I'm re-reading my blog after doing a presentation about the LEJOG trip to a bunch of fellow British Cycling Breeze Champions, and I realise some posts are not in chronological order.
There are also a few typos still lurking around.
If I go into a post to edit it, it then becomes the most recent post, so I think this is how some days are no longer where they should be (e.g. Bridgwater to Bristol on 6 September). I'll leave all remaining typos as this will then wreck the order of those posts too.
Stuff being out of place irks me greatly, but I'm just going to have to leave these annoying anomalies. I haven't the time or will to find a way the sort out these details. I'm sure you still get a pretty good idea of my LEJOG adventure.
Sunday, 13 April 2014
Monday, 21 October 2013
Thank you
I have lots of people to say thank you to. Without you I probably wouldn't have completed my trip, and I certainly wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did.
Vaughan and Liz
For being my fabulous support crew for the second half of my trip, and for opening up your home in Bristol to me. You both gave up a fortnight's annual leave to chase me around the northern part of the UK, arranging campsites and setting up / packing away every day when I was out on my bike. You comforted me when I arrived exhausted and cold, helped me find the best routes each day, and made sure I was eating the right things. You also put up with my crabby mood when I arrived places, needing a shower and change of clothes before I could be anywhere near pleasant company.
Lindsay and Naomi
For coming over to Bristol to surprise me and see me off on my second week's cycling.
Garry and Gill
For surprising me on my return from the trip and showing how proud you were of me.
All the coaches, young riders and parents at Preston Park Youth Cycle Club
For never moaning that I wouldn't be around to help through the whole of September, following my travels with interest through the blog, and showing me such warmth of congratulations when I returned.
Anthony and Ben
For lending me a set of the PPYCC lights (Anthony) and building me a dynamo hub so that, one day, I can have a dynamo front light that charges my electronic gizmos (Ben). I'll get to test the hub once the light / re-charger gets to me, eventually, from Germany ...
Sheila, Ceri, and Adrian
For welcoming me so warmly in Ross-on-Wye and giving me a luxurious night's stay in comfort.
Fiona, Lesley, Barbara, Judith, Anne, and Sheila
For wishing me well in style on the Isle of Wight, sending me encouraging messages during the trip, and being the best group of friends a 50 year old woman would ever want.
Everyone who sponsored me
I loved reading about the sponsorship money coming in, and the lovely little messages people posted on the JustGiving page. It made me weep as I crossed the Forth Bridge, thinking of all the people who cared about what I was doing.
Chas Roberts
For building me the best bike for the job. You're a genius.
The bike shops I visited - Harry Halls in Manchester, Evans in Kendal, Leith Cycles in Edinburgh, Sandy Wallace Cycles in Inverkeithing, and Mr Bike in Montrose
For giving me good advice, taking the time to chat about my trip, and being encouraging about the challenge I was undertaking.
Dad
For showing me the spirit of adventure in mid-life and beyond, and the joy of eccentricity. You'd have been proud of me.
Vaughan and Liz
For being my fabulous support crew for the second half of my trip, and for opening up your home in Bristol to me. You both gave up a fortnight's annual leave to chase me around the northern part of the UK, arranging campsites and setting up / packing away every day when I was out on my bike. You comforted me when I arrived exhausted and cold, helped me find the best routes each day, and made sure I was eating the right things. You also put up with my crabby mood when I arrived places, needing a shower and change of clothes before I could be anywhere near pleasant company.
Lindsay and Naomi
For coming over to Bristol to surprise me and see me off on my second week's cycling.
Garry and Gill
For surprising me on my return from the trip and showing how proud you were of me.
All the coaches, young riders and parents at Preston Park Youth Cycle Club
For never moaning that I wouldn't be around to help through the whole of September, following my travels with interest through the blog, and showing me such warmth of congratulations when I returned.
Anthony and Ben
For lending me a set of the PPYCC lights (Anthony) and building me a dynamo hub so that, one day, I can have a dynamo front light that charges my electronic gizmos (Ben). I'll get to test the hub once the light / re-charger gets to me, eventually, from Germany ...
Sheila, Ceri, and Adrian
For welcoming me so warmly in Ross-on-Wye and giving me a luxurious night's stay in comfort.
