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.
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.
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