Midges, billions of the bug – gers, hovering around our campervan sniffing the faint human odours (of which there are plenty now) seeping through tiny seams in the fuselage of the vehicle. All the windows are shut. We learnt at cost that the midges are small enough to easily climb through the netting.

 

 So, stuffy air, wafts of whisky, mars bars, socks soaked in bog, all working in conjunction with a stiff breeze blowing across the nearby loch, sending out a stream of scent along which tiny feelers are navigating in search of a bit of us.

 

Day 22 is over. One more day to go. A mixed bag of emotions I guess. I am enjoying the cycling, the open surroundings, at one with nature and all that. We have a routine that works. It allows us to eat as much as we want. Breakfast for instance… Porridge, followed by more porridge. Then a bowl of cereal. Next up, beans, bacon and fried egg. Two slices of toast, jam, and at least 2 cups of tea. We snack energy bars throughout the day, eat 3 sandwiches and cake, plus of course any delicacies we discover on the way. Scones, shortbread, chips, bacon butties, all these have found their way onto our daily plates at some stage. Supper at the end of the day of course, two courses, repeated, as in seconds.

 

So as you can see, this cycling thing has its plus points. Granted, we have to sit on our rear-ends and pedal all day long, bumping over uncountable rocks, stones, roots, logs, etc. But on a culinary basis it is certainly worth the effort. 

 

However tasty it may seem, the routine does not allow for family, friends, pets, day to day suburban life. Strangely, it feels a bit threatening to be going back to all the responsibilities and decisions, etc. I am not threatened by the people, I really miss them, and the pets. Its all the rest that seems heavy.

 

Here life is straight forward. At home there are all sorts of extras. Some I am looking forward to! Others, probably not so much.

 

Take for instance the matter of the allotment. A failed crop, severe hayfever, and lots of necessary training for the bike ride, all these things have meant that I have not managed to tame the weeds that have enjoyed years of freedom seeding the plot I was allotted. The landlord is after me – want’s to know what I intend for the future. The neighbours have probably been at him. Oh dear, real life stuff – will I have the gumption to sort out the problem, even if it means submitting my resignation from the allotment family?

 

See what I mean. With that kind of pressure – I’d rather be cycling!

 

I suppose you want to know a bit about the ride today. Well, despite the TF of just 18, it was hard work. We waded through miles of bog. There was a path, but it was underwater and undermud. The landlady at Crask Inn, last outpost before we set off into the boglands, said that we would be able to find the way. She did not predict my mini disaster at 1 mile. Seeing a large muddy puddle, I decided to risk the unseen and to cycle forth into the gunge. Bad move. Half way in and the front wheel jammed up – leaving me no option but to slowly topple like a felled tree.

 

Bracing for the impact I put out my hands, only to see them disappear until I was up to my elbows in it. Add one leg in the drink, one side, and half a bike. I had no option but to pose for a photo before fighting through the undergrowth and rinsing off in the river. 

 

We were far from anyone as we cycled from one isolated valley to the next. The views were stunning, not for general consumption, making the opportunity to be in these places something of a privilege. If you want to see them you will need to start offroad cycling, or go hunting at an expensive hunting lodge – they are the only buildings/signs of life in the area.

 

Once we cleared the bogland we encountered much more civilised farm roads that allowed us to make full use of the tailwind hastening us on to our destination for the night – Forsinard. I spotted Stuart’s van from about 2 miles away, and charged forth with renewed strength to get to the snacks tin he puts out on the table for us to peck at.

 

Not long after arriving the bugs came out, and we went in. I am breathing Raid fumes as I type. Stuart is keen to use it and we are too scared to complain. His answer if we do complain will probably be along the lines of, “if you don’t like it – go outside”. No thanks!

Paul has opted to sleep indoors tonight – a wise move. I suspect he will have to do the same tomorrow night. It seems the bugs are everywhere.

 

Time to upload this blog entry, and then to sleep. We have another 56 miles to cover and a celebratory meal to enjoy.

 

Gavin

 

I write this entry on the morning of day 22, given that last night I went to bed at 8.30 pm. The reason, to be honest, was that I had imbibed 2 pints of beer. Add that to the tasty dinner enjoyed at the Nip Inn, in Lairg, and you have a recipe for sleep.

 

Day 21 began with relatively easy cycling, and a sense that life would be great if only we could trust the toughness factor rating of 18 (compared to some of route TF’s of 42 and above).

 

We were back from the day’s ride by 4 pm, which suggests that the riding was in fact a lot easier than usual. The significant aspect of the journey had to be the sense of remoteness. We crossed a large tract of highland terrain, gentle hills covered in heather, bracken, and possibly a well camouflaged deer/ deer stalker or two.

 

The trail conditions were sufficiently good for us to be able to cycle 99% of the time. Bumpy jeep tracks, dry, and relatively well used by hunters in their 4x4’s, meant that we could make a good time. Once we arrived at Lairg we showered and then scouted the village. Half the shops were closed down, or boarded up. Paul spotted an internet café and he headed in that direction to recover email. Apparently the café comprised a single computer on broadband, and a parallel hair cutting service.

 

The shops have peculiar opening and closing times. We noticed a pattern that hypothetically suggests people are circulating their working day by popping up in different guises and times to run the various shops.

 

The Nip Inn, serving meals from 6 pm to 8.30 pm. produced excellent quality cooking, and coupled with the beer ensured we were well caloried for today. 50 miles to cover, and through even more remote countryside.

 

Paul is outside swatting midges, Stuart is tidying up, Martyn is getting changed, and I am falling behind. Better go and do the morning routine.

