An against doctors orders ride. I am banned from doing anything that might inflame my nerves; rowing, bike riding, until they get a chance to recover. Apparently this may take some time and puts Mayhem, and even the EWE in jeopardy. However, I can’t sit at home getting no exercise.

Since the Pompino was snapped I decided to go out on the Langster. Unfortunately I could only find some SPD pedalds which were a faff for several reasons. Firstly I had to raise the saddle. Compared to the Egg Beaters that were on there SPDs obviously have a higher spindle/foot height. Secondly none of my shoes with SPD cleats have the Varus wedge built into my Body Geometry shoes. I could tell. Thirdly the cleat was much farther forward on the shoe. Combined with the extra height of the foot above the spindle this really pulled on my calves.

My hands don’t appear to have suffered from the ride — certainly less than a day at work trying to touch type on a non-Apple keyboard.

Not that hard it turned out just over an hour and a half later.

Bike

Snaggletooth is a 26″ wheeled singlepeed from Hunter Cycles with slider dropouts from Tod Ingermanson at Black Cat. Flaming paintjob by Sampson and headbadge/stem spacer by Jen Green. Forks are from Pace.

Transmission is all White Industries; that’s bottom bracket, cranks, freewheel, and rear hub. Ratio is 2:1, provided by 34:17 ring/sprocket. Yes, I hate that it’s not 32:16. Pedals are Crank Brothers. Front hub is Hope, who also provided the brakes. Both wheels use Mavic rims and DT swiss spokes, and were wrapped in IRC Mud Mads.

Contact points are an old SDG saddle — it’s piebald not cow, OK — sitting atop an USE alien post. The suspension seatpost also needed a service at the end of the trip, as it blew though the first inch of sag with no resistance. Race Face risers at the end of a Hunter stem provide control, with Salsa Juegos De Fuegos grips for comfort.

What broke?

One pedal left it’s end cap and bearings somewhere between Spean Bridge and Invergarry. It then carried on until Inverness where I replaced it with a new pair of Crank Brothers. Some people have declared this the least unexpected failure of the trip. On the other hand I have greased these pedals religiously and they have done me many years of good service. One of the reasons I switched to Crank Brothers in the first place was the better release mechanism than provided by Shimano pedals. I still see no reason to return.

The bottom bracket bearings went somewhere on the road to Thurso. Not catastrophically, but enough for the side-to-side play in the cranks to be noticeable. Fortunately this isn’t a sealed Shimano unit which requires me to throw it all away but a lovely White Industries unit and I’ve since popped in a new pair of bearings and it’s turning again.

There was a problem in the early part of the trip with a misaligned rear caliper causing brake drag. I think part of the problem was actually a slightly warped, Avid, disc. The lesson is to install some extra, ineffectual, spacers on the outside of your caliper. Fortunately that’s what I’d already done.

I had no punctures.

Kit

Follow and view the notes to see packing

Portage

• Revelate Viscacha
• Revelate Handlebar harness
• 15 year old North Face bum bag. Probably this would be called a waist pack these days. This was an ace piece of kit. It clipped perfectly to the straps already on the Revelate harness and helped steady the load. It meant I could carry everything of immediate value with me whenever I left the bike outside supermarkets, cafes, service stations. As well as room for all sundries I could carry snacks in it’s waater bottle pockets, or even two bottles of Frijj. It’s not totally waterproof so electrical items did need to be double wrapped inside it. To put into perspective how wet it was on the Bristol-Preston leg my multivitamin pills inside this bag inside a sealed canister were damp. The compression straps could also be used to carry the down jacket or waterproof immediately to hand. The front pockets provided somewhere for all tools. I’ve searched the North Face catalog for anything so useful in their current range. There is nothing

Shelter

• Rab Storm Bivvy

Sleeping

• Multimat Thermalite 3/4 length sleeping mat. Small, thin.
• Coleman Bambusa synthetic bag rated to zero degrees. This was rolled up in the multimat which kept it dry in even the foulest weather.

