Thoughts and Thanks by Dougal and Norman

So: lessons? It seems virtually necessary to have a support vehicle: I know some people do it without, but I don’t know how. We are very grateful indeed to John, Maggie, Helen and Angus for doing this. Specialised cycling equipment may still make you look like a pillock, but it does have a point. The goggles mean that you don’t have to spend a day in A&E getting bits of insects taken out of your eye. The lycra clothing is reasonably warm, and dries quickly on you, so you don’t have to sit around in wet clothes. And of course, the padded shorts. Well, obviously.

Finally, getting a good touring bike or road bike makes all the difference: sorry, Lance, but it is about the bike.
And of course very many thanks to Norman for being so patient with not just me, but the entire anarchic Hutchison family. And for being an excellent person to ride with.

Extra bit, contributed by Norman

SOME REFLECTIONS

Since we completed the ride, many people have asked me what I enjoyed the most. The highlights were many and varied. Here are a few of my thoughts on the subject.

I particularly remember Cornwall, for its’ coastline, and for the hedgerows, which back in June, were a tapestry of spring flowers. The fantastic weather, of course, made a big difference. Another memorable day was spent in the Forest of Bowland, and on into the eastern edge of the Yorkshire Dales, around Sedbergh, in the company of Helen’s two sisters Kate and Liz, and Liz’s husband Hugh. That occasion also happened to be my birthday. Each day brought something different, but for me, the prize for the best scenery must go to the Scottish Highlands. Nothing can quite compare for sheer scale and sense of wilderness. Even the Scottish weather can be forgiven.

There were other highlights too, of a more culinary nature. Cornwall, not surprisingly, makes the best pasties. We also became quite the connoisseurs of buttered scones. We had plain, fruit, cheese, and treacle. I cannot pick an outright winner, but it’s not a good idea to ride up a mountain if you’ve just eaten a treacle one. There was also some pretty good Millionaire Shortbread. Dougal by the way has a serious habit. We both agree however, that none of it matches up to the stuff that Iris Storey makes. There were, of course some disappointments. I searched in vain for Herring in Oatmeal, and it would have been nice to have seen kippers on at least one Scottish breakfast menu. On a more positive note, the Haggis I had was excellent.

The award for the best English Youth Hostel must go to Boscastle, not only for its location, but mostly for the warm welcome we received from the warden there. The best Scottish hostel for me, although not for all of our party, (but that’s another story) was the one at Tongue, again for the warmth of the welcome and the personal touches. Carbisdale Castle easily takes the honour for the grandest, but somehow lacked the personal touch.

Best bike shop? Well not really a bike shop, but the man at Wheely Wonderful Cycling, who repaired Dougal’s bike and then refused to take any payment, deserves a wheely special thank you.

Extra special prizes should go to everyone who assisted us. To friends and family, who provided us with accommodation. To John Storey and my sister Maggie, who provided logistics for stage one, and to Helen and Angus, who did likewise for stage two. A special mention here for the nurse at Bristol Royal Infirmary, who bravely applied the dressing to my wound. Thank you to you all, we could not have done it without you.

More special appreciation for everyone who made a contribution to Dementia UK, our charity cause. I know that Monica Greenwood would like to join me in thanking you all.

One last acknowledgment, a big thank you to Dougal, for suggesting the whole escapade in the first place, for doing most of the organising, and for being thoroughly good company.

Finally I’ve gathered a few statistics. We covered about eleven hundred miles, at an average of about fifty five miles per day. We started and finished more or less at sea level. In between we ascended a total height of around seventy three thousand feet, or to put it another way, about two and a half Everests! During the entire trip we miraculously had not a single puncture, and only the one significant mechanical breakdown. Oh yes, I fell off my bike twice, I can’t speak for Dougal.

Day 10: Thurso to Dunnet Head (oh and John o’ Groats, if you insist).

No kippers for breakfast in the hotel, but breakfast otherwise good.

We had managed to hire a bike for Angus in Thurso so’s he could do the last bit, after some help from Isobel (thanks). The internet reckoned that the nearest bike rental was in Huntly (173 miles away), but may we recommend The Bike Shop, High Street, Thurso? It turned out to be a real baptism of fire for him. The weather forecast again predicted Gales, again correctly. I suppose we are approaching the Equinox. The wind was blowing mainly from the side, which made everything a bit hairy. Norman reckoned that his tyres were actually being blown sideways over the wet road surface in some places. Dougal’s and Angus’s were a bit grippier but even then there were problems: you’d lean over to compensate, and then it would drop, leaving you heading for the ditch. Or you’d come past the end of a building which provided some shelter, and then get caught and blown out into the middle. It was a relief to turn off towards Dunnet Head, but our problems were only beginning.

We had a little bit of shelter about till we passed the little hamlet of Crossroads, where my mother was born. After this the quite steep hills heading towards the point were made much steeper by the wind howling in our faces: I had visions of being caught by a gust and sailing back to Inverness, whence Norman would probably demand I did it all again. We made it to the lighthouse, the most northerly point on the British mainland, took the photographs (note white horses in the background), had a quick look round and fled. The journey back was a different country: downhill, wind behind us, very pleasant. On the rest of the journey to John o’ Groats, the wind seemed to have veered round a bit, so that at some stages we could actually take our feet off the pedals and be pushed along.

Eventually we made it to J o’G, and it was really splendid to have our welcoming committee of Helen taking a picture of us as we arrived. Groups of cyclists seemed to be arriving regularly. Every 15 minutes there would be a cheer as (say) Ukrainian Nationalists for Watford Home for Tired Squirrels rolled up. One man even seemed to arrive about four times, possibly considering that his initial welcome was insufficient.

