Aftershock!

Post Script.

Twelve hours after leaving John o'Groats, we arrived back home in West Yorkshire. The equivalent distance had taken us nine days to cycle. In all, we spent 108 hours in the saddle, over 16 days, and cycled 976 miles. Giving an average speed of 9mph, average distance per day of 61 miles, and an average time in the saddle of 6hrs 45min per day.

The next day, Matthew was in school to get his ‘A’ level results, which were a very impressive A,B,C,C.

Whilst trying to remember one of the places we passed through on Leg 3, I decided to import Garmin’s track log for that day into the Route Planning software. I was tickled to see all the little loops and whorls that we made from time to time, especially where we wiggly-wee-d-in-Wellington.

Did I mention that we promised Georgina that we would get a puppy when we returned home? We thought this might be a good goal to focus on to take her mind off the pain. Well, virtually before we'd unpacked, the hunt was on, and we now have a very lively 10-week old Springer Spaniel named 'Molly'.

Back to work, and all that remains is to collect the sponsorship from my colleagues. The people in my department have generously promised over £600 pounds, and my employers, HBOS will add £500 to that through the "Matched Funds" scheme. When we get all the money in, we’ll publish a final total.

"And what of the Rapunzels?" I hear you ask. Well, I'm afraid we must leave that story up in the air, so to speak. "Does that leave the door open for a sequel?" you may ask. No way man, no sirree bob! The opportunities for conversation are a bit limiting (in fact we hardly talk any more). Let's face it they're a little, how to put this tactfully, 'one-dimensional'. To be fair to Rapunzel, way back in January, at the start of this saga she did provide the answer: as I left the shower-room pondering in which direction we should do the ride, North-to-South, or South-to-North, she simply said "Going Up". Sound advice indeed.

Finally, it's time to thank all those people who have contributed in some way to this event. The list is huge: friends, family, colleagues, complete strangers we met along the way, the campsites who waived their fees, organisations who provided cash, comestibles and services free of charge, all those patient lorry drivers. And of course, advice, support, and help of a practical nature from those who have been there, done that, got the blisters to prove it. Matthew and Jonathan of course, but above all, thank you Jacky for sacrificing three weeks of your summer holiday for the both of us.

14/08/07

Tuesday 14th August 2007. Leg 16: Helmsdale to John o’Groats.

Woken at 3.00 a.m., not by rain, but by a lorry, to the realisation that we’re in a field next to the A9 in the far North of Scotland. What for? What on earth for? It all comes back to me, before I doze of again for another 4 hours.

A beautiful, still, cloudless morning to start our final leg.

Dropped off at Helmsdale, for a 9:50 set-off. We’re in good spirits as we tackle the climb out of Helmsdale. We know we can do it. However, it’s a stinker of an ascent topping out at 700 feet.

To add insult to injury, there’s another similar climb out of Berriedale, to 500 feet. This is taking the smiles off our faces a bit.

The support team are there on one of the climbs, watching us winch our way up towards them. Then we say goodbye to them until noon, when they’ve got the bacon butties going at a place which used to be Castle Hill Filling Station. The petrol pump originates from the pre-decimalisation days of Gallons, with prices in Shillings and Pence. (Pounds not shown on the dial, as you could fill most cars’ tanks for mere shillings).

We’re in Gunn country, with Dunbeath, birthplace of Neil M.Gunn (I betray my ignorance), and Latheron, home of the clan Gunn heritage centre. Dad used to say that our family were entitled to wear the Gunn tartan. Don’t know which particular branch of our forebears that was.

A little further on, a dilapidated hotel, long ceased trading, “TH GU ST HOUS ”. Obviously built in the immediate post-war years during the national ‘E’ shortage. (The government had already enforced the use of sans serif typefaces in the press, to conserve printers’ ink: a restriction which was removed when sweet-rationing ended in 1953).

Half past one: stop to meet the van at Lybster. I love these place names. There’s Lybster, Occumster, and my favourite Badlipster (sounds like some sort of insult – don’t trust him, he’s a Badlipster). Then there’s Haster and Thrumster (or is that Hamster and Thruster?) Absolutely no truth in the rumour that Marc Boland wrote Jeepster during a tour of these parts in the late 60’s.

Now we’re passing “The Hill o’ Many Stanes” – does exactly what it says on the tin.

Lots of oats in evidence in the fields along the roadside.

This is a multi-buzzarded area (including one example dead by the roadside).

Up the A99, the last road in Britain. The weather – ye couldnae ask for better, Captain, very slightly marred by a cool S.E. which is chilly on the downhill sections.

Wick 15:30. Lovely loos – well kept for Viking territory. Sat by the river with Matt and Jon. Leave at 15:45. Most incongruous thing we see next is a huge matrix sign on the other side of the road, presumably to remind the tourists from the Faroe Isles to drive on the left.

Loo stop at Keiss, where a RAF Tornado flies low over the township. “Only” 10 miles to go, now. This is where those jokes about South to North being the hard way as it’s all up hill seem to ring true. I kid on to Georgina that I can’t go any further.

About this time, a thought comes into my head “Wouldn’t it be a cool thing to take the punk attitude, stop 3 miles short of John o’Groats, throw the bikes into the nearest burn, and say “Can’t be arsed!”

Song for today “This is The End.” by the Doors.

Final downhill into John o’Groats is a tremendous relief. Great views of the Orkneys lying out there offshore. Finally coast into the car park to see Jacky, Matthew and Jonathan, next to the van. Photos, both official and unofficial are taken. Chips from a hot food stall. We pose for a photo of us opening a bottle of Landlord. Georgina shivering in a cool easterly, waiting for the photographer. Me impervious to the cold (well not really). We see recumbent rider. He arrived one hour before us. Buy the Tee-shirt, sign the book, and look unsuccessfully for an entry from Mr. Robinson’s party. (We later found out that they did complete the ride).

Then, blow me, Jonathan and Georgina have only wandered off for a walk down by the ocean, and he’s only gone and proposed to her, and she’s only gone and accepted. Ta da!!!! Then they’ve only gone and come back to show us the ring. Well, what a year this is turning out to be! Of course, we were sort of expecting this sooner or later, but what a place to pop the question! How romantic!

Then Jacky tells us that we’re not staying on the campsite, as I’d thought. Instead, as a surprise, she’s booked us all in at the Seaview Hotel. Ahh, luxury. Of course a bottle of bubbly had to be drunk with the meal, but the Taylor’s Landlord we’d drunk earlier is IMHO “The Champagne of the North”.

“Mr. King, how do you feel, now you’ve completed the challenge?”

“Well, My knees are twingeing a bit: I think that when we get home, I may need a session with my knee specialist, “Patella Guru”. In fact, I’ve got Thumbshift thumb, Broken Bandaged Bum, Twistgrip wrist, Bulgin’ thighs, Dustin Eyes, Po’ knees, and old ankle gone cobbly an’ all. However, I will now draw a discreet veil over my “Anus Horribilis”.

“Finally, Mr. King, any advice for anyone thinking of taking up the challenge (apart from the obvious DON’T)”

“Yes, remember you are not cycling to John o’Groats, you’re patiently reeling it in, like a fish on a very long line. The secret is to keep pedalling, and it will come to you. Eventually”.

I rest my **se.


Distance covered: 52.6 miles
Moving time: 05:35
Average speed: 9.4 mph
Maximum speed: 27.7 mph.

13/08/07

Monday 13th August 2007. Leg 15: Inverness to Brora + 10.

Day 15 in the Big Brother household, and Pete’s writin’ ees diaree. Th’other housemates are asleep……

Jacky has reversed the motorhome somewhat too close to a Silver Birch. Consequently, I have fulfilled a childhood ambition to sleep in a tree-house. Let me tell you that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Creaks and groans have kept me awake for most of the night.

Spent time last night trying to re-plan the final day, but now think my original route was OK, so we’ll stick with that. Today’s route has now shifted onto the A9 for the bulk of the way, which makes it shorter, easier cycling. We hope to push on beyond Brora camp-site, before being collected and taken back to the campsite. This will shorten the final day.

Matthew and Jonathan have driven up from Yorkshire to support us for the final two legs. They actually arrived in Inverness about 3.30 this morning, and have slept in the car not far from the campsite. They come a-knocking at 7.30 a.m. for breakfast. Good to see them again.

It’s a dull morning, and a bit breezy.

We head off from the campsite, wiggling our way through Inverness. This is where we see our first road sign for JoG – just 120 miles to go!. And soon we’re on the bridge north of town, crossing the Moray Firth. A strong side-wind on the bridge and it’s spotting onto rain, keeping our speed low as we timidly wobble along the footway high above the Moray Firth. Next, we’re enjoying good fast cycle path, which dives away from the A9, and finishes abruptly after about a mile. Bah, humbug!

Me: “Time to light the third boiler, don’t you think, Georgina!”

G: “but papa, don’t you think there may be ice-bergs around in these Northern latitudes?”

Me: “I do feel you’re being over-cautious, my daughter. This is the month of August, and the newspapers will be anxious for a story.”

By the time we reach the Cromarty Firth, we cross the long bridge with heavy ice-cold rain driving into out left ears, and lots of spray from passing lorries.

It’s a relief to get to Skiach services for a rendezvous, although we had been hoping to get further by this time. We’re both starving. We have our second Breakfast here. It’s just turned afternoon.

We haven’t managed to avoid the showers like yesterday. Definitely a different kind of rain. A more cunning rain, that sneaks up behind you, dowses you, and runs away giggling like a child with a “Super-Soaker” water pistol.

The A9 is an interesting road. On the older stretches, you can play “Bisect the Cat’s Eye”. A real test of skill, this: if you’re not accurate, you get a jolt from the cast iron chair in which the Cat’s Eye sits. A game for the newer stretches is “Rumble-strip yodelling”. You can probably work out what this involves. No particular talent is required for it, but it helps if the nerve endings in your backside have already been deadened by 800 miles of conditioning.

