I promised some reflections on the ride, so for those of you still checking in, here goes, in no particular order:
Cycling makes me Happy There’s a brilliantly purposeful simplicity to climbing on a bike in the morning, with all my stuff, and setting off into the unknown, in the knowledge that by the end of the day I’ll be somewhere new, entirely as a result of my own effort. On the whole, I wasn’t thinking great thoughts, in fact my head was often completely empty. I just kept pedalling, watching the scenery, conscious of my legs and lungs and the miles that were passing. Every pedal stroke took me closer to my destination, so no effort was wasted. As a news junkie, I appreciated the break from 24 hour doom, and the chance to notice things that you often miss in faster forms of transport: tiny caterpillars in the road, funny signs, a nice downhill. There is at least one benefit to being a middle-aged woman Namely that, if you’re on a bike, you’re about as unthreatening as it comes. Which may explain why my experience of people I met along the way was entirely positive. Or perhaps it was because I was just smiling more. Whatever the reason, I found people were open and friendly - more so than if I’d arrived by car, or in company. Many were surprised I was travelling alone - “You’re brave!”. Personal Safety In all honesty, the only time I felt physically uneasy was in the middle of Glasgow at night - probably unjustifiably, but for all the reasons that have been rehearsed in the media of late. Out on the road, in the middle of nowhere, I occasionally wondered what I would do if I had a puncture or other technical problem I couldn’t fix, but I never felt concerned for my safety. On the contrary, I was pretty sure I’d be well looked after. Touring Alone vs In Company They’re different and each has its merits. I enjoyed the company of my various domestiques and casual companions, who in their different ways entertained, educated and encouraged me. But I also thoroughly enjoyed both the challenges and the advantages of solo travel: in particular, knowing that any problems would be mine alone to fix, and engaging more readily with strangers than I generally would when travelling as a pair. Cornwall and Devon are as hard as they say But don’t underestimate Cumbria, or the highlands and north coast of Scotland. Eat Enough Food Always set off with something to eat and don’t get to the end of 1,185 miles before you remember the small bags of dates and cashew nuts you’d packed as emergency rations. The Weather was Kind I wore my heavy waterproof jacket for part of two days in Cornwall and Devon, and then it stayed in my bag until the Highlands of Scotland. I never needed my waterproof trousers or overshoes at all. And the wind was only a real problem twice - on the way to Carlisle and from Lairg to Tongue. The Bigger Picture I’ve been asked if the ride has changed my perceptions of the country. I couldn’t claim to have made any profound discoveries, not least because my experience of each place was so fleeting. So I’ll stick to two observations, with the caveat that they are inevitably superficial and based purely on what I saw or heard. The first is that I don’t envy the job of politicians and policy makers: even a passing cyclist can see some of the many challenges they face, from shuttered high streets and health inequalities to the huge number of homes and vehicles that need to switch away from fossil fuels if we’re to meet our net carbon targets. The second is that wherever I went, people were friendly and helpful, and there was a lot of laughter, despite - or sometimes because of - evident challenges. To echo the late MP Jo Cox, perhaps we Brits are more alike than we realise. This Country is far from Wild I observed the passing landscape through different eyes having read Isabella Tree’s book, and realised that from one end of the country to the other, Man has dominion over virtually every inch. Even the vast and largely empty Flow Country of the north of Scotland is fenced, threaded with roads and tracks, and dotted with wind farms. Warmshowers is Brilliant Terrible brand name, fantastic organisation, through which cyclists or bike-friendly people host touring cyclists - either giving them a bed in their house or a space to put up a tent in the garden - for free. A great way to meet interesting people and to encourage a spirit of adventure. I would encourage anyone to sign up, whether as a guest or a host. National Cycle Network is Brilliant too A wonderful way to travel through the country - and through many of our big cities. It took me along canal tow paths, beside rivers, as well as through industrial estates and supermarket car parks, but always on quieter routes, avoiding main roads, and safely negotiating them when needed. It’s maintained by Sustrans: do support them if you can. Baked beans and Scones …are the perfect cycling fuel. Sadly I only discovered the beauty that is beans for breakfast on my last morning, but scones were a staple that saw me through from Cornwall to Caithness - whether eaten jam or cream first. Final word from a poster in a loo in Bettyhill:
