Helmsdale to John o Groats

The 21st May 2012 began with beautiful sunshine. I had a spring in my step as I climbed out of the camper to walk Monty. As I wandered along the beautiful beach behind the campsite I pondered the last 12 days. It had been quite a trial but nothing was going to stop me now.

After fettling my bike for the last time, Rosemary drove me back up the road past Helmsdale. It felt
strange not to be setting off from the campsite but I was glad to have made the effort the previous evening. The early morning sun lit up the vivid yellow gorse and the deep blue of the North sea glistened to our right. It was quite beautiful.

As we climbed up the hill out of Helmsdale I noticed a group of cyclists toiling there way to the top. We pulled up at the layby that I'd finished up at the night before and started to unload my bike.  when they pulled up next to a van that was already parked up. I asked "are you guys doing Lejog" They were! They looked tired and one guy had really been through the wars. He'd come off on a steep hill in the Midlands but had soldiered on. We swapped a few stories about our respective adventures. They were having a half hour break so I set off. I was sure I'd meet them en route to our goal.

I rode into Caithness, my final county on this ride. The light in this part of the world seemed different. Its very strident and bright. The air was very clear and the smell of the sea was very refreshing. I fell in love with it.

What I didn't fall in love with was Berridale or more specifically the Berridale braes. Neil Coverley had ommitted to tell me about the Berridale braes. I found out later from another good customer down in Culloden that the Berridale Braes is an infamous hill that some cars struggle to make it up. He was not wrong. I've cycled up Hardknott Pass in the Lake district and that was the hardest climb I've ever done. This was pretty close. It just ground on and on in a slow relentless and punishing gradient. But I was going to conquer this b*****d of a climb if it killed me and I was going to do it standing up. I hadn't come 900+ miles to let this beat me. I grimaced my way up and finally hit the top exhausted. Rosemary had realised how steep it was and had very thoughtfully parked up less than a mile away. I had a few minutes rest and a brew in the camper. There wasn't going to be many more of these so I savoured every minute.

As I climbed out of the van the other cyclists rode by. I tried to get myself organised so I could tag along with them, but by the time I had my rucksack and helmet on they'd disappeared over a rise. I tried my best to catch them but they were riding as a pack. It's really tough to keep up with a bunch of riders as they can use each other to shelter from the wind. I tried and tried for the next ten miles or so but in the end I gave up. In fact it took a lot of energy up and I started to feel a bit weary. My legs began to get that tell tale jelly like feeling and I needed to stop. I was only ten miles short of Wick where I would meet Rosemary at lunchtime, but I was spent. I felt like I was done in so I sat on the ground by the entrance to a rather grand looking house in the middle of nowhere and had some Kendal mint cake. I thought to myself "I'm so near now, just got to drag my weary body another twenty five miles and I'm there"

The villages I rode through had lovely Norse names, Lybster, Ulbster, Occumster and Thrumbster. I'd seen these names, endlessly studying the maps whilst preparing for the ride. The dream of reaching John o'Groats was coming true. I was seeing the villages from the map and I was riding through them. A feeling of elation started to seep into me as I rode into Wick, the last major town on my journey. I liked Wick. It looked bustling and prosperous for such a northerly city. I arrived at lunchtime and school kids thronged the pavements outside the chippy and newsagents . They must be used to Lejoggers riding and walking through as they were certainly not afraid to shout encouragement to me (well I think it was encouragement) It made me smile as I bumbled my way through the centre.

I had arranged to meet Rosemary at Tesco where she was busy re-stocking the camper for a few days rest once I had completed the ride. I didn't realise that the Tesco was actually not in the centre of Wick but a mile or so out the other side, by the small airport. I thrutched around the town quite a bit until I saw a sign for Tesco. I eventually trundled into the car park around 12.30pm and was greeted by Monty at the door. He'd been such a patient little man all the way from Lands End. It would soon be time to pay him back with long walks and no going off cycling. I just had one more ride left and I could say I had made it. Before that though I could relax and have some lunch with Rosemary one last time on this epic journey. We had some lovely fresh bread and a pie from the deli counter and i enjoyed every minute of it.

