26 September - Thurso to John O'Groats

21.7 miles Thurso to John O'Groats (NCN 1)

£7 third of campsite fee in Thurso
£17 lunch and drinks for three at the John O'Groats visitor centre cafe

When I woke at 06:30 and pulled a curtain in the campervan aside, it looked like there was a thick sea mist. I was disappointed as I'd wanted a good morning view of Orkney. When I could wait no longer, I left the van to go to the loo and saw an amazing sunrise. What I had thought was sea mist was, in fact, condensation on the inside of the van windows. I ran to the toilet block so that I could get back to the van for a photo before the light went. I nearly garrotted myself in the process as the campsite had washing lines set up across the grass in front of the toilet block; I ducked my head only just in time.

I got away from the campsite at 08:30, just as a flat-bed recovery lorry arrived to rescue the large motor home from the mud. Vaughan and Liz were settling themselves down for a ringside view of the operation as they dried their tent and had a cuppa in their pyjamas.

The morning was very cold but bright so I had all my cycling clothing on as I cycled through Thurso on my final leg of the journey through the UK. Once I'd climbed the hill out of Thurso, passing kids on their BMX bikes going to school, the roads became long straight stretches of single track with clear views of Orkney. I'd decided I would cycle my final day totally on the Sustrans route even though I could have taken a more direct route to John O'Groats by following the A road I'd been on the previous evening. I didn't want to ruin my memories of my trip by finishing with a busy or cyclist-unfriendly road, though to be honest the roads this far north in Scotland never seemed to be busy and almost all the drivers were very respectful of cyclists.

I was heading pretty much due east all morning. After the previous day's easterly wind I'd been worried that the final leg would be battling against the wind, but I was pleasantly surprised to find the air was still. With the bright sunshine and still air I was soon sweating heavily in all my layers and waterproofs, so had to stop to take some layers off whilst admiring the views out to the Shetland Isles.

The bays around Castletown were stunning, with wide beaches of white sand and views across to Dunnet Head, the most northern part of mainland Scotland. I stopped to take lots of photos as reminders that a trip this far north would be worth repeating in the future.

As I came into the final couple of miles I saw a lone cyclist ahead of me. I hadn't seen him on the long straight stretches of minor roads I'd been on, so guessed he must have been on the main road and our routes had joined when the Sustrans route joined the A836 just after Canisbay. I called "good morning" as I overtook him and he jumped. I apologised for frightening him. I know how you can get caught up in your own thoughts as you silently cycle along a quiet road alone. I called back to him "are you finishing the End to End?" And when he said yes, also told me he'd done it in 22 days. I congratulated him, saying that was impressive.

When I arrived at John O'Groats I saw the campervan in the car park, so cycled around looking for Vaughan and Liz. I found them, sat on a wall by the famous finger post, with a bottle of Cava and three glasses. Vaughan wanted to video me arriving so I cycled off again around the corner so I could appear whilst he had his iPad filming, then cycled right up to the sign until the gravel became too thick and I thought it best to stop rather than insist on cycling right up to the sign and finish the trip with a recorded tumble from the bike.

As we did the customary photos and champagne drinking, we got chatting to two motorcyclists who were going to ride John O'Groats to Land's End non-stop in 24 hours the following day. Personally I think they're mad, but each to their own.

The guy I'd previously overtaken also appeared whilst we were stood at the sign. As solo LEJOGers I felt we had something in common, and he didn't have anyone there to welcome him in or take a photo, so I asked him if he'd like us to take his photo. He (Gary) had wanted to do LEJOG for 40 years, and was feeling very emotional at having now achieved it. He'd ridden the whole way wearing Converse All Stars as his footwear; I can only begin to imagine how uncomfortable that must have been, especially as he'd hit some of the cold and wet conditions I'd been riding through. He also said "never again" and that he'd almost given up after the first day's ride to Truro as the roads and traffic were so awful. He'd done it the 'usual' way on main roads, and I explained that I'd used the Sustrans routes with quiet county lanes and whilst that had significantly increased my mileage and time taken, I was pleased as almost all of it had been thoroughly enjoyable. Gary lives in the South of France, so maybe he's not used to cycling on Britain's roads. Mind you, even if you are, I wouldn't imagine 900 miles of main roads would be pleasant.

Another lone cyclist arrived at the signpost as Vaughan, Liz and I finished our lunch in the visitor centre cafe. He was taking a photo of his green bike against the signpost and Liz said it looked sad that he had to do that. I said I'd been doing similar all month, but it did seem a shame for the final photo of his trip, so I ran out and pushed my bike up to him (to show I was a fellow LEJOGer, though I'm not sure why, since it was pretty obvious from how I was dressed). As I got closer I saw that his bike was a Roberts so we got chatting; Vaughan sighed and said he'd go and get the van sorted whilst we continued to swap notes. After admiring each other's bikes, he said this was his second stab at LEJOG, having stopped after 800 miles in June as the head winds had made it impossible to finish in the time he'd given himself. I admire him for coming back and finishing the job off. I'm not sure I'll be that determined to go back to Kinross and cycle to Dundee for the 36 miles I missed.

I now type this from the back of the campervan as Vaughan drives us down to Perth for an overnight stay. I've had the bed down and slept for 3 hours, had a freshen up with baby wipes and changed out of my rather ripe cycling clothes. We're listening to a Scottish compilation that Liz has put together on her iPhone and singing along as we leave the Cairngorms behind us. I enjoyed The Proclaimers, but perhaps 'Donald Where's Your Trousers' is an acquired taste.

Would I do it all again? Yes, in a flash.

Would I use the Sustrans routes and make my route as long (1,414 miles)? Absolutely as the only stressful parts of the ride tended to be when I had to join main roads or cross cities.

Would I take as long? I'd probably want to take even longer, as I still didn't have time for sightseeing or have many rest days. I'm not sure I could cycle any faster on a laden touring bike, and after 50 miles I began to be ready to stop for the day too, so if I could do it with an average of about 30 miles a day I think that would be perfect.

Would I do it solo again? Yes, for sure. I loved the solitude, the flexibility, and the silence. Also the lack of need for compromise. I'm a control freak.

Would I have a support crew all the way? Probably not. I've now got all the gear to be self supporting, and I'm a bit disappointed with myself for jettisoning the tent, cooker, sleeping bag and mat after the first week. Carrying everything does make the bike heavy and slow but if I scheduled shorter days with less mileage to cover I'd feel happier about plodding along with my load and giving myself time to sort out the tent in the evenings and mornings. Whilst it was lovely to have Vaughan and Liz there for the final fortnight and it was fun to experience the variety of campsites, hotels, and pubs together, it also meant I spoke to less people in the evenings, drank more alcohol, and spent more money on meals and accommodation. If I'd been on my own I'd have stuck to Youth Hostels and campsites with occasional forays into cyclist friendly B&Bs.

Would I encourage other women 'of a certain age' to do something similar? Yes. Spend a year getting your fitness to a suitable level first, do it in a country you feel safe in, and trust that your knowledge of the culture and environment will keep you out of trouble. Don't take unnecessary risks and make sure someone always knows where you are and you check in every night to say you're safe.

Do I have lots of wonderful memories and stories to bore my friends and family with? Of course I do.