 

Gavin

“Fighter Control, this is Fighter jet Delta Romeo Alpha Mike, seeking permission to drop to an altitude of 100ft for  high speed low level flight across Loch Ness”. 

 

“Fighter jet Delta Romeo Alpha Mike, this is Fighter Control. Permission given, descend to 100 ft for a high speed low level flight across Lima November. Take your aircraft down the middle of the Loch”.

 

“Fighter jet Juliet Oscar Charlie Kilo, this is Fighter Control.  Take up your position alongside Fighter jet DRAM and accompany. Stay above 300 ft and skim the edge of the Loch”.

 

In unison, “Roger Fighter Control, DRAM and JOCK descending”.

 

“This is Fighter Control – Lessie if you can wake Nessie!!! It's time to Shake, Rattle, and Roll”

 

A few seconds later…

 

“Mayday, Mayday, this is Fighter jet Juliet Oscar Charlie Kilo declaring an emergency. I have acquired a mysterious foreign object on my fuselage…”

 

“Fighter jet JOCK, this if Fighter Control. Is the mysterious object grey in colour, with tail, flippers and a long neck?!”

 

“Fighter Control, this is JOCK – not quite…"

 

"It’s a bloke on a mountain bike. He's ramped off the edge of the mountain, pulled an air brake manoeuvre and landed on my plane. Wait a minute - he’s scrawling something on my canopy using a strawberry energy bar high in colourant”.

 

Fighter jet JOCK, this is Fighter Control. Did you say he's high on colourants?"

 

" Negative, Negative. I can't make out what the message says because it's back to front..."

 

“JOCK, its DRAM here, I can read the words from my upside down Topgun style inverted flying position”.

 

“It says – John O Groat’s NOW – or you and Nessie end up in the same puddle!”

+++++

A true story, but not quite. It is true that as we cycled along the tree line high above Loch Ness we saw and then heard the approach of two fighter jets flying at very low level over the water. We also believe it to be true that they were attempting to wake Nessie or similar.

The bloke on the bike… Well I did think about it for a while. But my top speed of 33.5 miles per hour down one of the tracks was no match for the Mach 1 of the aircraft.

 

I did wish that I could find a faster way to get to JOG. It had something to do with the punishing climbs we endured today. Starting off from Fort Augustus we had false ideas that the cycling would be easier. But after a few nasty surprises we realised that the route inventor was serious when he mentioned a total height of 6000 ft ascent for the day.

 

The three worst climbs were located
1/ behind the “last gift shop for 35 miles” at Invermoriston
2/ the ridiculously steep hill going to Upper Drumbuie
3/ a long section of the Great Glen Cycle Route in between the other two nasties.

 

When I finally arrived at our campsite in Contin I had a shower, ate supper, then collapsed into bed at 8.45 p.m.

 

I lay comatose for an hour before waking up to write the draft for my blog entry.

 

I noticed that my heart was pounding and was palpitating, skipping its job about five to seven times in a minute (It could just be doing a double beat).

 

The point is, its angry and its fatigued.

 

So, time I said good night, time I rested up, for there are three more days to go, and no Jock or Dram to do the remaining distance for me.

 

I shall leave out, but just mention the two mile trek through mud we had to contend with at the top of Drumbuie. Fun for boys of all ages!

 

Bye for now

 

Gavin

 

 

“Did you do that for us?” asked the two walkers. “No”, I replied. “What you just saw was a genuine controlled crash”. 

 

The incident referred to happened on the steep slopes of a mountain between Glen Coe and Kinlochleven. I had been enjoying the descent, concentration at 100% as I picked my route through the rocks and ruts. Just prior to encountering the two gents making their way up the hill, the trail conditions changed suddenly. A rocky outcrop caused the track to drop and fade. The routing was now a matter of going wherever gravity dictated. My bodyweight shifted forward, too far forward for my liking. At the same time this was happening, I broke my concentration to assess the fact that the two walkers were suddenly in front and below my position. Brakes on, but to no avail.

The wheels were losing traction and the wet rock surface was not helping matters. I knew in an instant that measures would be needed to resolve the situation. I locked the back brake, causing the bike to slide out from underneath me. At the same time I was hastily unhinging my shoes from the cleated pedals and beginning to look at where I might disembark from the bike. Remember that this was all happening very quickly and on a steep rocky surface. Somehow I managed to drop the bike, leaping clear of the tubing, wheels, etc. and returned to earth on my feet, running. A few hops and skips later and I was stationary again, surveying what had just happened.

 

The walkers were surprised by my sudden dismount, and I doubt they had any inkling as to what had just happened. But once we had a chat and I explained the circumstances they were more much aware of the challenge that off-road cycling presents.

 

They made a comment about whether I planned to go far. I answered that I was busy riding from Land’s End to John O’ Groats, offroad. The response did my ego a whole lot of good. Phrases like, “complete nutter”, “wicked” and “good luck” all served to dust me off and get me back on my bike.

 

Over the course of the day I noticed how the moment my concentration went anywhere other than thinking about the immediate I became prone to small errors of judgement that resulted in wrong choices. Not sure what to infer from this in terms of life beyond cycling!

 

As for the day’s ride, we were driven to the starting point at the Glen Coe Ski Station. It was pouring with rain, cold and very windy. We rode along the road for a while in order to warm up, and then began our assault on the mountain pass above the Kings House Hotel. This would take us all the way to Kinlochleven and a welcome tea break at the Ice Factor, an indoor climbing centre complete with a squash court sized refrigerator that produces an ice wall for climbers to practice on. Paul, being the ice climbing type, did not want to leave the premises. Just before we reached Kinlochleven, Paul’s chain snapped. He freewheeled a mile or so downhill into the town where we then had the task of repairing the broken link.

