LEJOG – Baby Boomer's Bike Ride – May-July 2010

Immediately after completing the LEJOG ride, and dismantling my bicycle for transportation in the car to go south, we headed off towards Wick and then to Haster.  Tannach is only a crossroads on the minor road between Haster and Thrumster. There is a nearby farm called Tannach Mains.

But during the Second World War this was the site of one of the top-secret radar stations – then known as Chain Home radar and Chain Home Low radar stations. RAF Tannach was operational from July 1940 to November 1945. It was run by RAF personnel, many of them volunteers in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF).  My late mother was one of those volunteers.

Although there is very little to see now, there must have been scores of servicemen and women living and working here.  I was very fortunate to be greeted by ‘Mary’, who was born just a mile or so away on a farm on the shores of Loch Hempriggs. She now lives in a new bungalow built at the crossroads adjacent to the site of the old radar station buildings. These included the Transmitter and Receiver blocks. Some buildings are used by Mary’s family for agricultural storage and she very helpfully took us for a small tour around them and also pointed out the ruins of the other remaining buildings.  Mary (maiden name Thompson) very kindly took time to explain what she could remember about  the buildings before they were demolished or fell into disrepair.

The ground is mainly flat, with little protection from wind and weather.  I well remember my mother telling us tales of how bleak this place was in winter  especially with rationed coal, a  communal shower block, a black-out and poorly constructed living accommodation blocks (Nissan huts) which offered small defence against the cold, snow and rain. Although she regailed us with accounts of the comradeship and common purpose, and fearsome flight sergeants, and only a few inches of hot water in the bath etc, she never told us children the details of what she actually did because she still regarded it as ‘hush-hush’ and she had been sworn never to divulge that information to anyone.

The small water tower still stands above one of the operations rooms. Drinking water was apparently pumped up directly from the nearby Loch Hempriggs. There were still some remains of other buildings such as the cook-house, which we photographed.  The living quarters were some distance down the road from the main operations block, which had to be negotiated on foot with or without the benefit of shielded flashlights at night.

Like most ruined places the atmosphere is somewhat eerie and you can’t help wondering about all the brave souls who worked here and helped change the course of the war. What became of them in later life?  At that time British radar was at the cutting edge of worldwide science and technology and yet it was being operated by young volunteers who had given up their civilian life and (comforts) to serve their country. My mother was a nineteen year old seamstress when she ‘joined up’.

When we piled back into the car in the late afternoon I felt really pleased that I had actually seen a part of my mother’s life from before I was born. It’s a pity she is no longer around to see the physical remnants of her work and hardships, but her ghost is still there!

My mother, WAAF Conny Crook – later McCulloch. Circa 1940. My granddaughter looks a lot like her.

My friend Tom, Mary from Tannach, and me on yet another beautiful day.

One of the surviving buildings – original purpose unknown.

One of the operations blocks, with the water tower.

With bomb-proofing and no windows, this was probably the Transmission or Receiving Block.

Mary had been told that this was a radio room. The asbestos roofing is still in remarkably good condition especially considering the harsh local weather and the 70 winters it has survived.

The cookhouse and mess-hall, with  the North Sea in the distance.

This was the only surviving building in the area where the living accommodation (Nissan huts) had been. It was some distance from the main operations buildings. Complete with oyster-catcher on the roof.  It may have  been the ablutions block. There were also mounds of grass-covered rubble which may have been the demolished living quarters.

Marian is the Good one. 

I have thoroughly enjoyed this adventure and would recommend it to anyone who is even vaguely thinking about doing it.  That includes, especially, anyone who feels they cannot attempt it because of illness, age or disability.   It’s all in the preparation and deciding that you want to achieve it.  No-one can ever take the achievement away from you and you can bore your friends, colleagues and grandchildren about it for years to come.

The best part is not boring anyone about it, but just solitary reflection upon the highlights and lowlights of your own struggle.  You will have your own challenges, and I know that mine were physical weakness in my leg, and pain in both knees.  Weakness can be partly overcome by training and being prepared to make only slow tedious progress over hills and against the wind etc.  You will have to find your own answer to pain but my own solution was to think about a quote from T E  Lawrence who said something to the effect that there was no trick in making something not hurt –  the trick was in not minding that it hurt.  You just have to push on – if it hurts then it hurts but if you stop until the pain goes away then you’ll never get there.

The Good Bits include meeting lots of really nice, interesting, kind and generous people.  It was a pleasure to tell them about my sponsorship for Age Concern and about Bermuda generally. They were all interested.  It was surprising how many people had some connection with Bermuda, such as a friend who worked here or a relative who visited here with the navy.  I was also humbled on several occasions by complete strangers giving money for my collection when I told them why I was cycling this journey. I didn’t ask them for money – they just gave it.

The accommodation was virtually all good. I tended to use mostly hotels (such as Premier, Best Western or Travelodge) in the early days and then more bed and breakfast places later on. All the meals were either good or really good. The b&b landladies and hotel staff were invariably helpful.

There is also the scenery, views, plants & flowers, birds, animals, farming, historical places of interest, different food and drink, different spoken and written languages, local music and the pleasure of successful navigation.  Getting to the evening’s destination at the end of a day’s pedalling – more or less on time – with the promise of a hot bath and home cooked dinner is a real joy.

I was also regularly heartened by the support, blog comments, e-mails, phone calls and visits from friends, the people at Age Concern, and Mrs Thompson with her class (including Kiara) at Saltus Cavendish.

The Bad Bits were few. Reaching the point of  exhaustion with many miles still to go is not pleasant. This happened a couple of times in Devon and Cornwall, and the worst time was on Shap Fell in the cold north-east wind and driving rain. All you can do is stop, rest enough to get your breath back, have a drink of water, eat another fruit gum and get back on the bike to cover another few yards before you topple to one side and then repeat the process.  Hills don’t go on forever – they just seem that way.

I count myself fortunate compared with other LEJOGers who have written about their experiences.  Cycling on the main roads with heavy traffic was uncomfortable and scary but no-one ever ran me off the road. I never hit a really bad pothole. I only fell off my bike once and that was at extremely low speed as I tried to make a u-turn in a Cornish country lane to take a second look and photograph something. The low speed and tight turn resulted in an embarrassing display of arms, legs, bike, water bottle, maps, sunglasses and panniers scattered across the tarmac.  Thank goodness no vehicle came along, either to run over me or to witness my ineptitude.

Also, I never found myself in a town or village at evening time with nowhere to rest my head for the night. There was a single ‘poor choice’ of taking a room upstairs over a pub.  It turned out to be a tiny garret, with the noise of revelry (and juke box) keeping me  awake until the early hours of the morning. The pigeons who lived outside my window, which could not be closed, woke me with their cooing at 4 am.

The Ugly Bits are also very few. Coming across the head-on collision on the A82 was upsetting. (I did find out, several days later from an internet cafe manager, that three people  had been hospitalised from that accident but they were all either ‘stable’ or ‘comfortable’.  I sometimes have my doubts about the  hospital’s use of the word ‘comfortable’.)

The other bits….

The stats.  The ride covered 1,025 miles. It took 46 days including the half days at the start and finish, plus 8 rest days.  With 109 hours in the saddle that works out at an average of 9.43 mph whilst actually pedalling.

My fastest day was 11.49 mph Alness to Balintore (flat ground and a following wind)

My slowest day was 6.11 mph over Shap Fell (up-hill, up-wind, and wet weather gear in rain)

The bike.  Never let  me down. I only had to use the multi-tool twice. Once to adjust and re-tighten the chain by fixing the elliptical fitting on the bottom bracket,  and once to re-tighten the saddle which had worked loose.

Punctures – none.                   Broken spokes – none.

Broken cables – none.          Problems with gears – none.

Some of this may have been helped by my rapidly developed skill and luck at avoiding potholes etc but most of the credit must go to the Felt Cycle Co, the Continental City Contact 700/35 tires, and Bicycle Works Bermuda who supplied them.  In addition to bad surfaces and debris on tarmacced roads the tires also withstood many miles of canal towpaths and forestry commission logging trails.  Many times I heard the dreaded ‘toyng’ of the tire displacing a stone, but never a puncture.  I am blessed.

With hindsight the gears did not reach a low enough ratio for several of the hills, and this added to my struggles. The Shimano Elfine internal 8 gear hub has insufficient range for this task.

Equipment.  This all held  up well. I would not suggest any omissions  from my original list of equipment but the following items had a free ride and were never used,  i.e.  front and rear lights, long-fingered gloves, spare chain link, tire levers, puncture repair kit, 2  inner tubes, spare tire, pliers.  Also the adjustable spanner was used once (on the rear axel nuts)  to reassemble the bike from its airline box, and not used again until I dismantled the bike in the John O’Groats car park.

Items ‘lost’ en route were my knee sock (down to my faulty laundry technique) and a pair of sunglasses (probably down to my faulty memory of where I put them). I also think I left two wristbands to dry on the windowsill of my room at the Tullie Inn in Balloch. They must be dry by now.

I was generally pleased with my clothing etc, although I had to replace my non-waterproof leggings after Shap.  And I don’t care what they say about Goretex. If it’s raining in the outside, and you are sweating on the inside then you are going to get wet.  What’s more, if you stop for a rest or something to eat and it is windy then you are going to be chilled to the bone very quickly.

My prosthesis. No problems at all, except those caused by excessive wear on my skin through chafing.  In addition to ordinary biking the prosthesis also dealt with pushing the bike uphill, walking on gravel, lifting the bike through gates and stiles, clambering on and off ferries, stumbling across peat bogs and rambling into the heather.  It also got wet several times but remained unaffected under its covering of waterproof duct-tape. The prosthesis was a credit to J.E. Hanger & Co of Montreal.

The route. This was fine.  I usually managed to stick with my planned route, or make small detours to get off the major roads. The large detour via Corran and Camusnagaul over Loch Linnhe was a gem. The ‘scenic’  portion of the route through Cornwall and Devon was punishingly hilly. Shap Fell in Cumbria was somewhat unavoidable, except by very long detour, and will remain in my memories forever.

Roads varied greatly in surface quality, width, contours etc. This was part of the pleasure of the ride. Examples were the housing estate to be navigated on the way to the Avonmouth Bridge, and the actual bridges over the Severn / Manchester Ship Canal / Esk / Clyde. The towpath alongside the Caledonian Canal and the logging trail through the Clunes Forest. Then there was the memorable A74 – a glorious stretch of by-passed ‘A’  road with only occasional local traffic on it. And the cinder cycle path along the Lune estuary into Lancaster.  Even more memorable was the mystical single  track road through the Straths of Kildonnan and Halladale.

Navigation. The Phillips Navigator map was ideal for both planning and actual navigating.   It’s a pity it doesn’t have any contour lines.  National Cycle Path signage is often poor.  I only got seriously adrift  from my intended route once, when I missed a NCR sign in the village of Pil and had to struggle up a GOTBAP hill before discovering the error.  What a waste of effort.

Communications.  Whilst I am satisfied with the weight savings of not bringing a separate phone/blackberry, camera and i-pod I was otherwise disappointed with the i-phone. I got it hooked up with a pay-as-you-go service via Vodaphone in UK. The cost was reasonable but the countrywide reception was very poor.  There were significant spells with neither data nor voice coverage. I learned that the teenyboppers – the true connoisseurs –  in Scotland all use O2.

The camera on the i-phone is good enough for ‘snaps’ in good sunshine but I was disappointed with many photos which were not good enough to put on the website or to view on a PC.  Most photos were under-exposed. I resorted to excluding as much sky as possible from the frame wherever possible but even that did not always work.

Whilst it sounds possible from the marketing literature it is not really feasible to update a website using the i-phone.  The screen is too small to do any editing.  I could merely upload photographs for subsequent editing.  It transpired that the fold-out keyboard would not connect with the i-phone and that Apple do not provide for any keyboard linkage, either via bluetooth or by wire. This is apparently due to some restrictive practise by Apple, which I feel reflects  badly on them.

I used internet cafes several times, at a cost, including those being introduced by Premier Inns and by Visit Scotland. Public libraries are OK, and free, but they tend to limit internet access to 20 minutes  or so.  I found that sweet-talking the librarian or the hotel receptionist often improved the situation enormously.

The weather.  This was fantastic. I mentioned in my SWOT analysis the possibility of UK  having a glorious summer, and the pigs are still flying past my window. In 6 1/2 weeks of cycling I had to wear my wet weather gear only three times. Most of the time I wore just a short-sleeved singlet, plus a lightweight breaker as I got into Scotland.

The so-called prevailing wind from the south-west seemed to take a couple of months off so I frequently faced a north-easterly headwind.  I regarded this as being a small price to pay for maintaining a large dry anticyclone over western UK and Ireland.  Indeed, on some days I was grateful for that wind to keep me cool on what would otherwise have been an uncomfortably hot day.

My health. I have had a couple of problems but nothing special.  The chafing under the prosthesis caused quite a lot of bleeding and I treated this with rest days i.e. bed rest of ‘doing nothing’. After being met by Felicity (my ex-wife) in Shrewsbury I managed much better because she gave me some Boots ‘Faster Healing  Hydrocolloidal Dressings’.  I had never heard of them before but can now highly recommend them.  They worked wonderfully at preventing further skin breakdown and facilitating the healing of existing wounds.

My (bad) right knee and later my (good) left knee both became painful and inflamed with the unusual demands placed upon them. This pain persisted throughout the journey.  Ibuprophen helped a bit but there is a limit  to how much of that stuff you should take. The eventual solution was to scale back my daily mileage from 30 – 35 miles to 20 – 25 miles and simply put up with whatever pain arose from that.

In the final day or so, one of the wounds became infected and got progressively worse. I eventually consulted a GP in Tunbridge Wells on my way back to Bermuda and was prescribed antibiotics.  It is still very sore, even days later, so I am thankful that this did not occur earlier in the course of the ride.

In the fifth week I developed a cold sore, which responded to the Zovirax I had taken with me, but still took a week to heal.

The memories.  These are the real fruits of the adventure, in addition to the money raised for Age Concern.  In Inverness I saw a man wearing a kilt while riding a pushbike.  I also listened to live music at McCallans coffee shop in Union Street and visited Leakey’s  book shop where I could have stayed for hours –  and that was just the memories of one town!

It seems a lifetime since Marian and I went pottering along Bermuda’s railway trail on Sunday mornings and I began to think about making  the LEJOG trip.

Memories of people and places and sights and sounds and smells and achievement, and the sensation of being in harmony with yourself, the bike  and the road.  They will stay with me forever.

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I apologise that this is an overdue section, having previously written the morning and riding routines.   If any readers are considering doing the LEJOG, or any other long distance ride, I hope this may be useful.

Upon reaching the destination bed & breakfast of hotel I found it helpful to have  a routine so that nothing is forgotten.

First – look after the bike.

Find out where the bike can be stored, safely and under shelter. What are the arrangements for access to the bike during the evening or evening? If is not accessible then you will need to remove all panniers and bags. Most hotels I used allowed me to take the bike into the bedroom, which is safest and most convenient. Most b&bs had a lockable shed somewhere out back. I never had to leave Felicity out in the rain overnight. If the bike will be needed to get yourself to dinner then make the necessary arrangements for access.

Relax the gear change cable. Inspect the tires for nails, thorns or bits of stone which may cause a puncture later on if they are left where they are.  Don’t top up the tire pressures until tomorrow morning.

Check the spokes to make sure none need tightening.  If the bike has started making any unusual noises during the day’s ride then investigate and fix them.

Remove the computer and take it to the room before it is accidentally zeroed.

Use the bike-lock and cable wherever and whenever you leave the bike. Lock it to a fixture if possible.  (Radiators are good for this).

Make a written note of the mileage, time and average speed. Finish off any scribbled notes made on the road.

Second – look after yourself.

Bath or shower. I used to take my cycling clothes in the shower or bath with me and do my laundry at the same time as washing myself. The exception is the cycling shorts, which should be hand-washed in water which is as hot as you can bear. It’s important to keep these as clinically clean as possible.

Drying the clothes is easy if you first wrap them as tightly as possible in the bath-towel and then wring them together. (An alternative is to walk up and down the towel-roll). Leave for ten minutes and then unwrap and put on a heated towel rail for the night. If there is no towel rail then you may have to use a hairdryer. If there is no hairdryer in the room then you should ask the landlady for one. Some landladies will actually do your laundry or at least let you use their washing machine and dryer.

