We said that we'd like to make one last post to say thank you to all the people who made a massive difference to the odyssey. So here they are, with their websites, where appropriate.
1. Launceston Cycles - a really friendly cycle shop in Cornwall who gave us tea and coffee, in addition to sorting us out with different needs at the drop of a hat.
http://www.launcestoncycles.co.uk/
2. Old Orchard B&B in Street, Somerset - not content with fantastic cooking way beyond the usual standard (the lasagne and sticky toffee pudding were still uppermost in our minds nearly three weeks later as a tour highlight), Mr. Salmon helped out when we had a crash several miles outside Street, by acting as an impromptu taxi service. Can't recommend highly enough.
http://www.totaltravel.co.uk/link.asp?fid=629455
3. Gables B&B Worcester - a very well kept B&B, but beyond that, Janette showed her spirit by giving us a discount because it was a charity ride which we have passed on to the MS Society.
http://www.gablesbedandbreakfast.co.uk/
4. Cycle Lane, East Kilbride - the best bike shop of all the ones we came across. Stunning help at a time of real need. We're so indebted to you...
http://www.cyclelane.co.uk/
5. The Great Fridge Adventure - James and Marcus, we salute you, and continue to follow your blog. Your timing was impeccable. Go boys, go!
http://www.thegreatfridgeadventure.co.uk/
6. Bearnock Country Centre - outstanding independent hostel - exceptional value and a warm welcome. But beyond this, Donald MacLean is a complete legend for his unstinting willingness to take James to Inverness to get his bike fixed when we had run out of options.
http://www.bcclochnesshostel.co.uk/
7. Altnaharra B&B - Mandy and Lindsay run an exceptional B&B. Great cooking and big hearts. Worth a trip to the north of Scotland just to spend a night there.
http://www.altnaharra.net/
8. All of you who have read the blog and supported the MS Society financially or alternatively just by sending us texts and emails along the way. Many thanks, it meant a huge amount to us to see the totals ticking up day by day.
9. The MS Society themselves - a really good charity. Well organised, on the case, supportive. For you donors, be assured you've given well. Here's one final reminder of the charity page - you can see how the total well exceeded our original ambition, and indeed there are £300 pounds of offline donations as well.
http://beatms.mssociety.org.uk/NetCommunity/Page.aspx?pid=873&frsid=611
10. Martin would like to say a particular thanks to his colleagues at Acacia Avenue. For a small company to release one person for a whole summer is a big deal, but they did so with generosity and great spirit. Thank you team, it's hugely appreciated.
11. Thank you to our family/families. We felt fully supported by all of you throughout the trip, and we must make a special note of saluting Bob and Sally Jennings and Alison Girdwood for coping with the dirty, smelly invasions into your homes and for being brilliant hosts to us.
12. And finally, but mostly, to our partners, Suzy, Michela and Fiona. Many thanks to you all for your love and support throughout, and a particular note of thanks to Fiona for meeting us at John o'Groats and driving us back to Inverness in the minibus.
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Now what?
The final push. The day looks like it could rain but it's at least dry to start with. We've got 65 miles ahead and we've been warned that the first 30 are full of hills. A good warning - we count either nine or ten arduous hills and other smaller ones. The thought occurs to us that the cycling today is very similar to Cornwall but we are coping much better. We've also learnt to have shorter more frequent food stops rather than a full lunch break and so the progress is good.
Eventually a weak sun breaks out, and we have a break near the Dounreay nuclear power station. Is it someone's idea of a joke that there is a wind farm right next to it?
The promised flat ground arrives and we start to cycle easily. We plan to stop in Thurso for a coffee but we don't fancy the town when we get there - we've got so used to deserted landscape and tiny hamlets that a normal town feels like an intimidating alien metropolis.
In the final few miles, we continue to see dramatic storms over the Orkneys but remain untouched, yet with the benefit of strong winds pushing us towards the destination.
With a mile to go, Fiona phones to say they have arrived. Adam is willing Martin's bike to puncture, or at the very least to have its chain come off. Instead, with less than half a mile to go, there is just time for Tom's now legendary Shopping Trolley's pannier rack to snap (metal fatigue?). Impeccable timing: we're all in stitches. It's patched up with plastic ties and we freewheel down the last hill into John o'Groats to be met by Fiona and Alison. How good to see them...
The obligatory cheesy snaps under the famous sign, but in fact we are not quite done. Duncansby Head is the real most extreme north easterly point, so we cycle up to the lighthouse to finish the job. Curiously, for all that it's a scant two miles away, the views are much better. We take it in turns to stand on the triangulation point for more pictures.