Fiona, Lesley, Barbara, Judith, Anne, and Sheila
For wishing me well in style on the Isle of Wight, sending me encouraging messages during the trip, and being the best group of friends a 50 year old woman would ever want.
Everyone who sponsored me
I loved reading about the sponsorship money coming in, and the lovely little messages people posted on the JustGiving page. It made me weep as I crossed the Forth Bridge, thinking of all the people who cared about what I was doing.
Chas Roberts
For building me the best bike for the job. You're a genius.
The bike shops I visited - Harry Halls in Manchester, Evans in Kendal, Leith Cycles in Edinburgh, Sandy Wallace Cycles in Inverkeithing, and Mr Bike in Montrose
For giving me good advice, taking the time to chat about my trip, and being encouraging about the challenge I was undertaking.
Dad
For showing me the spirit of adventure in mid-life and beyond, and the joy of eccentricity. You'd have been proud of me.
Reflections and lessons learned
It's now nearly a month since I completed my journey across the UK. I've had time to reflect, and been interested in the particular questions people have asked me about the trip. I'm also keen to capture key points of learning, both for myself (I'm keen to tackle similar touring challenges, or even reverse my journey by doing JOGLE, John O'Groats to Land's End) and others who might want to attempt something similar.
What to leave behind next time
I used most things that I took with me, but there were a few things I could have done without, in order to save space and weight in the panniers:
Extra toiletries - even though I didn't carry these with me in my panniers, leaving them with my brother for re-stocks, I found I actually only needed one pot of moisturiser for the whole month and one big tube of the Hoo Ha Ride Glide chamois cream. Even though I was attempting to avoid shopping trips in towns for supplies, I think the weight and space saved by not carrying extras would outweigh the inconvenience of swinging by a pharmacy every now and then.
Non-cycling clothes - I wore these for such short periods of time that I really didn't need several outfits. I took a skirt as well as jersey trousers and did wear both, but I'm not sure they both justify the pannier space. I also only needed the one, merino wool, T-shirt. The fleece gilet plus fleece hooded long sleeved top were bulky but worn almost every evening after the sun went down so I wouldn't jettison either of those.
Cycling clothes - I took two summer-weight short sleeved cycling jerseys, thinking I would wash them each day and dry them whilst wearing the other one. The truth is, I was too late and tired when I got in at night to bother washing clothes, and drying clothes overnight or on the back of the bike wasn't always possible. So, I'd opt for just one, with full length zip for ease when having a nature break with bib shorts on. I also took a pair of non-bib cycling shorts and a pair of cycling tights. In truth, I only really needed the bib shorts when I already had leg warmers, and I only wore the non-bib shorts once as they weren't as comfortable as the bib shorts.
What to include next time
I had to buy some things that I hadn't packed, and these would be essential to include another time, I feel.
Cycling clothes - waterproof cycling trousers and overshoes were, I discovered, a necessity. Sealskinz socks and gloves, which I took with me, also provided a certain degree of protection from the wet (and cold), but even they have their limits and I had to buy a second pair of waterproof full fingered gloves so that one pair could be drying whilst I wore the others. Wearing plastic bags between socks and shoes whenever rain was forecasted also ensured my feet kept warm and dry. The long sleeved base layer that I bought in Inverkeithing was also essential once I got into Scotland with the cold mornings and evenings.
Short bungee straps - I discovered, on a test ride with full panniers, that my front panniers kept jumping off the rack on fast downhill descents or bumpy tracks. Cheap short bungee straps bought in Bristol before the trip did the job of keeping the panniers in place. They were also more useful later in the trip than the longer ones I had, for securing the waterproof stuff sack to the back rack.
Paintbrush - The Sustrans tracks can be very dusty and muddy. The simple household paintbrush that I was given by Andy in Harry Halls Cycles was one of the most useful bike maintenance tools I had with me, after chain lube and multi tool.
Nutrition - I needed energy drinks with carbs, not just electrolyte drink tablets. I also needed sports energy bars, not just cereal bars. It was a false economy to try to save money by getting snacks from supermarkets rather than sports shops.
Seven top items I can't rave about enough
There are certain items that made such a positive contribution to my enjoyment of the trip that I think they need a special mention:
Chamois cream - the Hoo Ha Ride Glide cream meant I never once got sore, numb, or uncomfortable in those parts that are sensitive and gender specific. I've tried other chamois creams since, but I really do believe that the 'special formulation' for women ensures nothing gets irritated. It also smells lovely so lifts the spirits when putting it on.