We had our photograph taken in front of the sign. While we were doing this, some people got off a coach and told us to hurry up. When this injunction, for some reason, failed, they tried to stand beside us while we were having our picture taken. At this point Helen swung into action. ‘Do you realise,’ she thundered, ‘that these people have cycled all the way from Land’s End for charity, and they want to get the picture right?’ They slunk off. I was ever so proud of her.

I should point out again that J o’G is a complete fake, a bogus sham, a counterfeit, an impostor, a charlatan, a fraud, a con, a con-trick, a rip-off, a pretender. It’s not the Northest point. That’s Dunnet Head. Well, you all knew that by now. It’s also not the North-Westest (Cape Wrath), or the North Eastest (Duncansby Head). J o’G was extremely tacky, though probably not any worse than Land’s End, which I suppose is also something of a fake, being not the Southest point (don’t start me). It has been described as the ugliest town in Scotland, though I wouldn’t call it a town, and any what about Sh-tts?

"Surrounded by a clutter of timber huts, caravans, Portakabins and untended landscaping, its fingers should point to the North Pole, London, New York and so forth, but instead one enterprising local 'photographer' sticks two up at passing tourists by affixing the missing signage for an £18 fee." The Scotsman.

The wind had got up again and it was pretty cold. Helen went back with Norman and the bikes as the cold was getting to her tooth, and Angus and I came back on a nice warm comfortable bus. The journey at last over, we drove out to Thurso Cemetery to look at the new stone at the site where my mother’s ashes are laid, and have a short time of reflection.

Today the support team (just Helen) visited the Castle of Mey, where the Queen Mum used to live. Angus was on the ride of course!

Day 9: Tongue to Thurso

Norman and I leave quite early, having separately both told the Warden how excellent the hostel is. After this he rather blots his copybook by being extraordinarily rude to Helen and Angus. What is it with these people? A little politeness would be no bad thing.

The weather has taken a turn for the worse, with the forecast saying succinctly Gales. And it’s right. The morning is definitely our worst day so far: we had thought that at least the wind would be behind us, but it’s mainly northerly. The combination of a lot of steep hills, rain, and winds coming from all directions mean that we are tired by Bettyhill, and there’s still a long way to go to Thurso. In Bettyhill we are very tempted by hot meat pies sold in the shop, but decide that it’s too early and leave it till lunch time. Of course we never see a whiff of a meat pie all the rest of the day. We stop for a bite of lunch at Melvich, and by the time we set off again, the sun has started shining, the wind has dropped a bit, and the roads are definitely flatter, so we bowl into Thurso feeling just fine.

As a celebration, we decide to put up in what is said to be the best hotel in town, but find it quite disappointing. It’s shabby, the carpets are stained, our room is small, and the window is cracked. This is not the first time we’ve been disappointed by hotels in Thurso. Anyway, we’re invited to an evening meal with Isobel (distant relation) and Norman (nb, different Norman) and have a delightful evening. What talented people!

Today the support team followed behind and took a trip to Bettyhill, where they had lunch in a cafe and then explored the local beach, where a beached whale had been spied by them many a year ago.

Day 8: Carbisdale Castle to Tongue

The next morning dawns windy and rainy, so windy in fact that wind catches our route map which Norman has left under his helmet, and blows it away. By the time I’m able to get across to it, it has taken off, and is sailing away already half way to Tongue. Doesn’t matter too much- there’s not a lot of choice of roads around these parts.

The rain is coming (heavily) in short spells, so we wait till one stops and then set off, though we know it’ll not be long till it start again. It’s here that the cycling stuff shows its strengths: it gets wet, it dries, it gets wet again, and it dries, and so on. The road takes us through some impressive scenery, with the mountains of the North West Highlands on either side. Norman hasn’t seen this area before and is very impressed. The weather up here is definitely bleak, and there is actually some snow at the side of the road, almost certainly recent. By the time we reach Tongue, the wind has really got up, and I’m getting quite nervous about either being blown into the middle of the road, or off the road by reaction when the wind drops.

The Hostel at Tongue is delightful, probably the best we’ve seen. It’s situated right on the sea shore, so possible to walk along the beach, though it’s too late and getting dark by the time we think of it. Our room is comfortable and we have a splendid view of the hills. Again, we meet more End-to-Enders including one lady who’s doing it on her own, hostelling or camping. Blimey. We find it difficult enough even with our excellent back-up team.

Today the back up team went for a walk around Carbisdale Castle grounds in the morning and then to Tain to the Glenmorangie (pronounced like orangey rather than Jumanji) distillery in the afternoon to learn about the Whiskey creation process.

Day 7: Inverness to Carbisdale Castle

The scenery changes again to the flat shores of the River Ness. Equally beautiful, and you can see the mountains to the North blue in the distance. The roads are still quiet, and what traffic there is, is generally very considerate and doesn’t get too impatient about having to stick behind a couple of cyclists while we toil uphill.

At Dingwall, we manage to get off the main road onto a smaller side road, but soon find that this means a lot of climbing. This seems to be the pattern- side roads are safer and prettier, but a lot hillier. We pedal along for what seems to be an astonishingly long distance. It all seems quite bleak, empty, no habitations, no people, virtually no cars, and I begin to wonder how much longer there is as I push one pedal in front of the other. After a while I’m considerably bucked to discover that we’ve unknowingly taken a shortcut, and are actually much further on than I thought. Just as well, really, as it very soon starts to rain.

After a bit we stop and have lunch at a View Point, though it’s not much of a view today since it’s raining so heavily you can’t really see anything. At last I’m beginning to see the point of at least some of the cycling gear. The shorts might look like something Baden Powell might have worn when he went clubbing, but they very quickly dry on you.

