"This is the end, beautiful friend(s), the end" sang Jim Morrison.
And it's true for this blog at least. Ride done. Money raised. Stories told. Fun times had.
I hope it's inspired you if you were following it each day. And if you've stumbled across it for help in planning your own trip, I hope you've found it useful.
A big thanks once again for all who followed and all who donated (don't forget, the sponsorship pages are still open.)
I imagine I'll set up another blog in the future - I'm sure my next long distance adventure won't be too far away.
For now though, you can read more about my day to day cycling adventures at www.betterbybike.info/blogs
Until next time... happy cycling
Wednesday 26 May 2010
Sunday 16 May 2010
Books and guides
I consulted a few guide books before I left but found that there wasn't one that covered the ride as I wanted to do it.
Lands End to John O'Groats Official Cyclist's Challenge Guide by Brian Smailes covers the shortest cycling route by road (910 miles). This was used as a base for my route planning and helped with one or two places to stay. It was a bit outdated for my liking.
Lands End to John O'Groats Cycle Guide – a Cicerone Guide by Simon Brown provides some useful tourist information about the destinations en route – but it isn't great.
The Complete Book of Long-Distance Cycling by Edmund R Burke and Ed Pavelka was the most useful for training. Its chapters on stretching, recovery and how to deal with aches and pains were particularly useful.
The best book I read was Mark Beaumont's The Man Who Cycled Around The World. I read this during my final weeks of training and during the rides itself. It helped put my nine days of 100 miles into perspective.
Lands End to John O'Groats Official Cyclist's Challenge Guide by Brian Smailes covers the shortest cycling route by road (910 miles). This was used as a base for my route planning and helped with one or two places to stay. It was a bit outdated for my liking.
Lands End to John O'Groats Cycle Guide – a Cicerone Guide by Simon Brown provides some useful tourist information about the destinations en route – but it isn't great.
The Complete Book of Long-Distance Cycling by Edmund R Burke and Ed Pavelka was the most useful for training. Its chapters on stretching, recovery and how to deal with aches and pains were particularly useful.
The best book I read was Mark Beaumont's The Man Who Cycled Around The World. I read this during my final weeks of training and during the rides itself. It helped put my nine days of 100 miles into perspective.
Health and fitness
I trained for four months for this ride, also training for a half marathon run at the same time.
I rode 350 miles a month in January and February and ran 65 miles. In March and April I stepped my cycling training up and rode 650 miles a month, focussing on hill training and riding big miles on consecutive days.
As a rule of thumb, you should be able to ride two-thirds of your daily distance for three days in a row before the trip.
Planning to ride 100 miles a day on the trip, I wanted to ride 70 miles on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday in the two weeks before I left.
Due to mechanical problems and social plans I didn’t quite manage that. In the two weeks beforehand I rode 30 miles after work on the Friday, 100 on Saturday and 50 miles on the Sunday. Still 180 miles but not quite so intensively.
If you’re planning 900 miles in 9 days you should be able to do this without excessive discomfort.
I rode 350 miles a month in January and February and ran 65 miles. In March and April I stepped my cycling training up and rode 650 miles a month, focussing on hill training and riding big miles on consecutive days.
As a rule of thumb, you should be able to ride two-thirds of your daily distance for three days in a row before the trip.
Planning to ride 100 miles a day on the trip, I wanted to ride 70 miles on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday in the two weeks before I left.
Due to mechanical problems and social plans I didn’t quite manage that. In the two weeks beforehand I rode 30 miles after work on the Friday, 100 on Saturday and 50 miles on the Sunday. Still 180 miles but not quite so intensively.
If you’re planning 900 miles in 9 days you should be able to do this without excessive discomfort.
Roads and routes
I based my route on Brian Smailes' book 'Lands End to John O'Groats – The Official Cyclist's Challenge Guide', which in turn is based on the most direct and bicycle-friendly roads to take.
I adapted Brian’s route so I could visit a family member in Wiveliscombe (Devon) and my home in Bristol.
Several people offered me advise about the roads I chose – saying that the A30 in Cornwall (day 1), the A49 to Shrewsbury (day 3) and the A9 to Inverness (day 7 and 8) were busy and dangerous.
The A30 (a dual carriageway) was busy and dangerous, and I revised my route the day beforehand. The A49 (single carriageway) seemed fine and I’m glad I chose this route. The A9 was horrible once I left the Cairngorms. I felt particularly vulnerable on the route through Inverness. I wouldn’t recommend riding on the road here. There was a cycle path alongside the road but it stopped frequently at road junctions and the condition of the path wasn’t as good as the road.
I adapted Brian’s route so I could visit a family member in Wiveliscombe (Devon) and my home in Bristol.
Several people offered me advise about the roads I chose – saying that the A30 in Cornwall (day 1), the A49 to Shrewsbury (day 3) and the A9 to Inverness (day 7 and 8) were busy and dangerous.
The A30 (a dual carriageway) was busy and dangerous, and I revised my route the day beforehand. The A49 (single carriageway) seemed fine and I’m glad I chose this route. The A9 was horrible once I left the Cairngorms. I felt particularly vulnerable on the route through Inverness. I wouldn’t recommend riding on the road here. There was a cycle path alongside the road but it stopped frequently at road junctions and the condition of the path wasn’t as good as the road.
Tuesday 11 May 2010
Vital stats
Okay the official count is in.
My total ride time was 55 hrs 33 mins for a distance of 909 miles. That’s an average trip speed of 16.2mph.
My fastest day was Shrewsbury to Preston ridden at an average speed of 17.7 mph. Had it not been for the endless traffic lights and roundabouts through Warrington and Wigan this day would have been much faster.
