May 31st
After a day at work "handing over" to the guys in the office, I cycle the eight miles home excited at the prospect of a month away from my desk. I put the kids to bed and have a nasty feeling that both of them have colds brewing or teeth coming through. It’s par for the course. Whenever I go away they are ill and Jo has a shocking time, hence the reason I am rarely allowed out or away these days! We have supper and after a sad farewell I cycle the 8 miles to Euston station to catch the overnight sleeper to Inverness.
I soon find Andrew and Lee and we chat excitedly, busily eyeing up each others bikes and kit before stowing them in the guards van. We find our berths and banish Andrew to a separate cabin on account of his snoring. The train leaves promptly at 9.15pm and shortly afterwards we find the bar. The buffet car has a mellow ambiance and we meet Rob and Liz who are also doing JOGLE and we talk schedules. Rob has memorised the route and can reel of the road numbers which seems extremely dedicated. I have bought the Collins A5 UK Road Map and fumble through the pages for the first time realising this is now very real and some people take this very seriously. Andrew and Lee talk bike bit's and as we head North, we relax into the journey over a few drinks. We turn into our bunk beds about midnight.
June 1st.
A reasonable night on the sleeper and as we roll gently into Inverness at 8am, we start to get excited as it’s sunny, the air is fresh and the sky is blue. From the dramatic scenery I already have a sense of the massive distance the train has covered and a look at the map shows how much further we still have to go before we reach the start. Unfortunately as we unload our bikes Andrew is unwell on the platform. This is not a reflection of the quality of the red wine First Scot Rail serve, nor the quantity consumed, but a history of motion sickness or so we’re lead to believe. Our first Scottish fry up soon settles his stomach.
Being unable to get onto the 10am train to Thurso as four other cyclists have pre-booked, and the cycling season seems to be well under way, we have no option but to wait for the slot I’ve reserved on the 6pm. This is no bad thing as Inverness has plenty to offer in terms of camping and bike shops, so we get some more kit, adjust straps, reset computers and get to know each other better. I haven’t spent a decent amount of time with Lee since I left Uni in 1995. Andrew is one of Lee’s work friends with whom I have only ever exchanged emails. They are scientists, extremely methodical, very factual and possibly quite nurdy about bike bits. Having built their bikes from scratch and thought about the gear ratios they will use, I suppose this excusable. It also explains the looks my bike received at Euston Station as to the trained eye it’s obvious mines an off the shelf number with little thought put into it. I use this for my daily commute and has been extensively modified with a luggage rack, to fit Barneys child seat, but conveniently works with my panniers, and some bar ends and SPD’s. A professional service at the local bike shop assured me all is in working order. Anyway, Andrew has a dry twist to his humour and with his crazy hair and laugh, I am sure we’ll get on well.
Having agreed that a beard growing contest is in order and having been plagued for nearly 45 minutes by a very friendly Canadian lady, who could have escaped the asylum that day, we finally catch the train. It winds up the East Coast before heading inland on the 4 hour journey to Thurso. The scenery is stunning and the sun is setting. It’s the end of the week and the commuters merrily sing to each other for the last hour of the journey fuelled by Tennents lager. At one point there are shrieks of laughter as one of the revellers returns past us to the rabble. It later transpires that Lee’s rear tyre has been let down. Thurso only gets a limited number of trains a day and there is a crowd of people to welcome the tired and merry commuters as we pull into town at 10pm. No-one seems to bat an eyelid at us. Having re-inflated Lee’s tyre and put on lights and reflective coats we cycle 8 miles East to Dunnet where we pitch our tents and put on a brew as the sun sets. A chilling wind has got up and tomorrow it all starts.
June 2nd.
Andrew snores! This resembles a distant mating stag. A poor choice of pitch and the prompt sunrise results in waking up early. I listen to my new digital radio for a bit and then get some baked beans on the go to have with flat cheesy baguette which I seem to have squashed in the night. Lee smells this and, a bit like a dog, snuffles over to join me and we share the contents and look at our route. Breaking camp for the first time takes a while before we hit the road at 10am into a strong and cold head wind.
We stop briefly to admire the island of Stroma en route before continuing our head wind challenge. It feels great to be on the way but we still haven’t even got to the starting line which we do around Midday, now conscious of the weight of our luggage. The sea is rough and the wind is blowing something else. Having hung around and had our official picture taken we’re freezing and instead of jumping onto our bikes with enthusiasm, we pile into the nearest café to warm up with hot drinks and haggis accompanied by our preferred carbohydrate.
Eventually we get going and having had our maps officially stamped we head due south with the wind coming at us from the south east. The coastline is dramatic and the countryside is a barren moorland, which is continuously battered by gales like today. We have to lean into it along some stretches and this continues until about 3pm when finally we get to Wick where we shelter and make a cup of tea to warm up. Along the way we’ve passed groups and individuals being blown along at 20+mph on their final stretch of LEJOG smiling smugly at us. At Wick the coast line heads more south westerly and as we leave the sun comes out and we’re less exposed. We make good time and our spirits lift. In no time at all we get to Dunbeath, pitch our tents, wash and go to the pub for a well deserved 3 course meal. The pub has a few other cyclists, some with a day left of their journey, others, including ourselves and Rob & Liz with it all to do. Thinking of my kids, I sleep like a baby.
June 3rd.
It’s overcast and spitting as we pack up and get going. The legs are a little stiff and a long climb soon blows away the cobwebs and reminds me of the weight the luggage adds. God knows how it’s going to feel in a weeks time! We achieve a steady pace of about 12 mph before a glorious descent into Berriedale hitting 30+MPH. The climb up Inver Hill is not so glorious. This see’s us peeling off the layers and stop at the top for drinks, bananas and cereal bars to replace the spent energy. The enormity of the task in hand is beginning to hit home.
I phone Jo and am informed it’s glorious sunshine in London and as I hang up it starts to drizzle. Great! The scenery is changing now as the road winds slowly up and down the contours changing frequently between moorland, forestry and the occasional Burn. There’s something different around each corner to keep us going at a reasonable pace. This is what I imagined. It remains overcast and drizzly and we make good time before stopping about a few miles out of Helmsdale. The rain get’s heavier and we shelter under some massive conifers and get a brew on. As we get the full waterproof gear on there is much huffing, puffing and giggling as elastic, rubber and latex is stretched for the first time !
The weather deteriorates and by the time we leave Golspie we’re pretty wet through and fed up of trudging along the A9. A detour down the side of Loch Fleet gives temporary uplift and sees us wiggle into Dornoch where we decide a pint and food in the Dornoch Arms is called for. A local sheltering under the porch to the bar whilst puffing a cigarette informs us that we need to enter through the second door. This he repeats several times, "Second door lads! Second door!" and we obediently do as we’re told. It transpires this makes no difference as we’re in the same bar, just not in the “locals end”. The landlord kindly puts on an electric fire to warm us up and several pints, a nip of whisky and haggis are knocked back before resuming our damp journey.
Eventually we arrive at the Conon Bridge Hotel around 8.30pm. All our kit is drenched, including our trip computers which have gone on the blink at various stages of the day, but we estimate todays distance is about 83 miles. This is about 7 miles further than expected. We’re shattered but thankful that this was scheduled as our comfort stop. The recently valeted room is turned into a chaotic Chinese laundery with kit hung out to dry wherever possible and the heater whacked onto full blast. A good supper is enjoyed sitting next to some robust Germans who are touring on their equally robust motorbikes. A hot bath and then quickly out to check on the bikes and give the chains a little oil. One heck of a day.
June 4th.
I snore !! Having isolated Andrew to his own room it appears Lee has suffered a night of my nasal onslaught. Must have been the 3 pints of Duechars award winning IPA! A hearty breakfast served by a very attractive gothic lassy sets us up nicely for the day. The sun shines and with a cool breeze our spirits are restored. We head to Beauly and beyond up into the hills. Lee “Feel the pain/Embrace the lactic” does his king of the mountains Tour de France impression and heads off into the distance. The climb is challenging and lasts about an hour and as I listen to the radio the theme tune to “Where Eagles Dare” plays on Classic FM. “Broad Sword calling Danny Boy” I chuckle to myself. Soon we are rewarded by an incredible descent to the shores of Loch Ness at Drumnadrochit. I would not fancy the climb the other way. We head round to Urquhart Castle and stop in the car park and have a quick brew.
After a very tasty cuppa we carry along the A82 where we stop at Invermoriston for Lunch. Lunch is washed down by some thoroughly overpriced Magners Cider whilst watched by some rather long horned, fly bothered, highland Coo’s. Andrew and Lee seem to be looking forward to hitting Somerset and knocking back some of the local brew (This is not a pub crawl by the way). We continue and divert from the A82 on the tow path of the Caledonian Canal between Fort Augustus and Bridge of Oich. This is really pleasant but in no time at all we get back on the A82.
