Day 9: Inverary to South Laggan

Total: 95 miles
Time in saddle: 6 hrs 12 mins
Average speed: 15.5 mph
Maximum speed: 40.2 mph
Cumulative: 787
Chafing Rating: 5/5 (AAAARRGGHHH. NUUUURSE!!!)

"Yooour bottom will wish it had never been born!"
(The Baby-Eating Bishop of Bath and Wells, Blackadder II)

Oh God, the chafing. I don't so much need a bike seat as a toast rack. But enough of that.

We have been phenomenally lucky with the weather so far but today we awoke to forbidding clouds and a pessimistic forecast. This was the toughest day of the ride by far, 95 miles across the Highlands in howling winds and constant drizzle.

The view from the hotel in Inverary at 8.00am

This was a tough day mentally too. When you cycle 100 miles north in England you pass a huge number of familiar sounding towns and cross county borders getting a sense of real progress. That is not the case in Scotland where the massive landscapes do not pass quickly. My previous experience of Scotland has mainly been driving. It is easier to enjoy the scenery in the car, getting out occasionally to take a photograph and then hurrying back into the car because the wind and rain are battering you. It is not the same when you are out on it all day on a bike. The landmarks are stunningly beautiful but you see them for 20 miles of hard slog into a headwind and the distance passes really slowly. It is difficult to get a sense of scale. Hard hills look small in the landscape and you often hit them unprepared.

With Craig

What makes it more difficult is that we are starting to count down the days now which is not a good idea as we still have 200 miles to go. A conversation on this subject is taking place right now in the youth hostel where we are staying. Everyone is starting to get weary and is starting to look forward to the end.

To add to this a few injuries are appearing in the camp. Several people (John, Lizzie, Tommy) have strained knees, I have a slightly grabbing achilles and Maria had to ride on the higher and more resistant chain ring as she is suffering a clawed hand and it is too painful to operate the shifter.

Nick and I were the last to leave the hotel this morning and we rode with Andy so that he was not left alone in the mountains. Within 10 minutes his bike had mechanical problems and I had to re-index the gears for him. The morning was really stop-start after that. I had my first morning of feeling the miles in my legs. They just would not work properly and I found it a struggle to keep to the wheels of the fast group. At the morning water stop by the swirling river at Connel, I wolfed down 3 bananas and 2 energy bars and gradually felt better through the day, but it really was tough.

Photo by John

I did allow myself to get detached to take a photograph and then enjoyed a high-speed solo descent to Loch Awe where I caught the group. Being alone up on the Highlands was a wonderful sensation even if the other riders were only a couple of minutes ahead. The views throughout were spectacular but we just couldn't enjoy them. We took photos so we could enjoy the views later. We could get no rythm in our cycling and the pain from the chafing was considerable.

Castle Stalker at Loch Awe

A welcome stop was the Kirk of St. Conan, who apparently came to Scotland from Ireland on a flat piece of stone. I am  not sure his progress would have been any more difficult than ours today. The church was built in the 1870s and was a right mish-mash of German Gothic and Arts and Crafts, but its setting was extremely romantic and peaceful.

Kirk of St. Conan

We were mildly amused (which was as amused as we got all morning) by Lochaber having trademarked its claim to being Outdoor Activity Capital of the UK and were quite excited to see the first road signs for Inverness giving us some impression of how far north we have come. There was also a nice moment when John nearly missed his lunch (which would not have been pretty) because he was drafting behind a bus and went straight past the stop.

Lunch at Ballacuillish was a more sombre affair than usual. Nick did try some Cossack dancing on tired legs and is still breathing a sigh of relief that he did not injure himself and have a very embarrassing confession to make to all his sponsors. But a circle of glum faces laboured through cold meats and salads (again) and the wisecracking was kept to a minimum.

The road surfaces in Scotland have been extremely variable. Today we had some shockers, the worst of which turned our bikes into bone-shakers as we approached a long set of roadworks where we had to be taken through in convoy to protect the workers. We cyclists were allowed through first and had the strange experience of being behind the truck that was finishing the road in front of us. It reminded us of the scene in Wallace and Gromit where the train tracks are laid as the train runs along.