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25 September - Crask Inn to Thurso

66.8 miles Crask Inn to Thurso (NCN1 Crask Inn to Reay via Tongue, then A836 to Thurso)

£40 dinner, bed, and breakfast plus bar drinks at The Crask Inn bunkhouse and pub, Crask Inn
£14.25 for beef burger and pot of tea plus four postcards at The Tongue Hotel, Tongue

It was clear that the only staff at the Crask Inn were the slightly eccentric couple who ran it. They both look more like farmers than B&B owners. That's because they are farmers, and run the pub, B&B, and bunkhouse alongside the farm. It was therefore unusual but understandable to notice the ingrained black stains around the man's fingers when he brought us our breakfast, the large blue pen stain on his shirt (the shirt was clean, I'm sure he just has the sensible logic that the shirt still does the job of covering his nakedness, so why stop wearing it just because something dark blue got spilt down the front), and the woman's haircut that truly did look as if her husband had cut it using a pudding bowl and set of sheep shearing implements.

I hadn't seen these things over dinner the night before. This was probably because I was tired from being on the bike all day, plus the effect of the two pints of organic Black Isle ale that they sell in the bar alongside 45 different malt whiskies. I also hadn't noticed the colour of the drinking water that they brought out in jugs for the tables. It was brown. As the houses are so very remote, they must have to have their own water supply (they have their own generator for electricity) so it's probably drawn from a well or spring and the ground is peat around there. The water tastes fine, it's just an unexpected colour.

We'd been given one specific time for dinner the night before, with no choice. Therefore all 16 of us had been in the front room of the house (the bar) together and moved through to the back room (the dining room) when a small bell had been rung. Breakfast was staggered though, as I imagine the couple find it easier to cook that number of hot breakfasts in small batches rather than all at once. When I'd asked about breakfast before leaving the dining room for our bunkhouse / cottage, I was told I could choose any time I liked except 7am as the group of 5 cyclists plus their support van driver had chosen that time. I asked for 7:30. Unlike the other cyclists, I wasn't pushing on for the final 80 miles to John O'Groats in one ride, but I still had a fair way to go and had seen the elevation maps for the second part of the day once I hit the coast, so knew it was going to be a tough ride getting to Thurso.

When we arrived in the dining room to join the group of six already there the man told us that he had a pot of porridge on the go if we wanted to start with that. I was interested to see what their porridge was like as a Scottish friend of mine makes her porridge totally differently to me; much thicker, with water rather than milk, and she adds cold milk once it's in the bowl so that it sits like a small island of porridge in a sea of milk. Vaughan and Liz joined me in accepting the offer of porridge as their breakfast was going to be quite small compared to mine since they're vegetarian.

I'd never seen such thin porridge. It looked more like wallpaper paste waiting to thicken up than a breakfast food. As the man put it down in front of us he complimented us on having it, saying it's good cycling food, and that the other cyclists had skipped the porridge. Perhaps they'd stayed at the Crask Inn before and knew what to expect. Having not chosen porridge at any of the other Scottish hotels we'd stayed in though, this might be the usual way it's made and my friend actually makes it too thick.

Apart from the consistency of the porridge, this was one of the best breakfasts I'd had all month. The yolks of the eggs were bright yellow, having come straight from the hens in the garden, and the black pudding seemed to be home made (and the most delicious I'd ever tasted). It was exactly the right amount whereas other cooked breakfasts had been too big but I'd forced them down to get as much protein as possible then felt uncomfortable on the bike for the first 30 minutes.

As we ate our breakfasts we watched the other cyclists leaving the house (they had stayed in the Inn itself) and gathering outside ready for their final day's cycle. Vaughan always complained about the time I took to faff about getting ready in the morning, but these cyclists took it to a new art form. They clearly didn't trust the brown drinking water so filled their bottles from a large container of water in the back of their mini van, spent time wondering how many layers of clothing to wear so opened their suitcases, trying on layers, then putting some back and swapping them for other choices, and putting their shoes on. Two of the group had emerged from the inn pretty much ready so stood in the cold wind whilst waiting for their companions to get ready. I don't understand why they didn't wait inside until everyone was ready to go. This group had been cycling together for 2 weeks now, so you'd have thought they'd have got to know who is ready first, who faffs a lot, and who always remembers something they'd left in their bedroom at the very last minute just as everyone's clipped in and ready to leave. Eventually they all straddled their bikes, stood staring at their handlebars as they waited for their computers to start and locate them, then set off with the blue mini van following them. I told Vaughan to remember this scene as it made me look like a well oiled machine in the mornings. I also said that I'd witnessed one of the many reasons I was pleased I was doing this trip as a solo cyclist with no-one else to delay me, slow me down, or put pressure on me to cycle faster or keep riding past a wonderful photo location.

Liz and I walked back to our cottage after breakfast, leaving Vaughan to settle the bill with cash as the couple don't take cards. Liz and I agreed that this was an incredible place to stay and we'd have happily stayed on for a week, despite the leaking showers, kitchen with mismatched units that were falling apart, and table lamps with no bulbs. I really didn't want to leave so spent a long time doing my final bits of preparation (in the warmth of the cottage). It was a bitterly cold morning with a brisk easterly wind and I boiled a kettle on the gas stove to fill a small flask and one of my water bottles. I also packed lots of energy /carb/protein bars in the expectation that I wouldn't find anywhere with food until I hit the coast, and made sure I had the survival bag that Vaughan had got for me as well as first aid kit and spare gloves and socks. I wore every layer of clothing I had as this was the last place in the UK that I wanted to start getting hyperthermia.

I reluctantly pushed the Roberts out of the cottage at 09:30. I'd put it in the third bedroom as it was free, despite having the barn where the other bikes had been stored alongside hay bales and farming equipment.

This was the best morning's cycling. The A836, Sustrans National Cycling route 1, continued to be a single track road with passing places. Traffic was extremely light and consisted of land rovers, tourist cars, and motorhomes. You could see and hear anything coming for at least a mile as the road was fairly flat and straight. In general I was given plenty of room or the vehicle drove slowly behind me until I could pull over into a passing place to give the vehicle space to overtake, at which point the driver would wave me a thank you. Vehicles coming in the opposite direction would wait in a passing pace until I reached them. The only exception to this was a couple of motor homes coming in the opposite direction who neither slowed down nor moved over, forcing me onto the rough gravel at the side of the Tarmac. I cursed them as they passed, thinking that they were either driving a hired vehicle so didn't know how wide it was and were worried about driving it slightly on the rough gravel at their side of the road, in a hurry to get somewhere so didn't have time to pull into a passing pace and wait for me, were not cyclists themselves, or perhaps all three.

I'd left the logging activities behind me so there we no longer the large expanses of greying tree stumps and shattered wood littering the heathland and I could no longer hear the sounds of machinery as it ripped the trees out and stripped the trunks of branches. The logging lorries had also stopped using this road, taking their hauls south instead to the larger roads more suitable for them.

Mountains rose up around me and I rode alongside the shores of tranquil lochs. It was silent apart from my breathing, the chain shifting across when I changed gears, or the occasional screech of a bird of prey. Ben Loyal rose in majestic glory ahead of me, then beside me. Loch Loyal was alongside the road for more than five miles. Occasionally a whitewashed house would appear in the distance but in the main this was a landscape with no sign of humans. For several hours I rode in total bliss, not quite believing how lucky I was to be able to cycle in such glorious countryside.