After this, the road goes downhill, and after a few more miles, we finally find ourselves in what was to be one of the trip highlights, Carbisdale Castle Youth Hostel (sic). The castle is every bit as amazing as the pictures suggest. There’s a long hall with classical/vaguely erotic statues, which seem all to have finger marks where guests are photographed touching.

It also has a large drying room, and Norman and I stand there for about 20 minutes to warm up. We get a splendid room and an excellent dinner in the impressive dining room, overlooked by a portrait of King Haakon of Norway. As we near the far North, the place is increasingly filling up with End-to Enders. I reckon that at least half of the guests were doing this in one direction or the other. This seems to be one of the main factors keeping hostels going by this time.

Today the support team explored Inverness, then turned the Sat Nav off and got lost. Then turned it back on again.

Day 6: Fort William to Inverness

We set off along the A82. Delighted to see that there is a cycle track along the side of the road, but this soon stops, and we are back on the road itself.

Fortunately doing it on a Sunday morning means that there isn’t a lot of traffic, so by keeping to the white line marked bit, we seem to be safe enough. Nevertheless we are pleased enough to turn off at Fort Augustus, and go along the South/East side of Loch Ness. Boy, is this scenery (see previous comments about scenery and climbing hills). It beats Tak Ma Doon, the previous record holder, into a cocked hat. Even Norman has to take a couple of breathers.

We bowl along by a delightful little loch, and after one final exhausting climb, we find ourselves at a spectacular view point. This is at 400 metres, over 1300 feet, so probably the highest point in the whole trip. We have our lunch in the sun (and wind!), and then, noticing that clouds are coming, we push on. There’s a spectacular downhill stretch, all straight so we don’t need to worry about blind corners, so we really let go.

We soon reach Whitebridge, our target for the night. The local red telephone kiosk is not too useful as it takes neither coins nor cards. (What else is there? Would it take a cheque, perhaps?) We can’t get a mobile signal either, so we push on. The road by the Loch is enchanting, and it has a good surface, so we push on, and eventually make Inverness. That’s quite a day by my standards anyway- 63 miles. Inverness is a beautiful city, but awfully full of drunks.

The support team join us, and we make it back to our B&B. A bit difficult to find- in this part of the world a lot of quite separated properties have the same postcode. It’s excellent- the hostess even makes us egg and chips for £2.50.

The support team spent the day visiting Ben Nevis Range, just outside Fort William. They took a Gondola (ski-lift) up the side of the mountain and watched a downhill mountain bike event on a world cup downhill track (pelting down 2/3 of Ben Nevis in average times of 5 minutes...mad). It keeps the hospital in FW, which was going to close, in business during the summer months.

Day 5: Tyndrum to Fort William

This is quite a long day’s ride, through Glencoe and by Rannoch Moor, recently featured on TV as one of the remotest part of Britain.

We used to camp there when I was in the Scouts. The scenery is spectacular, but you can tend to go off scenery if it means you have to cycle up it. Also, the valley lies East to West and the prevailing East wind gets funnelled down the road, so that as a previous End-to-Ender put it, you can find yourself having to pedal downhill. Hard work anyway.

We arrive in Fort William early afternoon, where there’s a street party on. I’m surprised how attractive it all looks, till I realise I’m confusing it with Inverness (qv). We go up to the surprisingly nice Backpackers Hostel, and wait for the logistics team to arrive. Again, our B&B could have been better- I know it’s useful money in the area, but people could make a bit more effort. There are two cycling events, a Duathlon, and a downhill mountain biking challenge.

Day 4: Callender to Tyndrum

The morning is raining heavily, but predicted to clear later, so we don’t set off till about 11.30. Sure enough, the weather does clear. So far we have always been on cycle tracks or very quiet side roads, but outside Callender it gets a bit more like a main road. There’s a strip by the side with a white line, variable width, sometimes enough for two bikes, other times rather narrower. We decided to treat this as a cycle lane, though it’s not actually labelled as such. The road surfaces are quite rough, not actually potholed, but the top gravel layer is partially worn away, making the whole ride rather uncomfortable.

The scenery is beautiful, and I see that we are in sight of the first Munros. All this scenery is all very fine, but it does play havoc with the mobile phone signals, and we are having difficulty keeping in contact with the support team. We make it to Crianlarich comfortably, and push on to Tyndrum. Our B&B frankly could have been better- no TV, no sitting area.

The support team had lunch in Callander and enjoyed an iced tea in Crieff Hydro hotel.

We set off up a small climbing B-road- no number but labelled Tak Ma Doon. Boy, this is some hill. We climb steeply forever, well the best part of an hour anyway. Norman actually manages to get to the top without stopping, but I have to stop about 5 minutes from the top for a breather. At the top there’s a splendid view- to the Forth Bridges on one side, and, on a clear day, to Arran on the other. Anyway, it’s all downhill for a very long way now. We push on to Menteith. [The Lake of Menteith is said to be the only lake in Scotland. This unusual name is believed to be a corruption of the Lowland Scots Laich o Menteith, where "laich" simply means "low place". Wikipedia.]

I get my shoe stuck on the pedal and fall off. Norman doesn’t laugh. Well, not much. Another mainly sunny day. With the new bike I find I’m keeping up pretty well with Norman, though I notice that if he’s freewheeling downhill I still have to pedal a bit to keep up. I think the slick tyres may make a difference. Also, he’s probably still slightly fitter than I am. We generally arrange it so that I go first, and Norman keeps to my pace. This seems to work OK.
The logistics team come and pick us up in Callender. We spend the night in Balfron at the house of Hugh Gurney, an old buddy from the diving club, and his delightful daughters, and look at old photographs.