If worst comes to worst then your clothes will be still damp in the morning and you will have to put them on again, damp. It’s a bit uncomfortable but it’s not the end of the world.

I found it better to shave in the evening than in the morning, if I was going to shave at all.

Write up the notes of mileage etc and complete any notes made during the day of scenery, flora and fauna, traffic, roads, items of interest, conversations etc.  I found it essential to keep a notebook and pen readily to hand for this sort of thing throughout the day (in my bar bag beside the fruit gums and the i-phone /camera).

Have dinner. Chatting to others in the restaurant, dining room or pub is always interesting and someone may make a further donation towards your sponsored charity.

Seek access to a computer and update the blog. This is not always possible each day , which makes it even more important to write up your notes frequently. Otherwise I know I will forget things. Updating a day’s blog using the i-phone keyboard is a challenge because the keyboard and screen as so small, so gaining access to the hotel or b&b computer is very helpful.  Otherwise you may have to wait until you are in a large town which boasts an internet cafe.   I found reception on my i-phone was very patchy, and it was frustrating to be out of contact for both the internet and telephone at times.

Third – plan tomorrow

Bearing in mind how strong you feel, the forecast weather for tomorrow, the likely wind, the terrain, any injuries you have collected, and any other demands such as timing deadlines for return to work etc, you can decide on a target for tomorrow’s journey mileage. Then find a suitable location for tomorrow night. Then book a b&b or hotel. This can be done through the internet, or a tourist information office, or by telephone, or after chatting with tonight’s landlady. They can often make recommendations or give you contact information.

You can often get more useful information about tomorrow’s route, or choice of route, from local people.

I used to then decide on a route and memorize the map and the main waypoints for tomorrow, plus any significant views or local sights that I wanted to visit. This is the best time to look for alternatives to the main roads for tomorrow’s journey.  Local people are always willing to offer information and advice about alternative routes, frequently called  ‘the back road’.

Rearrange your damp laundry on the towel rail or festoon it across windowsills, on hangers or over radiators. One trick with spare clothes which have not dried by the morning is to fix them by elastic strapping to the pannier on the bike. Then they get dried by the passing breeze as you cycle along.  On one occasion I obviously didn’t fix one of my stockings firmly enough.  So somewhere on the A49 between Hereford and Leominster there is light brown knee-sock which belongs to me, originally bought from the English Sports Shop in Bermuda.

Get an early night. In my case I usually spent some time on the Daily Telegraph crossword and then picked up my paperback book.  The bookreading put me to sleep very quickly, and I didn’t finish the book for several weeks. Throughout my journey I found that the combination of exercise, fresh air and single objective gave me a good night’s sleep, every night

With Felicity and our Bermuda flag

With Anne, Tom (from Kent) and Marian (from Bermuda).

The Welcoming Committee.

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What should have been an easy two days dawdle across to JOG, while waiting for my welcoming committee to arrive from Bermuda and Kent, was made ‘interesting’ by a climb up to Dunnet Head.  As is it the most northerly point on the British mainland, and as I was so near to it with time on my hands, I thought it would be a good idea to cycle up to it.

Starting off from Thurso I climbed past the old castle and found myself in a brisk north-west wind. Very nice. The traffic on the A836 was fairly light. The surface was good.  Large portions of the road were dead straight even though the Romans had no hand in building this road (I think). Perhaps it was General Wade or some such who built these straight roads.

I had received an e-mail message from the very helpful people at Caithness Horizons. They had researched the photo of a building I had taken between Shebster and Westfield and identified it. (Please see the Reay – Thurso blog page). The staff went out of their way to help me with this query and especially with research into the wartime radar station at Tannach which I would be visiting after I had finished the LEJOG. My thanks go to all of them who helped, including Joan, Dave, Marion, Bob the IT guy, and the lady in the cafe.

The buildings around here seem to be low, so as to keep out of the wind. There is a striking beach at Castletown.  If it weren’t for the weather it would be as nice as Bermuda. Then came some unusual-looking sand dunes. After lunch at the only pub in Dunnet I continued in tourist mode and cycled to Mary Anne’s cottage. This is a interesting historical place, lovingly preserved, giving an insight into a way of life which no longer exists.  The tour included an account of the process of cutting, turning, collecting, stacking, drying and burning peat. It reminded me of Strath Halladale.  I also contemplated how I learned all about ‘common rights of turbery’ for my banking exams a lifetime ago but it wasn’t until this trip that I clapped eyes on my first real piece of turf!

Then I set off for Dunnet Head, past Brough (pron Brog).  The road was narrow, steep, with switchbacks and the north-west wind seemed a lot stronger now that I was battling against it.  Several SPARs here, and having to pause to let oncoming traffic get past.  When you get to the top, the effort all seems worthwhile, in retrospect. I think I could also see John O’Groats for the first time in the distance.

The freewheel back downhill and downwind was exhilarating. It included the view of what was obviously a mill at Ham with its own mill-pond – now derelict and silted up.

5th July – 23.22 miles. 2 hours 18 minutes.  Avge 10.1 mph

After another overnight stay at the Castle Arms at Mey I went round the nearby Castle of Mey which was enjoyed, and improved upon, by the late Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother.

Then I got the long-awaited phone call and set off to meet up with the welcoming committee at John O’Groats. The road undulates a bit, with only the view and the livestock to make it interesting. The weather reminded me of its constant presence by raining on me a bit in the last couple of miles. The last few hundred yards to the signpost are actually downhill, which surprised me for some reason.

At the signpost we had joyous greetings and  photographs.  We also met a few people who were either finishing or just setting off. This included Will English from Bristol who was starting off, and had already read some of this blog!   I wish him the best of luck and godspeed.

Then Marian, Tom, Anne and I disassembled poor Felicity and decanted her into the boot of the car. After a quick change out of these cycling shorts and clothes (what a relief) we departed for the pilgrimage to my mother’s wartime posting at RAF radar station at Tannach.  An account of that visit will follow.

6th July – 10.14 miles.  59 minutes.  10.31 mph

I am now in Tunbridge wells, continuing to enjoy the best British weather in years.  In fact it’s a heatwave.  My knees are  hurting now more than they did whilst I was resting during evenings ‘on the road’. I think that’s because of being immobile for so long sitting in luxury on the back seat watching the hills, rivers, mountains, trees and clouds fly by.  The journey down was surreal.

The road along the roof of Scotland, near Murkle.

Mary Anne’s cottage, near Dunnet.

Me, and the forefinger of an obliging German lady who took the photo, at Dunnet Head.

Coming down off Dunnet Head. Impressive cliffs and John O’Groats in the far distance.

Shetland pony, near Mey.

The Bermudian tourist at the castle of Mey.

Over a thousand miles and this is my first sighting. I believe the black and white animals on the right are called Jacob’s Sheep. I haven’t seen these in years. There is a biblical explanation for their name but I can’t remember what it is.

This fellow came across the field to greet me and say goodbye, near Huna.  I was putting my rain-jacket on. Wasn’t that nice of him? As I was only a couple of miles from the finish I shared the last of my fruit pastilles with the horse.  He gave me a big toothy grin, so I assume he enjoyed them.

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This was planned as a really easy day, to get myself to Thurso and bring the blog up to date.  Then I could also have a rest day as I delay my completion stage to John O’Groats so as to meet up with the ‘welcoming committee’.

This schedule is beginning to feel very relaxed and a little lazy.

With the usual, invaluable, advice from my landlady (Ros at Linkside B&B) I soon turned off the A836 at Isauld and took a minor road through Shebster and Westfield. This is ‘the back road’ to Thurso.  The sun shone. The road had few hills. The road surface was mostly recently-laid tarmac without even the new white lines. Traffic was quiet. The moderate westerly wind was at my back. This is positively indulgent.

As I crested a hill above Thurso I was presented with a grand view over to Dunnet Head and the Orkneys.

On Sunday I spent some time looking round Thurso, which is replete with Viking history. The Caithness Exhibition is very interesting and the Visit Scotland staff were as helpful as ever. Both these offices were open on Sunday.  As usual my landlady, Fiona at the Navidale Guest House, was full of good advice. The rooms were so nice that I arranged for my ‘welcoming committee’ of three people to also stay here in a couple of days time.

Over lunch I also met up with three guys who have just reached here on bikes from Land’s End. They will finish this afternoon and then train and fly back to their home in Southampton. Flying (from Inverness) turned out to be both quicker and cheaper than using the train. We swapped war stories about the journey so far and discussed what life would be like when we returned to normality.

Setting off from Reay. Where did I put the sunglasses?

Dounray Power Station. No longer producing power, but will take several years to de-commission.

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Between Shebster and Westfield lies this ruin. Complete with bell-tower. The Old Manse was next door so maybe it was a Presbyterian Church?  Or a school?

Note. Those helpful people at Caithness Horizons in Thurso subsequently idenftified this building as the Reay Free Church 1844. They contacted me the next day to tell me what it was.   How helpful !

Very imposing and austere.

This one bull had fifteen heifers with him in the field. Obviously none of them was ‘in the mood’

On a clear day you can see the old man! On the right is Dunnet Head with its cliff. On the horizon is Orkney Islands. At the far left you can see a column of rock known as the Old Man of Hoy. To the right of the Orkney is a stack from which they burn off the surplus gas arising from the North Sea pipe terminal. That is at Scapa Flow. If you cannnot see it then that;s due to the limitations of my I-Phone camera.

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Downtown Thurso at 9 o’clock on a Saturday night.

12.08 miles.  1 hour 12 minutes.  Avge 10 mph

Today I left the high land, and I was sorry to do so.

I was also sorry to leave a great B&B, and their two dogs and the ducks, geese, and hens.

The cycling was easy. The slope was downward. The wind was behind me. The sun was shining all day. The traffic was non-existent until I reached the A836.  But still I was sorry to be travelling this road and leaving this enchanted place.

From Forsinard I crossed the railway lines and cruised northwards down the valley – Strath Halladay. The stream at this point is very small – only a burn. There is no sign of habitation until Forsinain, where the valley sides begin to be covered by Forestry Commission conifers.

This is the Flow Country.  The narrow valley bottom (the ‘in-by land’ as it’s called in Cumberland) is fertile and arable. The banks and hills are mostly poor grazing and peat bog.

Further downstream there are a number of places shown on the map, but they turn out to be really small places – perhaps only a farmhouse with buildings.

Near Trantlebeg there is a walled burial ground for the strath. I wandered round it and saw many familiar names like MacKay, Sutherland and MacKenzie. When you read the places these souls lived you realise how small is the catchment area.  I could actually see the recited place names of Trantlebeg, Trantlemore and Croick from where I stood beside the gravestones. Imagine the local scene a hundred years ago and less.  People would be born, grow up, get married, raise a family and then die – all within sight of the place where they knew they would be buried.  It was the same place their parents, grandparents and older generations were buried.  It must have been a hard life for them, but I guess there was some comfort in having that certainty in mind.

As in the Strath of Kildonen there are many sad looking abandoned houses. It is poignant to think that these places were house and home to several generations of hard working farmers. The views are magnificent, at least they were for me at this time of year.  Oh, what stories these homes could tell, about a way of life which no longer exists.  I am reminded of a line by Shelley…  ” I met a traveller from an antique land”.  I feel like that traveller who has been privileged to pass through this land.

Within a couple of hours I would be within sight of an advanced nuclear power station at Dounray. What more sharp a contrast can there be?

An unamed bridge over a small burn which later grows  to become the Halladay.

That burn has small trout in it, which can be seen if you just wait quietly and watch

Someone has been cutting peat here. It is now laid out to dry.  The bricks of peat have a pleasant smell to them.

Combined harvester – an early model. I was a little surprised to see this because there is so little land that is fertile enough to grow cereals, and the growing season will be short.  Nevertheless, they obviously succeeded in growing grain at some stage.

An abandoned cottage.  There were also cow byres nearby.

The view from the front (and only) door. The yellow flowers are gorse bushes and the River Halladay is in the middle-ground.

On the A 863 between Melvich (mel-vick) and Reay (ray). This is the last county sign on this journey. The big grin is partly because the hill turns downward just around the corner and there is a fee-wheel all the way to Reay. I am beginning to sense ‘the end’.

The sign also mentions the Mod, which is a competitive music festival somewhat like an Eisteddford. In the background are both Dunnet Head and the Orkneys – where I don’t have to go!

21.54 miles.  1 hour 58 minutes.  Avge 10.9 mph

After  a lovely breakfast I was introduced to my first ‘haar’. That’s persistent cloud that can apparently last all day. I was later delighted to find that this one did not. It did, however, rain for the first couple of hours.  This is only the third time in six weeks that I have worn my wet weather gear!

The kindness of people was again demonstrated today. Mike from the Mirage cafe opened up early to make me a ham sandwich and salad to take with me for lunch. Furthermore he offered advice on my route, and refused to take any payment for the sandwich etc.  It was ‘his contribution’.

The first part of today’s ride was to be a long drag up the Helmsdale river.  The wind was more-or-less behind me which is a psychological boost if only because that means it is not against you!   The road is narrow single track and is usually close to the river and overlooks the fishing beats which are jealously guarded.  It costs a fortune to fish here in one of Europes best salmon fishing rivers.  Imagine paying up to 9,000 pounds for a week’s fishing !  One man, one rod, and you don’t even get to keep all you catch. In fact it isn’t even a week because it’s not permissable to fish on a Sunday.  Even the salmon get a lie-in once a week.

The river has a clearly-defined flood plain with the railway line on the western side of it and the road on the east. I reckon, from my ancient and hazy recollection of geography, that the river dispays ‘incised meanders’. If that is so then the mature river must have been rejuventated. That could possibly have happened, and maybe still is, by the removal of the weight of ice as the northern ice sheet melted at the end of the last ice age. So the land, even this massive and ancient land, will be rising up and causing the menaders to firm up and deepen.  That’s my theory, anyway.   It helps pass the time and miles on days like this to have a theory to daydream about.

The valley is also full of wildlife in the form of lapwings, curlews, oyster catchers and even a buzzard whom I startled from his fence-post perch when he didn’t see me coming. Farmsteads are few and far between. Traffic was very sparse. I took some time to wander round Baile an Or (gaelic for Town of Gold).  This is the scene of the Scottish gold rush of the 19th century. There was a shanty town of prospectors drawn by the news of some gold being found here. It was real enough, but soon worked out. The Duke of Sutherland’s estate didn’t like it either because the miners were making too much noise and disturbing the grouse, reputedly.  The charming legacy is that everyone is still allowed to pan for gold here as long as it’s not for financial gain. Several people still do so, and collect tiny bits of gold which can eventually be made up into  a piece of jewellery. I heard tell of one man who built up his collection until he had enough gold to make a wedding ring.

Back to the long slog upwards.  The road has obviously had a bad winter, and needs mending in places.  I must remember to keep an eye on the road at all times in order to miss things. After Kinbrace the gradient slackened as I left the Helmsdale river and began following the Bannock Burn. I then stopped by the road to have my lunch, sheltering from the wind beside a conifer plantation. Mike’s generosity was clearly demonstrated in the size of the sandwich portions. It was at this stage that the sun began to shine, and I saw a herd of about 20 red deer in the distance.  It was also the time when the midges found me. To be precise I think they were detered from me by the ministrations of the Avon lady but they showed a strong liking for ham sandwich on white, with french mustard. I didn’t want to spray my food before eating the remainder.  Neither did I want to end up eating the midges along with the lunch. So I hurredly finished and got back on the bike.

As I reached the headwaters of the Bannock Burn and met those of the Halladale the ground leveled off. This is a true watershed. I heard a faint whistle in the distance and a two-carriage train came slowly up and passed me.  It looked rather incongruous somehow, but was a striking sight. It was a pity that the train hadn’t passed me where the lines were adjacent to the road.  It would have made a splendid photograph.

In glorious sunshine I cruised along into Forsinard. There isn’t much here, especially as the train halt is unmanned and the station building given over to a very worthy successor – the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds has a visitor centre here.  The RSPB runs a large nature reserve hereabouts.