It’s been a fantastic days cycling and as we continue along Loch Oich, and the imaginatively named Loch Lochy, the scenery is dramatic with huge mountains plunging down into the water. In the distance is Ben Nevis and we stop at the Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge which gives an impressive view and a sense of outdoor challenge of which we are now obviously apart. Grrrr!! We turn off the A82 and head down towards Gairlochy Holiday Park where we find our midge infested camp site. We realise that we’ve forgotten to stop for supplies and go in search of the owner to pay for our pitch, get some change for the washing machine and find out what’s what. 10 minutes later with the washing machine on we’re hanging out at the adventure playground like juvenile delinquents. The structures of wood we perch on have the best reception for mobile phones, honest, and we all call our nearest and dearest. As a sense of hunger sets in, the sheep on the hillside start to look tasty. Lee having been asked if he could remove the spleen of a lamb with his pocket Leatherman says “I could do it Andrew – but it would look like a butchers Shop”.
Because we’re tired this statement seems extremely funny and, bent double with laughter, we go back to our tents. Our next door neighbour AKA Fatty Arbuckle is lighting up the BBQ for his 3rd sitting. His family look on in bewilderment and we wonder if the midges will eat him back down to a more normal size by the morning.
June 5th.
Fatty Arbuckle’s Dad gives us some directions down to the river and where to pick up the Caledonian Canal again. We find he’s been very helpful and meander along the tow path towards Neptunes Staircase at Banavie. Lee is unusually quiet and soon protests about the pain he’s getting from his knees. We stop and give him some Ibruprofen before continuing into Fort William to find a shopping centre for our now habitual fry up. Hopefully food will lift hiss state of mind. Despite the glorious sunshine the pain is obvious and we call Jo’s brother who is a Doctor for some advice. Having found the pharmacist and having successfully strapped Lee's knee up, we gently head off west on the A82 once more. Then five miles out of town his ankle seizes up and he falls onto the pavement in agony. Suddenly a cloud of doubt hangs over the future of his participation and a few miles further, at North Ballachulish, enough is enough. With Glen Coe an hour away it’s clear he is going to struggle. He turns back to Fort William having decided to get the train to Ardlui where we’re scheduled for tonights stop. This is sad but with charity funds at stake and a tight schedule we’ve got to press on. We’ve got to hope a day of rest will see him back in the saddle tomorrow which is a flat day into Glasgow.
The climb up Glen Coe is relentless but the gradient is not savage so that the legs burn. Despite this the legs ache and we stop half way up to admire the spectacular scenery. A man also enjoying the vista comes over to us and points out the actual whereabouts of the massacre and the pass where the surviving Madonalds escape from the Redcoats and the dastardly Campbells. We say cheerio and as we leave he says "Jimmy Savill has a house up where you’re headed". Well then, well then!! We continue up to Rannoch Moor which is a desolate place. The roadside is covered in litter, hub cabs, shopping trolleys (gawd knows), bumpers and the rotting carcus of deer. It’s a long hard climb and after a seemingly very long time and with a very sore bum eventually we come into Bridge of Orchy. Being a pretty remote mountain village you would think that not much happens. However, in the 1970’s the village was isolated as heavy snow cut off the pass. The newspaper clippings on the wall of the pub show the motorists and policeman who found refuge at the pub. I am sure they drank it dry! The bar staff today are Australian and we remark how they get everywhere.
We’ve achieved some cracking speeds and I don’t mind the climbs now as the 30+mph descent speeds are thrilling. Andrew on his custom rally cross bike, with drop handle bars and 52 front chain ring, leaves me for dust as he bombs off down the hill. We soon hit our final climb for the day and I overtake him as my off the shelf bike, with "granny" cassette ring, comes into it’s own. A mile down the road we pass a dreadlocked hippy going the other way towing a bike trailer. He resembles Dillon the rabbit, only without the ears, and has an intoxicated grin. He’s clearly relieved and as we descend down, down, down through Tyndrum and on into Crianlarich at rapid speed we realise why.
Still on the A82, we free wheel down Glen Falloch before stopping at the Drovers Inn at Inverarnen. This turns out to be an old hostelry celebrating 300 years of history having seen Rob Roy Macgregor, Robert Burns, General Wade, Johnson & Boswell and Robert Louis Stevenson having allegedly passed by. Once inside it seems steeped in history and as we approach the bar the tall, kilted, bearded barman grumpily raises his eyebrows to acknowledge our turn to be served. Just as I am thinking this must be a pub passed down through generations and he must now run the show , he asks “Yeah Mayte? Wot will it be ?”. As we drink our well earned pint in the sun I think about Rob & Joes JOGLE account wondering if there are any bar staff left in Australia.
We cycle down the road to our campsite at Ardlui which is complete with midges and peacock. As luck would have it the train arrives 10 minutes later with Lee upon it. He’s pleased to see us and we quickly pitch our tents and pile into the local pub. The locals are finishing their drinks before heading off to Loch Lomond for some late night fishing. There is an impressive array of whiskies and the one fellow who remains, who also is camping, saunters down to one end of the bar and removes a guitar from a rack on the wall. He returns to his chair at the bar and begins tuning and strumming chords occasionally stopping for a nip of whisky. The barman has a degree in whisky and helps Andrew choose a fine malt called Auchentoshen for us all. As we play pool our musical friend begins a melody. For Andrew and me it’s a fitting end to a hilly day of 70 miles and having calmed Lee's anxiety about tomorrow, we all savour the moment.
June 6th.
Feeling the effects of the gloriously smooth Auchentoshen we’re a little slow this morning, and after a shower and having packed up we have breakfast. Eventually we get going but no sooner than we do, Lee pulls up a mile or so down the road. It’s clear he can’t go on and after 15 minutes of conflab he knows his tour is over. Gutted. Andrew suggests going to Glasgow A&E to be sure that nothing serious is going on and with that we say our farewell’s.
At Tarbet we find a cycle path and enjoy the ride down to the southern shores of Loch Lomond where at Balloch we find a 'Sustrans' route. We follow this through Dunbarton to Clydebank and cross the Clyde using a footbridge to the science centre. Glasgow is a massive sprawling conurbation going through massive redevelopment. On the whole the route is good but in parts it's difficult to follow as road works cause confusion over poorly sign posted diversions. Glasgow seems to be embracing the cyclist and it will be a very pleasant way to view the city in years to come.
By now we had news from Lee and having visited Glasgow A&E the nurse had questioned what he was doing there. The words “Listen to your body and go home” were mentioned and subsequently he was on a Virgin Intercity heading south.
The remainder of the day, although sunny, is pretty tedious and unpleasant. We cycle in the sweltering heat along busy roads out through Rutherglen towards Blantyre and then Hamilton before finding our campsite at Strathclyde Country Park. It feels like I've returned to the annonimity of urban life and our evening meal, a £7.50 all you can eat carvery, brings me back down to earth with a bump. It's decidedly average.
June 7th.
Andrew is up early fiddling with his rear wheel and making sure its rotation is true. It seems to have picked up a buckle on yesterdays roads and as we pass the Mausoleum of the Duke of Sutherland I realise that my rear wheel also seems to have a small kink. Anyhow, keen to escape the urban sprawl, and get some fresher air, I forget about it and we make good time down to Larkhall and then onto Blackwood where we stop for a late breakfast.
The landlady couldn’t be more welcoming but after a while seems to be stuck on “send” with her conversation skills. Barely drawing breath we learn about her brilliant son in law who has a PHD from Harvard and who is going to save the world. She really is very jolly and obviously proud of him. The food is excellent and gives temporary sanctuary from the verbal onslaught as we eat in peace and quiet. However, a word to her prompts a fresh barrage of uncorrelated information and we quickly put on our helmets, settle up and retreat out the door. Woah – what was she on?
10 miles down the road we climb up over the southern uplands and find the National Cycle Network Route 7. This is really good and with the bulk of the traffic using the M74 means this a pleasant roadside ride as we climb up and over the borders. The weather is cloudy and cool and in the distance we can see two cyclists ahead of us also heading south. We eventually catch up with the father and son duo who are nattering away and in no particular hurry. It transpires that they set out the day after us from John O’Groats and have walked up Ben Nevis as well. We cycle with them for a while and listen to their tale of how Ben Nevis was too much of a temptation, the 140 miles they had cycled yesterday, the night spent on a Glasgow park bench and how they became separated. They are in good spirits and seem to be debating the merits of diverting to climb Scar Fell Pike and Mount Snowdon. It seems climbing these hills means they don’t have to join the dreaded mother-in-law for a caravanning holiday when they reach Cornwall. However cavalier it all seems a little far fetched and we say our farewell and that we’ll no doubt see them later.
The remainder of the day is pretty boring and we stop in Lockerbie for a cupper before grinding out the remaining miles through to Ecclefechen and finally Gretna. We pass the Original Smithy shop and find our camp site. We go for a Chinese meal and as we return to Scotlands First House – The Old Toll Bar, we agree it’s a pretty transitory place. A message from Lee informs us he has got home safely and that he is planning to get in his car and come and find us once he’s rested for a couple of days. My rear wheel has got worse and I now have 2 broken spokes.
June 8th.
