Epilogue

Now on the train to Edinburgh with the sun cooking me through the window, I look forward to being home again. Ofcourse I know that I shall find another challenge, but I have better and bigger things to focus on for the next few years.

In 6 weeks, if on time, the arrival of a new Bakewell has us nervously excited about which it will be. We are still hunting for boys names, so if you have any ideas that preferrably have no reference to ears, then we are....all ears.

I set out on this journey with the intention of facing the challenge alone. Richard, my cousin was right to have picked up on this, but my offer to him to join me was no less genuine. Having you along Rich would have been no compromise. I cannot think of more than than a small handful of people that I would have done this journey with and he is definately at the top of that list.

For those of you who would regard such a trip as difficult or beyond you, be encouraged to believe in your own ability and resourcefulness. The key is choosing where you set your goals, both interms of your daily mileage and the obstacles that you choose to put in the way on route.

Finding the time is obviously an issue for most people, but these things will always be there for you to enjoy beyond your working years and you would certainly not be the first 'pensioner' to take on cycle touring.

More importantly, however, you never undertake such a journey 'on your own', Behind every amazing opportunity such as this there is a long list of people who make it possible. Bear with me while I try to name a few. Forgive me if I forget some in my first draft, but I will endeavour to make it a complete list in the end.

I would like to thank Andrew Morris a long time friend and someone who will always find time to help you if he can. Through his business 'Mr Cycle' and knowledge of bikes, I ended up with a workhorse fit for purpose. I shall be endlessly grateful for his wisdom in including the 'granny ring.' No hill beat me.

I would like to thank the Samaritans in Ipswich and Bury St Edmunds for turning out in extremely cold February weather. It is one thing to cycle on a turbo trainer for 6 hours, but something else entirely to stand in the cold to support the cause. A sign of dedication of the highest order.

Thank you particularly to the Samaritans of Norwich and in particular Heather and Carol for supporting me from the beginning. For buying into the schemes that I came up with for reaching my fund-raising target and for turning out on three occasions in Norwich City centre to raise the profile and funds for your branch. I hope that it will have proven beneficial to our community.

Thanks to the local government licencing departments in Norwich, Ipswich and Bury, to Chapelfields, The Castle Mall and The Forum for allowing us into your space and to the people of those three cities/towns for your generosity.

Thanks to Kim for looking after the chickens and to Gill for sorting out my leave from work. To all my sponsors online and to the blog contributors along the way.

Thanks too to Christine for bringing Lizzie and Anna to the Lakes so that they could climb Scafell with me and for having Caber to give Laura a break from dog walking.

To all of those of you who showed enormous kindness over the last three weeks, thank you. I only paid for two campsites, had a free haircut in Inverness, free coffee and flapjack in Dolgellau, free bike repair in Dolgellau and Dingwall, sponsorship from passersby and an extremely welcome comfortable night courtesy of Alex and Christine in Cumnock. Spontaneous generosity speaks volumes about you all and made the journey what it was, a truly memorable one.

Thank you to Lizzie, Anna and George for your love and support. I look forward to sharing my stories with you and all the other photos.

Laura, thank you for your faith in me, your willingness to allow me to fulfill this ambition and for your taking on the journey to north Wales so that I could see you and George at the top of Snowdon. I hope that the last three weeks have shown you what I already knew about your strength and resourcefulness. Looking after George on your own was alot harder than cycling a bike. Trust me.

Finally to Grandma, Uncle George, Auntie Diane, Richard, Dorothy and your families and to Matthew, it has been a huge privilage to complete this journey in William's name.

Tale of the Ancient Mariner (and the creaky crank.)

I don't think that this will last, but I'll give it a go. I'm now on a minibus with the bike in a trailer out back. Scotrail failed to deliver. Strangely I had a premonition that this would happen.

As I alluded to earlier, I woke to the sound of rain on the tent and prepared myself for my first real day of cycling in the rain. Booted and spurred I tackled the first of the remaining hills between me and John O'Groats. I had been told that past Dounreay things flattened out a bit, which was good because the wind had changed direction from northerly to a strong south easterly that at times made cycling downhill hard work.

Incidentally I note that in my journey through Britains unspoilt countryside, I have just passed my third nuclear power station. Trawsfynydd, Sellafield and now Dounreay.

