WEBSITE
DAY 9 Sunday 1 August OSPREYS
Set off from Traquair at 9.00am for Penicuik on the outskirts of Edinburgh, where David was going to lift me a few miles to the Forth Road Bridge, and I would then ride to Perth. Russ had left at 7.00am to get a few miles in. Stopped off at Peebles to buy and write postcards - price now 25p in Scotland. Before Peebles there were "Osprey Watch" signs, so when I stopped for a call of nature in an isolated spot along the road to Penicuik, and heard a series of cries from the far bank of the River Tweed, I looked carefully. To my great delight, I saw an opsrey, fishing in the river to feed the hungry chick! The other parent also appeared briefly, but although I had my camera, they were just too far away to get pictures.
Before Penicuik, it started to get misty - a hairie according to the locals. These cold damp conditions lasted until well past the Forth Bridge. David turned up and drove me to the Forth Bridge - fortunate as there was a massive "Truckfest" taking place, with traffic everywhere.
I declined David's suggestion that I might like to ride across the bridge (it was high, long and very windy!) so I rode in the camper. Halfway across we saw a lone cyclist struggling with the elements - you've guessed, it was Russ! So we waited at the far side and I joined him for the ride to Perth. The first few miles were tough - still misty, bumpy roads and lots of hills. We stopped for lunch in a near empty pub at Crossgates on the outskirts of Cowdenbeath, then passed a lifesize statue of the great Jim Baxter (for those who aren't football fans, a Glasgow Rangers and Scotland legend who died not so long ago at a young age). The statue was outside the ground of a junior club called Hill of Beath, guess he must have begun his career there. We pressed on and left industrial Fife behind us. Past Loch Leven and its famous golf course and then I saw the sign for my all time favourite Scottish place name - Auchtermuchty . Unfortunately it would have added half a dozen miles to our tally to go via there, a luxury which we could not afford, so I still haven't been there!
In order to keep to our schedule, David had booked a place in Pitlochry for the night, so we left Russ in Perth and shot up the A9 to Pitlochry.
We stayed in a lovely b&b, Woodburn, Ferry Road, tel: 01796 473818, and ate out at a nice restaurant in town. This was our first taste of a real Scottish tourist resort, designed to relieve visitors of as much of their money as possible! The lady at Woodburn produced the most delicious full cooked breakfast - sorry Tintern vegitarian lady, you very nearly converted me, but this was the business! Blessed with the most wonderful dry sense of humour, when David started telling her that Cairngorms meant "baggy mountains" our hostess just reached over to a side-table and tossed him a small book "Scottish Placenames". I couldn't resist checking Auchtermuchty! (high pig enclosure!)
DAY 10 Monday 2 August THE GRAMPIAN MOUNTAINS
Today's route took in the A9 in a semi-circular ride around the Grampian Mountains to Aviemore, including the climb to Drumochter Summit, 1,532 feet above sea level. As the (hooded) crow would fly 35 miles, by A9 54 miles. With a brisk tail wind, the ride was not too bad, nothing like as taxing as Shap,and for much of the route, that nice Mr Prescott had arranged for a cycle track to save me from the trucks on the A9. Unfortunately, in many places, the cycle track plunged wildly up and down, as against the steady plod on the A9. Also the surface was liberally sprinkled with loose chippings! In many other places, though, the cycle track was in fact the old A9, where stretches had been re-aligned to allow the traffic to go even faster. Anyway, I found this a good day and managed to clock 54.5 miles at an average of 12.7mph (not including stops!)
DAY 11 Tuesday 3 August STEAM TRAINS AND DOLPHINS
Knowing of the preserved steam railway between Aviemore and Boat of Garten, I decided to call in at the latter to have a look.
Believing that Boat of Garten was the official headquarters of the Speyside Railway, I ignored the Aviemore end but discovered on arrival at Boat of Garten that the locomotives are kept and repaired at Aviemore these days, from whence I'd just pedalled 8 miles! Never mind, I did see steam locomotive 46512 and later locate Broomhill, the station which masquerades as Glenbogle in Monarch of the Glen.
On to Grantown on Spey, beautifully presented to the well heeled tourist, and a lunch stop for me in a delightful tea rooms - scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, £5 including a sprig of lettuce!
Then it was over some mountains, moorlands, down a terrifying hill to the River Findhorn and then up a gruelling hill the other side. Then on to the surprisingly attractive seaside town of Nairn to meet up with David, who was out on a boat in the Moray Firth looking at Dolphins! For £18 the skipper of the Phoenix will take you out for a couple of hours to see dolphins and seals.