As I was passing Loch Loyal lodge I heard the sound of a fighter jet plane. The night before, Vaughan had chatted to the Crask Inn owner about a photo of a Typhoon fighter jet that was in the gent's toilet of the bar. The RAF use the Highlands to practice their low flying, annoying fisherman and walkers, and one the pilots had stayed in the Inn whilst having a walking break and donated the photo. I hadn't seen or heard a jet plane since I'd left the North West of England though, so was interested to hear one now.

The sound got louder very quickly and I looked up to see a sleek black plane flying down along the Loch, extremely close to the water, and headed straight for me. As it passed the sound was incredible and I hunched my shoulders in an effort to block my ears as I couldn't put my hands over them. I screamed, more with delight than anything else. I know, having chatted to Vaughan and Liz, that the pilot was almost certainly having some fun 'buzzing' me but at the time it felt like he was flying in to say hello and acknowledge that I'd nearly completed my journey across the UK. Once the plane had disappeared and silence had returned I started crying. The shock had stirred my emotions and brought to the surface how happy I was, pleased to be alive and able to take a month to just cycle alone, and grateful for all the support I was getting from friends and family. Tears streamed down my face as I continued to pedal along and look around me.

Just before I got to Tongue and the coast, I saw a large bird of prey sitting on a fence post ahead of me. There are eagles in this part of Scotland and I was keen to establish whether this was indeed one of them, or just another raptor like the many I'd seen. It kept flying ahead of me then settling on another post just too far away for me to get a good look at its beak or feathers. It looked larger than anything else I'd seen, but I'll never know what it was as I didn't stop to look at it through binoculars and identify it from a book of birds; I wasn't carrying either with me, and needed to keep cycling anyway. Just as the 'eagle' flew off for the final time I heard a large rustling in the grass to the left of the road. I was used to hearing small rustles as birds or small mammals were startled by my passing, and I'd seen field mice, stoats, rabbits, and pheasants running along and across the road in front of me many times. This was a bigger sound though so I turned to look and just caught the sight of two deer leaping away from the road towards the cover of trees. Again, I can't tell you what kind of deer they were, but I was pleased to have seen some as I'd been passing road signs warning of deer on the road for about 40 miles. It was one of the less unusual road signs of the trip. I'd been warned about red squirrels in the Lake District (and seen two at close quarters), and frogs somewhere else. I'd almost grown oblivious to the signs about cattle and sheep.

I'd arranged to meet Vaughan and Liz with the van at Tongue, where the A836 turns east to follow the coast along to Thurso. We'd all thought I would need to have lunch in the van due to the absence of pubs and cafes, but Vaughan sent me a text saying Tongue had a hotel that served food all day so they would push on to Thurso to find a campsite and get the van and tent ready for me arriving.

I found the Tongue Hotel easily, following the signs for the village just off my route 1 road. It was a lot posher then I usually stopped at for lunch, with full traditional Scottish decor and wood panelled lounge, but the receptionist didn't seem at all phased by me walking in clad in cycling gear and asking of there was a table for one for lunch in their restaurant. They probably get lots of End to End cyclists coming in and there's only the one road north between Bonar Bridge and Tongue, and they seemed to be the only place to sit down and eat in Tongue.

I sat looking at the views across the mouth of the Kinloch River and the distinctive curved causeway as I waited for my beef burger, drank my tea, and wrote some postcards.

The afternoon's riding was very different to the morning's. I was facing into the easterly wind so the going was harder. Route 1 stays on the A836 but the road was single carriageway in the main rather than single track, and whilst it never got busy there was noticeably more traffic. I was hugging the most northerly coast of mainland Scotland so I looked out to sea on my left and passed lots of abandoned crofter cottages from The Clearances. The biggest difference was the gradients, however. Whilst having my lunch I'd checked the map for the afternoon and saw lots of double chevrons on my route, indicating very steep hills. In its own way this was a wonderful afternoon's riding, with stunning views of sandy coves and Orkney gradually appearing on the horizon, but it was very hard work and I consumed several energy bars to keep me going.

As the light turned golden behind me, the cliffs of Orkney lit up with a pink glow, and the lengthening shadows became cold on my arms and legs, I passed my final county boundary sign, announcing I was entering Caithness I stopped for a photograph and phoned Vaughan to say how I was doing and get directions to our final campsite. It didn't sound nice. Thurso only has one campsite, so we didn't have a choice, and it was on the main road opposite a Lidl supermarket. The ground was very wet so Vaughan had had to be careful not to get the van stuck in the mud, and he an Liz had taken a look around Thurso and announced it once of the bleakest and unattractive towns they'd seen, with people who looked like a lot of inbreeding took place. Dounreay Nuclear Power Station is right next to Thurso, so this might also explain some of the distinctive physical features of the townsfolk.

I put the lights on my bike and rode on into the gathering darkness, not really wanting the day to end as the cycling had been wonderful and the night's accommodation didn't sound inviting. I abandoned the Sustrans route at Reay, where it left the A836 to take a more rural route to Thurso, and stayed on the main road to get me in more quickly in the cold and the dark.

I'm glad I did. I phoned in at 7:30pm and Vaughan said he and Liz were at the Weigh Inn on the road in to Thurso, just along from the campsite. They stopped serving food at 8pm but if I wanted to come in there rather than go to the campsite first for a shower then eat late, they'd wait for me. I arrived at 2 minutes to 8, devoured a double portion of fish and chips that Vaughan had ordered in ready for me, then left the soulless pub (the only one in Thurso) to push my bike to the campsite whilst chatting to Liz and Vaughan about our days.

We arrived at the campsite to find a large hired motor home getting more and more embedded in the mud as the driver kept revving the engine and spinning the wheels. We could also see the lights of Thurso down the hill and the dark shadow of Orkney on the horizon. If you kept looking away from the main road this was a stunning campsite on the cliff top with uninterrupted views out to sea. If you turned around, you saw the blue and yellow neon of the Lidl sign and the harsh glare of the street lights on the main road. I went to sleep smiling at the variety of places I'd stayed in the previous 24 nights.

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24 September - Inverness to Crask Inn

65.4 miles Inverness to Crask Inn (NCN 1)

£227.95 two double rooms plus bar drinks at Glenmoriston Townhouse Hotel, Inverness
£2.90 hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream, Caffe Savini, Dingwall High Street
£0.45 postcard from Dingwall Post Office
£9.00 lentil & cheese wedge with salad and pot of tea, Caley Cafe, Bonar Bridge
£36 carb, protein, and electrolyte drink powders and bars from Inverness running shop

I woke with a slight headache again in the morning, despite not having had alcohol for four days. I hadn't slept very well so wondered whether the headaches were related more to that than anything else. Despite the headache however, I managed to find my way straight out of city without getting lost. On my previous form, that was a minor miracle.

I thought that perhaps the headaches could be related to my nutrition, or rather my somewhat erratic approach to nutrition whilst on a long distance cycle ride. The energy, carb, and protein bars and drink powders that I'd bought in Inverkeithing had certainly helped me to keep going all day. As Inverness was the last big town we'd be going through, and I wasn't sure how many cafes I would pass for meals in the Highlands, I asked Vaughan to get me stocked up before he and Liz drove out of the city.

I rode over the Kessock Bridge to the Black Isle. The bridge wasn't as high or long as the Forth Bridge, but as the cycle path was right at the edge of the bridge I still had to keep focused on the path ahead and the horizon in order to avoid getting freaked out.