It was difficult to take in the scenery with sheets of spray and drizzle blasting my face so I determined to get my head down and chew up the 17 miles to Thurso, that being about half way to my eventual goal.

In Thurso I stopped for the inevitable coffee and added in deference to the cold wet weather, a bowl of soup and a roll. A number of other cyclists passed through the town as I sat huddled in the window tapping on my keyboard. You get to see a lot more of them as we all converge from various different routes toward the same point. The Carbisdale three were not amongst them however, and I wondered whether or not we would catch up again. They had spent the night in Tonge and were therefore a good 10 miles further west than I was at the start of the day.

Northern Scotland is surprisingly like Cornwall from a cycling perspective as the roads weave their way between headlands, with the inevitable rollercoaster feel to the terrain. I tried to pick out the various headlands to the east to mark my position on the map and could easily see Dunnet Head, mainland Britains most northerly point. You would think after covering so many miles a day that it would be easy enough to find it within me to make the 9 mile detour to take in the view, but the weariness of 3 weeks on the road was beginning to sap my energy and I passed it by to the left.

Between Dunnet Head and John O'Groats my mind wandered to the writing of the last blog entry and the epilogue that would contain the inevitable long list of thank yous. My thoughts centered for a while on William and was glad of the rain that washed my face. I have dedicated this cycle to him and his family.

Shortly after the rain began to ease and I realised that the creaky crank was creaky no more. The Albatross had fallen from the ancient mariner's neck. I have absolutely no idea why and it remains silent now after another 25 miles of hard graft. Ahead of me I could see the lighthouse of Duncansby Head, the most north westerly point of the mainland and I resolved after the photo and the signpost, to cycle these 2 miles to ensure that I had really gone, End to End.

For those of you that have encouraged me along the way and occasionally profered the suggestion that I might be slightly deranged, spare a thought for Mike, whom I passed and then met again in the bar. He was on day 41 of his walk aorund the circumference of Scotland! While we sat and chatted the Carbisdale Three arrived and we celebrated some more.

At 6pm I dragged myself out into the stiff southerly breeze and began to hawl myself south toward Wick and the end of the journey. There is always a surprise around every corner however if you keep your eyes open. There were castles and seascapes and new horizons and then this stroke of luck.

As I crossed a road bridge, casting my eyes for the signs of fish, I saw a swirl in the water. I stopped to investigate the possibility of trout and thinking that what I was looking at was the tail of a dabbling duck, waited for its head to surface so that I could identify it. To my delight I realised that what I was looking at was the head of an Otter. Unaware that I was there, he swam and fished moving all the time in my direction. I skipped across the bridge and waited for him to reappear. My parting photo for you. The Otter munching on supper. What a day.

Epilogue to follow.

The longest downhill

I have woken this morning with a very timely reminder that I have been extremely fortunate with regards the weather. The sound of rain on the tent heralds the distinct possibility of a days cycling in the wet. I do at least hold one more card up my sleeve.

Since I have earnt the right to stay put for awhile by getting ahead of myself, I have the option of going back to sleep to see wether or not things change in an hour or two. That said, the rain doesn't bother me particularly. I am able to pack up entirely in the dry, with only the flysheet to put in a plastic bag once it's packed away. After that it's just a case of getting your head down until the next coffee shop.

There is ofcourse situation C. I have pitched my tent in a hollow, which though sheltered from the wind, could also become a lake if a wait too long and it rains too hard. Now that would not be fun.

So, yesterday I left my second castle after a provided youth hostel breakfast. Nothing on the full fried that we had in Snowdonia, but good enough. I have never yet quite understood the continental equivelant that marries cold ham, cheese and a croissant, but I ate it anyway.

It is now throwing it down. I'm getting the flippers ready. Infact I am going to pack so that I am ready to vacate if I have to. Back soon. I'll leave you with a picture of the statue room in this hostel.
After leaving the hostel I took to the back roads again, heading for the Falls of Shin. Given the tourist attraction of these places, it is no surprise to find a huge bus coming around the corner on these tiny roads. Yet it is always a surprise and a cause for evasive action. Your mind tends to wander in places like this and there have been many roads when I haven't seen a car for twenty minutes or so.