My slowest day was Dornoch to John O'Groats, into a vicious headwind and with a buckled back wheel and only one working brake, at an average of 14.2 mph.
My fastest speed was 49.5mph, along the A3075 south of Newquay – a hill I’d recommend for anyone looking for a cheap thrill!
According to mapmyride.com I burnt 45000 calories (which may explain why I spent so much on food!).
Altogether the 'holiday' came to over £700 including £350 on petrol. My poor credit card!
My total ride time was 55 hrs 33 mins for a distance of 909 miles. That’s an average trip speed of 16.2mph.
My fastest day was Shrewsbury to Preston ridden at an average speed of 17.7 mph. Had it not been for the endless traffic lights and roundabouts through Warrington and Wigan this day would have been much faster.
My slowest day was Dornoch to John O'Groats, into a vicious headwind and with a buckled back wheel and only one working brake, at an average of 14.2 mph.
My fastest speed was 49.5mph, along the A3075 south of Newquay – a hill I’d recommend for anyone looking for a cheap thrill!
According to mapmyride.com I burnt 45000 calories (which may explain why I spent so much on food!).
Altogether the 'holiday' came to over £700 including £350 on petrol. My poor credit card!
Monday 10 May 2010
Competition winners
The weekend before we left for Lands End we invited 30 friends and family members to our house for a fund-raising barbecue.
We asked guests to predict:
a)What my speed would be for my fastest day
b)How long I’d take overall
c)When I’d get my first puncture.
The answers are a) 17.7mph, b) 55hrs 33minutes, and c) rather unbelievably, I didn’t get a puncture.
Well done to Rose Steele, Simon Helyar and Rachael Stiles respectively. Prizes of two Howies t-shirts, a bottle of wine, a Bike UK bike lock and a box of John O'Groats fudge will be shared when I see you next. Congrats!
Thursday 6 May 2010
Day 9 – the afternoon: Last 30 miles
I pushed on, heading for Wick, 12 miles away. Wick has always held some interest for me as it shares the same name as the small village in South Wales that my grandparents live in. It was nothing like it though, it was quite a thriving town with its own out-of-town retail centre and high street stores. Something I hadn’t seen since Inverness, over 100 miles away. Unfortunately Wick had no obvious bike shop. “Only 18 miles away now though – keep going, forget about the wheel.”
Time was ticking by so slowly, as were the miles. The wind was reducing my average speed to 14mph. Despite feeling strong I couldn’t pick up the speed in that wind. At this moment I would have been glad to have last Friday’s riding companions again – for both the company and the shelter from the wind. These last miles were lonely and hard.
I was alternating between sweating on the uphill slopes and zipping up against the wind. I was also standing up on the pedals every mile or so to ease the saddle soreness I had (despite double-padding with two pairs of cycling shorts). All the while I was counting down the miles, trying to work out how long it would take if I had to run or walk the final miles with my bike. There was no way I wasn’t going to complete this journey under anything but my own steam.
My speedometer showed 70 miles. Ten miles to go. A distance that I could run if I had to. At an average speed of 14mph I still had 45 minutes of fighting left to go.
I passed craggy peaks and abandoned Crofters’ cottages along cliff tops for miles. Even though John O’Groats is at sea level it seemed like there was another up hill around every corner.
I got out the saddle to pedal up hill. TWANG again. Probably another spoke gone or another crack in the rim. My wheel was still turning though so I didn’t care. Head down, keep fighting.
Finally I saw the sea. The gradient started going downhill. I switched on my helmet camera for the final time. I barely even pedalled. I coasted along a remote street, lined with street lights on one side, and absolutely nothing else to the left or right.
Straight ahead a car park. “There’s the van and something hanging from the window - a celebration banner!”
A kiss, a cuddle and a small bottle of sparkling wine from Helen and some commemorative photos by the harbour wall.
Ninety miles in 6 hours 20 minutes at an average speed of 14.2mph.
It was 5.30pm and already freezing cold in the wind, which I later found out had been gusting up to 24mph. We packed the bike quickly, laughing at the state of my back wheel, now with two broken spokes, and drove 60 miles west to the small seaside town of Tongue.
The view of golden sands, a shimmering loch and high mountains from our hotel window was almost a perfect end to our nine-day adventure. Almost, but not quite. Dinner was waiting at the Tongue Hotel across the road. An exquisite dinner of pork medallions in a rich mustard sauce, mashed potato and the most delicious black pudding made up for nine days of cycling. I’d cycle 900 miles for that meal anyday!
Time was ticking by so slowly, as were the miles. The wind was reducing my average speed to 14mph. Despite feeling strong I couldn’t pick up the speed in that wind. At this moment I would have been glad to have last Friday’s riding companions again – for both the company and the shelter from the wind. These last miles were lonely and hard.
I was alternating between sweating on the uphill slopes and zipping up against the wind. I was also standing up on the pedals every mile or so to ease the saddle soreness I had (despite double-padding with two pairs of cycling shorts). All the while I was counting down the miles, trying to work out how long it would take if I had to run or walk the final miles with my bike. There was no way I wasn’t going to complete this journey under anything but my own steam.
My speedometer showed 70 miles. Ten miles to go. A distance that I could run if I had to. At an average speed of 14mph I still had 45 minutes of fighting left to go.
I passed craggy peaks and abandoned Crofters’ cottages along cliff tops for miles. Even though John O’Groats is at sea level it seemed like there was another up hill around every corner.
I got out the saddle to pedal up hill. TWANG again. Probably another spoke gone or another crack in the rim. My wheel was still turning though so I didn’t care. Head down, keep fighting.