We get up at our usual 8.30am and pack up. Our intrepid friends from yesterday seem to have crept into the site under the cover of darkness and are also breaking camp. They also have breakfast in the campsite café and set off about the same time as us.
After a day at work "handing over" to the guys in the office, I cycle the eight miles home excited at the prospect of a month away from my desk. I put the kids to bed and have a nasty feeling that both of them have colds brewing or teeth coming through. It’s par for the course. Whenever I go away they are ill and Jo has a shocking time, hence the reason I am rarely allowed out or away these days! We have supper and after a sad farewell I cycle the 8 miles to Euston station to catch the overnight sleeper to Inverness.
I soon find Andrew and Lee and we chat excitedly, busily eyeing up each others bikes and kit before stowing them in the guards van. We find our berths and banish Andrew to a separate cabin on account of his snoring. The train leaves promptly at 9.15pm and shortly afterwards we find the bar. The buffet car has a mellow ambiance and we meet Rob and Liz who are also doing JOGLE and we talk schedules. Rob has memorised the route and can reel of the road numbers which seems extremely dedicated. I have bought the Collins A5 UK Road Map and fumble through the pages for the first time realising this is now very real and some people take this very seriously. Andrew and Lee talk bike bit's and as we head North, we relax into the journey over a few drinks. We turn into our bunk beds about midnight.
June 1st.
A reasonable night on the sleeper and as we roll gently into Inverness at 8am, we start to get excited as it’s sunny, the air is fresh and the sky is blue. From the dramatic scenery I already have a sense of the massive distance the train has covered and a look at the map shows how much further we still have to go before we reach the start. Unfortunately as we unload our bikes Andrew is unwell on the platform. This is not a reflection of the quality of the red wine First Scot Rail serve, nor the quantity consumed, but a history of motion sickness or so we’re lead to believe. Our first Scottish fry up soon settles his stomach.
Being unable to get onto the 10am train to Thurso as four other cyclists have pre-booked, and the cycling season seems to be well under way, we have no option but to wait for the slot I’ve reserved on the 6pm. This is no bad thing as Inverness has plenty to offer in terms of camping and bike shops, so we get some more kit, adjust straps, reset computers and get to know each other better. I haven’t spent a decent amount of time with Lee since I left Uni in 1995. Andrew is one of Lee’s work friends with whom I have only ever exchanged emails. They are scientists, extremely methodical, very factual and possibly quite nurdy about bike bits. Having built their bikes from scratch and thought about the gear ratios they will use, I suppose this excusable. It also explains the looks my bike received at Euston Station as to the trained eye it’s obvious mines an off the shelf number with little thought put into it. I use this for my daily commute and has been extensively modified with a luggage rack, to fit Barneys child seat, but conveniently works with my panniers, and some bar ends and SPD’s. A professional service at the local bike shop assured me all is in working order. Anyway, Andrew has a dry twist to his humour and with his crazy hair and laugh, I am sure we’ll get on well.
Having agreed that a beard growing contest is in order and having been plagued for nearly 45 minutes by a very friendly Canadian lady, who could have escaped the asylum that day, we finally catch the train. It winds up the East Coast before heading inland on the 4 hour journey to Thurso. The scenery is stunning and the sun is setting. It’s the end of the week and the commuters merrily sing to each other for the last hour of the journey fuelled by Tennents lager. At one point there are shrieks of laughter as one of the revellers returns past us to the rabble. It later transpires that Lee’s rear tyre has been let down. Thurso only gets a limited number of trains a day and there is a crowd of people to welcome the tired and merry commuters as we pull into town at 10pm. No-one seems to bat an eyelid at us. Having re-inflated Lee’s tyre and put on lights and reflective coats we cycle 8 miles East to Dunnet where we pitch our tents and put on a brew as the sun sets. A chilling wind has got up and tomorrow it all starts.
June 2nd.
Andrew snores! This resembles a distant mating stag. A poor choice of pitch and the prompt sunrise results in waking up early. I listen to my new digital radio for a bit and then get some baked beans on the go to have with flat cheesy baguette which I seem to have squashed in the night. Lee smells this and, a bit like a dog, snuffles over to join me and we share the contents and look at our route. Breaking camp for the first time takes a while before we hit the road at 10am into a strong and cold head wind.
We stop briefly to admire the island of Stroma en route before continuing our head wind challenge. It feels great to be on the way but we still haven’t even got to the starting line which we do around Midday, now conscious of the weight of our luggage. The sea is rough and the wind is blowing something else. Having hung around and had our official picture taken we’re freezing and instead of jumping onto our bikes with enthusiasm, we pile into the nearest café to warm up with hot drinks and haggis accompanied by our preferred carbohydrate.
Eventually we get going and having had our maps officially stamped we head due south with the wind coming at us from the south east. The coastline is dramatic and the countryside is a barren moorland, which is continuously battered by gales like today. We have to lean into it along some stretches and this continues until about 3pm when finally we get to Wick where we shelter and make a cup of tea to warm up. Along the way we’ve passed groups and individuals being blown along at 20+mph on their final stretch of LEJOG smiling smugly at us. At Wick the coast line heads more south westerly and as we leave the sun comes out and we’re less exposed. We make good time and our spirits lift. In no time at all we get to Dunbeath, pitch our tents, wash and go to the pub for a well deserved 3 course meal. The pub has a few other cyclists, some with a day left of their journey, others, including ourselves and Rob & Liz with it all to do. Thinking of my kids, I sleep like a baby.
June 3rd.
It’s overcast and spitting as we pack up and get going. The legs are a little stiff and a long climb soon blows away the cobwebs and reminds me of the weight the luggage adds. God knows how it’s going to feel in a weeks time! We achieve a steady pace of about 12 mph before a glorious descent into Berriedale hitting 30+MPH. The climb up Inver Hill is not so glorious. This see’s us peeling off the layers and stop at the top for drinks, bananas and cereal bars to replace the spent energy. The enormity of the task in hand is beginning to hit home.
I phone Jo and am informed it’s glorious sunshine in London and as I hang up it starts to drizzle. Great! The scenery is changing now as the road winds slowly up and down the contours changing frequently between moorland, forestry and the occasional Burn. There’s something different around each corner to keep us going at a reasonable pace. This is what I imagined. It remains overcast and drizzly and we make good time before stopping about a few miles out of Helmsdale. The rain get’s heavier and we shelter under some massive conifers and get a brew on. As we get the full waterproof gear on there is much huffing, puffing and giggling as elastic, rubber and latex is stretched for the first time !
The weather deteriorates and by the time we leave Golspie we’re pretty wet through and fed up of trudging along the A9. A detour down the side of Loch Fleet gives temporary uplift and sees us wiggle into Dornoch where we decide a pint and food in the Dornoch Arms is called for. A local sheltering under the porch to the bar whilst puffing a cigarette informs us that we need to enter through the second door. This he repeats several times, "Second door lads! Second door!" and we obediently do as we’re told. It transpires this makes no difference as we’re in the same bar, just not in the “locals end”. The landlord kindly puts on an electric fire to warm us up and several pints, a nip of whisky and haggis are knocked back before resuming our damp journey.
Eventually we arrive at the Conon Bridge Hotel around 8.30pm. All our kit is drenched, including our trip computers which have gone on the blink at various stages of the day, but we estimate todays distance is about 83 miles. This is about 7 miles further than expected. We’re shattered but thankful that this was scheduled as our comfort stop. The recently valeted room is turned into a chaotic Chinese laundery with kit hung out to dry wherever possible and the heater whacked onto full blast. A good supper is enjoyed sitting next to some robust Germans who are touring on their equally robust motorbikes. A hot bath and then quickly out to check on the bikes and give the chains a little oil. One heck of a day.
June 4th.
I snore !! Having isolated Andrew to his own room it appears Lee has suffered a night of my nasal onslaught. Must have been the 3 pints of Duechars award winning IPA! A hearty breakfast served by a very attractive gothic lassy sets us up nicely for the day. The sun shines and with a cool breeze our spirits are restored. We head to Beauly and beyond up into the hills. Lee “Feel the pain/Embrace the lactic” does his king of the mountains Tour de France impression and heads off into the distance. The climb is challenging and lasts about an hour and as I listen to the radio the theme tune to “Where Eagles Dare” plays on Classic FM. “Broad Sword calling Danny Boy” I chuckle to myself. Soon we are rewarded by an incredible descent to the shores of Loch Ness at Drumnadrochit. I would not fancy the climb the other way. We head round to Urquhart Castle and stop in the car park and have a quick brew.
After a very tasty cuppa we carry along the A82 where we stop at Invermoriston for Lunch. Lunch is washed down by some thoroughly overpriced Magners Cider whilst watched by some rather long horned, fly bothered, highland Coo’s. Andrew and Lee seem to be looking forward to hitting Somerset and knocking back some of the local brew (This is not a pub crawl by the way). We continue and divert from the A82 on the tow path of the Caledonian Canal between Fort Augustus and Bridge of Oich. This is really pleasant but in no time at all we get back on the A82.