These two items were carried in the Revelate harness attached to the handlebars.

Clothing

• Endura Stealth jacket. Proved waterproof to all but the seven hours of rain. It didn’t let water through, but it got in by the ends of the sleeves.
• Outdoor Research down gilet. Or waistcoat if you prefer. Doubled up as a pillow on the first two nights. After that I was wearing it at night. Past Fort William I pretty much wore it all the time, apart from a few sunny miles alongside Loch Ness.
• Montane Featherlite smock windproof. Lives up to it’s name. Packs down to the size of a tennis ball when not in use and weighs about as much as a gnats fart. I wore this a lot on the first three legs, but not once past Preston, where I preferred the warmer Stealth jacket. It was so light and small it cost almost nothing to carry.
• Karrimor polartec 100 base layer, one long sleeve (used from Preston North), one short sleeve (used to Preston). These were never a big seller, which is odd as they are great shirts. These are from the days of Karrimor stuff still being sewn by Northern ladies in Accrington. I wore the same short sleeve shirt back in 1993!
• Cycling shorts, two pairs. One pair Endura, team Velocake, and one pair Voler bibs, team Hunter. Some of you may remember Voler as manufacturers of Rock Shox garb.
• Cycling jerseys, three. Two Endura, team Velocake, and one Voler, team Hunter.
• Knee warmers; never removed past Monmouth.
• Arm warmers. Alexa. Like the Karrimor base layer these are veterans of the 1993 trip.
• Two spare pairs Sock Guy socks.
• Buff. I find these help stop sweaty helmet. Always good.
• Hat. It was nice at the end of each day to remove a slightly damp buff and put on a dry, fleece lined, O’Neil beanie to keep my head warm.
• Oakley flak jackets with gold iridium and clear lenses for day/night riding. I ended up switching out of contact lenses and into my prescription glasses for most of the dark cycling.
• Specialized Body Geometry MTB Pro shoes. White to write cheques my legs can’t cash.
• Specialized Body Geometry gloves. Womens for preference due to extra padding.
• Specialized Helmet

Tools & Spares

• Leatherman Wave
• Lezyne pump
• Two CO2 cartridges
• Tip Top puncture kit. Other puncture kits are available. None come in the iconic green box.
• Two spare tubes
• Four chain links
• Two tyre levers
• 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6mm allen keys courtesy Total Bike
• Finish Line Chain pup (less it’s allen keys)
• Small bottle Finish Line chain lube

Sundries

• First Aid kit
• AA Maglite with LED conversion
• Two Blackburn LED rear lights. One worn on the back, one on my head. The high level light really contributes to being seen I feel
• AA pocket road atlas, 8 miles to 1 inch. Requires no batteries or satellites. Proved resilient to all the rain
• Photon backup – useful for map reading in the dark or rooting through the North Face bag
• Whistle; just because;
• iPhone; turned off except for taking photos, tweeting along the way, and checking in at night
• iPod; only used a couple of times, or train journeys
• Charger for the above
• Panasonic Lumix camera
• Camping Gaz stove, with single pan, and small fuel bottle. Used only to heat water for porridge at breakfast. No handle
• Turboflame lighter
• Spork
• Toothbrush & small tube paste
• Small toilet roll
• Glasses & contact lenses
• Razor
• Moisturiser; just because I was being rugged and windswept there was no need to hurry the wrinkles along!
• Vitamin pills
• Diary & pen. A proper fountain pen. You know, with ink and stuff
• Cable & lock for outside supermarkets
• Wallet with cards, cash, and rail tickets

Food

Sachets of oats-so-simple. Three a day for breakfast, or I’d sometimes ride the first two hours a day fasted.

Other than that savoury foods low in carbs, or with a low GI, provided endurance fuel. The day I relied on simple carbs for fuel — the tiffin fuelled ride over Shap — was the only day I came close to bonking. Also if I steer clear of the sort of simple carbs I used to use for endurance races (12 and 24 hour) I get less bloating and have — at the risk of going into way too much detail — better poos.