Bib shorts - like the chamois cream, I only tried these a few days before setting off on the trip. The ones I have fit me perfectly, have a wonderfully comfortable pad, and seem to endure several days of wearing without washing. (I know for hygiene I should wear fresh shorts each day, but it's just not possible on a trip like this.) The inconvenience at nature breaks in the outdoors is far outweighed by the comfort during long hours in the saddle.
iPad - this was relatively heavy, but meant I could type up my blog on a regular basis and upload it whenever I found somewhere with wi-fi. I had some books on it to read (Dervla Murphy specifically, for inspiration), but found I didn't need anything to either send me to sleep or while away the hours. The only problem with it was the inability to upload photographs from my camera, which I thought I'd be able to do (the camera takes too much power). As a consequence, I ended up taking two photos each time - one with my smart phone to send straight to facebook, and a better one to add to the blog once I got to a full computer. If the iPad mini fits into my handlebar bag, I might consider taking one of those instead next time and taking photos with it as well as writing a blog.
Mobile phone - when I lost my Blackberry, I realised how vulnerable I felt without a means of contacting people should I need to. I didn't sync my emails to the iPhone I got as a replacement, and I still haven't as I like choosing when I switch the computer on to pick up email now. The phone, though, felt essential.
Garmin bike computer - without this I wouldn't have known how far I'd cycled each day (which was very motivational), wouldn't now have the maps of each day's ride to look back on, and wouldn't have been able to check my exact position against the Ordnance Survey map for my location. Like the mobile phone, my Garmin reassured me and made me more confident about cycling alone in parts of the country I didn't know, without having to carry detailed paper maps for large parts of the country (impossible).
Ortlieb panniers - they really are totally waterproof, and I tested them to their limits on a couple of days. They may not be as 'user friendly' as other panniers I've had in the past (e.g. separate pockets and sections so you can find things quickly), but for touring in this country I think they're essential.
Roberts touring bike - I think Chas Roberts deserves a knighthood. Having listened to the kind of riding I'd be doing, he built me the perfect bike. Not one puncture, despite punishing the bike and travelling 1,414 miles on it. No aches, pains, or injuries, bar the neck ache at the beginning of the trip, which I think was just my neck getting used to the length of day's riding and the strain of pushing the bike up lots of steep hills. Only one necessary trip to a bike mechanic for a slight tweak of the gears. Amazing.
When to go
September meant I could celebrate my 50th birthday whilst on the trip, and I'd definitely want to go outside school holiday times for ease of booking into campsites and youth hostels. I was relatively lucky with the weather (even if I thought differently when in Morecombe and Edinburgh!), though early autumn can be unpredictable. Mind you, any month in the UK can be unpredictable, so I'm not sure that's particularly relevant.
I'd have liked longer evenings as I arrived at my destinations in the dark more often than I'd planned or hoped. If I had to set up a tent at the end of the day more than I did, this would have been a challenge for me.
For length of days, June is the obvious choice. This is also before schools break up. This is the height of the midge season in Scotland however.
Which routes to use
As the trip went on, I became less precious about sticking rigidly to the Sustrans National and Regional Cycle Network. I did enjoy using these routes however; I could use many of the Sustrans maps which helped with easy navigation, and the cyclist specific signposts assisted my journeys almost everywhere except city and town centres, where I suspect they are sabotaged by locals.
The on-road Sustrans routes were fantastic, with a combination of quieter main roads and exceptionally quiet country lanes.
The off-road Sustrans routes were less predictable. I was lucky to not get a single puncture as many of the paths were very rough, and some almost totally overgrown. Carrying the bike and panniers up steps or extremely steep loose banks was the most annoying aspect of these paths. On the other hand, there were also long stretches of smooth tarmac shared use paths through stunning scenery which I wouldn't have wanted to miss for the world.
Given another chance, I'd choose a practical combination of National and Regional Cycle Network routes and roads. This would save considerably on cycling time whilst maintaining the interest and beauty of many of the routes and scenery.
Where to stay
The YHA Hostels were fantastic value as well as being warm, dry, and with all the facilities needed at the end of a day's cycling. I'd seriously consider planning a trip where I could stay in them all the time, therefore removing the need to carry camping equipment whilst still keeping an eye on the budget.
