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.
Individuals 4, Corporations 0
Assuming that James is facing an expensive 20 mile taxi ride into
Inverness, the hostel owner, Donald, tells us that the local bus
company have a very liberal attitude to stranded cyclists and that a
bus is due shortly. Sadly, the driver, though personally very
sympathetic, says "I'll be shot." However, he does at least try
phoning for permission and we hear him arguing the case, but without
success. It's clear he doesn't feel good about driving off. Donald is
astonished, but then tells us that the company has just been bought by
Stagecoach and it's generally less pleasant than it used to be. Hmmmm.
However, he steps into the breach himself and immediately offers to
take James to Inverness, refusing to take any petrol money for his
considerable trouble.
James has yet another experience of a great independent bike shop,
this time Bikes of Inverness who drop everything to help him for next
to nothing.
We all meet up again in the charming town of Beauly, where a customer
in the deli/cafe makes the latest in a string of small donations, now
amounting to nearly £30 from chance encounters along the way, mostly
in Scotland.
The afternoon ride is long and into a headwind, over the rolling
countryside near the Comarty and Moray firths, before finally arriving
at the SYHA flagship youth hostel, the allegedly haunted Carbisdale
Castle, as bonkers a place as we've stayed at (a title for which it
has no little competition.) It seems to be mostly haunted by bemused
European walkers, utterly lost in its warren of Hogwartian corridors..
If you ever need a stopover with character, consider this place first..
Inverness, the hostel owner, Donald, tells us that the local bus
company have a very liberal attitude to stranded cyclists and that a
bus is due shortly. Sadly, the driver, though personally very
sympathetic, says "I'll be shot." However, he does at least try
phoning for permission and we hear him arguing the case, but without
success. It's clear he doesn't feel good about driving off. Donald is
astonished, but then tells us that the company has just been bought by
Stagecoach and it's generally less pleasant than it used to be. Hmmmm.
However, he steps into the breach himself and immediately offers to
take James to Inverness, refusing to take any petrol money for his
considerable trouble.
James has yet another experience of a great independent bike shop,
this time Bikes of Inverness who drop everything to help him for next
to nothing.
We all meet up again in the charming town of Beauly, where a customer
in the deli/cafe makes the latest in a string of small donations, now
amounting to nearly £30 from chance encounters along the way, mostly
in Scotland.
The afternoon ride is long and into a headwind, over the rolling
countryside near the Comarty and Moray firths, before finally arriving
at the SYHA flagship youth hostel, the allegedly haunted Carbisdale
Castle, as bonkers a place as we've stayed at (a title for which it
has no little competition.) It seems to be mostly haunted by bemused
European walkers, utterly lost in its warren of Hogwartian corridors..
If you ever need a stopover with character, consider this place first..
Wednesday, 12 August 2009
What a shower
Today is the day when the Highland weather descends in all its terrible wrath. It's a day to test the character of men. Are we the very worst sort of snivelling southern softies, scuttling for the safety of cream teas and cocoa at the first hint of drizzle? Or are we mighty oaks, true warriors of the glen, fearless bravehearts who stand foursquare in the teeth of the gale and defy the storm to do its worst? And so we rise to that challenge, and as one we are united in shouting as one: "These are the finest warm scones we've ever eaten."
Once the weather abates a little, we still have a roaring tailwind behind us, and we're almost pushed along the Great Glen, past Loch Lochy (were they running out of names?), Fort Augustus and the great Loch Ness itself.
Sadly at this point, bike misadventure reasserts itself, and James has not one but two punctures in quick succession, at which point we discover the problem is the tyre not the inner tubes so it's now his turn to get a taxi -to the hostel where we're staying tonight. His taxi driver donates his tip to the appeal, to add to the developing theme of Scottish generosity.
Before that though, while we're still struggling with the tyre, two teenage boys appear from nowhere pushing a fridge each. They are walking the same distance as us, but with fridges. Of course they are. It's our turn to make an impromptu donation, to the Alzheimer's Society. They have a collecting tin in one of the fridges. A brief thought about being a bit young to lose their minds has to be quickly banished. You can follow their adventure at http://www.thegreatfridgeadventure.co.uk
Once the weather abates a little, we still have a roaring tailwind behind us, and we're almost pushed along the Great Glen, past Loch Lochy (were they running out of names?), Fort Augustus and the great Loch Ness itself.
Sadly at this point, bike misadventure reasserts itself, and James has not one but two punctures in quick succession, at which point we discover the problem is the tyre not the inner tubes so it's now his turn to get a taxi -to the hostel where we're staying tonight. His taxi driver donates his tip to the appeal, to add to the developing theme of Scottish generosity.
Before that though, while we're still struggling with the tyre, two teenage boys appear from nowhere pushing a fridge each. They are walking the same distance as us, but with fridges. Of course they are. It's our turn to make an impromptu donation, to the Alzheimer's Society. They have a collecting tin in one of the fridges. A brief thought about being a bit young to lose their minds has to be quickly banished. You can follow their adventure at http://www.thegreatfridgeadventure.co.uk
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
Highland fun and games
From here on, the story has every chance of being an almost
repetitive litany of amazing scenery, inadequately described. As we
move from the Trossachs into the Highlands, there's a marked shift
from tree lined "aah, that's really pretty landscape", into rugged,
bleakly majestic terrain where the best response is contemplative
silence. Tom remembers this area very well from his solo walk of two
years ago, and he tells us that Rannoch Moor is the largest deserted
stretch of land in the UK. It's easy to see why.
A long descent into Glencoe is undoubtedly one of the highlights of
the whole trip so far. We stop in the village for lunch and, just to
add to it, the cloud cover breaks and we are in hot sun, the most
unequivocally summery weather we've had.
We carry on to Fort William, a long town that from a distance looks
like a string of pearls as its white shore side buildings catch the
late afternoon sun. We've decided to cook in the hostel tonight, but
we stop for coffee in the park before tackling Tesco and a local comes
up to talk to us for several minutes before making a donation to the
MS fund. These small human moments are one of the abiding memories.