It’s been a fantastic days cycling and as we continue along Loch Oich, and the imaginatively named Loch Lochy, the scenery is dramatic with huge mountains plunging down into the water. In the distance is Ben Nevis and we stop at the Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge which gives an impressive view and a sense of outdoor challenge of which we are now obviously apart. Grrrr!! We turn off the A82 and head down towards Gairlochy Holiday Park where we find our midge infested camp site. We realise that we’ve forgotten to stop for supplies and go in search of the owner to pay for our pitch, get some change for the washing machine and find out what’s what. 10 minutes later with the washing machine on we’re hanging out at the adventure playground like juvenile delinquents. The structures of wood we perch on have the best reception for mobile phones, honest, and we all call our nearest and dearest. As a sense of hunger sets in, the sheep on the hillside start to look tasty. Lee having been asked if he could remove the spleen of a lamb with his pocket Leatherman says “I could do it Andrew – but it would look like a butchers Shop”.
Because we’re tired this statement seems extremely funny and, bent double with laughter, we go back to our tents. Our next door neighbour AKA Fatty Arbuckle is lighting up the BBQ for his 3rd sitting. His family look on in bewilderment and we wonder if the midges will eat him back down to a more normal size by the morning.
June 5th.
Fatty Arbuckle’s Dad gives us some directions down to the river and where to pick up the Caledonian Canal again. We find he’s been very helpful and meander along the tow path towards Neptunes Staircase at Banavie. Lee is unusually quiet and soon protests about the pain he’s getting from his knees. We stop and give him some Ibruprofen before continuing into Fort William to find a shopping centre for our now habitual fry up. Hopefully food will lift hiss state of mind. Despite the glorious sunshine the pain is obvious and we call Jo’s brother who is a Doctor for some advice. Having found the pharmacist and having successfully strapped Lee's knee up, we gently head off west on the A82 once more. Then five miles out of town his ankle seizes up and he falls onto the pavement in agony. Suddenly a cloud of doubt hangs over the future of his participation and a few miles further, at North Ballachulish, enough is enough. With Glen Coe an hour away it’s clear he is going to struggle. He turns back to Fort William having decided to get the train to Ardlui where we’re scheduled for tonights stop. This is sad but with charity funds at stake and a tight schedule we’ve got to press on. We’ve got to hope a day of rest will see him back in the saddle tomorrow which is a flat day into Glasgow.
The climb up Glen Coe is relentless but the gradient is not savage so that the legs burn. Despite this the legs ache and we stop half way up to admire the spectacular scenery. A man also enjoying the vista comes over to us and points out the actual whereabouts of the massacre and the pass where the surviving Madonalds escape from the Redcoats and the dastardly Campbells. We say cheerio and as we leave he says "Jimmy Savill has a house up where you’re headed". Well then, well then!! We continue up to Rannoch Moor which is a desolate place. The roadside is covered in litter, hub cabs, shopping trolleys (gawd knows), bumpers and the rotting carcus of deer. It’s a long hard climb and after a seemingly very long time and with a very sore bum eventually we come into Bridge of Orchy. Being a pretty remote mountain village you would think that not much happens. However, in the 1970’s the village was isolated as heavy snow cut off the pass. The newspaper clippings on the wall of the pub show the motorists and policeman who found refuge at the pub. I am sure they drank it dry! The bar staff today are Australian and we remark how they get everywhere.
We’ve achieved some cracking speeds and I don’t mind the climbs now as the 30+mph descent speeds are thrilling. Andrew on his custom rally cross bike, with drop handle bars and 52 front chain ring, leaves me for dust as he bombs off down the hill. We soon hit our final climb for the day and I overtake him as my off the shelf bike, with "granny" cassette ring, comes into it’s own. A mile down the road we pass a dreadlocked hippy going the other way towing a bike trailer. He resembles Dillon the rabbit, only without the ears, and has an intoxicated grin. He’s clearly relieved and as we descend down, down, down through Tyndrum and on into Crianlarich at rapid speed we realise why.
Still on the A82, we free wheel down Glen Falloch before stopping at the Drovers Inn at Inverarnen. This turns out to be an old hostelry celebrating 300 years of history having seen Rob Roy Macgregor, Robert Burns, General Wade, Johnson & Boswell and Robert Louis Stevenson having allegedly passed by. Once inside it seems steeped in history and as we approach the bar the tall, kilted, bearded barman grumpily raises his eyebrows to acknowledge our turn to be served. Just as I am thinking this must be a pub passed down through generations and he must now run the show , he asks “Yeah Mayte? Wot will it be ?”. As we drink our well earned pint in the sun I think about Rob & Joes JOGLE account wondering if there are any bar staff left in Australia.
We cycle down the road to our campsite at Ardlui which is complete with midges and peacock. As luck would have it the train arrives 10 minutes later with Lee upon it. He’s pleased to see us and we quickly pitch our tents and pile into the local pub. The locals are finishing their drinks before heading off to Loch Lomond for some late night fishing. There is an impressive array of whiskies and the one fellow who remains, who also is camping, saunters down to one end of the bar and removes a guitar from a rack on the wall. He returns to his chair at the bar and begins tuning and strumming chords occasionally stopping for a nip of whisky. The barman has a degree in whisky and helps Andrew choose a fine malt called Auchentoshen for us all. As we play pool our musical friend begins a melody. For Andrew and me it’s a fitting end to a hilly day of 70 miles and having calmed Lee's anxiety about tomorrow, we all savour the moment.
June 6th.
Feeling the effects of the gloriously smooth Auchentoshen we’re a little slow this morning, and after a shower and having packed up we have breakfast. Eventually we get going but no sooner than we do, Lee pulls up a mile or so down the road. It’s clear he can’t go on and after 15 minutes of conflab he knows his tour is over. Gutted. Andrew suggests going to Glasgow A&E to be sure that nothing serious is going on and with that we say our farewell’s.
At Tarbet we find a cycle path and enjoy the ride down to the southern shores of Loch Lomond where at Balloch we find a 'Sustrans' route. We follow this through Dunbarton to Clydebank and cross the Clyde using a footbridge to the science centre. Glasgow is a massive sprawling conurbation going through massive redevelopment. On the whole the route is good but in parts it's difficult to follow as road works cause confusion over poorly sign posted diversions. Glasgow seems to be embracing the cyclist and it will be a very pleasant way to view the city in years to come.
By now we had news from Lee and having visited Glasgow A&E the nurse had questioned what he was doing there. The words “Listen to your body and go home” were mentioned and subsequently he was on a Virgin Intercity heading south.
The remainder of the day, although sunny, is pretty tedious and unpleasant. We cycle in the sweltering heat along busy roads out through Rutherglen towards Blantyre and then Hamilton before finding our campsite at Strathclyde Country Park. It feels like I've returned to the annonimity of urban life and our evening meal, a £7.50 all you can eat carvery, brings me back down to earth with a bump. It's decidedly average.
June 7th.
Andrew is up early fiddling with his rear wheel and making sure its rotation is true. It seems to have picked up a buckle on yesterdays roads and as we pass the Mausoleum of the Duke of Sutherland I realise that my rear wheel also seems to have a small kink. Anyhow, keen to escape the urban sprawl, and get some fresher air, I forget about it and we make good time down to Larkhall and then onto Blackwood where we stop for a late breakfast.
The landlady couldn’t be more welcoming but after a while seems to be stuck on “send” with her conversation skills. Barely drawing breath we learn about her brilliant son in law who has a PHD from Harvard and who is going to save the world. She really is very jolly and obviously proud of him. The food is excellent and gives temporary sanctuary from the verbal onslaught as we eat in peace and quiet. However, a word to her prompts a fresh barrage of uncorrelated information and we quickly put on our helmets, settle up and retreat out the door. Woah – what was she on?
10 miles down the road we climb up over the southern uplands and find the National Cycle Network Route 7. This is really good and with the bulk of the traffic using the M74 means this a pleasant roadside ride as we climb up and over the borders. The weather is cloudy and cool and in the distance we can see two cyclists ahead of us also heading south. We eventually catch up with the father and son duo who are nattering away and in no particular hurry. It transpires that they set out the day after us from John O’Groats and have walked up Ben Nevis as well. We cycle with them for a while and listen to their tale of how Ben Nevis was too much of a temptation, the 140 miles they had cycled yesterday, the night spent on a Glasgow park bench and how they became separated. They are in good spirits and seem to be debating the merits of diverting to climb Scar Fell Pike and Mount Snowdon. It seems climbing these hills means they don’t have to join the dreaded mother-in-law for a caravanning holiday when they reach Cornwall. However cavalier it all seems a little far fetched and we say our farewell and that we’ll no doubt see them later.
The remainder of the day is pretty boring and we stop in Lockerbie for a cupper before grinding out the remaining miles through to Ecclefechen and finally Gretna. We pass the Original Smithy shop and find our camp site. We go for a Chinese meal and as we return to Scotlands First House – The Old Toll Bar, we agree it’s a pretty transitory place. A message from Lee informs us he has got home safely and that he is planning to get in his car and come and find us once he’s rested for a couple of days. My rear wheel has got worse and I now have 2 broken spokes.