We’ve turned North-East, so the wind is behind us now. Suddenly, I hit a big bump, and one hook of my right pannier dislodges, causing it to swing forward into my heel. No sooner have I started to brake and shout “Stopping!”, than a further bump dislodges the pannier and dumps it in the road. Luckily the following traffic avoids it, before I can run back to retrieve it. No damage done (sandwiches possibly a bit boffed). Note to self: double check pannier is properly locked on in future).

Soon, we’re cracking on again. Georgina lets me know, she needs the loo, so I tell her not to fret, that we should be in Golspie within a quarter of an hour.

Then it happened. Puncture number two. Following G. down the hard shoulder, a big bang as I hit something hard, and my tyre’s flat in seconds. This turned out to be a pinch-puncture – two little snake-bite holes in the tube, but no damage to the tyre - (now I do regret letting air out of the tyres a few days ago). Blow number two: I get the spare out, and it’s for a 700c wheel (road bike size). A brand new tube, sold in the wrong box, by the looks of things. This will not do. I will have to use the old repair outfit by the roadside. Which I do, and it seems to be effective.

Every cloud has a silver lining, though, because the man outside whose house we have punctured, on seeing our helmets bobbing about, comes out and asks us what we’re doing. On hearing that we’re doing LE-JoG for the MS Society, he promptly reaches for the back pocket, and makes a £20 donation. Yay! Makes all that hassle worth while!

Cakes and coffee at Harry Gow’s café at Tain, As we’re leaving at ten to three, a recumbent trike goes past. He’s flying a large “Skull-and-Crossbones” pennant, and looking quite business-like. We think he, too, may be heading for John o’Groats.

Out of Tain, we cross our last major stretch of water, the Dornoch Firth, keeping our eyes open for ‘growlers’.

Paninis with the road crew in ‘Trawlers’, Golspie at half-five.

Then we set off again, passing a sign-post for ‘Doll’ Minutes later, we pass another signpost for ‘Doll’, then we pass a third identical signpost. How quaint.

Now we’re ‘Beyond the Valley of the Dolls’, heading for Brora, and yes, we’re so fired up we go on another 10 miles to Helmsdale, where Jacky picks us up. Today, we have run before a 20 knot Sou’Wester, which has been much appreciated, despite the rain which accompanied it.

Back on the campsite, it transpires the recumbent guy is there too. His support vehicle is a classic VeeDub campervan. He is riding an Optima trike, which is slow up hills, but very fast down.

I mention that we have seen a remarkable number of cars with ‘FO’ plates. This keeps us bemused for a while. (I think it was Jonathan who suggested Faroe Isles, which turned out to be correct when I checked later on t’Internet).


Distance covered: 70.2 miles
Moving time: 06:50
Average speed: 10.3 mph
Maximum speed: 24.8 mph.

12/08/07

Sunday 12th August 2007. Leg 14: Glen Nevis to Inverness.

Woken at 2.40 a.m. by heavy rain on roof of van. This seemed to continue all night, until we dragged ourselves wearily out of bed. The rain seemed especially heavy, now. Georgina quipped “At least it’s a different type of rain from yesterday. This is Full-on rain.” Then it stopped.

Ben Nevis has his head in cloud (probably as usual).

Have latterly taken to using Garmin with the route navigation feature switched off. The route is so obvious (A82 etc). This may save him a few needless calculations, and hence conserve battery power.

After yesterday’s soaking Brooks has taken on a new shape – a perfect cast of my big-end. Interesting point to note, my butt is asymmetrical, as witnessed by the larger indentation on the Brooks’ left flank. The big question: which is cause and which effect? i.e. Have I conferred my asymmetry on Brooks, or has he made me that way?

Georgina’s luggage took a good soaking yesterday. Her flat-topped carrier developed a puddle, which very quickly penetrated to the interior. This has prompted a clear-out and declutter, which has removed dozens of minor ointments, unguents, and lotions. This has resulted in a reduction in weight of approximately 50%.

Road to Spean Bridge, lots of Harebells, and very interesting array of errant wheel-trims (rough road surfaces hereabouts). Grumpy farmer in a field, with a scythe. P’raps he’s bringing in the bracken. Did nobody suggest there’s more of a living to be had in harvesting wheel-trims?

Spean Bridge is reached by 11, and first meeting with Jacky’s “Bistro Bus” near the Commando Memorial. A quick photo stop, then we’re off again, to meet up again further down the road, near Invergloy at noon. We’re heading up the Great Glen, for Loch Ness, but this is next to one of the lesser lochs, Loch Lochy. Bacon butties are again on the menu. She should start a franchise or summat. Jacky’s Rolling Chuck Wagon & Bike Hire. All done in a corporate style: white van with spare Red Bike on the back. Georgina is a bit off-colour, for which she is taking Diocalm, but I do believe she’s going to manage a butty.

Through Glengarrie, after which the hat is not named.

Jacky’s Chuck Wagon becomes Jacky’s Rolling Shelter on the next sighting as we just happen to rendezvous as a heavy rain shower makes it’s presence felt around 2 o’clock. This happens again at 3 o’clock.

Verdict on A82 up the Great Glen:
Hillier than expected. Most motorists very patient, with the odd pillock who thinks we shouldn’t get in his way. If you’re expecting to catch a glimpse of Nessie, then forget it, as the vegetation is way to high to see anything Lochside.

Weather: a mixture of sun and heavy showers. Once more, we have a tail-wind (the wind blowin’ up me and up the canyon, ‘sfar as I can see.) By the time we got to Urquhart Castle, I passed up the opportunity of a photo-stop.

Fiddlers Café in Drumndadrochit for cakes and drinks. Another downpour. Somehow “Drookit in Drumnadrochit” hasn’t quite got the same evocative ring as say “Sleepless in Seattle” or “Going Loco down in Acupulco”.

On the outskirts of Inverness a B&B called “The Old Manse B&B”. The “e” was obscured by vegetation, so I was sorely tempted to stay the night there and let Georgina continue the journey to the campsite without me.

Made it to the campsite at 7 p.m. (not bad going, obviously wind assistance is a contributory factor). But again my proposed route up the other (traffic free) side of Loch Ness has been abandoned in favour of the A82, and I am disappointed that I didn’t have the nerve to hold out for that. It just might have been a better route.

Phil McCone (I’m not making this up), the Scots Ice Cream man tinkles his way round the campsite, his jingle playing the Happy Wanderer “Fol-de-ree, fol-de-rah” etc. Very appropriate for outdoor types.

I didn’t like the shower here, the cubicle was long, narrow, dark, and somewhat coffin-like. I now sympathise with race-horses who baulk when being led into the starting gate.

And so, before bedtime, it’s Sudoku for the support team, Sudocrem for the riders’ bums.


Distance covered: 66.2 miles
Moving time: 06:35
Average speed: 10.0 mph
Maximum speed: 26.8 mph.

11/08/07

Saturday 11th August 2007. Leg 13: Loch Awe to Glen Nevis.

Woken at 3.40 a.m. by heavy rain on roof of van. Wet start at 9:45.

It was hereabouts that the Burton expedition ran into heavy rain in deepest equatorial Glencoe, and it looks the same fate is going to befall us. This rain may just tickle your face, but it is persistent, and continuous, and a soaking is guaranteed.

Jacky drops us back at Loch Awe, so that we can continue from where we left off.

Up the Pass of Brander, past the campsite we’ve just stayed at, and onto Taynuilt and the Connel Bridge in the wet.

A little up the road, a dead hedgehog, perfectly formed. Probable cause of death: drowning.

Jacky is parked near Benderloch, doing a good impersonation of a road-side cafe. Cycling gloves are wrung out, before tucking into hot coffee and bacon butties - very nice! Noon – time to push on, weather still wetting us.

Georgina: “Now I understand why people wear those ludicrous ponchos.”

Me: “In my day, they were called ‘Cycle Capes’ “

This starts me off whistling the theme tune to “The Greatest Cape”

Georgina mentions that her gear change indicator windows are steaming up. I look down at mine, and they’re the same. Mr. Shimano, surely you get weather like this in Japan? I would have thought leak-proof gear changer windows would be essential. Anyway, the only thing that’s leak-proof around here is our skin, and we’re soaked through to it.

As we navigate round the coast road to North Ballachulish, snacks are taken in various bus shelters, mainly to keep the saddles of the bikes dry (we already couldn’t get much wetter). Suddenly, we recognise the Pap of Glencoe in the misty distance. Joining the road from Glencoe at the Ballachulish bridge, the traffic level is starting to increase. (It’s been comparatively quiet since Bute.) Now we’re back on the main route to Fort William, and points North and West.

A couple of very near misses from motorists who don’t seem to be aware of the width of their cars. Also one of the continental tourists in a left hand drive car, clearly comes close enough for us to read his satnav. At least the rain has abated. Approaching Fort William, we are under the trees. This confuses Garmin, who now says we at an altitude of -3 feet. I know we’ve been under water for most of the day, but under Loch Linnhe is taking things a bit far.

On the last few miles into Fort William, we take to the pavement, as we are fed up of tourist coaches bearing down on us. Toilet stop in Fort William, before the final 2 miles into Glen Nevis campsite, which is reached at 17:50. Ben Nevis is well shrouded, only the lower flanks are in view

Georgina, despite (or maybe because of) the weather, has really been in winning mood today, with lots of quips. The hills haven’t been too demanding, the distance not excessive, and the rain has mercifully kept us cool.

The showers at Glen Nevis campsite are simply to die for, my dear. Not only do they have a plentiful supply of hot water, feeding the showerhead via a simple mixer valve arrangement, but also ample dry area, which is raised above the tray. A splash panel efficiently ensures that very little water gets onto the floor area. Shelf, seat and hooks for all the clothing and washing tackle you need. And a music system playing Capercaillie! AND a SQUEEGEE in every cubicle for removing the odd splash which does overstep the mark!!!

But the best thing about them is – get this – when you use them, TIME STANDS STILL! Yes, you can luxuriate for as long as you wish in the deliciously hot aqueous flow, dry yourself at a leisurely pace, and when you emerge from the cubicle no time whatsoever has elapsed in the outside world.