I also love camping, but found the weight of camping equipment slowed me down and gnawed at my spirit. I also ended up fretting about the time needed to set up and pack away the tent. I think I'll stick to short trips camping with the bike, perhaps setting up base somewhere rather than touring so I don't need the panniers with me all the time. This could be good for the most northern reaches of England and into Scotland, where I wouldn't want to drive with the camper van as my base.
Occasional forays into cyclist friendly B&Bs were a luxury and treat. If I managed to stay mainly in YHA Hostels, I'm not sure I'd need this as much, especially since I often had a dormitory to myself mid-week, at a fraction of the cost of a B&B.
How much it costed
The total cost of the trip, excluding the supplies and equipment I bought before I set off, was £1,384.58. This includes the additional clothing and maps I bought en route.
One of the reasons I decided to do this independently was the cost of organised trips (as well as the opportunity to go on the route I wanted, and take as much time as I needed). So I was interested to compare the cost of my trip with some of the organised group trips that are on offer.
The cheapest I can find is with More Adventure. They do a 14 day camping version which costs £995, but this excludes evening meals.
The next cheapest one is with Saddle Skedaddle. They take 15 days, staying in shared rooms in B&Bs, and it costs from £2,100, but this includes only 50% of lunches and no evening meals.
The last one I found was with bikecation. They take 14 days, cost £1,645, and don't include evening meals.
On reflection I'm still glad I didn't go with an organised group. There may be less hassle with organising accommodation and meals, and easier cycling with your luggage being carried for you, but I'd prefer to cycle slowly on quiet roads in splendid solitude than join a group pushing the miles on busy roads.
What I learned
In no particular order, the key things I learned on my trip were:
- 99% of people in the UK are extraordinarily kind, helpful, and interested in another person's adventure. There is very little need to be scared of strangers.
- I love my own company and don't get lonely.
- I'm happiest when I'm in the saddle outdoors. Weather and terrain doesn't affect my mood very much at all, as long as I have the right clothes and equipment.
- If I give myself the time, I can navigate reasonably well.
- Send off ahead of time for city centre cycling maps if cycling through big places.
- I don't like to be rushed or hurried. I need to do things in my own time to be happy.
- Morecombe is a dump.
- Crask Inn is the best place in the UK to stay for a night.
- When cycling all day, I need to consume a lot of calories as well as protein and fluids.
- Independent bike shops are incredibly wonderful places, with staff that just want you to enjoy your cycling.
- Very few cyclists use the Sustrans routes for long distance tours.
- Very very few lone women cycle tour alone. In truth, I saw absolutely none on the whole of my trip. I'm an oddity. (You can read that last sentence as part of the main point, or a separate point on it's own. Your choice.)
What to leave behind next time
I used most things that I took with me, but there were a few things I could have done without, in order to save space and weight in the panniers:
Extra toiletries - even though I didn't carry these with me in my panniers, leaving them with my brother for re-stocks, I found I actually only needed one pot of moisturiser for the whole month and one big tube of the Hoo Ha Ride Glide chamois cream. Even though I was attempting to avoid shopping trips in towns for supplies, I think the weight and space saved by not carrying extras would outweigh the inconvenience of swinging by a pharmacy every now and then.
Non-cycling clothes - I wore these for such short periods of time that I really didn't need several outfits. I took a skirt as well as jersey trousers and did wear both, but I'm not sure they both justify the pannier space. I also only needed the one, merino wool, T-shirt. The fleece gilet plus fleece hooded long sleeved top were bulky but worn almost every evening after the sun went down so I wouldn't jettison either of those.
Cycling clothes - I took two summer-weight short sleeved cycling jerseys, thinking I would wash them each day and dry them whilst wearing the other one. The truth is, I was too late and tired when I got in at night to bother washing clothes, and drying clothes overnight or on the back of the bike wasn't always possible. So, I'd opt for just one, with full length zip for ease when having a nature break with bib shorts on. I also took a pair of non-bib cycling shorts and a pair of cycling tights. In truth, I only really needed the bib shorts when I already had leg warmers, and I only wore the non-bib shorts once as they weren't as comfortable as the bib shorts.
What to include next time
I had to buy some things that I hadn't packed, and these would be essential to include another time, I feel.