I climbed out of the van at 1.20pm. I had 16 miles to John o' Groats. I was tired but my spirits were high as I cycled out of the car park. Just ahead was a sign saying 'John o'Groats 16 miles,  so I stopped to take a picture with my trusty iPhone. I'd used it for photo's, navigation, communication (my blog, email, texts, Facebook) reading and amusement (sudoku etc) Its was invaluable to me. Just as I held it up to take the shot an email came through on the notification screen. JustGiving - Congratulations you have hit your target of £10,000, someone had literally just donated the last £230.00 to take me to my target. I was speechless. To be honest, I burst into tears. I was overcome with emotion. I never thought I would get 10 grand, not in a million years. I had done it. The ride was irrelevant really, it was the money for Ataxia that meant everything. That someone by the way was Kelan Smith from SKS Communications in Dublin. Kelan is the son of Harry Smith who until his sad death a couple of years earlier, had been a director of my company. Harry was a good friend and my business mentor over the years and I miss him a lot. Kelan's donation meant a great deal to me.

Word's cannot describe how I felt as I set off for JOG. I was on a cloud. I was flying. I absolutely nailed it down the A99. Nothing was going to hold me back now. Rosemary stopped with about 5 miles to go to see if I needed a rest. I just poked my head through the door and asked for my Ataxia cycling shirt. I gave her my coat and rucksack and put the shirt on and set off again. I felt great, even with the a big hill with a couple of miles to go. I slogged my way up with the sun shining on my back and as I crested the top I caught a glimpse that all Lejoggers will remember forever. The North Sea and coastline with the islands of Stroma and Swona nestling proudly between John o' Groats and the Orkneys in the distance. I stopped to take it in. It was beautiful! For some reason I didn't take a picture, I have no idea why but I'll always remember that view.

It was down hill all the way to JOG so I stood on my pedals and coasted along with a big smile on my face. I saw a tractor in the distance driving towards me and thought nothing of it, but as I got closer I noticed the farmer start to raise the front hydraulic scoop. Then as I went by he saluted me. I was gobsmacked and started chuckling to myself. I quickly shouted thank you and waved back. What a lovely thing to do. He must see a lot of cyclists though.

Finally after twelve days of cycling and a year in the planning and lot of blood sweat and tears from Rosemary as well as me, I rolled into John o'Groats. Rosemary was ready and waiting with the camcorder to record my arrival. Unfortunately the route was a bit confusing through to the harbour front so I nipped through the car park and she didn't see me cycle up to her. I think I messed up her plan and she seemed a bit put out that I had not arrived properly, so I said I'd go back and ride in again. I did and then gave her a big hug. It was all over, we'd done it. 938 miles (according to my iPhone) I was drained and a bit stunned. There is nothing much at John o Groats, a few buildings, a hotel and a gift shop for the tourists. Its a bit tired looking to be honest. Nothing much to hang about for. I had my 'end to end card stamped in the gift shop and wondered what to do next. It all seemed a bit of an anti-climax. Twelve days of adventure was behind me. We'd made it in one piece a bit sore and tired but we had done it. So we packed up the bike on the rack and we climbed into the camper and drove slowly away.

And that was that!

I hope u have enjoyed reading my blog. Sorry it's been a bit disjointed and has taken a while to finish but thank you for reading it. LEJOG was a real adventure for Rosemary and I. Maybe one day I'll do it again. Keep an eye out for the blog.

Inverness to Helmsdale

I woke up as I had for most of the ride, aching muscles and a burning desire to go back to sleep. I had two days riding till I got to the fabled JOG. It seemed an eternity away.

 My mate Neil had taken the slightly shorter but no less easy route from Drumnadrochit up over the steep pass to Beuley and on through Dingwall. I was heading through Inverness and over the Black Isle via the Beuley Firth on the A9. It all looked simple enough on the map.

Leaving the campsite at Inverness was not a struggle 

I eased my way through Inverness, happy to see the back of the campsite. It was Sunday morning and relatively quiet on the road. I felt relaxed as I headed towards the Kessock bridge that joints the City Inverness with the Black Isle. My long time friend and customer Neil Tuckwell lives just over the firth in North Kessock. I had meant to meet up with him on the Saturday but I was too tired and late getting in to Inverness. We had decided to meet up on the way down in a few days. It would be far more relaxing and I would have chance to catch up.