 

Once we did get away we worked hard to regain altitude for the run into Fort William. It took a while, but did give us a good view of Glen Nevis. Tea again, and then shopping in the bike shop. Then we set off along the Great Glen Cycle Route for our final destination, Fort Augustus. It was 30 miles of Loch side cycling, and the terrain was very easy to contend with, bar a few steep uphill’s. We were also cycling alongside the Caledonian Canal, and I found it amusing to be pedalling alongside ocean going vessels.

 

Stuart was there to meet us at the campsite and we enjoyed a good vegetable pasta bake with rice pudding and apricots for dessert. Everyone was in bed by 10 p.m.

 

The promise of day 20 is that the going gets easier as we head towards JOG. Perhaps it will be an earlier end to the day than we have had thus far.

 

Gavin

An enormous day starting at 8 a.m. and finishing at 7.30 p.m. For most of the time we were either pedalling or pushing up very steep hills and across miles of forest track, in thick fog and relentless rain.

 

Only 2 miles into the journey we came to a sign stating “Route Closed, By Order, Unexploded Munitions have been found in the area”. We selected an alternative way to get to a point further up the track where we assumed it would be safe to continue on our original route. After negotiating a tough ascent through miles of forest track we came to a gate bearing the same message, albeit with the addition of an explanation that the munitions were unexploded 2nd world war mortars and that the area had been used as a mortar range for many years. The sign added that whilst we were not to enter, if we did so, it would be at our own risk.

 

With that bit of good news we slung our bikes straight over the chained gate and headed off along what appeared to be a well used track. A few hundred meters on the track had dwindled to a mark on the grass, and shortly after that it ended altogether. The mist had settled over us, but we had just enough time to get a compass bearing on a trig point set upon a distant hill. With that bearing dialled in we fought our way across open moorland (complete with hidden unexploded mortars of course) towards an invisible destination.

 

Occasionally we came upon burnt out circles in the peat, leaving the mind free to wonder if some poor sheep, or cyclist for that matter, had met with an unexpected demise. Treading with the grace and lightness of a royal ballet dancers the three clumsy men in tights pirouetted their way to safety.

 

Our stop for coffee at Knighton is worth blogging.

 

Arriving in the town we headed up a pedestrianised zone towards a sandwich bar. Once there we set up outside using the somewhat damp table and chairs plus umbrella.  Coffee and sandwiches were ordered and brought to us by a rather tipsy gent. Just as he began asking us about our cycling the rain started pelting down. “Fancy a flat” he asked.

 

Paul, who had just arrived after having gone to the library to check his emails, looked on with surprise, and sent a glare in the man’s direction, thinking that he was threatening violence towards our bikes. “A flat” the man reiterated, “we have one vacant downstairs should you wish to stop cycling and have a rest”.

 

Maybe not…

 

All in all a very big day and one that we paid the price for that night when we turned up at Much Wenlock.

 

The decision was that we would eat out. We found place at an Indian curry. Each of us were so hungry that we ordered way too much food.
Still, we managed to eat it all; and the walk back the campsite in total darkness.

 

I was like a zombie.

 

Nice one guys

 

Gavin

This morning we bounced out of the van into the rain and set off for the hills knowing that according to the designers of our route today is the last of the really long days. But, instead of riding the whole segment, Stuart met us at a lonely place on the side of Black Mountain and ushered us to Onich for a get-together with Eleanor and family.

 

They are caravanning there and invited us to a Haggis evening. Paul, being a vegetarian, will have something different, white pudding?!

 

As part of the day’s highlights we stopped in Crianlarich for tea at the railway station tearoom. Paul had last been there 10 or 20 years ago, and commented that, other than the waitresses, nothing had changed. The stop included a cheese toastie and a piece of carrot cake.

 

We needed the energy because it was only moments after we left the station tearoom that we met our new friend and companion for the remainder of the journey to JOG. This newcomer, The West Highland Way, will be the route we follow for most of the time we have left. Paul had preconceived ideas about the WHW, thinking that it would be steep and rocky. For the first few miles it was exactly that. Then things got better and the terrain under-wheel became altogether more rider friendly, excepting for a 10 km stretch of Drove Road made of cobbled stones. I was lucky enough to have rear suspension between me and the bumpy surface, but that did not make as much difference as I would have hoped for.

 

A further stop at Tyndrum saw us indulge in coffee and a share of a large plate of  vinegar soaked chips.

 

Then it was back to the trail and a wonderful stretch of downhill action that saw me riding very fast and furious. At the bottom of the hill we stopped for a sandwich and during the conversation realised that we had just passed the 1000 mile mark. A quick photo, and then back to the trail – that was the best we could manage by way of celebration. It’s hard to believe that a 1000 miles would be equivalent to cycling to Naples or the the far side of Poland.

 

I conserved my cycling energy for the final bit of the ride - up Black Mountain - and the bumpy descent to the White Corries Ski Centre.

We eventually met Stuart near there at around 3.45 p.m., the earliest time we have finished since the beginning of our adventure. We drove to the Mountain hut used by Paul (he is a member of the mountaineering club known as the Rucksack Club). It was located on Loch Leven and had spectacular views.

 

We were to have stayed there, but the invitation to Haggis and a camp pitch just over the road from Eleanor proved to be too strong an argument. Instead of the cosy luxury of the mountain hut we are once again sleeping in the campervan. Not that I am complaining at all - in fact I prefer sleeping on the same bed if possible. It seems to take me a night or two to get comfortable, and too many changes mean insomnia.

 

As I write this blog entry we are in the van awaiting the signal from Eleanor to go over to her caravan for dins. Outside it is absolutely pouring with rain, so much so that we cannot see the loch just a hundred metres from the van, never the mind the mountains surrounding it.