Matt negotiates the roadworks

We called in at Fort William briefly, so John could get some new lights, and then we headed on towards the last water stop, a penitential ride into screaming winds. I was feeling stronger this afternoon and did most of the point work but we alternated a lot to share the load. This last water stop was at the Commando memorial just after Spean Bridge. I liked this statue a lot, particularly its striking position high up over the landscape. This is where the special forces trained during World War II, a cold, rugged landscape that bred tough men (but they didn't have to deal with chafing).

The Commando Memorial at Spean Bridge

The windiest water stop in Britain: Spean Bridge

The only thing that really amused me today was a rather harsh lesson I received in choosing battles carefully. One of the more extraordinary cyclists in the group is Matt, a corporate lawyer from London. His partner Lizzie is on the ride too. Matt only decided to join her 3 weeks ago but has ridden every mile very strongly. Matt has a large build. He used to play No. 8 for the England Schools Rugby team. The technical term for him is "A Big Unit". The non-technical term is "The Flying Arse". He finds the uphills a bit of a struggle, but you take him on down hill at your peril. So fast does he roll down hills that when he is wearing his bright yellow lycra, his enormous muscular buttocks look like the setting sun as they disappear into the distance. So, guess what I tried to do?

I wonder which one's Matt ...

It was a nice long hill and Matt had begun his roll. I timed my run perfectly to pass him at top speed, while he was still rolling. I was doing about 40 mph as I went by and from behind me I heard him say, "Ooh Hello". Within 10 seconds I was hit by the most extraordinary backdraft as he shot past like a cannon ball. It made an odd sound, not a whoosh but a deep whump, and I didn't see him for another 3 minutes (until we came to an uphill). I'll know better next time.

Exhausted and a little wiser after my downhill race

So, it is the end of by far the toughest day so far. Tomorrow promises to be even worse as the forecast is for heavy rain and high winds all day. We will pass Loch Ness tomorrow and then turn left and up the largest hill of the whole trip. The mood is all a bit serious. As I write this in the common room of the youth hostel we are staying in at South Laggan, a remote and wild spot at the end of Loch Lochy, I ask Nick, "Come on Nick. What was funny today that can go in the blog?", and he replies, "Well, most of it wasn't funny at all."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Post-script from yesterday ...

Alicia,
How about this for a Millionaire's Shortbread?
A

Largs has a silly name but an excellent cake shop

Day 8: Kilmarnock to Inverary

Total: 81.7 miles
Time in saddle: 5 hrs 27 mins
Average speed: 15.5 mph
Maximum speed: 34.7 mph
Cumulative: 693 miles
Chafing rating: 4.5/5 (ARRGGHH. Nurse!)

Yes! Colin can no longer regale the breakfast table with tales of my nocturnal noises. In the middle of the night he woke me with a loud “Whahaaay!”. I suspect he was dreaming of [... Alistair and Nigel, please keep it clean ...] cycling down a steep hill with the wind at his back. This was after quite a night on the red wine, in which he managed to slur out a challenge to John and me to take Craig and him on in a time trial before we reach John O’Groats. Now, a few months ago, this is the sort of challenge I would have accepted, but I am getting sensible in my old age and declined, in favour of raising my chances of reaching the end. 

Besides, one of the things I have loved about this trip is the camaraderie and teamwork, of which Colin is a key part. This always would have been a great adventure, but has been made more so by the way we have all supported each other and I am sure we are all in better shape because of it.

Morning preparations at the Park Hotel, Kilmarnock

But this morning we were given some crushing news. It was Day 8 and the schedule had been for us to take the small ferry about a mile across the Firth of Clyde from Gourock to Dunoon. We heard that the weather was unsuitable and the ferry had been cancelled, meaning we would have to sit in a coach for 3 hours, which would transport us, via Glasgow, to our next venue. You could hear the spirit of the group hit the ground with a morose thud. For those of us (all of us) with a sense of completeness, this, in my view, scuppered any claims we might have of completing Land’s End to John O’Groats. This is not what I signed up for and nor is it what my supporters have sponsored . To make matters worse, we were preparing for the day under a clear blue sky. Nick wondered, "Is sunshine regarded as adverse weather in Scotland?" 