I'd heard lots about the Black Isle as I'd travelled up through Scotland, and there is a choice of two Sustrans route 1 ways across the Isle. Despite the version of the route that takes you across to Cromarty for the ferry across the Cromarty Firth looking more interesting and adventurous, I opted for the more direct route running alongside the A9 and A835 to Dingwall. When I had worked out how many miles I needed to cover each day in order to reach John O'Groats by the 26th September, I realised that some days would require the less scenic options or abandoning the Sustrans route for more direct main roads for short sections.

My choice of route meant that I didn't get to see the spectacular scenery that I'd heard about, just mile after mile of arable fields and farming towns. I also started to notice lots of articulated logging lorries on the roads, carrying logs or empty, with a big crane on the back ready for loading up again. They were big vehicles to have passing you on a bike, but they were all very considerate and gave me lots of room when overtaking me.

I paused in Dingwall for a hot drink and toilet stop. As I stopped at some traffic lights I saw a cafe with outside seating so decided to go there. The Roberts joined five other bikes leant against the cafe wall and window; I guessed this must be a popular cyclists cafe stop as it's right on the Sustrans National Cycle Network route 1. As I walked in I saw the cyclists sat in one group; three women and three men, looking like they were all in couples and riding together. One of the women was in jeans whist the rest were in various forms of cycling or fitness clothes, and they looked quite varied with some in trainers whilst others wore cleats, and about half in lycra bib shorts whilst the others were in tracksuit bottoms. They looked fairly self contained so I didn't say hello or acknowledge them particularly, but just went to the counter and waited for the barista to finish what he was doing and turn to serve me. As I waited, one of the men asked me if I was going far. I replied John O'Groats, and he said they were on their way there too. I didn't feel in the mood for swapping notes of our routes, the weather, and comparisons of pot holes around the UK, so only extended the conversation to establish that we were all staying at Crask Inn that night.

The other cyclists left the cafe before me, walking their bikes down the High Street to their van. Whilst five of them were cycling, it was clear that the woman in jeans was driving their support vehicle.

The scenery continued to be mainly agricultural and unremarkable until Bonar Bridge where I stopped for lunch. There was a choice of pub, cafe, or fast food van. I recognised the five cycles and mini van parked outside the pub and went in there to join the group of cyclists, thinking I might strike up more of a conversation with them this time. I noticed as I went in, however, that the pub stopped serving food at 2pm and I'd arrived in Bonar Bridge at quarter past.

I greeted the group of cyclists as I entered then looked around for someone to serve me; there was no-one behind the bar, no other customers in the pub, but I could hear the sound of money being counted in the adjacent bar so I poked my head around and asked if they were still serving food (assuming the money being counted was the pub's and not for logging activities or anything more sinister). I was told to ask the barman and when I replied that there was no-one behind the bar the money counter bellowed out and a young guy popped his head around a door to the bar. He checked whether they could still do me any food and came back to say they could do me a toastie. He seemed non-plussed when I explained that I couldn't eat bread, so I said I'd go across the road to the cafe instead. The whole set up in the pub was a bit strange, I thought, and the group of cyclists hadn't been very welcoming to me so I figured eating food I didn't want in an atmosphere that was frosty wouldn't make for a nice lunchtime.

Having had a pleasant lunch across the road and watched the group of cyclists set off towards Crask Inn, I continued my journey. I was just about to turn off the A road for a small single track that ran parrallel, when Vaughan and Liz caught up with me in a lay by that I'd stopped in to turn my map over. 100 yards later, and they wouldn't have seen me. I had a painkiller with some water from the van, then we went our separate ways towards Crask Inn. I could have stayed on the main road, but I was getting tired of the logging lorries passing me continually and I craved the quiet empty roads I had become used to on the trip. My route also had a bonus of passing Shin Falls, where I carried the Roberts down some steps so that it could be in photograph of the tumbling water and leaves just beginning to get their autumn shades. The road, views, and headache tablet all restored my energy (along with lunch, no doubt) and I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the afternoon's ride.

Crask Inn itself appears on road maps with that name, as if it is a small village. In actual fact, it's just an Inn and a cottage opposite, which the owners have turned into what they call a bunkhouse. It has to be one of the most remote pubs in the UK, up a very long stretch of single track road at weaves between managed forestry. It's here that all the logs were coming from.

Vaughan and Liz had managed to get us in to the bunkhouse as all the rooms in the pub were full, and even the lawn was full of campers (a group of Irish motorbiking tourers). We expected something like the backpackers hostel we'd stayed in in Dundee, but discovered we had the cottage all to ourselves. There were three bedrooms, two showers, a kitchen, and fair sized living room with coal burning stove and plentiful supply of fuel. We all agreed this was the best place we'd stayed in so far all trip. it cost us £31.50 each for dinner, bed and breakfast.

Vaughan lit a fire in the stove whilst I had a shower. Liz had been warned by the owners that the showers leaked, but not to worry about it. This was an understatement, as a small lake formed in the shower room, escaping out towards the kitchen. The water was hot, eventually (the plumbing must have been ancient) so I was happy paddling about in my flip flops after freshening up, then sitting in front of the roaring fire with a cup of tea before we walked across the road to the pub for dinner.

All the customers in the pub were guests at the Crask Inn; there are no locals as there's no village or even house for miles around, just open heathland and hills. We looked at the hand-written menu which got passed around the bar between us (another pleasant surprise as we hadn't expected any choice in such a place, and they'd gone to some trouble to care for Vaughan and Liz as vegetarians and myself as gluten free), then walked through to a simple dining room at the back.

Having feasted on a three course dinner and couple of Black Isle ales, we wandered back to the cottage in the pitch black. Vaughan stoked up the fire then appeared with a birthday cake and candles that had been travelling around with us since my birthday. What a special evening, that I know I'll remember forever.

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23 September - Buckie to Inverness

69.9 miles Buckie to Inverness (NCN 1 Buckie to Nairn then A69 to Inverness)

£15.00 third of night's fee at Findochty caravan park at Portessie (near Buckie)
£9.30 baked potato with tuna mayonnaise and banana milkshake, Chimes cafe, Forres

I got off to a nice early start after a good night's sleep in the campervan, despite waking up being bitten by midges and having to get up to put insect repellent on. I'd heard about the Scottish midges, and knew we were at the end of their season, but had been lucky enough to avoid them up to now. I packed the insect repellent in my handlebar bag that morning in case I started to be plagued by them whilst riding.

The Monday morning rush hour was non existent in the small villages I passed though on my way to picking up route 1 again. The roads were empty, despite being the main A roads along the coast, and the villages almost felt deserted as I passed through.

I was a bit disappointed with the terrain I was cycling through. Friends had told me how spectacular Scotland was for cycling, yet I found myself in rather dull landscapes that could have been anywhere in the UK. I passed field upon field with hay bales in various stages of getting organised for putting on a trailer (single where they fell off the combine harvester / paired up / in lines / all together at the edge of the field).

Elgin Cathedral, however, was wonderful. I took a short detour in the town to see it and artfully arrange the Roberts in front of the main facade. I wasn't staying long enough to pay for entrance, so just stood in front of the iron railings and attempted to get good angles of the ruined building.