“How do you know this?” I hear you ask. Well, my proof is that tonight. as I entered the cubicle, I passed a young Nordic type who was combing his flowing blond locks, while regarding himself admiringly in the mirror. On emerging from my delightfully long and invigorating shower, the exact same person was engaged in the exact same activity, seemingly no nearer to taming the wayward hair.

I looked at my watch, it read 18:47. (Just wish I had checked it on the way in, that would have clinched it).

The day is rounded off with a lovely meal in the Glen Nevis restaurant. World Dryer Corporation model XA5 482 in the toilet. Seems to do what is says on the tin. Jacky tells me that Tony Wilson (of Factory records, the Hacienda, Joy Division etc) has died. Shame – he was a hero of my second childhood. And so to bed.


Distance covered: 57.8 miles
Moving time: 05:58
Average speed: 9.7 mph
Maximum speed: 25.0 mph.

10/08/07

Friday 10th August 2007. Leg 12: Glendaruel to Loch Awe.

Woken at 3.30 a.m. by heavy rain on roof of van. Damp morning. Apply midge repellent, get sheets signed at reception. Lady at campsite chips in some sponsorship, as does a man in the queue for the shop. Lots of helpful advice and encouragement, including a suggestion of using the Otter Ferry. Have to pass up on this, because it’s a bit too much south-west for us, and will add some miles, even though it may avoid some hill-climbing. Besides, we’ve already dropped our original planned stay at Inverary in favour of pushing on to Bridge of Awe campsite. I’m getting a bit punch-drunk with all this re-planning.

Today we have three major long ascents in front of us. (800 feet up the A896 out of Glendaruel, 400 feet up the A815 away from the east side of Loch Fyne, and the 700 feet pull up the A819 through Glen Aray out of Inverary).

Before we set off I have a little grumble about the sugar-free grapefruit concentrate which has been purchased. Georgina says she likes it. I complain I can taste Aspartame. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find a soft drink which doesn’t contain it. Nobody in the drinks industry asked me if I wanted it. I object to Aspartame on three counts: (1) I don’t like the taste (2) I’m not convinced it’s safe (OK, so sugar rots your teeth, well at least that’s a known side effect) (3) I want sugar when I’m cycling. Sugar is energy.

Arrange with Jacky to meet at Strachur around lunch-time. Then we’re off at 9:40. Steaming up the A896, it’s my specs which are steaming up. Weather is still dull, but picking up after the rain.

On the long climb, discuss with Georgina whether I should wash the hot damp sweat-pads of my helmet in a nearby burn. She predicts the result will be steam emanating from the vents in my helmet, so I abandon that idea. I recognise Angelica along the roadside. Reminds me of when we were in Iceland, we were told the tale of the Norse outlaw who survived over winter, living in a hole in the ground and eating the roots of the Angelica plant. He’d have had a feast here.

Just before Strachur, Georgina complains that something’s not right with her bike. This is when we notice her rear tyre is a little soft. Is it a puncture? Maybe when I let that air out of the tyres a few days ago, I didn’t tighten the valve properly. Let’s pump the tyre up to see if that helps. Is there such a thing as ‘False Puncture Syndrome’?

Lunch at a small tea-room in Strachur. Georgina plumps for the Full Scottish, while I order a panini. G. fresh from her Environmental Science degree course, comments sotto voce on the waste-water disposal arrangements, and EU directives and the like. Well the meal was nice.

On departing the tea-rooms at 12.40, we watch Jacky sail off into the distance, turn to our bikes, and the realisation hits us “It is a puncture”.

It’s off with the wheel, out with the tube. No sign of anything penetrating the tyre carcass, but there’s this little crease in the tube, due to it being a wide tube in a narrow tyre. The tube has been crammed into the tyre by yours truly, and finally fatigued along the crease after some 600 miles. Letting air out of the tyre probably didn’t help as it’s allowed the tube to flex more, and contributed to the problem. In with a fresh tube (of the correct cross-section) and we’re back on our way. I’m a bit annoyed with myself that this has happened, partially due to the fact that this bike was a substitute for the Moulton, which I decided at the last minute to leave at home.

A car passes by in the opposite direction near Loch Fyne, with a beep and a wolf-whistle at Georgina. Yes, a wolf-whistling car. How strange.

Loch Fyne Oyster bar at 15:00 hours. Loch Fyne Oyster-catchers.

Inverary 16:00 hours (33 miles done). Bag of chips each and an Ice Cream for me.

On the last big pull up Glen Aray, a Freelander passes us at speed with the noise of Grabthar’s hammer coming from under the bonnet. Georgina and I look at each other and remark “That was loud”.

This puts me in mind of my Dad’s work colleague, Stan Borthwick. Stan came from North of the Border, and his standard diagnosis of any car mechanical malady would be “It’s yer tappets, Bill”. Not only was this invariably wrong, but also dad’s name was not “Bill”. Dad could put up with the inaccurate appellation “Bill”, but it was a major source of irritation when Dad was trying unsuccessfully to start his umpteenth-hand Renault Dauphine with the umpteenth swing of the starter handle, (a) that he (Stan) was there offering advice even though he knew nothing about car mechanics, and (b) that he (Dad) knew that he (Stan) knew nothing about car mechanics, but (c) that he (Dad) also new nothing about car mechanics, and so was not only (c.1) powerless to get the car started, but moreover (c.2) powerless to tell him (Stan) that he (Stan) was talking utter drivel. Even if it had been “Yer tappets, Bill”, neither Dad nor Stan would have had the faintest idea what to do with them, (a) where to find them, and (b) once found, whether to (i) tighten them, (ii) loosen them, (iii) grease them, (iv) de-grease them, or (v) hit them with a large hammer. Stan might just as well have claimed “It’s Yer Beryllium spheres, Bill”, for all the good it would have done. But I digress.

On this occasion Stan’s standard diagnosis is very close to the truth, for the whole of the top end of this Freelander’s engine is in terminal melt-down. And so it transpires that a few minutes later, we come upon the now-quiet Freelander in a layby, with the bonnet up, and the driver asking us if we’ve got any water, ‘cos his engine is (or has just been) on fire! There is another car parked nearby. The two occupants have got out, and the lady passenger is giving the Freelander driver a small bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice to throw on the engine (what a waste). The flames are out by now, but what a smell of oil and caramelised orange juice! We donate some water from my camelback, and after determining that his engine has probably imploded due to being driven without oil, we leave him to the recovery services. Ho hum, one less 4x4 on the road.

Jacky picked us up at Loch Awe village at 17:00 and took us to the campsite at Bridge of Awe. We had done enough for the day, with all those climbs.


Distance covered: 51.0 miles
Moving time: 06:04
Average speed: 8.4 mph
Maximum speed: 26.0 mph.

Day 13 09/08/07

Thursday 9th August 2007. Leg 11: Tarbolton to Glendaruel.

So this is Middlemuir Caravan park. We are parked on a slight slope. More ‘Titanic’ parallels, this time it’s the crockery, which seems to want to slide from the shelves at the slightest opportunity.

Off at 09:15, into a bright and apparently windless day. Not a cloud on the horizon.

Second breakfast at Monkton Lodge services near Prestwick Airport. Muffins, cappuccino, J2O. Hanging on the wall, an empty box, labelled “Take-Away Menu” causes to me to pause a while and ponder.

Swarms of tiny black flies hit us on the A77. Keep your mouth shut.

Then onto the A78, where “The Great White Whiskerless One” stares impassively as we pass (see Finn McCool, Leg 9).

Negotiating the roads round Irvine, there was much more broken glass to be seen on the roadside. Every morning before we set out, I make sure I check the tyres for embedded sharp objects. Note to self: extra vigilance require when checking tomorrow.

Meet Jacky at Tesco Irvine, 11:30. The hugest tower of Pringles I have ever seen is there. Is it in the guidebooks? Very tasty paninis in the café, surrounded by happy-looking pre-school kiddies being fed (Tesco – very little whelps). Left after a very long stay of about an hour.

Up the A78, very hot on the ascents, with a few short stops along the way to try and get some shade for Georgina. Some like it hot. She does not.

Then we’re on the flat coastal run to Wemyss Bay (meeting J. in a layby North of Largs). My eye was caught by a Hillman Imp in pristine condition, just south of the ferry terminal. Boarded the 16:45 ferry, together with white van lady, yay!

At Rothesay, Jacky pushes on towards the ferry off Bute to Colintraive. We stop for a bit a snap, and the weather has suddenly gone overcast. Fancied an Ice Cream, but we felt our delicate Sassenach pallets might not be up to Irn Bru flavour, not helped by the chip-fat smell emanating from the shop. We headed for Rhubodach (Rubber Duck?) to follow Jacky’s tyre-tracks to the ferry. Georgina’s verdict on Rothesay: “like a cross between Tobermory and Morecambe, but without the nice ice cream.”

Just rolled down to the ferry, up the ramp and off it went. (Good of them to wait for us).

9 miles North, arrived at campsite around 20:00, via the back road up the Glen. Consequently nearly couldn’t find the campsite. But we asked at a nearby cottage. Owls in evidence in the trees, and quite a few midges too. Jacky had prepared a hearty meal Further re-planning ensued, to capitalise on the miles gained from yesterday’s sacrifice of the rest day.

A few spots of rain, followed by overnight rain.

The insect scores:
Midges: few – black flies: infinity.
Couple of buzzards and the odd heron spotted along the route.

(Thoughts as I drift off to sleep: Am I imagining it, or is the Brooks a tad less uncomfortable today? Could be down to better road services. Georgina has been very tolerant of the few bad calls I’ve made today on the navigation front. Perhaps we are finally gelling together as a team. Is this Glenda Jackson? No Glendaruel Zzz…)


Distance covered: 63.2 miles
Moving time: 06:48
Average speed: 9.3 mph
Maximum speed: 28.0 mph.

Day 12 08/08/07

Wednesday 8th August 2007. Leg 10: Penpont to Tarbolton via North Nowheresville (Map Ref 884944).

