Day 17: Dunbeath to John O' Groats (and on to Westray)

That's it...sniff, sniff

Can you believe it - a glorious sunny morning, not a cloud in the sky, wind from the south. Why couldn't the last 2 weeks have been like this? Couple of the largest poached eggs ever on toast and we were off. With plenty of time before my ferry (1:45) the last 39 miles were a real pleasure, apart from the roadkill that we were complicit in - not a story for the kids. Almost not wanting trip to end. Almost. The last mile or two had us changing direction and showing us what it could have been like - tough going into a headwind. And then we were there, a short freewheel through the car park and photos by the signpost in the sunshine. A sense of achievement, certainly, and what else? Relief, joy, gratitude - a whole mixture really. Coffee and cake, and then the short 4 miles to Gills Bay where I'd get the ferry to Orkney and John would leave for Thurso. Both thought briefly about cycling to final our destinations, but common sense prevailed and we consulted the bus timetables. Chained our bikes up in the ferry office (I'd pick them up on my way back tomorrow) and said our manly goodbyes. Last saw John trudging back up the hill to the busstop with his 2 panniers and bar bag, as I sailed off into the (not quite) sunset. What a trip, must have got some sand in my eyes...

Two ferries and a taxi later, arrived in Westray where the pier was lined with the kids waving placards, Alison and a number of her relatives. Great to be back with my family, Sam has hardly left my side since. Do you think they missed me?

[Sam typing:] Of course we did!!

Day 16: Carrbridge to Dunbeath

Reunited!

What a day! 6:30 and unable to get back to sleep, I upped and left knowing that I was still about 35 miles behind John. 3 hours later, after breakfast in Inverness, I gave John a call and told him of my progress. He'd only just started for today, so was more than happy to wait in Evanton for me to do the extra 10 miles to catch him up. I covered the distance with a couple of other end-to-enders that I met just N of Inverness, one of which didn't seem to be a happy bunny. He was looking forward to finishing much like 'getting out of prison'! In contrast, my joy at finding John outside the only coffee shop in town was fantastic. I don't think he was expecting the bear hug that I gave him, but neither of us could stop grinning for ages as we caught up on the last few days. Too soon, it was time to crack on but, despite my mornings efforts, it now seemed easier again. Found our first sign for John O' Groats - only 90-odd miles to go, and afternoon tea in Brora saw us chatting to (well, listening to) the life and times of who must have been the most celebrated ghillie in these parts. Got to Helmsdale at tea time, knowing that this was still 55 miles short of the end, so after a few phone calls to sort out accomodation, decided to do a further 15 miles tonight so that we'd be under less pressure tomorrow. Unfortunately, that 15 miles included the climb out of Helmsdale and then the Berridale Braes - a couple of significant hills that weren't what was needed at the end of such a long day. Still, did mean that I'd done over 100 miles in a single day for the first time ever (108), and that tomorrow I'd get to see my family!

Day 15: Killin to Carrbridge

Another good night's kip and I think I'm over the worst of this illness. Still can't face a cooked breakfast though, so porridge (and loads of sugar) will have to do. A spectacular first few miles alongside Loch Tay, and some familiar roads and hills (like Schiehallion) of previous holidays found me alongside the A9 by lunchtime. The NCN7 cycle route would follow this to Inverness and beyond, using old roads and paths that followed the new busy road and adjacent railway line. The climbs were, for a change, long and gentle and with health restored I could now at last look up and appreciate the stunning scenery, even in the drizzle. As the day wore on, so the weather (and my mood) improved. The scenery continued to amaze, with snow on some adjacent slopes, the sun was shining and I was feeling good. This was what I came on this trip for. Those cold, rainy days in mid-Wales, the dubious wonders of Liverpool, and that never-ending illness seemed like an age ago. For the first time in days, I believed again that I'd finish, and with that some added targets started forming. Could I catch up with John (wouldn't it be great if we could finish together?), and could we do so by Friday lunchtime, giving me the added bonus of then being able to get the ferries across to Orkney and Westray to meet Alison and the kids for the last day of their holiday. Stay calm though, still plenty of time for things to go pear-shaped... Evening found me in Aviemore for a chip supper, then pushed on to Carrbridge and another 80 miles done.