Occassionally I’d carry 1/2lb lumps of cheese, chorizo ring, 400g bags peanuts, packets of Custard creams.

The rest I bought en-route, particularly Frijj milkshakes, hot tea, bananas, apples, KFC, and Pizza Hut. Too much sweet food – just a Snickers Duo – would make the lining of my mouth feel raw, so I steered away from it unless I really had a craving.

KFC is a cheap source of protein, and the girls behind the counter would always honour my request for two pieces of rib as the most calorific item on the menu. Pizza Hut does unlimited salad refills, so you can get the fruit and veg you’re craving. Or stock up on potato salad with lots of dressing.

I bought cheap still water in 2 litre bottles from supermarkets or service stations along the way. I’d carry 1.5 liters on the bike and drink the rest there and then.

Me

I don’t get on with chamois cream. I did, however, keep absolutely, scrupulously clean throughout the trip. I suffered no saddle sores or boils or problems. I had a couple of inflamed hair roots by the end of the trip, but nothing painful.

What broke

My hands. Should have worn the female body geometry gloves right from the off. Two weeks after the end of the trip I still have ulnar nerve problems and clawing in the outermost two fingers on each hand. I can’t hold a knife and fork properly and trying to cut through a piece of toast in a fried breakfast is just painful to watch.

Lessons

I’m still undecided if a frame bag to carry some of the sundries which I had in the bar bag, such as tools, would help. I’m sure I could gaffer tape or zip tie them to appropriate places instead. It might also provide a better place than the bar bag to carry heavy food and drink items in the short time between them being bought and eaten.

I never used the stove for any meal other than breakfast, so for a dash, I’d dispense with the stove and fuel and find something palatable cold. Not carrying dried foods means I don’t have to worry about carrying fuel to cook them, and all my water goes towards drinking not cooking.

Packing was an art, which I had down pat by about day three. It’s about getting as much weight at the seatpost end of the Viscacha as possible. Deciding whether to keep the waterproof and down to hand strapped to the bar bag, or packed away in the seatpack also comes into play.

Although I’d reached my final destination there was still the little matter of getting home; trains all the way from Wick to London. I was suprisingly hangover free. Surprisingly because as I’ve already written I’d hit the single malt last night. Drinking it with water — purely because I’d read an article on the science behind it. Not only did I enjoy the whisky more, but I’m sure it contributed to the lack of headache.

Todays fry up was part of the whole hotel package, so I was going to be well fed for the journey to Wick. Before returning I cycled once more to John O’Groats to take a few final pictures, including TK-421, the faithful stormtrooper mojo who had accompanied me on this journey. A half-dozen lads were doing a JOGLE for charity on monkey bikes and just sorting out their own start pictures.

TK-421 ponders his next posting

With yesterdays North wind still in effect I was flying down the Wick road. After ten minutes or so I was passed by the monkey bikes and their two support vans. I waved and they beeped back. Five minutes later I passed a broken down monkey bike and six lads all stopped; stood in the “if we all look at it hard enough we can mend it” attitude. Another five minutes passed and I was passed by five lads on monkey bikes. I waved. They beeped. There was just one support van. After another five minutes I was passed by the second van, presumably now carrying a monkey bike.

With the wind behind me I flew along. I remembered riding this road in reverse in 1993, into the teeth of a headwind and rain. You think once you’ve reached Wick that you’re there, but you’re not, and there is enough climbing to take the fun out of the last few miles. Quite a few cyclists coming the other way looked as if they were end-to-enders on for a Sunday finish.

Ten miles after setting off the cycle computer I’d been using to log mileages ticked over 1000 miles for the trip. Not far off my estimate of how long it would be.

1000 miles

There was just one train from Wick to Inverness today, and it ended up unsuprisingly busy. Fortunately for the other passengers I was wearing the clean cycling kit I’d carried from Preston all the way North rather than rancid five day old kit. As well as cycling from Lands End to John O’ Groats it struck me as I sat in the carriage gazing out at the blanket bog and beautiful bleakness that I’d practically cover the length of the country by train, using rail travel for Wick – London and London – Penzance legs.