It was with this news that we set off to Gourock anyway, just in case. John and I hosted a quick conference with a few other riders and resolved to find a way to Dunoon by hook or by crook. We would have paid a lorry driver to run us around and completed the ride at night, or chartered a boat. Somehow we would get there and we would not be denied the cycling. 

Riding with this uncertaintly was not much fun, but local pastor, Alistair, at 65 the oldest LEJOGGER in our group, was joined by his friend, John, for a few miles, and members of his congregation stood beside the road for the first 10 miles cheering us on. What a great gesture, as we were battling fierce winds and chilly autumnal air at the time. But for Alistair’s friend the morning ended terribly. He was just coming to a stop, after waving us on at his peeling off point, when his front wheel went down a drain whose cover had been placed the wrong way, leaving the slots running parallel with the road. He went straight over the handlebars, landed on his face and knocked himself unconscious. He also knocked out two teeth, and as of this evening, is waiting for the swelling to go down so that an X-Ray might determine if he has fractured his cheekbone.

This crash occurred behind me and I only found out about it when a series of sickened witnesses joined us at Nardinis tea room in Largs. We had all been blown left, right and centre by a screaming north-easterly as we rode along the shore of the Firth of Clyde, west of Kilmarnock, where the wind has sculpted the tops of the trees like giant waves. We are pointedly aware that any one of us could have an accident like John, especially in the winds up here. It only takes one pothole, one poorly positioned bike or one overlapping wheel to bring down one or more cyclists, injuring ourselves or destroying our bikes and bringing to a premature end our LEJOG adventure. Total concentration is vital. I hope this group is rewarded in the end for its teamwork with everyone crossing the line in one piece.

Coffee at Nardinis in Largs: Brian, Nick, John, Matt, Lizzie

Largs, apart from having too many consonants and not enough vowels - and the letters in the wrong order (it’s an altogether unsatisfactory name for a town), contains a shop which lays claim to being the largest shop in the world. Nick spotted this. He has a knack for this. He spotted a sign with a tree painted on it championing the “World famous Arbor tree” in Shropshire, but he didn’t see the tree. Nor did he see The Massive Onion advertised on a sign he spotted near Preston. This time he did see the shop and thought it was no bigger than the Co-op in Orpington. We wondered if it was a pun on the name Largs. Was it the LARGest shop with a soft ‘g’? It’s one thing putting up with a town name that looks like a typo, but considerably worse not working hard enough on one’s puns.

With Nick: those glasses help Nick spot a silly sign from a mile away (photo by Jo and Sarah)

The hoped-for ferry crossing required us to be put under strict instructions this morning - so strict in fact, that I was told off for not listening when they were announced, which, for a brief moment, made me feel like I was back at school and I instantly started hating my surroundings and all figures of authority. These instructions demanded that we present ourselves at the ferry stop for 12.00pm, where a decision would be made pending news about the ferry (see, I was listening). This meant we all needed to move fairly quickly and the slower riders must not get detached from the peloton, so I went to the front and led the group the 14 miles to the ferry, occasionally slowing to allow a regroup, sometimes pushing a bit when the group bunched. The wind was horrific, deafening, blew the handlebars from side to side and required a sideways lean in the worst stretches, and I am not sure how much shelter was offered by my newly skinny frame. We got there in time and all rejoiced that the ferry was running. Thank God for that. The whole LEJOG experience would really have gone sour for me if we had had to set foot in a motor vehicle before John o’Groats.

Gourock to Dunoon ferry

What a wonderful world on the other shore. We turned right from the ferry at Dunoon and were instantly in the countryside for which we had all registered for this challenge.