Day 14: Glasgow to Killin

What a difference a good night's kip can make (only had to get up twice !!). Had some solids for tea last night and it's a sunny morning - must be a sign. So after lots of umming and arghing(?), decided to go for it. What's the worst that could happen? Throw the bike in a ditch and get a train back to Glasgow. So jettisoned half my kit and got out the door by 10:30. Have to say a huge thank-you to Ann and Michael for putting up with me and my problems for the last 3 days. My imprint on their couch might eventually fade away, but I doubt it. True to form, on leaving it started raining, but not for too long. Easy downhill ride to the center of Glasgow, where stopped past the old student haunts of Andrew Ure Hall, George Square and Blackfriars pub. Then headed for the north of Glasgow and John phoned me. Had to ignore the call as I was in bandit country. Once in safer terrritory, I called him back to hear that he'd met another cyclist on the road to Fort William. Was initially relieved to know that he wasn't on his own, but then started to feel a greener emotion.... Oi, that's my mate - give him back. Seems that I was missing John already. Putting those spurned feelings aside, slowly rode into a sunny but blustery afternoon just wondering how far I'd get. Killin (me), 60 miles later, felt like not a bad effort and at least left me feeling positive for the first time in days.

Day 13: Still Glasgow!!

Had to wave goodbye to John this morning, as he set off to continue alone. He's been incredibly tolerant and supportive of me in the last few days, for which I'm truly thankful. I feel much better today in terms of the flu-like symptoms, but still have problems keeping anything down\in. The thought of four 75 mile days on an empty stomach means I'm going nowhere. I've also been experiencing some sort of Pavlovian reaction - the thought of getting back on my bike actually causes my stomach to turn! Maybe tomorrow will be better...

Day 12: Still Glasgow

What happens next is another tortuous night stood, sat, knelt in the bathroom and a day on the couch wondering when this misery will end and whether this is the end of the road for me. We agree that John should carry on tomorrow (Monday) as that his flight south from Inverness is booked for Saturday (already moved from Thursday). Given it'll take me 4 days to cover the remaining 300 miles, the latest I could leave is Wednesday. I guess it's just a wait and see. At least Jenson Button won the grand prix and Newcastle are going down.

Day 11: Lochranza (back) to Glasgow

Oh what to do? A night of countless bathroom trips for the whole variety of reasons. Woke up feeling positively dreadfull, one minute shaking with chills the next sweating like really sweaty thing. Cycling the alloted 105 miles to Fort William was out of the question so John sorted a taxi to the island hospital where they confirmed a urinary infection 'off the scale'. Ah, that explains it then. Sent on my way with a load of antibiotics and orders to do nothing and I should be ok again in 4 or 5 days. Hmm, this could be awkward. A couple of phone calls later and we'd made arrangements to stay with friends in Glasgow, Ann and Michael. I couldn't get there soon enough. Half a bowl of soup and tucked up in front of Britain's Got Talent wondering what happens now...

Day 10: Moniaive to Lochranza

Arran, beautiful...

The beautiful rolling hills of Ayrshire under a, for once, blue sky, with the mountains of various islands in the distance made this a perfect cycling day. I missed it as I was wrapped up in my own little world of troubles. The flu-like symptoms were getting much worse, and the effort to continue felt relentless as we were on a schedule to get the ferry from Ardrossan to the Isle of Arran. We made it, just. And on the crossing, while everyone was out admiring the view and looking for dolphins, I was crashed out wishing the pounding in my head would go away. The paracetamol seemed to have no effect and the last 15 miles around Arran to Lochranza seemed to take forever. It also ended in probably the toughest climb of the trip so far which I only just managed running on empty. The spectacular scenery was again lost on me as I had to leave John at the dinner table and retire for what was to be a very long night...

Day 9: Penrith to Moniaive

C'mon, let's get married...

Well the morning was lovely. A short hop up to Carlisle for coffee in the sunshine, before finding the nice new, quiet road that parallels the motorway up to Gretna and Scotland. Stopped for a pic and half a maltloaf at the Welcome to Scotland sign. The sign should have been prefaced 'Unless your name is Marco' as this was where things started, for me to turn for the worse. The route took us West and it was the extra effort required cylcing into the headwind that I thought was making me feel so bad. By the time we reached the town of Annan, I was in bits. Some soup helped for a little while, but by the time we got to Dumfries I couldn't speak. The final leg to Moniaive was torture. I barely had the energy to eat something before heading for bed, but this was just the beginning...