On his return, David said that the dolphins came right up to the boat, and were as good as ones he had seen when making a special trip to Florida just to see them!
I then risked life and limb riding along the incredibly busy A95 to Inverness, where I arrived just as the evening rush began (and they do have an evening rush!). On to the Kessock Bridge, which spans the Moray Firth, for a second rendezvous with David.
I stopped midway across the bridge to take a photo - stopped next to a plaque which recorded that the late Queen Mother opened the bridge on 6 August 1982 - my 38th birthday! (and the day after her 82nd! Game old bird for going up there at that age!)
Met David and we motored on to Dornoch.
DAY 12 Wednesday 4 August RAINED ALL DAY, WENT SIGHTSEEING WITH DAVID
Ashamed to admit that, on waking to find it raining persistently, and knowing what the A9 was like - no margin at the roadside and lots of trucks, I decided to curtail my day's riding and only ride when it stopped raining. So we had a look at Dornoch, bought a few tacky souvenirs and motored on up the A9. At the top of a particularly vicious hill near Helmsdale, we encountered Russ, of course. He, so near to completing the whole ride, had had no option than to ride in the rain (and wind - he told me that he was having to pedal DOWNHILL!) We provided him with brief shelter and sustainance and I thought about riding on with him. In the distance, however, could be seem a very long, steep, hill. I opted for the sightseeing with David, and we called at a fishing village called Lybster (pronounce the "y" as a "y"). We encountered a delightful little harbour, with a visitor centre and museum built with Lottery funding.
To my mind a very worthy use of such money. Two lovely ladies, one with a London accent (I'm from London, but I married a bloke from up here) ran the centre and did great snacks). We pressed on to Wick, where we stayed at a campsite prior to the last triumphant run into John O'Groats. Wick is a depressing place! Russ had b&b'd there and met up with a mate, Dave, who was touring Scotland on his Harley Davidson. We all met in Wetherspoon's for a last night meal - real ale at only £1.45 a pint encouraged us to have several!
DAY 13 Thursday 3 August FOG AND ANTICLIMAX
This was it! Met Russ at his b&b. Whilst waiting for him to finish his "full scottish" (I had, as usual had my three Weetabix) I became engaged in conversation across the road with a lady with a brummie accent. She told me that we had missed seeing Prince Charles by a day, and that he was back again on Saturday, this time with Camilla. Never mind, we'll just have to live with that. She had lived in the highlands for 27 years, although all of her children had left Scotland for Australia over the years. Russ continued to finish his full scottish while I learned more of this lady's life story. If you want to know more, I'll write a separate piece on it! Russ was eventually ready, and we set off together on the last 18 miles. He having done the whole ride on his bike and me feeling envious that I hadn't. We were riding in a thick fog. After 8 miles, Russ stopped to investigate a funny noise from his bike and we discovered that his rear tyre was completely worn through and about to disintegrate completely! Liberal application of black insulating tape rescued the situation though, and the injured tyre made it over the last 10 miles. Insulating tape is one of those things the experts recommend taking on such treks - good job that Russ had read the book!
Arrival at John o'Groats was anti-climactic in the extreme! Just outside the village is a road off to Duncansby Head, and Russ was adamant that he wanted to go there, as that was where the signpost was. So we pedalled off over a minor mountain in the fog to the lighthouse.
Two highland cattle watched us as we pedalled the last few yards up this remote lane.
Our arrival at Duncansby Head was witnessed only by Dutch and Italian tourists, who were totally bemused as to what we were doing.
We rode back to John O'Groats itself and found David (and Dave) waiting at the ferry port. There was the signpost - £17 mandatory fee for a photo. Oh, charity ride sir, then its only £9.50, with a free second photo. We opted for the free photo, taken with our own camera, from outside the chained area. The (English) photographer was mightily miffed.
Bought some postcards (price now 30p!) had a pint, and ate a sausage sandwich (v good!) then it was into the camper for the run home.
THE DRIVE HOME
We had offered Russ a lift home, thus saving him a cycle ride back to Wick to get the train for Inverness, Edinburgh, London and Oxford. We left at about 3pm and I drove the first 150 miles to Aviemore, where we stopped off for fish and chips. Russ then drove for about 3 hours. Both of us felt a strange feeling as we retraced much of the route of our ride, at speed, with no effort - it seemed to devalue the acievement.
David took over after we had stopped at a desperate Motorway Services near Glasgow - 9pm and it was closed.