The hostel cowers right underneath Ben Nevis, and Tom, James and
Martin decide to go for a bit of a climb while Adam stays back to
cook. There isn't time to do more than an hour and a bit, and it
takes a minimum of six hours to do the whole thing apparently.
Besides, there's a chilli and beer calling...
repetitive litany of amazing scenery, inadequately described. As we
move from the Trossachs into the Highlands, there's a marked shift
from tree lined "aah, that's really pretty landscape", into rugged,
bleakly majestic terrain where the best response is contemplative
silence. Tom remembers this area very well from his solo walk of two
years ago, and he tells us that Rannoch Moor is the largest deserted
stretch of land in the UK. It's easy to see why.
A long descent into Glencoe is undoubtedly one of the highlights of
the whole trip so far. We stop in the village for lunch and, just to
add to it, the cloud cover breaks and we are in hot sun, the most
unequivocally summery weather we've had.
We carry on to Fort William, a long town that from a distance looks
like a string of pearls as its white shore side buildings catch the
late afternoon sun. We've decided to cook in the hostel tonight, but
we stop for coffee in the park before tackling Tesco and a local comes
up to talk to us for several minutes before making a donation to the
MS fund. These small human moments are one of the abiding memories.
The hostel cowers right underneath Ben Nevis, and Tom, James and
Martin decide to go for a bit of a climb while Adam stays back to
cook. There isn't time to do more than an hour and a bit, and it
takes a minimum of six hours to do the whole thing apparently.
Besides, there's a chilli and beer calling...
Sunday, 9 August 2009
Day whatever
Weather update: dry, mostly warm, occasionally sunny
Scenery update: insert the hyperbolic descriptive adjectives of your choice
Cycling update: mostly flat, all around Loch Lomond, easy, almost fraudulently so
Mechanical parts update: one loose nut, otherwise all good
Tender parts update: ditto
Scenery update: insert the hyperbolic descriptive adjectives of your choice
Cycling update: mostly flat, all around Loch Lomond, easy, almost fraudulently so
Mechanical parts update: one loose nut, otherwise all good
Tender parts update: ditto
Adam can write too continued...
....Yep, I am speedy gonzalis on the Downhills!
Now what do you think can be more fustrating to find at the top of the mountainous hill when you arrive sweating, flustured, aching and sore...? Your comrads sitting around having a joke and chat while picking rasberries! RASBERRIES! 'What took you so long Adam? These are lovely rasberries, do you want one??' - No!! You can stick ya rasberries! (UYFA)!! Haha! (sorry private 'scotish' joke)
Anyway, moaning (and hills) aside, we are having a fantastic time! Yes I suppose the hills are worth it for the spectacular views! And yes, those wild Rasberries do taste better in a 'box from Sainsburys', but what a laugh we are having!
I feel I've really got to know my brother and nephews well this holiday! Sometimes, a little 'too well' when the 'Assos' and the Puns are shared around! ;-)
A quick shout out to thank everybody who has donated us for the MS society! We are now just 70 odd quid short of our goal, so anybody out there intending to sponsor us, get it in as we are quickly approaching 2 final goals! Thank you so much, your contribution is a huge motivation for all of us.
Now what do you think can be more fustrating to find at the top of the mountainous hill when you arrive sweating, flustured, aching and sore...? Your comrads sitting around having a joke and chat while picking rasberries! RASBERRIES! 'What took you so long Adam? These are lovely rasberries, do you want one??' - No!! You can stick ya rasberries! (UYFA)!! Haha! (sorry private 'scotish' joke)
Anyway, moaning (and hills) aside, we are having a fantastic time! Yes I suppose the hills are worth it for the spectacular views! And yes, those wild Rasberries do taste better in a 'box from Sainsburys', but what a laugh we are having!
I feel I've really got to know my brother and nephews well this holiday! Sometimes, a little 'too well' when the 'Assos' and the Puns are shared around! ;-)
A quick shout out to thank everybody who has donated us for the MS society! We are now just 70 odd quid short of our goal, so anybody out there intending to sponsor us, get it in as we are quickly approaching 2 final goals! Thank you so much, your contribution is a huge motivation for all of us.
Adam can write too...
As most of you may have already guessed, Martin has been doing most of the writing for our blog entries. Actually that is a lie... he's done ALL of the entries.
But don't you worry, I can write too and you're about to find out how it really is on this 'lovely' bike ride....
In 3 words...
Hills, Rasberries, and Assos (Bum cream for those not in the know)!!
Yep, right from the start, we were straight into great big chunky HILLS! HILLS, HILLS, HILLS!
Now, I've got a lovely bike. A bike that really likes nice flat roads and cycle paths! Nice flat canals! Could we cycle through nice flat Norfolk to the flat lands of east England?? No! Lets go up the rocky west... Lets go up the Pennines and the Yorkshire Dales. As if Cornwall and Devon weren't testing enough! Tomorrow were staying near Ben Nevis... and Tom wants to get a pedal on to see if we have time to quickly walk up it! Nutter! Are we really related? Hahaha!
But remember what they say...
What goes up, must come down!
And I sure do come down. With all my extra weight... I am king of the DOWNHILLS...
But don't you worry, I can write too and you're about to find out how it really is on this 'lovely' bike ride....
In 3 words...
Hills, Rasberries, and Assos (Bum cream for those not in the know)!!
Yep, right from the start, we were straight into great big chunky HILLS! HILLS, HILLS, HILLS!
Now, I've got a lovely bike. A bike that really likes nice flat roads and cycle paths! Nice flat canals! Could we cycle through nice flat Norfolk to the flat lands of east England?? No! Lets go up the rocky west... Lets go up the Pennines and the Yorkshire Dales. As if Cornwall and Devon weren't testing enough! Tomorrow were staying near Ben Nevis... and Tom wants to get a pedal on to see if we have time to quickly walk up it! Nutter! Are we really related? Hahaha!