Inverness provided some R&R, though Britain shuts at 5 on a Sunday. Still, there are backstreet pubs to be found. You’d think that walking into a bar in full cycling kit might get you some strange looks, but, as everywhere on the trip there was nae bother.

It was with a sense of finality that I bordered the Caledonian sleeper and the last leg. My phone was out of battery so there was nothing to do but try and get comfortable and sleep. This was harder than I expected it to be. It was too dark to see the beauty of the Cairngorms as we passed through. I used my iPod and completed my thoughts for the day in a proper paper diary. Eventually sleep I must have done as I woke at Edinburgh and again at Carnforth as we were shunted back and fro, additional carriages being attached. I finally woke proper passing through Buckinghamshire to a beautiful frosty mornig and temperature inversion. Only an hour later I was on the platform at Euston. Walking through the big city and a concourse full of passengers and commuters going about their lives.

Back home and to the rat race.

Distance today: 17.82
Distance so far: 1007.14 *

* While many people would be happy with this, I was frustrated not to get a round 1024 miles.

Last day. As I had snacked away on a late supper of cheese, chorizo and nuts while settling down for the night I had pulled out the trusty AA road atlas and tried to work out the distance to John O’Groats via Thurso. About 75 miles I’d reckoned. At an average speed on the road of 8mph with stops that was a 9 hour ride. If I wanted to finish in the afternoon or early evening I’d best get up early.

I woke at 6 and promptly set about cooking the last of my porridge. Three sachets should do it today. Then the first cooked breakfast I could find. After that I would be heading North to Thurso on the edge of the Flow Country, and relying only on the calories I could carry. The aforementioned cheese, chorizo and peanuts, plus a cheap packet of custard creams. 2000 calories for only 39p. That’s an average daily allowance right there.

The gas for the stove had been perfectly judged too and it heated the water to just about hot enough before fading and dying.

I was on the road by 7.

The day was bright and sunny with, as in 1993, a Northerly wind to contend with. Still, it made some lovely breakers on the deserted shore. 15 miles of pleasant cycling later I rolled into Helmsdale. The cafe at Timespan Museumwas the only chance of breakfast. The lady behind the counter was up to her eyeballs in flour preparing the days baking. It was slightly too early, but no matter. Have a complimentary cup of tea and she’d she what she could throw together. What she threw together turned out to be toast, the best runny fried eggs of the trip, good thick bacon, beans, and more tea. More tea was also forthcoming and a lovely chat. Timespan has excellent displays on the world famous geology of the Highlands — contributing as it did to the understanding of plate tectonics. As kids going on holiday we had the obligatory trips to Knockan Crag and Inchnadamph (or Inchnadamp as we insisted on pronouncing it) to view the Moine Thrust, so it was kind of comforting sitting reading the literature while I enjoyed another ace cooked breakfast*.

I was now well fortified to tackle the climbs out of Helmsdale and Berriedale. The north wind didn’t help. Neither did the occasional hailstorm, which due to my general north westerly direction would fill my left ear with ice.

I knew that stopping at Golspie I’d probably stopped nearer John O’Groats than the other two teams of end to enders I expected to be leapfrogging today. I knew one team was planning on stopping at Dornoch, and the other at Tain. So I had a ten and 20 mile head start on them, and probably an hour os so on the clock.

By Latheron I still hadn’t been passed. I doubted I would now as my route diverged from the straightforward end-to-end route. Here, in order to get to Dunnet Head, I turned North, straight into the headwind. Just over twenty miles to Thurso, on a road straight over the blanket bog.