It's back to the Seaview Hotel, who have a virtual monopoly on accommodation up here. From here on, it's food, alcohol and reminiscences. It's all over.
And therefore, so is the blog. Almost. We will post some more pictures when we get access to a computer (probably Monday) and a final post to publish the details and celebrate all the best places we've stayed..
For us, it's now back to normal life. It's been exhilarating, emotional, full of laughter and tiredness, but surprisingly little pain. Thank you for staying with us for the last 1032 miles and particular thanks for supporting the MS Society. If you've never done this yourself, start planning it now. It's a uniquely brilliant thing to have done.
Eventually a weak sun breaks out, and we have a break near the Dounreay nuclear power station. Is it someone's idea of a joke that there is a wind farm right next to it?
The promised flat ground arrives and we start to cycle easily. We plan to stop in Thurso for a coffee but we don't fancy the town when we get there - we've got so used to deserted landscape and tiny hamlets that a normal town feels like an intimidating alien metropolis.
In the final few miles, we continue to see dramatic storms over the Orkneys but remain untouched, yet with the benefit of strong winds pushing us towards the destination.
With a mile to go, Fiona phones to say they have arrived. Adam is willing Martin's bike to puncture, or at the very least to have its chain come off. Instead, with less than half a mile to go, there is just time for Tom's now legendary Shopping Trolley's pannier rack to snap (metal fatigue?). Impeccable timing: we're all in stitches. It's patched up with plastic ties and we freewheel down the last hill into John o'Groats to be met by Fiona and Alison. How good to see them...
The obligatory cheesy snaps under the famous sign, but in fact we are not quite done. Duncansby Head is the real most extreme north easterly point, so we cycle up to the lighthouse to finish the job. Curiously, for all that it's a scant two miles away, the views are much better. We take it in turns to stand on the triangulation point for more pictures.
It's back to the Seaview Hotel, who have a virtual monopoly on accommodation up here. From here on, it's food, alcohol and reminiscences. It's all over.
And therefore, so is the blog. Almost. We will post some more pictures when we get access to a computer (probably Monday) and a final post to publish the details and celebrate all the best places we've stayed..
For us, it's now back to normal life. It's been exhilarating, emotional, full of laughter and tiredness, but surprisingly little pain. Thank you for staying with us for the last 1032 miles and particular thanks for supporting the MS Society. If you've never done this yourself, start planning it now. It's a uniquely brilliant thing to have done.
Saturday, 15 August 2009
Speaking in Tongue
We enjoy a quite outstanding breakfast cooked by Mandy before making a very slow departure. It's our shortest day's cycling today. There are so few places to stay up here that there isn't a way to divide up the last two days into equal sections.
It turns out to be at least a temporary blessing (depending on tomorrow's weather), because in no time a cold, sour rain adds to the desolation of the landscape. A fairly easy climb takes us onto a ridge top that overlooks the Kyle of Tongue and we get a spectacular view of the estuary and the small town of Tongue itself.
We see that the local church hall is running a coffee shop so we take shelter there. It turns out to be a great decision, and amazingly, this is the last time of only eight occasions all year that they are holding the coffee shop. The church ladies give us arguably the most sincere welcome we've had yet. All the tables are basically having one conversation and we get immediately incorporated into it. The story of Adam's MS episode last year gets told,
and the customers and coffee ladies are overwhelming with their compassion, offers of prayer and donations. We leave feeling uplifted and touched by an experience of spirituality in action. And, less we fail to give full credit, having eaten some spectacular home made cakes.
We've been recommended a particular pub for lunch which is over the causeway onto the next headland. We spend ages there, but the rain is still bad when we leave and we're drenched coming only two miles back to the newly renovated hostel where we are staying tonight.
We have plenty of time to dry off and eat more superb home baking, this time by Hannah, who manages this excellent hostel. There's a slightly odd atmosphere. It's the night before the last day's cycling. None of us quite know how to mark the moment properly. How will it feel to finally finish, especially as we already know that John o'Groats is nothing special? At least we will have our own reception party of Martin's partner Fiona and her sister Alison, who put us up in Glasgow.
It turns out to be at least a temporary blessing (depending on tomorrow's weather), because in no time a cold, sour rain adds to the desolation of the landscape. A fairly easy climb takes us onto a ridge top that overlooks the Kyle of Tongue and we get a spectacular view of the estuary and the small town of Tongue itself.