The support team spent the day in Stirling, soaking up English loathing by checking out Bannockburn, Stirling Castle and the Wallace Monument. Did you know: Pre-Braveheart, Stirling Castle got 180,000 visitors per year, post-Braveheart: 300,000 and growing each year. It's also not the original Stirling Castle, as Robert the Bruce destroyed it and it was later re-built by the Stewart dynasty.

Day 2 Beattock Summit to Kirk o’ Shotts.

We’re in credit on miles from yesterday! We see some peculiar-looking beasts at the side of the road, looking like cattle but quite a bit smaller and with long woolly coats, a bit like some kind of un-natural union between a sheep and a cow. Probably a Galloway, but given the nearness to Roslin Experimental Agricultural Station, you never know.

Gradients are surprisingly gentle again, and the roads are good, so we soon make Lanark for lunch. Suddenly there is a sign saying Steep Hill, and they are not kidding. I make it anyway. Norman gets his shoe stuck on the pedal, and falls off. Nasty. I didn’t laugh. Well, not much. We push on after a lunch break, and pass through Shotts and HMP Shotts (could you tell the difference?). The road to Kirk o’ Shotts is closed for resurfacing, but we take it anyway, and are waved through by some tolerant road-menders. The logistics team come and pick us up. We meet up with a team of youngsters (age 16-20 ish) with Dad doing logistics. Depressingly, they seem to be doing it in half the time we are.

Day 1. Carlisle to Lockerbie

At last real progress, as opposed to paying off our distance debts from part 1.
Another nice day- we make good progress, and soon find ourselves in Gretna. Goodness, this is tacky. We travel mainly on the A74, which is basically the old main road now superseded by the M74. This is a pretty good road, and not at all busy as the main traffic is going on the motorway. In a traffic jam, we meet another cyclist who recommends a cafe in Lockerbie, so we have lunch there- good scones. Our initial distances are relatively short, and building up, so the plan is that we push on beyond our original destination. We’re making good time, so we do this. I’m a bit nervous about Beattock Summit, as I suspect that it’s going to be really steep in the event it’s not too bad.

We try to remember the W H Auden poem, but can’t really get beyond the first two lines.

Here is the night mail crossing the border
Bringing the cheque and the postal order
And of course

Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb
The gradient's against her, but she’s on time.

We stop for some shopping. I’m always delighted to see people following national stereotypes, so am quite impressed when we go into a small supermarket which has NO fruit or veg in its entire stock. Excellent B&B outside Lockerbie, if a bit difficult to find. We go out to the pub for dinner, and leave as Scotland are trailing Liechtenstein (sic).

Day 0 Scotland, or Day 14. Lazonby to Carlisle

Since we were dividing the route into an England part and a Scotland part, I suggested to Norman, that we should just start at Gretna, omitting Carlisle to Gretna. Not only did he reject this idea, but he insisted that we start at Lazonby, 16 miles short of Carlisle, where we had actually stopped at the end of the first part. Conscientious. At least our sponsors can be sure that we have actually done the whole thing. And it saves us having to send back lots of 16ps to everyone to cover the shortfall.

Day 0 will be very useful practice for the route proper. I dress up in my proper cycling gear, practicing not falling off when I can’t release my cycling shoes, and not feeling a complete pillock when I put on the cycling gear. The shorts, in particular, make me look like some kind of 50s footballer, and the goggles make me look like some kind of extraterrestrial insect.

Things have changed from the first part. First, we are extremely lucky to have Helen and Angus as our logistics team, and Norman has generously allowed us to use his car. I’ve got some new cycling gear, as mentioned above, and the loan of a much better touring bike from some extremely kind anonymous donor. I’m hoping for great things from this. Norman is padded right up to his elbows, for reasons that will be obvious to anyone who has read the England part of our blog.



We all set off a bit gingerly, Helen in the unfamiliar car, and me on the unfamiliar bike, but it all goes well. It’s a pleasant sunny afternoon, and we reach Carlisle without incident, and pick up Angus at the station- good to see him- it’s been a month. We all 4 stay with David Fruin in Halton Leagate, where he’s doing impressive work in planting non-coniferous trees. We get bitten by midges (in September- I thought they were off) - I suppose the area name Midgeland is a bit of a clue.

Blog: Land’s End to Dunnet Head (and John o’ Groats, too, I suppose).

This is the blog of the second part of our journey from Land’s End to Dunnet Head (qv), the northernmost part of mainland Britain.

We did do John o’ Groats, too, for completeness, but I should stress that Dunnet Head is the proper action. John o’ Groats (qv) is a nothing, an imposter, a usurper, a cuckoo in the nest, a fake, a fraud, and empty creation of the media, a cheat, a charlatan, peddled no doubt by snake-oil salesman, etc.

Norman's blog

NORMAN’S BLOG
Following my injury (too embarrassing to detail) sustained on the first leg of our ride, I set off for Somerset with my sister Maggie in her motorhome to complete the section that I missed between Street and Slaidburn .

Day 1 Street to The Forest of Dean (68 miles)

This is essentially the route that Dougal would have followed if he hadn’t spurned the offer of my GPS and got lost several times. Fortunately the weather is much kinder to me than it was to him. The road is gloriously flat for the first dozen miles through the Somerset levels to Wells, it then climbs steeply over the Mendip Hills, to enter Bristol through the Ashton Hall Estate and dramatically over Brunel’s iconic Clifton Suspension Bridge. Bristol is surprisingly hilly, but I make good time and meet up with Maggie at Severn View Services after fifty miles and four hours riding. After lunch and a short rest there follows a spectacular ride over the Severn Bridge to Chepstow and a long steady climb up into the Forest of Dean to our camp-site near Coleford.