Bad kharma this morning as the enormity of Scotland looms ahead of us. Yes, we’ve done 600 miles. Yes, we’ve crossed the border to leave England behind. But today is a big psychological downer, for a number of reasons. Firstly, we’re losing a rest day. Secondly, I feel I’ve failed in my planning, as all my routes seem to have ended in the recycle bin. Thirdly, we threw in the towel last night 7 miles short of the campsite, which in itself was a minor defeat. But that’s compounded this morning by not being able to agree on where to re-start the cycling today.

I’m holding out for being taken back down the A76 to last night’s pick-up point. Georgina is not keen on that idea, and thinks we should just start at Thornhill,a few miles to the East of here. I can’t agree to that, as it would mean that we’d had too much assistance, and hence I’d feel we’d cheated. Besides there would be a 7-mile gap in Garmin’s tracklog, which would offend my obsessive compulsive nature. The argument continues with a massive falling out, where I finally say that if we’re going to do that, I’m ready to just call it a day and go home. (and I really mean it).

Jacky is doing her best to mediate, but I stomp off to the toilet block, to reflect. Mentally, Georgina and I have not quite ‘gelled’. Which is a great shame, as physically on the bikes it’s as though we’re joined at the hip. We both pedal with a similar cadence, we respond to road conditions alike, changing gear virtually simultaneously. And she has been great as my eyes and ears, warning me if I fail to notice anything dangerous ahead or behind.

When I return, the atmosphere seems to have improved, and everyone is much more in the mood to compromise. The middle path agreed upon is that we will cycle off the campsite, and do a little southward loop just to put in a few extra miles, without completely retracing our steps back to the original pick-up point. Everyone is mighty relieved. That iceberg just grazed us.

Meanwhile on the saddle front, the one which Jonathan brought over to Ainsdale is no more comfy than the Brooks (the damage is done). So I take the decision to swap saddles again. (“Zippin’ up my boots, Goin’ back to my Brooks, yeah” – Odyssey.)

All this kerfuffle means that we do not get away till 10:45. But, hey, we’ve now actually got a reasonable distance of about 47 miles to Tarbolton, in place of the originally planned implausible 80 to catch the last ferry to Bute. The only other fly in the ointment is that we have quite a climb ahead of us out of Galloway into Ayrshire.

Cakes in Thornhill after just 4 miles. We’re not exactly making immense progress. We see some cyclists heading south, possibly doing the JoGLE.
Georgina likes the monument, which has a big plinth and a spindly column, as though they ran out of dosh after the first 6 feet. I feel it’s a bit like the Stonehenge on Spinal Tap.

General trend of the road is upward. Six miles out of Thornhill we stop in a layby on the A76 next to the river Nith, and hey, Presto! Here comes Jacky. Beautiful river, beautiful day: plenty sun, and not much wind in evidence at the moment. Pity about the discarded Telly in the lay-by though. Really spoils the view somewhat. Nevertheless, old habits die hard, and we stand and watch it for a while, before remarking “There’s nothing on the Telly”. (“Broken Household Appliance, Natural Forest” – Grandaddy seems so very appropriate).

Roadkill is tending to be small mammals today.

At 13:45 ,we dined on bananas at Kirkconnel on a bench near the river, but you don’t want to know about that. At some point, we hit such rough road surfaces, that I decided to stop, and let some air out of our tyres, just to give a less bone-shaking ride. I knew that this may increase the chances of pinch-punctures, but I felt I would be able to justify this sop to passenger comfort should a Board of Trade enquiry be called.

Ayrshire border was reached at 15:00. Shortly after, bumped into Jacky reading Harry Potter in a lay-by. 23 miles done (half-way mark?)

Eventually you cruise along the A76 at an altitude of 700 feet, before gently descending to the lower lands of Ayrshire.

Cumnock toilet stop 17:00, very fine example of gents’ upright urinals in the Victorian style. Feel these ought to be featured on those ‘Cash in the Attic daytime programs. There must be a market for collectors in the U.S.A.

Turning West from the A76 toward Tarbolton, the road surfaces deteriorated, but there was more downhill to exult in. Last turning for the campsite took a long time to appear, though. Made landfall 18:45. Thus was our ‘rest day’ spent.

Weather notes: Wind still westerly. Sunny / cloudy / sunny. Georgina was hot / cold / hot, with cycling top off / on / off. Wind abated towards evening. Very pleasant.

A76 pretty good, not too busy, but some rough surfaces latterly.

After 45 miles in the saddle, you don’t have to walk like John Wayne, but it helps.

Distance covered: 44.2 miles
Moving time: 05:34
Average speed: 7.9 mph
Maximum speed: 26.5 mph.

Day 11 07/08/07

Tuesday 7th August, 2007. Leg 9: Lazonby – South Nowheresville (Map Ref 913861)

My Ischial Protuberances have decided to do a Jim Morrison and the Doors’ "Break on Through to the other side". They are now exploring an entirely new dimension in pain.

We set off to find the A6, as we thought this would give us a bit of a boost, speedwise, however it was a hardish climb out of Lazonby. What time we got away is not recorded, but we were in Carlisle at noon enjoying a Big Mac Meal each. Hand dryer in the gents was World Dryer Corporation serial number 156777. Must tick that off in my Ian Allan spotters’ book.

After the meal, was aghast to find that I'd left Garmin on the handlebars right in the middle of busy pedestrian precinct. Mighty relieved to see he was still there. Hats off to the citizens of Carlisle for honesty.

On the A7, a heavily laden touring cyclist passed us going south. He was cycling with one leg. The other wedged on the down tube. I thought that seemed somewhat nonchalant.

One mile south of Longtown, met Jacky in layby, 3:30 ish. She mentioned that she'd encountered the cyclist. He was German, and had injured his leg. He was trying to get to hospital in Carlisle. She couldn't help as she was heading the other way.

By this time, we had only come 23 miles, about a third of the way.

Cycling through Longtown, a song for cyclists which popped into my head at this point was "Born to be Mild" by Steppenwolf (should that be Steppensheep?). You know the one...

"Get yer pedals turnin'
Head out on the highway
lookin' for a tea-room,
for malt loaf or Eccles cake."

My reverie was disturbed by a loud crack, which turned out to be caused by Georgina's back tyre flicking a large stone sideways, which rebounded off the door of a parked car. Apologies to the motorist whose paintwork may have been damaged by this.

At length, the song in my head mutated into that lament to saddle soreness, "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by the Rolling Stones.

We turned West along the A6071 into a rather harsh headwind and Dylan's "All Along the Watchtower seemed appropriate for this border country. (Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl).

I then tried whistling something appropriately Gaelic, designed to lift our moods as we headed toward Scotland, a Dick Gaughan song. I don't think Georgina was impressed. We stopped for a snack. I drew out a couple of bananas from my right hand pannier. Imagining them as a pair of pearl-handled duelling pistols, I asked Georgina to choose her weapon. She shot me a look of disdain, and chose the least blemished of the two. As we set off again, two buzzards appeared, rather too much like vultures for my liking.

At Gretna, Jacky was waiting for that "crossing the border" photo-opportunity. We posed and continued Westward through the town, in search of a toilet. Somehow, we managed to miss the facilities, but we were able to flag Jacky down for use of the cassette toilet just before getting onto the A75.

Fairly hard going for the next 30-odd miles along the A75 into the headwind. With me in front most of the time. We're going slowly, slowly going crazy, with Georgina imagining the cat's eyes to be aliens part-buried in the road, and waiting to spring out and scuttle Space-Invader-like across the tarmac.

Now we had heavy rain showers to contend with. ("A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall" - Bob Dylan).

I think I can safely say that the A75 has the most litter-strewn verges we have encountered so far. I trust it’s only Iron Brew in those half-empty bottles.

Eleven miles East of Dumfries, there is a hole in the A75 the shape of Ireland. Legend has it that this was created when Finn McCool, lorry driver with McCool’s Refrigerated Logistics, broke down late one night on his way to the Stranraer ferry. With a rapidly defrosting consignment of frozen turkeys, and realising he had missed the sailing, in a blind fury he tore up a chunk of road with his bare hands, and flung it clear across Dumfries and Galloway into South Ayrshire, to land on the soft shoulder of the A78 near Irvine. There the jagged fragment sits, its rubber cat’s eye in a cast-iron chair presiding over the passing traffic, like a miniature Buddha. The only witnesses to its fall from the heavens were a tribe of feral cats, who worship it to this day as “The Great White Whiskerless One From The Sky". (Sorry for the excessively long sentences in the above section, these may be reduced on appeal).

17:30 loo stop and coffee and coke at the rather plush Hetland Hall hotel, where on our approach, a couple of American guests asked if we’d come far. (“Ownly from bladdy Lend’s End!” I thought to myself).

Pavement picnic alongside the A75 at 18:30.

Dumfries (loo stop) 19:30.

Sang a number of songs designed to cheer us up over the last 13 miles to Penpont. “500 miles” by the Proclaimers seemed appropriate. All were received in stony silence by Georgina.

Dead halt 20:30. 7 miles to go. Georgina would / could go no further. Radioed a Mayday to the “S.S. Carpathia” a.k.a. Jacky + Mercedes motorhome, who steamed down the A76 to pick us up. A huge relief.

Weather summary: overcast at first. Strong Westerly. 3 heavy showers, one nearly hailstones. Fine evening, with wind dropped.
Total buzzard count: 5.

It was only when we got to the campsite that Jacky disclosed that she had been taken poorly during the day with flu’-like symptoms, and had had to lie down in the back of the van on the campsite for 3 hours. This had given her the strength to fight back, and somehow rally herself to pick us up. So while we’d been struggling most of the day against a headwind, we’d been oblivious to Jacky’s plight. Luckily the symptoms cleared, and Jacky was to feel much better after a good night’s sleep. The voyage could so easily have ended in failure that day. We never saw that particular “iceberg” coming.



Distance covered: 60.7 miles
Moving time: 07:48
Average speed: 7.8 mph
Maximum speed: 27.9 mph.

Day 10 06/08/07

Monday 6th August, 2007. Leg 8: Lancaster – Lazonby.