We are drinking a dram or two – Glenmorangie 10 year old whisky. We expect to be offered a few more wee drams in a few minutes time. Bad news, given that tomorrow morning we need to go back to do the section of mountain trail we dodged this afternoon.

 

Tomorrow, day 19, was meant to be an easy hill followed by a ride along the length of the Caledonian Canal to the beginning of Loch Ness. Now it is a large mountain climb, descent, followed by an easy hill, the canal, and a ride on the Loch Ness monster, alias, hangover.

Julian, Eleanor’s husband, has just swum over to tell us that dinner is 10 minutes away…  please pray!

 

(Postscript – The evening went well, lots of food consumed including fine Haggis and whisky and drambuie and pudding. We showed a selection of photos and video footage of the ride thus far. Thanks Eleanor and family!)

I am back in my bed in the van, ready to go to sleep.

 

Gavin 

 

BY THE WAY -  I have finally gotten around to realising that people are leaving comments – thanks to all of you – it was really enjoyable to read what you have said in response to what we are doing and for the humour, etc. I upload the blog using a mobile phone as my link to the internet and it is tedious and fairly expensive, hence my lack of reading your contributions. Nice one!

How long should it take to cycle a mile? Let me see… At 10 MPH I reckon around 6 minutes. 12 minutes at 5MPH.

It took us 60 minutes of full-scale physical exertion to cover the distance.

 

Our bikes were not ridden but pushed from one clump of moss to another. We were squelching through knee deep mud and water, wearing just cycling shoes and our lightweight shirts and lycra cycling shorts. It was a pine tree forest, Christmas trees to you and me, with their needle sharp leaves puncturing our arms, legs, and faces as branch after branch got in our way.

 

The track we were following had simply evaporated, making forward progress nearly impossible. To add to the challenge we were being hampered by a row of trees that had blown down and were now obstructing us from following our compass bearing.

 

I took some great video footage of the onslaught through the forest – hopefully you might get to see it at some point.

 

All this drama was happening just a short drive from Kilsyth were we had spent the night. Later on in the day we encountered another forest, and exactly the same conditions. It was becoming clear to us that Scottish ideas about bridleways were different to what we had expected.

 

By and by we were getting closer to the Lochs, and it was thrilling to see the signs for Loch Lomond. In Aberfoyle we enjoyed a Costa’s Coffee and I was pleased to be able to speak to my children by phone. Water ingress had badly affected my mobile over the past few days but it was beginning to function properly again.

 

Paul was uncertain about the conditions of the final 20 miles of forest that we needed to travel through, so he asked Tourist Information if they knew what the route would be like. They said it was a National Cycle Network track and that it was in good condition.

 

Sure enough, it was route 7, and we were soon notching up the mileage at a rate of knots, charging along the banks of Loch Drunkie and Loch Venachar. Just before we entered Callander, Martyn reported a loud clicking sound coming from his rear axle. I listened and said I reckoned it was a damaged ball bearing. We tried a bike shop in Callander but without it was closed. Martyn rode on and the sound eventually faded away.

 

We completed travelling along Loch Lubnaig and arrived at our campsite for the evening. Stuart whipped up a pasta dish with bean sauce and we feasted with gratitude. I helped Martyn with a repair to his rear wheel bearings – basically they had no grease left for lubrication. We  spent a fair part of the evening snipping the grass around our feet with scissors because one of the ball bearings dropped to the ground. It took quite a while before I spotted it. Never have two people celebrated so much at the re-discovery of a ball bearing.

 

All of a sudden I have realised that it’s late and I have some sleeping to do.

Good night

Gavin

Day 16 has come and gone. It did so on the back of day 15, our toughest so far, and therefore seems to have been less memorable than some. The reason has to do with exhaustion, we are tired people, the routine we live by is punishing and relentless.

 

We started the morning from the side of St. Mary’s Loch. It was a beautiful setting, but we were probably  not quite up to registering the beauty. I took a series of photos, and have admired the setting retrospectively.

 

The riding began with a series of climbs as we gained elevation in order to cross one range of hills and descend to a valley that we followed for quite a while. The terrain gradually flattened and became more boggy. Rain started by around 3 p.m. and it went on until we arrived at Kilsyth at around 7.30 p.m. In total we covered 70 miles.

 

We enjoyed tea and a scone at Broughton, and a cold drink and crisps in a pub in Forth. The last 10 miles were positively dangerous as we ended up using major A road motorways to get to our destination in Kilsyth, and the home of Jim and Christine Jones. Arriving we were surprised to see how tight a space Stuart had wedged the campervan. We hope it will be easy to extract tomorrow.

 

Dinner came in the form of a madras chicken curry and rice prepared by Stuart. It went down really well and was accompanied by some good wine. After supper we hoisted the bikes onto the roof of the van for fear that they might disappear over night.

 

Because it is raining, Paul has chosen to sleep in the host’s garage rather than outdoors as is his usual way. Tomorrow is, according to our route guide,  a fun day. We hope this is so as we want the final week to be one to remember…

 

Gavin

This is got have been the toughest day we have had so far. We started at 9.15 a.m. and finished at 10.30 p.m. in total darkness. It was a 77 mile journey, of which we must have pushed the bikes across at least 7 miles of very difficult terrain, including large tracts of forest and bog.

 

Whilst we were on target in terms of the being on the route, following the correct bearings, the track itself was either missing or totally overgrown. As a result we used creativity, jumping fences, clambering down small cliffs, and wading through rivers. Try it with a bicycle sometime!