Flow country, Caithness

In the end those 20 miles took three hours. I was looking forward to reaching the halfway point at Spittal thinking that the downhill run into Thurso would be easier. It wasn’t. I was managing just 8mph on the descents, and that was pedalling hard. Only hitting the 1000 miles cycling total in April briefly lightened my mood. Fortunately once I turned the corner and had a mere sidewind pedalling got easier and my average pace picked up a little. Along the coast I couldn’t help thinking that, apart from the mountains in the background, I could have been in Cornwall. And the fact that the crops and lambs were a little behind. I was struck by the similarities of the countryside within Britain, even many miles apart. But then how different this was from the scenery just a few miles away. It really is a wonderful, pocket sized country with an amazing variety of geography.

My mood was also further lifted just before the Dunnet Head road as a now familiar support car came past, horn bipping cheerily, and people waving support. I couldn’t for the life of me work out why it would be off-route.

The last few miles to Dunnet Head were not dull. Into the teeth of the gale, and then the snow and hail returned. Naturally for my photo opportunity — thank you random famil — the sun came out and I can provide no evidence of my rugged credentials. So here, I was. Just after 5pm on the last day. Northernmost point achieved. Only John O’Groats to reach now. I was definitely going to get there early evening. Plenty of time to get a proper meal and find a bed.

Dunnet Head

Heading back to the main coast road with a tailwind I was doing 15mph freewheeling up the hills I’d managed 8mph pedalling down. This just made my frustration at the prevailing winds even worse. Still, it meant that I could time trial along the coast. By 6.20 I had just one mile to go. First though, on a whim, I booked into the Seaview Hotel. The thought of beer, a good meal, and most of all, a shower, was too much to resist.

Then I rolled the last mile down to the jetty.

Time of finish 6:42pm. I made that a total time of 8 days, 10 hours, and 22 minutes. To ride 974.33 end to end miles. Not too shabby solo, unsupported, singlespeed. Even if the knobblies were pumped up hard.

Two now familiar end-to-enders were also there with their car. I’d seen them after a diversion to their hotel in Thurso. They too were fed up with the Northerly wind, but also satisfied at their achievement. As well they should be. This is a long ride by any standards, whatever the bike you chooe to ride.

John O’Groats

I felt a real sense of accomplishment now, even if I do just tell people it’s “just riding a bike”. Time to celebrate I thought. But first, that shower I was promising myself.

Then I celebrated with a cider. And, a second. Before I got too drunk I tackled steak pie and chips and more cider. By the time I’d also enjoyed some single malt I felt practically recovered.

Of course the adventure was still not quite over as I had to make my way back to Wick tomorrow and thence by rail to London.

Next time, I may have to try riding back!

Distance today: 88.66 miles, Golspie – Dunnett Head – John O’ Groats
Distance so far: 989.32 miles

* All the cooked breakfasts were my favourite so far.

Friday 13 April. Unlucky for some.

By the dull grey light of daylight I checked my pedal more closely. Missing endcap, somewhere back on the road to An Gearasdan, and outer bearing starting to lose it’s balls. Provided it was pushed onto the axle it span freely enough. I was sure that cycling gingerly it would get me to Fort Augustus, and, hopefully, a bike shop.

That’s not supposed to happen…

Just down the road from my overnight bivvy was a petrol station, always a useful source of a cup of hot, sweet, tea first thing in a morning. Unfortunately as well as a source of hot leaf based beverages this one was also bearer of the news that the nearest bike shops were either back the way in An Gearasdan, or up ahead in Inverness. I knew from the miles already done this morning that Snaggletooth would make it, but I had hoped to divert North at Drumnadrochit heading straight for Lairg via The Muir of Ord and Beauly. Although only four or five miles shorter than ehading into Inverness psychologically it looked a more straight line on the map. Still, there was nothing for it but to head for Inverness.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. There would be a guaranteed chance to top up my iPhone charge at a Starbucks. Other caffeinated beverage outlets are available though the possibility of hooking into their electricity supply is less certain. Google also confimed the presence of a Pizza Hut on the Inverness Business and Retail Park. The lure of unlimited salad visits and real fruit and vegatables is strong.