My lovely Forsinard Guest House B&B also specialises in free range eggs from hens, ducks and geese.  Sue, the landlady, makes her own jam and marmalade and sells them by the wayside using an honesty box!

It was at this point that I will part company with the railway line. I contemplated how I had followed the line since Inverness, Dingwall, Allness, Tain, Golspie and Helmsdale.   My mother and father had to use this same line for interminable train journeys when they were posted up here during WW11. Winter days are very short.  I am travelling these parts in the best possible weather conditions. Imagine a slow train in the winter, in an old-fashioned compartment carriage, everybody smoking, blacked-out, and there is no-one in the station cafes to serve them. My mother and other servicemen/women used to refer to Forsinard as ‘Frozen-Hard’.

Rain, rain. (..and the forefinger of the landlord who was seeing me off.)

The haar, looking out to the North Sea from near Navidale, near Helsdale.

End of ordinary road. Beginning of single lane with passing places for the next 40 miles.

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Must be getting near to St David’s

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Panorama of the Helmsdale River.  I hope this illustrates my theory on incised meanders.

The bridge at Baile an Or, where the gold prospecting started.

The watershed, with nothing in front…

…and nothing behind, i.e no people, no sheep, no cattle, no buildings.

It looks like a pile of firewood until you get close to it and appreciate the scale.  This is new logging.  You could smell the freshly cut pine for hundreds of yards downwind. Real pine smell – not like stuff out of a bottle.

Ten red deer stags ‘at bay’. Sorry for the poor photo detail

The train, silhouetted against the waters of Loch Lucy

The wayside stall, with honesty box

My B&B for the night.  Houses are snuggled close to the gound in this part of the world

Forsinard Halt. Unmanned crossing with no gates, and a forlorn-looking former signal box.  Even the platform is not high enough to match the trains – hence the yellow plastic steps. Charming in the sunshine. What a change in the weather since this morning!

Colin and Katy.  The protectors of birds and educators of people.

26.36 miles.  2 hours 35 minutes  Avge 10.2 mph

Not much choice but to use the A9 today, to get myself to Helmsdale. Mountains to the left of me – the North Sea to the right. Yesterday we had a west wind, which would have suited me very well for today as I went along the shore line next the railway in a north-easterly direction. Instead I got a north-east wind in my face all day. It was so cold I am sure it came all the way from Norway.

It turned out there is no internet cafe in Golspie, nor in Brora, so that’ll set me back a day or so with the blog.

There is a steep hill out of Golspie involving a GOTBAP. After the crest the road runs parallel with the railway which was reputedly built by the Duke of Sutherland who owns or owned most of the land hereabouts. There is even a private railway station across the street from the gates to Dunrobin Castle. Very convenient.

The intrepid cyclist setting off from Golspie in bright, but cold, sunshine.

What is that strange road-sign in the distance?

Ah yes.  This was left by some kind person to inform / remind all passers-by on the A9 in Sutherland of the result of that football match, in case they hadn’t heard.
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The way into Helmsdale, by road, bike or rail

The Helmsdale -Kildonan war memorial, which chimes every quarter hour with Westminster chimes loud enough for the whole town to hear.

Next to it is an underground ice-house where they stored ice from the frozen river in the winter for use in the fishing industry i.e. to freeze the herring and send it to London and elsewhere.

The old bridge at Helmsdale, still in use, built by Thomas Telford (another Scotsman).

The A9 was full of hilly bits which called for several SPARs.   The stong wind didn’t help.  Brora used to be a thriving place. It even had a coal mine once upon a time. Now it is renowned for its ice cream shop, but I didn’t buy any because I was already too cold. Like many places along this coast, Helmsdale once prospered on the herring fishing, but there are now very few fishing boats left. Helmsdale also has an interesting history associated with its planned development in association with the enforced clearances initiated by the Dukes of Sutherland. Unlike most places in this part of the world, the streets are laid out in a grid pattern

My overnight stay at Navidale House hotel was made delightful by gracious host and hostess. I was even given a lift into town in order to shop/ blog so as to avoid having to climb the steep hill to the hotel.

There was a coal fire going in the lounge, which gives you some idea how cold it was. To a large extent the cooler climate up here is contrasted with the warmth of the people.  Everyone seems friendly. Also they don’t lock up doors all the time. Shops are sometimes left open but unattended, and there are roadside stalls with honesty-boxes beside them.  Andy Murray has reached the semi-finals at Wimbledon.

Rather than carry on up the boring A9 I have decided to see some more of the interesting heart of the Scottish highlands by going up along the Helmsdale valley, through Kinbrace and Forsinard to the A836 which runs along  the roof of Scotland. This later transpired to be an excellent decision.

18.72 miles.  2 hours 19 minutes.  Avge 8.0 mph

Today should be a middling day for mileage, without too many hills. With a strong west wind I was battling into it during the morning, then had a crosswind, and then had the wind at my back for the home stretch to Golspie (pron. Gol – spee).

The first village I came to was the Hill of Fearn. The war memorial at the crossroads bears the names of another two heroes by the name of Vass and several called Ross.

Then on to rejoin the A9.  At Tain I detoured into the town and got an hour on the PC at an internet cafe at the ‘music emporium’.  Then I went on past Glen Morange (more-ann-gee) where they make particularly good lemonade. The bridge at Dornoch came next, just as I was getting hungry. When they built this bridge it must have reduced the traffic through Bonar Bridge considerably.

On the recommendation of a kind lady in Tesco’s in Tain I stopped for lunch at the Tall Pines restaurant at Evelix. The food is good, the portions enormous, the price reasonable and the service fine. There I met a couple who were driving up to Orkney to look after a farm for two weeks while some friends visit their own home in Gloucestershire. After a nice chat they volunteered a generous contribution to my Age Concern collection.  I never cease to be pleasantly surprised by the spontaneous kindness of so many people.

The afternoon became warmer and sunnier. The colours of the countryside reflected the bright yellow of the gorse bushes, golden irises, purple heather, dandelions, buttercups, foxgloves etc.  The birds came out again, including lapwings, curlews, pied wagtails, seagulls in large number, and my friend the skylark.  This time I saw the skylark because he had chosen that moment to swoop down on some unsuspecting morsel for his lunch.

At the crossing over the River Fleet there is a long climb up what is appropriately near ‘The Mound’.  At the top of this climb I came upon the first road sign I have seen with the name ‘John O’ Groats on it.  That really made me think that I was making progress and that this way of life would, for me, be over fairly soon.  As I will not be taking the shortest possible route between here and JOG I will be covering more than 76 miles before the finish.  Nevertheless, it seemed an important moment.  So I had a good mouthful of Irn Bru, mounted up, and set about pushing those miles behind me.

Golspie is another former prosperous fishing village which now depends upon tourism, farming and a little fishing. I belive there is also a call-centre nearby providing employment. It has a beautiful beach, and the landlord of the Golf Links hotel was full of useful and interesting information about the locality.

He, like a large number of the people running guest houses and hotels in Scotland, was in fact an Englishman. He was nevertheless very well-informed about local scots history and geography.

Dornoch Bridge.  The longest of its type in Europe

And this time it really does mean ‘beware of low-flying aeroplanes’.  And the crosswind was fearsome.

Yet another boundary. Sutherland is the biggest administrative area (county) in Europe but has the lowest population density.

Another abandoned wayside cottage – complete with adjoining byre for the cattle

A reminder of home in Bermuda (the sign says ‘Cloverdale’)

My first sight of John O’Groats on a road-sign. I must be ‘getting there’.  For some reason I felt a bit emotional upon seeing this.

My destination for tonight. Golspie from a distance

25.44 miles.  2 hours 41 minutes.  Avge 9.4 mph

My first stop today was at a very helpful internet cafe in Alness.  (Alness Computers in the High Street.) It only opened a couple of weeks ago.  The speed is great (much faster than libraries or TIC computers I have used before) and I got up to date with my blog within the hour. The manager is also local and a font of useful information.

Then off towards tonight’s destination. I immediately left the A9 and went along the coast road, passing through Invergordon for lunch. This is the kind of place where the pub manager took my bike and stored it round the back, under shelter.  When I’d finished lunch he retrieved it for me and brought it round the front.  What service !

An oil rig ‘ parked’ in the Cromarty Firth.  Looks a bit incongruous but there is a local industry servicing and repairing these monsters.

After lunch I was barreling along on quiet roads that were completely flat in most places, and the strong west wind was behind me.

I was intrigued by another derelict roadside property. This time it wasn’t a cottage, but a substantial two-storey house with its own driveway which had lost its roof. As I made my way up the driveway I was greeted by the sight of five peacocks who came strutting down the drive towards me. They seemed quite tame. I then went past the house to the neighbouring farm. Again the buildings were derelict and abandoned.  The peacocks followed behind and kept me company.

The last time I saw peacocks walking about was at a hotel in the Bahamas. I wonder if someone feeds these ones or if they are truly wild.  Where do they go in the winter?

Three of the five peacocks at Pollo.

Then I moved on through the village of Barbaraville.  (Yes, I remember that it was the Beach Boys.)  The rain was threatening and the wind had turned much cooler. Next came a burial ground beside the road at Kilmuir.  I once did some research into my ancestry and family tree, so I know that at least one of my ancestors was from this part of the world.  She had the unusual name of Vass.

There is a war memorial adjacent to this chapel.  It bore the name of a William Vass as one of the local men who died in the Great War. Wandering round the burial ground I found that most headstones were very old and heavily weathered by the harsh climate here.

The chapel at the burial ground – Kilmuir Easter

However, I was taken aback when I stumbled, almost literally, across this headstone of a John MacCulloch and his wife. The coincidences are that our ‘family name’ is John.  My father was a John as was his father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Even my elder brother is a John. Also, for the last three generations all these John MacCullochs were joiners. On my side of the clan the ‘a’ in MacCulloch seems to have been dropped about a hundred years ago.

So I don’t think this John was a direct ancestor of mine, but may well be a  cousin of an ancestor.

Headstone of one of my ancestors?

Then on  across the Nigg peninsula. It’s mostly flat and has obviously been used by the RAF during the last war, You can still see abandoned air-traffic control towers scattered around. Indeed there is still one flying training area here. Every now and again a fighter/bomber jet would roar overhead and then practice dropping bombs on some poor defenceless field.

I then headed for Shandwick, passing one of the Pictish standing stones in the area.  The Picts were a tribe of people who lived here and in the rest of what is now Scotland, alongside the tribe called the Scots.  The Picts went to great lengths carving and erecting these stones which depict religious scenes and reflect the conversion of the Picts to Christianity. This one was carved about 1,200 year ago.

Pictish stone overlooking Shandwick and Balintore.

A field or corn just beginning to ‘turn’ i.e. ripen and change colour from green to yellow.

The view from the Stone, overlooking the fishing villages of Shandwick and Balintore (my home for the night).

My hotel was very quiet, but I had a long chat with someone who knew all about the history of crofting in Scotland.  It’s far more complex and interesting than I thought. I went for a stroll along the shore and round the fishing harbour around 9.30, still in broad daylight.

8.77 miles.  1 hour 38 minutes.  Avge 11.5 mph

After bidding a fond farewell to Inverness set off in search of the main road northwards. Just outside Inverness this changes from the infamous A82 to the A9. The Kessock Bridge offers spectacular views over the Beauly Firth.
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To the east up the Firth and on to the Cairngorm mountains

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Westwards to the Moray Firth and the North Sea

It occured to me that I have now traversed the UK from west to east as well as going a long way north. I have  seen the surrounding ocean as the Atlantic Ocean at Lands End, The English Channel at Penzance, the Bristol Channel at the Severn Crossing, Morecombe Bay at Carnforth, the Solway Firth at Gretna, The Firth of Clyde at Erskine, Loch Linnhe at Fort William and now the North Sea at Inverness.
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Another boundary on the A9 near Charlestown (and another helpful TIC). With the benefit of this advice I left the A9 and detoured round Conan Bridge and Dingwall instead of the more direct route.   I’m glad I did. The Sunday morning traffic on the minor roads was very quiet and I could see more of what was going on.
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… like haymaking near Muckernich.

…and the (new) bridge at Conan Bridge.
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One of Dingwall’s claims to fame.

..and this should be another – The leaning tower of Dingwall.

It was Armed Services Day in Dingwall, where I stopped for lunch at the Royal British Legion Club.  They take this kind of patriotic event seriously as a community here. They had a ceilidh (pronounced Kaley) band and half the town seemed to have turned up.

The ceilidh band, complete with bodhran (boh- rawn), accordian, drums and bagpipes.

As in the world over, the men wouldn’t get up to dance so the lassies danced with each other.

Before leaving Dingwall I learned that they have recently been visited by film crews making a movie called ‘A Lonely Place to Die’, or some such. Then It started to rain so I stayed anothe half hour to dodge the rain clouds and make my way to my overnight stay in another fine b&b at Tullochard Guest House. The landlady there (Shelley) helped me with my planning for the next few day’s stops, in places where b&bs are few and far between.

Something else they do well in Cromarty – grow potatoes, and rain.

Music. I have been meaning to mention something else for several weeks.  As part of my planning for this journey I spent a lot of time loading up all my tunes onto my I-phone. That’s because I regularly listen to music as I cycle round in Bermuda.  I thought I would appreciate it as I pedalled my way up the length of the United Kingdom.  In fact I have never listened to any music.  I have had so much to see, hear, smell and wonder at that it has never occured to me to ‘put my ears on’.

28.36 miles.  2 hours 51 minutes.  Avge 9.9 mph

Today was to be a gentle day on my legs so after breakfast I had the opportunity of a long chat with some fellow guests at the very nice Kilmore Farmhouse B&B, who came from Australia.  What a surprise it must be for them to wake up and find that the Australian government is now run by a ‘Sheila’.  It’s true; nothing is sacred these days.

I aimed to escape the A82 as soon as possible by taking the last available stretch of the canal towpath from Dochgarroch into Inverness.  But before that I had about 10 miles of the A82. It was  the same as yesterday, i.e. pedal and pedal and pedal while keeping safe.

Unfortunately this was the day I came across a  traffic accident.  I found three cars smashed up and scattered across the road. Two of them had crashed head-on to each other. There were already two or three people on the scene but the ambulance, fire engine and police had not arrived.  So I did what I could, which wasn’t very much because the only person who could benefit from first aid was already receiving it.

Without going into details, it does seem that the accident was caused by someone travelling at too high a speed and then overtaking the car in front and then hitting a car coming the other way.  Children, this is often the case with accidents in Bermuda.   So when you are old enough to drive a bike or a car please remember that your whole life, and somebody else’s life, can change in an instant if you drive too fast.  These motor cars on the A82 didn’t look like cars any more.  They looked like tin cans that had been torn apart and the contents strewn all over the road.

When the ambulance arrived I wheeled my bike along the grass verge and set off again, feeling quite upset and sorry for the people who had been hurt.  The road was strangely quiet because there was no traffic passing me. The cars and trucks could not get past the scene of the accident because the road was blocked. The traffic coming the other way was queued up for a long way ahead of me. I think they would be stuck there for a long time before the road was cleared.

At Dochgarroch I took to the canal towpath, which led me all the way into Inverness city centre.

Highland cattle in the Highlands. (or heelan koos as Bob and Liz would call them).

At Dochgarrroch locks the lock-keeper’s family seem to like tortoises. They even have a small sign which tells everyone that their three tortoises are called Charlie, Fred, and Henry  – although they are all female!  Tortoises can live to be over 120 years old.

Charlie, Fred, and Henry (or at least two of them)

I arrived at the b&b too early so went for a stroll around the city centre of Inverness.  It didn’t take long. I also located a shop which sold shammy cream.

I was also able to book my next three nights b&bs using the excellent services of ‘Visit Scotland’.

Inverness Castle overlooking the River Ness

16.62 miles.  1 hour 37 minutes.  Avge 10.3 mph

Today must be the official start of the Scottish midgie season. Up until now I have been able to outrun them on my bike but now I think they have developed new tactics.  I believe that they lay in wait for passing cyclists and when you pass through a swarm of them they latch onto your skin and won’t let go.

After leaving Craigard Guest House I went by the famous shinty pitch and then along the A82 beside Loch Oich. There is no alternative to that road here. Pretty views and a strong west which was either a cross-wind or slightly behind me – hurray!