 

Our concern throughout the long times spent in the forest stemmed from the real possibility of getting lost in the vast tracts of pine plantation. It also stemmed from the fact that we were very close to some or other military installation. A Jaguar fighter jet was in the air overhead for hours, not to do with us of course, but it did add to the sense of being where we might not be welcome.

 

Personally speaking, the day had a painful intrusion, namely, a wasp in my shirt. The creature only managed to deliver a single stinger (air to ground missile) before it was eliminated with a sam (ground to air missile)-ack. The ache lasted for a disproportionately long time and was located underneath my right armpit, a sensitive spot for most.

 

At around 6 p.m. we knew we would have a late night, given that there was still a long way to go and plenty of awkward terrain in the way. As such we re-routed and opted to make up time with a bit of road work. We stopped at a cottage in the forest and asked the somewhat surprised family for a map of the area. The maps we carry show quite a bit of our surroundings, but they are strip maps and we needed a bigger picture. Map supplied, we had a quick look at how we could speed up our journey. We managed to reduce the journey from 30 to 20 miles and took note of some short cuts recommended by our new friends.

 

The night arrived after a truly stunning sunset. We cycled in darkness until we couldn't see a thing anymore, the idea being that we should conserve the battery life of our lighting systems in case they were needed for a longer spell than we initially anticipated. Cycling through remote countryside in darkness and with wet cold feet, legs, etc. is not something I ordinarily suggest as a way of having fun.

 

We came to the final 5 miles, to be ridden off-road over a hill and then a final descent to Tibby Shiels Inn and our campervan. Lights went on as we navigated the track, earlier described by our forest friends as being something only to be driven along by landrover or similar 4x4.

The descent was interesting, with the three of us bunching up so that we could pool our light. Sheep could be seen scattering up ahead, white blobs moving before our eyes. The track was less trouble than we expected, and we were soon at the bottom and alongside St. Mary’s Loch.

 

A welcome from Stuart and a massive meal, bangers and mash, onion sauce and finished off with rice pudding and apricots. We showered quickly then crashed out, conscious that within a few hours we would need to be back in the saddle to tackle day 16, described as a very long and tough day.

 

Gavin

I will remember this day for the stress it held in store for me.

 

Yesterday I took a decision to replace my bike chain with a new one after discovering a bent section. The risk in making this replacement was that new chains and old chain rings (gears) don’t always work well together. If I just replaced a section of the existing chain I could have ended up with another failure because the chain was on its last legs. I made the replacement and after a short test felt that it might be OK for day 14. But once we headed out into the hills the chain started causing problems. It skipped over the gears, making forward motion nearly impossible.

 

I tried to contact our campervan driver to see if he could pick up spares at a bike shop in Penrith. However we could not make contact. So after a discussion we decided to make a big detour by cycling to Penrith by road. Before we could do so we had to wade across a deep river, find our way through a field of corn and jump a few fences and walls. Once on the tarmac we set off in a hurry. My bike worked reasonably well in the top gears so I was able to do a good speed. However after 10 miles we were slowed to a standstill by roadworks.

 

I noticed a car stopped just ahead of me – it had a bike carrier on the back and two bikes. I spotted that there was room for a third bike.
I motioned to the driver and he opened his window. I quickly explained the problem and asked if he was en-route to Penrith. “Sorry mate, we aren't going that way” was the answer. The window went back up. I left it at that, but out of the corner of my eye saw that a conversation was going on between the driver and his companion. After a while the window opened again. “We’ll give you a lift, meet us us in the next lay-by”.

 

I was only too happy to take up the offer because it meant I could get ahead of Paul and Martyn and in so doing reduce the delay in us getting back on track. The couple met me just after the roadworks and my bike was quickly affixed to the carrier. Once inside the vehicle I explained the problem and also said what we were doing, i.e. cycling to John O’ Groats. The driver asked me what I did for a living and I explained that I was a minister. At this point the female passenger spun around and exclaimed in a strong American accent that her dad was a Presbyterian minister in Tennessee. The driver hinted that he was pleased to be doing a Good Samaritan deed for the day. I was really pleased that I had asked for their help, and to involve them further I passed on the blog address so that they could find out more about our adventure. Thank You!

 

Once in Penrith I asked two young lads on bikes if they could tell me where the best bike shop in town could be found. They gave me directions and I wasted no time in getting to Arragon, the name of the shop. The mechanics there were sympathetic to my plight and made plans to get me back on my bike. Whilst they worked at the problem I was joined by Martyn and Paul and we headed off for a coffee. Later we returned to the shop and purchased items that we have needed to get hold of over the past few days.

 

Bike back together and with new components in place, we set off for Halt Whistle, our evening destination. The ride back was spectacular, looking out as we did across to the mountains of the Lake District. Our journey included a steep climb to 1900 ft. Once at our campsite for the night I spent over two hours fine tuning my bike and servicing the rear shock absorber. We had a super meal prepared by Stuart, and then there was just time for a shower and the 10 p.m. news/weather.

 

All are tucked up and asleep, and now it’s my turn.

 

Tomorrow we head off into Scotland!

Gavin

A normal start to the day…

 

6.30 am
Stuart starts shuffling around in the campervan, switches the kettle on, leans out of the van to say good morning to Paul, who is asleep outside.

 

6.35 am
Stuart hands out cups of tea to the squad

 

6.40 am
Stuart starts agitating us into deciding what we want for breakfast. On offer are cereals, porridge, eggs, bacon, toast, jam. Once we decide he then sets off arranging the table and making the breakfast.

 

7 am
We eat

 

7.15 am
We begin making our sandwiches for the day and collect energy bars from our supply cupboard. Stuart in the mean time is cleaning up the aftermath of breakfast.