By now it was seriously raining and we encountered frightening sheet lightning as I tried to sleep in the back. Because of poor signage, David took a wrong turn and went down the M55 by mistake, nearly to Blackpool. Eventually at Charnock Richard services on the M6 I made my biggest mistake of the whole tour! Told that it was my turn to buy fuel, I staggered out of the van, picked up the pump with a black handle and proceeded to insert lots of fuel. "What are you putting in, Bob?" asked Russ, who could smell petrol. I loked at the pump, and to my horror, realised that some gremlin had switched the diesel pump I had certainly selected for a petrol one! 22 litres of unleaded had joined a similar quantity of diesel in our tank! Oh, bother! (or words to that effect). It was 1.30am and we were tired. There was a brief discussion about the wisdom of starting the engine, before a passing truck driver recommended that we don't even think about it! David 'phoned the RAC, to be told that we would be collected by a recovery contractor and taken to a licenced disposal site, where the offending fuel would be drained out. The contractor would charge us £75.00 plus £1 per litre for fuel removed, plus the cost of replacement fuel, plus, of course, VAT)
Whilst waiting, we couldn't help but notice two other guys in a broken down car which had arrived steaming a few minutes earlier. The distraught Glaswegian driver was on his way to London to look for work and desperately wanted someone to come to him on the motorway at 2am and repair his car without towing it away! His idiot friend kept looking under the bonnet with the assistance of a lit cigarette lighter!
The recovery vehicle, from Fylde Motor Services, arrived at 3.10am. the Glaswegian tried to hijack the driver to fix his ailing car, and I surprised even myself by telling his to sod off and get his own asistance! Suspicions aroused by the name Fylde, I asked the cheery lad where he was going to take us. "Blackpool, of course", he said. So we were taken 30 miles back in the wrong direction, even retracing the bit that David had accidentally added to our journey already! At Fylde Motor Services, a droll lad from Northern Ireland was waiting with a less than high-tech hand pump to remove the unleaded. "Who's the daft driver then?" he said "You won't ever do that again!". They quickly drained the tank and just as quickly gave me a bill for £135.13(including VAT), which I paid with my credit card, as the others stood silently, trying not to call me the pr*t that they thought I was.
Back in the camper, I took the wheel, and we left Blackpool at 5am. Filled up with diesel - the lads kindly allowed me to fill up (and pay), despite my recent record, and set off along the M55 for the South. I drove for a while but had to ask Russ to take over at Stafford, as I was feeling very sleepy.
We used the new M6 toll road to miss the morning rush traffic around the West Midlands (well worth it) and found our way onto the M40 and, eventually, Abingdon, where we unloaded Russ and his bike. The last 60 miles to Herford seemed long , as we frankly, had had enough of driving. We didn't actually note the distance driven back home, but it must have approached 800 miles, including 30 in a recovery vehicle!
REFLECTIONS
Wish I'd had the three weeks I needed to do the whole ride
Wished I'd trained harder - then I might have matched Russ the whole way.
Shan't bother going back to do it again - I know now that I can do it .
NO punctures! (or any other mechanical problems).
Expected to lose some weight, but exactly the same on the scales when I got back! Lots of fat converted to muscle though!
HIGHS
Seeing at close quarters buzzards,red kites, osprey and eagles.
Tintern Abbey (and the lovely barmaid at the Moon and Sixpence)
Meeting Russ - the company and mutual support made a difference
Grindley Brook Staircase on the Llangollen Canal - a grown up boys paradise
Riding over Shap. Sense of achievement
The strange day in the Scottish Borders. Conversing in German in Scotland with a Turkish Kurd who wasn't Bulgarian!
The warmth and generosity of so many people we met on the way (especially in Scotland).
LOWS
How I felt on the second and third days
Brean Sands - come back Skegness, all is forgiven!
Wick
Seeing so much dead wildlife at the roadside - rabbits, foxes, badgers, deer, weasels, seagulls, crows, etc.
Putting unleaded fuel in the (diesel) camper.
Missing Tommy and Becky
Seeing at close quarters buzzards,red kites, osprey and eagles.
Tintern Abbey (and the lovely barmaid at the Moon and Sixpence)
Meeting Russ - the company and mutual support made a difference
Grindley Brook Staircase on the Llangollen Canal - a grown up boys paradise
Riding over Shap. Sense of achievement
The strange day in the Scottish Borders. Conversing in German in Scotland with a Turkish Kurd who wasn't Bulgarian!
The warmth and generosity of so many people we met on the way (especially in Scotland).
LOWS
How I felt on the second and third days
Brean Sands - come back Skegness, all is forgiven!
Wick
Seeing so much dead wildlife at the roadside - rabbits, foxes, badgers, deer, weasels, seagulls, crows, etc.
Putting unleaded fuel in the (diesel) camper.
Missing Tommy and Becky
