Day 12: Thurso to John O'Groats

Total: 28.0 miles
Time in saddle:  1 hr 27 mins
Average speed: 18.4 mph
Maximum speed:  34.7 mph
Cumulative: 981 miles
Chafing rating: 1/5 (nice)

What better incentive to get back on the bike than to wake up in the Royal Hotel in Thurso! I took a shower first thing. It took 3 minutes to get wet but only 10 seconds to get burnt. Breakfast was served in a room with all the charm of a derelict village hall and several team members complained of having been bitten all night by bed-bugs. We ate our breakfast quickly before it went off.

Before we left we had a group photo in the entrance hall organised by Bryan. Bryan is Bursar at Harrow School. He has been a brilliant member of the group, always on hand to take over any organisation needed. He has, from Day 1, handed out awards at dinner. These have ranged from Team Player of the Day, to the award he gave Tommy Tarmac after sharing a dorm with him in the Youth Hostel in South Laggan, for playing Beethoven’s 5th in the middle of the night with his backside. Last night I got an award for my Nessie picture on the blog a few days ago. My certificate says the award is for “Having a Soft Side”. 

The group photo is something I shall treasure. Every member of this group has added something really positive to the effort and we have all at various times depended on each other during the ride. Everyone left the hotel this morning in great shape and no-one has pulled out. This, I am certain, is down not just to the training, but to the camaraderie.

Back Row: Matt, Colin, Philip, Nick, Me, John, Don, Bryan
Middle Row: Sarah, Jo, Alistair, Pete, Lizzie, Maria
Front Row: Tommy Tarmac, Mick, Andy, Craig, Tommy, Simon, Vajrin

Thurso looks a lot nicer in the sunshine. We were lucky this morning as we had fairly clear skies and wide views. The shortest route to John O’Groats from Thurso is 20 miles but we added an extra 8 to visit Dunnet Head, the most northerly point of the mainland. I remember sailing round this forbidding cliff with my friend James and his father and uncle when I was 13 and being absolutely terrified. But from the road, there is very little excitement to the landscape. Windblown, grassy fields with curious low walls of vertically laid, slate slabs stretch into the distance, punctuated by drab, grey, pebble-dashed bungalows. But we were no longer sight-seeing. The focus for us now was on getting there. 

Within 3 miles I was starting to feel very emotional. At various stages, every member of my family was in my thoughts, especially my wife and son who have  been so supportive of this venture. I cannot wait to hear their voices in person and to hug them. I really can’t wait for that hug. 

I thought about my mother and how she would be at home wondering when I would finish, and about my father and how he would have expressed his pride with vigorous handshakes and lots of “good griefs” and “superbs”. I started to put my foot down. 

I thought of my sister, Fiona, who had raced up to Preston on a whim to offer her support, of my sister, Victoria, nursing a broken hip while I have the time of my life, and of her son, Alex, who waited patiently beside the awful A403 near the Severn Bridge to cheer us on. I felt completely fired up, and rode hard to Dunnet Head fighting back tears. 

I cycled as far as I could and then ran up a steep grassy slope to the lookout, carrying my bike over my head, before putting it down in the windiest and wildest place I have ever been. The Orkneys were clearly visible across the cold, grey, frothy sea, and to the south, I could see for miles and miles, the terrain we had cycled yesterday. I was blown all over the place and all I had for company was a couple wrapped up warmly, admiring the view. I put my bike down and was completely overwhelmed by the situation, by missing family, by the relentlessness of what we had done and by the timelessness of the landscape. I knelt down by my bike and sobbed openly. When I turned round, the couple had gone.

Nearly done it, or is it Dunnet?

I saw the others arriving further down the hill and we all posed for photos on the headland. And then I was off again. We were all to regroup at the Seaview Hotel. But to that point we were left to our own devices and I wanted to cycle the last bit alone. I rode like the clappers to John O’Groats, counting each mile down on road signs, each seemingly taking an age, although I covered the last 12 miles in 33 minutes. At last, I could see the Seaview in the distance at the end of a long straight road and I hammered up the road as fast as I could, punching the air with excitement and relief. At the stop I just slumped over the handlebars and the tears started flowing again. And then I felt fine.

Poor Ian, the DA Rep, was quite taken aback and ushered me into the hotel for a coffee. It was a classy establishment …

… but the coffee was good. I took it outside to wait for the others. After about 15 minutes, 2 riders appeared in the distance, gradually edging closer. I was delighted to see they were John and Nick arriving together. Both have been brilliant on this trip. I hope we will be bonded forever after LEJOG. 

In dribs and drabs the group assembled at the hotel and we all relaxed inside awaiting the formation of the peloton for the final 400m to the finish. A box of toys appeared. John went into song, I phoned home and Nick indulged himself in Moo at the Farm.