But remember what they say...
What goes up, must come down!
And I sure do come down. With all my extra weight... I am king of the DOWNHILLS...
RIP pedal
The day started inauspiciously, despite Alison giving us a larder full of cake and cookies to take with us, to add to all her other generosity to us over the last two nights. It was immediately apparent that Tom's bike had more problems, this time with a rubbing mudguard that we couldn't put right, other than by throwing it away. No sooner had that been done than the pedal failed again. Yep, you're way ahead of us: closest bike shop, this time in a very dodgy part of East Kilbride. However, it was an exercise in not judging a place by appearances. The owner, like every single shop we've been in, dropped everything to help, and he gave the bike a totally comprehensive service and refused to take more than £10 because it was a charity ride. As part of this, he fitted a new crankshaft. The old one, the source of our woe, was thrown away before we could take a picture for the blog. Sorry. For the last 15 minutes or so, another customer came in and was
chatting and listening with keen interest and he spontaneously bought a new pedal and toeclip set for Tom. It's typical of the experience we've had on this trip, always seeing the best side of people. So now nothing of the original pedal set remains. A fresh start.
It's all downhill into Glasgow from East Kilbride. You learn far more about the city riding through its pot holed eastern suburbs through the rain than you ever would by promenading up and down Buchanan Street.
Right through the centre of the city along Argyle Street, stopping briefly for lunch, and then it's out along the Dumbaton Road, through Partick, the university district and Kelvingrove and out towards Clydebank. (Apolgies for the abrupt change of tense - should have thought about such stylistic matters before starting. Shame runs deep.)
We leave the interminabe Dumbarton Road to cycle along the Forth and Clyde Canal, part of the National Cycle Network, but not before cycling past a bike shop without stopping. YES! At last.
Slight detour to take in Dumbarton Castle because we have loads of time in hand. However, we are ambushed by a puncture. We could name and shame the unlucky bike concerned, but somehow we don't think we need to...
chatting and listening with keen interest and he spontaneously bought a new pedal and toeclip set for Tom. It's typical of the experience we've had on this trip, always seeing the best side of people. So now nothing of the original pedal set remains. A fresh start.
It's all downhill into Glasgow from East Kilbride. You learn far more about the city riding through its pot holed eastern suburbs through the rain than you ever would by promenading up and down Buchanan Street.
Right through the centre of the city along Argyle Street, stopping briefly for lunch, and then it's out along the Dumbaton Road, through Partick, the university district and Kelvingrove and out towards Clydebank. (Apolgies for the abrupt change of tense - should have thought about such stylistic matters before starting. Shame runs deep.)
We leave the interminabe Dumbarton Road to cycle along the Forth and Clyde Canal, part of the National Cycle Network, but not before cycling past a bike shop without stopping. YES! At last.
Slight detour to take in Dumbarton Castle because we have loads of time in hand. However, we are ambushed by a puncture. We could name and shame the unlucky bike concerned, but somehow we don't think we need to...
Rest day in Glasgow
We spent our second and last rest day in Glasgow. The highlight was meeting Martin and Adam's sister Becca and her husband Vince, who by happy coicidence were in Glasgow on business. We spent several hours with them, having a slow and boisterous pizza lunch and idly shopping for things we needed, principally extra pedal bolts... Dales, on the outskirts of the city centre, may be a contender for the country's most glamorous bike shop, a claim that we can make with some authority.
Back to Alison's, and a takeaway Indian meal, including the gloriously eccentric Haggis Pekora. As Vince mentioned earlier, you could generously call this fusion cooking, but really it's more a case of 'where cuisines collide'.
On the subject of eccentricity, we promised you a few more examples, and in fact Indian restaurants have loomed large. I believe we've already mentioned the Jaipur in Market Drayton, where they brought us our table settings and naan breads only to take them all away again without explanation.
We also had the Golden Temple in Bodmin, where the owner greeted us by barking at us by saying, "there will be a delay" before slapping all the cutlery on the table for us to sort out and the shoving the order pad down in front of James and saying, "you fill it in, it will make it easier for me." It turned out he was hassled by having three tables filled with customers. "We're not used to being busy." You don't say?
Then in Tiverton we had the sight of a man trying to get through town by sitting on a skateboard with two dog leads attached to his border collies in front and trying to get them to act as a team of huskies. Heroic failure.
To Bridgnorth, and the old gent who got chatting to Martin about his bike. "I've got a bike exactly like yours." "Really?" "Yes, only mine has an engine." Right. That'll be a motorbike then.
But the top two prizes go to encounters a bit further north. A blazered ex-military type engaged James and Tom in conversation about where they were going. On being told, he said, "Well guess where I'm going? I'm going to my nice little house. And guess what I've got there? I'll tell you. 600 cricket balls." And with that he was off.
Perhaps the piece de resistance was when we were trying to fix Tom's saddle in the middle of the moors without the best type of spanner. There was a car next to us with two ladies in. Through the open window, Adam asked if, by any chance, they had a spanner. The older lady held up a bottle of Listerine and said, "You can use this if you want." Adam thanked her for the offer.
We can only hope for more of these to share in the final week.
Back to Alison's, and a takeaway Indian meal, including the gloriously eccentric Haggis Pekora. As Vince mentioned earlier, you could generously call this fusion cooking, but really it's more a case of 'where cuisines collide'.
On the subject of eccentricity, we promised you a few more examples, and in fact Indian restaurants have loomed large. I believe we've already mentioned the Jaipur in Market Drayton, where they brought us our table settings and naan breads only to take them all away again without explanation.
We also had the Golden Temple in Bodmin, where the owner greeted us by barking at us by saying, "there will be a delay" before slapping all the cutlery on the table for us to sort out and the shoving the order pad down in front of James and saying, "you fill it in, it will make it easier for me." It turned out he was hassled by having three tables filled with customers. "We're not used to being busy." You don't say?
Then in Tiverton we had the sight of a man trying to get through town by sitting on a skateboard with two dog leads attached to his border collies in front and trying to get them to act as a team of huskies. Heroic failure.