June 8th.
We get up at our usual 8.30am and pack up. Our intrepid friends from yesterday seem to have crept into the site under the cover of darkness and are also breaking camp. They also have breakfast in the campsite café and set off about the same time as us.
We cross the border into England. It’s amazing how big Scotland is, how long it’s taken us to get this far and that we’ve now travelled well over 400 miles. We’ll get to the half way point today and we’ll also see if our friends detour off into the Lake district!
We head east to Longtown and then south into Carlisle to find a bike shop. Four replacement spokes are purchased along with a multi tool which pretty much covers every screw, nut, nipple, link and tensioner on my trusty machine. Tooled up, we find our exit from Carlisle very efficiently and continue south. The weather is cloudy with sunny intervals and remains so all day as we pass through Penrith and passing our friends in Shap who have clearly thought better of Scafell Pike.
The climb out of Shap is the eastern extremity of the Lake District National Park over the aptly named Shap Fell and although stings the legs, is a scenic ascent. We reach the top and then have a glorious descent with the odd short climb. My wheel is getting worse and I’m getting poor gear shift performance when climbing. Descending is ok as the gyroscopic forces seem to keep the wheel straight.
As we arrive in Kendal around 4.30pm it seems as if everyone has knocked off work early and are enjoying drinks by the river in the sunshine. We decide we’ve earned a beer and find a spot near some lads who have bunked off early. They’re genuinely interested in where we’ve come from and ask where we’re off to tonight. We get up to leave and they say good luck and give us the "scenic" directions to Carnforth. Seems amazing that within a matter of 100 miles the accent can change from Glaswegian to broad Lancashire. Kendall seems a vibrant and young place and well worh a visit.
The last 15 miles of the day through Burton-in-Kendal are scenic and undulating and as we join the A6 we meet various cyclists out training on their sleek road bikes. One of them congratulates us and clarifies this with “you’ve reached half way”. We find our B&B for the night in Carnforth and, having showered and bounced excitedly on our beds, we head into town to find a pleasant pub by the Lancaster Canal. As we eat our meals it’s a glorious evening and we sit in silence and observe the world go by on the tow path and on the water. We agree it would be great to own a narrow boat and what an equally civilised way of touring the country it must be. We head back to our accommodation and briefly turn on the telly only to switch it off a moment later as the eyelids come crashing down and that TV is still distinctly average.
June 9th.
A very pleasant breakfast sets us up for the day and as we load up the bikes it’s clear it’s going to be a scorcher. We ask the land lady if she would mind filling our water bottles from the kitchen tap as there is insufficient depth to the sink in our bedroom and bathroom for us to do this. She seems to take this as an invasion of her personal privacy. Her husband snatches the money out of my hands and we leave thinking if you’re not prepared to be hospitable then don’t advertise for people to come into your home. There's nowt as queer as folk! Lee calls to say that he and Ben are coming up to meet us tonight at our campsite east of Chester. I tell him about the state of my wheel and he says he’ll bring his wheel building kit. We head towards Lancaster and on down the A6 to Garstang. Several times we are sprayed with water by passing motorists who seem to take great delight in this and then speeding off. It’s actually very refreshing. We also have to stop several times to put more sun bloc on Andrews huge conk which is getting a touch rouge. Soon we hit Preston and then wiggle down through Leyland and Ecclestone before stopping for lunch. The most expensive Ploughman’s known to man is wolfed down with several cooling lagers under an enormous shady parasol. It’s so hot and we’re so hungry it doesn’t matter and fortified we soon resume our journey.
Frankly the rest of the day is a chore which see’s us taking a wrong turn to get to Wigan and then making our way through Ashton-in-Makerfield and onto Warrington. Thankfully south of here we get back into the countryside. The roads have been very pitted in places which serves to illustrate what an industrial and run down part of the country this is. In fact it’s the industrial back side of the country. In the heat and the traffic it’s been hard going and my rear wheel has deteriorated dramatically and is wobbling all over the place in the stop start progress we’ve made.
Tired and a little dehydrated we limp to our campsite at Kelsall which is to the south of Delamere Forest Park. Being the weekend it’s busy and we’re welcomed by the site owner who takes great interest in what we’re doing. A stark contrast to the thoroughly unpleasant land lady this morning and as we’re doing this for charity a reduced tariff is agreed. The campsite is busy and children are playing. “Are you the blokes who’ve come from Scotland?” says one. We find Lee and Ben at the far corner of the site up on a small hill who welcome us with steak sandwiches. What a reception. It’s great to see their friendly faces. Lee busily get’s to work on my back wheel insisting that we take it easy and soon discovers that the broken spokes are a symptom of a broken axle. The realisation sinks in that I’ll have to find a new wheel in the morning. Apparently this is common among BMX riders who are jump off bus shelters and do ridiculous stunts. There’s much laughter and questions asked about my weight and in good spirits we polish off the BBQ and then head to the nearest pub. I’m feeling quite merry as we return to the campsite. We sit up for a while drinking and chatting before I fall into my tent barely managing to zip up.
June 10th.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of waking up hungover and dehydrated in a tent basking in the morning sun! A marmite roll and several bananas washed down with a pint of water containing two re-hydration sachets soon set me right. Ben sets off home and as we pack up, the delight of putting all our kit into the car puts smiles on our faces. Dedicated to the course Lee is going to act as a support vehicle for the remainder of the trip. Given how my legs feel, and the noises coming from my knees, I don’t care if this slightly deviates from the original fund raising statement and doubt if anyone would mind.
A rough rendez-vous is arranged with Andrew, and Lee and I head off into Chester with broken bike strapped to the back of the car. As luck would have it we find an excellent shop just as it’s opening. Having purchased the appropriate wheel, switched over the cassette and made some minor adjustment to the gears I am soon on my way down the A41 by 10.30am. Andrew is meanwhile taking a leisurely continental breakfast in Tarporley. 3 hours later we eventually meet for lunch at a pub between Wem and Shrewsbury. Later we stop at the supermarket in Shrewsbury to get food to BBQ tonight along with other supplies.
Growing bored of A roads we turn east off the A49 at Church Stretton and enjoy some really varied cycling up over Wenlock Edge before finding our camp site at Spatchford Farm in the heart of the Shropshire countryside. It’s the first time we’ve stopped before 7pm and as we arrive we find Lee sipping a beer in front of his tent whilst reading a book. Being Sunday evening it’s extremely quiet and with great facilities it’s a quality find. We set about lighting the disposable BBQs and kick back over a few drinks. A day without the luggage has been excellent but despite this my legs are stiff and after a shower I feel revitalised.
The only people on the site are a family who seem to be living there full time. The 3 children are having a great time chasing each other around the farm and fields. The wife is heavily pregnant and at one stage swoops off in a massive Shogun 4x4. We wonder if they are travellers and right on cue the father comes over to retrieve their sheep dog which is sniffing around the BBQ for scraps. He’s a little embarrassed and goes on to explain he and his wife have just had a fight. We say we’re sorry and ask if he’d like a drink which he declines.
We’ve noticed his expensive road bike and as we have something in common the offer of a drink acts as an invitation to tell his life story. He explains how they’re caught in limbo as they’ve sold up everything to move to France. This is because the UK has gone to pot and the education the children were receiving was poor. We agree and Andrew and I exchange knowing glances that this is another person who seems to be stuck on send. Apparently his wife didn’t like France so they returned to Cornwall. The business he tried to set up never got going because he hadn’t appreciated he was on the patch of someone else. This person, a member of the 32nd parallel, made sure his business mail went missing?!! After all, all business is a conspiracy against the hard working entrepreneur. He continues on this slightly paranoid vain talking about sects and as the conspiracy theory reaches it’s crescendo his wife swoops back into the campsite with the Coors blaring out. He realises he’d said his bit and that he should leave us in peace. We turn in early.
June 11th
Having survived the night we set about packing up. I'm thankful not to have been woken to see a ring of dozen hooded moonies standing in an arc around my tent holding fire torches muttering "offer yourself!". We discover the only weird thing that has happened in the night is that two pork pies have mysteriously disappeared and the one remaining has small peck marks in it. Up in the tree behind us 2 Rooks crow noisily as if laughing at us. Our friend grandmaster Gypo comes over to wish us a safe journey and tells us of a good health food shop in Ludlow to buy energy bars.
We say farewell to Lee and 30 minutes later find the shop which does sell excellent organic food. Ludlow is a picturesque historic town and judging by the property particulars displayed in the estate agents window an expensive place to live. There are plenty of organic food shops and it’s not surprising the town has a gastronomic reputation.
Feeling well rested from a good nights sleep we make good time from Ludlow to Leominster down the A49 and on to Hereford. Further south we pass major earth works for a new pipeline which will carry natural gas from Milford Haven. We stop for a late lunch in Monmouth which is also a very pleasant town. Soon after we follow the river Wye down to Chepstow which is a glorious bike ride with some climbs to test our rested legs resolve. Then across the Severn Bridge, which is colossal, and as we pass commuters and cyclists beetling back from Bristol, it’s hard to believe we’ll shortly be in the west country.