At Bridge of Oich I had a birds-eye-view of some canoeists going through the rapids under the bridge.

The bridge at Bridge of Oich

Follow my leader in the River Oich

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Oops.  Stuck on the rocks

The equivalent of Get Out of The Canoe and Push

Then onto a short stretch of the Caledonian Canal towpath again. Just as pleasant as yesterday, and quiet, and peaceful, and flat, and lonely.

At Fort Augustus I called at the Tourist Information Office (‘Visit Scotland’) and got good advice and information about the way ahead. They also booked my next bed-and-breakfast for that night in Drumnadrochit  (Drum-na-drockit). From here onwards there was no choice but to take the A82 alongside Loch Ness. The logging trail is apparently even rougher than the one I used yesterday so would not be safe for the bike.

Didn’t see the monster but it is a very long and wide loch. The map is misleading where it appears that the road goes beside the loch. You tend to assume that the road will therefore be flat and level.  It’s not.  It drifts away from the lochside many times and that means that it  up into the very steep ground on the left.

Better stock up ! (This is actually at the start of the road to Skye from Invermorriston – not my road). The forefinger belongs to an obliging Londoner on holiday. This may turn out to be an I-Phone design fault.

I had lunch at a roadside pub in Invermorriston, and then got back on the road for a 14 mile drag to Drumnadrochit. The road seemed to go on forever. My knees were sore and tired.  My legs were tired.  I was tired.  There is nothing else to do except concentrate of the cycling routine, keep safe from traffic and potholes, make sure you don’t day-dream, and pedal,      ………and pedal, and pedal, and pedal, and pedal.

The A82 road in a quiet spell

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..and when it’s not so quiet (most of the time).

There is a memorial to a Mr Cobb who was killed on the loch as he tried to beat the world waterspeed record many years ago.

Then I came to Urquhart Castle. I was so tired by now that I did not leave the road and walk down to the castle itself for a  look around. The last time I was here was as a teenage Boy Scout  with the Hayton Scout Troop.  We’d been camping, walking and climbing (including Ben Nevis) for two weeks.  I also remember that when the  annual scout trip was over we returned home to find out what our O-level results were.

Urquart Castle

For now, I just wanted to get to my destination and into a hot bath.  Again I was fortunate to find myself in a lovely B&B at Kilmore Farmhouse in Drumnadrochit. Getting there I passed yet another shinty pitch and took a few minutes to spectate.  Shinty appears to be a scottish variation on field hockey, only a lot rougher.

This has been a long ride today, and the last few days have also been long.  I am now ahead of my schedule on a mileage basis, so I can afford to make future days a bit shorter and even have a day off to let my knees recover.  Today was also quite fast because I didn’t go on any logging trails or have many long steep hills.  Only a few SPARs and no GOTBAPs.

29.21 miles.  2 hours 46 minutes. Avge 10.56 mph

Today had to be a fairly long one because the places to stay overnight are getting fewer and further between. I settled on Invergarry for this evening and made an early start from Fort William.  The weather forecast was for rain all day.

Immediately I was distracted by the sound of a steam whistle and that unmistakable smell of coal fire, smoke and water vapour.  Upon investigation I found a steam engine getting ready to pull a special train of enthusiasts, leaving Fort William railway station and up the valley to Mallaig.

The Lord of the Isles steam engine, also known as the Jacobite.

Then off to Neptune’s Staircase. It is a series of locks up which, or down which, boats can travel from the Caledonian Canal into Loch Linnhe.

Canal, road and railway travel in one place.

One yacht in one of the locks was from Nantes in France.

Then I set off along the Caledonian Canal towpath. It is a bit gravelly and rough in places so you need to concentrate on finding the smoothest bit to ride on. But it is virtually flat.  I only met one walker and one cyclist in seven miles.  I must also say how friendly and helpful all the lock-keepers and gate-keepers were, wherever I met them along the various bits of canal I travelled, such as Laggan locks, Gairlochy and Moy and Dochgarroch.

The Caledonian Canal towpath from Fort William to Gairlochy

I also passed by a single, solitary swan who was making his stately way along the water.  After that the tune of  ‘Ride a White Swan’ kept going through my mind for several miles. Can’t remember who made that song.

The canal is wide and well-maintained. It also goes on for miles. What a remarkable piece of engineering it is, especially when you think that it was dug at a time when most of the work was done by pick, shovel, and the sweat of a man’s brow.  No earth-moving equipment in those days.

At Gairlochy I decided to avoid the A82 by using the minor B8005 road. Then I left that road and struggled through the Clunes Forest on a logging track. The Forestry Commission use this for their heavy trucks which remove felled trees from the forest. It was really a bit rough for Felicity and her tyres. I was nervous about getting a puncture out here in ‘the middle of nowhere’. It was also very hilly in places so there were several GOTBAPs. Even going downhill was slow because I had to brake constantly to avoid going too fast, hitting a big stone and maybe falling off my bike.

The logging trail through Clunes Forest

The logging trail that went on forever. I biked this for nearly eleven miles and never met a soul.

The heather, for which Scotland is famous, is now beginning to bloom in purple flower. I also passed lots of foxgloves and enormous rhododendron bushes everywhere.

Invergarry Post Office at rush hour.

The directions to my lovely Graigard Guest House at Invergarry were to ‘turn right just after the shinty pitch’.  That wasn’t much help because I had no idea what a shinty pitch looked like!

The weather forecasters had predicted light rain starting in the early morning, then heavy rain starting at lunchtime, and then light rain after tea time.  I never saw a single drop all day!   I am being very lucky with the weather. Having been on the road for six weeks or more I have had to wear my wet-weather gear only twice.

26.78 miles.  3 hours 22 minutes.  Avge 7.95 mph.

After yesterday’s exertions I thought it would be a good idea to have  a fairly short ride up to Fort William.  However, as a means of avoiding the A82 road for a while, and also because it might be interesting, I made a detour. So I started off through Ballachulish (Bala – hoo – lish) and then turned off at Bunree and took the Corran Ferry across Loch Linnhe to a place called Ardgour (Ard – goor).

The Corran Ferry across to Ardgour (Ard – goor)

Leaving the ferry and about to set off up Loch Linnhe (Lin-ee).

This was  a beautiful, flat, tiny, quiet road taking me from one small place to an even smaller place. The fields and a few gardens showed this to be a place with a much milder climate than that of Glencoe. It  ‘felt’ different.  Maybe this is because this part of Scotland is sheltered from the worst of the west winds and storms. It also has a southerly aspect.

As I was just tootling along I could take much more notice of the flowers and animals. There were large fields of foxgloves, banks of bracken, and whole areas of yellow iris with a few heath spotted orchids. I saw my first field-mouse scurrying along the road in front of me, and a grey heron out fishing for his breakfast.

The sheep and cattle were grazing in long grass, although I noticed that the hay had still not been mown. Some of the sheep had been sheared, others had not.  As in most of Scotland north of the Clyde I saw that most of the lambs were singletons, with only a few twins, and no triplets. This is also reflective of the climate and fodder conditions.

There was evidence of the trend towards rural depopulation in Scotland. For several generations now the population of Scotland has been falling because people have been emigrating. This has been mostly to England but also to Canada, USA,  Australia etc. There were some cottages lying abandoned, where whole families used to live.  The current Scottish parliament is trying to slow down depopulation and also encourage immigration into the country.

An abandoned and derelict cottage.

At Camusnagaul I had a short wait for the ferry, which is quite small.  I recollect it as being about as big as the Georgia used to be in Bermuda. It was an interesting exercise to get me and Felicity (and one other passenger) loaded onto the ferry.

Quite small, and both the skipper and the single crewman wore lifejackets!

The bike storage area on the Camusnagaoul Ferry – on the roof.

Ben Nevis from the ferry.

Then we motored off across the loch to Fort William. There I checked into my hotel and went shopping. The only cycling shop in Fort William had no shammy cream. What’s more, the lady serving me said that they didn’t even stock it. She said she knew what I was talking about but there was  ‘no call’  for it in Fort William.  Presumably they breed a hardy bunch of lads and lassies in this part of the world.

The Lochaber Schools Pipe Band

In the early evening I was very pleasantly surprised to hear the skirl of the bagpipes again. Than the Lochaber Schools pipe Band marched down Middle Street and gave a concert for the locals and tourists.  They were very good.

21.28 miles  2 hours 16 minutes.  Avge 9.4 mph.

This happens to be in a filling station car park, but these colour-coordinated recycling bins are to be seen everywhere throughout Scotland. They also seem to be taking renewable energy (hydro-electric, wind and waves) very seriously.

A cautionary tale at the bottom of the hill .  ‘Beware of Low-flying motorcycles.’

There are no people, no buildings, no walls, no trees.  It’s a bit scary but it is wild and beautiful.

Glencoe village

The bridge of Coe

At 3 am I awoke at Bridge of Orchy. It was already daylight.  The view through the window was completetly white – a real scotch mist. After a hearty breakfast I made an early start on what I predicted would be one of my hardest day’s ride yet.

The silence was profound. The only thing to be heard was the crunch of my feet on the roadside gravel as I loaded the panniers and got Felicity ready. Then a cuckoo sang out from one of the stands of trees on the nearby mountianside. In case I had missed him, he cried out again. The midges were already out in force so I applied some more Avon Skin So Soft.  At this rate I will be really beautiful by the time I reach John O’Groats.

The mist was dissipating as I set off northwards. My prayers for an east wind had  been partly answered by there being no wind at all, which was fine by me. There was no traffic. As the mist cleared the sun came out and revealed the imposing heights of the hills before and around me.  The lochs I passed, including Loch Tulla, were completely calm. The only sound was my own breathing and the thrumming of my tires on the smooth roadmetal.

As I was taking the photo of Loch Tulla I heard the faint but distinctive sound of bagpipes. It came from the lone piper who was standing at the viewpoint at the top of the hard climb up to Rannoch Moor. He was so far away that I couldn’t even see him. In fact he was about two miles away and a couple of hundred feet above me but I could still hear the bagpipes clearly.

Then the climb began. My heart rate soon got up to 125 bpm which is about the rate for Scaur Hill. Then came the famous hairpin bend and even steeper climb at 130 bpm.  But I found that I could manage it without any GOTBAP, right up to the piper. This was a pleasant surprise and sense of achievement because I had been fully expecting to be walking and pushing by now. I put this improved performance down to either:

It was not long since breakfast and my tummy was still full of real scots porridge with honey, or

I have got fitter and stronger during the expedition, or

The skirl of the bagpipes drew me up the last steep half mile of climb.

Anyway, I stopped to listen to the piper.  I think he was playing a Lament, or at least it sounded pretty sad. Then a coachload of tourists disgorged themselves onto the viewpoint and milled all around him. Then he ceased the Lament and broke into a medley of  ‘popular’ scottish songs by such as Kenneth McKellar and Jimmy Stewart. I thought that was disappointing although the Japanese, German, Dutch, or Scandinavian tourists probably couldn’t tell the difference.

Then I set off again on a more gentle but long climb up onto the moor. I couldn’t help singing scottish songs to myself. Although I went to school in the small town of Brampton in the very north of England many of our teachers had names like Steele,  Douglas, Bell, Thompson, Armstrong and Curr – all good scots border names. So we were introduced as children to the likes of  ‘Speed Bonnie Boat’ and ‘Westering Home’.  I can still remember most of the words today. I was also reminded of the mouth-music of Robin Hall and Jimmy MacGregor.

In between the growl of the passing coaches and the screaming of the motorcycles there were periods of silence when I could still hear in my mind the haunting sound of the piper’s Lament.  Several SPARs while I listened to the peewit’s call or the bleet of some lamb who had lost his mother.

After crossing into yet another county or region the traffic got heavier and I passed by other lay-byes and viewpoints which were already full of cars, coaches and tourists. My photographs do not really capture the grandeur of the scenery. Some mountains still had snow on them, not melted since last winter, and  today is mid-summer’s day!

These mountains creat their own weather. It became cold just because of the altitude so I put more clothes on. A cold wind picked up, from the west i.e. in my face.  Although I was now going downhill I found that from the Kingshouse and Altnafeadh I was having to pedal just to keep going.  No free-wheeling for me today. Pedal – pedal – pedal -pedal. I felt sorry for the cyclists going the other way; they had a long climb in front of them. If they were going all the way to Lands End then they had Shap and Cornwall in front of them.

Eventually I arrived at my overnight stop at Glencoe Village. It’s a pleasant place with lots of history, and guest-houses. I strolled around by the Folk Museum and the War Memorial and the memorial to the Glencoe Massacre which took place hundreds of years ago but still rankles with many of the MacDonald clan.

I got chatting to Steve, from Airdrie, who is a keen walker and knows a lot about the surrounding countryside from having climbed or walked over most of it.

The good average speed, especially considering the climb I had to make, was because the first couple of miles today were fairly flat, and the last several miles were downhill.  I am now down at sea-level again, having started the day at about 700 feet above sea level.

I’m glad today is over.  It’s been a long day and I’m tired and sore.  But at least Rannoch Moor and Glencoe are behind me.

25.14 miles.  2 hours 28 minutes. Avge 10.2 mph

Loch Tulla

As I approached the climb to Rannoch Moor and Glen Coe I passed Loch Tulla in silence. The loch’s surface reflected the mountains behind it. A rare sight in north Scotland.

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Early morning bright sunshine gave way to some clouds, with a cold northerly wind again.  Goosebumps all round. Boosted by my breakfast which included real porridge I set off early, in the hope of avoiding the heaviest traffic.  Said goodbye to Mr Chisholm at the picturesque Tigh Na Struith guest house.  Little was I to know that I would bump into him again in Glencoe some days later (small world again).  Although this was a Sunday it didn’t seem much quieter but at least the road was wider than further south.

The first section to Tyndrum was gently rising but after that I hit a steep portion.

The Green Welly Shop in Tyndrum. Most of the customers seemed to be a crowd of motorcyclists.

Soon I was into a SPAR routine, but never needed to walk and push. The sun came out eventually and opened up striking views of surrounding mountains and glens. Even though I was only managing 4 or 5 miles per hour  in first gear for long periods, it was steadily putting the miles behind me.

One unusual sight was a black-and-white crow. I haven’t seen one of those in years.

There was the usual procession of caravans, coaches and recreational vehicles in both directions.

Much more common, unfortunately, was the sight and sound of large motorcycles tearing along the road. They travel so fast that I don’t know what enjoyment they can get from it.  Maybe they just want to swerve along bendy roads and then meet up with their friends and go home again. Some of them see how close they can possibly get to my right elbow as they overtake at about 80 miles per hour. It wouldn’t seem as bad if they were large cylinder British or American bikes but they all seem to be Japanese bikes with a very high revving,  high frequency screaming sound to them.

The Bridge of Orchy Hotel is by far the biggest establishment in the village.  It proudly displayes photographs of bad winters when their guests have been snowed in for days on end before being relieved by snowploughs on either trucks or railway engines. It also has good internet connection speed and complimentary use of this computer to bring my blogs up to date.

This was planned as a short day. I wanted to get as near as possible to Rannoch Moor and Glencoe which I will attempt tomorrow. I will be heading north and then westwards. That’s when I will need the easterly wind which have been in my face for so many days on this trip. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day. Time for bed, said Zebedee.

12.20 miles. 1 hour 18 minutes.  Average 9.3 mph

The photo was taken by a young man who had just walked, wild-camping, from Skye.

Another county / district boundary. Fewer trees and bushes by the side of the road and on the mountainsides.

This Land-Rover was driven by a man who was doing maintenance on the track.  He had special wheels to drive along the railway track. I presume he knew there were no trains coming.

Crianlarich crossroads.

It was this light until nearly 10 o’clock.

Ben.

At 1.25 in the night we had a fire alarm. Just as all the guests were half way out of the building it stopped. (It was a false alarm.) The breakfast this morning was a disappointment.

This was a ‘goosebumps with sun with north-east wind’ kind of a day. It started off quite cool but after a short while I was kept warm by both the sun and by some hard pedaling to get up the hills. The wind was coming straight down the loch and I kidded myself that this was Harrington Sound and I was driving into the wind along Harrington Sound Road.