Full English breakfast in hotel before checking out. Collected bikes from the 'cellar' where the drinks are kept cool. Condensation on the bikes as soon as they hit the outside world. Didn't have time to use the spa or the pool: another frustration of our demanding schedule. Three pints of beer were some compensation last night, though.

Today is going to be a bit hard as we head towards the Fells. Am kind of looking forward to it, as I feel like we're on home turf, in t'North Country. Wind seems good, southerly, some cloud cover, giving cooler conditions than yesterday.

Got off at 9:50, and headed for Hornby up the Lune valley. RAF jets active overhead. Then Ingleborough appeared. We cycled in its presence for the next 10 miles, till we reached Kirby Lonsdale. Lunch was wraps from Booths, eaten by the bottom bridge in K.L.

Ice cream in Sedbegh, where we met up with Jacky at 2 o'clock. Departed 2.20, after another RAF fly-past over the town.

An hour later, spirits still high as we ate a few wild raspberries from the hedge alongside the B6257. Georgina amazed that two old railway viaducts are passed without so much as a photo-stop. Got a busy schedule.

Crossing underneath the West Coast Mainline and the M6, followed by a long climb and steep descent into Tebay for a toilet stop, sandwiches, and an enforced sojourn in the bus-shelter waiting for a very heavy shower to abate. Set off again, nearly 5 p.m. and still a long way from Lazonby.

Big pull up the hill out of Orton to traverse from the Lune gorge to the Eden Valley, wondering if the ominous clouds behind would catch us up (they didn't).

Celebratory half pint and coke in the White Horse, King's Meaburn, near enough our half way point (495 miles).

Very unpleasant short stretch of A66 to negotiate, lorries bearing down on us, with no room to get past.

More short steep hills, including the one up to Culgaith where "Woah, Nelly" a RAF Tornado (fast and raucous!) passed directly overhead. 19:20 hours, sir! Didn't know they flew so late (or quite so low).

Georgina's knees hurt. My knees hurt.

Arriving at Lazonby at ten to nine, we're both done for - quite a contrast from yesterday's easy time of it. There's a swimming pool, but that shut at 7.

More 'fine tuning' of the route for tomorrow. (to use more 'A' roads, of course).


Distance covered: 65.2 miles
Moving time: 08:05
Average speed: 8.1 mph
Maximum speed: 26.1 mph.

Day 9 05/08/07

Sunday 5th August 2007. Leg 7: Ainsdale to Lancaster.

Jonathan has driven over from West Yorks, and brought the saddle from my commuter bike, as my bum is very sore. Have high hopes that this will help.

Also across from home territory are Debbie and Simon Hassell, who have come to cycle this leg for us. Simon’s parents have driven them over, and will take them back home after this leg.

We are looking forward to a little luxury this evening, as we have booked a night in the Lancaster Holiday Inn to celebrate the approximate half-way point. And of course, it’s just a couple of weeks since Georgina had her degree conferred at Lancaster University.

A leisurely start time of 10.00 a.m. followed by a 50 mile run to Lancaster is just what we need after previous exertions.

Along the front at Southport, in the baking sun, where a good cycle path is to be had. Then it’s inland towards Preston. The sunshine has brought out classic cars in their hundreds. MGs, TRs,and a surprising number of bubble cars. Man, they must be hot inside those canopies.

Ice creams on approach to Preston. Our first of the trip. This is more like it!

Lunch on the lawn at the entrance to an NHS establishment north of Preston. Got to keep stoked up with energy, the Hassells have their preventative medicine from the bonk-bag in the form of tortilla wraps. Sounds nice. The Hassells are into triathlons (I would say Simon in a serious way, but not an over-serious way, as that would be out of character). Debby was telling us how they have done a lot of cycling in the French Alps. And the occasional mountain biking. I was asking her what she thought about mountain bikes, and she said “They’re alright once you get used to pedalling and going nowhere.” Which I thought was profound.

Simon and I trade thoughts on the different levels of friendliness of the various echelons of cyclists. There are very few roadies who will even acknowledge your presence on the road, let alone say “hello” as you pass them in the opposite direction. This is very sad. My theory is that they are all so competitive, that any other thing on two wheels is seen as a potential threat, to be beaten at all costs (even when you’re going in the opposite direction). Very snooty they tend to be. Simon says that Tri-athletes tend to be a lot more friendly, and if he is typical of the breed, then I would agree with him. As for mountain bikers (who have somehow lost there mountain and ended up on road), well you never can tell. The jury’s out. I just think we should all stick together as an endangered species, and the less cliques and bickering the better.

Up the A6, which seems to have quite a bit of cycle path, and arriving at Lancaster Holiday Inn at 5 p.m., to a welcome committee of Jean (Jonathan’s mum) and Terry, Sheila, Aodhan and Conor (Jacky’s cousin and family), Phil (my bro), and of course Jacky and Jonathan.

Sat outside under the parasol and did “the song” for the benefit of those who had missed it, after warming up with a rendition of Captain Beefheart’s “Orange Claw Hammer” for Conor’s benefit and to up the embarrassment factor for everyone else.

Debbie and Simon left us to head home with parents. Nice meal with Jean and Terry, Phil, Jonathan, Georgina, Jacky.

And so to bed.

Sign on a Preston shop front: “Ambulant Physiotherapist”. Wot is one of them? Do they go walk-abouts doing random acts of physiotherapy?
Advert on a parked car at the Lancaster Holiday Inn: “Teeth Whitening smile spa. Look good, feel great. A Hollywood smile in under an hour. Only £199. Limited period”.

Think we may be in need of treatment from both of the above. We are certainly feeling it in the knees, and not smiling enough on this journey.


Distance covered: 48.9 miles
Moving time: 04:34
Average speed: 10.7 mph
Maximum speed: 23.1 mph.

Day 8 04/08/07

Saturday 4th August 2007. Leg 6: Oswestry to Ainsdale.

Managed quite an early start: 09:00.

Whittington 10:00 (ruined castle). Ruined castles have long held a fascination for me. Georgina is flatly unimpressed.

Wrexham Little Chef 12:00. We flouted the system. Didn’t wait to be seated. Just found a seat by the window where we could watch the bikes. Consequently the waitresses struggled to come to terms with this anarchic approach. Caused similar havoc as we left, ‘cos I thought we could just pay at the till, but no, it appeared you have to “ask for the bill” first. Things would be a whole lot simpler if they were just self-service. Or why not go one step further and let you cook your own meal in their kitchen? Just think of the cost-savings.

Hawarden, toilet stop at the Glynne Arms, and lunch on the wall opposite 14:00 hours, watching guests make their way down the road to a nearby wedding. A latecomer got out of the car and asked us if we were locals, we answered honestly, and he didn’t probe further. Had he asked “Where’s the wedding?” we would have been able to point him in the direction whence the sound of the bells were coming.

A550 across the base of the Wirral was, in places, a nice dual (or should that be duel?). We found our place on the two-foot shoulder, and at one point enjoyed undertaking some traffic which was held up in a road-works induced tail-back.

“I’ll be with you in my own time” – Family.

At length, the A550 led us to the A41 up the Wirral. Georgina’s “Dad, Birkenhead six and a half!” caused me to come to a sudden stop. What I heard was “Dad, me chain’s come off!” After coming to an understanding we were off again.

Arrived at Woodside Ferry terminal 16:00. Next ferry not for 40 minutes. Time to photograph the preserved tram and replica submarine (‘Resurgam’, which unfortunately turned out to be a misnomer), and slump in a nice leather armchair. Bad news that the restaurant closed early to prepare for a function in the evening. Had a bit of a browse through the display of Mersey ferries through the ages.

Watched the “Royal Daffodil” come in and tie up before taking our bikes on board. There is now a piped soundtrack, ending with the Gerry and the Pacemakers song. A bit of a shame that this once vital mode of transport has been reduced to a novelty tourist attraction. Anyway, we used it to get from A to B (actually from B to L).

On the Liverpool shore, we parked up next to the Cunard building, under the watchful left eye of a Liver bird. We watched smugly as a pair of traffic wardens ticketed away, but of course did not trouble us.

Then we cycled out of the city along the scarcely inhabited dock road. Garmin was asked to navigate on-road, which he dutifully did, but occasionally would advise us to turn up side streets just to locate a misplaced way-point. Eventually switched navigation off completely after he got a bit insistent on us doing ‘U’ turns. By this time we out of the city and heading towards golf-course land.

Arriving at the campsite at Ainsdale at a respectable 7 p.m. Not such a bad day.
Weather quite overcast most of the day, but very warm, with a following wind. Buzzard count down to one, but a couple of kestrels and another unfortunate flattened fox.


Distance covered: 64.1 miles
Moving time: 06:28
Average speed: 9.9 mph
Maximum speed: 23.9 mph.

Day 7 03/08/07

Friday 3rd August 2007. Leg 5: East Nowheresville (Map Ref 533245) to Oswestry

Just the three of us now. Jacky dropped Georgina and me on the B4521 near Three Ashes (further East than the A466, but an equivalent distance from the campsite to the previous leg’s pick up point). This smacks vaguely of cheating, but in the scheme of things we justified it as a minor route adjustment.

On the road by 09:45, and rolling into Hereford where we espied the van in the local ASDA car park. Toilet stop and a “Fancy meeting you here!” to Jacky, and we continued onward.

Arriving in Canon’s Pyon for a lunch-stop at 12:00, we flagged down a passing motorhome, driven by Jacky no less. Another turn up for the books. So we had the folding chairs out.

Cloud cover increasing slightly and a slight tail-wind help.

We get a text from Jacky recommending the visitor’s centre at Craven Arms, so we head for that. Fentiman’s Ginger Ale and chocolate cake for me, and Fentiman’s very bitter lemonade and crisps for Georgina. We leave at 16:25, refreshed.

Georgina went into panic when she saw a sign near Shrewsbury saying “Oswestry 17 miles”. I tried to set her mind at rest by explaining campsite was some miles this side of Oz.