With John at Dunoon (photo courtesy of Jo and Sarah)

Huge conifers towered above the road, barriered off by mossy, dry-stone walls. Through the forests could be glimpsed choppy water and rocks teeming with bird life. On one rock I spotted 9 cormorants sunning themselves. We have not seen any seals yet but our eyes are peeled. 

Lunch in a barn

Lunch at Benmore Botanic Gardens was beautiful. The autumn colours are becoming more pronounced as we head further north. The glorious ride continued in the afternoon, despite the powerful buffetting we received from the squalling winds and the passing lorries. Spectacular mountains loomed in the low clouds either side and in front, but somehow we managed to avoid any really awful hills and hugged the shoreline of Loch Eck and Loch Fyne.

Roadside at Loch Eck

We had the odd experience of seeing Inverary from the other side of the Loch about 2 miles away, but we still had 22 miles to cycle as we went right to the end and around the shore. The tailwind that hit us as we turned back down the loch was fantastic and we went up hills at 25 mph.

Enjoying the tailwind as we turn towards Inverary

We settled in for a fast last 14 miles but then turned right suddenly as the shore twisted again and hit the most colossal wind I have ever experienced. Descending a steep hill, our bikes were slowing down and I was surprised that my reaction was to laugh hysterically and slight manically while trying to stay upright. My wife reacts in a similar way whenever I am in pain, although she assures me it is a nervous reaction and not an expression of her true feelings.

Loch Ness is now only 2 days away. My son has given me his Nessie cuddly toy to keep during  LEJOG to remind me of him. (I spend most of the day thinking about him anyway). We bought Nessie 2 years ago at Drumnadrochit. She is getting closer to home. Today she requested a ride in my bumbag so that my son could see her on the blog …

Can you spot Nessie, little chap?

At the northern end of Loch Fyne, several riders peeled off for oysters, but my aversion to all seafood meant I would rather have eaten my sweaty, leather, fingerless cycling gloves, so I ploughed on. I enjoyed a solo burn-up for the last 8 miles, after a slow, easy day with lots of group riding, passing other riders and averaging 25 mph until I hit the town and was stopped in my tracks by its beauty. Could Inverary be the most beautiful place in Britain? It is certainly one of the most picturesque places I have seen.

Inverary (photo by John)

Inverary harbour

This is top of my list for a return visit with my family. It skirts the shore of Loch Fyne with steep-sided mountains either side and has very few buildings dating from after 1920. Its war memorial is beautifully situated on the green facing the loch, a tribute to soldiers who gave their lives in 2 wars that must have seemed an awfully long way away from these surroundings.

War memorial

We are staying in the Loch Fyne Hotel. The food tonight was the best of the whole tour.

Loch Fyne Hotel

This may change tomorrow. We have a huge 7-mile ascent to 1500 feet as soon as we turn off the high street at the beginning of a 95-mile day which ends in a 19th-century farm converted into a youth hostel. This will be dormitory night. It offers a good opportunity for me to perform my nocturnal snortings to a much wider audience.

Day 7: Carlisle to Kilmarnock

Total: 96.0 miles
Time in saddle: 5 hrs 9 mins
Average speed: 18.5 mph
Maximum speed: 43.4 mph
Cumulative: 611 miles
Chafing rating: 4/5 (aaarrgghh!)

I woke up this morning full of remorse. In yesterday's blog I referred to "that bloody bike". This is  no way to talk about my closest friend and so I apologised profusely when I picked it up from the storeroom. The bike rewarded me with a solid day at high average speed (for me) and we are now best friends again.

Breakfast in the Premier Inn (2nd class) in Carlisle was served in the partitioned room where they keep the chairs and IT equipment. Although there only appeared to be two other guests in the 'hotel', our dress code was deemed unsuitable for the restaurant. Each morning I have been eating granola with fruit salad and yoghurt, and drinking huge amounts of water, but as the tour goes on I am feeling stronger urges for more protein and I suspect a morning fry-up beckons tomorrow.