Boys with toys

And then we were off again for the last ride together down to John O’Groats.

Last bit (photo by John)

It was a chaotic finish as the road split into 3 and we finished in delta formation not really knowing where to go until we heard Jen, the DA Rep cracking open a bottle of champage and shouting her catchphrase, “Come on my lovelies.” 

Hard-working guides: Ian, Jen and Lahcen of DiscoverAdventure

There were hugs all around, a lot of laughter and sincere emotion. Champagne and whisky flowed and we all had our photos taken by the Land's End to John O'Groats sign.

Each of us went into our own rituals. John soaked his bike in champagne while Don and I dipped our wheels in the sea.
 

An important ceremony

Team photo courtesy of Jo and Sarah

Several of us bought some expensive tat from the gift shop and then we boarded the bus for Inverness, feeling slightly lost without our bikes. It wasn’t long before the bus began re-tracing our route down the A9, a strange experience and one that brought home how far we have cycled. Some phoned home, others chatted and laughed, some slept.

John

The Beaufort Hotel in Inverness is a far cry from the Royal in Thurso. We have a celebration meal and party here tonight and then we all go our separate ways tomorrow. Philip, the fittest Grandad I know, has had medals made for us all. I have loved every minute of this trip, even the ones I hated. I expect some form of comedown in the next week or so, but for now my emotions have moved from teary to elated, and can feel a great sense of fulfilment from the ride. I will post a final summary in the next few days and then close the blog.  

Now, I need a drink …

Day 11: Tain to Thurso

Total: 90.1 miles
Time in saddle:  5 hrs 36 mins
Average speed: 16.2 mph
Maximum speed:  34.1 mph
Cumulative: 953 miles
Chafing rating: 2/5 (nice, almost)

Nearly there! What a strange feeling. I am so keen to see my family but I want to try and savour the atmosphere this evening, as we sit in a really awful hotel, reminiscing about these 11 intense days. Spirits are high. Tommy Tarmac has ‘grassed me up’ to The Don, from the Wirral, after I did an impression of him earlier today that was more accurate than was good for me. I have just walked downstairs to a large cheer and a chorus of requests to repeat the impression which I naturally refused as The Don was sitting opposite me, stony-faced. The Don is quite scary but he took it in good spirits because he’s A GOOD GUY. He did ask which room I’m in. I gave him the number for Tommy’s room. I’ll be checking my brake cables in the morning.

We were greeted with a thick fog as we left the Royal Hotel in Tain, but this was a sea fog and on higher ground we had the most wonderful views of the Dornoch Firth. As we crossed its long road bridge we peered up at thin, fluffy clouds which broke to reveal a beautiful blue sky. The water was perfectly still, meaning we got a clear view of a seal as its head broke the surface. We stood there for a while admiring the view, trying to savour the last full day’s ride.

John at Dornoch Firth

The A9 is a horrible road further south, and there were still many trucks on this section of the route north, but the views across the wide sandy beaches were spectacular. We rode 34 miles along it through Golspie, Brora and Helmsdale and saw our first signs for John O’Groats.

First sign to John O'Groats

Just before Helmsdale, there was a loud crack from John’s bike and his chain deposited itself in the middle of the road. John remained perfectly calm, whistling as he removed a link and re-connected it before setting off again. Don was amazed at John’s composure and said he would have got really livid and would have thrown the bike in the field and sworn a lot. This was the impression I did which landed me in trouble.

John calmly repairs his chain, flanked by Matt and Nick

Alas, at Helmsdale, the chain snapped again and John disappeared with Ian from DA to find a solution. The rest of us stopped for a coffee in Dunrobin Street. That’s right, Dunrobin. Helmsdale is a bit like Royston Vasey. Craig appeared with a large portion of chips. I couldn’t resist either, but the chip shop owner spooked us a little with his creepy manner, his staring eyes and his wispy voice. 

His conversation with Craig went:

“So where are you from then?”

“Preston”
“Oh, I have a friend in Preston. He lives on a big estate.”
“Is it Sandown Court?"
“Aye. That’ll be the one then”

His conversation with me went:
“So where are you from then?”

“Kent”
“Oh, I have a friend in Kent. He has a yacht by the sea”
“Is it Margate or Ramsgate or somewhere like that?"
“Aye. That’ll be the one then”

We only shared this experience with each other as we sat on a bench eating our chips watching a car go by with 2 dead stags in the back.

At Helmsdale we needed to turn onto the A897, the most remote and beautiful road we have ridden on the whole tour. As we returned to our bikes, mine had fallen over. I checked it for damage and thankfully there was none, but as I leaned forwards to look at the chain-ring, my cycling glasses fell off my head onto the road and the lenses fell out. Brian stepped on one lens breaking it into 4 pieces. I looked for the other but gave up. Luckily it revealed itself as Matt rode over it snapping it in two. My wife paid £7.99 for those glasses.