From Shin to Lairg, (now there's a good Scottish name.) The road from here climbs gently upwards following the Strath Tirry watercourse. There was no obvious sense that I was climbing hard, nor even that up was the predominant movement. Indeed at about mid-day I stopped by a small river that passed beneath the road and relaxed over porridge.

For the doubters I even prove here that all things are possible in an emergency. My little survival kit and box of trout flies being given a stern test by this whopper! (Panic not he grows on.

Up here in the vast expanse of the Sutherland uplands I felt briefly that I could have stayed. Of course I couldn't really, but this was countryside like no other I had been through. The size and expanse of the views were breathtaking, the quiet soothing and the beauty inspirational.

There will always be those who do live out that dream and the owner of the Crask Inn, high up here in the hills is one. A one time shepherd and farm manager in Aberdeenshire, he and his wife now own the grazing rights to the surrounding fields where he keeps 300 or so ewes and 30 - 40 beef cattle. He is also a slightly reluctant pub landlord, for which I was very grateful.

There a couple of guys sat outside reading and having lunch. Previous cycling tourers, one now debilitated by motor neuron disease, they came back here so that he could give his wife a break and he could recharge on scenery.

The Carbisdale three pitched up as I finished my drink and we caught up again before I hit the road. My appetite wetted by the thought of a 9 mile downhill.




The longest downhill required just the slightest pedal to boost you across the odd flat section, but nothing more. In no time I was in Altnaharra and diverting right along the north shore of Loch Naver. The pictures are of the views that I took in as I coasted down the hill.

From Altnaharra I took the road fork in the road that followed the north shore of Loch Naver. This was predominantly downhill too so I continued to enjoy the view. There is a downside to coasting though. Believe it or not, your legs seize up incredibly quickly when you stop using them and even the slightest uphill can appear unusually difficult for the first little while.

The bottom of the Loch is the beginning of the River Naver, reputed to be one of the premier salmon rivers in Scotland. It certainly looks like it. There were relatively few people fishing, which is either testament to its isolation or exorbitant cost. I'd like to think that it was the former. For me as I meandered alongside its gentle decent to the sea, it proved a perfect accompaniment to a relaxing day......so far.


As I reached the rivers final turns I started to look for a place to set up camp but was surprised to find that wild camping is hard to come by up here. Every spare piece of flat ground is farmed with sheep or cattle. I was suffering from a misguided image of Scotland as a wild and inhospitable land. It is ofcourse in places, but as with anywhere else in the island, someone owns it and if it can be farmed, it will be.


At about 6pm I reached the north Scottish coastline. At Bettyhill I raided the village department store, promptly consuming my purchases in a few minutes. The only thing left now was to find a bed for the night.


Two hours later I finally stumbled across a campsite in Melvich. Was I grateful. 75 miles to the good, I was ready for supper and bed.

Making a friend of a creaky crank!

What a strange day this turned out to be, Changeable in so many ways. I tried hard to take it easy, to let the day pass by as it happened. There was no particular hurry to get to anywhere since I was ahead by 75 miles from yesterday. As long as I managed to keep ahead by some amount, then my last day should be a relaxed one.

So, I stayed in bed an extra hour, ate a big breakfast before I left and sauntered into town to write my blog. I caught up with most of it and continued out of town picking up the very end of the Caledonian Canal as it spilt out into the Beauly Firth.

The A862 which skirts around the south of the firth passes first through Beauly before reaching Muir of Ord, my original destination for today. By this stage though I had a problem and it was beginning to get to me.

Earlier in the trip I had managed to tighten the pedal cranks to stop the developing creak, but now that wasn't working. Trust me a creak each time you turn the pedals can become annoying very quickly. In Dingwall, the next town of size I hunted out a cyclle shop, Dryburgh Cycles, who kindly took the bike in, took the pedals off, greased the crank and put the bike back together...for nothing.

Only problem is, it didn't solve the problem. Instead I tried to adopt the same policy to the creak that it is possible to do to chronic pain. Make it your friend, not your enemy, otherwise it will destroy mentally in no time at all. So the creak became part of the bikes character and I learnt to live with it.