Cycling clothes - waterproof cycling trousers and overshoes were, I discovered, a necessity. Sealskinz socks and gloves, which I took with me, also provided a certain degree of protection from the wet (and cold), but even they have their limits and I had to buy a second pair of waterproof full fingered gloves so that one pair could be drying whilst I wore the others. Wearing plastic bags between socks and shoes whenever rain was forecasted also ensured my feet kept warm and dry. The long sleeved base layer that I bought in Inverkeithing was also essential once I got into Scotland with the cold mornings and evenings.
Short bungee straps - I discovered, on a test ride with full panniers, that my front panniers kept jumping off the rack on fast downhill descents or bumpy tracks. Cheap short bungee straps bought in Bristol before the trip did the job of keeping the panniers in place. They were also more useful later in the trip than the longer ones I had, for securing the waterproof stuff sack to the back rack.
Paintbrush - The Sustrans tracks can be very dusty and muddy. The simple household paintbrush that I was given by Andy in Harry Halls Cycles was one of the most useful bike maintenance tools I had with me, after chain lube and multi tool.
Nutrition - I needed energy drinks with carbs, not just electrolyte drink tablets. I also needed sports energy bars, not just cereal bars. It was a false economy to try to save money by getting snacks from supermarkets rather than sports shops.
Seven top items I can't rave about enough
There are certain items that made such a positive contribution to my enjoyment of the trip that I think they need a special mention:
Chamois cream - the Hoo Ha Ride Glide cream meant I never once got sore, numb, or uncomfortable in those parts that are sensitive and gender specific. I've tried other chamois creams since, but I really do believe that the 'special formulation' for women ensures nothing gets irritated. It also smells lovely so lifts the spirits when putting it on.
Bib shorts - like the chamois cream, I only tried these a few days before setting off on the trip. The ones I have fit me perfectly, have a wonderfully comfortable pad, and seem to endure several days of wearing without washing. (I know for hygiene I should wear fresh shorts each day, but it's just not possible on a trip like this.) The inconvenience at nature breaks in the outdoors is far outweighed by the comfort during long hours in the saddle.
iPad - this was relatively heavy, but meant I could type up my blog on a regular basis and upload it whenever I found somewhere with wi-fi. I had some books on it to read (Dervla Murphy specifically, for inspiration), but found I didn't need anything to either send me to sleep or while away the hours. The only problem with it was the inability to upload photographs from my camera, which I thought I'd be able to do (the camera takes too much power). As a consequence, I ended up taking two photos each time - one with my smart phone to send straight to facebook, and a better one to add to the blog once I got to a full computer. If the iPad mini fits into my handlebar bag, I might consider taking one of those instead next time and taking photos with it as well as writing a blog.
Mobile phone - when I lost my Blackberry, I realised how vulnerable I felt without a means of contacting people should I need to. I didn't sync my emails to the iPhone I got as a replacement, and I still haven't as I like choosing when I switch the computer on to pick up email now. The phone, though, felt essential.
Garmin bike computer - without this I wouldn't have known how far I'd cycled each day (which was very motivational), wouldn't now have the maps of each day's ride to look back on, and wouldn't have been able to check my exact position against the Ordnance Survey map for my location. Like the mobile phone, my Garmin reassured me and made me more confident about cycling alone in parts of the country I didn't know, without having to carry detailed paper maps for large parts of the country (impossible).
Ortlieb panniers - they really are totally waterproof, and I tested them to their limits on a couple of days. They may not be as 'user friendly' as other panniers I've had in the past (e.g. separate pockets and sections so you can find things quickly), but for touring in this country I think they're essential.
Roberts touring bike - I think Chas Roberts deserves a knighthood. Having listened to the kind of riding I'd be doing, he built me the perfect bike. Not one puncture, despite punishing the bike and travelling 1,414 miles on it. No aches, pains, or injuries, bar the neck ache at the beginning of the trip, which I think was just my neck getting used to the length of day's riding and the strain of pushing the bike up lots of steep hills. Only one necessary trip to a bike mechanic for a slight tweak of the gears. Amazing.
When to go
September meant I could celebrate my 50th birthday whilst on the trip, and I'd definitely want to go outside school holiday times for ease of booking into campsites and youth hostels. I was relatively lucky with the weather (even if I thought differently when in Morecombe and Edinburgh!), though early autumn can be unpredictable. Mind you, any month in the UK can be unpredictable, so I'm not sure that's particularly relevant.