This stretch of road was just the A82. There was no separate cycle path and no cycle lane beside the main road. The road was narrow, very twisty, and congested with traffic. That traffic included a lot of tourist buses, caravans, trucks and camper vans. They are all big and there wasn’t much room to pass.  The road itslf showed signs of being overused or under-maintained. It had lots of trenches, ruts and potholes. In addition, no-one had cleaned up the debris left by previous accidents and collisions with the rock face on the left. There was broken glass, bent metal, hub caps and scraped paintwork everywhere. It was scary.

North of Ardlui the road began to climb a lot, but had been widened so that the passing traffic could give me more room.

Widened stretch of A82 at Glen Falloch. You can see the long holes which had to be drilled into the rock in order to remove it and widen the road. The red rust stain is from iron ore which is buried inside the rock.  This widening was done just a few years ago. The rock is metamorphic in origin, and extremely hard – much harder that Bermuda’s coral limestone.

The inclines got steeper and longer.  I had mile after mile of first or second gear pedaling. It was just a long slog, with several SPARs but no need for any GOTBAPs.  I later calculated that I had climbed 650 feet in about the last 7 miles up to Crianlarich.

This is an interesting stretch in that there are two parallel railway lines – one on each side of the road. And then there are two railway stations at Clifton/ Tyndrum which is really the same place.  I think this is a hangover from when competing railway companies would each built their own railway line to distant places in the hope of capturing the passengers.  This was an enormous effort and expense, especially in this difficult, steep and rocky terrain.  Imagine having different railway companies competing for your business !!  What a change that would be in UK.

I saw my first lot of cotton-grass as I got further north. At the same time the trees began to change. There were fewer deciduous trees and more dark green evergreens.

Crianlarich is a nice place.  The soldier depicted in the statue in the village war memorial is wearing a kilt so we must be getting up into the Highlands.  The Rod and Reel restaurant, where I went for lunch, has a floor which isn’t level.  It drops off towards one corner.  I was the only customer until my food was just arriving. Then the place was invaded by several Dutch people who insisted that the TV be switched on, and tuned to the world cup, with the sound up loud, so that they could watch and cheer as Holland played Japan.  I left as soon as I had eaten my mince and tatties.

In the village shop I mentioned the imminent threat of midges and the young lady behind the counter recommended the same thing as the ladies in Balloch Library.  It is Avon’s ‘Skin So Soft’.  For some obscure reason the midges don’t like it and will stay away from you if you are wearing it.  The young lady told me that the gang of guys working on the maintenance of the railway lines keep on buying it from her, so it must work. She even promised me nice smooth young-looking skin if I used it!

I also bought a loaf of Selkirk Bannock bread to take back to my guest house. There I made friends with the landlord’s Border Collie sheepdog, sat outside listening to the birds, did the crossword and watched buzzards circling high in the air. Then I had a light dinner and an early night.

In a day or so, for the first time on this adventure, I will really need the wind to be from the East to help me up Rannock Moor and over Glen Coe. Fingers crossed.

20.48 miles.  2 hours 19 minutes. Avge 8.8 mph.

M

My first job this morning was to call again on those lovely ladies at Balloch Library. They (Claire and Jacqueline) helped me bring the blog entries another day nearer to being up to date. They also gave some helpful advice on the road ahead and the best way of dealing with the midges, which are  particularly bad this year apparently.

The view northwards up Loch Lomond.

I will have to climb those mountains in the distance in a few days time. This truly is a beautiful place.

I then went to the Balloch local shop to get my cellphone topped up. While outside the shop I heard my first woodpecker of the trip. We don’t have any of these birds in Bermuda but they make a very distinctive sound as they drill into the trees to make a hole in which to nest.

Sunny warm day with (guess what) a northerly wind in my face all day. Never mind, the sun shone all day. I located the start of the West Loch Lomond Cycleway and stayed on it all the way to Tarbet.  The cycleway takes you mostly near the shore of the lake but sometimes is right beside the A82.  Where it leaves the road it is narrow and very ‘up-and-down’ so I couldn’t travel very quickly.  They are having a large golf tournament near Luss next month and the television broadcast engineers are already at work. I got chatting to a nice couple of American tourists from Iowa and later met two cyclists from Newcastle-upon-Tyne who were on the cycleway going the other way.

On the Tarbet to Arrocher road.

This licensed restaurant is occupying what is obviously a former non-
conformist church. (Some ancestral church members in the adjoining graveyard must be spinning.)

At Tarbet I had to go another couple of miles out of my way to my hotel in Arrocher. (It is getting more difficult to book rooms in the places where you want them.) There I had my first meal of venison steak at the Village Inn. (Venison has no cholesterol in it!)  Sitting out in the late evening sunshine was very pleasant, especially as I could get away from the sound of another England soccer world cup match on the television. They drew again, this time with Algeria.

I got one further midge bite.

22.83 miles. 2 hours 26 minutes.  Avge 9.4 mph.

From Linwood I avoided Paisly town by going north to the Bridge of Weir Road. Then through Clydebank and up onto the Erskine Bridge.  It’s quite a majestic sight from below and offers great views from the top of the bridge.  I found that, like the Severn Bridge, this one  wobbles and bounces underfoot.

It was a nice sunny day with a little northerly breeze to keep things from being too warm. My knee still hurts a bit so I took things easy where I could, so as to protect both knees.

Upon coming off the bridge I joined the A82. I will be on or near this road for a long time now. It was very busy and rather unpleasant but I soon found an exit onto the NCR cycleway number 7 which went along the banks of the River Clyde, skirted Dumbarton and Alexandria and then took me north beside the meandering River Leven until I arrived in Balloch. It was just across the street from my hotel (the Tullie Inn) and adjacent to the Tourist Information Centre where I picked up lots of good information and maps for the next section of my journey.

The beautiful cyclepath alongside the River Leven.

I should emphasise that this wasn’t just a scenic route, it took me away from a very busy and noisy A82. It was also far better sign-posted than other NCR cycleways such as those near Avonmouth.

Balloch is a nice spot. My hotel had a quiz night in the evening so I got a bit homesick for Bermuda. I wonder if Marian and Charlie and Maria are going to the Frog & Onion – no doubt to get beaten by Howard and his crew.  Mike Bishop does a far better job of running these in Bermuda.  At least he doesn’t have to compete with live world cup soccer on large screen TVs with loud commentary whilst he is shouting out the clues.

The local quizz-master took about fifteen minutes pause between rounds while he counted the scores. The second round, a picture round, consisted of photos of the England team’s wifes and girlfriends who we were supposed to name. At that point I left.

22.68 miles. 2 hours 24 minutes. Avge 9.4 mph

Last night my sore right knee (my good one) became even more painful and it swelled up overnight. So I am taking a rest day and doing what I can to nurse my knee back into working order.  That nursing help consists of soaking in a hot bath, applying warm towels from the heated towel rail, applying a bag of  ice begged from the restaurant, doing the Daily Telegraph crossword to take my mind off the discomfort, and reading a John Grisham novel when I’ve finished the crossword.

My thanks are due to Kirsty, Agnes, Linda and Amanda from the Premier Inn staff in Paisley for their help (and letting me get on the computer).  Some guests at the inn also gave further spontaneous contributions to Age Concern once they learned what I was doing behind the reception desk.

Riding Routine. Having previously described the morning routine I thought I would take this opportunity to describe the riding routine each day.

Do stretching exercises.  It is usually best to do these in the privacy of your room rather than outside where you might astonish the other guests or passers-by.

Upon leaving the hotel or B&B, make sure that all equipment and luggage is in its right place. The windbreaker and waterproof jacket should be secure under the elastic netting on the rear pannier – ready for any change in the weather.  The bar-bag has wallet, I-phone, medicines, glasses, fruit gums and the maps for today.

I memorise the day’s planned  route on the previous evening, when booking the next night’s accommodation. Before setting off in the morning I have another look at the map so as to memorise the first three or four junctions and turnings so that I can complete them without stopping to look at the map.

Pump up the tires. Oil the chain every day and the gear-change cable every few days. Check that both brakes are working OK. Put on helmet and sunglasses. The glasses protect your eyes against flies and dust as well as ultra-violet rays. One of the benefits of riding from south to north is that I seldom need to squint into the sun. It is usually behind me.

Mount up and sit down gently into the saddle.  If I have gained any new saddle-sores since last evening then I want to find out about them gently. Shift around on the saddle to avoid the worst sore bits.

Listen to your body. What is it telling you?  Go through a routine of concentrating on your head, neck, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands, bottom, thighs, ankles and feet. Start again with your head. Is anything uncomfortable or new or awkward? Are you balanced? Is everything working smoothly?  If not, make any changes or adjustments necessary even if this means getting off the bike and starting again so that you are in harmony with the bike.  Don’t ignore any  items of  discomfort or concern. Remember you have a long way to go and even little things can cause injury over the course of a full day’s riding.

Listen to your bike. Does it sound OK? Any new or unusual sounds? Felicity is a very quiet bike but I can hear a tiny bit of chain noise plus the thrum of the tires on the road surface. When you hit a bump in the road does anything rattle which shouldn’t?

Stay in a gear which is one or two gears lower than the ‘right’ gear. Do this for at least the first two miles. Even if it means that your knees are going up and down rapidly but without any real pressure on the pedals. You will sometimes be ‘pushing air’.  This low gear routine helps protect against strained muscles or joints which often get hurt within the first few minutes of a day’s ride.

Strive to get into a rhythm. you can get comfortable with so many pedal turns per minute. Then try to preserve it by using all the gears as you come across hills.  On of the worst things about the early days of this trip was that the steep and frequent hills of Cornwall prevented me from getting into a rhythm.

Navigate. Try to be aware of where you are and which way you need to turn at the next junction.  This entails reading all road signs, even if you are continuing straight ahead. If you frequently check on road signs and directions you will soon find out if you have ‘gone wrong’.  It can be very frustrating to find that you have been on the wrong road for a long time and need to back-track or cut across country to get back on the correct route.

Don’t be afraid to ask people for directions, if there are any people around you.

Look ahead to avoid trenches, cracks and potholes in the road surface. Also try to dodge grit, debris, dead animals and broken glass. This glass is especially common at the entrance to roundabouts where someone has run into the back of someone elses car and the tail lights or headlights have been smashed. Stay as far away from heavy trucks as much as you can. Try to be aware if one of them is coming up behind you and keep well in to the side.

With training you will get so that you can do this listening to body and self, navigating and dodging without having to think about it. Then you can really enjoy the ride by looking around at the beautiful scenery. Identify flowers, trees , birds and animals. Smell the flowers, grass, agriculture or even the hot tarmac. Recite poetry to yourself. Think about your family and friends at home.

Every hour, stop for five minutes to have a drink of water and/or juice. Eat a couple of fruit gums or a piece of fruit. Check your mileage so far and estimate how much longer today’s journey will take.

Be cheerful and helpful to all other road users whenever the opportunity comes along. When a bus or truck or other vehicle keep pace behind me for a while waiting for a safe place to overtake me, I raise my right hand to say ‘thank you’ as he does. Make eye contact and smile at people who let you in at roundabouts.

Enjoy.

For the first time on this whole trip I will be riding westwards today, so I could really benefit from one of these persistent easterly winds we’ve been having. Instead I awoke to a cold north-westerly wind !

After fixing Felicity and bidding farewell to the lovely staff at the Strathaven Hotel I followed a pleasant rolling road through open countryside until the land began to fall away towards East Kilbride.  There were  ups and downs, but more downs than ups as I came down to sea level. Hence the good average speed for the day.

The scenery became less pleasant as I entered East Kilbride, where they like their  roundabouts. The accent of the people changed from being merely Scottish to being Glaswegian, which is something else altogether.

A Swaledale ewe and her lamb. She is ready for shearing.

The hilltops around southern Scotland have several wind turbines on them. I read somewhere that in a few years time Scotland will be completely self-sufficient in wind powered electricity and will begin selling extra power to the English.

There were also a lot more potholes in the roads. Those are partly caused by rainwater freezing in the winter, When the water freezes it expands and loosens the tarmac a little. Then cars and heavy trucks loosen it a bit more. Then the next frost makes it worse.  Before long there is a large hole in the road surface which could give me a puncture or even throw me off the bike.

I noticed that I am getting stronger in my cycling, presumeably becasue I have now been doing it every day for several weeks. I could feel the ‘burn’ of hard working muscles driving the pedals round. In particular I could feel my glutus maximus muscles working, which is typical of  good cycling technique so that’s a good thing. Children, you can ask Mrs Thompson to show you where her glutus maximus muscles are.

During the day my left (good ) knee began to hurt quite a bit. I was glad to get into a hot bath.

25.22 miles.  2 hours 22 minutes.  Avge 10.6 mph

A new day, but the same old story about the wind. It was north-easterly, cold, and in my face.

However, the sun was shining and it was dry. As far as Lesmahagow (pronounced Lez-ma-hay-goe) I continued along the undulating B7076 beside the motorway and railway. It also had a good cylcepath alongside the road. Then I turned off westwards towards Strathaven.

The road became much hillier. Several SPARs but no GOTBAPs.

Strathaven is a very pleasant place, and so are the staff at the Strathaven Hotel. When I arrived they were very busy with the mourners from two funerals who were all having ‘tea’ at about 1pm. The front entrance and reception areas were crammed full of people in black dresses, suits and ties, plus me in my sweaty high-visibilty yellow jacket and shorts. I felt like a poor canary lost amongst a crowd of penguins.

Anyway, at lunch I subsequently enjoyed my first haggis in Scotland. That was served with tatties and neeps (mashed potatos and turnips.)

My bike started to make a strange noise in the crank area in the later part of the day, so I resolved to fix it in the morning. The hotel locked my bike in a shed ‘oot back’ so I wasn’t allowed to take it into my room.

The nights are getting very light until very late – around 11 pm. The sun comes up at sometime around 3 am.

Felicity suffering the indignity of having her bottom bracket fixed in The Strathaven Hotel car park. It’s only the second adjustment she has needed since Lands End over 600 miles ago. Thanks to Bike Works in Bermuda.

27.25 miles. 2 hours 53 minutes. Avge 9.4 mph

I would like to mention my appreciation of the kindness and forebearance of staff and management at various places who allowed me to update this blog using their computer. This includes the folk at the Abington Hotel and then Kirsty at the Premier Inn, Paisley.

Galloway cattle in Lanarkshire (not far from home).

The news in the papers was mostly about the English soccer team only managing to draw against the USA when they should have won. The Scots did not seem very upset about it. In fact I think there was a certain amount of schadenfreude in the air.

Children, schadenfreude is a German word meaning to enjoy the prospect of someone else’s unhappiness or misfortune. In this case it is the Scots feeling happy because the English soccer team performed badly.

Today awoke to drizzly kind of rain with little wind. It wasn’t pouring down but it was the kind of rain which would soak anyone on a push-bike quite quickly. It was certainly not ‘tank rain’. I believe the Irish would describe this as a ‘soft kind of a day’. So I donned my rain jacket, bootees and new waterproof trousers.

The route took me on a B road which used to be the main A74 trunk road from Carlisle to Glasgow until they built a new motorway parallel to it. So this B7076 is virtually free of traffic. It has a railway on one side of it and a motorway on the other. That means that I was sure, when planning to take this route, that there would not be any steep hills. That’s because I know that railway engines cannot go up steep hills so the railway lines have always been laid or fairly level ground and any hills have been smoothed out by digging cuttings or building embankments

Having said that, the road and railway do climb over a pass known as Beattock. This involved long tiring stretches of upward incline. They were a long drag but did not need any SPARs or GOTBAPs.

The wildlife in the fields beside the road included red deer leaping like antelopes, kushets (wood pigeons), buzzards, rabbits, curlews and oystercatchers. I also noticed that the hawthorn trees were in flower but much later than the trees in England. Similarly the horse chestnut trees were just growing their ‘candles’, much later than those further south. This shows how much later is the summer in Scotland than England.

I mentioned earlier about the Romans conquering most of Britain about two thousand years ago, and building straight roads. This road, now called the A74, was fairly straight as it came northwards from Carlisle. In fact we know that the Romans reached as far as a line between Glasgow and Edinburgh (the Antonine Wall). Then they gave that up as a bad job and scuttled off south to a new line between Carlisle and Newcastle. That’s probably because they couldn’t get the Scots to do as they were told.