Finally I saw the sea. The gradient started going downhill. I switched on my helmet camera for the final time. I barely even pedalled. I coasted along a remote street, lined with street lights on one side, and absolutely nothing else to the left or right.
Straight ahead a car park. “There’s the van and something hanging from the window - a celebration banner!”
A kiss, a cuddle and a small bottle of sparkling wine from Helen and some commemorative photos by the harbour wall.
Ninety miles in 6 hours 20 minutes at an average speed of 14.2mph.
It was 5.30pm and already freezing cold in the wind, which I later found out had been gusting up to 24mph. We packed the bike quickly, laughing at the state of my back wheel, now with two broken spokes, and drove 60 miles west to the small seaside town of Tongue.
The view of golden sands, a shimmering loch and high mountains from our hotel window was almost a perfect end to our nine-day adventure. Almost, but not quite. Dinner was waiting at the Tongue Hotel across the road. An exquisite dinner of pork medallions in a rich mustard sauce, mashed potato and the most delicious black pudding made up for nine days of cycling. I’d cycle 900 miles for that meal anyday!
Day 9 – the morning: Sting in the tail
Dornoch was a great place to stay – somewhere I wish I could have spent longer. Its dunes and golden sands were reminiscent of places in Cornwall – eight days previously.
I woke up at 7.30am, just a stones throw from the beach and, whilst it was fairly cosy in a sleeping bag in the camper van, it was freezing cold outside. The brisk northerly wind was blocking out any of the potential warmth coming from the sunny intervals in the sky.
After eating my final pre-ride big breakfast (a saucepan of cereal, some fruit cake and a few biscuits), I gave my bike a quick check-over. The back wheel appeared to be slightly buckled. I checked all the spokes and noticed one was loose. Then I checked the rim and noticed inch-long cracks around the base of four spokes.
Without a bike shop nearby, nor a likely chance that they’d have a matching wheel for me, my challenge was in serious danger of being derailed. If one of those cracks became worse it would lead to a spoke breaking and my wheel becoming seriously buckled.
I tightened the loose spoke with a pair of pliers (as I’d forgotten to bring a spoke key), loosened the back brake a touch and set off with fingers crossed.
The navigation on the final day was supposedly simple – ‘just head north until the road stops’ I kept telling myself. I should have paid more attention in the morning because I made a wrong turn immediately after leaving Dornoch village centre. I took the scenic route along the coast through Embo and Skelbo rather than the A9 inland. It probably didn’t add to the mileage much but the bumpier roads weren’t helping my fragile back wheel.
After six miles I stopped briefly to check the map and stretch out a sore knee. As I picked the bike up from the ground I heard a loud TWANG. I felt no sudden pain on my body (just the same dull aches I’d felt for the last eight days) and I realised it was something on the bike. Sure enough, that troublesome spoke had completely snapped at the point it met the wheel rim.
I couldn’t break the spoke free, nor could I remove it from the wheel hub (the centre bit), but I couldn’t cycle on as it was because it was catching in the rear gears. It was malleable enough to bend though so I wrapped it around its neighbouring spoke, completely undid my rear brake, re-crossed my fingers and set off again, hoping it would hold for the final 74 miles – otherwise I’d have a very long walk.
I rejoined the A9 and passed through the pleasant towns of Golspie and Brora. Surprisingly the wheel seemed to be holding together. I could feel it wobbling every time I got out of the saddle so I had to take each climb sat down, pushing hard and pedalling fast to build up any speed.
In the early afternoon Helen called to say there was nothing at our proposed lunch stop so she was moving three miles down the road to a hotel in Lybster. She also asked, with some trepidation in her voice, whether I’d passed Berriedale yet.
I hadn’t and I knew from her voice that the uphill would be vicious and the downhill terrifying with only one brake.
Sure enough, the road wound up from the beautiful coastline to the top of the misty Creag Thoraraidh.
Although I’d been sweating on its lower slopes I was very grateful for all my layers as I reached the top. The 13% gradient downhill would have been very satisfying if I’d had two working brakes. I built up to 33mph very rapidly but, with the wheel situation and the damp conditions, I didn’t have the nerve let rip and race downhill.
After 50 miles I reached the lunch stop in Lybster and had a coke and a delicious bowl of creamy Cullen Skink. “Thirty miles to go” I thought. If my wheel completely gave out could run that in seven hours? Probably not.
I woke up at 7.30am, just a stones throw from the beach and, whilst it was fairly cosy in a sleeping bag in the camper van, it was freezing cold outside. The brisk northerly wind was blocking out any of the potential warmth coming from the sunny intervals in the sky.
After eating my final pre-ride big breakfast (a saucepan of cereal, some fruit cake and a few biscuits), I gave my bike a quick check-over. The back wheel appeared to be slightly buckled. I checked all the spokes and noticed one was loose. Then I checked the rim and noticed inch-long cracks around the base of four spokes.
Without a bike shop nearby, nor a likely chance that they’d have a matching wheel for me, my challenge was in serious danger of being derailed. If one of those cracks became worse it would lead to a spoke breaking and my wheel becoming seriously buckled.
I tightened the loose spoke with a pair of pliers (as I’d forgotten to bring a spoke key), loosened the back brake a touch and set off with fingers crossed.
The navigation on the final day was supposedly simple – ‘just head north until the road stops’ I kept telling myself. I should have paid more attention in the morning because I made a wrong turn immediately after leaving Dornoch village centre. I took the scenic route along the coast through Embo and Skelbo rather than the A9 inland. It probably didn’t add to the mileage much but the bumpier roads weren’t helping my fragile back wheel.