Some yobs started questioning (in fluent Anglo-Saxon) our right to be on the road. We didn’t engage in the argument as any words would have been lost in the noise of their exhaust. I drive, I pay road tax, ergo I have as much right to be on the road as they do. I merely choose to cycle. Now if they’d questioned our sanity, then they would have had a point.

Arrived at the campsite 19:50

Summary of the day: smoother road surfaces, tail wind, easier terrain, good run. Result!

Songs of the day: “You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille” Kenny Rogers. (I draw a veil over this one, but suffice it to say that dock leaves make very good toilet paper).

“You gotta roll with it” Oasis. Mind-numbing stuff. Just wish I could numb my bum, which is “all too much for me to take”.

Speaking of saddle soreness, every night of late, Georgina has managed a chapter of the new Harry Potter: “Harry Potter and the Pelvic Gallows” in which Bumblebone is impaled on the Anvil of Anguish. “Excruciatus!”


Distance covered: 73.5 miles
Moving time: 07:14
Average speed: 10.2 mph
Maximum speed: 29.1 mph.

Day 5 02/08/07

Thursday 2nd August 2007. Rest Day.

Photo caption. “We tried all sorts to get mobile signal”.

Rest day. Took the opportunity for a major re-planning exercise. We need to sacrifice our next rest day to make the subsequent days more achievable. Certainly an 80-mile dash to Wemyss Bay for the 7.45 p.m. last ferry to Bute is not going to be feasible on present form. Also we need to continue our tactics of using A-roads, rather than my original pootling country lanes, which would have been nice, had we the luxury of time.

Early morning rain gave way to a beautiful day. Matthew, Jonathan and I had a game of pitch and putt. Matthew did a powerful 150 yard drive clean across to the hedge, you know the one with the stream behind it. The ball was lost from this world. This gave me the opportunity to duck out of the game and do some bike maintenance (lube chains, and sort a gear cable out on Georgina’s bike).

Some re-booking of campsites is required. The only place we can get mobile phone signal is on the pitch and putt course, so it’s back there to book Tarbolton in Ayrshire.

The day was rounded off by a nice meal in the local (The Mill), and we were joined by Rebecca, Joe and Holly (Explorer Scout friends) who were on their way back to Yorkshire from a visit to Wales. This rendezvous presumably came about due to the power of the mobile phone.

The lads, Matthew and Jonathan then drove back to ‘real life’ in Yorkshire, with the plan being to meet up with them later in the trip.

Just a teensy bit worried about our “Carbon Footprint” on this tour. OK, cycling is very much low environmental impact, but factor in the diesel that the motorhome is using, and Jonathan’s car ‘Graham’ scurrying up and down country lanes keeping tabs on our movements, then we might just as well have jetted off to the U.S.A.

Day 4 01/08/07

Wednesday 1st August 2007. Leg 4: Winscombe to West Nowheresville (Map Ref 497224).

Can’t seem to think of anything funny after yesterday. These last three legs have been hard, hot, long days, with a bit of northerly to contend with. Hoping for easier terrain today.

Campsite a bit of a ‘hippyville’ (fairly near Glastonbury). Left at 10:00 and headed for A370 over some nasty lumpy bits. Jonathan popping up from time to time and asking Georgina how she’s feeling. Getting curt monosyllabic replies from Georgina, who is not a happy bunny.

Meet the support team at Gordano services (that roundabout is a nightmare for cyclists). Coffee there, 20 miles done and it’s 13:40 already and baking hot.

Then we let Garmin do some on-road navigation for us (I’ve somehow truncated the route, so the first part is lost), His suggestion of cycling up the M5 is not taken up. We press on to find the Avon cycleway which will take us across the Avon alongside the M5. Garmin keeps asking us to take ‘U’ turns etc, which we continue to ignore, preferring to follow various sign-posts. These take us all round the houses and must have added a couple of miles to the route.

Eventually we’re across the Avon, and heading down towards “Severn Beach”

Seems to take a hell of a long time to get to the Severn Bridge. The terrain is reasonable, but the traffic is busy. Every other car seems to be a police car. Crossing the Severn is the nearest thing to flying on a bike. Garmin display has this little arrow heading north-west across an ocean of blue.

We’re still a long long way from our destination, and Georgina is in low spirits (again). Give Chepstow a miss as this would add another couple of needless miles to the journey, and continue towards Monmouth. Sit at the Victorian fountain at St. Arvans looking at the next hill and feeling (literally and metaphorically) low. Georgina digs deep, and we set off again, via the road past Tintern Abbey. A nice uppy-downy sort of a road.

Did a bit of owl-startling at 7 o’clock. This simple rural sport consists of cycling past a tree which contains an owl, and observing the reaction of the owl. One point is scored for every owl startled from its perch. There are moves afoot to make this sort of thing illegal.

We made it to Monmouth just in time for a toilet stop at Waitrose before closing time (8 p.m.). The whole support team are in the car park waiting. They advise us to take a more Easterly route up the A466. This we do, but it’s still the wrong kind of hills, and we finally give up at 9:45 p.m. Jacky and the lads coming out to pick us up and drive us to Peterchurch in the beautiful Golden Valley.


Distance covered: 62.5 miles
Moving time: 07:50
Average speed: 8.0 mph
Maximum speed: 25.1 mph.

Day 3 31/07/07

Tuesday 31st July 2007. Leg 3: Crockernwell to Winscombe.

Croissants and Danishes and coffee courtesy of the campsite owners. Verrry yummy.

Off a little earlier, at 9.45 a.m.

Lunch 12:00 at Upton Pyne under the oak trees’ dappled shade. (I’ll have an apple-ade in the dappled shade, please)

Then pressed on to make Tiverton services by 16:00 hrs. Burger King raised our spirits. (Never thought I’d see the day when I would utter that phrase).

Wellington 17:30. “Best medium sized town in the West” provided a toilet stop (armour-plated loos, free of charge). Cycle-paths!

But we ground to a full stop at 6 p.m. in the searing heat on the grass verge after another pull up into a place called Rumwell, just outside of Taunton. Georgina was just unable to take the heat and the prospect of another 30 miles cycling yet to come. A gentleman came out of his house and, seeing Georgina’s distress, fetched Georgina a glass of iced water. This was gratefully accepted. A little later his wife kindly donated a wet handkerchief to protect G’s neck from the sun. You cannot put a price on such simple acts of kindness. At the time they made the difference between success and failure. On again, refreshed.

Towards sunset, we were on the easier ground of the Somerset Levels.

The last hour was cycled in the dark (we almost had the full complement of lights, but Georgina had to use a head torch). Were met close to the campsite by Matthew and Jonathan. They chivalrously offered to cycle our bikes the last 2 miles (including the final steep hill), but we declined. Arrived at Winscombe at 23:00.

Knackered! Thus ended a gruelling 80 mile leg.


Distance covered: 79.9 miles
Moving time: 09:08
Average speed: 8.7 mph
Maximum speed: 38.1 mph. (not reset)

Day 2 30/07/07

Monday 30th July 2007. Leg 2: Lanivet to Crockernwell.

Day 2 dawned bright and cloudless and still. I have a slight headache (not alcohol induced, I would like to emphasize). G. has a sore bum.

We talk tactics to see if we can make it easier for ourselves. A30 is fast but unpleasant and potentially lethal. Smaller roads are pleasant, but slow.

Set off 10.00 a.m. (late again!) Went for the A30. There’s something to be said for cycling down the A30, The word is “pants”. Rendezvous with the support vehicle at Penlan Eating House and Garage 11.30 a.m. Matthew saw a lizard.

The rest is a bit of a blur, really. Lost count of the hard modern style road reflectors I hit as I followed G. down the 2-foot shoulder of the A30. You can’t beat the old retracting cat’s eye for comfort.

Interesting things wot we saw:
Winnebago towing a Freelander, no less.
Mrs. Bag-it says take your rubbish home. (Signs in every lay-by)
Old Westland helicopter fuselage on a low-loader heading west.

Roadkill varities:
Rabbit: many
Badger: 1
Fox: 1
Gloves (not foxgloves, just gloves): various species grouped together according to their past beliefs.
Cyclists: 0 (thank God)

Well that was Cornwall, this is Devon.

Song lyric for today: “Devon (Devon is a place where nothing ever happens…)” Talking Heads.

Arrived Crockernwell 9.00 p.m. All sunned out.


Distance covered: 58.2 miles
Moving time: 06:42
Average speed: 8.7 mph
Maximum speed: 38.1 mph. (not reset)

Day 1 28/07/07

Friday 27th / Saturday 28th July 2007

Picked up motorhome from Compact Camper Hire, Holme-upon-Spalding-Moor. Jacky drove the 60 miles home, and we spent a fraught 5 hours packing it. Set off at 11 p.m. to drive through the night the 420 miles to Crows-An-Wra campsite. If you don't think we'd be daft enough to take a 22 foot motorhome through the narrow streets of Mousehole, you'd be incorrect.

On arrival we set up base camp for the assault on the big beardy man with the flat head who is the (map of the) British Mainland.

We met my brother Phil's friend Sue's sister Liz and her husband Kev, who run the site, and were told that Sue was coming over from Goldsithney later on.

Back in the 'van' an assortment of loony gestures and incidents can be put down to the fact that we were all running on insufficient sleep. I nearly trepanned myself on a window that had been left open, and Matthew smashed the cafetiere (so it's back to basic bush craft survival skills for us).

Reality TV has nothing on this. I'm a calamity, get me out of here!

Rain set in about 3 p.m., a bit of a miserable end to the day, but let’s see what tomorrow brings!

Perhaps it was a mistake to have watched Titanic on the telly before we left home…

Me: “Georgina, I have built two machines which will take us the length of Britain in comfort and style. Each tyre has an air-tight compartment that is nigh-on un-puncturable by virtue of linings of the finest Kevlar known to science.”

G: “Pray tell me, papa, how many people are undertaking the journey?”

Me: “Why, just the two of us, as well you know, my pretty young girl!”

G: “But am I correct in my observation that the number of lifeboats is nil?”