Then they built a new stone wall all the way from the Solway Firth to Newcastle. That’s all the way across from the west coast to the east coast of England. This was incredibly difficult and expensive, and probably had budget overruns. And the purpose of it was just to defend themselves from the Scots.

It just goes to show how frightened the Romans were of the Scots, and their cousins the Picts. The Roman generals wrote descriptions of these ferocious people who wore skirts, painted their faces blue, wielded enormous swords called claymores, and screamed blood-curdling cries as they attacked in battle. (And that was just the women!)

So this land was left to the Scots and eventually became Scot-land.

They have their own money, and language (the Gallic) and a national flag of a white diagonal cross on a blue background. You can see a lot of these flags around the place. The Scots call it the Cross of St Andrew or the Saltire.

After climbing Beattock I reached the headwaters of the River Clyde. Up here it is a small stream which will later become a very large river which flows through Glasgow.

Abington is a very small place, and the Abington Hotel is the only hotel in town. I went for a walk around the town after dinner. It didn’t take long. There was one small shop which combined grocery store, stationers, newsagent, liquor store and Post Office. It is run by a single lady and is open seven days a week from 6.30 am until 8 pm.

The lawyers (advocates) in Scotland also act as the estate agents. I saw one advert in a window which described a 4 bedroom house with den or fifth bedroom, living room, dining room, sun room and large garden, and the asking price was £199,000 i.e about 300,000 dollars.

I typed up the blog and went to bed early.

26.34 miles. 2 hours 47 minutes. Avge 9.4 mph.

Here we go again. A northerly wind in my face kept things cool but at least it was dry.

Before leaving Carlisle I replenished my water bottles as usual. Various drinks are sold for the cyclist but I find that the ‘energy drinks’ tend to have a lot of caffeine in them and task fairly awful.  However, I have now entered the Scottish influence and sales area of Irn Bru (pronounced Iron Brew). It is advertised as being made from girders but in fact it’s like Lucozade, only better.

The A74 north of Carlisle used to be a dual carriageway and was the ‘Cumberland Gap’ in the motorway system.  It has now been upgraded to motorway standard and is a part of the M6 all the way to Scotland.  So it is no longer available to cyclists but there is a new service road alongside the new M6 which cyclists can use.  Be careful to exit the A6 north of Carlisle before you reach the large roundabout at Kingmoor. Take Parkhead Lane.  It is poorly signposted but it will take you to Gretna and then to the border.

Subsequently I passed through Kirkpatrick Fleming.   It is funny how place names remind you of people. Staff Sergeant  Kirkpatrick was the drill-sergeant for our basic training when we joined the Territorial Army.

Children, you will always remember Mrs Thompson,  just as I have always have remembered my teachers at school. In the same way we always remember drill-sergeants.  Having not seen him in years I wonder what became of Staff Sergeant Phil Kirkpatrick.

Upon reaching Lockerbie I discovered that I had arrived just after their Annual Gala.  The parade through Lockerbie Town had just finished.  They must have included many horses in it.  The horses had left generous deposits behind them. So this solitary cyclist rode up the high street just after the parade. It reminded me of a scene from the Easy Rider movie, although the local people in Lockerbie were much more friendly.

Dodging horse manure along Lockerbie high street made a nice change from dodging potholes and broken glass everywhere else.

Lockerbie Gala – just after the grand parade through town.

Then on to Annandale Water Services for the night. It is a Motorway Service Station right next to Johnstonebridge village. There I met three other long-distance cyclists. They weren’t doing the LEJOG but we swapped stories about where they were going and they offered advice about my intended route. I have found this kind of friendliness in many cyclists along the way.

34.55 miles.  3 hours 28 minutes.  Avge 9.9 mph

–

Mummy and two children. I believe the mother is Cheviot breed sheep.  The father of her lambs was probably a Scotch Blackface.

This is an obligatory photo, in Gretna Green.  This is where the accents changed and the England flags disappeared from cars and buildings.

It would take a brave man to fly an England flag up here.

A change from the usual hedgerow flowers. Beautiful poppies beside the A6.

Friday started off cool.  The wind was a chilly one from the north-east.  I’m still waiting for this prevailing south-westerly wind.  I needed my t-shirt plus windbreaker. The main A6 follows the route of a road first built by the Romans when they ruled Britain from about 55 BC until 300 AD or so. (I forget some of the dates we had to learn in History lessons.) The important thing about Roman roads is that they are straight.  Dead straight.  If any hills got in the way the Romans didn’t drive round them, they went straight over the top.  It must have been hard on their soldiers and their horses but at least they knew it was the shortest route between two places.

My left (good) thigh and right (bad) knee were still sore from the struggle over Shap Summit yesterday morning.

I have a nice story to tell about my glasses. Before leaving Bermuda I had a chat with Mr Tom Butterfield of Masterworks who has ridden the End-to-End himself. One of the tips he gave me was to make sure I carried a spare pair of reading glasses (used for reading books and maps). So I did.  One evening last week I fell asleep reading a book  in bed, as usual. Sometime in the night I must have rolled over onto the glasses and broke them. ‘Never mind’, I thought.  I have a spare pair.

During the day I keep my glasses in a side pocket of my bar-bag, beside the maps. Somewhere between Penrith and Carlisle I discovered that my second pair of glasses were missing from their pocket. So I had to turn round and back-track down the A6 looking for my only remaining pair of glasses.  I eventually found them sitting in the road and was thankful that they hadn’t been squished by a passing car of truck.

Strange name for a village.

I was born in Brampton, about ten miles east of Carlisle so I am familiar with the area. As I approached Carlisle from the south I was struck by the vista of the Eden valley as it opened up.  From Low Hesket, which is about five miles south of Carlisle, you can see the city and its surroundings.  I could identify Dixon’s chimney, the cathedral, and the repeater station tower in Petteril Bank. What a view!

My first job was as a bank clerk in Carlisle. Many things have changed since I was last there, including the pillars of stability in the city centre which we thought would never change.  Lloyds Bank is now a pizza place;  Midland Bank (HSBC) is now a pub; and the Malt Shovel pub is now an Italian restaurant. Nothing is sacred!

The World Cup competition started today. It seems that about half the cars and trucks on the road have England flags flying from them, and all the restaurants pubs and local shops do the same.

From the local newspaper I read of all the funeral services for the people killed recently in Whitehaven and the area.  I also saw that the Youth Hostels at Kendal and Grasmere are to be closed in order to save costs. Many people are upset about those closures.

My most important visit was to call upon my Aunt and Uncle.  Uncle Jim has been unwell and in hospital lately but now seems on the way to recovery, thankfully.

24.61 miles.  2 hours 35 minutes.  Avge 9.5 mph.

+

Very sore and stiff after yesterday’s efforts. Rode from Shap village to a b&b at Redhill outside Penrith. Only 12 gentle miles but it helped with the stiff muscles and aching joints.

I noted that there were signs about areas devoted to helping the native Red Squirrel to thrive. They are the indigenous squirrel in Britain but there are few of them left now.  That’s because someone decided it would be a good idea to introduce the North American Grey Squirrel into Britain about a hundred years ago.  This Grey Squirrel is bigger than the Red and carries a disease which kills the native Red.  Nowadays the Red Squirrel only exists in Cumbria, Nothumbria and a few places in Scotland. It’s been killed off everywhere else. So people are doing all they can to protect the Red so that it doesn’t become extinct, which would be very sad.

The same sort of thing has happened in Bermuda. Some fool brought in the Venezuelan Kiskadee bird to Bermuda several years ago because they though they would eat all the lizards, or maybe it was all the roaches. Anyway the Kiskadees were more ‘successful’ than other native birds like the Bluebird so there are now fewer Bluebirds than before.  There are just as many lizards and roaches as ever. In a similar way, someone realised that there were no sparrows in Bermuda so they decided that they would bring some here.  There are now thousands of them and the Bluebird, Chick-of-the-Village and other Bermudian birds are suffering from the competition.

It is important that we realise what future consequences there will be from doing this sort of thing.

The climb up Shap yesterday was the first occasion during the trip when I had to wear all my wet weather gear including the leggings. Unfortunately the waterproof leggings turned out not to be waterproof at all. There is nothing quite like having to re-mount your bike on a mountainside in the cold wind and rain, and then discover that you have a wet soggy bottom as well !

So I called at the first available bike shop in civilisation, Arrigans of Penrith, to buy some new leggings for future use.

Then I guided my wonderful friendsTom and Anne around a scenic tour of the Lake District, in his car, including a late lunch in Patterdale. The weather was sunny in the afternoon so it was a beautiful day altogether.

More friendly insults over a cribbage board rounded off a lovely day before an early night.

Then they drove off home to Kent the next morning and I was on my own again.

12.26 miles. 1 hour 15 minutes. Avge  9.81 mph.

This was scheduled to be a short distance day, with fewer miles to compensate for the anticipated climb over Shap Summit. Things took a turn for the worse when I saw the weather forecast displayed in reception of the Kendal hotel.

The first thing I saw was that the forecast itself was issued by the Mountain Rescue Service rather than the local weather service. Then I read the forecast wind of 35 mph from the north-west, gusting to 55 mph in the high passes. ( Shap Summit qualifies as a high pass. )

Then there was the reference to cooler temperatures and rain – heavy at times. If I hadn’t been scheduled to meet up with Tom and Anne again where we were already booked in at the Kings Arms in Shap village I think I would have ‘stayed put’ for another day.

So I set off northwards up the A6, passing by the good citizens of Kendal on their way to work. The light cool north wind and gradual inclines soon changed to a strong cold wind in my face. I spotted different breeds of sheep in roadside fields and noticed that, unlike their counterparts in the West Country and the Welsh Marches, these sheep had not yet been sheared. Neither had they been spained.

The hills became more and more steep until I was taking rest periods, but without getting off the bike and without pushing. I would just brake, stop and put my foot down on the kerb. Then I would wait until I got my breath back and set off again. I called these  ‘Stop Pedalling and Rest’ spells i.e. SPARs. I had very many SPARs in the final four miles before reaching the top of Shap Summit but only two or three GOTBAPs. I think that is because the climb was long and it wasn’t worth pushing because there was no chance of reaching the top by pushing.

I knew that if I started walking and pushing then my knee would get inflamed, the skin would break down, and there would be blood everywhere. Then I would be set back for several days whilst it healed. Somehow I simply had to ride my way through this.

I met (i.e. was overtaken by) several end-to-enders on this stretch. Two guys and two women hailed greetings as they passed on bare bikes. Then a brave young man lugging his solitary camping gear paused for a chat before setting off ahead of me. Then four guys passed on bare bikes, aiming to maintain about 125 miles per day! I think their blog name was 424 LEJOG 2010 or some such.

This was where the going got tough. After two miles or so coming north from Kendal the ground began to rise and the hills got longer and steeper.  It took me two  hours to cover the last eight miles to the top.  That’s  only a little better than walking speed.  I desperately needed a lower gear on the bike. Maybe even that would not have been enough to prevent all SPARs because of my weak leg. When I could not keep going any further I would stop to regain my breath and then start off again.  This happened dozens of times.  When I did get going I would set myself a target such as a gap on the fence or pothole in the road and try to reach that , and only then stop to gasp for breath.

I set myself some criteria for stopping.  If my heart rate climbed above 135 beats per minute,  or my lungs hurt too much, or my good leg or my bad knee just couldn’t go any further then I would stop for a maximum of one minute before starting off again.  Because the road was so steep it was particularly difficult to get re-started due to the delay between pressing down with one foot and getting the other foot on the raising pedal.  I had several false starts when I lost balance and had to put my foot down on the road again.  Thankfully, no trucks or cars came by as this crazy cyclist wobbled across the road in his attempts to get going again. I was wobbling, either because of my failed attempts to get re-started or because I couldn’t work up enough speed to balance properly.

Felicity in all her wet weather gear, and me in mine at Shap Summit in the rain.

At the blessed summit I ate the Mars bar that I had promised myself as a reward when I reached the top. Then I introduced myself to a lovely lady (Susie) who was sitting in her parked car nearby. Not only did she leave her car to take the above photograph – she offered me a banana and other sustenance. More spontaneous kindness from an unexpected source. Susie was patiently awaiting the arrival of the Connelly team who are doing JOGLE.

After the summit the road levelled off and then went downhill briefly before really turning downwards.  The wind and rain in my face prevented any high-speed acceleration but it was really nice to anticipate getting to the Kings Arms, locking Felicity in the barn, stripping off these cold wet clothes and getting into a warm bath.

The bar was full of voluble Australian women who seemed to be on some sort of ‘girls week off’ and were doing the coast-to-coast walk. I tried to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy. Tom (who could talk for England) subsequently chatted them up and recounted his own trips ‘down under’.

16.91 miles.  2 hours 46 minutes.  Avge 7.03 mph.  ( I sincerely hope that this is the lowest average speed on this whole expedition. It includes the struggle up to Shap Summit as well as some faster stretches as I joyfully free-wheeled down to the village.)

Entering Cumbria – God’s Own Country.

This was scheduled to be a shorter stage, but it seemed longer with more hills than recently.  No GOTBAPS but I did reach 120 bpm on one hill.  That’s not quite as bad as McGall’s Hill on South Shore Road.  I was now approaching the mountains of the Lake District which were beautiful, even at a distance.

The working life of the countryside has been going on around me throughout this journey. There were patches of countryside smells this morning, especially the smell of new-mown hay.  I couldn’t help feeling sorry  for that particular farmer as he seemed to have got the timing wrong – there are rain clouds ahead so his hay was going to get wet and would take longer to harvest.

Then I left Lancashire and rode into Cumbria. The county of my birth.

People’s accents continue to change.  In Lancaster I mostly heard ‘proper Lancashire’ accents. However, one or two people had Liverpool accents and reminded me of the Beatles. They were a great influence on me and my generation in terms of popular music, both in Britain and around the world.

Children, I think Mrs Thompson is too young to remember the Beatles but maybe you can ask your grandparents or parents if they can remember them.   If they can, ask if they can  speak to you in a Liverpudlian accent. Then you will know what the Beatles sounded like when they spoke.

Today is a Tuesday, so I hope you were good for Mrs Brown and the other reading parents, as well as for Mrs Thompson.

Before reaching Kendal it began to rain heavily and I had to go along some busy dual carriageway. The spray from heavy trucks made things rather unpleasant.

After settling into my hotel I discovered that It was right across the street froma large shop of Evans Cycles.  Walking round that shop is like entering Alladin’s cave. I could have spent a lot of time, and money, there if I hadn’t been on this adventure and keen to keep all weight to a minimum.  In the end I felt almost embarassed when the only thing I purchased was a jar of shammy cream.

In view of the location I bought, and ate, a piece of Kendal Mint Cake.  I also had a piece of Cumberland sausage for lunch. (It was only a small piece, honestly, Nurse Balitian-Dill.)

Tomorrow is the dreaded Shap Fell.  I’m not looking forward to that.

23.39 miles.  2 hours 17 minutes.  Avge 10.2 miles

These old friends drove all the way up from Tunbridge Wells to cheer me on. I thoroughly enjoyed their company and being driven round the Lake District in a comfortable car seat. What a nice change from pushing pedals!

We went for a tour of the southern Lake District. I could act as the guide because I was born in Cumbria and spent a lot of my youth climbing its mountains and exploring its rivers and lakes.  The town of Windermere seemed very congested with traffic, much more so than when I was last there.

Anyway, the sun shone down upon us most of the time.

In the evening I repaid their kindness by thrashing them at a game of cribbage back at the hotel.

Tom and me overlooking Lake Windermere.  (Tom’s the good-looking one, with the hair.)

Then they left me to my own devices but promised to return soon.  What wealth we have when we have friends such as these.

……or ‘Geordie cows’ as Bob and Liz would call them because of their Newcastle colours.

With Sarah, from Blackpool, in Garstang after lunch.

Today was planned for a fairly long day’s ride of over 30 miles. I got on my way with an early start up the A6.  Preston was having a quiet Sunday morning as I passed through.  Early in the day I ran into a snowstorm.  It wasn’t a real one but consisted of thousands of petals of hawthorn blossom which had been blown from the trees in the hedgerow.