I'd have liked longer evenings as I arrived at my destinations in the dark more often than I'd planned or hoped. If I had to set up a tent at the end of the day more than I did, this would have been a challenge for me.
For length of days, June is the obvious choice. This is also before schools break up. This is the height of the midge season in Scotland however.
Which routes to use
As the trip went on, I became less precious about sticking rigidly to the Sustrans National and Regional Cycle Network. I did enjoy using these routes however; I could use many of the Sustrans maps which helped with easy navigation, and the cyclist specific signposts assisted my journeys almost everywhere except city and town centres, where I suspect they are sabotaged by locals.
The on-road Sustrans routes were fantastic, with a combination of quieter main roads and exceptionally quiet country lanes.
The off-road Sustrans routes were less predictable. I was lucky to not get a single puncture as many of the paths were very rough, and some almost totally overgrown. Carrying the bike and panniers up steps or extremely steep loose banks was the most annoying aspect of these paths. On the other hand, there were also long stretches of smooth tarmac shared use paths through stunning scenery which I wouldn't have wanted to miss for the world.
Given another chance, I'd choose a practical combination of National and Regional Cycle Network routes and roads. This would save considerably on cycling time whilst maintaining the interest and beauty of many of the routes and scenery.
Where to stay
The YHA Hostels were fantastic value as well as being warm, dry, and with all the facilities needed at the end of a day's cycling. I'd seriously consider planning a trip where I could stay in them all the time, therefore removing the need to carry camping equipment whilst still keeping an eye on the budget.
I also love camping, but found the weight of camping equipment slowed me down and gnawed at my spirit. I also ended up fretting about the time needed to set up and pack away the tent. I think I'll stick to short trips camping with the bike, perhaps setting up base somewhere rather than touring so I don't need the panniers with me all the time. This could be good for the most northern reaches of England and into Scotland, where I wouldn't want to drive with the camper van as my base.
Occasional forays into cyclist friendly B&Bs were a luxury and treat. If I managed to stay mainly in YHA Hostels, I'm not sure I'd need this as much, especially since I often had a dormitory to myself mid-week, at a fraction of the cost of a B&B.
How much it costed
The total cost of the trip, excluding the supplies and equipment I bought before I set off, was £1,384.58. This includes the additional clothing and maps I bought en route.
One of the reasons I decided to do this independently was the cost of organised trips (as well as the opportunity to go on the route I wanted, and take as much time as I needed). So I was interested to compare the cost of my trip with some of the organised group trips that are on offer.
The cheapest I can find is with More Adventure. They do a 14 day camping version which costs £995, but this excludes evening meals.
The next cheapest one is with Saddle Skedaddle. They take 15 days, staying in shared rooms in B&Bs, and it costs from £2,100, but this includes only 50% of lunches and no evening meals.
The last one I found was with bikecation. They take 14 days, cost £1,645, and don't include evening meals.
On reflection I'm still glad I didn't go with an organised group. There may be less hassle with organising accommodation and meals, and easier cycling with your luggage being carried for you, but I'd prefer to cycle slowly on quiet roads in splendid solitude than join a group pushing the miles on busy roads.
What I learned
In no particular order, the key things I learned on my trip were:
- 99% of people in the UK are extraordinarily kind, helpful, and interested in another person's adventure. There is very little need to be scared of strangers.
- I love my own company and don't get lonely.
- I'm happiest when I'm in the saddle outdoors. Weather and terrain doesn't affect my mood very much at all, as long as I have the right clothes and equipment.
- If I give myself the time, I can navigate reasonably well.
- Send off ahead of time for city centre cycling maps if cycling through big places.
- I don't like to be rushed or hurried. I need to do things in my own time to be happy.
- Morecombe is a dump.
- Crask Inn is the best place in the UK to stay for a night.
- When cycling all day, I need to consume a lot of calories as well as protein and fluids.
- Independent bike shops are incredibly wonderful places, with staff that just want you to enjoy your cycling.
- Very few cyclists use the Sustrans routes for long distance tours.
- Very very few lone women cycle tour alone. In truth, I saw absolutely none on the whole of my trip. I'm an oddity. (You can read that last sentence as part of the main point, or a separate point on it's own. Your choice.)