 

7.30 am
Our morning bike maintenance routine begins. This involves cleaning the bikes and oiling chains. Any other repairs that were not completed the night before are attacked with fresh vigour.

 

8.15 am
We are still milling around doing maintenance jobs and making sandwiches. Stuart is making hints that we ought to get a move on. He does this by beginning to dismantle the campervan awning.

 

8.30 am
Our water and energy drinks are mixed and our Camelbak backpacks topped up to the brim.

 

8.45 am
Everyone is more or less ready to go. Stuart may ask for assistance in manoeuvring the van off its levelling chocks and possibly out of the car park.

 

9 am
We set off on our ride

On day 13, with a hint of superstition in the air we set off at 9 am, our usual departure time. Prior to that, during the maintenance period I undertook some slightly tricky servicing work to my bike’s front shock absorbers. They needed an oil top-up and I had to figure a safe way to achieve this. Using a bit of plastic tube and a bit of siphoning I managed to get the job done.

 

We set off from our accommodation in Austwick and made our own way out of the valley and in the direction of our first coffee stop. This took place at a tiny caravan parked up on a road corner in the middle of nowhere. An egg and bacon sandwich energised us for the second long hill climb of the day. From there we made our way to the summit of the high limestone hills of the Westmoreland region. It was a tricky ascent and included a video shoot of Paul trying to cross a stream and then pedal to the top of the steep embankment. He succeeded, but only just.

 

Riding the top path along the limestone ridges gave us a chance to admire beautiful views of the North Yorkshire Dales.

I will forever remember the harsh descent into Hawes, down a track that was comprised of large loose rocks, and nothing else. My bike’s suspension was tested to the limit, and I enjoyed the challenge of bumping my way down the track. But at one stage it became impossible to do this any longer. Just walking on the rocks was difficult enough. After clearing the bad section I thrilled at the high speed race down to the bottom of the hill, given that the path was tricky, had speed humps (jumps in cycling terms) of a sort, and sharp corners. All a boy could want for!

 

The ride out of Hawes could be described as hell on earth. Years of destructive trail motorcycling up the steep slopes made our route hard going, lots of ruts to contend with, etc. We were pushing our bikes for most of the 1000ft climb, and in the end literally had to scramble to the top whilst dragging the bikes behind us. Great fun but a tad tiring on the thighs.

 

The ride ended at the village of Sandford, where we were met and accommodated by Keith and Gwyneth, whose son David lives in Tadley.

The shower was luxurious, but I did notice that it struggled to empty after the three cyclists had cleaned up. Too much mud and branches for it to cope with I guess.

 

Supper, well, simply the best. Gwyneth owned up to having spent the day preparing for our arrival – and what a feast it was. Who says cycling is good for you, because after my third helping of pudding I did not feel healthy at all!

 

Whilst cleaning my bike just prior to supper I noticed that one of my chain links was bent. The tough decision has been whether to bend it back into shape, and risk the chain breaking out in the wildnerness, or to replace the chain with the spare we carry in the van. This has a risk attached because chains and gears wear together and so when a new component is introduced it can lead to problems such as the chain skipping over the gear teeth at a critical moment.

 

I opted for the new chain and will just have to see whether it plays up whilst we are on the hills.

 

More tomorrow, and hopefully we will yet find another broadband connection so that we can upload the photos. There are over 350 of them and they are ready to be uploaded.

 

Thanks for reading the blog - we hear that it is quite popular!

 

Gavin

Gavin

 

Standing in the shower at Austwick, where we ended our day of riding, I mused to myself – what on earth am I doing voluntarily allowing yet more water to fall onto my already drenched persona?

 

I chose August for LEJOG because it was meant to be summer, with warmth and sunshine, even if just every second day. Instead we have had 5 days of rain, often torrential, so that the rivers we cross are full or overflowing. Where is the drought? Are the water companies harnessing the downpours?

 

Each day we pass by a few reservoirs, and although they are not completely full it does seem that there are quite a few gallons available.

 

Look at me, complaining about the weather and the water. I must be getting old. A fact that is confirmed when I look in the mirror and notice the tiredness that has beset my body. In fact we all appear at least to have aged considerably since our start at Land’s End 12 days ago. Wow, nearly two whole weeks of cycling.

 

We celebrated the half way point at midday today, half way in the sense that we have 11.5 days behind us. The celebration took place alongside a north Yorkshire canal and involved a very quick pat on the back for each rider. We did not have time for partying, given the rain and the long distance still to cover before nightfall.

 

Highlights of the day, well, probably the many miles spent on the Pennine bridleways, and of course my high speed descent into the town of Colne (42.4 MPH compared to my highest LEJOG speed of 44.8 MPH set on a road in Wales). Some bloke in a Mondeo ST overtook us at the top of the hill in a showing off sort of a way. It pushed my button so to speak, and so I decided to loom in his rearview mirror. Residents were rushing to bring their children off the street as we hurtled by, locked in a tussle for the fastest wheels in town. I resisted the temptation to overtake him, but I think that if the hill was a further 400 meters long I would have done so with ease :-)

 

Not sure if I have guessed it right, but it seemed to all of us that not much happens in the village of Gargrave, a place we passed through. The name kind of says it all, but at least we got a coffee in the pub and the waitresses were friendly, although I did catch one taking a peek at our lycra clad legs. Not sure if she was having a giggle at the men in tights or admiring our lithesome limbs.

 

It’s true to say that our figures are improving, waistlines diminishing, muscles developing, and so on. There is already discussion in the camp regarding life after LEJOG. How will we cope with suburbia and with free access to our kitchens, tv, etc. What sort of bike rides will we consider, given that a two hour trip now sounds like a joke. Two hours - what’s the point of that?