The traffic was moderate.  The road undulated a little, and the light wind was from behind me. The weather was cooler and it began to rain as I turned off the A6 to head for Garstang.  This was my first real rain since Land’s End.  I needed my rain jacket but not my leggings and galoshes.

In Garstang I got chatting to Margaret of the Dreams shop who promptly volunteered a contribution to the Age Concern collection. (All I did was stop to ask her for directions; people are very kind.)  I met up for lunch with Sarah who had arrived from her home in Blackpool.  She and I hadn’t met in over 30 years and she located me though Friends Reunited last year.  So we had a large amount of talking to do in order to bring us both up to date. A grand crack!

The scenery was flat and agricultural as I stayed off the A6 through Cockerham under cloudy skies. Then I took a cycle track along the eastern bank all the way from Conder Green into Lancaster city.  Heysham nuclear power stations were silhouetted on the horizon 5 miles to the west. Lancaster is very ‘cycle friendly’ with lots of cycle lanes and dedicated pathways.

After checking into my hotel and going through the afternoon routine (of which more at some stage) I was joined by good friends Tom and Anne who had arrived from Tunbridge Wells to spend a day with me.  I am truly blessed to have so many friends who are keen to help and keep me company.

My bad knee was hurting a lot by now so I decided that tomorrow would be a rest day and I would spend it with Tom and Anne while my leg healed. They happen to have  a luxurious car so I could relax into a soft leather seat, which makes a nice change from a bike saddle.

30.75 miles.  3 hours 4 minutes.  Avge 10 mph.

Robert, Jean and Barry who came over from Swinton to lend their encouragent. We had a lovely late lunch and caught up on each other’s gossip.

Saturday morning on a street corner in Wigan.  This lot called themselves the Wigan Vets. Then it transpired that they consisted of two vets, three colts, and a woman.

Nevertheless they abandoned their sausage rolls to give me (incorrect) directions to an Internet cafe before setting off on a practise bike ride to somewhere. They also organised an impromptu whip-round for my Age Concern collection. You sometimes meet the nicest people in the most unexpected situations.

Having eventually updated the website as far as possible I then set off northwards, pushing Felicity through the pedestrianised precinct of Wigan, and eventually mounting up for a few hills taking me through Standish and Chorley towards Preston. The countryside became more agricultural after a while. It was particularly interesting to see the ‘other’ side of the village of Charnock Richard instead of the M6 motorway service station which appropriated its name. It’s a nice place.

I met a couple of guys from Leicester who were also doing LEJOG, using mainly youth hostels. They had formed the same fearful impression of Cornwall & Devon as I had.

Potholes and roadside debris became worse in Wigan but the drivers were courteous. I was pleased to see reference to Wigan Pier and to George Orwell, one of my favourite authors during my teenage years. I read The Road to Wigan Pier, and Animal Farm, and Keep the Aspedistra Flying and ‘1984’, at a time when the year 1984 seemed to be an impossibly long time off in the future!

I have been following the A49 road, or going parallel with it, ever since Monmouthshire. By coincidence the A49 disappears and gives way to the A6 in or around my hotel location for tonight in Bamber Bridge. From now on it will be the A6 dictating my direction all the way to Scotland.

Jean and Barry and Robert visited me from their homes in Swinton, so that made a pleasant interlude as we caught up on the gossip – both theirs and mine.

Tonight’s blog update is courtesy of Claire at Premier Inn Preston South.

19.56 miles. 2 hours 6 minutes. Avge 9.2 mph (low average because of so much walking around Wigan at 3 mph looking for an Internet cafe).

People who take a pride in where they live.

Charles Hardy of Tarporley. One of the really nice people I have met on this journey, in the High Street of his home town.

With a more ambitious distance target I set off early from Tarporley. Still enjoying beautiful weather I was counting my blessings as I headed northwards. After crossing from Cheshire into Lancashire the surroundings lost their rural appearance and became much more urban.  The A49 road became busier, especially with large heavy trucks.

Negotiating the city centre of Warrington required me to have my wits about me. There are roundabouts with four approach lanes plus traffic lights part way round the roundabout.  It is advisable not to find yourself in the wrong lane so you have to read the roadsigns well in advance, signal, and change lanes at the right moment. These heavy trucks clearly take their toll on the road surface and there were many potholes to avoid plus the usual debris on the roadside.  That debris extended into the occasional cycle-lane.

The place-names and signposts took me back many years in memory. Names like Warrington, Wigan, St Helens and Leigh. As I passed the Warrington RL football stadium I couldn’t help hearing all those names being proclaimed on television in the mellifluous tones of Eddie Waring as he commentated on some Rugby League match.

I eventually racked up at a Premier Inn in Ashton-in-Makerfield. The restaurant next door had a remarkable offer.  You could eat all you want, and take all day to do it, for only £5.99.  They had salad bar, plus grilled burgers and stuff, pasta, pizza, chinese, fish and chips, desserts – and you could go back as many times as you wanted.  I was cursed with my usual lack of appetite which affects me every time I do a lot of exercise so I could only have a salad and some pasta.  What a wasted opportunity!

So I ate what I could and then went back to my room for an ‘early bath’, as Eddie would say.

The accents of the local people has changed in the last day or so. No more Shropshire lilt with Welsh undertones. We now have the plainspoken flat tones of Lancashire and ‘up North’.

Today I saw my first Eddie Stobart lorry. When I was a child in Cumberland we used to look out for these whenever we went on a car journey. We reckoned that if we could see an Eddie Stobart lorry then we must be getting near their home in Carlisle.

28.67 miles.  2 hours 42 minutes, Avge 10.5 mph.

Bridget, Felicity, me and Sharon at Age Concern Whitchurch before saddling up on Thursday morning.

Another lovely day  with perfect English cycling weather. Wearing only a short’sleeved teeshirt – no goosebumps and no sweat.

Dropped by and had a nice chat with Sharon Williamson who runs the local office of Age Concern. She has no permanent staff but a dependable army of volunteers who, amongst other things, make regular housecalls on seniors to ensure they are eating OK, doing the shopping for them etc.

Scene from the bridge over the Shropshire Union Canal at Tiverton near Tarporley. I have been crossing so many canals that I think I will stop taking any more photographs of them.  They are picturesque reminders of the industrial revolution which gave rise to them.  Many people now regularly use them for relaxing vacations.

I have now left Shropshire and entered Cheshire.  It’s more hilly than yesterday but not too bad.  I had to pause to gain breath on a couple of hills, but no GOTBAPs.  My bad knee behaved itself today and I wish I had set myself a more ambitious target for mileage.

One thing is becoming very common.  Many people are flying flags of the cross of St George, the England flag, from cars and  taxis and flagpoles and house windows.  The soccer World Cup hasn’t even really started yet everyone seems to be excited about it.  I hope England win, or at least do well.  Millions of supporters will be very upset if England get eliminated at an early stage of the competition.

Today I learned of those terrible shootings in Whitehaven and nearby.  How sad it must be for all the families of the people who were killed.

Tarporley is approached through countryside which reflects a more affluent economy than previously. The houses visible from the road are well kept and the large gardens are well manicured. There are several paddocks with hunting horses or ponies grazing in them.

There are still thatched cottages scattered around but the shape and colour of the thatch is different than it was in Devon and Cornwall.  I think they must use a different type of straw or reed here.  I guess it depends on what is grown locally.

Tarporly itself obviously has a lot of civic pride. The town regularly enters, and often wins prizes in the Britain’s Best Kept Village competition.  The towns-people speak of their hometown with pride. The Swan Hotel is the best hotel I have stayed in on the journey, although not the most expensive.  That’s mostly down to the staff being so pleasant and helpful.  After checking in I went for a wander around town and treated myself to a haircut and a large ice-cream. (I can recommend the Old Fire Station Chocolate Shop to anyone who visits Tarporley in future.) Charles and Rebecca, in the shop, even went out of their way to find me and return my wallet which I had inadvertently left lying in their shop. They even phoned Liz Ward in Bermuda because they found her business card in my wallet.

Today my Patterson Partners pen gave up the ghost. It has been doing sterling service in keeping my notebook up to date.  So another reminder of Bermuda has fallen by the wayside.

15.05 miles.  1 hour 34 minutes.  Avge 9.6 mph.

Today I am the luckiest man alive.  Sunny skies and a light southerly breeze. Warm but not too warm. Smooth road and the birds are singing.

With the sun on my shoulders and the wind at my back I am cruising along a gently undulating road. This is the Shropshire Plain so there are virtually no steep hills.  No GOTBAPs all day. Wonderful!

Felicity (my bike) has been no trouble throughout the journey so far. She is very well behaved. I am reminded of this when I discover that the saddle fixing has become loose and I need to dig out my multi-tool for the allen keys for the first time since re-assembling the  bike in Tom’s garage over two weeks ago.

I get off the A49 as soon as I can.  It’s not too bad for most traffic but it is used by many heavy lorries (trucks). There is something un-nerving about having a wing mirror regularly wizz past your right ear at a high rate of knots in a blast of noise, diesel fumes and backdraft.  Then the truck driver will pull in nearer to the side of the road, but if it is a long truck then the rear wheels come perilously close to squeezing you off the road into the grass verge or hedge. (I must remember to tell you more about those roadside flowers at some stage.)

So I turned off the A49 and took a country lane to the pretty town of Wem, and then on to Whitchurch.  At one point I was gazing upwards and caught sight of a remarkable performance in the sky. So I stopped to look properly. There were two buzzards lazily circling round, as they do, probably looking for a field mouse or something for lunch. However, they were being ‘attacked’ by two smaller birds which were either crows or ravens. The ravens were making the buzzards swerve to avoid being hit, and obviously disturbing their predatory observations. All four birds were wheeling and turning in a clear blue sky.  Way above them were vapour trails from high-flying airliners. The scene strongly reminded me of film taken near Dover in the Second World war, of British aircraft fighting enemy aircraft. They were also wheeling and turning and leaving vapour trails.

I believe the smaller birds were probably just defending their territory or ‘patch’ against the invading buzzards.  A bit like the Second World war really.

Upon reaching the outskirts of Whitchurch I went to look at the local stretch of the Llangollen Canal.

The family on the canalboat were enjoying a lovely slow day’s journey.  They sound very peaceful as they go chug-chug-chug-chug along the canal at about 3 miles per hour.  You could walk faster than these boats travel, but at least the passengers don’t get saddle sores or bad knees.

After tomorrow I expect that the scenery will change. I will start to enter the industrial area of the North of England before emerging into the beautiful sights of Cumbria and the Lake District.

I tried to use a computer at the local library in order to update this blog, but the library in Whitchurch is closed on Wednesdays.  Then I went looking for the local office of Age Concern to pay my respects, but they were closed as well.  I was saved by the kind generosity of Bridget at the neighboring Down to Earth Gallery who lent me her computer. Thank you, Bridget.

20.68 miles.  2 hours 1 minute.  Avge 10.2 mph.

It rained overnight and was still drizzling this morning. I decided to stay where I was rather than make an early start, in order to test the accuracy of the weather forecasters.

Sure enough the rain moved away by mid-morning as they predicted. Then I set off and only had to contend with a couple of light showers from a leaden sky. What little wind there was came from over my left shoulder so that was a help.

The route seemed more hilly than yesterday. On the day after a bank holiday the major roads (A49 and A5) were clearly busier.

I used to live near here, many years ago. I had a very pleasant visit when my ex-wife Felicity came to have tea with me. She is Kiara’s grandma. We had lots of news to catch up on so we had a nice long chat.

Shrewsbury has many things to be proud of. It’s the birthplace of the naturlist Charles Darwin who wrote ‘The Origin of Species’. In the year 1403 a nobleman called Henry Hotspur lead a rebellion, along with the Welsh, against the English King Henry IV. Henry Hotspur lost the Battle of Shrewsbury and was killed. This battle was made famous by William Shakespeare in his play called Henry IV th Part 1. I am staying overnight in a motel at a place called Battlefield and you can still walk around the scene of the battle which took place so long ago.

It is Tuesday today, a parents’ Reading day and I hope you are all being good for Mrs Thompson.

23.8 miles. 2 hours 36 mins. Avge 9.15 mph

Pleasant riding weather with just a few clouds and little wind. Took it easy. Craven Arms is a small and sleepy town, surrounded by impressive hills, but does have this unusual milepost at the main crossroads.

There is no mention of Lands End or John O’Groats but at least several other places near my route are in perspective.

The town also boasts an unusual Museum of Lost Content. Another remarkable item is that the public loos have piped music playing in them – something from the Marriage of Figaro, I think.

That reminded me of an unexpected feature of my riding routine. After purchasing my I-phone in Bermuda I took great care to upload all my existing tunes from my I-pod and CDs so that I could listen to them on this trip. In fact I haven’t worn my earphones or listened to any music at all. I believe this is because I have found everything around me to be interesting and absorbing. I guess I listened to music while training in Bermuda because I was riding on familiar roads all the time.

18 miles. 1 hour 50 mins. Avge 9.8 mph

Even after spending yesterday in bed with my legs propped up on a pillow, they are still too painful to ride with, so I took another day’s rest today.  I am fortunate that the (Best Western) hotel here had a vacancy for an extra day, and the staff have been very kind to me. That kindness includes allowing me to update this website from their office computer.

In another ‘small world moment’ I spoke to Miss Alex Pritchard who works in the hotel.  She visited Bermuda in 2005 as part of the netball team from the Minster School here in Leominster.

As I have no progress to report I thought I would let you have some insight into my daily routines. Today I will outline my normal morning routine.

7 am Alarm

Wash (even shave on some days).

Get dressed in cycling kit but with my rugby shirt over the top so as not to dazzle the other guests in the dining room with my high-visibility yellow vest.

Breakfast of cereal, toast, porridge if available, all the fruit juices on offer, coffee, stuff my pockets with fresh fruit to be eaten later ‘on the road’. I ignore the cooked or ‘full English’ breakfast.  That stuff should come with a health warning stating that ‘the full English breakfast will clog up your arteries, bring on a heart attack or stroke, and is generally hazardous to your health’.  Perhaps the government can find a way to tax such food highly, in the same way they do with cigarettes.

Fill water bottles on bike. One with water and the other with lucozade or energy drink. Pack all non-cycling gear into the panniers. For me this consists of the rugby shirt, one pair of lightweight trousers and a gillet (sort of waistcoat with many pockets) and the chain-lock.

Fix the cycling computer to the bike and zero it. Fix the heart-rate monitor to myself and check that it is working. Pump up both tires to the right pressure. Oil the chain (taking care not to spill any oil on the hotel carpet).

Apply shammy cream to my skin which will bear weight on the saddle.  This helps to prevent getting saddle sore.

Check that the right maps are in place and in the right order in the map case on top of my bar-bag where I can read them.  Put on cycling gloves, wrist-bands, head-band, helmet and sunglasses.  I also wear a long-sleeved yellow jacket for the first mile or so each day, or until I get warmed up, and then take it off and store it in the pannier.

Make the bed and ensure all my trash is in the trash bin.  Hang all the towels over the edge of the bath.  Double-check the room to make sure that I have not left anything behind in drawers, cupboards, bedside tables, windowsills, radiators, heated towel rail, bathroom shelf etc.

Carefully steer the bike out of the room, dodging round the housemaids’ trolleys in the corridor.

Leave the room key with the receptionist and say ‘thank you’ for their help and hospitality. Pay the bill if I haven’t already done so.

Aim to be ‘on the road’ by about 9 am, thus avoiding the rush hour.  Check to make sure that the cycle computer is recording properly. (Sometimes it fails to start unless I give it a nudge.)  Stop at the first local shop I come to and buy a Daily Telegraph (both for the news and the crossword puzzle later on) plus any fruit gums or energy drinks I may need to cover the rest of the day.

I will describe some other routines in later blogs.

This morning I awoke to the sound of rain. It wasn’t typical English drizzle and it wasn’t a windblown downpour. It was good ‘tank rain’ and lasted most of the day. It seemed appropriate that I had decided to take today as a rest day because of my sore leg anyway.

I did allow myself a short walk around the town, just to get out of the hotel room. That was how I came across the lady in this photograph.