Me: “Ah, don’t you worry your little head about that. The Board of Trade regulations do not stipulate a minimum number of lifeboats per bicycle. Besides, I have taken the trouble to pack sufficient spare tubes, tyres and vulcanising patches for every conceivable eventuality.”

G: "But papa, are we not going close to the bottle banks of Glasgow where we could sustain deep lacerations?"

Me: "Rest easy child, for I have charted a course which will take us well to the West, toward the benign influences of the Gulf Stream, and onto the Isle of Bute, where broken glass is unheard of and the fabled Bute-Isle Rubber trees grow. It is a cyclist's paradise: flat, yet flat-free."

And so, fully prepared, we were eager to begin the big adventure.


Sunday 29th July 2007. Leg 1: Land’s End to Lanivet.

Left Crows-An-Wra campsite 9.30 a.m. down to Land’s End in the motorhome with bikes on back. Wet start. Faffy pre-amble of photos, card-stamping etc. Bumped into Mr. Robinson from North Halifax Grammar (G and Matt’s old school). He’s cycling with some mates from Land’s End to John o’Groats in aid of Overgate Hospice. One of these chaps tells us he has been diagnosed as having MS.

Left L.E. about 11.00 a.m. (so much for an early start). Mainly back roads to Penzance, meeting Jacky and the lads near Morrisons. It’s already 1.00 p.m. – at this rate we’ll be going till 9.

Route takes us to Marazion (St. Michael’s Mount-see photo), Praze-an-Beeble (not to be confused with Zaphod Beeblebrox), then Redruth (toilet stop – in the salubrious multi-story car park.)

Finally arrive at Lanivet campsite at 9.00 p.m. very tired, but day 1 accomplished.

The latter part of the journey completed on the fast A30. Some crucial survival skills are required on this road. In particular slip-road tactics, which consist of continuing up the shoulder of the slip-road as if going off at the junction, then at the last second checking behind for traffic exiting at 60 mph, and finally traversing the neck of the slip to rejoin the trunk road. A similar procedure is needed at the “on” slip, but looking for traffic accelerating up to 60 coming onto the trunk road. Georgina took to this very useful technique like a duck to water.

Weather picked up, but a slight northerly wind all day.

Highlights:
Washed my cycling glove ‘cos I forgot I was wearing it when washing my hands.
Pete’s Pinks (sign in Leedstown).
5 buzzards, 1 lizard.

Lowlights:
Georgina’s new chain (fitted in haste before we came away) was not threaded through the derailleur properly. She cycled all the way to Penzance with it in this state. Shoot the engineer!
Georgina’s twittering transmission, after standing out in last night’s rain, drove the pair of us mad (sounded like a demented skylark was following her). Chain lube - just splash it all over.

10 miles from journey’s end we (meaning I) decided to take the scenic route, and trying to navigate back to the A30 found our way blocked by a Road Closed sign. Georgina’s morale hit rock bottom. We just walked our bikes through the road works and onto the hard shoulder, and found a lay-by to have a little cry, sis. Tried to convince G. that bikes are exempt from such things as “Road Closed” signs. I think she was still in car mode.

(Here is what I have to say on the “road closed” palaver: The “road” was not “closed”, it had not been built! So we carried our bikes across the muddy, rubbley foundations of the not yet built slip road. Thank you!)

Distance covered: 57.9 miles
Moving time: 07:04
Average speed: 8.2 mph
Maximum speed: 38.1 mph.

The write up!

Over the next few days, I (Georgina) will be uploading Dad's blog from the cycling trip. However... it is quite long so I will deliver it to you in bite size chunks! The parts in italics are my comments on the trip! Enjoy!?!

Quick catch up (and back track) before the BIG one!

Thursday 19th July, 2007

Georgina's 21st birthday today. Collected the cake from "Cakes for the Occasion" in Crosshills. It has been made in the shape of Britain, with a LeJoG route picked out in coloured icing, topped off by a little cyclist doing the ride. The lady there donated the cake free of charge. We will put the £24 into the fund in lieu of payment.


Friday, 20th July, 2007
G's graduation ceremony. Much pomp and ceremony, Chris Bonnington "By my authority as Chancellor I confer etc..." Inspirational speech. Tom McKillop awarded honorary degree. Interesting success story of son of a Scottish miner becoming head of Astra-Zeneca, then latterly Royal Bank of Scotland.

We will be passing through his birthplace Dreghorn in Ayshire in a couple of weeks. (Also the birthplace of John Boyd Dunlop, inventor of the pneumatic tyre, so better not get any punctures there).

Lots of photographs and lots of waiting around. Miraculously, the weather stayed dry. Later, I noticed a sign on the George Fox building "Bicycles not allowed in this building". Adherents to the mollycule theory as advanced by Flann O'Brien will understand why I was personally reluctant to enter.


Saturday, 21st July, 2007

Saturday we held Georgina's birthday party. A selection of memorable moments...
...all the family and friends who turned up to make it a splendid occasion.
...an uninvited guest, the mouse who turned up in the downstairs cloakroom. (Hoots Mon, there's a moose loose aboot this hoose!)
§ I performed "the" folk song, the "Seven Couch Potato Nights".
§ vast quantities of beer disappeared down the necks of the three old reprobates Messrs Jones, Allan and Ellis (we had to send Matthew out down the offie).
§ uncle Phil's neighbours'-Chinese-chicken-alarm-clock story.
§ drunkenly making a late-night smoothie out of the remains of Karen's fruit salad, but forgetting to place the collecting jug under the spout,
§ the rubbish weather (more or less constant rain all day) which meant the gazebo stayed uninhabited.
§ the usual scene of chaos the morning after.
§ taking photos of Cameron, Sally and Celia on the Worth Valley Steam Railway on their way home with a camera from which the memory card had been removed.


Monday 23rd July, 2007
Been raining heavily down south. Places like Bristol, Hereford, Tewkesbury, Oxford have been or are in imminent danger of flooding. We all feel for the people in these places. A lot of the place names we plan to pass near, or through in the coming fortnight. Perhaps we'll witness the aftermath. Hope we get some fair weather soon.

Ride into work was a good one, despite it being very humid and an easterly wind, with bothersome flies getting a free ride up the Big Hill (futile attempts to dislodge them, a bit tricky at 2.8 mph). Need to put in some effort to work off the results of the weekend's over-indulgence).

The sheep on the left hand side of the moor road have been shorn (fleeced, even). Those on the right are still in their woollies.

Time out 0:54 (Pretty satisfied with this showing)

Just missed the heavy rain on way home.

Return 0:56 (moist, but moistly dry)


Tuesday 24th July, 2007
Bunnie in the bilberries. His right eye stares impassively in the sun as I pass. Yesterday he scuttled off through a hole in the wall.

Campervan parked on the back road, with a German number-plate and a rather nice "On-One" MTB on the back. Brave souls.

We've picked the wettest summer since the great flood of biblical times to do our ride. Had Noah been around today, I like to think he would have saved a pair of cyclists, but wouldn't have bothered with the 4x4's on the basis that they were outside his terms of reference (and beside they wouldn't scan lyrics-wise).

Wind gone round to North West.

Time out 0:50:39 (A real blast down Pellon Lane)

At work, strange howling noises have been heard reverberating through the building, like some large beast in pain. Could it be the ogre that imprisons the Rapunzels, or could it be building work which is continuing? Men drilling deep into the rock from which the very fabric of the building is fashioned. Each vibration reverberating long and low throughout the place, like a long low reverberating vibration.

There is a short flight of stairs near the rear door, appearing to lead to a netherworld which is even deeper down than the dungeon where the Lead Balloon is stabled. In recent weeks I have occasionally witnessed dungareed young men walking purposefully down a short flight of stairs before turning to pass silently into the gloom.

The latest of these, hardly out of boyhood, was today carrying a white paint tin in each hand, like a pair of votive candles, in a futile effort to illuminate the gloom. He's the fourth I've counted going down there, but not one has been seen to emerge. Perhaps this is linked to Rapunzel's extra button. Did I mention she had an extra button? Yes, that's another curious thing. Rapunzel 2 has 13 buttons, whereas Rapunzel has 14. Rapunzel’s extra button is marked "-1" (Dan Dan Darrrr!). I’ve tried pressing this button, but to no effect. But there is no denying that Rapunzel has access to the netherworld. Another dimension, to which I am not privy.

At lunchtime, resolve to find another way down. Grabbing the torch from my bike, I trace the footsteps of the young bucks down the short staircase. As I turn the corner at the bottom, my way is barred by stout iron doors. None shall pass (I say again!).


Head for home. Lovely weather, if a bit breezy in a North Westerly sort of way.

Return 0:55


Wednesday 25th July, 2007

My last day at work before the main event. So came in by car. Weather a very wetting incessant fine rain, so riding in would not have been particularly pleasurable.

WE DID IT!!!

Just to quickly let everyone know we did it! We cycled all the way from Land's End to John O'Groats!!!

Anyway its all been a bit hectic since returning but there will be a new post here soon no doubt telling you all about it!

Just a quick thanks to everyone for all there support xxx

last one before we go!

Monday 16th July 2007

It Beeps!

Garmin on the handlebars, ready to navigate. Brooks saddle has been fitted to Lead Balloon. Before setting off, I straddle the saddle to assess height, find it's a bit low, and jack it up by 1/4 inch. In the meantime, Garmin detects I've travelled 3 feet. He must be keen to get going, just hold your horses, Garmin! Set off at last. He displays 'South to WP0101'. He beeps! (approaching WP0101). He gives false directions! (North East to WP0101), etc. This will take a bit of getting used to.

Just before Big Hill, I decide a stop for faffage is in order. Adjust angle of handlebar mount, and change orientation option from 'Track up' to 'North up'- That way, I can understand it better when the display says 'South East to WP0109' or whatever.

Compare Garmin route planning approaches. Precise detail (I'm a stickler for it) vs. broad brush approach (the Burton expedition). Soon find my large number of waypoints can be a distraction.