Cally Thistle FC 

Relaxed was probably not the word I would use to describe cycling over big suspension bridges. I had been very nervous heading across the Severn Bridge, so as I approached the Kessock bridge that spans the Beuley firth I had a knot in my stomach. I'd just stopped to take a picture of Inverness Caledonian Thistles football ground (for which I had supplied the PA system to Neil Tuckwell to install) I always look out for 'Cally Thistles' results and I take full responsibility for their rise from lowly divisions to the Scottish Premier League. I had supplied the system back when they were struggling minnows but ever since they had rocketed through the divisions and had become quite a force in Scottish football. It's all down to good sound quality. Anyway I rode on to the bridge on the cycleway and noticed immediately that it cambered towards the low guard rail to my left. It was really disconcerting, especially with the wind blowing across me, straight down the firth. I noticed no one was cycling across, or walking for that matter.

Taken at the end of the bridge. Pathetic guard rail in light blue 

Cars and lorries thundered by to my right, shaking the bridge as I pedalled gingerly along. I have no idea why but I suddenly just froze. I couldn't pedal another inch. I had to slowly get off the bike and close my eyes, totally struck with fear. I kept my eyes shut and talked to myself to try and reason the fear out of me. I just felt so isolated and unsafe, its amazing what the mind does to you. I had to walk the few hundred yards to the other side. As I was walking, Rosemary drove past and saw me. She though I must have punctured or had a mechanical so she stopped and waited at the other side. I was glad to jump in and calm down. No idea why that happened? Maybe I'm a big wuss. All I knew was that I didn't fancy many more of those. Problem was there were two more big bridges to negotiate before the day was over.

I was now on the Black Isle and the long straight and very busy A9. I really did not enjoy the first few miles. It felt dangerous as the cars and lorries sped past. It was dual carriageway and a de-restricted speed limit. The constant feeling of insecurity as a sudden voom and doppler effect when a car flies past at 70+mph is very draining. You also feel the pressure wave sucking you towards the traffic, especially when a huge artic rumbles past. I was so glad not to have ridden many dual carriageways on my journey. I really hate them. I think the only sections were through Penzance and Preston and maybe a short stretch up to Bridgenorth in the midlands.

A much nicer section of the A9 - The pine sent of the trees smelt wonderful

At least the sun was shining for once. In fact it was quite a nice day. It was dry and the sky clear blue, making up for the drudgery of the straight dual carriageway. After a while the dual carriageway dropped back down to a single and every so often the roadside was flanked with tall flanks of sweet smelling pine. I began to enjoy things as the miles went by. That was until the Cromarty firth bridge loomed ahead. By this time I had a morbid fear these huge bridges that spanned the wide firths. But as I approached I realised there was no cycle path and I had to use the road section. This was fine by me as it meant I was well away from the edge. In fact I sailed across Cromarty no problem and was away up the A9 past Alness heading for Tain. The road on this stretch is long, straight and pretty boring. It has a pitted surface that really grinds you down but at least there is a wide demarcated area between the verge and the white line that marks the carriageway. It sort of keeps the traffic from getting too close. Every so often this ran out and cars would zoom past really close. How dumb can car drivers be sometimes? The road had been a steady climb after the Cromarty firth. I had been riding directly east for some time. I flanked the firth to my right and could see the huge oil rigs that lay in the sound. I recalled the shipping forecast as I cycled by "Fair Isle, Viking, Cromarty, Forties"

Service stations are a little more hard core in Scotland

The road swung north as I hit the watershed between the Cromarty and Dornoch firths. This allowed me to free wheel for some long stretches and stand on my pedals to relieve my sore backside. I came upon the town of Tain  and noticed a sign for the Glenmorangie distillery. I was very tempted to nip in for some 'medicine' but resisted and carried on. Maybe I should have gone in as just up the road the final big bridge loomed. The Dornoch firth bridge was the longest of the 3 firth bridges that day but was actually quite pleasant. The scenery on either side, looking up and down the firth was stunning, so I totally forgot my fears. I suppose it was the last bridge too and felt a sense of relief as I crossed the final expansion plates to reach the other side. Another little milestone knocked off.

Old faithful

I had targeted reaching Brora by the evening and, if my legs were up to it to carry on and cycle the huge climb out of Helmsdale, ten miles north of Brora. That would mean the following day I only had just over 50 miles to get to John'o Groats. However, I had another 40 miles until I could call it a day  and the long dreary A9 was starting to get to me.

As I passed the amazing castle at Dunrobin and started a slight descent into a wide valley, a huge lorry almost had me under the wheels. It came passed so fast and close that the bow wave sucked me towards it and I really thought I was going down under the wheels. I could not believe how dangerous the guy was driving. The A9 at this point is just a two lane main road and he was doing 60mph easily in a 40 foot articulated lorry. It was a Polish reg and probably heading for Wick or Thurso. I was genuinely unnerved by it and could not wait to get off the A9 for the day.