To Bridgnorth, and the old gent who got chatting to Martin about his bike. "I've got a bike exactly like yours." "Really?" "Yes, only mine has an engine." Right. That'll be a motorbike then.
But the top two prizes go to encounters a bit further north. A blazered ex-military type engaged James and Tom in conversation about where they were going. On being told, he said, "Well guess where I'm going? I'm going to my nice little house. And guess what I've got there? I'll tell you. 600 cricket balls." And with that he was off.
Perhaps the piece de resistance was when we were trying to fix Tom's saddle in the middle of the moors without the best type of spanner. There was a car next to us with two ladies in. Through the open window, Adam asked if, by any chance, they had a spanner. The older lady held up a bottle of Listerine and said, "You can use this if you want." Adam thanked her for the offer.
We can only hope for more of these to share in the final week.
Friday, 7 August 2009
Land of wild raspberries
The first full day in Scotland opened with glorious sunshine, and a less than glorious labrador dog interrupting our impromptu bike surgery by chewing Tom's helmet without letting go for at least five minutes. It's now a toss up as to whether Tom's bike or his helmet has the lesser chance of making it to John O'Groats.
Progress would have been quicker but for the profusion of wild raspberries that distracted us every couple of hundred yards. James was left to muse on the fact that a nation that has this abundance of fantastic fruit growing naturally chose a thistle for its national emblem.
Ultimately, we made it into Moffat for lunch and sat on the town square benches, getting up every few minutes to go to a different shop, including the ice cream shop where the owners spontaneously gave us a contribution to the appeal. We were also authoritatively told, to our complete bafflement, that news of our ride for MS had appeared in the press. Can anyone throw light on this? See the next blog for other reminiscences of eccentic moments we've had so far.
Now, in case of doubt, the way you can tell that this is a guy tour is that our first serious disagreement was over statistics. Leaving Moffat, we had a massive, hot climb out of the town. What is not in doubt is that it was our longest continuous ascent so far. However, James was of the opinion that it was no longer than 2.5 miles, whereas Martin and Tom argued that it went on for another half a mile. But James insisted that the final half a mile of incline didn't constitute a hill and that as he was the 'official' statistician, his version stood. Adam didn't give a damn either way, as long as we started to go downhill immediately. We did.
Much of the rest of the ride was lacking in incident, being along the M74's service road, but when we left that to follow the old A74 dual carriageway to Glasgow, it was, as Tom remarked, like seeing what it will be like when the oil runs out. A pitted and neglected major road with no traffic. Eerie.
A day's cycling wouldn't be complete without a breakdown three miles from the destination, and sure enough, Tom's pedal fell off again. This time though, it fell off yet again with only half a mile to go, and this time with a lost bolt. We need to upload a picture of this infamous pedal onto the blog. Imagine, if you will, a slo-mo ritual launching of this pedal into the sea off John O'Groats - a kind of coda to the whole enterprise.
The destination tonight was Martin's sister-in-law Alison's house. It was great to see her in any case, but even more so as she had nibbles and cold beer ready for us, followed by a pie and mash supper so vast, it was a contender for being described as one of Desperate Dan from the Beano's cow pies.
As a final twist on the day, Tom's lost bolt turned up in the folds of his panniers. Go figure...
Progress would have been quicker but for the profusion of wild raspberries that distracted us every couple of hundred yards. James was left to muse on the fact that a nation that has this abundance of fantastic fruit growing naturally chose a thistle for its national emblem.
Ultimately, we made it into Moffat for lunch and sat on the town square benches, getting up every few minutes to go to a different shop, including the ice cream shop where the owners spontaneously gave us a contribution to the appeal. We were also authoritatively told, to our complete bafflement, that news of our ride for MS had appeared in the press. Can anyone throw light on this? See the next blog for other reminiscences of eccentic moments we've had so far.
Now, in case of doubt, the way you can tell that this is a guy tour is that our first serious disagreement was over statistics. Leaving Moffat, we had a massive, hot climb out of the town. What is not in doubt is that it was our longest continuous ascent so far. However, James was of the opinion that it was no longer than 2.5 miles, whereas Martin and Tom argued that it went on for another half a mile. But James insisted that the final half a mile of incline didn't constitute a hill and that as he was the 'official' statistician, his version stood. Adam didn't give a damn either way, as long as we started to go downhill immediately. We did.
Much of the rest of the ride was lacking in incident, being along the M74's service road, but when we left that to follow the old A74 dual carriageway to Glasgow, it was, as Tom remarked, like seeing what it will be like when the oil runs out. A pitted and neglected major road with no traffic. Eerie.
A day's cycling wouldn't be complete without a breakdown three miles from the destination, and sure enough, Tom's pedal fell off again. This time though, it fell off yet again with only half a mile to go, and this time with a lost bolt. We need to upload a picture of this infamous pedal onto the blog. Imagine, if you will, a slo-mo ritual launching of this pedal into the sea off John O'Groats - a kind of coda to the whole enterprise.
The destination tonight was Martin's sister-in-law Alison's house. It was great to see her in any case, but even more so as she had nibbles and cold beer ready for us, followed by a pie and mash supper so vast, it was a contender for being described as one of Desperate Dan from the Beano's cow pies.
As a final twist on the day, Tom's lost bolt turned up in the folds of his panniers. Go figure...
The Caledonian road
Having been given licence by the estimable Dufton youth hostel to raid a pair of rusting bikes for parts, we were able to patch up Tom's 'new' bike and keep the pedal in place without detouring via Penrith where the nearest bike shop was.
We cycled to Langwathby, in order to say goodbye to Tom S., who had seamlessly become part of the team already. The train station there was the location for Brief Encounter, and they've preserved the tea room beautifully.
We hadn't quite seen the last of Tom though. He cycled after us when he found Martin's forgotten helmet...