Day 8: Slaidburn to Penrith

Climb into the Dales...

Wow, what a great day's cycling. The Yorkshire Dales are probably not the flattest route north, but fantastic scenery and the everlasting descents (topping 40 mph) certainly made up for it. And the teashop had Bovril and Crumpets on special. When in Rome, and all that. Lunch in Hawes set us up for a hard section of headwind to the top of the next pass which happened to be the border into Cumbria. Arrived at the top just at 2 other cyclists were coming the other way - a couple of very friendly locals who told us about the Fred Whitton Challenge that they'd done the previous weekend. It's only a one day ride, but sounds terrifying - look it up. Another swooping but all too brief descent found us on the last stretch to Penrith. Top proprietor of our guest house drove us to Halfords that evening whilst making us wince with the stories of his blister problems the last time he did a bike ride. Well he was about 25 stone.

Day 7: Chester to Slaidburn

Ribble Valley. Do you know the joke about Country & Western in Preston...?

Leaving Chester what was for us relatively early (before 9:00), John and I said goodbye to Damian who was heading back to Bristol. A flat run up the Wirral saw us making good time heading for the Mersey Ferry. Until, that is, we met up with Alan the International Cycling Coach, Tourer, Film-Maker and generally all-round Bike Guru. Now John and I are generally a polite and patient pair but were unable to shake off Alan until he'd imparted his wisdom regarding routes, saddle adjustments and the like and he'd extracted our life stories from us. Then we were made to repeat everything we'd just told him as the subjects of his latest fly-on-the-bus-shelter documentary with a gruelling interview at a, well, bus shelter. Finally extracting ourselves, we made it to the Mersey Ferry crossing just in time for it to start raining. Nothing like Liverpool in the rain to cheer the spirits, and the 2 miles of dockside rubbish dump which we got to cycle alongside was an added bonus. A couple more hours of ever increasing rain saw us at the surprisingly pretty Southport, a town on the coast which seems to be mostly owned by a Mr Sillcott. At least, the Funland is his, as are most of the restaurants including the chippie we went to. At least over lunch the rain stopped, so we cracked on along a very unmemorable A road all the way to an even more unmemorable Preston. Luckily, we weren't there long and within 10 miles we were following the spectacular Ribble Valley into the Forest of Bowland under late afternoon sunshine. The world was once again a happy place. Arriving at the village of Slaidburn, the contrast from that morning couldn't have been greater.

Day 6: Presteigne to Chester

Quick, the sun's out!

Guess what. Yes, tipping down. And even though we were at breakfast for 8:00, we still hadn't started before 9:30. Faff is the killer. And didn't you think that there was something odd about that couple at breakfast? He was far too old for her... Still, after nearly getting locked in the hotel's garage we got started and managed about a mile before Damian exploded. Top tip, don't put fizzy lucozade in a sealed water bottle and start cycling down a bumpy road. Didn't take long for the rain to clean him down though and then, miraculously, it stopped raining for at least an hour. Time enough for us to reach the land that time forgot, or Craven Arms as it's also known. We managed to escape just as we were starting to turn into the zombies that habit the place, and nervously joined the busy, lorry-filled, A49 where our average speed doubled together with the chance of us not making 50. Followed this all the way to civilisation (Shrewsbury) where we sat in Starbucks and through the window watched a traditional dance troupe from Bosnia-Montenegro-akia, and a bloke with a really crap umbrella (he read John's lips and threw it in the bin). Also found the smallest and most useless bike shop in the world on the road out towards Ellesmere. Ellesmere itself however does do a marvelous line in bus shelters, big enough for 3 blokes and their bikes to wallow in luxury whilst ringing out their socks. The final leg, back on lanes, to Chester continued to criss-cross the Welsh border. I reckon we'd left Wales behind for the last time though once we spotted the sign for the Chester Polo club. Chester also hosts a Specialized Concept bike shop where you can go for a monologue which only the serious bike-bore will understand. And they will try their hardest not to sell you anything (in my case gloves, overshoes or saddle - yes, it's got that bad). Finally extricated ourselves and found our way to Christine and Steve's house for an evening of fine food and wine and excellent company. And made the most of the last chance to use a washing machine for a while.