Between now and then though lay 40 miles of ginger pedalling, and I still hadn’t had breakfast. That was provided courtesy of the Scots Kitchen in Fort Augustus. I’d already ordered the Full Scottish Breakfast* before I remembered my experience in Luss and checked the shape of the sausages. They were “link sausages” I was reassured. I encountered yet another couple of end-to-enders here. This time two Cornish lads on motorbikes, doing a full there and back again trip. Big respect to the younger on one a 125 with L plates. Apparently the 7 litre tank of his bike had caused some concern between fuel stops, and he had taken part in the siphoning petrol rite of passage familiar to many a motorcyclist.

Alongside Loch Ness temperatures approached something like normality. I was disappointed to see at the Loch Ness Centre that they had finally ceded to scientific evidence that the Loch – despite being the largest volume of freshwater in Scotland – is too small to support a large animal.

Impossible, sadly

The fascination with Nessie unfortunately detracts from the achievements of John Cobb, Loch Ness’s very own Donald Campbell. His memorial sits alongside the main road. I found it quaint that underneath his racing overalls and leather racing cap he wore a collar and tie. Gentleman daredevils of yore were much more smartly dressed than todays professional risk takers.

I spent so long faffing about in Inverness that I even stopped the clock on my ride. First of all Starbucks for coffee, cake, and even frappucinno while the iPhone charged. Then off to Highland Bicycle Co. for a new pair of pedals. Yes, I did go with Crank Brothers again because in the short term I didn’t want to faff about removing cleats, and in the long term I can’t be arsed to move back to Shimano, which have (or at least used to have) different problems of their own which is why I was happy to find an alternative in the first place. I was assured that the new bearings would be much more durable. We shall see. Then finally before hitting the A9 I went and had my long promised Pizza Hut.

All which faffing delayed my restart until almost 6 o’clock. I ws feeling pretty grizzled as I finally crossed the Kessock Bridge. At least the sun was shining. Not for long though. As I descended off the Black Isle towards the Cromarty Firth it started to rain, then sleet, then finally big fat wet flake of snow. Yer actual bloody snow! In April. This is not supposed to happen. Sheltering under a handy bank of tree wasn’t going to get me any nearer John O’Groats and a finish tomorrow. So as it started to ease off I made my way across a very wet and grey Firth.

By dusk the oil rigs at Invergordon were lit up in the distance and skewed my sense of scale. They are much larger than you think, which translates as <Father Ted>”far away”%lt;/Father Ted>.

By the time I reached Skiach services my mood was downbeat. Even the appearance of John O’Groats on the roadsigns was not enough to inspire me. At least by Skiach the mileage had dropped under 100 miles.

http://xkcd.com/859/

The snow had let up, but it was still raining. A cup of hot sweet tea seemed appropriate and a chance to take a look at routes. My plan had been to travel up the Dornoch Firth to Bonar Bridge, thence Lairg and Altnahara to the North coast. I was packing calorific supplies in the form of porridge, chorizo, cheese and peanuts to sustain me through the Flow Country where supplies would be scarce. At my current rate of travel I figured I would just about reach Lairg by the time I stopped tonight. That would leave me another 100 mile day tomorrow. At current rates a late, dark, finish even with an early start.

The alternative was the coast road. I have written earlier about the problem of riding familiar territory. In this case I knew about the climbs out of Brora (not so bad), Helmsdale (worse) and Berriedale Braes (worst). On the plus side the coast had plenty of oportunities for breakfast. I could also cut North at Latheron towards Thurso to get to Dunnet Head. I wouldn’t be riding through the Flow Country, but I would be on the edge of it. I also knew that the other end-to-enders were using the coast road, and the psychological boost of maybe seeing each other on the road was a powerful incentive.

A decision was reached. Stick to the A9.

So, riding on in the dark, along an ever darkening coast road; ice cold feet slowly drying out but never warming up. It was almost midnight by the time I reached Golspie and it’s imposing council offices. I decided this was far enough.

As I made my bed for the night two gritting trucks passed me heading North. With snowploughs attached. Should I be worried? …

*A Full English with added Haggis.