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Distance cycled: 1,907.94 kms; 1,185.53 miles
Metres climbed: 21,564m (cf height of Mt Everest: 8,849m) Longest ride: 104.2k (the final day - Tongue to John O’Groats) Most climbed in a day: 1,416m (Kirkby Lonsdale to Appleby) Highest average speed: 19.64kph (Moffat to Glasgow) Maximum speed: 56.26kph (Moffat to Glasgow) Sponsorship raised for Rewilding Britain: £1,930 + £391.75 (as of 17 October) Cycling days: 26 Cycling days accompanied by friends: 9 Rest days: 5 Counties passed through*: 21 Nights in friends’ houses: 11 Nights with Warmshowers hosts: 4 Nights in B&B or hotel: 14 Nights in AirBnB: 1 Nights in campsite: 1 Punctures: 1 (+ 1 exploded tyre) Mechanical problems: 1 (broken gear cable) Bike shops visited: 2 Lucky breaks: x (where x = enough to keep a smile on my face) Sense of humour failures: 0 (honestly) *List of counties: Cornwall Devon Somerset Gloucestershire Worcestershire Shropshire Staffordshire Cheshire (Greater Manchester - not counted as not strictly a county) Lancashire N. Yorkshire Cumbria Dumfries and Galloway S. Lanarkshire Dumbartonshire Stirling Perth and Kinross (Moray - not counted as not on bike) Ross and Cromarty Sutherland Caithness Given all the photos you’ve seen of my bike, you may be wondering what that apparently modest luggage contained. So here goes - it might surprise you. If you’re not remotely interested, you know what to do.
Bike Aluminium framed Trek Lexa (2014), with Shimano 105 shifters, 11 speed, fitted subsequently with a pannier rack and mudguards. Cycling kit 2 x short sleeve jerseys with detachable sleeves (Mavic) 1 x short sleeve MTB top 2 x non-thermal long sleeve jerseys (dhb) 1 x merino vest (dhb) 2 x inner shorts (Endura) 1 x outer shorts (Endura) 3 x socks (Endura) 1 x sports bra 1 pr cycling shoes with MTB cleats (Specialized) 1 x calf-length padded tights (Endura) 1 pr fingerless gloves (Mavic) 1 x lightweight gilet (Rapha) 1 x padded gilet (Endura) 1 x showerproof jacket (Endura) 1 x waterproof hiking jacket (Berghaus) 1 pr showerproof chaps (Rainlegs) 1 pr waterproof trousers (Berghaus) - not used 1 x lightweight merino snood (Icebreaker) 1 x thick merino snood (Findra) 1 x long sleeve merino base layer (dhb) - not used Non-cycling kit 1 pr cotton trousers 1 pr lightweight hiking trousers (Berghaus) 2 x merino T shirts (dhb) 1 x cotton T shirt 1 x cotton 3/4 sleeve top 2 x pants 1 x bra 1 pr short socks 1 pr Adidas trainers 1 x hoodie 1 x warm zip through top (Ayacucho) 1 x beanie hat (Finisterre) Gadgets / Tech Phone Ride with GPS subscription - routes loaded on phone Garmin Edge Power pack (Anker) Front and rear lights 2 x plugs and charging cables Toiletries / First Aid DO Moisturiser Sunscreen Shower gel and shampoo in mini bottles Toothbrush and toothpaste Paracetamol and Ibuprofen tablets Ibuprofen gel Chamois cream Dioralyte rehydration powder Vitamin tablets Tweezers Wet wipes for oily hands Tissues Bike Maintenance 2 x spare inner tubes Tyre levers Mini pump Allen keys Other Water bottle Paper maps (sliced up) Map holder Waterproof rear panniers (Ortlieb) Cross bar bag (TopPeak) Handlebar bag (Decathlon) Water bottle holder (Restrap) Super lightweight rucksack (Decathlon) A few small ziploc bags (eg for waterproofing phone in rain) Small bag cashews Small bag dates At Kirkby Lonsdale I added: 1 pr thermal tights (not used) Extra LS merino base layer (not used) Well this was a bit unexpected: It certainly hadn’t been the plan as we enjoyed the view of the Kyle of Tongue from our breakfast table and remembered the stags we’d heard braying as we went to sleep last night: But the forecast for tomorrow, when I planned to ride the last leg from Thurso to John O’Groats, was very much of the “Are we having fun yet?” variety (see Day 5 blog). So this sign on the way out of Tongue made me wonder: it’s not that far - perhaps we should just press on to the finish? Between Tongue