And so to Carlisle, self-proclaimed border city. Tom's bike, which wheezes and squeaks away like a chronic asthmatic, needed some professional care. Our trips to bike shops have progressed from habitual to something pathological; an almost tourettic compulsion. In this case, a really great guy sorted out the brakes and pedal, but we still bought a pedal fixing tool as a lucky charm.
So then, 571 miles from Land's End, we crossed the border, stopping for the obligatory cheesy pictures by the Scotland Welcomes You sign. The Scottish heritage industry wheels into action with alacrity. At least three places in Gretna shamelessly take the credit for being the definitive, original and most famous shotgun wedding destination. And then it's Robert the Bruce's cave (who's to say otherwise?) and Carlyle's birthplace in quick succession.
We were heading to a more notorious destination from recent history - Lockerbie, which turns out to be a nondescript town. However, our B&B, well outside Lockerbie, is an old shooting lodge of rich character and historical interest, run by a couple who have lived there for 51 years.
We cycled to Langwathby, in order to say goodbye to Tom S., who had seamlessly become part of the team already. The train station there was the location for Brief Encounter, and they've preserved the tea room beautifully.
We hadn't quite seen the last of Tom though. He cycled after us when he found Martin's forgotten helmet...
And so to Carlisle, self-proclaimed border city. Tom's bike, which wheezes and squeaks away like a chronic asthmatic, needed some professional care. Our trips to bike shops have progressed from habitual to something pathological; an almost tourettic compulsion. In this case, a really great guy sorted out the brakes and pedal, but we still bought a pedal fixing tool as a lucky charm.
So then, 571 miles from Land's End, we crossed the border, stopping for the obligatory cheesy pictures by the Scotland Welcomes You sign. The Scottish heritage industry wheels into action with alacrity. At least three places in Gretna shamelessly take the credit for being the definitive, original and most famous shotgun wedding destination. And then it's Robert the Bruce's cave (who's to say otherwise?) and Carlyle's birthplace in quick succession.
We were heading to a more notorious destination from recent history - Lockerbie, which turns out to be a nondescript town. However, our B&B, well outside Lockerbie, is an old shooting lodge of rich character and historical interest, run by a couple who have lived there for 51 years.
Wednesday, 5 August 2009
Day 11 - low clouds, low gears
The day started with the knowledge that the local bike shop couldn't
sort out the problems Adam had with his bike, so he faced a taxi ride
to Kendal. Conspiracy theorists have started to remark on the
coincidence of Adam's two mechanical failures that have necessitated
taxi rides and the most gruelling days of hill climbing, but we
personally pay no credence to those rumours.
In fact it was a huge shame to not have him with us for the opening
stretch because this was the most dramatic section of the whole ride
so far. The lowest gears corresponded with the highest heartbeats as
the ascents took us 500 metres into the Penines. You could easily get
Wordsworthian up there, but what are words worth to try and convey
what it was like?
The descents were occasionally terrifying, even with both hands
clamped to the brakes, but when we arrived in the almost ridiculously
quaint village of Dent, we'd had the most exhilarating 11 miles to date.
After Dent, the countryside was similar, but the weather broke. It was
still very slow going, and we were grateful for Tom S.'s local
knowledge to speed up navigating. We finally met up with Adam in
Tebay, and continued after a change of clothes. Shortly after, it was
Tom Lee's bike that was in trouble. A pedal came loose and fell off.
The bolt was lost, and Tom was facing a taxi ride too until James had
a moment of great mechanical ingenuity and got him tempoarily patched
up. But we'll be back in a bike shop today...
The rain relented suffciently for us to make it into Duftom, nestling
at the bottom of the Penine's most formidable peaks. Tom Lee knew the
hostel and pub from his own solo John O'Groats to Land's End walk of a
couple of years ago, one of the inspirations for this venture.
sort out the problems Adam had with his bike, so he faced a taxi ride
to Kendal. Conspiracy theorists have started to remark on the
coincidence of Adam's two mechanical failures that have necessitated
taxi rides and the most gruelling days of hill climbing, but we
personally pay no credence to those rumours.
In fact it was a huge shame to not have him with us for the opening
stretch because this was the most dramatic section of the whole ride
so far. The lowest gears corresponded with the highest heartbeats as
the ascents took us 500 metres into the Penines. You could easily get
Wordsworthian up there, but what are words worth to try and convey
what it was like?
The descents were occasionally terrifying, even with both hands
clamped to the brakes, but when we arrived in the almost ridiculously
quaint village of Dent, we'd had the most exhilarating 11 miles to date.
After Dent, the countryside was similar, but the weather broke. It was
still very slow going, and we were grateful for Tom S.'s local
knowledge to speed up navigating. We finally met up with Adam in
Tebay, and continued after a change of clothes. Shortly after, it was
Tom Lee's bike that was in trouble. A pedal came loose and fell off.
The bolt was lost, and Tom was facing a taxi ride too until James had
a moment of great mechanical ingenuity and got him tempoarily patched
up. But we'll be back in a bike shop today...
The rain relented suffciently for us to make it into Duftom, nestling
at the bottom of the Penine's most formidable peaks. Tom Lee knew the
hostel and pub from his own solo John O'Groats to Land's End walk of a
couple of years ago, one of the inspirations for this venture.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Dark Satanic hills
To borrow the football commentator's cliche, yesterday was a ride of two halves. We'll describe them in a minute, but we should start by welcoming another Tom, this time Adam's old university friend, who has joined us for two days. Tom had previous where long distance cycling's concerned, having been with Adam on their epic cycle from Bangkok to Singapore, in support of the tsunami victims.
The first half of yesterday's mini epic was all about getting out of the Manchester conurbation. The towns rolled by: Bury, Rochdale, Accrington. A roll call of lower league football towns, with their ex-workers' cottages lining the way and strange modern British adjacencies like The Butty Shop right next door to Zainab's Indian takeaway.