After six miles I stopped briefly to check the map and stretch out a sore knee. As I picked the bike up from the ground I heard a loud TWANG. I felt no sudden pain on my body (just the same dull aches I’d felt for the last eight days) and I realised it was something on the bike. Sure enough, that troublesome spoke had completely snapped at the point it met the wheel rim.
I couldn’t break the spoke free, nor could I remove it from the wheel hub (the centre bit), but I couldn’t cycle on as it was because it was catching in the rear gears. It was malleable enough to bend though so I wrapped it around its neighbouring spoke, completely undid my rear brake, re-crossed my fingers and set off again, hoping it would hold for the final 74 miles – otherwise I’d have a very long walk.
I rejoined the A9 and passed through the pleasant towns of Golspie and Brora. Surprisingly the wheel seemed to be holding together. I could feel it wobbling every time I got out of the saddle so I had to take each climb sat down, pushing hard and pedalling fast to build up any speed.
In the early afternoon Helen called to say there was nothing at our proposed lunch stop so she was moving three miles down the road to a hotel in Lybster. She also asked, with some trepidation in her voice, whether I’d passed Berriedale yet.
I hadn’t and I knew from her voice that the uphill would be vicious and the downhill terrifying with only one brake.
Sure enough, the road wound up from the beautiful coastline to the top of the misty Creag Thoraraidh.
Although I’d been sweating on its lower slopes I was very grateful for all my layers as I reached the top. The 13% gradient downhill would have been very satisfying if I’d had two working brakes. I built up to 33mph very rapidly but, with the wheel situation and the damp conditions, I didn’t have the nerve let rip and race downhill.
After 50 miles I reached the lunch stop in Lybster and had a coke and a delicious bowl of creamy Cullen Skink. “Thirty miles to go” I thought. If my wheel completely gave out could run that in seven hours? Probably not.
Wednesday 5 May 2010
Day 8:Last push
Miles: 87
Time: 5hr 40m
A recurring theme of this trip has been starting late. By the time we've eaten breakfast and packed up camp it's generally been 10am. On Wednesday we had the added problem of trying to wash and dry laundry.
By the time I left Invernahaon camp site it was closer to 11am. I wouldn't be at the next camp site until at least seven hours later.
The first 20 miles from Invernahaon were fast - around 19.5mph which felt great. The A9 was busy though and long stretches of roadworks meant several stops at temporary traffic lights.
Miles 20-30 were much slower as the road rose up through the Cairngorms and the weather deteriorated. It was drizzling with rain and the wind was coming straight off the snow-capped hills.
Miles 30-40 were terribly slow and terribly uninspiring, I was riding on a fast dual carriageway through Inverness and over the bay of the Moray Firth. A few cars beeped their horns at me - I guess they thought I shouldn't be on this road as well.
I stopped at a layby to read a map and met a fellow LEJOG-ger - a retired man taking 28-days to complete his journey. We spoke about the route ahead and he seemed to think there were two large road bridges over the Firth coming before my planned lunch stop.
I carried on and passed the first bridge fairly quickly. Five miles later I still hadn't passed the second and I realised I'd missed the lunchtime rendevous point with Helen. We then played cat and mouse until we finally met in a layby overlooking Munlochy Firth.
The eventual lunch spot was very scenic and far away from busy roads and angry drivers. I ate a load of food from our supplies - a cold tuna pasta dish, a hot pasta dish, danish pastry, Licorice Allsorts and a can of Coke - and felt incredibly sluggish when I got back on the bike.
The remaining 40 miles to Dornoch crossed Cromarty Firth and Dornoch Firth on a mix of easterly-heading A roads and quieter B roads. It was a lot quieter than the morning but I had to keep checking the map to navigate which was frustrating.
In retrospect I wish I'd chosen more pleasant lanes and back roads for the morning - even though it would have meant more climbing.
The hardest part of the ride, in a physical sense, was through the Cairngorms. Mentally it was the final 20 miles as the finish was literally in sight, on the opposite shore as I crossed the Black Isle.
The side-winds on the final miles as I crossed the Firths were huge and it was quite an effort to keep the bike going in a straight line.
The finish was great though - a long straight through shore-side country lanes with a tailwind. I arrived at our campsite in the Dornoch sand dunes and it wasn't long before I was starting on a three course meal at a nearby restaurant: Cullen Skink to start, Chicken & Brie in whisky sauce, followed by sherry trifle and a coffee to finish with.
It wasn't a particularly exciting day - in fact the morning was horrible and I'd not recommend that route to anyone - but I was spurred on by the thought of finishing tomorrow.
The bike is just about holding out, but there is a constant quiet squeak. It should be fine for the final leg tomorrow...which looks anything but easy.
Most tempting moment to stop: Passing the Glenmorangie distillery.
Time: 5hr 40m
A recurring theme of this trip has been starting late. By the time we've eaten breakfast and packed up camp it's generally been 10am. On Wednesday we had the added problem of trying to wash and dry laundry.
By the time I left Invernahaon camp site it was closer to 11am. I wouldn't be at the next camp site until at least seven hours later.
The first 20 miles from Invernahaon were fast - around 19.5mph which felt great. The A9 was busy though and long stretches of roadworks meant several stops at temporary traffic lights.
Miles 20-30 were much slower as the road rose up through the Cairngorms and the weather deteriorated. It was drizzling with rain and the wind was coming straight off the snow-capped hills.
Miles 30-40 were terribly slow and terribly uninspiring, I was riding on a fast dual carriageway through Inverness and over the bay of the Moray Firth. A few cars beeped their horns at me - I guess they thought I shouldn't be on this road as well.
I stopped at a layby to read a map and met a fellow LEJOG-ger - a retired man taking 28-days to complete his journey. We spoke about the route ahead and he seemed to think there were two large road bridges over the Firth coming before my planned lunch stop.