Killross Abbey was also stunning. I got quite carried away there with the photographs, lying on the grass to get unusual shots and imagining the Roberts as a fashion model with moody backdrops. I was definitely developing a strange relationship with my bike.

I stopped for lunch in Forres after admiring the views across Findhorn Bay. There were a few cafes in town, so I plumped for the one that advertised gluten free cakes as I figured that would mean they might have other gluten free dishes on offer. As I sat down and joined two quiet, middle class couples of ladies having lunch, a group of four men came in. I think I'm safe in saying they ruined lunch for all of us as they were rude to the waitresses, kept boasting about how much they'd drank the night before, and loudly ordered amazing amounts of toast and Irn Bru to accompany their all day breakfasts.

As I left the cafe, attempting to keep as low a profile as I could so as not to attract the attention of the group of men, there was a film crew filming opposite the cafe. I think my Roberts, locked to a drainpipe on the corner, may appear in some low budget, straight to video film coming to Filmflix soon. The group of men emerged from the cafe as I was unlocking my bike, and proceeded to shout insults at the film crew and actors. I rode off quickly to avoid getting involved in any altercation as the film crew attempted to move the group on, or at least quieten them down so they could continue their filming.

When I'd looked at the Sustrans map that morning I saw that the route between Nairn and Inverness was a lot longer than the A69 route. As the roads seemed to be quiet up here, I'd decided to take the A69 on the final part of the day's ride and get in to Inverness in good time. Also, I'd begun to get tired of looking at hay bales and pulling to the side to let tractors pass so fancied the variety of regular cars, trucks, and busses. As planned, I got to Inverness before 6pm and actually managed to find the hotel quite easily, considering it was city centre and Vaughan had just given me the address and told me it was near the castle. I had booked this hotel, the Glenmoriston Townhouse Hotel, for the three of us as my birthday treat before I'd impulsively decided to stay in the Maryculter country house hotel a couple of days before. It was right on the bank of the River Ness, great for getting into town, and had all the mod cons we did without whilst camping (like beds, doors, and complimentary toiletries).

I'd had enough of going out in search if dinner, so managed to persuade Vaughan and Liz to eat in the hotel restaurant. It didn't take much persuading, it's true. We splashed out and had cocktails as well as three courses. I stuck to non-alcoholic cocktails as I was still convinced that the whisky in Johnshaven had given me a headache.

Unfortunately, my room was ground floor and with a fire escape door instead of window, so my room was too hot and airless for me to get a good night's sleep, despite going to sleep sober and having ridden a fair few miles.

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22 September - Maryculter to Buckie

73.3 miles Maryculter to Buckie (B roads from Maryculter to Turriff via Inverurie thenNCN 1 Turriff to Buckie)

£133.60 for B&B in Maryculter House hotel plus room service lunch, dinner, and drinks
£5.60 for sandwich, smoothie, pear, and kiwi fruit from Co-op shop, Kintore
£4.45 for peach crumble with custard and banana milkshake, The Square cafe, Turriff

There had been a misunderstanding about breakfast times; I had set my alarm in order to make sure I was down for breakfast at 7am, only to find no-one there serving. After ringing for the night porter, I was informed that only self service continental breakfast was at seven, whereas full cooked breakfast started at eight on a Sunday. Not a good start to my birthday, as I didn't want to cycle on just a continental breakfast. I knew I had a lot of miles to cover.

Re-appearing at eight, Vaughan and Liz joined me, wishing me a happy birthday and agreeing that I needed a good breakfast to set me up for the day, even though it meant setting off later than I wanted.

The weather was warm and sunny. The layers I had on for starting the ride were soon shed and put in the pannier. I'd started carrying one pannier again as we were all beginning to get nervous of the more remote conditions and Vaughan had bought me a survival bag to carry along with my first aid kit, tool kit, and spares. I'd also taken to carrying more food again and all my wet weather gear, even if the forecast was good.

I started the ride with the remains of the headache I'd had since the whisky in Johnshaven. I hadn't drunk any alcohol the night before and had had quite a good night's sleep, so I wasn't sure why the headache hadn't shifted. Liz thought it was something other than he whisky, and had looked online for side effects of the protein and energy bars I'd started eating; apparently they can give some people headaches.

I didn't start the day on a Sustrans route. We'd not stayed in Aberdeen as both Vaughan and I had stayed there a lot on business and wanted to avoid both staying in it and having to travel through it. Since the Sustrans National Cycle Route route 1 takes you through Aberdeen, I'd chosen other quiet roads to skirt around via Maryculter. It was a Sunday morning, so even the A roads were quiet and all the traffic was giving me a wide berth when passing.

The landscape around here is heavily agricultural. I'd seen more hay bales than ever before in my life, and had been overtaken by a wide range of agricultural machinery being towed by tractors. I'd ridden alongside combine harvesters getting the wheat in, balers putting hay into neat dumpy cyclinder shapes, and pronged contraptions picking up the bales to put them on trailers. I'd also seen potatoes being picked, sorted, and transported.

By the time I got to Kintore I was ready for a break. The public conveniences were locked (something I was beginning to get used to), and the alternative public loo that was signed, in a pub, was unavailable as it was before 11am and Scotland has stricter Sunday opening hours than England. I had become adept at finding suitable open air places to relieve myself, but the lack of open cafes perturbed me as I really wanted to get off the saddle and have a short break with some food and drink that wasn't an energy bar or electrolyte drink.

The Co-op food shop in Kintore was open, so I bought a trio pack of sandwiches (I should avoid the bread, but needs must), carton of strawberry and banana smoothie, pack of reduced kiwi fruit, and a pear. For some reason, I really fancied some fruit. I decided I would find somewhere nice to sit in the sun and eat my picnic.

It didn't take long for me to find the perfect place. The River Don runs through Kintore, and just on the edge of the town there were lush green riverbanks. I sat in the sun, remembering my 30th birthday twenty years before, when I'd sat on a riverbank having a picnic near Aberdeen. Strange how some things come around again.

Refreshed (and relieved), I set off again. There was a stiff westerly wind blowing and even though the wind was unusually warm, and the sun was pleasant, the wind made riding laborious as it was either a cross wind or head wind all day. By the time I got to Turriff I was getting tired and in need of sustenance. I found a restaurant with outdoor seating that was serving Sunday roasts so I treated myself. The waitress was a keen cyclist and we chatted about the Scottish winds, my route, and my reasons for doing the trip.

By the time I got to Banff, a really pretty seaside town which I'd have liked to have spent some time in, it was beginning to get late so I abandoned the Sustrans route 1 again to take the more direct A and B roads along the coast, straight into the wind. Vaughan called to say he'd booked us a table at the nearest pub to our campsite for 8pm. I knew he'd done this as a birthday treat for me, but I also knew I wouldn't get to the campsite in time so I told him to go ahead and I'd meet him there, after I'd had a shower at the campsite.

I met Liz and Vaughan on the final hill to the campsite. It was dark by then, and I could see their two torches in the distance as they walked along towards me. They hugged me, wishing me happy birthday again, and told me where the pub was before we set off in our opposite directions again.

As I turned into the campsite and started looking for the campervan, a man with a dog appeared from the shadow of the toilet block and whistled, then shouted. I wasn't sure who he was, or what he wanted, but had to ride past him to keep looking for the van, so stopped by him, shielding my headlight with my hand so that it wouldn't blind him.