We lunched in Whalley Abbey grounds, in one of the last towns before open countryside began. Up to then, the hills had been modest, but after Clitheroe we were immediately into endless, brutal hill climbs up into dales country. At one point Tom Lee's saddle came off for no apparent reason, giving us some respite while it was fixed, before resuming the climb over beautiful deserted moorland. After well over an hour of climbing, we finally got to the top of the ridge and whizzed down the other side, giggling like kids. James' speedo toched 40 miles an hour, which, on those roads, was quite a white knuckle ride.
About three miles from Ingleton, Adam's bike gave out and we had to walk and free wheel to our destination, a very pretty Dales' village. Amazingly, there is a bike shop opposite. Our traditional start to the day...
Incidentally, we are getting requests of a more, er, prurient nature for these blog entries. The general tone of these is along the lines of "enough of this geographical whimsy and feeble attempt at travelogue, give us the anatomical horrors." Well, the news is that the fabled Assos cream (Google it if you don't know what we're talking about), is doing a spectacular job. The bigger issue is aching quads, especially after days lime yesterday. Deep Heat and beer have become the medicines of choice, and they seem to deal with most problems. All in all, could be much worse.
The first half of yesterday's mini epic was all about getting out of the Manchester conurbation. The towns rolled by: Bury, Rochdale, Accrington. A roll call of lower league football towns, with their ex-workers' cottages lining the way and strange modern British adjacencies like The Butty Shop right next door to Zainab's Indian takeaway.
We lunched in Whalley Abbey grounds, in one of the last towns before open countryside began. Up to then, the hills had been modest, but after Clitheroe we were immediately into endless, brutal hill climbs up into dales country. At one point Tom Lee's saddle came off for no apparent reason, giving us some respite while it was fixed, before resuming the climb over beautiful deserted moorland. After well over an hour of climbing, we finally got to the top of the ridge and whizzed down the other side, giggling like kids. James' speedo toched 40 miles an hour, which, on those roads, was quite a white knuckle ride.
About three miles from Ingleton, Adam's bike gave out and we had to walk and free wheel to our destination, a very pretty Dales' village. Amazingly, there is a bike shop opposite. Our traditional start to the day...
Incidentally, we are getting requests of a more, er, prurient nature for these blog entries. The general tone of these is along the lines of "enough of this geographical whimsy and feeble attempt at travelogue, give us the anatomical horrors." Well, the news is that the fabled Assos cream (Google it if you don't know what we're talking about), is doing a spectacular job. The bigger issue is aching quads, especially after days lime yesterday. Deep Heat and beer have become the medicines of choice, and they seem to deal with most problems. All in all, could be much worse.
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Second city
The first being Bristol, with Glasgow to come. Adam was very excited about this day, because Manchester has become his adopted city and he still owns a flat here despite currently living in Brighton.
Being Manchester it was, naturally, raining. We were generously offered a gourmet selection of Manchester's specialist rains: sour drizzle; old-fashioned northern downpour; fine mist; sharp showers. Having no alternative, we took them all.
On the approach to the city, there is a fascinating contrast in star-gazing to be marveled at. We detoured to take in Joddrell Bank, still majestic looking, even though its role and function is frankly a mystery. Barely five miles further on is Alderly Edge, ubiquitous northern home of WAGS and soap stars, whose role and function is frankly a mystery. We had lunch there in a pretentious restaurant and failed to spot a single Hollyoaks starlet. Not that we'd have recognised one.
Onwards, and the start of Adam's Nostalgia Tour, finally culminating in arriving at his flat and resting for a while before hitting town. Despite Adam's protestations about how unaffected this city is, one bar's bouncer took exception to Tom's sartorial choice. Not that he himself was anything to write home about. We ended up at Adam's beloved club, the Cuba Cafe. Inclusive door policy; eclectic, upbeat music; buoyant atmosphere. Although Adam failed in his ambition to get everyone in the club dancing the conga, he'll get over the disappointment.
Rest day today. Originally designed to recover from cycling, we now need it to recover from Manchester.
Being Manchester it was, naturally, raining. We were generously offered a gourmet selection of Manchester's specialist rains: sour drizzle; old-fashioned northern downpour; fine mist; sharp showers. Having no alternative, we took them all.
On the approach to the city, there is a fascinating contrast in star-gazing to be marveled at. We detoured to take in Joddrell Bank, still majestic looking, even though its role and function is frankly a mystery. Barely five miles further on is Alderly Edge, ubiquitous northern home of WAGS and soap stars, whose role and function is frankly a mystery. We had lunch there in a pretentious restaurant and failed to spot a single Hollyoaks starlet. Not that we'd have recognised one.
Onwards, and the start of Adam's Nostalgia Tour, finally culminating in arriving at his flat and resting for a while before hitting town. Despite Adam's protestations about how unaffected this city is, one bar's bouncer took exception to Tom's sartorial choice. Not that he himself was anything to write home about. We ended up at Adam's beloved club, the Cuba Cafe. Inclusive door policy; eclectic, upbeat music; buoyant atmosphere. Although Adam failed in his ambition to get everyone in the club dancing the conga, he'll get over the disappointment.
Rest day today. Originally designed to recover from cycling, we now need it to recover from Manchester.
Saturday, 1 August 2009
The hills are alive with the sound of groaning
A tale of more hills yesterday. Worcestershire and Shropshire are both bucolic and highly picturesque, but the quads pay for it.
It was also a tale of four places that we stopped at. Bewdley and especially Bridgnorth are both quaint, Merrie Olde English towns, full of bijou shops and bustling with quiet confidence. Ironbridge is a world heritage centre, with the famous bridge at the heart of it all in the gorge, surrounded by enough industrial museums to sustain an entire hoilday. It's all brilliantly accomplished. It was a shame to leave, not least because we knew we'd be facing a murderous climb out of the gorge.
The threatening clouds finally gave up their load for the final hour or so, which suited the final destination, Market Drayton. This town, having failed to luck out on historical or geographical advantage, has taken the brunt of the recession, with endless boarded up shops.
