There's hills in Cornwall see!

The train arrived late into Penzance by nearly 50 minutes and by the time I had changed it was nearly18:30 before I got on the road.

Immediately confronted by a hill, since there's no way out of these seaside towns without one, I was and have been ever since, grateful to Andrew at Mr Cycle for his sage advice on gearing. To put it mildly, the previous advice I had been given was either for super-humans, or from someone who had never spent a whole day dragging a fully laden mtb up hills. The 'granny ring and small front sprocket allowed me to crawl up the hills at about 4 mph, but move I did. I have yet to get off my bike to walk. Long may it stay that way.

Lands End was all but desserted but for this crowd of students and their teacher, and shortly after a woman and her son, whom had just arrived from John O'Groats, exclaiming as they did...'never again!' So there's another reason for doing lejog rather than jogle; you don't end with the Cornish hills of doom.

You may have noticed the lack of sign markers. Well the official sign is owned by a private photographer and when he goes home, he takes the signage with him to stop people like me ripping him off. Fair enough.

Determined to enjoy said hills I plough out 19.5 miles before eventually finding a sheltered spot behind a Cornish hedge and amongst a young willow plantation. Wild camping cannot be equalled, but please make sure that you leave evrything exactly as you found it.

Exhausted but excited to at last be on the way, I collapsed into my faithful old bag and dropped off to sleep.