Some very miserable looking cyclists emerged from their cells this morning. In fact, I was just thinking how dejected Nick looked when Jen, the DA rep, told him the same. So he turned round and came back into Reception and ran out cheering and smiling but no-one was convinced. The halfway point was a source of celebation last night, but this morning cold reality had dawned on everyone that all those hard miles we had done had to be repeated, and repeated with tired legs. Robin Thicke's catchy ditty, "Blurred Lines" was blaring from the DA van again this morning, just like it has been every morning. This usually gets at least 3 cyclists dancing but this morning all we could see were serious faces and a few rythmically moving knees.

Entertainment was provided by Don from the Wirral. Or, The Don as he is known. Don is something of an ... ahem ... assertive rider who has collected a number of cars, vans and windscreen wipers on the way to Carlisle. He's a really nice bloke, but when you put him on a bike he's like one of the Polish Battle of Britain pilots: he doesn't always follow the plan but adds a huge amount to the overall effort with the number of kills he records. This morning, while we were warming up and stretching and pumping up tyres and checking brakes, we heard a "whooahh!" and saw Philip lying down on his bike in the car park. Philip rose with a patient smile to reveal, underneath him in a mangled pile, The Don. Don is indestructible.

This morning we had an early regroup planned for when we crossed the Scottish border at Gretna Green. We almost all arrived as planned, except we were 4 people down. We stood around, posed for photos, went to the loo and stood around a bit more. 

Me, Nick, John at Gretna Green

I phoned home to reassure Debbie that I had not eloped with another rider, and she expressed surprise that I had not married my bike.

My bike wouldn't fit through the door

We had a lovely chat and then I rejoined the others chatting and standing around a bit more getting colder and colder until, after 25 minutes, the strays appeared having taken a wrong turn. They were met with a big cheer and we all had a group photo in front of the Scotland sign. Pete, a tough and wiry Scotsman in the group, pulled out a bottle of whisky and we all raised our paper cups. I called out, "To Flodden!" and Nick and I watched the tumbleweed blow past before we got back on our bikes and headed for Annan.

It was a really tough ride today in quite hard conditions. Nick, John and I rode together all day, sometimes joined by others and sometimes just as a trio. It was a bit stop-start at first as I needed the loo (again), John needed to ditch his rain-jacket and Nick had a puncture. An occasional tailwind blew us along at 27 mph but the road was winding and we were buffeted by sidewinds and blustery headwinds on road surfaces that were extremely variable. Sometimes it felt as if we were cycling through treacle. The lunch stop at 62 miles could not have come soon enough and we relaxed in a barn eating cold meats and salads. The morning rides between the water stop and lunch are the hardest part of the day when the highest number of miles are covered. The afternoons are much easier.

Gourmet ice-creams at Catrine

Saddle soreness is becoming an over-riding issue for many of us, not just Vajrin, and especially me. And Nick. And Mick. Every few minutes, someone in the group will start a writhing shimmy above their seat before sitting down again gingerly, and then usually standing straight up again for a second attempt at a more painless landing. It's extremely uncomfortable. Sudocrem is now the hottest currency among the team.

We saw some lovely scenery as we rode. The steep forests of conifers either side of the road create such a different atmosphere from the pretty country lanes of Cumbria, yesterday. There was a real chill in the air and the oak and ash leaves are well on the way to turning autumnal colours.

We were not hallucinating (from a photo by Vajrin)

But most of this scenery felt as if it was in the distance today and the road itself was littered with trucks and potholes, meaning total concentration was essential. One thing we did spot just before lunch was a field of orange sheep. Nick told us they are dyed that colour to prevent rustling.

John heading for an ice cream

We reached Kilmarnock at 4.30pm after covering 96 miles in a little over 5 hours, at an average of 18.5 mph, the quickest of the trip so far. The Park Hotel, next to Kilmarnock Football Ground, is a far cry from the Carlisle Premier Inn.

Park Hotel (photo by Vajrin)

The atmosphere after the intense ride was quite heady. Nick and John appeared at dinner in dressing gowns and towels.

They have not explained why.

Day 6: Preston to Carlisle

Total: 98.2 miles
Time: 6 hrs 14 mins
Average speed: 15.5 mph
Top speed: 36.7 mph
Cumulative: 515 miles (over halfway)
Chafing rating: 3/5 (oooh!)