Distance today: 98.91 — first day less than 100 miles
Distance so far: 900.66

Distance today: 98.91 miles, Invergarry – Golspie
Distance so far: 900.66 miles

Decisions to make today. I would be entering the Highlands and that meant I had to make a call on my long term plan to ride part of the West Highland Way as part of the route. I’d already decided to pick it up at Tyndrum if I did so, to avoid the long carry on the east side of Loch Lomond. I would have the morning to judge weather and fitness and make a call. I was feeling fit, that wasn’t an issue. What was more concerning was the 4lb weight loss I’d incurred in the first four days of this trip. My fat reserves were diminishing rapidly, so I was definitely feeling the cold. The WHW would also present few opportunites for buying calories so I’d have to carry them with me. Being out in the hills above the snowline was not only unappealling I figured it would be foolhardy I could always come back and ride the WHW properly at a later date.

All this went through my head as I ate breakfast in Luss and watched the coachload of Japanese tourists doing Scotland in a day. This made Fort William my target for the day, with the possibility of Spean Bridge as an option. Speaking of breakfast I’d ordered a bacon and egg butty and a sausage and egg butty. I was more surprised than I should have been when I realised I was eating square sausage. I mean, I knew the Scots ate the stuff, so I should have expected to be served some. I just felt like maybe I should have been warned.

Loch Lomond

The southern half of Loch Lomond now has a quiet cycle path along the shore, in many places using the old road. It was pleasant to be away from traffic. By the time the cycle lane ends and you rejoin the main road most traffic has tuned off for Oban or the Mull of Kintyre so the route to the end of the loch, through Ardlui and then up Glen Falloch was nice and quiet.

Sooner than I expected I was in Crianlarich and hit the station tea rooms. Free tea with the scampi and chips was a bonus. Another cyclist came in while I was there, deciding whether to head for Oban or Balloch. He’d ridden from Perth and was going to do either an out and back (Oban), or a loop (Balloch), but was making it up s he went along. Sounds like the best sort of plan to me.

Leaving Crianlarich I saw, for the first time on the road, the two riders who’d set off at 6.30 last Saturday. They were stopped outsied the Crianlarich Hotel. I wondered if I’d see them again today. Then on the road to Tyndrum I was sure I saw an eagle soaring above the road. Bigger than a buzzard with a shorter, broader tail, smaller head, darker wings and circling on thermals.

I stopped at Tyndrum tourist information and, now that I knew I wasn’t going to ride the WHW, booked my train home. That gave me a real deadline. I had a train to catch in Inverness on Sunday evening. By inference I had to be in Wick on Sunday morning to catch the Inverness train. Which meant reach John O’Groats either very early Sunday, or any time on Saturday. Saturday was definitely do-able.

I did see the two guys from Saturday morning again as their support crew was parked outside Tyndrum tourist information. As we reintroduced ourselves two more riders went past. The supprt crew told me they’d been leapfrogging each other the last two days and that they were also end to enders. I set off in pursuit. They were on lightweight racing bikes, carrying no kit, and gears. I was on a loaded singlespeed. Pride was at stake. The gradient on the road to Bridge of Orchy was in my favour.

Target in sight

Sure enough in a couple of miles I’d caught them. I politely asked if I could wheelsuck for a while. They were being supported by a stickered up Golf, which I recalled seeing on Shap and near Glasgow. Each day they had been setting off behind me and catching me up, but finishing while I carried on each night giving myself some miles head start each day.

It turns out there had been three of them at first, but one of them had blown his knees. I felt duty bound to point out not only that I was on a mountain bike, but that it had knobblies on — I will concede I’d pumped them up hard — and I only had the one gear.

It was a day for seeing end-to-enders. I stopped at the team van climbing up from Bridge of Orchy onto Rannoch Moor. Not only did I meet yet a family going my way — and kudos to the eleven year old for his end-to-end — they mentioned that the four riders I’d just seen travelling the other was were JOGLErs.