I carried on and passed the first bridge fairly quickly. Five miles later I still hadn't passed the second and I realised I'd missed the lunchtime rendevous point with Helen. We then played cat and mouse until we finally met in a layby overlooking Munlochy Firth.
The eventual lunch spot was very scenic and far away from busy roads and angry drivers. I ate a load of food from our supplies - a cold tuna pasta dish, a hot pasta dish, danish pastry, Licorice Allsorts and a can of Coke - and felt incredibly sluggish when I got back on the bike.
The remaining 40 miles to Dornoch crossed Cromarty Firth and Dornoch Firth on a mix of easterly-heading A roads and quieter B roads. It was a lot quieter than the morning but I had to keep checking the map to navigate which was frustrating.
In retrospect I wish I'd chosen more pleasant lanes and back roads for the morning - even though it would have meant more climbing.
The hardest part of the ride, in a physical sense, was through the Cairngorms. Mentally it was the final 20 miles as the finish was literally in sight, on the opposite shore as I crossed the Black Isle.
The side-winds on the final miles as I crossed the Firths were huge and it was quite an effort to keep the bike going in a straight line.
The finish was great though - a long straight through shore-side country lanes with a tailwind. I arrived at our campsite in the Dornoch sand dunes and it wasn't long before I was starting on a three course meal at a nearby restaurant: Cullen Skink to start, Chicken & Brie in whisky sauce, followed by sherry trifle and a coffee to finish with.
It wasn't a particularly exciting day - in fact the morning was horrible and I'd not recommend that route to anyone - but I was spurred on by the thought of finishing tomorrow.
The bike is just about holding out, but there is a constant quiet squeak. It should be fine for the final leg tomorrow...which looks anything but easy.
Most tempting moment to stop: Passing the Glenmorangie distillery.
Day 7: Should've taken the low road.
Today was the best day yet. Another epic day in the Scottish countryside with 5000 ft of climbing thrown in for good measure.
I was out riding by 10am, leaving the rather eccentric Greenacres Guesthouse near Cumbernauld after a full cooked breakfast, cereal, melon, a fruit corner, two rounds of toast and coffee.
I took a ring road around the town which I soon realised was a three-lane A road - a road that was a motorway in all but its name. I shouldn't really have been cycling on it but a mile of roadworks slowed the traffic to 40 miles an hour and with a tailwind and the slip stream of all lorries I was able to sprint along at 27mph. I turned off at the next junction and headed north for Sterling.
The weather forecast said the wind would be coming from a west-north-westerly direction but it seemed to propell me along anytime I was heading vaguely west.
I shot through Denny and Dunipace on the A872 and was in Sterling before I knew it. I by-passed the town centre on a ring road which was a shame because Sterling is a charming place to visit, full of ancient buildings and historical reminders. I carried on to the Bridge of Allan, missing my proposed lane and instead I headed for Dunblane on the B8033. This carried me to Braco at which point the gradient started rising.
The first considerable hill of the day came as I took a shortcut from the A822 along a lane to the village of Muthill. The climb wasn't too severe and it rewarded me with a dead straight descent into the village.
I came to a T-junction and, caught up in the excitement of my 40mph descent, turned right and plodded up hill for three miles. It was only when I saw some confusing road signs that I realised I'd been travelling in the wrong direction.
Cursing my misfortune I at least had a three mile downhill back to Muthill.
Just before lunch the biggest climbs of the day came. The A822 from Crieff took me to Glen Almond on a road that ran between several valleys. The scene was the stuff of Geography lessons. The valley looked exactly like it had been carved by a glacier. The first climb was fairly straightforward, and I had the assistance of a tailwind. Unfortunately the downhill on the other side was straight into the wind so I had to pedal hard to even reach 15mph.
Turning left for Achnafaud I was aiming for Kenmore, eight miles away. I was now in the wilds of Scotland, which was obvious from the amount of roadkill on the road. Dead foxes, pheasants and rabbits created a gory fur-rug effect on the roads. I also saw more sheep than I've ever seen before. The lambs ran every time I passed them but the older sheep would stop chewing grass and look up at me with what seemed like pity in their eyes. It was as if they were saying "what are you doing up here, sweating and panting like that?". There were a few brief moments when I thought the same.
The journey to Kenmore was the hardest part of the day, straight into a headwind and climbing up a monster hill with several hairpin switchbacks. What a relief at the top. I sped down the descent knowing that lunch was waiting several hundred feet below.
In Kenmore after 66 miles I met Helen at the oldest Inn in Scotland and we dined in some style on Haggis and East Coast Broth (which was remarkably the same as Clam Chowder). We both wanted to stop for dessert but I was conscious of the time getting on so we left at 3.30pm.
The rest of the afternoon was mostly taken up by similar mountain passes on singletrack roads as I headed north past Loch Tummel and through Trinafour and Glen Errochty. These mountain passes were real lung-busters and made me very glad of my hill training in Bristol. Each came with a three-mile descent (each time out of the wind) which was worth all the pain of the ascent.
I came back to relative civilisation on the A9 dual carriageway but I began heading west again and my speed came down to a very slow 13mph. I had no fight left against the wind. I was running out of food, feeling very cold and a strange cold sweat came over me. I was beginning to hit the wall.
I ate some shortbread biscuits but they didn't help whatsoever. With 18 miles still to go and very little in the way of shops up ahead I was reluctant to eat my remaining cereal bar. I plodded on for another two miles but realised I had no choice. I ate the bar and hoped the chocolate would give me a boost.