We wiggle our way through the country lanes before we hit the outskirts of the city and then stop in Bradley Stoke where Lee and Andrew will spend the night with our friend Adam. After a cuppa I head off to Sneyd Park to see my friends Ali & Jim.
Ali is expecting their first child in about a months time and I want to see them before their lives are turned upside down. I arrive around 8.30pm armed with a bottle of wine to find them in the garden having drinks and scoffing Bombay mix. I have borrowed JD’s tent and its great that he’s come over for supper as well. As we go inside I am ordered to get in the shower, have a shave and to surrender my dirty kit. I duly oblige with the former and the latter but pass on the shave because my ginger growth has me in the running to win the contest. As I am dressing I get a feeling of being watched. I turn to see through the window a smiling female neighbour drying herself through a very open bathroom window. I scurry through to the kitchen and ask Jim, who is putting the final touches to a fabulous curry, if he has seen this attractive lady? “Oh she’s always flashing her knockers”.
We head east to Longtown and then south into Carlisle to find a bike shop. Four replacement spokes are purchased along with a multi tool which pretty much covers every screw, nut, nipple, link and tensioner on my trusty machine. Tooled up, we find our exit from Carlisle very efficiently and continue south. The weather is cloudy with sunny intervals and remains so all day as we pass through Penrith and passing our friends in Shap who have clearly thought better of Scafell Pike.
The climb out of Shap is the eastern extremity of the Lake District National Park over the aptly named Shap Fell and although stings the legs, is a scenic ascent. We reach the top and then have a glorious descent with the odd short climb. My wheel is getting worse and I’m getting poor gear shift performance when climbing. Descending is ok as the gyroscopic forces seem to keep the wheel straight.
As we arrive in Kendal around 4.30pm it seems as if everyone has knocked off work early and are enjoying drinks by the river in the sunshine. We decide we’ve earned a beer and find a spot near some lads who have bunked off early. They’re genuinely interested in where we’ve come from and ask where we’re off to tonight. We get up to leave and they say good luck and give us the "scenic" directions to Carnforth. Seems amazing that within a matter of 100 miles the accent can change from Glaswegian to broad Lancashire. Kendall seems a vibrant and young place and well worh a visit.
The last 15 miles of the day through Burton-in-Kendal are scenic and undulating and as we join the A6 we meet various cyclists out training on their sleek road bikes. One of them congratulates us and clarifies this with “you’ve reached half way”. We find our B&B for the night in Carnforth and, having showered and bounced excitedly on our beds, we head into town to find a pleasant pub by the Lancaster Canal. As we eat our meals it’s a glorious evening and we sit in silence and observe the world go by on the tow path and on the water. We agree it would be great to own a narrow boat and what an equally civilised way of touring the country it must be. We head back to our accommodation and briefly turn on the telly only to switch it off a moment later as the eyelids come crashing down and that TV is still distinctly average.
June 9th.
A very pleasant breakfast sets us up for the day and as we load up the bikes it’s clear it’s going to be a scorcher. We ask the land lady if she would mind filling our water bottles from the kitchen tap as there is insufficient depth to the sink in our bedroom and bathroom for us to do this. She seems to take this as an invasion of her personal privacy. Her husband snatches the money out of my hands and we leave thinking if you’re not prepared to be hospitable then don’t advertise for people to come into your home. There's nowt as queer as folk! Lee calls to say that he and Ben are coming up to meet us tonight at our campsite east of Chester. I tell him about the state of my wheel and he says he’ll bring his wheel building kit. We head towards Lancaster and on down the A6 to Garstang. Several times we are sprayed with water by passing motorists who seem to take great delight in this and then speeding off. It’s actually very refreshing. We also have to stop several times to put more sun bloc on Andrews huge conk which is getting a touch rouge. Soon we hit Preston and then wiggle down through Leyland and Ecclestone before stopping for lunch. The most expensive Ploughman’s known to man is wolfed down with several cooling lagers under an enormous shady parasol. It’s so hot and we’re so hungry it doesn’t matter and fortified we soon resume our journey.
Frankly the rest of the day is a chore which see’s us taking a wrong turn to get to Wigan and then making our way through Ashton-in-Makerfield and onto Warrington. Thankfully south of here we get back into the countryside. The roads have been very pitted in places which serves to illustrate what an industrial and run down part of the country this is. In fact it’s the industrial back side of the country. In the heat and the traffic it’s been hard going and my rear wheel has deteriorated dramatically and is wobbling all over the place in the stop start progress we’ve made.
Tired and a little dehydrated we limp to our campsite at Kelsall which is to the south of Delamere Forest Park. Being the weekend it’s busy and we’re welcomed by the site owner who takes great interest in what we’re doing. A stark contrast to the thoroughly unpleasant land lady this morning and as we’re doing this for charity a reduced tariff is agreed. The campsite is busy and children are playing. “Are you the blokes who’ve come from Scotland?” says one. We find Lee and Ben at the far corner of the site up on a small hill who welcome us with steak sandwiches. What a reception. It’s great to see their friendly faces. Lee busily get’s to work on my back wheel insisting that we take it easy and soon discovers that the broken spokes are a symptom of a broken axle. The realisation sinks in that I’ll have to find a new wheel in the morning. Apparently this is common among BMX riders who are jump off bus shelters and do ridiculous stunts. There’s much laughter and questions asked about my weight and in good spirits we polish off the BBQ and then head to the nearest pub. I’m feeling quite merry as we return to the campsite. We sit up for a while drinking and chatting before I fall into my tent barely managing to zip up.
June 10th.
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of waking up hungover and dehydrated in a tent basking in the morning sun! A marmite roll and several bananas washed down with a pint of water containing two re-hydration sachets soon set me right. Ben sets off home and as we pack up, the delight of putting all our kit into the car puts smiles on our faces. Dedicated to the course Lee is going to act as a support vehicle for the remainder of the trip. Given how my legs feel, and the noises coming from my knees, I don’t care if this slightly deviates from the original fund raising statement and doubt if anyone would mind.
A rough rendez-vous is arranged with Andrew, and Lee and I head off into Chester with broken bike strapped to the back of the car. As luck would have it we find an excellent shop just as it’s opening. Having purchased the appropriate wheel, switched over the cassette and made some minor adjustment to the gears I am soon on my way down the A41 by 10.30am. Andrew is meanwhile taking a leisurely continental breakfast in Tarporley. 3 hours later we eventually meet for lunch at a pub between Wem and Shrewsbury. Later we stop at the supermarket in Shrewsbury to get food to BBQ tonight along with other supplies.
Growing bored of A roads we turn east off the A49 at Church Stretton and enjoy some really varied cycling up over Wenlock Edge before finding our camp site at Spatchford Farm in the heart of the Shropshire countryside. It’s the first time we’ve stopped before 7pm and as we arrive we find Lee sipping a beer in front of his tent whilst reading a book. Being Sunday evening it’s extremely quiet and with great facilities it’s a quality find. We set about lighting the disposable BBQs and kick back over a few drinks. A day without the luggage has been excellent but despite this my legs are stiff and after a shower I feel revitalised.
The only people on the site are a family who seem to be living there full time. The 3 children are having a great time chasing each other around the farm and fields. The wife is heavily pregnant and at one stage swoops off in a massive Shogun 4x4. We wonder if they are travellers and right on cue the father comes over to retrieve their sheep dog which is sniffing around the BBQ for scraps. He’s a little embarrassed and goes on to explain he and his wife have just had a fight. We say we’re sorry and ask if he’d like a drink which he declines.
We’ve noticed his expensive road bike and as we have something in common the offer of a drink acts as an invitation to tell his life story. He explains how they’re caught in limbo as they’ve sold up everything to move to France. This is because the UK has gone to pot and the education the children were receiving was poor. We agree and Andrew and I exchange knowing glances that this is another person who seems to be stuck on send. Apparently his wife didn’t like France so they returned to Cornwall. The business he tried to set up never got going because he hadn’t appreciated he was on the patch of someone else. This person, a member of the 32nd parallel, made sure his business mail went missing?!! After all, all business is a conspiracy against the hard working entrepreneur. He continues on this slightly paranoid vain talking about sects and as the conspiracy theory reaches it’s crescendo his wife swoops back into the campsite with the Coors blaring out. He realises he’d said his bit and that he should leave us in peace. We turn in early.
June 11th
Having survived the night we set about packing up. I'm thankful not to have been woken to see a ring of dozen hooded moonies standing in an arc around my tent holding fire torches muttering "offer yourself!". We discover the only weird thing that has happened in the night is that two pork pies have mysteriously disappeared and the one remaining has small peck marks in it. Up in the tree behind us 2 Rooks crow noisily as if laughing at us. Our friend grandmaster Gypo comes over to wish us a safe journey and tells us of a good health food shop in Ludlow to buy energy bars.
We say farewell to Lee and 30 minutes later find the shop which does sell excellent organic food. Ludlow is a picturesque historic town and judging by the property particulars displayed in the estate agents window an expensive place to live. There are plenty of organic food shops and it’s not surprising the town has a gastronomic reputation.