Day 2 Coleford to Leominster (48 miles)

A pleasant ride in intermittent sunshine to the historic market town of Ross-on-Wye, stopping off on the way at Symonds Yat Rock for an interesting chat with the RSPB volunteer there and a view through his telescope of the resident Peregrine Falcons. The route from Ross-on-Wye follows the river, I was expecting it to be quite flat, but unfortunately it keeps leaving the river and climbing up the sides of the valley . At least the views from the top make the effort worthwhile. The battery in my cycle computer is running low and I seek out a Cycle shop in Leominster for a replacement. Despite the combined efforts of myself and the proprietor we fail to find a way of opening the battery compartment. Are we very stupid, or are the Japanese very clever? We camp at Bircher , about 4 miles north of Leominster.

Day 3 Bircher to Montford Bridge (50 miles)

The day is dull and overcast, it dosen’t look too promising. I get to Bishop’s Castle, a picturesque Shropshire town close to the Welsh border and set on a hill, before it begins to rain, gently at first and then more heavily. I’m not really equipped for this; no mudguards. I put on my thin waterproof top and decide to carry on . I don’t mind getting wet but the problem is I’m becoming quite chilled. To make my misery complete the road that runs up to Bridges is being resurfaced, the loose chippings are two inches deep. Where the work is ongoing, although rain seems to have temporarily stopped play, only half the road is so affected. I decide it’s better to cycle on the wrong side of the road, the roads in this part of Shropshire seem to be remarkably traffic free.. At Bridges the pub that Dougal and I visited when we stayed in the youth hostel there proves too tempting. An hour and a bowl of soup later it’s stopped raining andI’m starting to feel better, only about fifteen miles to go. From Bridges the road climbs for a further five miles or so and then it’s downhill or level for the rest of the way. By the time I reach the camp-site by the banks of the river Severn the sun is even shining.
Day 4 Montford Bridge to Chester (40 miles)

The route today starts in England, we’re still in Shropshire, passing through quiet roads to the interesting canal town of Ellesmere. About three miles out of Ellsmere we enter Wales, passing first through Overton and thence to Bangor-on-Dee, where from the bridge,I watch two Salmon fishermen as I eat my first Welsh “Cornish Pastie”. It begins to rain, we are in Wales after all, so I take shelter beneath the entrance of the local church, only to discover that I’m preventing two swallows from feeding their brood. Rather than have their deaths on my conscience, I move on and resign myself to getting wet. After about ten miles we once more cross the River Dee at Holt, returning to England via the Cheshire town of Farndon. By now of course the sun is shining. We camp at Birch Bank Farm near Chester , a beautiful grade two listed farmhouse.
Day 5 Chester to Adlington (45 miles)

The first part of the route is through pleasant countryside including The Delamere Forest Park, where taking it easy up a steepish hill, I’m overtaken by a very fit looking cyclist riding a fixed wheel. I briefly take up the pursuit but common sense soon prevails.Today being Sunday, many of the local cyclists seem to be out training, most of them give me a cheery hello as they sweep past. Joining the busy A 49 we cross in quick succession, the River Weaver and the Trent & Mersey Canal and follow the main road almost as far as Warrington. We then head for Lymm on minor roads, where passing another bike shop, I try once more to replace the battery on my cycle computer, the display of which is still blinking away, although it continues to faithfully record the mileage. This time two bicycle mechanics are defeated by the devious Japanese. After Lymm a toll road (bicycles go free) takes us over the impressive Manchester Ship Canal. The route continues through rural countryside, even passing a field full of Llamas, until we reach the outskirts of Leigh. There now follows a busy section through the urban streets of Leigh, Atherton and West Houghton to finally reach Adlington where we camp beside the Leeds & Liverpool Canal.

Day 6 Adlington to Slaidburn (40 miles)

My last day of riding, Slaidburn, my destination today, is where I rejoined Dougal and Kate for the final two days to Carlisle. Only 40 miles to go but I know it’s going to be quite tough. We soon leave the bustle of Adlington behind and are briefly in open country before entering the outskirts of Chorley. The route north runs parallel to the M61, crossing both it and the M65 and passing between Preston and Blackburn. There then follows a scenic ride through Mellor to Whalley. The main trunk roads follow the valley but my route, on minor roads, runs along the ridges both north and south of it. This involves quite a lot of ascending and descending. Whalley is a charming place beside the River Calder, a tributary of the River Ribble, with an Abbey, a viaduct, some fascinating architecture and a Bakers selling excellent pasties. Well worth a return visit. From Whalley the road climbs steadily up to the strangely named Cow Ark. Shortly after here I make a costly navigational error. Descending for about two miles down a 14% hill, whatever that is in English money, I check the GPS at the bottom to discover I’m no longer on my route. No option other than to turn round and climb all the way back up. It takes me a little longer than the descent. Once back on route there are more climbs before reaching Slaidburn, elated but exhausted.

Well, we made the first part in one piece.

I think my main concern before the Scotland bit will have to be to buy, beg, borrow, bike-hire or burgle a faster bike. Trouble is, I don't think I'm likely to want to do this again, so I don't want to spend the £600 plus required for a road bike or tourer. Any suggestions, offers, would be welcome.

A large number of very generous people have contributed- thank you all very much. Though I do have to say I'm a bit disappointed about the number of people in my office who didn't contribute, despite having worked with me for over 10 years in many cases.


May is an excellent time to do this. The weather is as likely to be good as you can get, the roads are not too full of holidaymakers, and the countryside is spectacular.

In some ways, my main memory is of the pungent smell of wild garlic. The picture of the top is of a particularly smelly bit, so much so that you can just about smell it from the photo.