The A897 was the last road to the north coast. A-road is a bit strong. It was a single track road with passing places that went from being beautiful to stunning to spectacular the further north we went.

The A897

 

I rode most of this road with Craig. He is a quick cyclist and we had a fantastic burn-up after lunch for about 20 miles through truly remote countryside, flanked on each side by peat bogs with large, black mountains in the background.

Craig near the top of the country

Our first glimpse of the north coast was momentous. We could no longer go north but had to turn right and head towards Thurso. Land’s End felt a very long way away. I was feeling quite choked with emotion. I looked across at Craig and he had tears streaming down his face.

Riding along the top at last

The ride along the north coast was windswept and the last water-stop of the trip was a welcome sight. I am not sure how I will cope at work next week with the DA reps serving me energy bars mid-morning and mid-afternoon. I may need to call for a water-stop mid-meeting.

With Craig at the last water stop

Cyclists' friends

Before Thurso, Craig agreed to come on a quick diversion to Scrabster, where I went on holiday a couple of times as a child. My friend James’ Grandfather was Harbour Master and I had my photo taken in front of his old house. I had some amazing holidays there, sailing across the top of Scotland and messing about the harbour in dinghies. Seeing the house was nostalgic but why did they ruin it with UPVC windows? (Don’t get me started on them … A cold caller once rang me to try and sell me UPVC windows with the claim that they will last longer than wood. I said, "How do you know? I've got wooden ones that are a hundred years old." GRRR!). But sorry James. I couldn’t get you that Sherbet DibDab as the Wee Shoppe is no longer there. And nor are the giant rolls of plastic tubing that we never confessed to damaging.

Harbour House, Scrabster

We are staying in the Royal Hotel in Thurso, a town every bit as drab as I remember. Nick, a man who turns a phrase as well as he turns his pedals, went for his usual constitutional after his shower, and came back, head in hands, sighing, “Oh God, it’s so depressing. This place is like Tain, but the bugger-all is spread over a wider area. It just smells of chips and unemployment."

The Royal Hotel represents the town very well. The notices warning against damaging paintwork and furniture protect a décor that is regarded by the management as definitely worthy of another 35 years. Next door is a pub that, tonight, hosts a ZZ Top/ACDC tribute act (as if either needed one). If we went all rock-starish ourselves and trashed our hotel rooms, we might do as much as £40 worth of damage.

Last day tomorrow. This has been a wonderful experience and tomorrow is our champagne moment. Before we reach John O’Groats, we have a little 8-mile diversion to Dunnet Head, the most northerly point on the mainland. We then regroup and cross the finish together. I am having to pinch myself.

Day 10: South Laggan to Tain

Total: 75.9 miles
Time in saddle: 5 hrs 12 mins
Average speed: 14.5 mph
Maximum speed: 38.7 mph
Cumulative: 863 miles
Chafing rating: 3/5 (Huh?)

Nigel, I’ve got my mojo back! What a difference a good night’s sleep makes. I was in the top bunk of a room for four, sharing with John, Nick and Colin, who was understandably nervous about sharing a room with Nick again. The last time I remember sleeping in the top bunk I fell out, so I too was slightly nervous, especially as I landed on my sister who was on a camp bed below, and then got back in the lower bunk, waking my mother. John was in the lower bunk. This would not have been pretty. But I had my best night’s sleep of the whole tour and woke up knowing I was going to have a better day. I felt much more alert and positive and my legs were fully operational again. To make matters better, my chafing rating has gone down overnight from a 5 to a 3. This is only painful now rather than excruciating and I can handle that. I felt like I did on Day 1.

The only thing that disturbed my sleep during the night was the rain lashing against the window. This continued throughout the morning. We all trudged down for breakfast in the hostel without any real idea what it was like outside as it was still dark. But we were confident it was going to be wet.

A line of 21 cyclists left the hostel at 8.15, for the 76-mile journey to Tain, via Fort Augustus, Drumnadrochit, Beauly and Dingwall. The atmosphere was surreal. It is one of the abiding images of the whole ride and I will never forget it. 21 high-vis jackets snaked along the dark lane, illuminated by flashing red lights, occasionally silhouetted in the headlights of the cars rushing the other way. The car lights also revealed the curtain of rain lashing down from the sky. Surface water flowed across the road and the spray from the rear wheels of the cyclists in front ensured that, within the first mile, we were soaked from below as well as from above. Speeding juggernauts heading south ensured we were drenched from the side too.