"First things first" he said in a broad Scottish accent, "happy birthday". He then went on to point out where the van was and how I got in to the shower and toilet block (each camper has their own key on a piece of string). I have to say it was the strangest, and most unexpected, birthday greeting I'd ever had.

As I got ready for a shower Vaughan called again. They couldn't get food in the pub, despite having booked a table, as they stopped serving at 8pm and he and Liz had arrived at 8:15. The landlady was going to drive them to Buckie to the Indian Restaurant which was still serving food, and Vaughan wanted to know whether I wanted to come. By this stage I really didn't want to go anywhere, so told him to go ahead and eat without me. I had some sandwiches left in my pannier and an early night appealed more than a wild goose chase around the Scottish countryside for food on a Sunday evening. I could tell Vaughan was disappointed, as he'd wanted to treat me for my birthday, but I said we could celebrate in Inverness the following night.

Sat on my own in the campervan, chewing on a squashed chicken sandwich and supping on a cup of tea, I reflected on my 50th birthday. Unusual, certainly. Not entirely enjoyable as the cross winds had deeply frustrated me at times. Entirely wonderful though, from start to finish.

I never heard Vaughan and Liz return from their meal as I was fast asleep by 9:30.

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21 September - St Cyrus to Maryculter (near Aberdeen)

29.1 miles St. Cyrus to Maryculter (NCN1)

£9 for Miltonhaven campsite
£3.95 for Scotch pancake, pot of tea, and 'tablet' of fudge from Waterfront cafe, Stonehaven

As I was getting ready in the morning, Vaughan and Liz put their wetsuits on and walked across the beach for a swim in the sea. The tide was out and it looked romantic as they walked hand in hand across the sun kissed sand. When they returned however, they said it was quicksand and every time they stopped moving they started to feel their feet getting sucked down. Not so romantic after all.

It was a bit of a wrench leaving the campsite as it was such an idyllic setting and the weather was dry with little wind, but I knew I couldn't afford another rest day if I was to get to O'Groats in time for Vaughan and Liz needing to drive back to Bristol. I'd woken up with a headache, from the whisky I assumed, and I wasn't looking forward to the effect physical exertion would have on that. I also knew my day's ride started with a stiff climb up onto the main road, so I was putting that off.

I'd decided to start the day on the main road rather than the Sustrans off road track as it was a Saturday morning and therefore the traffic would be light. I'd noticed how much the off-road sections slowed me down so wanted to start trying a combination of Sustrans routes with light traffic roads to see if it made my days shorter and speeds faster. I wasn't convinced I'd finish the whole LEJOG ride if I insisted on sticking to the Sustrans routes at all times.

At Inverbervie I passed four guys on mountain bikes who were stocking up at the local shop and I shouted out hello. My weekend rides were always different to the weekdays as I saw more cyclists out and it made me feel more part of a clan than the lone cyclist that I was.

The four guys and I kept leapfrogging each other as we stopped for breaks or to consult maps. We eventually caught up with each other at Dunnotter Castle where we'd all turned off the cycle route to take some photos. They were cycling Edinburgh to Aberdeen, having completed Newcastle to Edinburgh on a previous trip. We compared our thoughts on Sustrans routes and I said I'd mention them in the blog. So, hello to the "four mad Yorkshiremen"!

I got to Maryculter, where we'd decided that night's campsite would be, by lunchtime. I don't think any of us had quite realised what a short day's riding I'd planned for the day. I phoned Vaughan and Liz to find out where the campsite was. They were still at the beach side campsite back in St Cyrus, enjoying pottering around and looking at the view!

I didn't fancy sitting around in my sweaty cycling clothes whilst waiting for them, so said I'd book us in to a B&B. It was my fiftieth birthday tomorrow, so waking up in a proper bed would be a treat. Besides, I was standing in front of a sign advertising 'Lewisville' B&B and it amused me to think that we could stay there as our surname is Lewis.

The Lewisville B&B was full. I did think I was being optimistic about accommodation as it was a Saturday. As I rode away from Lewisville, I passed the entrance to a country house hotel, thought "what the hell" and cycled up the long driveway.

I fully expected a snooty rebuff when I walked in, but the receptionist warmly welcomed me and gave me a room upgrade when I told her I was 50 tomorrow and didn't fancy another night in a campsite. They had a wedding ceremony and function that day, but it was a small party and I was assured it wouldn't ruin our stay. The wedding photographer started to worry when I was asking where to securely lock my bicycle (every part of the hotel was used for photos, it would seem, even the drainpipe behind a large conifer at the side of the entrance), but the manager sorted it all out, telling her that wedding parties now used a new entrance to keep usual hotel guests separate.

As I didn't have any of my non cycling clothes or bits and pieces like iPad, all I could do whilst waiting for Vaughan and Liz to arrive was have room service lunch, soak in the bath, and see what was on the telly whilst luxuriating in the hotel bathrobe. I still had a headache, so an hour or so relaxing was just what I needed. As a special bonus, the live coverage of the day's Tour of Britain racing had just started when I settled down so I watched that in between snoozing and drinking as many cups of tea and glasses of water as I could get inside me.

We all got dressed up for dinner in the hotel restaurant that night. The hotel was traditional Scottish, with suits of armour in the grand hall of the residents lounge, stags heads on the wall of reception, and tartan cushions and curtains everywhere. We were a bit overdressed for dinner, compared to the other guests, but I was treating it as my birthday dinner so didn't care. I stuck to lime cordial and sparkling water however, as I decided that alcohol and long distance cycling probably aren't a good combination.

Climbing into the enormous bed with crisp bed linen, looking at my birthday cards arranged on the dresser, and wondering how the next 50 years would be different to the last, I drifted off to dream of head winds, high speed cornering technique, and my beautiful pea-green Roberts bicycle.

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20 September - Dundee to St Cyrus (near Montrose)

47.1 miles Dundee to St. Cyrus, near Montrose (NCN 1)
Part One
Part Two

£23.00 night in four-bed private room with en-suite in backpacker hostel, Dundee
£3.28 open smokie, Stuart's fresh fish smokie shop, Arbroath
£17.20 lunch for three, Madison's cafe, Montrose
£5 bike service, Mr Bikes, Montrose
£12.45 dinner and drink, The Anchor Hotel, Johnshaven
£2.10 bus fare from Johnshaven to top of road for Miltonhaven campsite
£26.00 repayment to Vaughan for protein bars and carbohydrate drink powders bought in Dundee

After the soaking I'd got the previous day, I was pleased to wake to a dry and warm day in Dundee. I decided not to go back to Kinross as a 2 hour drive seemed crazy and I would have just put pressure on myself for subsequent days. The 36 miles between Kinross and Dundee would have to remain as a gap in my journey, and a reason to do another End to End trip in the future.

The coastal route was lovely including cycling alongside some big golf resorts. It was clear I was entering golf holiday country now.

I stopped for a smokie in Arbroath (my brother had said it was the thing to do). Whilst stood outside the little kiosk eating my fish with a plastic fork, some guys in motorbike leathers came along, laughing and joking about sending their wives some smoked fish home rather than flowers. They kindly took a photo of me tucking into the smokie and we shared our experiences of the roads in Scotland. They were from Hull but were based in Perth for a few days motor biking holiday.