Way-points are so precise. Arguably, too precise. As you approach the way-point, if you've slightly misplaced it, Garmin tells you to dog-leg to the way-point (this is with the off-road option). Tomorrow will try the on-road option - rather assumes the moor road is on the Garmin's map as some sort of track. Also could see if there's an option to reduce the level of Way-point precision, to maybe 5 or 10 metres. (No luck on that front: can’t find one).

So engrossed in the Garmin and following its directions, I nearly missed the owl, which appeared as a disturbance in my peripheral vision. I temporarily abandoned all thoughts of getting to work to watch this wonderful creature working the moor, not too far off to my right. Then along came a white van, and it was time to move on.

Garmin is great out in the open, where you can see the road stretching ahead, but navigating through towns is not so hot - as you don't have time to consult the Garmin and look around. Might be safer walking through parts of town.

Oh, and did I mention the weather was nice and breezy, not at all rainy like the last few days seem to have been. I enjoyed this ride, hammering the Brooks into submission in a hard-assed no nonsense way.

Time out 1:01 (including stops)

Managed to dodge the showers on the way back home. Some very dark clouds up ahead, but I only got slightly wet.

Return 0:51 (may the wind always be at your back)


Tuesday 17th July 2007

Tried some other options on the Garmin to suppress the 'dog-legging' tendency where way-points are just off-road. This has made no difference. Will just have to learn to live with it.

A very stiff cool breeze from the South West, which is going to bring with it some rain, but hopefully I'll be at work before it arrives.

On the holey road to redemption: someone has answered my prayers and filled those pot-holes which nearly gave me grief last week.

We have a Z.C.C. situation. Zero Curlew Count. Where could they be hiding. Don't suppose it's too wet for them. Finished breeding and taken the kids to the coast, perhaps?

Two yellow cranes making their way up to the wind turbines - some serious Meccano action about to take place.

Sun comes out towards the end of another enjoyable journey. "Shake Some Action" by the Flamin' Groovies echoes around my head from 6 Music this morning.

Time out 0:57

Decided to spend some time fine-tuning the route:
1) remove some way-points to simplify navigation
2) move the way-points slightly before a change of course, so that Garmin will give adequate warning of direction to next way-point

Hope this will help. Took about half and hour of tinkering with day 1.

Coming back, decided to see how easy it is to deviate from planned route and re-join it at a later way-point. Garmin was very good at giving me information about how to pick up the route - although it probably would have preferred me to stick to the plan it was flexible enough to go with the flow, so to speak, and eventually I came back into line.

Return 0:52 (may the force be etc)


Wednesday 18th July 2007

Weather a bit overcast and South-westerly moist breeze. Disturbed three pigeons in quick succession on the lower slopes of "Mont Beegeel". Perhaps they were feasting on the Bilberries which are very plentisome at this time of year. Again only small birds on the tops. Come back curlews, all is forgiven.

Found myself singing the theme tune to "The Monkees". This song was sweet and inoffensive in its time. Only thing is, the words began to mutate for My Generation...

"Here we come: walkin' down the street,
we get the funniest looks from every one we meet.
Hey, Hey, we're the grumpies,
people say we grumpy around
that we're too busy whingeing
and puttin' everybody down"

"We're just tired of bein' friendless
as we make our way to the grave
but we’re not just vegetation
and how we zimmer with rage"

Too dark, I think you'll agree. The words in this column do not necessarily reflect the views of the writer (in fact I'm not really sure where these came from – deep within my cycle, perhaps).

Tomorrow is Georgina's 21st birthday. There is shopping to be done tonight, so Matthew is going to pick me up after work, and throw Lead Balloon in the back of the car.

Time out 0:55

Home in the car with Matthew, as explained earlier. Back home, after shopping done and taking a shower, decided to check the derriere for the spot which appeared last week. This was done using a mirror in the privacy of the bathroom.

Have been religiously applying the tea-tree oil in the vicinity. The area is now as smooth and amazingly blended (to quote the good Captain Beefheart), but no sign of the Scarlet Pimpleness. The tea-tree oil has been amazingly effective! I may well write a learned paper on the efficacy of tea-tree oil. A sort of tea-tree treatise, if you like.

take a look

It was my 21st birthday party and Dad wrote/sung a very topical song! Take a look (misses the first verse sorry!). Good one Dad!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD8sWrgudJk

almost time to go

Thursday 5th July 2007

The one and only long distance training run. Been looking forward to this. Georgina is using toe clips for the first time. They’re strapless little numbers. These are what I use, as I like to be able to get my feet free at short notice.

A bit of light rain at the start. A bit of cycling on the pavement to undertake a long line of cars held up by road works. Through the centre of Keighley, and out onto the open road. Difficult to carry on a conversation. Walkie-talkies might be a cool idea?

Navigate from the Aire valley into Wharfedale by cycling up the Cringles out of Silsden. Warm work, but we made it, with just one stop half-way up. Then up Wharfedale to Bolton Abbey and beyond up the steep back road up the east side of the dale.

Sit-bones started to complain after about 25 miles on the Brooks. Obviously not causing enough pain to other parts of my body to take my mind off this area. Ah well, lean forward and think of Scotland.

Georgina spotted an owl on a slurry tank, then we interrupted a stoat trying to cross the road. He obviously wasn’t in the tufty club, as he didn’t look before crossing. But then, woah, he sort of levitated, did an about turn and dived for cover in the hedgerow, whence he’d come. Following this we were overflown by a large owl as we cycled through wooded country. All interesting stuff.

The plan had been to return via Grassington and Skipton, but a navigational error by yours truly at Burnsall led to a return past Barden Tower and home. So instead of our planned 60 miles, we did 45 or 50, depending on which device you believe (Garmin or Cycle computer).

It started to rain as we got within 2 miles of home. We would have had an absolute soaking if we'd gone the full 60 miles.

Home a bit tired, but not overly so. Sore backside. Also troubled by the odd knee twinge on the way round. Moving average speed according to Garmin was 8.4 mph. (5.4 hours cycling). So if this is representative, we’ll need to be in the saddle for 8 or 9 hours to achieve 70 miles. Ooh, fun!

Afterwards, I saved the Garmin track log, and was surprised to find it was 6940 miles long, beginning in Garmin corporation’s Taiwan factory, where it was born! How did it know that, as it had no batteries in when it arrived? Clever little unit worked out a great circle route from last time it was powered up, when it was being tested in the factory.


Monday 9th July 2007

First use of bike since our little training run up Wharfedale on Thursday. Bum OK, legs OK, knees twingeing slightly. Sub 28mins up the Big Hill. (impressive, huh?) and a fast run all the way.

What's going on here? Good weather certainly helps - sunny / cloudy with a pleasantly cool breeze, meaning I doff the jacket for the first time on a morning run. The weather has picked up now that the annual rain dance that is Wimbledon has finished.

I've got the new Garmin Cx on the handlebars. Doesn't have a detailed UK base map loaded, so all I get is a lonely-looking little arrow pointing out into a bewilderness of blank screen. Put it on the compass screen, which also shows speed. It reads consistently low by 1 to 2 per cent compared with the cycle computer.

I put this down to the fact that the latter measures distance by revolution of the wheel, which is affected by hill climbing, wiggling, tyre pressure, tread wear, etc, whereas navigation by satellite isn't. Which is correct? Who knows?

To use a ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ analogy, Garmin is Arlene Philips to the Cycle computer’s Bruno Tonioli. Arlene consistently marks low, picking up on technical imperfections, while St. Bruno (sorry, whilst Bruno) gives credit for passionate interpretation of cycling style.

Time out - 0:53 (creditable)

Return - 0:55


Tuesday 10th July 2007

Weather fab. Absolutely no wind. Turbines completely becalmed. Fly Flats Reservoir flat. Best time ever up Big Hill on Lead Balloon just a smidge over 26 minutes.

Country road all pot-holed and rutted after the recent heavy rains. Nearly came a cropper when I let front wheel drop into a hole. Gave myself quite a jolt. Also felt quite stupid.

A bit worried about some sort of boil-like excrescence which has appeared in a rather unfortunate place. It is situated in the lower of what the 'Doc' in the Sunday Post used to euphemistically term 'The Body Forks' (to be blunt it's groin' in me groin). This could prove seriously uncomfortable if allowed to develop. Not a good thing to happen when you're about to embark on a 1,000 mile cycle tour. Wonder if it's linked to change of undershorts? These new ones are supposed to be antibacterial. Trouble is, the seam on the insert might be the source of some chafing. Not sure what steps to take to tackle it. Think I'll try the trusted tea-tree oil. I will keep a 'watching brief' on this one (hah!).

Time out - 0:52 (speedy, or what?)

Came back in car, which Matthew had driven in at lunch-time as he's off on his D of E gold expedition with the school.

Evening: I've reached John o'Groats!!! Easy to get carried away here, as it's just a virtual John o'Groats on the route-planning software, and not the real McCoy. Nevertheless, it feels like a great achievement to have a fully-fledged route which goes from end to end. Haven't worked out the total distance yet, but each leg seems to have grown slightly compared to my original estimates using the road atlas.


Wednesday 11th July

Stormed up the Big Hill, and down Pellon Lane into Halifax. Overcast with slight tail-wind. Thought I should put in a bit of extra effort after using the car yesterday evening.

Time out - 0:49:47 (Must be a record! Normally this would have been rounded up, but I've included the seconds because that looks more impressive, don't you think?)

Return 0:57 (despite a VERY stiff headwind up Long Causeway) The boy done good.

Bought some little walkie-Talkies from eBay. Can't wait to try them! Gadget heaven!


Computer reset

DST 109miles
TIME 10:36:47
AVG 10.7 miles
MAX 37.4 mph
ODO 1276.7 miles

Friday 13th July

Finally successfully loaded down some routes and maps to the Garmin. Then decided to plot my route to work, so that I can practice navigation on Monday.

If you’re interested, the statistics of my commute are:
Direction Distance (miles) Ascent (feet) Descent (feet)
Outward 9.41 1124 1425
Return 9.02 1239 938
Total 18.43 2363 2363

This is a much hillier terrain than the route I’ve settled on for first day in Cornwall, so I’m reassured.