I got to Brora around 5.30pm and considered stopping for the evening. My legs were tired and it would have ben lovely to jump in a shower and then relax. But I decided to go on and get Helmsdale out of the way. The scenery in this part of the world is stunning. The north sea is permanently to your right and you can see the rugged coastline undulating northwards. Yellow gorse everywhere and in May it is at its finest. It looks wonderful in the sunshine. It really is the defining sight of the very northwest highlands.

I eventually rode into Helmsdale and started what I thought was the horrendous climb out the other side that Neil Coverley had warned me about. I had steeled myself for it and when I got to the top I thought to myself, 'that was easy'. Then it dawned on me as I turned a sweeping corner. That wasn't the climb. But the huge sweeping hillside opening up in front was definitely the climb. My god it was tough but I kept ploughing on and I eventually met Rosemary at the top. I clambered into the camper for the ten miles back down the road to the campsite at Brora.

Almost at the top at Helmsdale. You can see where the climb starts on the headland behind me.

It felt very strange. This was the first time since Lands End that I'd been in the camper when it was moving and I couldn't deal with the speed. I was so used to the fifteen miles per hour of my bike that thirty and forty miles per hour seemed too fast. I had my eyes shut for most of the journey.

The campsite at Brora could not have been more different from Inverness. It was beautiful. The couple that managed it were friendly and helpful, the facilities were great and the beach was just stunning. I want to go back some day.

 The beach at Brora is just beautiful

The campsite isn't bad either

Whilst I was cleaning my bike in the evening sun I had three donations from lovely people who wandered over to ask why I was cycling lejog. It was very humbling. That night I started to relax and  feel really good about the ride. I only had just fifty+ miles to go and I'd nearly hit my target of £10K. donations had been coming in steadily throughout the ride and i was tantalisingly close. I was looking forward to the last days ride up to John o' Groats.

Bunree to Inverness

We woke to a beautiful Sunny morning on the shores of Loch Linnhe. Linnhe is a tidal sea loch and the view out across the sound was breathtaking in the early sunshine. I walked Monty along the pebbled shoreline and enjoyed the warm sunshine. All pointed to a beautiful days riding ahead of me. I was looking forward to cycling past Ben Nevis and along the shores of Loch Ness all the way up to Inverness.

Loch Linnhe in the early morning sun (these iPhones are good cameras you know)

Then I noticed the trees were bending quite heavily towards me from a north easterly direction. The wind had changed overnight. Guess what direction I was going.? Yep north easterly.

The Great Glen is a fault line between two continental plates - and a very long wind tunnel

I headed for Fort William along the loch shore line and noticed a guest house I had stayed at in my early twenties. I had toured Scotland with an old girlfriend back then (she wasn't old, it was just a long time ago - you know what I mean) and I remembered getting eaten alive by midges whilst adjusting the chain on my motorbike. Happy days.

Fort Bill has grown a little since I last passed through. It looked very prosperous. It's the centre for a lot of adventure sports and has superb mountain bike facilities. It recently hosted the downhill world championships and is considered one of the best courses in the world. The scenery isn't bad either. Ben Nevis stands on the edge of town like a giant gate keeper. Its a wonderful part of the world and well worth a visit.

A snow capped Ben Nevis in spring. The clouds looked ominous as I headed for the Great Glen

Riding out of Fort William I started to feel the effects of the headwind. It was hardwork keeping a reasonable pace up and I started to feel tired after about twenty miles. I stopped and had an energy gel and some Kendal mint cake. The energy gels taste like sweaty socks but are actually very good. The famous mint cake is just bonkers stuff. As far as I can tell it's pure glucose with a bit of mint essence . I renamed it Kendal mental cake, as it gives you a crazy energy lift for about half an hour before you hit a big sugar downer on the other side. Anyway I set off again for Spean Bridge and it seemed to do the trick for a while.

The clouds started to roll in, replacing the early morning sun as the road climbed steadily. After around ten miles I met Rosemary at the Commando memorial just after Spean Bridge. It was built to commemorate the commando's who trained in the area during the second world war. It's a very popular tourist spot and as I cycled up, coach loads of American and Japanese were disembarking. eager to get a shot of the famous landmark.