Other comments.
1. The CTC routes are useful, as a start, anyway. Distances (average 70 miles per day) however would tend to be excessive for any except hard core cyclists. Don't forget that they tend to be obsessed with speed, and it may be possible and advisable to find quieter roads. Try the NCN network, too. Give yourself time to enjoy the scenery.
2. Having a support vehicle is extremely useful. It would have been very much harder if we had had to carry all our gear. Also, when I had the breakdown with the chain coming off, it would have been very difficult to work out what to do if we hadn't. Very many thanks indeed to John and Maggie for their literally invaluable efforts on this.
3. Thanks to Norman for being so conscientious in continuing with the support when he wasn't able to cycle, and generally for being easy-going and organised.
4. Thanks very much to all the people who put us up en route.
5. We did quite a lot of training beforehand, but we should have done a week-end or longer to test the whole system.
6. This blog was quite difficult to get on to the internet (to say nothing of trying to write it when exhausted at the end of a long day). I've mentioned that the countryside is short of shops, banks, mobile phone signals, bike shops, things open at the weekend, etc. It's also short of fast broadband connections.
7. We met with a lot of kindness from many people. Thank you all very much.

Day 12: Sedburgh to Carlisle

Again a very long steep slog out of town, but eventually we find ourselves on a delightful small road going past Shap, parallel to the M6 and the A6. Weather again is gorgeous, though I have to admit my legs are getting pretty tired.
We eventually make it to Carlisle, relieved that we weren’t trying to get here three days ago. End of part one (England). Back for part 2 (Scotland) in September.

Day 11: Slaidburn to Sedburgh

SEDBURGH CHURCHYARD WITH TRAMP

With Maggie now here to do the logistics (thank you very much, Maggie), Norman decides that he is sufficiently recovered to try cycling again. The day starts off, as we are coming to expect, with a long slog of a climb. At one point, we seem to have reached the top leading to a plateau, but Kate, who knows the area, is suspiciously quiet when I suggest this. It turns out to be merely the top. We go whizzing down, and then have to climb up the next lot. I’m getting to hate the downhill bits of hills almost as much as the uphill bits: just wasteful really. Later, the declivities get a bit better designed, and can be dealt with by swooping. We meet up with Liz and Hugh (in-laws) about half way along.
The days is absolutely beautiful, warm and sunny, everything bursting out all over. All the meadows are full of buttercups, so dense that they might almost be a crop. It’s been like this all the way up. It’s such a wonderful day that we decide to take a scenic detour up a little valley: tomorrow is a relatively short day, and we should be able to make up. Lambs are everywhere, in some cases in the middle of the road. Also some calves and foals, some so new that they are still unsteady on their feet. I’m beginning to sound a bit Fotherington-Thomas here, I know. When we pass flat areas of the valley, the weather has enticed everyone to strip off and sunbathe or play football.
Appleby is absolutely full of horses (it’s the start of the Horse Fair Week), as well as police, more police, RSPCA inspectors, travellers and their caravans. Caravans, some traditional and horsedrawn like covered wagons, some modern and expensive, and some in between, as far as the eye can see. Horses of all shapes and sizes on the road, and by the roadside. More dangerously groups of young travellers are taking their little jogging carts (?)/ sulkies (?) along the roads, and even racing despite the fact that there are cars on the road at the same time.
Norman seems to have made it through successfully.

Day 10: Leigh to Slaidburn

DOUGAL AND NORMAN




NORMAN, KATE, DOUGAL



KATE (SISTER IN LAW)

My sister-in-law Kate joins us today. As a redhead, she’s in even worse case for sunburn than I am, and requires if anything more covering up than I do. It is good to have the company.
I haven’t got stiff at all, but I have got tired! I’m finding that I’m getting fitter each day, but that the increase in fitness is being balanced by the cumulative fatigue from unrelieved exertion day after day.
The direction finder works well until about lunchtime, when it seems to get a bit tired, and the direction arrow disappears. At one stage, anyway, it directs us round in a circle. I’m fascinated by English place names: we go through Whalley, and Great Mitton, into the Trough of Bolan. Gorgeous scenery, though again extremely hilly. On either side of the road, we see grouse, pheasants and partridges. Also a huge hare, with black ears.
Maggie (Norman’s sister, and our new support driver) is waiting for us at Slaidburn.

Day 9: Nantwich to Leigh

Day 9: Nantwich to Leigh (I’ve stopped quoting distances, as they’re mostly guesswork)
I’m still wearing cycling shorts and jog pants, and even then I seem to be getting sunburnt through them. Since there are no secure pockets in the jog pants, I’m keeping money in the cycling shorts, which means that I have to undo the top layer to get money out. This tends to provoke some startled reactions in shops when I come to pay.
It’s a long day, pedalling along on my own, but I’m surprisingly un-bored. Just putting one foot in front of the other seems to keep my mind occupied. It’s also a very good day, and the countryside is beautiful. Also, this is the first day in which the wind isn’t in our faces. We signed up to the South to North route on the basis that the prevailing wind would be behind us, so it’s about time! We really have been lucky with the weather- only two days with rain. The route goes along a toll road, with tolls of 27p and 51p. How do they manage to make a commercial proposition of this? Unfortunately I don’t think to get my camera out in time.
As I’m watering the hedge out of sight of the passing cars, a double decker bus goes passed. To my horror they spot me and start waving. I’m tempted to wave back, but a moment’s reflection convinces me that neither of the possible ways of doing this would be a good plan.
As we arrive in Salford, the shocking news is starting to come in of the gunman’s rampage in Cumbria.

Day 8: Bridge to Nantwich (42 miles)

Another rainy day, but I eventually persuaded myself that it was getting lighter. I managed to get through to Hugh, to arrange to meet half-way or thereabouts.

The weather clears up and then sets in again. What I call efficient rain- doesn’t waste time falling noisily or blowing into your face- just gets you wet.