 

As I write so the lads are all sitting around in the campervan. It’s 9.30 p.m. Martyn is on the phone to his beloved, telling her about his fall, ripped clothing, cuts and bruises, etc. Paul is reading a counselling journal article, Stuart is engrossed in his book, and I am preparing this entry for the blog, followed by some photos to be uploaded to the website.

 

Tomorrow is reportedly a hard day, with hills (which day has not included hills I ask?!) and bog. Given the rain I think it will be more than bog.

 

Roll on day 13, and may it be a lucky one – please…

 

Gavin

Day 11 will be remembered for the way it made our legs feel on the morning of day 12. On our journey to Hebden Bridge we covered 50 miles of Pennine bridleway and 7000 ft of climbing. Add torrential rain and once again you have a recipe for a veritable mudbath. Of particular challenge were the thousands of stone slabs we had to bounce across as we trundled up and pelted down the many hills in our way.

 

These stone slabs appear to have been laid many years ago, given the depth of the indentations in them created by horse hooves. The slabs have a groove running through the centre line, a groove that made cycling a real challenge. Our tyres had to be kept pointed in a very straight line lest we clipped the raised edges and found ourselves heading for the peat bog. This style of cycling has its effect on the upper body, a wrestling match of sorts, particularly when going uphill when the need for a good sense of balance is required.

 

Prior to setting off from Thurlestone I had the task of replacing a cable on my bike – a nervous moment given that it required some technical competence. I am entirely self taught when it comes to bike maintenance, and now I had an audience of visitors and fellow cyclists watching on as I did the deed. Safe to say that within half an hour I had the sweetest gear changes of the day. That said, it would probably have taken a bike mechanic 5 minutes to do the same job. Upon inspection at the end of the day I noticed one or two small errors in the way I routed the cable, but hey, it worked when it needed to!

 

Surreal as it may seem, we are camping in the middle of Hebden Bridge. I understand that this place has a cult like status for all things arty, retro, and alternative, but I am not sure if we quite fit that genre. We aren’t hippies or anything like that; it’s just that our campervan is located in the centrally situated Methodist Church car park.

 

The church does not have a shower facility so we had to do a quick mud removal bath standing in a bucket in the middle of the car park. Then it was time for a standing wash using the basin in the Gents.

 

After a great meal it was time for a farewell, saying goodbye to Bob Bending who had ridden with us for two days. He set off to stay at a local B&B. Paul and I took a quick stroll through the town and then everyone headed for their pillows. Overnight the rain has thundered down and day 12 looks set to be another swimming adventure.

 

Crucially, at lunch time, we reach the halfway point in our 23 day journey. Not sure how we will celebrate given that a bottle of bubbly weighs too much to lug along. I suspect it will be a quiet moment, one of personal reflection.

 

Cheers

 

Gavin

Fenny Bentley – ever heard of the place? Fancy then that in this ‘out of the way’ place we should end up having the most social day of the ride thus far.

 

Punctuated with entrée’s and departures, friends joined us for part of the ride or for the meal afterwards. First up was Bob Bending, resident of Tadley and very keen cyclist. Bob had cycled to Reading station, caught the train to Uttoxeter (£14 return?!) and then cycled to FB where he lodged at a local Inn.

 

Apparently the three pints of Black Sheep he imbibed there were to blame for his inability to thrash us on the uphill sections of day 10. I like to think that the reason was more to do with our 10 day head-start, cycling all day, thus developing ‘black sheep’ hill climbing capacities.

Next guest to arrive was Pete, mountaineering friend of Paul.

 

Pete turned up with a hybrid bike - slightly narrow tires - which left me worrying as to whether there would be problems early on into the ride. However we ended up cycling along a very reasonable section of converted railway track, making the journey a pleasure. Once we got to the rougher sections of trail Pete’s thin tires enabled him to cut through the mud with ease.

 

Pete left us at Tidewell where we had stopped for a coffee. He came out of the pub with a pint and drew our attention to the fish and chip shop across the road, the next stop on his travels. We left him at the pub and headed off for the Ladybower Reservoir and the notorious Cut Gate section of the trail.

 

Yes, it was a tough climb to the top of the hills, and yes we were being pelted with huge raindrops all the way. But all that was worth the effort when it came to the decent to Thurlstone. What a buzz! I thrilled at the opportunity to ride like a demonised maniac. At the bottom of the decent it was necessary for an exorcism -  dutifully carried out by Paul when he raced me to our endpoint. My legs burned out, energy evaporated, and all was at peace.

 

We had a surreal meeting with two of Paul’s friends on the last section of the trail, they were there waiting in the mist for our arrival. Later in the evening Paul left to spend the night at their place.

 

We finished our bike cleaning ceremonies and then welcomed Alyson and David Ensom who had travelled from Tadley to visit us. They were asked to collect various bits of equipment at Pedalon for us, so their arrival was doubly welcomed.

 

We were treated to a brilliant meal at The Mustard Pot, where a black sheep or two found their way onto the table.

Hebden Bridge is next on the menu – apparently a hard day of ups and downs.

Gavin

“Today, the coffee breaks will be our saving grace”, an approximate quote of Paul as we were munching our breakfast. He had re-studied the maps, and calculated the distance to travel. The number 60 kept coming up, and as this was the mileage we would need to cover I began to see the logic in his comment about coffee.

 

60 miles ordinarily would not make endurance cyclists blink, but now that we have ridden our limbs to oblivion anything above 10 miles seems like an epic.

 

Day 9 turned out to be a day of stark contrasts. There was the contrast between being on the bike versus being in the coffee bar. There was also the contrast between the rain and sunshine.