At this point the road turned slightly and I think the gradient levelled out (or Alpen bars have magic properties) because I started getting a bit faster. First 17mph, then 20mph, then I got caught in the slipstream of some big lorries and I was flying along at 27mph. I tucked myself into my time trial bars and the miles started flying by. I was crossing my fingers that the gradient would stay flat and the tailwind would continue. With some considerable luck it stayed that way for the remaining 15 miles, during which time my speed didn't drop below 20mph.
After more than 30 minutes in the time trial position, plus the effort of 108 miles and 5000 ft of climbing my legs were screaming and my back was tense and sore. I rode into the car park of our evening campsite, jumped off the bike and lay flat out on the grass for a full five minutes as my body unwound.
Today was one of the hardest but most enjoyable day's riding I've ever done. The 108 miles took me 7 hours in total, with a slow average speed of 15.4mph. I didn't care at all though. The ride put me on a high all evening.
Penultimate day tomorrow and there's a lot more downhill than uphill so I'm celebrating by having a beer tonight.
Songs of the day: Today was a day for being 'in the zone'. I needed something fast and loud to keep out the noise of my heavy breathing up those hills. I listened to a albums by Reuben and Metallica for most of the day. My t-shirt with cut-off sleeves will be arriving in the post anyday now...
I was out riding by 10am, leaving the rather eccentric Greenacres Guesthouse near Cumbernauld after a full cooked breakfast, cereal, melon, a fruit corner, two rounds of toast and coffee.
I took a ring road around the town which I soon realised was a three-lane A road - a road that was a motorway in all but its name. I shouldn't really have been cycling on it but a mile of roadworks slowed the traffic to 40 miles an hour and with a tailwind and the slip stream of all lorries I was able to sprint along at 27mph. I turned off at the next junction and headed north for Sterling.
The weather forecast said the wind would be coming from a west-north-westerly direction but it seemed to propell me along anytime I was heading vaguely west.
I shot through Denny and Dunipace on the A872 and was in Sterling before I knew it. I by-passed the town centre on a ring road which was a shame because Sterling is a charming place to visit, full of ancient buildings and historical reminders. I carried on to the Bridge of Allan, missing my proposed lane and instead I headed for Dunblane on the B8033. This carried me to Braco at which point the gradient started rising.
The first considerable hill of the day came as I took a shortcut from the A822 along a lane to the village of Muthill. The climb wasn't too severe and it rewarded me with a dead straight descent into the village.
I came to a T-junction and, caught up in the excitement of my 40mph descent, turned right and plodded up hill for three miles. It was only when I saw some confusing road signs that I realised I'd been travelling in the wrong direction.
Cursing my misfortune I at least had a three mile downhill back to Muthill.
Just before lunch the biggest climbs of the day came. The A822 from Crieff took me to Glen Almond on a road that ran between several valleys. The scene was the stuff of Geography lessons. The valley looked exactly like it had been carved by a glacier. The first climb was fairly straightforward, and I had the assistance of a tailwind. Unfortunately the downhill on the other side was straight into the wind so I had to pedal hard to even reach 15mph.
Turning left for Achnafaud I was aiming for Kenmore, eight miles away. I was now in the wilds of Scotland, which was obvious from the amount of roadkill on the road. Dead foxes, pheasants and rabbits created a gory fur-rug effect on the roads. I also saw more sheep than I've ever seen before. The lambs ran every time I passed them but the older sheep would stop chewing grass and look up at me with what seemed like pity in their eyes. It was as if they were saying "what are you doing up here, sweating and panting like that?". There were a few brief moments when I thought the same.
The journey to Kenmore was the hardest part of the day, straight into a headwind and climbing up a monster hill with several hairpin switchbacks. What a relief at the top. I sped down the descent knowing that lunch was waiting several hundred feet below.
In Kenmore after 66 miles I met Helen at the oldest Inn in Scotland and we dined in some style on Haggis and East Coast Broth (which was remarkably the same as Clam Chowder). We both wanted to stop for dessert but I was conscious of the time getting on so we left at 3.30pm.
The rest of the afternoon was mostly taken up by similar mountain passes on singletrack roads as I headed north past Loch Tummel and through Trinafour and Glen Errochty. These mountain passes were real lung-busters and made me very glad of my hill training in Bristol. Each came with a three-mile descent (each time out of the wind) which was worth all the pain of the ascent.
I came back to relative civilisation on the A9 dual carriageway but I began heading west again and my speed came down to a very slow 13mph. I had no fight left against the wind. I was running out of food, feeling very cold and a strange cold sweat came over me. I was beginning to hit the wall.
I ate some shortbread biscuits but they didn't help whatsoever. With 18 miles still to go and very little in the way of shops up ahead I was reluctant to eat my remaining cereal bar. I plodded on for another two miles but realised I had no choice. I ate the bar and hoped the chocolate would give me a boost.
At this point the road turned slightly and I think the gradient levelled out (or Alpen bars have magic properties) because I started getting a bit faster. First 17mph, then 20mph, then I got caught in the slipstream of some big lorries and I was flying along at 27mph. I tucked myself into my time trial bars and the miles started flying by. I was crossing my fingers that the gradient would stay flat and the tailwind would continue. With some considerable luck it stayed that way for the remaining 15 miles, during which time my speed didn't drop below 20mph.
After more than 30 minutes in the time trial position, plus the effort of 108 miles and 5000 ft of climbing my legs were screaming and my back was tense and sore. I rode into the car park of our evening campsite, jumped off the bike and lay flat out on the grass for a full five minutes as my body unwound.
Today was one of the hardest but most enjoyable day's riding I've ever done. The 108 miles took me 7 hours in total, with a slow average speed of 15.4mph. I didn't care at all though. The ride put me on a high all evening.