Eventually, round a corner, and we meet Liz and Hugh Frost (in-laws), both looking very well. Nothing around to provide a meal. I’ve been astonished at how rural the country is. Looking at the map, there are apparently small settlements at every corner, but there’s nothing there- perhaps one house, or two, or even none at all. Pubs are few and far between, and shops are almost unheard-off. Garages are 30 miles away, and often not open. And as for cash points. Credit cards are not accepted as often as not- even cheques are preferable.

We go back to Ellsmere, and they buy me a lunch, which is most generous. I go into the Gents, and realise that I could use the hand-dryer to dry my trousers, which looked a bit odd.

We spend the night a Bram and Jane’s, who turn out to be keen and vastly experienced cyclists, who are doing the route but in sections, but have also cycled all over the continent, and provide us with loads of helpful advice!

DAY 7: Sollers Barn to Bridge (35 miles)

A frustrating morning to start with. By 10 am we have got no replies from the bike shop. The landlady suggests that the other people in residence are expecting a cycle firm to deliver a map for their weekend, so when a van arrives we leap out and ask the driver if he can recommend a bike shop that would be open. I can do that nae bother he says- just take it up to our premises in Ludlow. And he does. Seems a nice place for a cycling holiday. Suddenly a better day!

It starts off warm and sunny, but gets cooler and overcast. Pleasant cycling weather- I just meander along enjoying the view. I’m working from a couple of pages torn out of the road map, so I’m back to asking directions. I find myself stuck on a road with no directions, no distances and no road numbers. What’s the next habitation along this road I ask a passing ancient. He looks a bit startled, as well he might, but eventually suggests it’s Hoptonheath. Back in business.

Eventually I reach the Youth Hostel, where the Warden could possibly be more welcoming, even though Norman was wearing the T-shirt. After dinner, we went down to the pub, where there was a singing evening- some of the performers were quite good. We get into conversation, and Norman starts telling a pair of total strangers about his injury.

DAY 6: St Briavels to Sollers Barn, Leominster.

COWS LYING DOWN. MEANS SOMETHING,I KNOW (BUT WHAT?)


DISASTER DAY 2. I set off on my own about 9.15. It was sunny and quite warm though with a coolish breeze. Norman has very kindly lent me his direction finder and we make quite good progress. It’s quite an impressive little gadget. I’m still a bit tired from yesterday but we don’t have so far to go. Also, while it’s not so much fun not having the company, at least I don’t have feel guilty about holding Norman up. Also, while it would be an exaggeration, ever, to describe a saddle as comfortable, it at least it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse.

Maggie is taking John back after his stint as support. Thank you very much John for your conscientiousness.

I’m getting near our lunch time meeting when- kerrang! Oh, just the chain come off: I can do that nae bother. But when I try to sort this out, it’s got wedged on the inside of the wheel, and no amount of work on my part will move it. I call up Norman, who’s beginning to wonder whether I’ve got lost again, and we agree that nothing can be done without the right tools. What we need is a bicycle shop. And are there any open on a Bank Holiday Sunday? Obviously not.

We decide to head to tonight’s B & B and get it fixed tomorrow.

We go out to a pub for an evening meal, and everyone is most sympathetic. The landlord even goes and looks up the details of the best bike shop on the internet.

Street to St Briavels (long way, including detours)

DISASTER DAY. We had been feeling pretty pleased with ourselves, if a little chary about the longer day today, but of course fate is always waiting round the corner with a sock full of wet cement.

Norman is looking uncharacteristically glum when I come down for breakfast. It soon comes out that he has got an injury which means he probably can’t cycle. We go down to the local medical centre to get an informed opinion before we decide what do next, but in the event they are closed until after the weekend. We agree that I shall go on on my own for the day, and John and
Norman go looking for an A and E department in Bristol. Norman kindly writes down the points on the route for me.

To add to everything else, it’s a miserable day, coldish, windy and rainy.

Past Wells, I start to climb up along the Old Bristol Road into the Mendips. It is now so misty that visibility is down below 50 metres. The climb is very steep, and seems to go on for ever. Also the Tour de Wessex are coming in the other direction. Some of the oncoming cyclists are complete lunatics: on a narrow public road in wet weather, they are passing 3 abreast on blind corners.

In retrospect, I think that I should have bought an OS map, for the day, but the upshot of trying to navigate using a road map means that I get lot more than once. They got rid of the road signs to frustrate German invaders, or turned them round , and the locals have not felt the necessity to put them back. This means of course that John and Norman are waiting a long time to met me at the waiting point.

Next stage is the cycle across the Severn Bridge, which is really quite impressive. We agree that they will go on to meet Maggie at St Briavels, and I shall just keep pedalling until I get there, which I do, around 9 pm, as the light will soon be starting to go. Norman’s sister Maggie is waiting for us at the hospital. The Youth Hotel is actually a castle, with walls 10 feet thick, and we are put into what they call the Oubliette room, obviously by someone who didn’t know a lot about castles. Maggie, Norman and John very kindly buy a meal from the pub.

We decide that the plan is that I shall go on, with Norman offering support as required. It’s been a very long day and I’m exhausted, but feeling pretty good on the whole. I promise myself that I will never make smart comments about Norman’s direction finder again. I’ve even fallen off the bike; it’s been that sort of day.

Honiton to Street (48 miles)

We drove back to Honiton, located our small piece of wood, and set off again. Again the weather was bright and sunny, with a cooling breeze. Delightful cycling weather, and the verges bursting with wild flowers. the road is only moderately hilly for most parts except when we find ourselves on a farm road, with a slope of about 1 in 5, and which goes on for about half a mile.