Feeling well rested from a good nights sleep we make good time from Ludlow to Leominster down the A49 and on to Hereford. Further south we pass major earth works for a new pipeline which will carry natural gas from Milford Haven. We stop for a late lunch in Monmouth which is also a very pleasant town. Soon after we follow the river Wye down to Chepstow which is a glorious bike ride with some climbs to test our rested legs resolve. Then across the Severn Bridge, which is colossal, and as we pass commuters and cyclists beetling back from Bristol, it’s hard to believe we’ll shortly be in the west country.
We wiggle our way through the country lanes before we hit the outskirts of the city and then stop in Bradley Stoke where Lee and Andrew will spend the night with our friend Adam. After a cuppa I head off to Sneyd Park to see my friends Ali & Jim.
Ali is expecting their first child in about a months time and I want to see them before their lives are turned upside down. I arrive around 8.30pm armed with a bottle of wine to find them in the garden having drinks and scoffing Bombay mix. I have borrowed JD’s tent and its great that he’s come over for supper as well. As we go inside I am ordered to get in the shower, have a shave and to surrender my dirty kit. I duly oblige with the former and the latter but pass on the shave because my ginger growth has me in the running to win the contest. As I am dressing I get a feeling of being watched. I turn to see through the window a smiling female neighbour drying herself through a very open bathroom window. I scurry through to the kitchen and ask Jim, who is putting the final touches to a fabulous curry, if he has seen this attractive lady? “Oh she’s always flashing her knockers”.
After several helpings of delicious food and tales of the trip so far and details of the route explained we all turn in. I pass out in the luxury of a double bed in what seems the most enormous bedroom. Tomorrow we hit the West Country properly and 4 days ago we were in Scotland. Our Journey is winding to a rapid close.
June 12th.
Jim is up early and off to an interview and sadly the female neighbour is also nowhere to be seen. I have breakfast with Ali and check out their enormous flat and the room they've prepared for their baby. She seems very calm. I say farewell and head off down into Clifton and through the city centre to find the A38. I phone Andrew and find out he is just leaving Bradley Stoke so I am about 8 miles in front of him. Having cycled 3 maybe 4 miles and with time to kill I decide to stop for my second breakfast and as luck would have it Lee tootles past in the car. We stop in a lay bye where there is a roadside café. We both have a cuppa and bacon rolls which are excellent value. 30 minutes later Andrew appears and he also can’t resist something to eat. With fully bellies we eventually get going about 11.30am and pass Bristol airport and head down towards the Mendip hills on the A38. I had hoped to stop and see JD at his new house which is just south west of Cheddar but we’ve got to press on otherwise we won’t arrive until 9pm.
We cross the M5 and then get a good pace going of about 15-20MPH through Highbridge, Bridgewater and arrive in Taunton in good time. We continue along the A38 and spot Lee up the road turning into Sheppys Cyder which we just can’t resist. We stop for our first cream tea and in the shop buy gallons of the stuff which we’ll enjoy over the remainder of our trip.
After this we quickly pedal to Wellington and before we know it we’re crossing the county border into Devon. Almost as soon as we do the hills get bigger. Having grown bored of the A38 and spotting what we hope will be a scenic route we turn west down an extremely small country lane. We're rewarded with 10-15 miles of beautiful, but undulating, quiet country cycling until we arrive in Tiverton around 6pm. We do a quick recky to see if there is a curry house and then continue west up the aptly named Long Drag hill. This is a killer. But, determined to really attack a hill, I leave Andrew only to discover a brief plateau a small descent and then another savage climb which finishes me off for the day. I wait at the top for about 15 minutes until Andrew appears having sensibly taken it slow and steady. We find the farm campsite near Nomansland and quickly put up the tents, dispatch several bottles of cider and agree we can’t be bothered to drive back to Tiverton for a curry. There’s a pub about a mile back and hungry we walk back down the road swigging another bottle.
The pub provides an excellent evening meal and is one of those slightly scruffy country pubs which has bags of local characters and a great vibe. We get stuck in for a while and then wind our way back to the campsite in the pitch black darkness. Takes me a while to nod off because Andrew is already asleep and is making some impressive noises in the fresh clean Devon air.
June 13th.
It’s raining as we rise and pack up. We settle up with the farmer who briefly explains the economics of a milk herd to me whilst the others go to the loo. The current price is 16p a litre which is low and makes it extremely difficult for the small farmer to operate. Apparently the big farmers are pricing out the small holdings and buying up the land and farms. The buildings are flogged to "London types" for redevelopment and the fields are kept to grow more grass. This is cut by contractors using enormous expensive machinery and the grass subsequently taken to the cow. She doubts the general public is aware of the difference between the taste of milk by this mass production and the grazed milk from a herd like hers. The cows seems to be happily chewing the cud and swishing their tails as she says the campsite is a useful diversifcation to their income.
We say farewell and head south west through the country lanes to North Tawton where at around 11.30am hungry and a little chilly we stop for brunch. The ladies in the café are extremely friendly and impressed by what we’ve achieved and sponsor us £5 which is very kind. We head off in light rain to Okehampton and then briefly hit the A30 before turning south towards Tavistock which sits to the west of Dartmoor. This means we have a bit of a climb over the western extremities of the moor before a glorious and rapid descent. The sun briefly brightens up the day. We stop at a shop and scoff crisps and fizzy drinks along with the hundreds of school children who are slowly on their way home. We begin our climb west out of the town and as the weather deteriorates we descend into Gunnislake where we leave Devon and arrive in the last county of our adventure.
June 12th.
Jim is up early and off to an interview and sadly the female neighbour is also nowhere to be seen. I have breakfast with Ali and check out their enormous flat and the room they've prepared for their baby. She seems very calm. I say farewell and head off down into Clifton and through the city centre to find the A38. I phone Andrew and find out he is just leaving Bradley Stoke so I am about 8 miles in front of him. Having cycled 3 maybe 4 miles and with time to kill I decide to stop for my second breakfast and as luck would have it Lee tootles past in the car. We stop in a lay bye where there is a roadside café. We both have a cuppa and bacon rolls which are excellent value. 30 minutes later Andrew appears and he also can’t resist something to eat. With fully bellies we eventually get going about 11.30am and pass Bristol airport and head down towards the Mendip hills on the A38. I had hoped to stop and see JD at his new house which is just south west of Cheddar but we’ve got to press on otherwise we won’t arrive until 9pm.
We cross the M5 and then get a good pace going of about 15-20MPH through Highbridge, Bridgewater and arrive in Taunton in good time. We continue along the A38 and spot Lee up the road turning into Sheppys Cyder which we just can’t resist. We stop for our first cream tea and in the shop buy gallons of the stuff which we’ll enjoy over the remainder of our trip.
After this we quickly pedal to Wellington and before we know it we’re crossing the county border into Devon. Almost as soon as we do the hills get bigger. Having grown bored of the A38 and spotting what we hope will be a scenic route we turn west down an extremely small country lane. We're rewarded with 10-15 miles of beautiful, but undulating, quiet country cycling until we arrive in Tiverton around 6pm. We do a quick recky to see if there is a curry house and then continue west up the aptly named Long Drag hill. This is a killer. But, determined to really attack a hill, I leave Andrew only to discover a brief plateau a small descent and then another savage climb which finishes me off for the day. I wait at the top for about 15 minutes until Andrew appears having sensibly taken it slow and steady. We find the farm campsite near Nomansland and quickly put up the tents, dispatch several bottles of cider and agree we can’t be bothered to drive back to Tiverton for a curry. There’s a pub about a mile back and hungry we walk back down the road swigging another bottle.
The pub provides an excellent evening meal and is one of those slightly scruffy country pubs which has bags of local characters and a great vibe. We get stuck in for a while and then wind our way back to the campsite in the pitch black darkness. Takes me a while to nod off because Andrew is already asleep and is making some impressive noises in the fresh clean Devon air.
June 13th.
It’s raining as we rise and pack up. We settle up with the farmer who briefly explains the economics of a milk herd to me whilst the others go to the loo. The current price is 16p a litre which is low and makes it extremely difficult for the small farmer to operate. Apparently the big farmers are pricing out the small holdings and buying up the land and farms. The buildings are flogged to "London types" for redevelopment and the fields are kept to grow more grass. This is cut by contractors using enormous expensive machinery and the grass subsequently taken to the cow. She doubts the general public is aware of the difference between the taste of milk by this mass production and the grazed milk from a herd like hers. The cows seems to be happily chewing the cud and swishing their tails as she says the campsite is a useful diversifcation to their income.
We say farewell and head south west through the country lanes to North Tawton where at around 11.30am hungry and a little chilly we stop for brunch. The ladies in the café are extremely friendly and impressed by what we’ve achieved and sponsor us £5 which is very kind. We head off in light rain to Okehampton and then briefly hit the A30 before turning south towards Tavistock which sits to the west of Dartmoor. This means we have a bit of a climb over the western extremities of the moor before a glorious and rapid descent. The sun briefly brightens up the day. We stop at a shop and scoff crisps and fizzy drinks along with the hundreds of school children who are slowly on their way home. We begin our climb west out of the town and as the weather deteriorates we descend into Gunnislake where we leave Devon and arrive in the last county of our adventure.