Penultimate day tomorrow and there's a lot more downhill than uphill so I'm celebrating by having a beer tonight.
Songs of the day: Today was a day for being 'in the zone'. I needed something fast and loud to keep out the noise of my heavy breathing up those hills. I listened to a albums by Reuben and Metallica for most of the day. My t-shirt with cut-off sleeves will be arriving in the post anyday now...
Monday 3 May 2010
Day 6: Nothing like a bank holiday
Today was a bank holiday but riding 100 or so miles for the sixth day in a row felt nothing like a holiday.
I woke in Gretna to brilliant sunshine but it was a cold night and a cold start to the day. I didn't sleep well again - having a battle between a call of nature and wanting to stay warm in my sleeping bag. I was a little sleepy and grumpy to start the day, not helped by a northerly wind for the second day in a row.
I cooked a decent breakfast of porrige, bacon and coffee and left Gretna at 10.30, just as the sky began to cloud up. I tried to get in the mood for Scotland by listening to the Celtic-punk stylings of the Dropkick Murphys but nothing could help me ignore the headwind.
I began cursing Scotland and cursing a lot of other things too. Sometimes time alone on the bike isn't healthy. The route I took ran alongside the motorway meaning it was open and exposed to the wind. The scenery had certainly changed from northern England. This was big country with long straight roads and expansive horizons.
After 49 slow miles I finally reached the lunch stop at a service station, almost an hour after I predicted to Helen. My first words to Helen were "that was a wretched morning." Just as I was eating it started hailstoning. My mood couldn't have been much worse.
Funnily enough though, once I re-started after lunch the wind died down, the hail stopped and the gradient was downhill which really bucked up my spirits. I raced through Lanark and Airdrie and felt a lot happier as the final miles were drawing in. I rode 91 miles in 5hrs 30mins.
Unfortunately during the afternoon another squeak started coming from my bike. This time it was the free hub (the bit with the gears on in the middle of the rear wheel). Without any tools to take it apart I could only hope that more GT-85 would help. We'll see in the morning...
Tonight we're staying at Greenacres B&B near Cumbernauld. It's a short drive from a lovely curry house which more than made do for dinner. I highly recommend the Nawabi Korma and the Lamb Keema Beans Taba at Bombay Dreams if you happen to be passing!
Latest photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=425209&id=751600611&l=316933a515
I woke in Gretna to brilliant sunshine but it was a cold night and a cold start to the day. I didn't sleep well again - having a battle between a call of nature and wanting to stay warm in my sleeping bag. I was a little sleepy and grumpy to start the day, not helped by a northerly wind for the second day in a row.
I cooked a decent breakfast of porrige, bacon and coffee and left Gretna at 10.30, just as the sky began to cloud up. I tried to get in the mood for Scotland by listening to the Celtic-punk stylings of the Dropkick Murphys but nothing could help me ignore the headwind.
I began cursing Scotland and cursing a lot of other things too. Sometimes time alone on the bike isn't healthy. The route I took ran alongside the motorway meaning it was open and exposed to the wind. The scenery had certainly changed from northern England. This was big country with long straight roads and expansive horizons.
After 49 slow miles I finally reached the lunch stop at a service station, almost an hour after I predicted to Helen. My first words to Helen were "that was a wretched morning." Just as I was eating it started hailstoning. My mood couldn't have been much worse.
Funnily enough though, once I re-started after lunch the wind died down, the hail stopped and the gradient was downhill which really bucked up my spirits. I raced through Lanark and Airdrie and felt a lot happier as the final miles were drawing in. I rode 91 miles in 5hrs 30mins.
Unfortunately during the afternoon another squeak started coming from my bike. This time it was the free hub (the bit with the gears on in the middle of the rear wheel). Without any tools to take it apart I could only hope that more GT-85 would help. We'll see in the morning...
Tonight we're staying at Greenacres B&B near Cumbernauld. It's a short drive from a lovely curry house which more than made do for dinner. I highly recommend the Nawabi Korma and the Lamb Keema Beans Taba at Bombay Dreams if you happen to be passing!
Latest photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=425209&id=751600611&l=316933a515
Day 5: England done. Scotland watch out
I arrived in Preston yesterday feeling pretty whacked out. It'd been a long day and I didn't have a good sleep on Friday night. I woke up on Sunday morning with my voice in my boots. I sounded so tired even after a nine-hour sleep.
The breakfast at Olde Duncombe House included a choice of cereal, fruit, toast and a fried breakfast. I ate everything going. Frosties and Weetabix to start, two pieces of toast and jam, a full fried breakfast and a bowl of grapefruit to finish.
The breakfast at Olde Duncombe House included a choice of cereal, fruit, toast and a fried breakfast. I ate everything going. Frosties and Weetabix to start, two pieces of toast and jam, a full fried breakfast and a bowl of grapefruit to finish.
Fueled up I got dressed and ready only to find that the wind had changed direction. A stiff wind was blowing and I was riding into it for 96 miles. I decided not to battle against it in search of a fast time. I rode at 16-17mph for most of the morning trying to ease my legs into another day of long distance riding.
I set off at 10.45am and hit Lancaster at midday, at around the same point I hit to 450 mile mark - half way into the journey.
Completely ignoring the significance of this I rode on into Kendal and passed from Lancashire into Cumbria. No sooner had I done so the horizon became crowded with mountain peaks. I counted at least ten before fear stopped me counting further! This was Lake District country and I was in for a hilly afternoon.
Lunch was at the top of the Kendal-Shap pass and came after an eight-mile climb. The start wound through farmland but the top became open, barren and very windswept. A lunch of pasta, bread, coke and a surprisingly tasty Kendal mint cake was very much welcome.