Monday, 14 October 2013
6 September - Bridgwater to Bristol
53.17 miles Bridgwater to Bristol (NCN3 then off-route into Bristol from Chew Stoke)
£60 for Sandford House B&B
£2.50 for beer at BB
£3.40 for tea and cake in Glastonbury
£2.95 for ice-cream, cold drink, and Mars bar from Cheddar Mendip Camping & Caravanning Club Site
I can't really blame packing the tent away for slow starts - I'd stayed in luxury and even had my breakfast cooked for me, and still I got away after 10am. I was chatting to other guests over breakfast, faffing about in my en-suite bathroom without the need to keep taking everything back to the tent or dorm room, and having a look around the smallholding that the B&B owners also run.
Once I was on my way I had a definite spring in my pedalling, as I knew I'd be seeing my brother and his girlfriend that evening and staying at their house. This meant a bit of TLC, the chance to get my cycling kit properly washed and the tent dried (it was damp when I had to pack it away a few days previously), and a lesiurely evening over a meal and a pint.
The run to Glastonbury was ridiculously easy as the Somerset Levels really are that. One stretch of road could have been built for time-trialling as it's dead straight and flat, between two drainage ditches, so I got into the big ring, crouched down into my version of an aerodynamic riding position, and almost forgot I had a ton of luggage on the bike. You see Galstonbury Tor for many miles as you approach the town, which is a fantastic motivation as you move through the Somerset lanes.
The final approach to Glastonbury town was quite magical. I'm sure some new-age hippies were involved in the construction - a cycle path that winds along beneath a tunnel of young trees.
Glastonbury itself is, in my opinion, a tacky commercialised place. Every other shop sells crystals, reads Tarot, or offers versions of Green Man and Goddess goods or new age hippy clothing. I stopped for a cup of tea and piece of gluten-free cake, but felt I wanted to get out of the town fairly quickly as it all felt so fake.
After Glastonbury I approached the Mendip Hills. I hadn't realised until this point that Cheddar Gorge and Wooky Hole were here, and I looked with fear at my map that showed an alarming number of contour lines extremely close together. I braced myself for some serious climbing. The road through Wooky Hole (another great place name) had a red arrow on my map, showing a significant incline, but when I reached it I was mildly disappointed as I'd met equivalent back in Cornwall, without arrows on the map. I still had to push the bike up, however.
Once I reached Chew Valley Lake I phoned my brother as he said he'd ride out to meet me. I also phoned the Sustrans Head Office in Bristol as they said they'd be keen for me to pop in on my way through. It looked like I'd just about get to Bristol before their office closed for the weekend.
Had I not taken a wrong turning, I'd probably have made that deadline. I think I'd got so used to cycling at my own pace, arriving places whenever I did and not worrying about being 'late' for anything or anyone, that the perceived pressure of meeting people by a certain time made me lose concentration. Instead of continuing to follow my route, I found myself on a busy road in Friday afternoon rush hour, going up a horrid steep hill with traffic rushing past. It all felt wrong after the amount of day on quiet back roads and lanes, but I knew I was heading towards Bristol from the road signs and my simple compass on my bell, so I kept ploughing on.
When my brother phoned to ask where I was, I realised I'd gone wrong, but I was damned if I was going back down the hill I'd just climbed, so said I'd press on and meet my brother in Bristol. The road became even busier, I had to remember how to be street-smart in traffic after a week away from it, and I passed through parts of Bristol I didn't want to hang around in. Eventually, I managed to get to a central Bristol landmark that I'd walked past with my brother the weekend before, so called him to describe it (it was one of the Gromit statues that were placed around the city). After a stressful end to the day's journey, I was delighted for my brother to escort me home for the final half a mile or so.
Following a nice soak in the bath and a glass of home-made beer (thanks to Garry, my other brother), I was told that we were walking a short way to the pub for a meal as Vaughan and Liz wanted to show me a lovely country estate on the edge of Bristol and a country pub with reputation for good food. I thought it was strange, since they live close to lots of pubs and restaurants, but went with the flow.
I discovered the reason for choice of pub when my sister and niece appeared, having driven up from Hampshire to meet me as a surprise - the country pub was the only one with rooms available. We had a lovely evening chatting about growing up together as a family and laughing together. An unexpected and delightful end to the day.