and Thurso my resolve (and legs) were sorely tested as the route crossed multiple burns, involving punishing climbs, albeit with glorious descents. Here I am trying to put on a brave face at the top of one of the former. After just 20k, we were very happy to stop for a breather in Bettyhill, where the coastline views were beautiful… And at the enterprising village stores, we could have bought our evening meal, done our laundry, and hired towels and swimwear. They also sold a fine assortment of alcohol in a helpful range of bottle sizes. But we were more interested in warming up and drying out (sweat, not rain, if you must know) in front of the fire. I hadn’t seen this sign when I ordered my flat white. I was advised that the coffee was filter, and they used powdered milk to make froth. It seemed to work. They don’t show up brilliantly in the photo, but we were pretty excited to realise we were looking at the Orkney Islands. Today’s filmic moments were less 007 and more Local Hero. And as ever there were eye-catching signs along the way: And my favourite (even without the misspelling): The options for lunch were limited - everywhere seemed to be shut - so we were relieved to find the Halladale Inn open and serving a sustaining bowl of soup with a slice of quiche. From there, the terrain flattened out a little. By this stage, the plan to carry on had been decided. Tea and cake in Thurso topped us up for the last leg - a two hour dash to John O’Groats, where my welcoming committee was waiting, in the form of Jonis with the van.
And then it was all over. I’ve cycled a total of 1,907.94 km or 1,185.53 miles since leaving Land’s End on 6 September. Thanks for following my journey, I’ve really loved the whole experience. More reflections tomorrow - for now, I’m off to bed. On paper, today’s ride looked like a doddle: barely 60k, and less than 500m of climbing. But I refer you once again to Mike Tyson and Helmuth von Moltke’s views on what happens when plans meet reality. In this case, the adversary that punched our easy day in the nose was a 20-25mph wind blowing directly in our faces, with scarcely a tree in sight to slow it down. Despite the gallant actions of my domestique, who took the full brunt of the blast all day (honestly, I would have offered, but if I had we’d probably still be out there), I found it very hard going. The day had started well enough, with an enjoyable chat over breakfast with the doughty Miss Brown (we were very definitely not yet on first name terms), a regular solo visitor to the hotel, who must have been in her 80s. Among other things, she noted that the dialects spoken in Shetland and her native Lincolnshire were mutually comprehensible because both regions had been under Dane Law - can anyone confirm this arcane but interesting linguistic claim? Recalling her own daring cycling adventures as a girl, she gave me £5 towards my ride - Miss Brown, I salute you, and I hope you found your Whooper swans. As we set off, Loch Shin and its luxury duck house were veiled in mist. But that quickly lifted, to reveal blue skies and warm sun. We followed the lively River Tirry upstream, but its otters were as elusive as Loch Tay’s red squirrels. The domestique still didn’t know what he was in for: And neither did I: But sadly, we had most definitely ‘had the best of the day’ (copyright Spruzen). For the first 20k of single track road we found ourselves giving way to a surprising amount of traffic - either rugged-looking farmers taking trailer loads of breeding ewes to today’s auction in Lairg (the tups were sold yesterday), or hi-viz truckers ferrying construction materials to a new wind farm. Just as the first rain started, we reached the legendary Crask Inn, which claims, with some justification, to be the country’s remotest pub. The coffee was weak but the welcome warm and the small fruit scone I ordered as a mid-morning snack turned out to be lunch. From Crask, we pedalled on into rain and a freshening wind through the wild and barren landscape of the ‘Flow Country’ - the world’s largest area of blanket bog. There really wasn’t much else out there. In this weather, there’s no point worrying what you look like: The road seemed to go on forever… But we did at least spot a Golden Eagle, turning wide, lazy circles above our heads on huge, plank-like wings. And eventually, to my great relief, we reached Tongue, and better still found that the village shop doubled as a café. Seldom have a cheese bap, jam scone (with English clotted cream!) and cup of tea been so welcome.