A plinky-plink version of The Entertainer woke me at 6.30 this morning (my wife hates my alarm, and so do I, which is why I use it, as the annoyance - especially hers - is the only thing that gets me out of bed) and for the first time my immediate thought was "Oh God, have I got to get back on that bloody bike?" This feeling soon subsided, and how! We have had one of the most exhilirating days of the ride.

But before that, I woke to the fabulous news that I had slept both soundly, and soundlessly, the night before. My snoring had kept Colin awake for a couple of nights early on, and so, for two nights, I had swapped with Nick to allow both a quiet night. Sharing with John meant we could be up blogging until late and he knows me well enough to wake me with a shove if I start my farmyard noises. He's not averse to an occasional midnight symphony himself, so this was win-win all round. Or, at least, we thought it was. Colin appeared at breakfast looking a little dog-eared this morning after Nick had spent the night snoring like a pneumatic drill, this after Nick had earlier pulled the key card out of the electric socket and walked out of the room, plunging poor Colin into total darkness as he sat on the lavatory. I am back with Colin tonight.

The charms of the Preston Ibis, which were considerable in comparison with the pententiary of a Premier Inn we are in tonight, receded as we headed out at 8.15am. As soon as I turned the pedals I was happy on the bike again. Ahead of us lay a hard day's ride through Cumbria and the Lake District to Carlisle. If we are honest, we do not have a huge amount of faith in DiscoverAdventure to plot us the most rewarding route and so, local boy, Craig took us on a slightly wider loop, taking in winding country lanes and picture-perfect villages. This is the sort of riding I do at home and I absolutely loved it.

Over-the-head photography by John

We weaved on through the lanes, and went through Lancaster. What a beautiful town. I would have loved to have stopped for a look around but this tour is not about that. Instead I made a mental note to bring my family back here to see Lancaster, Shap Fell, Sizergh Castle and Arnside. We also cycled around Morecombe Bay. I thought about the awful fate of the cockle pickers who were killed a few years ago on the treacherous sands as we passed along into a strong wind. We stopped occasionally for photos and a puncture repair, but ploughed on for 40 miles before we had our first coffee stop.

Puncture repair team

Craig took us to Arnside, to a coffee shop overlooking a beautiful estuary, famous for its rapid tidal surge, The Arnside Bore. One of the locals stopped Vajrin and asked him about the ride and by the second sentence, Vajrin was saying, quite audibly to the rest of us on the opposite side of the road, "My arse is completely raw." Chafing can get you fixated like that.

Coffee stop at Arnside

The Arnside Bore?

Riding the Arnside Bore

Then followed more wondrous countryside until just outside Kendal when we hit a horrendous dual carriageway with rutted tarmac and a dreadful headwind. I rode point to try and keep the group moving. I am convinced I saw a red car on its side on the verge just outside Kendal and I pointed it out to the group but at the end of the day no-one could remember it and I wonder if I dreamed it.

Kendal was a lovely town apart from a one-way system that allowed cyclists to ride in the opposite direction to the traffic, meaning we went all the way down the road saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me", as people stepped out in the road every 5 metres. John and I peeled off and bought some Kendal Mintcake and asked a passer-by to take a cheesy photo. The passerby has just lost 4 stone and is thinking of doing LEJOG.

Kendal Mintcake

And then it was Shap Fell. It was almost interminable. Timing one's effort was tricky as you could never tell how much more hill was around the corner. We needed to get over the other side and reach Shap for lunch but were running quite late at this point after our wider morning excursion. I rode with Craig, each helping the other out at difficult moments. The road was not too steep, but was windswept, rutted and popular with motorbike riders who roared up it at at least 90mph.