So by mid-day I was now only 5 miles beyond where I was supposed to have been at the end of the day and my hard earnt advantage was slipping away. As luck would have it, I bumped into David, Tanya and Daniel who like me were also heading north to John O'Groats and I discovered from them that there was a youth hostel at Carbisdale Castle. Now that sounded like a good incentive to cover a few miles. But what a few miles they turned out to be.

For the first time on this trip the weather looked set to conspire against me. Sheets of driven sleet and hail crossed the sides of the valley. At first I seem blessed as they went by on either side, but eventually my luck ran out and I ran for cover under a bus shelter as the heavens opened above me.

The road to Carbisdale takes you over the eastern fringes of Wetser Ross. As wild places go, this has to be one of the most daunting that I have travelled through. I imagined that to be dropped in the middle of that vast expanse of moreland and endless forest, could lead to an early demise or madness as you walked round in circles trying to find your way out.

Coming out the other side however, and the views down toward Carbisdale were welcome and stunning, even in the fading light.

Though this picture of the castle was taken in the morning, hence the blue skies, I had to include it here, just so that you could see what Scottish Youth Hosteling can do for you. This particular building was the home of the Earl of Sutherland who on discovering that he would have to pay huge amounts of money to the government, if he sold it gifted it to the SYHA, for whom he had been president for a number of years. What a legacy. More on the inside tomorrow.

The Great Glen

I am now sat in what must be described as the noisiest coffee shop in the world. I have become spoilt by natural silence. I may have some adjustment to make when I finally get home!

I managed to get back to the youth hostel in Glen Nevis by 09:10. Four hours up and down was pretty good going I thought. I had originally planned on being down by mid-day, so this afforded me a very real possibility of getting to Inverness, where there is another hostel that I could transfer my booking to from tonight. That would mean another 70 odd miles, but it was worth try.

I forget what time I got going, so wrapped up was I in looking back over my shoulder at the hills that I had so recently stood astride. The view of the north face of Ben Nevis improves the farther away from it that you get, which is shame because the camera can't cope with that kind of distance.

Heading out of Fort William I intended to pick up the Great Glen Way at it's beginning. An impressive series of locks take the shipping/boats up into Loch Lochy from where they traverse from there to Loch Oich before then being let loose on the enormity of Loch Ness. The latter I was to discover goes on, and on and on. It is huge.

For some inexplicable reason I took the wrong turning out of Fort William, ending up on the hideously busy and rather dangerous A82. Heading now for Spean Bridge, I had no choice but to stick with it, diving into laybys to let some of the bigger lorries and frequent busses past.

The reward, however, was a visit to the Commando monument near Spean Bridge. The Commados spent a good while training in the Cairngorms and surrounding hills and are remembered here for their bravery and skill.

From Spean Bridge I was able to rejoin the Great Glen Way, though the section from here to Laggan Lock is not ideal for road/hybrid bikes like mine. Mountain bikes would cope better, though sections that have been repaired using fist sized stone, make cycling across cattle grids feel like cycling on cotton wool. None-the-less the views of the Loch as you can see are amazing.

It is of course possible to make this journey any number of ways. Cycling is the obvious, by boat would be another, walking is now very popular and of course you could do it the RAF way in about 6 seconds. I have infact flown the Glen myself during flying training and remember the sight of a Tornado coming at us from the other end of the valley...very briefly. Spot the birdy.

At Laggan Lock I discovered a gem. Well a pub actually. Try this for size. From the outside it looks rather cramped, but get below and the barge opens up into a spacious bar, dinning area and home. They also serve excellent beer and were a boost for tiring legs.

The Caledonian Canal, that connects the three lochs of the Glen together has a good towpath that can be cycled easily. The good thing about canals is that they are flat. I was soon at the southern end of Loch Ness where I was faced with a simple choice. The A82 which is flattish and busy, or the B862, which is anything but. No choice really. After a day of climbs, why not add another!

Four miles of climbing gives you a great perspective...on many things. Loch Ness was one of these. A steep climb is a good climb if followed by a slow decent. 25 miles of gradual decent with the occasional blump and lengths of flat road next to the loch would have me do that again. The headwind and cold not ideal.

Anyway, at 9pm I struggled into Inverness. I'm cutting this short because the coffee shop I'm in is due to close. More soon. JB

Three down.

I'm going to break today up into two parts as I have a lot of pictures for you.