I'd noticed that my gears needed adjusting as the chain was starting to rub against the front derailleur in certain gears. Considering the miles I'd done on the Roberts, and the terrain and weather conditions I'd subjected it to, I was surprised this was all that needed attention. Montrose looked like a fair size town so I decided I'd see if I could find a bike shop there to take a look.

When I got to Montrose I looked out for someone who looked like a local cyclist. As I came to a junction and an elderly gent passed me on his bike I called out to him and asked about somewhere to get my bike fixed. He pointed me in the direction of a cobblers who would say if the bike shop next door was open. I thought this sounded like a strange arrangement, but in the absence of any alternative set off to the cobbler shop.

When I asked about the bike shop at the cobblers, there wasn't a hint of surprise or amusement, and I was simply told that the bike shop had moved across town. When it was clear I didn't know my way around Montrose another customer said she'd take me there if I followed her car as she could drive that way home. The Montrose residents were proving to be exceedingly helpful to me.

The mechanic at the Montrose Mr Bikes was delighted to look at my bike and commented on the components and hand finishes. He was about to do it there and then when I said I'd get some lunch and come back. He recommended the cafe Madison's in the main square, so I headed off there, feeling a bit weird to be without my bike but still wearing all the Lycra.

I discovered that Vaughan and Liz had also just arrived in Montrose so I told them where the cafe was and we ate together, looking at the map and discussing that night's campsite which looked to be right on the beach.

When I went to pick up the bike I was expecting to pay between £20 and £30, so was flabbergasted when I was asked for £3! I insisted on giving him £5 knowing this was still an incredible bargain as he'd done a thorough job on the bike in the time available and it was a joy to ride again.

I rode on for the remaining 7 miles to our amazing campsite pitch right next to the beach in a small cove. This was one of the cheapest campsites so far, yet had the most fabulous location. Vaughan had been told by the owner that the nearest place for food was a 2 mile walk around the coast, along the shoreline, so he and Liz went off to investigate how rough the track was whilst I finished setting up camp.

We had a beautiful evening stroll around the shore to Johnshaven and walked through the old fishing village to find The Anchor Hotel. After a lovely meal I decided it would be a good idea to have a malt whisky each to finish off as we had 30 minutes left before our bus to take us back to the campsite track.

The bus dropped us off at the top of the lane down to the campsite and we experimented with using our different torches or using the moonlight to see our way as Vaughan tried to spook Liz and I with ghost stories.

After going to bed, I woke at 1am with a raging headache, so had to hunt around the campervan for the Nurofen. I guessed it was the whiskey as I hadn't had a headache all month, and cursed myself for being greedy and off guard whilst knowing I had to cycle in the morning.


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19 September - Musselbrough to Kinross

42.7 miles Musselburgh to Kinross (NCN 76 into Musselburgh then route 1 through Edinburgh and to Kinross, in theory)

£10 third of campsite fee, Drum Mohr Caravan Park, Musselburgh
£134.45for bike lock, waterproof cycling trousers, knee warmers, and 2 pairs of waterproof gloves from Leith Cycle Company, Edinburgh
£7.80 for soup, parmigiana, and chilli hot chocolate from Gaia Sicilian cafe, Leith, Edinburgh
£56.81 for socks, base layer, protein bars, carb drink powders, and electrolyte tabs from Sandy Wallace Cycles, Inverkeithing
£10.59 for pâté, chilli con carne, and pint of orange juice and lemonade from The Wood Mill bar and restaurant, Dunfermline

I got away at 08:15 despite my reluctance as it was persistently raining. I knew from the forecast that it would rain all day, so I'd put all my waterproof cycling gear on - Sealskinz gloves and socks (with garage forecourt polythene gloves underneath on my hands as an extra lay against the water), neoprene shoe covers, waterproof baseball cap under helmet, and jacket.

I managed to get confused getting out of Musselburgh; I saw the sign for route 76 when I got to the bottom of the track to the campsite and took that instead of following the main road through Musselburgh to pick up the route later. I figured it would be better to avoid rush hour traffic in the rain. I just seemed to go in a very large circle around the town though, ending up almost where I started, and then lost the signs so had to consult my Garmin OS map alongside the Sustrans Castle and Coast North map in order to get myself back on to the route towards Edinburgh. I came in to Edinburgh right alongside Arthur's Seat and, despite having soaked hands and legs by this stage, felt excited at being so close to this iconic lump of rock.

As I started to come into the city proper along cycle paths busy with commuting cyclists, I decided I could afford the time to warm my hands up with a cup of tea even though it was still early in the ride. I stopped by a cafe where I could keep an eye on my bike, then realised I didn't have the bike lock that I usually carried with me. I looked everywhere in a vain attempt to conjure it up. My brother had unlocked my bike for me that morning, and I cursed myself for not double checking everything before setting off. I phoned him just in case he'd 'hidden' the lock somewhere strange, though since I only had the handlebar bag and stuff sack on the back rack, I'm not sure where I imagined he could have put it. In reality I was phoning to let him know I was miserable and a bit fed up with him. He looked out of the campervan window, where he was sitting warm and dry having his breakfast, and could see the D lock sat on top of the trailer.

I spent the next 2 hours hunting for a bike shop in the centre of Edinburgh. I walked / squelched up and down Princes Street, stopping in bus stops and shop doorways to get the simple Edinburgh road map (part of the Castle and Coast map) out so that it didn't get soaked. I thought about asking one of the commuting cyclists about the nearest bike shop, but they were all very focused on getting where they were going so I didn't have a chance to stop them. When I saw a sign for Waverley train station and Tourist Information I followed that and, after going in the train station and being shown where the Tourist Information was up several escalators, but explaining that escalators aren't easy with a non-folding bike, eventually found my way to the central Edinburgh Tourist Information office. Everything seems to take ages when you're wet, cold, and starting to want the loo. I boldly walked my bike in to the very smart Tourist Information office, readying myself to explain how I didn't have a lock if anyone challenged me. I must have looked particularly pathetic as the man at the counter didn't skip a beat in explaining very fully where the nearest bike shop was and exactly how to get there either walking or on bike. I think he thought the bike needed mending so I couldn't ride it, but I was happy to feel like my wild goose chase was coming to and end, so I didn't bother explaining about the need for a lock.

The guys in Leith Cycles were wonderful. Mind you, I did spend a lot of money with them, so perhaps this isn't all that surprising. As well as the bike lock, I also got loads of new waterproof cycle clothing and changed in their store room. It was lovely just to put dry leggings and gloves on. They told me about good local cafe (it was now lunch time), gave me a detailed cycling map for the city, and showed me the best route for getting the the Forth Bridge.

After a conversation with Liz and Vaughan about getting more substantial food at lunch time, I thought perhaps gnocchi would be perfect in the Sicilian cafe (I have a wheat intolerance, so can't eat pasta) but they weren't doing it that day so I settled for parmigiana instead with a soup started and chilli hot chocolate as afters.

I set off again warmed up and with dry legs and hands. The Leith Cycles directions were superb and I soon found myself at the Forth road crossing having crossed the city on a good network of cycle paths.

Crossing the Forth Bridge road crossing on a bike is quite scary. Luckily the wind had dropped so I wasn't been blown about, but every time I glanced down at the water far below I started to get nervous so I kept my eyes firmly ahead and on the horizon instead.