Approaching Shap Fell: me, Craig, Philip (on-board photo by John)

Craig and me heading up Shap Fell

The experience on Shap Fell will live long after this ride. The top was beautiful and the effort to get there was really worth it. Cycling is wonderfully rythmical exercise, but on a long hill like this the quads burn, the hamstrings grab, the calves tighten, the arms strain and the neck aches. Controlling one's breathing is essential. Coming down the other side is a completely different affair. The wind screams in your ears, the rough roads send thumping shocks through the hands and arms, the legs feel as if they are on fire, with the uphill efforts still contained, as they turn over faster and faster, and your head placed over the handlebars means the road rushes past your eyes in mesmerising fashion. It is truly exhilirating.

It's a horse you need, John ...

So wide was our little breakway group's detour, that we arrived at lunch just as the slower group was leaving. We were 45 minutes behind when we set off, but Craig set a furious pace after lunch on the mostly downhill route into Carlisle. With fortunate timing, we dragged each other at 30mph for miles and miles until we passed the others as we entered the town. After such an aggressive 97-mile ride, it was imperative to jump into the freezing cold bath straight away for 15 minutes of ooh-ooh-aah-aah shock therapy, a massage and a stretch before a phone call home lying on the floor with my legs in the air. This treatment works wonders and I have no soreness for tomorrow. Nor do I have any dignity, but I am among like-minded souls.

I have only been to Carlisle once before for work, and my only real memory of it is having a lasagne that was soggier than the beer that accompanied it. We are staying in the worse of two Premier Inns in the town. The gruel served in the windowless basement of this glorified prison left me longing for that soggy lasagne.

Carlisle, however, marks a major milestone. We are now past halfway and have 515 miles in the bag at an average of 86 miles a day. We could see Scotland as we approached the hotel, and tomorrow we will all regroup and cross the border together. My body is holding up and I am surprised how I am coping. I expected to be in a lot of discomfort by now. I have tired legs but this is offset by the extra strength they have acquired. I have a slightly sore neck and a constant tingling in my fingers from the vibrations of the road but, other than that, all is tickety-boo. My sister saw me yesterday and looked shocked at how skinny I have become but this won't last forever at my age, nor with my love of Millionaire's Shortbread. And the group is fantastic. I am hoping I have made some life-long friends. We are all quite different characters but have developed a bond through dependency and pain. In my experience, in a large group there is always one person who is really irritating. There is no-one here like that which leaves me thinking that it might be me.

Day 5: Shrewsbury to Preston

Total: 89.1 miles
Time in saddle: Unknown
Average speed: Unknown
Maximum speed: Unknown
Cumulative: 417
Chafing rating: 2/5 (uh-oh)


I’ve been to the home of the Eckford Sweetpea. Apparently. That’s what the sign said just outside the village of Wem, but I don’t know if we saw one. We also went past Whitchurch, ‘Home of Clock Towers’. We didn’t see any of those either, as we were routed on the by-pass. It was that sort of day. Jen, the DiscoverAdventure Rep in charge, painted a rather gloomy (dare I say, grim) picture of the ride north, a day that promised more A-roads, many lorries and a lot of hard cycling.

I wanted an earlier finish today so I set off at the front with Colin, Vajrin, Sarah and Jo, who ride at a good but not lung-bursting pace, and don’t take too long at the breaks. It was a chilly, misty morning, the first time our feet have felt really cold. We started out on B-roads but soon hit the A49. Thank  goodness it was Saturday; something I had to be told, as I have lost all track of time. The trucks were not so frequent and the traffic seemed more relaxed. Then began several hours of metronomic cycling on a flat road. It was unremitting and introduced me to a new experience: riding 65 miles on the same road. This personal record is set to be beaten tomorrow when we ride 86 miles on the A6 through Cumbria to Carlisle.

The group I was with was a bit unforgiving in the morning whenever someone dropped back. I wasn’t happy about it. Philip, who had to call into a shop, was left behind. I turned round to see he had gone but I didn’t know why, and was told he could join another group. I needed two pit-stops (I drink a lot of water!) so I timed them for long straight roads that enabled me to see into the distance, as I too was left each time, and had to go full bore to catch them. On and on, on the same road we went, relentlessly but not unhappily. We really feel on these days, as we approach half way, that we are down to business. There are fewer wisecracks flying around and more head-down determination. I shared most of the ‘point’ work with Colin, an excellent rider, to keep the group moving at a reasonable pace, and like John in his group, went back into shepherding mode in towns. Many of the riders here have not ridden in cities before.