Since resting well yesterday after my short 20 miles in the morning, I determined to take on the Ben early in the morning before heading out on the bike later in the day. I wanted to do this as much as anything else, to try to reach JOG whilst the sign was still intact for the final photo. (If you have followed this from the beginning, you will remember that the owners of both Lands and John O'Groats, remove the hands of the sign at the end of the day!)


So, up at 04:30. This is almost what in the climbing and mountaineering style, you might call Alpine style. To climb big mountains these days, you travel light, get up very early, say 2 in the morning, so that the snow is hard for as long as possible, before the sun gets on it, and push for the summit in the dark.

It wasn't dark ofcourse at 5 past 5 when I started to climb, but it was cold and windy. With the help of a pair of poles, I covered the first 500 feet or so in 20 minutes.

You may just be able to see the youth hostel below me.


I was stood next to a small coppice from where I was serenaded by a Cuckoo, that I again could not see. He seemed entirely unbothered by my presence and called on well after I had left.

The path from the hostel is an easy one, if you don't mind steps. The miles that I had covered on the bike were serving me well and I made good ground fast. By 5 past 6 I was half way up and was confident of being on the summit by 7.

This photo taken at 5 past 6 shows the hostel again, though you may only recognise te profile of the mountain ridge line behind it.

From here the path starts the become more boulder strewn as the effects of freeze thaw action on the rock shatters the stone into smaller pieces. It is a harsh environment, though there's still plenty to see. A couple of years ago, when I climbed Ben Nevis from the other side, I was lucky enough to see both Ptarmigan and Mountain Hare up here.

With the wind it was now very cold and witin a short while I was above the snow line. The surface had a light dusting ontop of the hard icy crystalised snow beneath and again Iwas glad of the poles for added security.

This is the view to the top at about 6:45.

I duly crunched my way to the summit by 07:06, 2 hours and a minute after starting.

The views from here were awesome. The camera doesn't do the scale of the mountainscape justice.

Taking pictures was interesting. Apart from anything else, my fingers were freezing. The trig point was also about 15 metres away from the old observation post, now refuge, hence the rather small me at the top. The wind kept blowing the camera over too, so it was all a bit of fun.

The walk down was uneventful and quick. I met quite a few folks on their way up once I had made the half way mark, but by now I was ready for my breakfast and stage two of today. The 70 odd miles to Inverness and the cycle up the Great Glen.

Resting and Waiting

I had some half baked idea that I would climb the Ben today and other other circumstances it would have been possible, but not on the back of nearly 90 miles yesterday.

Having covered the nearly 20 odd miles to Fort William and then on to Youth Hostel, I was again floored by exhaustion. It's funny, but when the body knows that it can stop, it does, completely. I' sure that had I had to do another 70 miles today, i could have done so, but since I didn't, it would have none of it.

As a consequence I have sat in Nevisport, one of my favourite shops in all the world, and drank tea and consumed a small and unhealthy breakfast. I also finished yesterdays blog before heading up Glen Nevis to the youth hostel.

Since I could not book in until 3 pm I set to doing some laundry before settling down to a short nap on one of the sofas. I've said it before, but it bears repeating, 'youth hostels are brilliant.

At about 2 I ventured into the self catering kitchen and set to, to cook myself another enormous bowl of pasta. Here I met Jim, (not his real name,) a 68 year old near Glaswegian, who for the last 10 years had looked after his father at home. His father, then 98 had passed away earlier this year and he was now doing the positive thing and making the most of his time. The loss of his father clearly still hurt deeply and we talked about him for a good while. You're a god man Charlie and your Dad would have been very proud of you. Congratulations to him for climbing Ben Nevis this morning.

So here I am now, sat on the steps of Nevisport, which is now shut, pinching their free wifi facility from outside their front door. Well I have spent good money in there, so I feel entitled. Oh and I did ask.

I purchased some water purifying tablets since I figured that I may not have such easy access to water further north. I'm not too keen to catch some of the sheep bugs that float down stream. Well you have to think of these things.

In awhile I shall head back up the valley, stare longingly at the hill that I shall take on in the early hours tomorrow and get some rest. I suspect that I may also take a look at the river, since all rivers bear some scrutiny, hey Paul.

Wish me luck. Love to all. JB