Day 5: North Bristol to Presteigne

Crossing the Severn Bridge

This is starting to sound boring: it was raining. All the fun of the pub the night before seemed to evaporate at the breakfast table once we'd looked out of the window. With an increasing number of miles to do today we had to crack on so, leaving Paul to find his way to Bristol Parkway, Damian, John and I left in a Welsh-wards direction. This took us over the old Severn Bridge where, remarkably, it stopped raining for a while, before winding up past Chepstow racecourse to a lovely long, sweeping descent into the Wye valley. Great laugh tailing the bike in front, even if it meant getting a faceful of spray. John even managed to set off the speed warning device in Tintern, where we stopped for hot choc and cakes and the, by now, obligatory chat with a pensioner. The next long, winding stretch into Monmouth seemed to take forever, but this was just the starter before the main course of despair that was the afternoon. Continual rain, combined with Devon-like (Devonian?) hills on narrow lanes meant a definite lull in the banter. Until, that is, we came across a speed camera sign half way up a chevron (extra steep) hill. The irony of the situation almost had us falling off with laughter. Finally rolled into Presteigne to find the hotel not as plush as it looks on its website (shock!) and the room up far too many sets of stairs. John again managed to use various furniture items to fashion a drying rack for our clothers (or was it a sculpture?) then a quick tea and out to the local for a game of arrows, pool and a hushed debate on which country we were actually in. Didn't think it polite to ask.

   

Day 4: Taunton to North Bristol

The Team: Damian, Paul, David, Marco & John.

The Somerset Levels, flat of course. And made even more fun by a southerly wind. What awaits at the other side isn't. Stopping for sarnies in Wedmore the conversation kept coming back to the upcoming Cheddar Gorge and its 200m of climb. A final stop for last minute gel intake and we were off with John taking pictures of the rest of us as we were ascending (is that showing off?!?). A racer-type cyclist caught up with us and promptly fell of as his chain came off. He was soon sweeping past us again though, and a vain attempt to keep up with him lasted all of about 20 seconds. I blame the panniers! A steep section in the middle of the climb had me out of the saddle in lowest gear for the first time. Luckily that bit didn't last long, but the rest of the climb did seem to go on forever. A race for the top resulted in the lead changing hands a number of times and, with no definitive end point, the debate about who won continues to rage. On the descent, there can be no argument as Paul clocked up the fastest time of the day, going to prove that weight has an advantage on the downhill.

Stopped for drinks at the cafe on Chew Valley Lake, the venue prompting sailing stories which, like their fishing counterparts, seemed to grow in the telling! A last hill and we were now on my home patch on the outskirts of Bristol. A brief but fairly emotional detour to my dad's grave in Whitchurch Cemetery almost ended with John joining him due to the proximity of the nearest bend to the cemetary gates! Then onto my mum's in Stockwood for a welcome bowl of pasta before passing my old school and picking up the Bath to Bristol cycle path at Bitton. Used this to skirt the east of Bristol before meeting up with the now fifth member of the team, Damian who, together with his son Thomas, escorted us back to his house where we'd be staying tonight. Some more welcome home-made food and a trip to a country pub completed a satisfying day.

Tomorrow, unfortunately, we say goodbye to Paul and David who have both been fantastic company and a pleasure to be around. Will miss you.

It's now 1 in the morning and the screen's starting to blur. Should get to bed as tomorrow the mileage increases and so we're aiming to start a bit earlier. Just got a very nice voicemail from Alison who is at Pete Johnston's 40th birthday party (Happy Birthday Mate!). That, and the evening's beer, should send me to sleep with a smile on my face.

PS Will try and upload some pics, if I can the technology to work.

Day 3: Okehampton to Taunton

Paul, did you not get the memo about the jackets?