For our part, we met up with Adrienne, Adam's mum and Martin's stepmum, who took us out for a curry at the Jaipur. It was our second eccentric curry of the tour. We'd have told you about the one in Bodmin if we'd sorted out the blog then. This time, they brought our food, and then took it away from us, claiming it was a mistake, and gave it to another table. Adam had already started nibbling on his Peshwari naan...
...and so onto Manchester.
It was also a tale of four places that we stopped at. Bewdley and especially Bridgnorth are both quaint, Merrie Olde English towns, full of bijou shops and bustling with quiet confidence. Ironbridge is a world heritage centre, with the famous bridge at the heart of it all in the gorge, surrounded by enough industrial museums to sustain an entire hoilday. It's all brilliantly accomplished. It was a shame to leave, not least because we knew we'd be facing a murderous climb out of the gorge.
The threatening clouds finally gave up their load for the final hour or so, which suited the final destination, Market Drayton. This town, having failed to luck out on historical or geographical advantage, has taken the brunt of the recession, with endless boarded up shops.
For our part, we met up with Adrienne, Adam's mum and Martin's stepmum, who took us out for a curry at the Jaipur. It was our second eccentric curry of the tour. We'd have told you about the one in Bodmin if we'd sorted out the blog then. This time, they brought our food, and then took it away from us, claiming it was a mistake, and gave it to another table. Adam had already started nibbling on his Peshwari naan...
...and so onto Manchester.
Friday, 31 July 2009
Fair Albion
One of the unexpected pleasures of the trip has been an experience that's crept up on all of us and slightly taken us by surprise; the feeling of becoming more connected to your own country.
It's a combination of slow travel, small acts of kindness, the acknowledgement of strangers and having time to enjoy the uniquely British eccentricities that are everywhere when you look.
Through the Black Country today. Should be fun.
It's a combination of slow travel, small acts of kindness, the acknowledgement of strangers and having time to enjoy the uniquely British eccentricities that are everywhere when you look.
Through the Black Country today. Should be fun.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
The whether to forecast
Despite the star quality of Marion's cooking (breakfast was the equal of anything you'd eat anywhere), if we emerge from this tour with a Michelin Guide, it will be of the rubber tyre genre The day started in a bike shop. Again. This time in Street's brilliantly named On Your Bike, with James getting a new back wheel. On a punning note, we couldn't help remarking on this town having missed the chance to rival Okehampton with Street's Ahead.
Anyway, the next four hours were about rain. The only diversion was to agree on an adjective. Was it teeming, driving, persistent or, for the melodramatic types, lashing? It was certainly wet. After five minutes we stopped getting wetter.
Mercifully, this was one of the shortest rides, albeit that it had our longest unbroken climb - 2.25 miles according to James' (Statto's) on board telemetry.
Adam felt the ride required another puncture (he's greedily collected three now), but other than that it was relatively incident free trip.
The inhospitability of the weather was overwhelmed by the hospitality of Bob and Sally's welcome. They are Adam's girlfriend's parents, and they opened their house to us with enormous warmth. More great food, to the point where weight gain is a serious possibility, and a full laundry service from Sally. We've been thoroughly spoilt the last two nights.
So, to Worcester, my liege. We've been promised better weather, but this update has been tapped out in tune to rain tapping on the window. We shall see.
Anyway, the next four hours were about rain. The only diversion was to agree on an adjective. Was it teeming, driving, persistent or, for the melodramatic types, lashing? It was certainly wet. After five minutes we stopped getting wetter.
Mercifully, this was one of the shortest rides, albeit that it had our longest unbroken climb - 2.25 miles according to James' (Statto's) on board telemetry.
Adam felt the ride required another puncture (he's greedily collected three now), but other than that it was relatively incident free trip.
The inhospitability of the weather was overwhelmed by the hospitality of Bob and Sally's welcome. They are Adam's girlfriend's parents, and they opened their house to us with enormous warmth. More great food, to the point where weight gain is a serious possibility, and a full laundry service from Sally. We've been thoroughly spoilt the last two nights.
So, to Worcester, my liege. We've been promised better weather, but this update has been tapped out in tune to rain tapping on the window. We shall see.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Martin's Day 5 Update...
Day 5 - Sorry for the silence so far, we've only just managed to get the blog link to work from a mobile, and the small towns of the south west have either not caught up with Internet cafes or they've moved way past them - you decide.
Still on course with the itinerary at this point. The one sentence version of progress is: bodies in better states than bikes. Tom's had to have a new one altogether - the one he was sentimentally attached to (the Rattlesnake), turned out to be, er, not quite up to the task. He ended up with the one almost suitable bike that Bodmin Bikes could sell us. Adam had two punctures and a broken spoke on day 3 and had to stop in Okehampton on day 4 to get sorted out. Martin has so far escaped with nothing more than replaced brake blocks in Launceston, but James had a spectacular tumble yesterday (degree of difficulty 8.5), which did for his back wheel. It was only three miles from the end of the (80 mile) day. The brilliant landlord of our B&B, Mr. Salmon, came out to collect James and the bike. His wife cooked us a quite brilliant meal, which would have been outstanding under any circumstances, but after yesterday, well... They deserve a plug - if you're ever near Street, check out the Old Orchard House B&B.
So we'll start today in a bike shop. Again. They're all brilliant down here. Family owned, friendly, give you cups of tea, and superbly positioned to attract woefully unprepared End to End chancers like us.
More soon. Solid rain today, but a short ride to Bristol. We could do with an easier day - partly for the sake of James' bruises and stiff knee and elbow and just generally after the brutal hills of Bodmin and Dartmoor.
Oh, finally, for any devotees of civic branding, ever seen a better one than Okehampton - the town with moor? Genius.