I added a few more clothing layers before starting a cold and disappointing descent towards Shap and Penrith. The wind stopped me from building up any real speed.
I plodded on to Carlisle and met a fireman on his way to work by bike. He guided me through the city to the A7 and before I knew it I was on the home straight to Gretna. Despite the wind I raced the last 10 miles and made it to Gretna by 6.30pm.
I rode 96 miles in a painfully slow 6hrs 20mins (which is an average of 15.1mph - about an hour slower than I'd normally aim for) but I'd cycled the length of England in five days which was immensely satisfying.
That night we were camping at Braids Caravan park. It was a pretty average place to stay but we did eat a very tasty camping stove dinner of carbonara pasta, courgette and bacon, and we watched half of 3:10 To Yuma before tiredness took hold.
My sleep was punctuated by weird dreams and the nagging thought that the bottom bracket on my bike was in need of a service. I was hoping a soaking in GT-85 would sort it out for the 90 mile ride to Cumbernauld.
Song of the day: Respectable for the Respectable by Super Furry Animals got me singing along. My surprise discovery of the day was Chemical Calasthenics by Blackalicious.
Saturday 1 May 2010
Day 4: The relative luxury of a 96-mile day.
After the three previous days of 117, 108 and 116 miles, today was supposed to be a day to recoup.
As much as I wanted to set off early, by the time I’d eaten a hearty campfire breakfast of porridge, coffee, sausages and beans, a can of coke and some of Helen’s Gugelhupf cake and packed up camp it was 10.30am.
After 10 miles riding I met my Dad to say our farewells and ended up spending an hour drinking an iced frappucino in Starbucks. By the time I properly got going it was 12pm.
With the wind still blowing from the south I made quick progress over the first 50 miles. My legs were beginning to ache and I didn’t have much zip in the hills but I could still churn out a comfortable average speed of 19mph.
Despite the big breakfast hunger was getting to me. I tried to eat every ten miles but I’d eaten two cereal bars and a banana by 40 miles. With five miles to go until I met Helen I felt weak and in need of some sustenance.
I realised that as tired as I’d been feeling all day, it wasn’t in anyway comparable to running out of energy. This type of exhaustion can just stop you in your tracks. I eeked out the final few miles then feasted on left-over breakfast sausages and half a loaf of bread.
I stopped with Helen for an hour and by 3pm I felt revived enough to carry on. Following some advice I decided to change my route again. I chose a more direct path along the A49 through Warrington, Wigan and Preston. Unfortunately my afternoon was punctuated by countless traffic light stopped which really slowed me down. My average speed dropped from 19mph to 17.7mph by the end of the day. All I could think was how disappointed Phil and Ed would be (they chose the two fastest daily times in the sweepstake)!
Ten miles from the finish, just before Preston, it started to rain which provided a pretty crap finish to the day’s riding.
I arrived at the Olde Duncombe House B&B and sat in the bath for half an hour before heading out in search of food. The nearby chip shop closed at 7.30pm so we ate in a pub instead. I ate mushroom soup, steak and chips and ice-cream then came back and went straight to bed for a nine hour sleep. Exhaustion is now beginning to take its toll.
Song of the day: Jurass Finish First by Jurassic 5 – it came on three miles into the journey and provided a nice summery soundtrack to the brief morning sunshine.
Weirdest thing to see en route: a whole trout on the hard shoulder of an A road.
Most comical moment: Dropping my map on the A49 and chasing it down the road as passing cars blew it further and further away from me.
As much as I wanted to set off early, by the time I’d eaten a hearty campfire breakfast of porridge, coffee, sausages and beans, a can of coke and some of Helen’s Gugelhupf cake and packed up camp it was 10.30am.
After 10 miles riding I met my Dad to say our farewells and ended up spending an hour drinking an iced frappucino in Starbucks. By the time I properly got going it was 12pm.
With the wind still blowing from the south I made quick progress over the first 50 miles. My legs were beginning to ache and I didn’t have much zip in the hills but I could still churn out a comfortable average speed of 19mph.
Despite the big breakfast hunger was getting to me. I tried to eat every ten miles but I’d eaten two cereal bars and a banana by 40 miles. With five miles to go until I met Helen I felt weak and in need of some sustenance.
I realised that as tired as I’d been feeling all day, it wasn’t in anyway comparable to running out of energy. This type of exhaustion can just stop you in your tracks. I eeked out the final few miles then feasted on left-over breakfast sausages and half a loaf of bread.
I stopped with Helen for an hour and by 3pm I felt revived enough to carry on. Following some advice I decided to change my route again. I chose a more direct path along the A49 through Warrington, Wigan and Preston. Unfortunately my afternoon was punctuated by countless traffic light stopped which really slowed me down. My average speed dropped from 19mph to 17.7mph by the end of the day. All I could think was how disappointed Phil and Ed would be (they chose the two fastest daily times in the sweepstake)!
Ten miles from the finish, just before Preston, it started to rain which provided a pretty crap finish to the day’s riding.
I arrived at the Olde Duncombe House B&B and sat in the bath for half an hour before heading out in search of food. The nearby chip shop closed at 7.30pm so we ate in a pub instead. I ate mushroom soup, steak and chips and ice-cream then came back and went straight to bed for a nine hour sleep. Exhaustion is now beginning to take its toll.
Song of the day: Jurass Finish First by Jurassic 5 – it came on three miles into the journey and provided a nice summery soundtrack to the brief morning sunshine.
Weirdest thing to see en route: a whole trout on the hard shoulder of an A road.
Most comical moment: Dropping my map on the A49 and chasing it down the road as passing cars blew it further and further away from me.
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