Just across the other side of the bridge I passed another independent cycle shop. My feet were soaked and cold despite the Sealskinz socks and Neoprene shoe covers, so I pulled in to buy new socks. There was another customer in there also getting additional supplies. It was a man doing JOGLE (John O'Groats to Lands End) and we swapped notes and compared how cold and wet we felt. I talked at length to the sales assistant about nutrition when touring, and how to get protein as well as carbs. He said that with my long days and relatively slow speeds sugars weren't what I needed and drink mixes with carbs as well as electrolytes and protein bars were what I needed to be able to refuel on the move. I left Sandy Wallace Cycles of Inverkeithing with a technical long sleeved base layer, three pairs of socks (just as nice to put on as the gloves were earlier in the day), as well as carb drink powders and protein bars, plus some more electrolyte tabs. I also put carrier bags between my socks and shoes as it was clear that water was getting in where the cleats were in the bottom of my shoes.

I pushed on to Dunfermline, now feeling warm, dry, and confident. It had also stopped raining by this point. I stopped for a meal in a bar and restaurant for the extra evening energy boost I seemed to need and phoned Vaughan. I'd had such a rotten day, and it was now getting so late, I decided that I'd stop cycling in Kinross rather than push myself to get to Dundee, as planned. Vaughan and Liz had booked us in to a backpacker hostel in Dundee as somewhere warm and dry for the night, so Vaughan would have to do a 2 hour return trip along the M90 to pick me up, but that was the best option at that point.

I climbed the Cleish Hills and started to feel how remote I could be as a lone cyclist in Scotland. Empty roads, and no houses or farms in sight. Coming over the top in mist and drizzle, the view down to Loch Levens and Kinross was fantastic, but I realised it would be unsafe to push myself to ride all the way to Dundee that night, so I was glad I'd called Vaughan.

The Descent down into Kinross was wonderful and I was singing at the top of my voice all the way. I stood by the Loch photographing the full moon reflected in the water when Liz and Vaughan appeared, having located me with the Friend Finder.

I fell asleep in the van on the drive to Dundee, tired out from the day even though I hadn't actually cycled all that far. When we got to the backpackers hostel I went straight to bed after a shower, leaving Vaughan and Liz to explore the night life of Dundee without me.


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18 September - Fenwick to Musselbrough (near Edinburgh)

77.5 miles Fenwick to Musselbrough (NCN 1 to Berwick, then 76 to Musselbrough)

£7 third of campsite fee at Fenwick
£3.30 date slice and pot of tea, Oswald's cafe, Berwick-upon-Tweed
£6.05 soup and pot of tea, Oblo bar and bistro, Eyemouth
£7.80 chicken & chips and pot of tea, Cafe Central fish and chip shop, Dunbar

After getting in so late and exhausted, Vaughan had done the concerned big brother thing and suggested that I should get earlier starts on the bike. Even though Liz and I had teased him when he'd said this, I did actually manage to get away from the campsite just after 8am which made it a chilly but glorious start to the day.

Our campsite had been very close to Lindisfarne. Whilst I didn't have time to ride across the causeway to take a look around, I did take a one mile detour to the start of the causeway to take a few photos and enjoy the morning sun glinting off the sea. I was passing through and by so many places I'd have loved to have stopped and seen. I was beginning to build myself a list of places to return to.

The first part of the day's riding, after taking a look at Lindisfarne from a distance, was on off road paths along beaches where sheep and cows had decided that the path was the most comfy place to sit. I much preferred this kind of morning rush hour, shooing the animals out of my way, than battling through traffic and fumes so I didn't mind the slight delay as I waited for the livestock to move to the side for me.

I rode into Berwick-upon-Tweed in good time for a mid morning snack so found a cafe with seating in the sun but out of the wind and watched the world go by for a while. Another lone cyclist, laden with panniers and tent, pulled up and went into the cafe opposite. I was starting to see a few more touring cyclists on this popular route and I enjoyed the gentle respect we paid each other by little nods of the head or quiet greetings we called to each other as we passed.

I got a bit lost, as usual, coming out of Berwick having gone off the Sustrans route to find the cafe. I ended up on a lovely path along the Tweed, and worked out that I needed to climb a steep hill across a park to get to the road at the top. Rather than go back to the centre of the town to retrace my steps I tried the cross-park climb and was pleased to find myself exactly where I thought I'd be and back on my route. I'm always so surprised when my map reading and navigation actually work to get me back on track.

I was battling into head winds again so riding wasn't really enjoyable and I didn't pay much attention to the passing scenery; I spent all my concentration on pushing forward at a slower pace than was reasonable, given the energy I was having to put into it. I did pass over the border into Scotland though, which lifted my spirits a little.

I lunched at a bistro with outside seating in Eyemouth, a fairly functional fishing town with a reputation and history of smuggling. I'd started to get into a pattern of having soup for lunch as it was warming and quick to order and eat. The soups always seemed to be vegetarian however, and perhaps in retrospect I should have gone for options with more protein as I seemed to get very tired and lethargic in the afternoons.

By 5pm, when I was passing through Dunbar, I decided I really needed something substantial to eat if I was to get to that night's campsite. I started fantasising about chicken and chips so searched for a fish and chip shop with seating as most were only take always. I struck lucky on my third circuit of the town centre and ate my meal as if it was my first in a fortnight. I'm sure my body was saying "At last! She feeds me protein along with the carbs!"

From Dunbar onwards I had a new lease of life and sped along, even though I was still into a head wind. I decided to take the A199 for the last part of the ride into Musselbrough as it was getting dark and didn't want to take the long winded Sustrans route along the coast. Single track country lanes and off road sections are fine in the light, but can be scary and disorientating in the dark. Whilst the traffic on the A199 was fast, it wasn't very heavy and everything gave me a good wide berth. I put my head down and pushed for home.

When I arrived in Musslebrough Vaughan phoned me to say I'd overshot the turning for the campsite. He'd started using the iPhone app Find Friends so he could see where I was. This seemed sensible as we started to get into more remote country, though it felt a bit 'big brother' in more ways than one! He was clearly worried that I'd be arriving as exhausted as the previous night though, and wanted to make sure I was OK. I told him I wanted to pop into a pub for pint before getting to the campsite, especially as I'd already eaten earlier, so I pulled into the closest pub to the campsite.

I really stuck out when I entered the pub. There was only one other woman in there, it was silent as everyone was watching a Celtic vs. Milan football match on the TV, and I was told not to sit at the one empty table in the main bar as one of the locals usually sat there. One of the gents sat propping up the bar was in a kilt; I'd only ever seen men wearing kilts at weddings or fancy dress before, so to see this was a real sign I was in Scotland good and proper now.

I was just sitting down with my pint when my brother appeared at the window outside, waving and knocking at the glass. I'm not sure what the locals made of that, but I was touched that he'd cycled down from the campsite to meet me. We had a drink together, catching up on each other's days, then rode up the hill alongside each other. Liz was waiting with a cup of tea, cheese sandwich, and bar of chocolate; it was clear that they'd been worried that I'd need TLC again after the previous evening's experience.

The campsite was about as different to the previous one as you could get, perhaps because it was so close to Edinburgh. Heated shower block with several showers, laundry room, and lots of caravans with fancy awnings. The previous night we'd been one of only three campers and one of the other tents had been held together with gaffer tape and had an owner who seemed to like hanging around the small toilet block. Liz and I felt a lot safer and more comfortable at this one so slept more soundly.

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