We cross the Tamar and Cornwall greets us with a downpour of rain, a socking great big hill and roadworks. I stop half way up the hill west of Albaston and Andrew crawls past breathily muttering he can’t stop for fear he won’t get going again. I eventually catch up with him 4 miles down the road and we turn north west to our destination of Kelly Bray which is on the other side of Kit Hill. This is allegedly the highest point in Cornwall and the view is impressive in all directions.
On arrival in Kelly Bray, and thinking Andrew is on my tail, I find the campsite and Lee who as usual is reading and swigging a bottle of cider. He’s got us an excellent pitch with a fantastic vista towards the south. He exclaims Andrew has just called and is lost! Unable to follow directions and clearly tired he phones several times for a refresher. He eventually arrives in a bit of a strop and soon simmers down with a bottle of 'Tremletts Bitter'. We get the tents up to dry in the evening sun. The camp site has great facilities and after a superb shower we walk the 2 miles into nearby Callington in search of a curry house.
As we finish sampling our spicy delights two friends Simon and Neil turn up ,and we have a couple of beers with them before walking back to the campsite. They disappear in a mini with the loudest exhaust, and then 5 minutes later reappear in Simon’s huge estate to give us a lift up the hill. Back at the camp site we sit up and chat under the stars. The temperature drops and it reaches Midnight so Neil says his farewells and jumps into his loud mini. We all say goodnight and as we try to get to sleep we can hear the exhaust far into the distance of the night. This continues for a good five minutes until eventually there is a moment of silence before Andew resumes his normal nasal bleetings.
June 14th.
We decided last night to change the schedule and not to head towards Perranporth on the North Cornwall Coast instead agreeing that we’ll find somewhere near Helston. We pack up in the drizzle and go into the campsite café which serves an enormous cooked breakfast. Lee suggests he goes on to see if he can find somewhere to camp for the night, and as we say cheerio, Simon emerges from the back of his car. This has been transformed into a massive mobile double bed.
Leaving Kelly Bray we head down to Callington before turning West to Liskeard. The weather deteriorates as we hit the A38 and there is a massive traffic jam as the highways agency is finally upgrading the road. It’s nice to be overtaking the traffic although the drizzle turns into heavier rain and honestly, it’s pretty dull. As we turn off onto the A390 the weather improves and by the time we get to Lostwithiel it looks as if it could turn into a beautiful day. The climb out of Lostwithiel soon puts any upbeat thoughts back in the box and the road presents varying gradients en route to St Austell. I stop and buy a Pasty to lift my spirits – when in doubt, eat.
The weather has really improved suddenly and as if my magic, Lee passes us, toots his horn, and pulls into a Garden Centre where we strip off the waterproofs. He’s founds somewhere near Helston for the night, and excited at the prospect of this being only a further 20 miles, and a 6pm finish, we soon hit the road. There is an occasional sign post to Lands End now and I am spurred on and unknowingly put some distance between me and Andrew. There are some sharp climbs and descents along the A390. On one such hill I decide to get into my top gear and really give it some welly. As the gradient falls away I get down really low, rest my chest on the saddle and lock my arms up fully stretched. I daren’t look at my speedometer as I am catching up with the car in front and if it breaks suddenly I’m going to be spam. I think of Frank Spencers words of “There are Old Pilots and Bold Pilots, but there are no Old Bold Pilots” and with a fleeting glance see 48 mph!! How exhilarating though - my trip computer later says my top speed so far is 54mph. I can’t believe this and Andrew who catches me up in Truro agrees that this is a bit silly and suggests it’s still damp from day two. I agree as I chomp my pasty.
Truro serves up another ridiculous climb as we leave on the A39 and once conquered we soon get the pace up and make good time to the outskirts of Falmouth. We follow the A394 southwesterly to Long Downs where we turn west and go cross country to Carnkie, Porkellis in the direction of Nancegollen. It’s nice to get off the A roads. They’re great for making time but after a while can be pretty boring. It’s fun cycling with winding country lanes through the Kerrier district and we have to get the maps out and engage the brains about where we’re going. On the horizon there is always the odd chimney from a derelict tin mine and it feels like a place where time stands still. The odd dark cloud blows over and the temperature drops. As we emerge from the darkness and can see brilliant sunshine the cloud gives us a quick dousing. The air is getting fresher and feels much more maritime as we’re clearly reaching the tip of the exposed Cornish peninsula.
We arrive at the campsite which is really a farm with some standings for caravans and a run down washing block. Lee’s secured us a good rate for our pitch and it’s clear this is also used as a place to store caravans over the winter as tractors busily move them around. After a quick shower we walk to the Crown Inn in Crowtown which we’re reliably informed serves good nosh. We’re not disappointed as this has a fantastic array of guest ales and ciders, serves a man’s portion of peppy lamb rogan josh and has drinking memorabilia plastered everywhere. The landlord is a friendly soul with rosy cheeks, a gravely voice and a twinkle in his eye. In generations past he could have been a smuggler or pirate. He’s an excellent host and convinces us pudding is the way forward and after a few more ales/ciders we roll out the door into the darkness and weave our way back to the farm. It’s very fresh and we quickly retreat to our tents for the final time.
June 15th.
The weather is ok and much like the end of yesterday as we get up and break camp. We’re soon on our way and leave Lee who is taking it slowly. We wiggle cross country to Godolphin Cross and Trescowe before stopping at the village shop in Goldsithney for a pasty as breakfast. We continue west on the A394 and then hit the A30. It’s a bizarre feeling as we get closer to Lands End. Like time is speeding up. No doubt we’re fitter and stronger and an hour seems to evaporate in a couple of rotations of the pedal as we hit the outskirts of Penzance. It’s like the feeling when watching an hour glass – initially the sand seems to trickle through slowly and with little impression but towards the end falls away with alarming pace.
We skirt Penzance in what feels like a minute and continue on the A30 until we can see the sea to the south and the west. We find Lee in a lay-bye having a quiet cigarette and obviously contemplating what could have been. Not wishing to dwell on the matter we get going and pass cyclists going the other way obviously setting off on their big adventure. They can tell we’re finishing and smile and congratulate us. The challenge appeals to all shapes and ages of people and we pass a group of extremely robust looking gentlemen. Ten minutes later we see the last pub before the Silly Isles and then we enter under the Jurassic Park like gates emblazoned with LAND’S END at midday. We dismount our bikes and find Lee. We wonder around for a while looking for the official sign post. It’s frankly a complete anticlimax and we weave through the coach loads of people meandering around. Everyone is very quiet and seems bewildered about what actually they have come to see. We eventually find the famous sign post and have an official photo taken as proof that our mission is complete.
I would hazard a guess that the hotel and complex were developed over 15 years ago as a sort of theme park. The people who did this clearly weren’t really quite sure what the theme was, but possessed a sort of blind faith that it would all be ok. Now it all seems quite tatty and no different from most seaside attractions. To be honest I would only recommend going if you are silly enough to do a challenge like this, or, you fancy having your wallet emptied for a couple of ice creams and a cream tea. That may be a little harsh because we really didn’t investigate for long, but, you do tend to know when a place has a rip off tourist vibe. In any case, Lee tells us the traffic reports are poor so we don't stick around. I can’t wait to see Jo and the kids, so with the others agreeing and the bikes on the rack, we hit the road.
The traffic is heavy and we stop into Plymouth for a cuppa at Simons. Neil and his kids pop in to say congratulations and an hour later we head off. We make quick time up to Exeter and then hit the M5 to Bristol which runs parallel to the A38. It’s bizarre being in Lee’s trusty Skoda estate and scooting along at 75mph with the traffic. It’s taken 4 hours to get to Bristol in the car including our Plymouth stop. By bike Land’s End took three and half days. It feels like the motorway is pulling us back to reality and as we hurtle along I have a sense of getting back in the groove.
Andrew has a new job starting on Monday so he’s keen to get back to his girlfriend and relax. I’ve really enjoyed his company and am sure some of his bike geek enthusiasm has rubbed off on me. Lee is back to work also and I hope that he’s felt it’s been a holiday despite the obvious disappointment. His commitment to the cause has been fantastic. I am sure that if he had not returned, Andrew and I would most definitely struggled under the bulk of our kit and taken longer. They drop me at Swindon train station and after a quick farewell I catch the train to Reading just in the nick of time. Having missed a connection at Reading by 5 minutes I eventually arrive at Richmond train station around 11pm and slowly and quietly cycle the mile back to my home in East Sheen.
As I turn the key in the lock Jo bounces down the stairs and gives me a massive hug and a huge smacker. “Corr look at you with your beard. It’s quite ginger isn’t it !? And you’ve definitely lost weight”. I turn to look at myself in the hall mirror and realise this is the first time I've looked at myself for 14 days.
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