The cycling peloton is a thing of beauty. When you are in a line of riders all working in unison along twisting and undulating roads, the line takes on a momentum of its own, sweeping left and right and up and down. The sound of the wheels whirring over and over almost takes you into a dreamstate. It is a physical meditation. When you are at the front of a peloton and are looking back to make sure it stays together, it is a wonderful responsibility. It feels like writing calligraphy with wheels.

But I decided to break up the peloton today. Riding in darkness on unfamiliar, wet roads, whose pot-holes were hidden under flash-floods was, in my view, too dangerous for such a large group. When someone eased off, the others would bunch suddenly as the rain made the brakes slower to respond. Cars and lorries were struggling to get past the long line of riders on the cliff-edged road to Drumnadrochit. I was worried someone would come off, or get knocked off. So I went to the front and stretched the line until it broke into smaller groups of riders of similar speeds. John, Philip, Colin, Craig and I rode together for the rest of the day. I had so much more power in my legs today. The group has had a lot of conversations about how miraculous it is that our bodies keep recovering from what we are putting them through, and I really felt that after yesterday.

As promised, my son’s cuddly toy, Nessie, got to see her former home. I had to pinch myself to think I was on the shores of Loch Ness, and then pinch again to think I had cycled there from Cornwall. Little fella, take note of Superdad’s dedication in stopping for a photo in the pouring rain, above Castle Urquhart, and reward me with a hug when I get home please.

We looked hard but unfortunately there was no sign of the real Loch Ness Monster.

 

Around the corner, after 27 miles, was our first drinks stop. There was very little shelter and we did not stick around long. Straight after this stop was THE CLIMB, the mightiest incline on the whole trip, which should only be attempted with warm muscles. The hill was colossal, 3 miles long at a gradient of 17%, and took us on the road from Drumnadrochit up over the mountain to Beauly. Most of us went straight up it, including John who had been so nervous of the big hills before we set off. John has a 16 stone frame to carry up the hill so this was no mean feat.

John’s prowess on the hills is matched by his enthusiasm for creative photography. He and I got detached from the group so that … wait for it … John could take a close-up of a puddle.

Alright, it's pretty good

This left us alone to ride high up the mountains feeling as if we were on top of the world. It introduced us to a new experience, cycling in the clouds. Maria spotted a garden that contained a shed, a climbing frame and a cloud. John and I then went like the clappers to reel in Craig and Colin before lunch which we just managed with about 2 miles to go. It was really hard work as they do not hang around.

Riding in the clouds

Lunch was in the gym of the Dingwall Leisure Centre. Everyone was drenched from head to toe and shivering. I was enjoying it, in a manner of speaking, largely because I felt so different from yesterday. Colin got the shivers and did not look happy at all. Then I started shivering and the pair of us found blankets and wrapped ourselves in them. Craig placed a plastic cup at our feet and put a few coins in it. Nick, a man as prone as I am to quoting the immortal Edmund Blackadder, walked in looking utterly dejected and took one look at us and said, “I think the phrase ryhmes with clucking bell.”

Warm and happy: Colin and me

We were warmed however, by the fact that Loch Ness was now south of us. We saw the first sign for Thurso on the north coast. This seemed hard to digest. If yesterday was a slog, today felt like a massive leap forwards.

John went to extraordinary lengths to keep himself dry during the lunch break, wringing his clothes repeatedly, laying others all over radiators in the leisure centre and changing into the spare set he had managed to stow in the DA van. He looked immaculate by the time he was ready to leave. He put on his helmet and it deposited half a pint of water over him. He then dropped his glove in a puddle.

A steep climb straight after lunch set cold thighs burning, but the weather had started to relent a little and we had a fantastic afternoon’s ride through countryside that more resembled the Cotswolds than northern Scotland. We stopped to make a phone-call beside a field containing around 400 geese, which all took off and swept over the river inlet all flying in time, like a massive peloton!

Peloton of geese near Dingwall (photo by John)

The atmosphere as we head higher and higher up the map suggests a bit of tension is being released. Craig is showing signs of going slightly mad. He followed an attack of hysterical laughter at lunch when he was spotted at tea photographing a jelly baby on a fence post.

The last 15 miles were down country lanes that were beautiful, often straight and long and slightly downhill. We had a wonderful run in to Tain where we are staying in the Royal Hotel. It is a lovely old-fashioned place and to make it better, we dined in the same room that is being used to store our bikes. John and I had cleaned ours and they were sparkling and looking their best for the occasion.

I cannot quite believe we only have one more full day of cycling to go, plus a short 30-miler on Saturday. Excitement is building in the camp. I am trying not to think of John O’Groats as we have a tough 90-miler tomorrow. But it feels a little like the day before Christmas Eve.

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.