We are navigating by the navigating system. This seems to be reasonably well functioning, but unfortunately it tends not to give you a decision on the next stage until you are slightly past. So, at each junction or potential turn-off this involves either

a) charging ahead in the most likely direction and hoping for the best,, Nine times out of ten this works, but on the tenth, we have to go back to the turn-off and start again. The way of avoiding this is for

b) Norman to stop at each junction and wait the rest of the party, ie me. He then find a bit of hedge to give some shade, and wakes up the screen.


The new saddle seems to be working adequately. I stop at a small village called Rawridge, and take a photo of the sign.

We finally reach Street hostel, for some reason quite exhausted. There had been talk of doing some extra for tomorrow, but somehow this gets forgotten. The place is full of cycling enthusiasts, doing the Tour de Wessex. 3 days each of over 100 miles a day. Funny people, cyclists.

A very nice thing happens to us at the Hostel. A fellow guest sees John’s T-shirt, and enquires: She is sufficiently impressed, to volunteer a donation!.

DIVER'S LOG - DAY THREE

JO, DOUGAL, NORMAN



WHO STOLE NORMAN'S SCONE?



DEMMY THE DIVER

Okehampton to Honiton

Towards the end of yesterday’s journey, there was a loud twang, and it turned out that one of the springs on my saddle had broken. If the other spring broke, I could envisage a sharp piece of metal coming through the saddle, so one of our first actions was obviously to get this fixed. I find that most bike shops are very friendly, and the one in Crediton was no exception. As well as producing a new saddle, and fixing my pedals, they were able to suggest a less hilly route to Tiverton.

We asked Clifford and Jo to join us for this stage, but unfortunately Clifford couldn’t make it as he was working. Thanks to them, we have now each had a plastic bath frogman toy attached to our bicycle. If you wind it up and let go the string, it will pedal like mad, and put a boost of at least 10 mph on our speed, though not for very long. It was a beautiful day, still sunny but not quite so warm.

The Devon countryside was not so hilly as Cornwall, so we were quite relieved. I predicted that after Days 1-3, with fatigue piling up from the previous days, Day 4 was the day that things would start to look up, and that seemed to be about right. Scenery was spectacular- long rolling hills when you could manage to look over the deep lanes.

John reckoned that he had managed to fix the direction finder, so Norman took it out with us again to navigate from. I kept my road map close to hand though.

We carried on in the usual way- me sometimes leading, but more often Norman haring on ahead and waiting for me to catch up. I reckon that left to his own devices Norman would probably be in Carlisle by now. John was waiting for us in a layby outside Honiton, We marked our spot with a small piece of wood and drove down to Exmouth to stay with Bill and Diana.

DIVER'S LOG - DAY TWO

SPOT THE AMATEUR



INTO DEVON



THE GRANITE WAY AQUEDUCT



PADSTOWE: DISABLED PAY FULL FEE!!!




New Boscastle YHA rebuilt after floods

Perranporth to Boscastle


After my day wearing the T-shirt, and cycling shorts, I discovered I was suffering from the Scottish Sunburn Problem. You’ll see us all on the second day of our holiday looking like Neapolitan ice-creams. Not a lot of demand genetically in Caithness for resistance to this. So today it was longsleeve shirts and jeans. Every inch covered up- Muslim style sunbathing?

Getting out of Perranporth was by the steep hill was tricky for someone already rather stiff from yesterday. The weather was rather windier, but still very pleasant, and indeed warmer than yesterday.

Norman has worked out how to get his direction finder worker visible, but it only works for short periods. We have to slow down or even stop at junctions so that it can make its mind up.

The scenery was beautiful- the route took us via a series of small lanes, and we were at probably the best time of year for flowers in the verges- all a riot of every type of wild flower you could imagine, Bluebells, buttercups, those pink things, Whin, Broom. In the shadier bits, it tended to smell like a Spanish restaurant as we passed ranks of wild garlic.

Yesterday I’d reckoned that it was pretty hilly, but not as extreme as the area I was practising in (potential Cornish Tourist Office slogan- Not quite as hilly as North Hertfordshire). Today was quite a bit steeper, and I think that it is Quite as Hilly as North Hertfordshire.

Most of the bits we went through were delightful little historic villages. The one blot was Padstowe, which really is awful!

Eventually we arrived in Boscastle after what seemed to be a lot of climbing, all dissipated in one
mad helter skelter descent into Boscastle. What a delightful little town.

John is still wearing the T-shirts, which keep up our profile wherever we go. He’s just come back from a week’s sailing in Greece, and looks like a year-round tan.

Today was quite hard work, but Norman patiently went at my pace. I really am beginning to wonder about my bike. Covering up seemed to work OK for the sunburn, except for my hands, and I have to admit I missed the padding in the cycling shorts. On the other hand, Norman was complaining, and he is wearing padded cycling shorts.


Boscastle to Okehampton

Today left me in a bit of a quandary as far as what to wear- jeans (to keep off the sun), or padded shorts (well, you know). I compromised by wearing both. Am I going to be hot?

Norman’s machine seemed to have got a bit tired after its efforts yesterday and kept on stopping. We had to keep stopping to ask the very helpful locals the way every 5 miles. I could see that this is going to make it take a very long time. When he wasn’t looking, I sneaked into a garage and bought a map.

I was rather apprehensive about today, as I reckoned that Day 3 was probably going to be our worst day. However it went much easier

We got to about 10 miles from our destination, and I was feeling pretty well exhausted. John was there which was great. Perhaps John could put the bikes on the back of the car, and carry us all there. Well, said Norman, if you do this, you’ll have to come back and do it tomorrow. Oh all right then. The last few miles were actually quite pleasant.

Norman feeling even more uncomfortable.