The constant whirr-whirr-whirr-whirr of the wheels set me thinking again about all sorts of things. I have thought about my father frequently on the last couple of rides. It almost felt like he was with me today. I could see his smile and hear his laugh. He would have been fascinated by this challenge. He would have thought I was quite mad and would have made frequent enquiries as to the state of my knees, but he would have loved talking about cyclists’ strategies for negotiating with traffic, about road positioning and about average speeds. I was thinking about my father when I first decided to do this ride, two months after he died, wanting to commit to doing something useful with my fitness having witnessed his being taken from him. I suspected these feelings might appear once the initial euphoria of the first few days had subsided, but I was taken aback at how strong they were, and found myself in floods of tears for several miles.

Jo, Sarah, me, Colin, Vajrin at the Wild Boar

At the first water stop, we saw the DiscoverAdventure banner but no stall and so pushed on to find a coffee shop. The late 19th-century, mock Tudor, Wild Boar Hotel looked like just the ticket. Outside we got talking to a man and woman, in their late forties, who asked us what we were doing. They then told us that inside the hotel is a plaque commemorating its first owners, the Naylor Brothers, John and Robert, who apparently completed the first recorded walk from Land’s End to John O’Groats in 1871, taking nine weeks to complete the journey. (My friend Alistair will read this and inform me they did it on a diet of gruel and small beer, in tweeds and plus fours, not lycra. And wearing monacles.) And then the man asked about the charities we are supporting. He told us he had just lost an uncle to skin cancer after a 10-week illness, that his brother had just been given 12 weeks to live with the same cancer, and that earlier this week, he had been diagnosed with the same.

Back on the road we were really feeling that we were now in the area the motorway signs refer to as THE NORTH, heading towards Warrington, and passing signs for Birmingham, Manchester and North Wales. Today we cycled through Shropshire, Cheshire and Lancashire. Lunch was in a sports hall just after Warrington. I rang my sister, Fiona, for a chat and heard the sound of the car engine in the background. “Where are you?” I asked. “About 5 miles from you.”

She had read yesterday’s blog in bed this morning, looked out of the window and thought, “I know, I’ll catch him and cheer him on.” It certainly cheered me up. But she had to work hard to catch us. She drove up from Stratford-on-Avon,  just missed the lunch stop,  just missed the afternoon water stop and finally tracked us as we made steady progress through the huge conurbation around Wigan.

Me, Colin, local boy Craig

We met up again at the Ibis Hotel in Preston and went and had nachos in the truly awful Phanton Winger pub. The first person Fiona got to meet in the Ibis was Tommy Tarmac, whose pratfalls she had been reading about that morning.

One of the quicker riders, Craig, who has featured in previous posts, is a local to Preston. He too had family waiting for him with a big banner proclaiming LEJOG2013. But first he took our group on a tour of the town, including a visit to the … er … bus depot. It is actually an extraordinary building.

Preston Bus Depot (cropped from a photo by Jo)

We also rode along a new cycleway beside the river and municipal gardens which was extremely calming after 4 hours on the A49.

Craig leads us through Preston

I have just re-read the above and realise it is not exactly packed with laughs, but I can assure you I am having the time of my life, my body is holding up well and I am enjoying being in the depths of a slightly crazy challenge. This ride takes me to places I have never been before, both physically and emotionally. I am loving it.

The riders were very spread out today but almost everyone is doing well. There was a huge amount of bonhomie around the dinner table, even in the ghastly Phantom Winger. I had ordered Pop-Poppity Chicken. I had no idea what it was but thought it might be grilled and spicy. It was chicken nuggets and potato wedges. So there you have it. Today I have been to Wem, home of the Eckford Sweetpea, Whitchurch, home of clock towers, and Preston, home of Pop-Poppity Chicken.