At this point, I bolted for the B&B, had a shower and put my feet up. Mark on the other hand set off up the coast to do another 20 miles. Clearly I’m not working him hard enough. Tonight we eat in the somewhat dubiously named Tongue Hotel. There’s definitely a joke in there somewhere, but I’m sure they’ve heard it already. Tomorrow we head for Thurso, where I’ll be joined by my support team in the form of Jonis in the van. 70 miles to go to John O’Groats. A huge thank you to everyone who has supported me and my chosen charity, Rewilding Britain: so far you have helped me raise £1,785 plus £365.50 gift aid.
Amazingly, mine was one of the top 5% most successful JustGiving pages last month. Thank you. At the risk of repeating myself, it was another beautiful day to be out on a bike. And I picked up an extra shadow: Mark is back - this time for longer than an hour: in fact till John O’Groats. Kessock Bridge marks the boundary between the Beauly and Moray Firths, and offered fantastic views of both, to the soundtrack of throaty exhausts, as a stream of car lovers swept by en route to achieve that bucket list essential: driving the North Coast 500 in a vintage two seater. Fortunately, unlike on the Slochd Pass, the only wind was behind us. And did I mention the sun? We quickly bagged another county - and a Shipping Forecast stalwart. As ever in the Highlands, there was a promise of hills to come. But the theme of the day was a firth under a beautiful sky. After Beauly and Moray, we crossed the Black Isle and followed the north bank of Cromarty Firth: Before heading north over Easter Ross into the open moors: And swooping down to Dornoch Firth: By which time we were in another county: My brotherly domestique earned his keep with a spot of portage down the steep steps at the Oykel Viaduct: From where there was a good view of Carbisdale Castle, aka the Castle of Spite, home to the widowed Countess of Sutherland after an unseemly row over her late husband’s will. His son, the 4th Duke, insisted that she move off his land, so she had the castle built in Ross-shire but directly overlooking Sutherland and the train line regularly used by the Duke. Apparently his staff used to close the blinds to save him having to look at it as he steamed past. For the last 7 miles today, we climbed gently through mixed woodland, where lichen-draped trees testified to the purity of the air. Beside us, in the peaty River Shin, we saw salmon - or very large trout - break the surface at these small rapids as they fought their way upstream. Incongruous sight of the day: the 5 star accommodation for ducks at our destination for tonight. Either it’s an expenses scandal story I never heard about, or the apparently no-nonsense folk of Lairg have a surprising soft spot for waterfowl. Tomorrow is another big day: we’re due to reach the north coast, at Tongue.
Afternoon naps, good food, and lungfuls of sea air - nourishment for body and soul. Having clocked up 1,029 miles yesterday, this has been the perfect break before I embark on the last 155 miles of my journey. Thanks again, Sarah and Alan, and I can’t wait to see your house when it’s finished.
It had to be done. No, not for breakfast - I’m not a monster. This was last night’s supper at the neat and homely Glenan Lodge - luckily veggie haggis was available. Though to be honest, having endured the Slochd Pass squall I’d have settled for hot food of any kind, and I was mighty relieved that Kay offered meals, as there was nowhere in Tomatin at all. Incredibly, after that rib-sticking plateful, washed down with rhubarb crumble and custard, I still woke with appetite for breakfast: fruit with yogurt, porridge, egg, tomato, mushrooms, toast. I’ve always thought cycling was a good justification for eating cake. It turns out I wasn’t even trying. I’d gone to sleep with the storm still buffeting the windows and blasting leaves from the birch tree outside. Fortunately, by this morning, calm and blue skies were restored for my short ride to Inverness. My route passed the Bronze Age Clava Cairns and the site of the Battle of Culloden but l was more excited by the first sight of the Moray Firth, and the high ground beyond - my challenge for next week. Thurso will be my last overnight stop, on Wednesday. But for now, I’m looking forward to taking the rest of the weekend off. My thanks to Sarah and Alan for putting me up.