Still on course with the itinerary at this point. The one sentence version of progress is: bodies in better states than bikes. Tom's had to have a new one altogether - the one he was sentimentally attached to (the Rattlesnake), turned out to be, er, not quite up to the task. He ended up with the one almost suitable bike that Bodmin Bikes could sell us. Adam had two punctures and a broken spoke on day 3 and had to stop in Okehampton on day 4 to get sorted out. Martin has so far escaped with nothing more than replaced brake blocks in Launceston, but James had a spectacular tumble yesterday (degree of difficulty 8.5), which did for his back wheel. It was only three miles from the end of the (80 mile) day. The brilliant landlord of our B&B, Mr. Salmon, came out to collect James and the bike. His wife cooked us a quite brilliant meal, which would have been outstanding under any circumstances, but after yesterday, well... They deserve a plug - if you're ever near Street, check out the Old Orchard House B&B.
So we'll start today in a bike shop. Again. They're all brilliant down here. Family owned, friendly, give you cups of tea, and superbly positioned to attract woefully unprepared End to End chancers like us.
More soon. Solid rain today, but a short ride to Bristol. We could do with an easier day - partly for the sake of James' bruises and stiff knee and elbow and just generally after the brutal hills of Bodmin and Dartmoor.
Oh, finally, for any devotees of civic branding, ever seen a better one than Okehampton - the town with moor? Genius.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Friday, 24 July 2009
The itinerary
For all you keen followers (and if you'd like to join us), here is our itinerary for the ride:
Day 1 – Saturday 25th July
Arrive by train in Penzance – 14.30
Penzance – Hayle, via Land’s End – 26 miles
Hayle: Travelodge, A30 Carwin Roundabout, Hayle, TR27 5PN - 0871 984 6314
Day 2 – Sunday 26th
Hayle – Bodmin – 39 miles
Bodmin: Hotel Casi Casa, 11 Higher Bore Street, PL31 1JS – 01208 77592
Day 3 – Monday 27th
Bodmin – Okehampton - 40 miles
YHA, Klondyke Road, Okehampton, EX20 1EW - 0845 371 9651
Day 4 – Tuesday 28th
Okehampton – Street – 70 miles
Old Orchard House B & B, Middle Brooks, Street
BA16 0TU - 01458 442212
Day 5 – Wednesday 29th
Street – Bristol – 32 miles
Susie’s parents
Day 6 – Thursday 30th
Bristol – Worcester – 63 miles
Gables Bed & Breakfast, 166 Bromyard Road, Worcester, WR2 5EE
01905 425488
Day 7 – Friday 31st
Worcester – Market Drayton – 53 miles
Hermitage B&B, 44 Stafford Street, Market Drayton Shropshire
TF9 1JB 01630 658508
Day 8 – Saturday 1st August
Market Drayton – Manchester – 60 miles
Adam’s flat
Day 9 – Sunday 2nd
Rest day in Manchester
Adam’s flat
Day 10 – Monday 3rd
Manchester – Ingleton – 72 miles
Seed Hill Guest House, Village Centre, Ingleton, LA6 3AB – 01524 241 799
(x1 twin, x1 triple) – deposit paid.
http://www.come2ingleton.com/
Day 11 – Tuesday 4th
Ingleton – Dufton - 45 miles
YHA, Dufton, Appleby, Cumbria, CA16 6DB - 0845 371 9734
4 bed room plus 1 dorm bed
Booking refs: 7620634 & 7620635
Paid in full
Day 12 – Wednesday 5th
Penrith – Lockerbie – 57 miles
Corrid Lodge B&B Corrie Road, Lockerbie,
Dumfries & Galloway, DG11 2NG - 01576 710237
Day 13 – Thursday 6th
Lockerbie – Strathaven – 57 miles
Alison Girdwood, 33 School Lane,
Day 14 – Friday 7th
Rest day in Glasgow/Strathaven
Alison Girdwood
Day 15 – Saturday 8th
Strathaven – Loch Lomond – 36 miles
SYHA Loch Lomond, Auchendennan, Arden, G83 8RA - 01389 850 226
Day 16 – Sunday 9th
Loch Lomond – Crianlarich– 31 miles
SYHA Crianlarich, Station Road, Crianlarich, FK20 8QN - 01838 300 260
Day 17 – Monday 10th
Crianlarich to Glen Nevis – 54 miles
SYHA Glen Nevis, Glen Nevis, Fort William, PH33 6SY - 01397 702 336
Day 18 – Tuesday 11th
Glen Nevis – Glen Urquhart– 58 miles
SYHA Glen Urquhart, Bearnock Country Centre, Glen Urquhart, IV63 6TN
01463 230 218
Day 19 – Wednesday 12th
Glen Urquhart – Carbisdale Castle – 27 miles
SYHA Carbisdale Castle, Culrain, Sutherland, IV24 3DP - 01549 421 232
Day 20 – Thursday 13th
Carbisdale Castle to Altnaharra – 23 miles
B&B Altnaharra, 1, Mcleod Crescent, IV27 4UG – 01549 411 258
Day 21 – Friday 14th
Altnaharra to Tongue - 26 miles
SYHA Tongue, Tongue, By Lairg, IV27 4XH - 01847 611789
Day 22 – Saturday 15th
Tongue – John O’Groats – 63 miles
John O’Groats, Caithness,
Scotland, KW1 4YR - 01955 611 220
Monday, 20 July 2009
Land's End to John O'Groats 2009
Messrs. Lee, Lee, Lee & Lee are delighted to announce their forthcoming perambulation along the length of England, Wales and Scotland, starting at the foot of Land’s End (Cornwall), and to finish at the tip of John O’Groats (Caithness), beginning on the 25th day of July, the year of our Lord 2009. Transportation will be facilitated purely by Mr. Raleigh’s new and fantastical invention, ‘the bicycle’, illustrated in the daguerrotype above. The journey will encompass divers byways and highways, resting at hostels and inns along the way. Charitable donations on behalf of the MS Society are being most humbly and gratefully accepted, and can be given through the agency of Mr. Berners-Lee’s even more fantastical world wide web, at the address below. The merest ‘click’ will transport you, by some infernal mechanism, to their invisible money depository. All farthings and, dare we say it, groats, will make a valued contribution, sovereigns and guineas are more desirous still.
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