 

We spent the first part of the day absolutely soaked, the heavens once again taking the mickey. Most of the cycling was on tarmac, albeit on the small B roads that crisscross the land. The offroading looked to be easy, a trundle along The Way of The Millenium, a converted railway line that would take us to Stafford.

 

In our experience the Millennium looks to be doomed, given that the railway line was nothing more than a totally overgrown mess. Unbelievably, our tax money seems to have been used to refurbish this bit of track, but with stone chippings that are far too large to permit forward travel on a bike, no matter the gear.

 

Prior to the Millennium we made a navigational error at one stage and ended up having to make our own way across a newly ploughed field. The bikes became so bunged up that the only choice was to push.

 

Later on in the day we hit another stretch of mud - the chocolate icing on the top of the cycling cake. The only option was to find a petrol station with a jet wash facility. The bikes duly cleaned, we turned the jet wash on ourselves, much to the amusement of the fuel purchasing public.

 

Arriving in Ashbourne we cycled up a huge hill, drawing a snide comment about “three fitness fanatics going past in one day” from a rather large member of the public working in his garden.

 

Our final destination was the homestead of Robert and Claire, their two children and their three goats. A stunning location, their garden provided wonderful views over the distant hills. Shortly after we arrived a number of guests turned up and the BBQ was started. All this was unexpected, but much appreciated.

 

A great evening in the farmhouse kitchen and finally a good kip in the van. My legs are itching something chronic, the remnants of the bramble thorns still making their way to the surface.

Tomorrow we leave for the Peak District...

 

Gavin

 

Still to be typed up - but you will get to see it sometime! PS  Earache now a thing of the past

This morning I awoke at 4.05 a.m. to a sound, something like you might hear on medium wave as you dial through the frequencies. It was a high pitched sound, a whistle of a sort. I think it is most often experienced as tinnitus. My right ear was hot and bothered, I suspect the result of an inner ear infection (ugh). Try as I might it was impossible to escape the hum, and so I endured it until I finally nodded off again for a further hour of shut-eye.

When it was time to get up I admitted to myself for the first time that the novelty of LEJOG had finally worn off. My body was in rebellion after a punishing regime of constant exercise for up to 11 hours at a time. Morale had begun to dip a bit lower than I would like. Later in the day Paul independently said the same thing, namely, that he was beginning to count the cost and that he sensed a lowness settling upon his shoulders. However, by the end of the day we were both feeling much better, purpose and resolve reinstated because of a great day outdoors.

 So it seems I have a cold - or something similar, with ear-ache as a symptom. Surely this is a condition that Ibuprofen can sort out in a jiffy. Two down the hatch and then quickly into my lycra again.

Why the hurry? Simply put, because my bike was lying outside in a heap. Last night I started working on my front derailleur, but with the light fading, and my eyes shutting, I had given up the job and retired to my bed. My hope was that in the morning I would discover that the problem with the bike would have sorted itself out in my head whilst I was asleep. Hence the ringing ear I suspect!

A deft touch or two and the gear changes were back on top form, and I had learnt about the value of sleeping on a problem.

 During my early morning slumber I overheard the sound of rain drops on the roof of the van, i.e. 20cm from where my face was located. My good ear still functions, and it alerted me to the problem we would face later in the day.

By the time we had left the campsite and headed up the first hill the heavens were doing their best to drown us. The rain came down by the gallon, forcing us to stop and dive into our waterproof jackets and booties (waterproofs for cycling shoes). With our wetsuits on we returned to the task at hand, a 7 mile ascent to a beautiful reservoir located very high in the mountains. We had to walk part of the way because of the slippery terrain. Thankfully the weather cleared quite quickly once we reached the top.

After we cleared the reservoir the next challenge was to go back down into the valley on the other side of the mountains.  

Wild is not the word for the condition of the track and the steepness of the descent. Halfway down Paul suddenly said, time for a route diversion. With that he popped over a stile and headed off down an extremely steep slope. It was the official route we were supposed to be following, but when we had ridden the route in April as a practice run we agreed that the official route was not the safest way to go. But here we were, doing the official route, and taking an exhilarating risk by heading off down the side. Paul managed 30 meters or so before he took a tumble and a roll down the hill. 40 paces down the grass slope he popped to his feet and made a swift recovery of his bike and his composure. Martyn and I followed, thankfully without a tumble, and once at the bottom of the hill we looked back and felt pleased that we had taken the gamble. It was fun, and apart from a potential slip and bump down a grassy slope there was not actually much else that could have happened to us if we had made a mistake.

We arrived at Hay-On-Wye at 1 p.m. and enjoyed a coffee and cake at The Granary. Meal over, the riding began again as we made our way towards our destination for the night, a campsite at New Radnor. A highlight of the afternoon revolved around being off course in a very isolated part of the hills. Using our now sharpened navigational skills we worked hard to get back on track. The solution to our problem included a free-ride across heather and moss covered terrain, making our own path in a northerly direction until such times as we crossed the official route again.

That moment came along at Maun Pools, and after that it was fairly straightforward travelling to the campervan.

We are the only people at the site, it has only recently opened and therefore missed the August holiday rush. It’s greatest asset, to my mind, is the newly built shower unit. The shower’s best feature is the absence of a water limiter, those goodies they fit to public showers to stop us from enjoying uninterrupted supply. The shower was so good that I spent an extra 5 minutes soaking up the warmth of the water.

As I write this entry, Paul is asleep outside under the awning. Stuart and Martyn are to my right, watching Gordon Ramsay on the Telly. It is just about past my bedtime and I have to dig out the Ibu’s. My hope is that they will sufficiently deaden the sound in my ear so that I get a decent night’s sleep.

Tomorrow we head towards Derby, but won’t be there for a while yet.

Gavin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gavin