Woke to find that radiators in room hadn't been working, so kit was still wet. John continued to display his engineering prowess, creating an impromptu drying room using a wardrobe and hairdryer, until the hairdryer packed up. After another full English, left Okehampton and soon on the old A30 towards Exeter - fantastic cycling road, being wide, smooth and minimal traffic. Made good time to Tedburn St Mary, then lanes to Crediton where stopped for 2nd breakfast. Seems that we've moved to 4 meals a day, is that normal? Also here that received first bit of road rage, unsurprisingly from a Range Rover. More lanes to pub stop in utterly Butterleigh, then downhill to Wellington avoiding charging quarry lorries, including one driven by a blonde-mulleted, scary-looking bruiser of a girl (we think) whose name was posted across her cab. Can't say what it was for fear of retribution. Soon after, the Twitcher got his own back in terms of repressed embarassing interests, as Paul and I excitedly waved at the 125 train going past.

Got to Wellington just before shops shut. John had time to buy leg warmers from the cycle shop or ear plugs from Boots - 2 nights sharing a room with me was starting to tell. The weather meant that John setttled for the former, a decision that he was later to regret as, in the middle of the night, he was forced to fashion ear plugs from moist toilet roll. He was to go back to sleep worried about waking to find the papier mache somewhat more solidified.

Stayed at a fantastic B&B called Lower Farm, Thornfalcon just outside Taunton hosted by the colourful and ever so hospitable John and Doreen who welcomed us with a glass of local ale. Short walk to the pub for an evening meal where we were joined by David, fresh from one of those everlasting Friday afternoon escapes from London.

Day 2: St Austell to Okehampton

Shame it's bolted down...

Fred the seagull joined us for breakfast. That's when I realised that I'm cycling with a closet Twitcher. Apparently it's not a Seagull but a Herring Gull. Later I was made to note the Housemartins carrying the mud from the farm lanes to make their nests. No danger of boredom on this trip... First stop in Lostwithiel resulted in lots of attention (and donations) from the village elders - only notice from the younger generation was getting the V's from a kid on the school bus. Through Minions (highest village in Cornwall) then crossed into Devon at Horsebridge. More hills to Brentor (where started raining big time) and Lydford where got onto the Granite Way all the way to Okehampton, only stopping for a puncture where John showed his F1 pitstop skills to fix in record time. Joined there by the irrepressible Paul who (allegedly) had cycled from Exeter. Still have my doubts.

 

Actually now sitting in Damian and Mary's house at the end of Day 4, and have been getting a bit of abuse for not updating more regularly so here goes...

Day 1: Land's End to St Austell

Land's End, Marco & John

Early start to get the first train out of Tunbridge Wells (05:16) into London Charing Cross. Then a short ride across town to meet John on the 07:30 from London Paddington to Penzance. Train journey involved passing through towns that we'd be passing back through in the next few days. Once the Somerset levels had passed, the view was worryingly hilly and grey. Penzance arrived all too soon, and the prebooked taxi took us to Land's End (is that cheating?). The driver quite usefully informed us that the best pasties in Cornwall could be found at Philps in Marazion. After the obligatory pics at the signpost (when the official photographer wasn't looking) and a team pic at the Start\Finish line, we were off at about 2:30. Back through Penzance, first stop at the advised pasty shop. The taxi driver wasn't wrong, easily the largest and tastiest pasty I've ever had. It was only at the end of the day that I realised that there was a distinct lack of roadkill in Cornwall. Coincidence? The rest of the day passed under monochrome skies and ever increasing drizzle - really not showing Cornwall at its best. Saw at least 5 other end-to-enders going the other way. You could tell them by the deep tan, tired waves, sunken eyes and that smile which seemed to say "You have no idea....". Rain drove us into the Sainsbury's cafe in Truro, where the help-yourself soup bowl was filled to the brim, and an hour and a half later finally arrived at a truckstop in St Austell masquerading as our B&B. Sadly, the only thing left open for food was the McD's across the road. Walking back in the rain, still smiling, we agreed that things are bound to get better...

Map Day 1

T-1

Well we're nearly there. Not nearly enough training done, still too many niggling injuries - woke up Sunday hardly able to walk with what I think is tendonitis. And that's in my good knee! And the wind has picked up. Have studiously avoided looking at any weather forecasts, given that the last couple of months have been relatively calm. But have now had a peak and, quel surprise, looks like day 1 is going to be a little wet with wind in our faces, and day 2 very wet but with wind behind. Small mercies...

Timetable...