Her name is Claire and she is the face of modern law enforcement in Britain. She is called a Community Support Officer and she patrols the streets of Leominster and the surrounding countryside on her bicycle.

Apparently they don’t have mature policemen pounding the beat anymore; they have people like Claire instead.

Maybe I’m just getting old but it seems to me that they are making policemen (and women) much younger (and much better looking) than they used to.

Another lovely village with its war memorial to the men of the village who died in two world wars. The stone structure on the left is the village well.

Once upon a time that would have supplied everyone on the village with their drinking and washing water, lifted up in a bucket. Now it is ‘capped off’ and no longer in use.

Hereford cattle in Herefordshire. They seemed very ‘at home’.

A cooler day with another cold northerly wind. It seems to me that I have had north or easterly winds since I started at Lands End. Whatever happened to the geography lessons about the prevailing winds in UK being from the south-west?

It would be nice to have the wind behind me for a change. Not that I am complaining about the weather. I have been very fortunate with the sunshine and no rain so far.

I made a detour from the shortest route along the A49. This detour took me down nice quiet country lanes through the village of Bodenham. It also enabled me to avoid a steep climb over Dinmore Hill. So I had no GOTBAPs today.

When I got to Leominster (pronounced Lemster) I discovered that it was impossible to book a room in any hotel or B&B in Ludlow or Craven Arms tomorrow. Even the Tourist Information Centre confirmed that they were all fully booked. This is a long weekend because Monday is a Bank Holiday and also there is a large hot air balloon event in Ludlow over the weekend. I would have liked to see that but I have been forced to stay in Leominster for a second night.

Today I heard a Skylark singing. It is many many years since I last heard that entrancing call. I heard him, but I didn’t see him. That’s the tricky thing with Skylarks; you might hear them but you can seldom see them. They don’t fly along like most birds and they don’t perch in trees. They hover in mid-air, very high up. When I was a farm boy in Cumberland I reckoned that the only way to see a Skylark was to stop what I was doing and lie down on the ground looking upwards. First you listen very hard and try to focus on where he is. Only then can you try to find him with your eyes. He is a tiny dot in the sky and can hover there for hours. Anyway, having tried this favourite method today all I got was a damp back and some funny looks from the passing traffic.

15.4 miles. 1 hour 35 mins. Avge 9.7 mph.

Wednesday 26th May. Chepstow – Monmouth.

15.6 miles. 1 hour 42 mins. Avge 9.2 mph

Mixture of sunshine and cloud but no rain. Long uphill ride up the picturesque Wye valley. I can’t help noticing the different road surfaces in different counties. Devon has the smoothest stretches, especially coming north from Exeter. Monmouthshire isn’t too bad. I think the Avonmouth area of Somerset was by far the worst so far for enormous potholes. They were bad enough to make me worry for the bike wheels and tires. If I am on a main road with traffic passing me then I dare not swerve out into the road to avoid the pothole or trench so I have to brake and slow down to go through it. Then I have to pedal hard to get up to cruising speed again.

This was a short day again, to conserve my knees. All this time spent resting in my B&B or hotel room means that I am really up to date with the newspapers or the BBC news. I am, for instance, completely familiar with the new ministers and policies of the Conservative / Liberal coalition government.

I am also familiar with all the historical reminders of the Dunkirk evacuation during World War II.

I’d rather be out chatting to local people and walking round the town but I know I need to protect my knees.

Thursday 27th May. Monmouth – Hereford.

20.8 miles. 2 hours 20 mins. Avge 8.9 mph

This is Hereford Cathedral and the River Wye, taken from the ‘old’ bridge.

Last night we had some rain, but it had cleared away by this morning.  The day was a harder ride than I thought it would be.  I rather imagined I had got all the hard climbing out of the way yesterday in reaching Monmouth.

There was a lighty east crosswind which kept things cool but wasn’t too much of a hardship.

Hereford is a pleasant place.  The city centre is mostly pedestrianised, just like most cities in UK seem to be these days. I wonder if Hamilton could try the idea. The population (shoppers and others) all seem to like it.

Crossed the ‘international’ border into Wales.

On the windswept Severn Bridge. Very impressive, and striking views. Either the strong east wind or the passing heavy traffic cause the bridge to ‘bounce’ up and down underneath you.

Decided to try again with my bad leg today and see how things went. They didn’t go very well. By the time I got across the bridge and into Chepstow my bad knee was hurting. More worrying was the new item, i.e. that my ‘good’ knee was starting to hurt.

So before either of them got really painful I decided to find a bed and breakfast place in Chepstow and rest up until tomorrow. The mileage for today is very small.

At this rate the journey will take longer than expected but I must look after my knees so that I can keep going and not have to abandon the adventure.

The road signs are now all in the Welsh language with the English words underneath. The people talk with a strange accent but they are all friendly and give me directions when I ask them.

It’s much cooler today with a cold east wind but still no rain. How fortunate I have been so far. Today was Tuesday, a Reading day at Saltus Cavendish, and I was thinking about all the boys and girls in Mrs Thompson’s class.

6.15 miles. 48 minutes. Avge 7.5 mph.

As I am taking a day off from cycling, and resting my leg, I don’t have any new photos for today. So here is one from yesterday’s picnic – cold chicken, Jersey new potatoes, salad and bread roll – all washed down with lucozade while under the shade of an oak tree. A lovely break from pedalling.

As all the Bermudians in Bermuda are enjoying our national holiday today it seems appropriate that I should be ‘resting’. Good Luck to everyone doing the half marathon or racing their boats or whatever.

The River Avon sounds idyllic but in fact it doesn’t look very nice and smells even worse. This is the view from the cycle path alongside the M5 motorway.

19.69 miles. 2 hours 2 mins. Average 9.4mph

Another glorious day as I left Portishead and tried to find and follow the NCR cyclepath through Pill and across the River Avon to Avonmouth. The signs are poorly sited and obscured. (At least that is my excuse for twice having to double-back on my tracks and find the right way.)

A north east wind slowed me down a bit because it was dead against me. If you ever have to cycle through Avonmouth then I recommend that you do it on a quiet Sunday morning in the sunshine. The traffic was light and well-behaved, especially the very large articulated trucks.

Both the Severn Bridges looked graceful and slender as they spanned the estuary. I met a group of motorcyclists on their large heavy bikes heading the other way from me. After the first dozen or so there came a long caravan of them and I lost count at 50. I reckon there must have been over 100 of them altogether. What an overpowering noise they all made!

Lesley, a friend from Hayling Island, had driven up to Aust to have lunch and cheer me up. She had kindly brought a picnic lunch so we drove off into the hills and found a beautiful spot to eat, chat, and relax.

Although I had only done 19 miles my right leg was very sore so I decided to stay an extra day at the Travelodge at Aust (now called Severn View Services) and rest it.

Still can’t find an Internet cafe so this blog is straight from my Iphone. I need to catch up on expanding earlier days entries as soon as I can.

A big ‘thank you ‘ to the children in Mrs Thompson’s class for your recent message. I am very well, apart from my sore leg which may slow me down a bit. I hope to finish in about another 6 weeks. The weather has been very good – warm and dry so far. It was great to get your message. Please be good for Mrs Thompson.

An apple orchard near  Lower Landford. The apples are used in making cider.

Another glorious day. Lots of sunshine, roadside flowers and birdsong.

A slight east wind was just a little cooling – very pleasant. No GOTBAPs but a couple of rest stops on the way up the Mendip Hills. The traffic was mostly OK.  I went back to the original routing of country lanes because there weren’t many steep hills involved today.  Indeed most of the early part of the day was on roads as flat as Kindley Field Road.

On the climb up to Winscombe in the Mendip Hills my (bad) right knee and my (good) left knee began to hurt quite badly.  This is a worrying development.

33.5 miles. 3 hiours 15 minutes. Avge 10.3 mph.

This is just north of Bridgwater – then came the Mendip Hills !!!

This was obviously too good to last.  The Mendip hills offered great views, once I had struggled to the top.

The Church of St John the Baptist.

I took some time out to wander round the churchyard and then looked around inside this church, which is in rural Devon.

Where does all that traffic come from?  Again on 21st May.  I was to cross the M5 and other motorways several times later on.

21st May. Exeter – Cullompton – Wellington – Taunton – Bridgwater

What a glorious day! We had an early morning mist with visibilty down to 100 yards. The sun soon burned that off and after that there was sunshine all day. With the sun coming over my right shoulder and a slight east wind to cool me down a little, conditions were perfect. I even had a good road surface. The tarmac had recently been renewed. It was a minor road with little traffic, gentle hills, and no potholes.

The scenery remined me of a screensaver photo from Microsoft. The hedges were full of flowers and the farmers were cropping their hay in readiness for the winter (a long way away!).

I had targeted Taunton for the day’s run but I felt so good upon reaching there that I decided to carry on to Bridgwater. Sometime during the day I crossed from Devon to Somerset but there were no roadsigns to remind me of it.

40.54 miles. 3 hours 53 minutes. Avge 10.4 mph

Seen at roadside between Cullompton and Wellington.  21st May

Yes, but which one?

Okehampton – With the church of Saint James surrounded by traffic going in all directions at the end of the street. I know the feeling.

18th May.  

19th May. Liskeard to Okehampton.

Overcast but dry. Little wind.  This was a very hard day. Somewhere in mid-day I left Cornwall and entered Devon but I didn’t notice any immediate softening of the hills.  Lost count of the number of GOTBAPs.

This is just a hard slog, and I am getting more and more worried about my leg.  All this pushing of the bike uphill is actually hurting more than cycling, and is leading to more breakdown of the skin. The countryside is still beautiful, including great views from the tops of hills, and the flowers, and the farm animals, and the birds.  But I may need to switch my planned route so as to inlcude more main roads. They are less attractive, and more risky, but usualy have less steep hills.

32.2 miles.  4 hours 5 mins. Avge 7.88 mph.

20th May.  Okehampton to Exeter.

Change of strategy today. I left the planned route and committed myself to the main road – in this case mostly the A30.  The general trend was more downhill than uphill but there was still planty of both.

There is a strip of tarmac a couple of feet wide at the edge of the road.  It is not a cycletrack but is manageable as long as you concentrate on dodging all the debris left in the area.  There is a lot of it.  It is amazing how many cars and trucks must be driving round UK with missing nuts, bots, washers, mudguards, tail-light assemblies and wing mirrors – to say nothing of floor mats, vacuum flasks and other litter.

As if that wasn’t enough to dodge, there are also dead rabbits, badgers and foxes.  So it is not a very pleasant ride, but at least the hills are longer and less steep than yesterday and earlier days.  Thank goodness I am still blessed with the weather, i.e. little wind, cloudy but dry.

25.6 miles.  3 hours 10 mins.   Avge 8.08 mph

Lostwithiel is steeped in Cornish and English history. It is a very pleasant town of narrow streets with many antiques shops. The people are very friendly. The staff at the Restormel Lodge hotel allowed me to use their office computer to update my blog. This was much better that strugggling with my I-phone.

The bridge was built by the Normans (i.e after the year 1066).  During the English Civil War (in the 1640s)  the the town was occupied by the Parliamentarians, who destroyed parts of it before the Royalists drove them out. Lostwithiel was the ancient county town (capital) of Cornwall and a centre of the very important Tannery (tin mining ) industry. The river Fowey is clean and calm.  I can also confirm by viewing that it has many trout fish in it.

There are lots of Methodist Churches in the towns and villages of Cornwall as well as the Church of England.  I think that this area gained a strong following for Charles and John Wesley when they were spreading the gospel of the Methodist religion in its early years, around the 1730s.  I think that one of the Welsley brothers preached in Bermuda, long ago.

There are many Cornish flags on display, either from people’s houses or in the windscreen of their cars, and many street and roadsigns have the destinations spelt in Cornish language as well as in English. The flag is a white cross on a black background. I have seen one just like it in Bermuda – flying from a house near Marley Beach. The owner of that house must be connected to Cornwall.

The Cornish people are part of England but also like to feel a bit ‘different’. It is a bit like the people from St David’s Island in Bermuda.

18th May.  Lostwithiel to Liskeard. Distance only 11.9 miles. Pedalling for 1 hour 30 minutes. Average speed 7.9 mph. That’s not a big distance and not very fast but my leg is still sore and the hills are still very steep and long. Lots of GOTBAPs.  This is like cycling and pushing up and down Khyber Pass all day, except that the hills are longer and steeper.

The weather is fine, sunny and warm. Perhaps it is a bit too warm on some of these hills.

Those poor people in Gatwick and Heathrow and other airports now seem to be able to go home or get to their destinations.  It must be terrible for them to be stuck in an airport for days.  I  was very fortunate to miss all that volcanic ash.

Monday 17th May. This was a rest day as I hope to get my leg better for tomorrow. The photo is of one of many disused tin mines which are scattered across Cornwall. Tin mining used to be a major industry here and employed many people but all the mines have now closed.

16th May – Saturday. Waiting for the King Harry Ferry to carry me across the River Fal. The old guy next to me looks like he has been waiting a long time and fallen asleep.

The day took me from Devoran (north of Falmouth), Tregony, St Austell, and finally Lostwithiel. Made very welcome at Restormel Lodge – after being directed here by the mayor of Lostwithiel who spotted me looking for somewhere to stay for the night.

31.02 miles. 3 hr 48 minutes. Average 8.1 mph. That is a poor average speed because I spent so much time pushing the bike uphill at 1.5 to 2 mph. With a brisk north-west wind which was cold enough to make my eyes water I passed through some beautiful countryside. Lots of wild flowers in the hedgerows which I must identify at some stage. Several GOTBAPs in Cornwall’s continuing hillyiness. Got chatting to the deckhand on the King Harry Ferry and he made a cash donation towards Age Concern!

I learned on my I-phone that I was lucky with the Icelandic volcanic ash. Many airports have now been closed

My ‘bad’ leg is hurting a lot at the end of the day and I may need to take a rest day tomorrow to help it to heal. At least I am not saddle-sore. That’s probably because I have spent so much of the day walking and pushing the bike instead of riding it!

Saturday 15th May. Penzance, Goldsithney, Godolphin Cross, Porkellis, Stithians, Peranworthal, Devoran.

32.74 miles. 3 hrs 31 mins. Averge 9.3 mph.

Today I was introduced to what Cornwall has to offer by way of hills. They are steep and there are many of them. I lost count of the number of times when I had to ‘GOTBAP’ i.e. ‘get off the bike and push’. Lunch in a country pub in Porkellis was very nice, but I was weary and stiff when the time came to re-mount the bike.

The wind was from the north-east so it was not a headwind. Still cool but mostly in sunshine.

St Michael’s Mount near Marazion near Penzance. You have to wait for the tide to go out before you can visit the castle, and I was anxious to push on, so I didn’t visit. Very pretty though.

13th May. After eventually getting packed, including the bike (who is called Felicity) we checked-in at Bermuda airport. Thanks to Marian and all her to-do lists. Arrived at Gatwick after being ‘bumped’ to club by British Airways. (Thanks Marianna). Got some sleep so was able to take the bike out of its special box and begin re-assembling it. The photos is of my friend Tom who met me at Gatwick and shows his contribution towards the process, (he made the cup of coffee) in his garage in Tunbridge Wells. The gear-assemble on the rear hub fell apart during this process so we took it to Paul Evernden at Paddock Wood who kindly fixed it immediately, without charging. He also showed me how to fix it myself in future. A really nice guy.

Also the 13th May (Thursday) and one of those ‘small world’ moments. I needed to get my I-phone set up with a UK pay-as-you-go service so we went to Vodaphone in Tunbridge Wells. While talking to Clive Gray as he was working on the phone, it turned out that he and several friends from Vodaphone did the Land’s End to John O’Groats bikeride (LEJOG) last year for local charities. His group was fully supported by other friends in cars / vans.

This was the first time I have met anyone who has completed the ride before.

As I am late in starting the blogs from ‘on the road’ some of these photos are out of order. This is ‘yours truly’ at the Lands End signpost on the evening of Friday 14th May. From there I rode to Newlyn (Penzance) – only ten miles but at least I got going. This followed a 6 hour drive from Tunbridge Wells – chauffeured by Tom.

Cold northerly wind.

Distance 10.48 miles. Time ‘in the saddle’ 1 hr 6 mins. Average speed 9.5 mph.