We see that the local church hall is running a coffee shop so we take shelter there. It turns out to be a great decision, and amazingly, this is the last time of only eight occasions all year that they are holding the coffee shop. The church ladies give us arguably the most sincere welcome we've had yet. All the tables are basically having one conversation and we get immediately incorporated into it. The story of Adam's MS episode last year gets told,
and the customers and coffee ladies are overwhelming with their compassion, offers of prayer and donations. We leave feeling uplifted and touched by an experience of spirituality in action. And, less we fail to give full credit, having eaten some spectacular home made cakes.
We've been recommended a particular pub for lunch which is over the causeway onto the next headland. We spend ages there, but the rain is still bad when we leave and we're drenched coming only two miles back to the newly renovated hostel where we are staying tonight.
We have plenty of time to dry off and eat more superb home baking, this time by Hannah, who manages this excellent hostel. There's a slightly odd atmosphere. It's the night before the last day's cycling. None of us quite know how to mark the moment properly. How will it feel to finally finish, especially as we already know that John o'Groats is nothing special? At least we will have our own reception party of Martin's partner Fiona and her sister Alison, who put us up in Glasgow.
Thursday, 13 August 2009
Midgetastic
OK, so what we want to know at this point is: just how stupid are midges? For one thing, what is the evolutionary advantage to midges in having humans hate them so much? If they were smart, they would make the experience of biting us pleasant, so that we wouldn't bend our every effort into destroying or at least repelling them. And for another, if they are so dependent on blood, why exist in their billions in a place where almost no-one lives, instead of, say, Derby? Anyhow, our timing is pretty rubbish, because they're swarming in Biblical plague numbers at the moment, and the locals are talking about them in the way the English talk about the weather.
We, on the other hand, are talking about Mohamed Al-Fayed, or Al-'Mc'Fayed as we should properly call him. Eh? Well, as we're bowling along on the road to Lairg, we decide to make an impromptu stop at the Falls of Shin, which the brown signs have down as a beauty spot. We rock up to discover that it's an estate owned by the Harrods and Fulham FC magnate, in which he has installed a restaurant, crazy golf course and, well, car park, to support an essentially boring minor set of rapids, the like of which you could see in any highland river. In the shop is the most incongruous sight - a Tussauds waxwork of McFayed himself, in full Scottish regalia, having his crotch sniffed by a dog. It's right up there with Listerine woman (see blogs passim) as a contender for the top bizarre moment of the trip.
Enough already. Onwards through Lairg, and onto truly deserted territory. The A836 may be the only single track A road in Britain, and it goes through moorland that has an austere bleakness about it that commands respect. We stop to take in the silence from time to time, and it deepens the sense of awe. There is one tiny pub on the road, the Crask Inn, where Tom stopped on his previous walk and the couple that run it put him up overnight even though they were already full. They aren't there today sadly, and after a pint, we are on our way to our stop for the night, the small hamlet of Altnaharra, home to 33 hardy souls, including our B&B hosts Mandy and Lindsay, a couple of emigres from Oxfordshire. The welcome is as warm as the landscape is dour, and we enjoy a fabulous meal along with Alan, a regular customer who works the land as a forester. As pre-penultimate evenings go, it couldn't be bettered.
We, on the other hand, are talking about Mohamed Al-Fayed, or Al-'Mc'Fayed as we should properly call him. Eh? Well, as we're bowling along on the road to Lairg, we decide to make an impromptu stop at the Falls of Shin, which the brown signs have down as a beauty spot. We rock up to discover that it's an estate owned by the Harrods and Fulham FC magnate, in which he has installed a restaurant, crazy golf course and, well, car park, to support an essentially boring minor set of rapids, the like of which you could see in any highland river. In the shop is the most incongruous sight - a Tussauds waxwork of McFayed himself, in full Scottish regalia, having his crotch sniffed by a dog. It's right up there with Listerine woman (see blogs passim) as a contender for the top bizarre moment of the trip.
Enough already. Onwards through Lairg, and onto truly deserted territory. The A836 may be the only single track A road in Britain, and it goes through moorland that has an austere bleakness about it that commands respect. We stop to take in the silence from time to time, and it deepens the sense of awe. There is one tiny pub on the road, the Crask Inn, where Tom stopped on his previous walk and the couple that run it put him up overnight even though they were already full. They aren't there today sadly, and after a pint, we are on our way to our stop for the night, the small hamlet of Altnaharra, home to 33 hardy souls, including our B&B hosts Mandy and Lindsay, a couple of emigres from Oxfordshire. The welcome is as warm as the landscape is dour, and we enjoy a fabulous meal along with Alan, a regular customer who works the land as a forester. As pre-penultimate evenings go, it couldn't be bettered.
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