£60 for Sandford House B&B
£2.50 for beer at BB
£3.40 for tea and cake in Glastonbury
£2.95 for ice-cream, cold drink, and Mars bar from Cheddar Mendip Camping & Caravanning Club Site
I can't really blame packing the tent away for slow starts - I'd stayed in luxury and even had my breakfast cooked for me, and still I got away after 10am. I was chatting to other guests over breakfast, faffing about in my en-suite bathroom without the need to keep taking everything back to the tent or dorm room, and having a look around the smallholding that the B&B owners also run.
Once I was on my way I had a definite spring in my pedalling, as I knew I'd be seeing my brother and his girlfriend that evening and staying at their house. This meant a bit of TLC, the chance to get my cycling kit properly washed and the tent dried (it was damp when I had to pack it away a few days previously), and a lesiurely evening over a meal and a pint.
The run to Glastonbury was ridiculously easy as the Somerset Levels really are that. One stretch of road could have been built for time-trialling as it's dead straight and flat, between two drainage ditches, so I got into the big ring, crouched down into my version of an aerodynamic riding position, and almost forgot I had a ton of luggage on the bike. You see Galstonbury Tor for many miles as you approach the town, which is a fantastic motivation as you move through the Somerset lanes.
The final approach to Glastonbury town was quite magical. I'm sure some new-age hippies were involved in the construction - a cycle path that winds along beneath a tunnel of young trees.
Glastonbury itself is, in my opinion, a tacky commercialised place. Every other shop sells crystals, reads Tarot, or offers versions of Green Man and Goddess goods or new age hippy clothing. I stopped for a cup of tea and piece of gluten-free cake, but felt I wanted to get out of the town fairly quickly as it all felt so fake.
After Glastonbury I approached the Mendip Hills. I hadn't realised until this point that Cheddar Gorge and Wooky Hole were here, and I looked with fear at my map that showed an alarming number of contour lines extremely close together. I braced myself for some serious climbing. The road through Wooky Hole (another great place name) had a red arrow on my map, showing a significant incline, but when I reached it I was mildly disappointed as I'd met equivalent back in Cornwall, without arrows on the map. I still had to push the bike up, however.
Once I reached Chew Valley Lake I phoned my brother as he said he'd ride out to meet me. I also phoned the Sustrans Head Office in Bristol as they said they'd be keen for me to pop in on my way through. It looked like I'd just about get to Bristol before their office closed for the weekend.
Had I not taken a wrong turning, I'd probably have made that deadline. I think I'd got so used to cycling at my own pace, arriving places whenever I did and not worrying about being 'late' for anything or anyone, that the perceived pressure of meeting people by a certain time made me lose concentration. Instead of continuing to follow my route, I found myself on a busy road in Friday afternoon rush hour, going up a horrid steep hill with traffic rushing past. It all felt wrong after the amount of day on quiet back roads and lanes, but I knew I was heading towards Bristol from the road signs and my simple compass on my bell, so I kept ploughing on.
When my brother phoned to ask where I was, I realised I'd gone wrong, but I was damned if I was going back down the hill I'd just climbed, so said I'd press on and meet my brother in Bristol. The road became even busier, I had to remember how to be street-smart in traffic after a week away from it, and I passed through parts of Bristol I didn't want to hang around in. Eventually, I managed to get to a central Bristol landmark that I'd walked past with my brother the weekend before, so called him to describe it (it was one of the Gromit statues that were placed around the city). After a stressful end to the day's journey, I was delighted for my brother to escort me home for the final half a mile or so.
Following a nice soak in the bath and a glass of home-made beer (thanks to Garry, my other brother), I was told that we were walking a short way to the pub for a meal as Vaughan and Liz wanted to show me a lovely country estate on the edge of Bristol and a country pub with reputation for good food. I thought it was strange, since they live close to lots of pubs and restaurants, but went with the flow.
I discovered the reason for choice of pub when my sister and niece appeared, having driven up from Hampshire to meet me as a surprise - the country pub was the only one with rooms available. We had a lovely evening chatting about growing up together as a family and laughing together. An unexpected and delightful end to the day.
Saturday, 28 September 2013
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.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
£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.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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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£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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Friday, 27 September 2013
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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£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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