Good luck to everyone running the London marathon tomorrow, and especially Webbo (aka Helen Mitchell), my host in Truro 3 weeks ago, who is raising money for Cure CJD, in memory of our Bath hockey friend J Blundell. Go Webbo! After a cosy evening by the fire, I woke refreshed and looking forward to pedalling on through the Highlands. Hopefully yesterday’s bonk was a one-off (if that sounds like an unduly personal non sequitur, you need to read yesterday’s entry). My self-catering breakfast was a banana and two portions of Oat So Simple, purchased in Aberfeldy yesterday and decanted from their bulky pots into a plastic bag #planningahead. The forecast suggested the day might be ‘a bit damp’, and I duly set off in the rain, wondering whether neoprene overshoes might have been wise. The sky looked very unlikely to clear: Remarkably though, within 20 minutes it did, and stayed that way for much of the day. What’s more, on the sections I was travelling north, I had a fresh southerly breeze to help me along. This morning’s motivational music of choice picked up yesterday’s Welsh theme, with We Keep a Welcome in the Hillside, followed by Guide Me, O thou great Redeemer. For some reason that led me on to Lord of the Dance, for which I unaccountably knew more of the lyrics than Chiquitita. As an ABBA fan and non church-goer, I found this perplexing. At Kingussie I crossed the broad valley of the Spey and came across this Skyfall-esque ruin of the Ruthven Barracks, built in 1719 after the Jacobite rising ‘to keep the King’s peace’ and destroyed by the Jacobites on their retreat from the Battle of Culloden: doer-upper anyone? There were fine views looking back to the west: And lovely autumn colours. I saw several clusters of beehives nestled among the heather. After Aviemore, my route diverged briefly from the trusty NCN7. I’m not sure why, it was quite likely user error. But a couple of miles on a busy road - which included one shoulder-skimmingly close pass by an HGV and an alarming overtake-and-turn-left manoeuvre by a woman in a Mini - were a useful reminder of how relaxing the NCN routes have been. Although in fairness to Scottish drivers, I have found the vast majority of them patient, respectful and generous in terms of the space they allow on overtaking. At this point the route got hillier, but also afforded some fantastic views of the Cairngorms. As ever, I found amusement along the way. You had to admire this young lady #proudtobedifferent: I enjoyed learning the Scottish for free range: Archie of Aviemore really had nothing to apologise for today: This made me laugh: Royal? Butter cream? As long as it’s not fondant I don’t mind. But as a porridge lover, this was my Sign of the Day. And a spurtle, according to Google, is not something that JK Rowling dreamed up, but rather a wooden stick for stirring the stuff. For the last few miles the weather turned a bit interesting. The weatherman might call it blustery. At the top of the Slochd Pass I was calling it something rather different, repeatedly. The side wind was doing its best to blow me right over, to the extent that I unclipped my right foot so that I could save myself if it succeeded. Meanwhile the rain, propelled and chilled by the wind, was attempting to drill icy projectiles into my eyeballs via the side of my glasses. This all coincided with a short spell when the cycle path was directly beside the A9 (as in the picture). Fortunately there was a crash barrier between us, which I was fairly confident would prevent me from being flipped into the traffic. In the moments when I wasn’t just trying to survive, I did find time to laugh at how hilariously ridiculous weather it was to be cycling in. Tomorrow: a short ride into Inverness. I’ll then get a train to Forres where Sarah will meet me. Looking forward to seeing her and Alan, and to my final day off before tackling the last stage of my journey next week.
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AuthorWife, mum, sister, auntie. Writer, tennis player, cyclist. Hampshire, via Trinidad, Lowestoft, Bath, Brixton, Singapore, Wimbledon, Madrid and Cairo. Archives
October 2021
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