Into the Highlands now, and, sorry Lowlanders, Scotland proper. It’s strange to think as you cross Loch Ba that you’ve crossed to the East of Scotland. Soon you are back on the West and heading into Glen Coe. From here you are welcomed to the Glen by the sight of Buachaille Etive Mòr, gateway to Glen Coe.

Buachaille Etive Mòr

The camera got some serious use in Glen Coe. Not just of the stunning mountains, but the old Wades Road. Ballachulish Bridge is a familiar sight as we used to drive up through Callander and then this way to Fort William, or to give it it’s proper name, An Gearasdan, many years ago. I love how the Gaelic place names for the old military forts are nothing like the anglicised versions. It’s also good to see Gaelic making a resurgence on mainland Scotland. It has always maintained a stronghold on the Islands

By the time I reached FOrt WIlliam I was more knackered than I felt I ought to be. And I only had 85 miles under my belt. So far I’d been doing more than 100 miles a day, so this was too early to stop. Morrisons provided a cheap meal. Curry and all the tea I could drink for a fiver, plus a Frijj and some real fruit. For anyone else planning an unsupported end to end I can recommend Morrisons as a source of plentiful, cheap hot food.

I recognised a Northern accent at the table behind me, somewhere in Lancashire, Burnley I thought; based on the pronunciation of “bus”. I had to settle a bet with myself. Turns out I was wrong, and they were form Bolton, which would have been my second bet. Turns out they’s just finished walking the West Highland Way. They had tales of 4 inches of snow in the night and collapsing tents. I was glad I’d stuck to the roads. Plans are afoot to return with a burly bike.

By the time I’d eaten and relaxed, and believe me I didn’t rush, I decided to press on to Spean Bridge. I made the mistake of heading out towards Corpach and the B-road through Muirshearlich thinking that by following the Caledonian Canal I’d get a flatter ride. Wrong. Also, how come you see no cars in either direction for miles, yet s soon as you stop for a piss it’s like a ferry haws just unloaded and you get cars in both directions for five minutes solid?

By the time I reached the Commando memorial at Spean Bridge it was dark. I like to think the commandos would have admired my strength of till if not common sense.

Commando memorial

Then descend towards Loch Lochy and think about a place to stop for the night. All the B&Bs and hotels were closed by now, so it had to be a bivvy. Then sa I crossed the Caledonian canal at Loch Oich the left hand pedal started to feel graunchy. I stopped, and a quick check revealed that it was moving along the spindle. That’ll be buggered bearings then. Feeling slightly downcast I continued to Invergarry. Still, I figured I was close enough to the Great Glen cycleway that there would be a bike shop in Fort Augustus.

The night was clear and cold and spotting a bus shelter by the side of the road I checked the timetable and figured I could be gone by 7.15 and the first bus.

Distance today: 113.99 miles, Balloch – Invergarry
Distance so far: 801.75 miles

A quick trip to the doctors to see about my ulnar nerve before commuting to work. The first time I’ve commuted in the rain since I’ve been living in the South. Fortunately with the right clothing a wet commute is never an issue. The lack of towels in the gym changing rooms at work was a little more worrying. I put the hairdryer to good use.

Gotta hold your tongue right

It was drier on the way home so I took the obligatory ride photo.

I may be thinking too much about whether to ride gears for the EWE. The beauty of a singlespeed is that you don’t think. And there is one less thing to go wrong. I didn’t think about it for the LEJOG. So why now? I suppose it’s because the EWE is a race not a ride.

speckled panda

Anyway I went out on gears to remind myself what it’s like. A quick forty miles. It took me two hours to get used to them. That and a bike with slightly different reach to all the contact points than I’m used to after 1000 miles. They are definitely faster, but is the extra speed sustainable for 16 hour days. Given the off-road content of the EWE I’m expecting the average speed to drop just by nature of the course.

As I said, I’m probably thinking about this too much.

For those waiting for the next installment of my LEJOG jaunt fear not, I have not forgotten my ride entries. I am halfway through writing up the leg from Balloch to Invergarry. It was an eventful day, so there is lots to write.