Rosemary had bought some pork pies and fresh bread in Fort William and I sat and scoffed whilst admiring the fantastic views. By this stage I could tell that today was going to be a struggle. The wind was just funnelling straight down the great glen like a giant wind tunnel and I still had a good sixty miles to go. So we decided to try and meet up every twenty miles so I could split the ride up into stages and give myself some respite.

The stretch between the Commando memorial and Fort Augustus seemed a lot further than I remembered. The road surface was terrible and it felt like my teeth were being shaken out as I trundled along the shore line of the imaginatively named Loch Lochy and Loch Oich which is apparently Loch of Spit - Honest!

The road surface really began to wear me down. It was badly pitted, probably from many a winters ice and snow cover. The narrow tyres on my bike offered precious little cushioning and I started to get a sore bum again. The road was very straight and seemed to stretch into the horizon. I find cycling along a straight road quite boring and a bit demoralising. I prefer rolling twist roads that add a bit of variety to a ride. Anyway I got my head down and covered nearly 30 miles before meeting Rosemary at a little rest area on Loch Oich. It was really pretty and Rosemary had had time to walk Moo along a trail through the woods. I could tell that she was more relaxed now and had enjoyed the walk. She seemed to have everything under control and was ready with a big mug of tea for me. There is nothing like a mug of tea when you need a sit down. Lovely!

Rest area at Loch Oich

Next up would be Fort Augustus at the southern end of Loch Ness. Most of the pleasure cruises that run up and down the Loch start from Fort Augustus so it is usually full of tourists. My company has supplied tour PA systems to a few of the boats here so I was looking out for one. Being mid May they were all out and probably somewhere on the huge loch.

The Locks at Fort Augustus. Part of Telfords amazing Caledonian Canal

This will sound odd but as I rode through I didn't feel like a tourist. I don't know why, as that is exactly what I was. I think it was the fact of being on a bike with a 'job to do' so to speak, made me feel exempt. I stopped to take a couple of photos to mark the start point of Loch Ness and set my time-lapse camera going. The idea was to get the whole length of Ness in a 2 minute video.

I have really enjoyed driving along this road in the past. I remember coming as a child in our VW camper. I can recall being convinced I had seen 'Nessie' through a break in the trees whilst motoring along the edge of Loch Ness. I can still picture the dark shape sticking out of the water now. Must have been an excess of sherbet dip or whatever sweets I was allowed back then.

Loch Ness - you can just make out Nessie if you look very carefully

Time was getting on and I had arranged to meet Rosemary at Drumnadrochit which is approximately half way up Loch Ness. This was a real struggle in the wind. I think the combination of long straight roads, bad road surface and head wind really started to get to me mentally. I just wanted to stop. I was getting very sore again down below and couldn't distract myself from it. I really was not enjoying this part of the ride one bit. I was on empty again. All I wanted to see was the camper so I could climb in and rest. It can get quite dispiriting when you keep looking at your cycle computer watching how slow the miles turn. There is still 20 miles to the next stop.

The counter seemed to go in slow motion for an age. I tried my best to take my mind off things. Sing songs to myself, think about nice experiences. I tried to remember good times with my sisters. Anything to distract me. I eventually rolled into Drumnadrochit and collapsed into the van. Rosemary had put up with a hell of a lot of my whinging on this trip but I badly needed her encouragement at this point. I just couldn't contemplate getting out of the camper. I still had 30 plus miles to go before we got to Inverness. That seemed like a mountain to climb. I told her I was sh*t at cycling, that I was a complete useless lump of lard and couldn't do this challenge anymore. I was really at a low point and just wanted to go to sleep and forget the whole thing.

Its amazing what a brew does for you, and a gentle reminder as to why I was doing any of this damn ride. "Come on Brian - man up for Pete's sake" I said to myself (wondering who Pete was) and climbed onto my bike again. I said bye to Rosemary and set off for Inverness. I watched the camper slowly disappear into the distance and felt very lonely as I pedalled along. I knew there was nothing in the tank but I had no choice, it was Inverness or bust.

I think the next 30 miles were close to the worst mentally, of the whole adventure. The road seemed to be climbing all the time. Of cause that was an illusion as both ends of the glen are at sea level but I swear that it felt like one of those weird images where a man is climbing a set of stairs that seems to go upwards all the time.

I was swearing out loud at the pain in my crotch. I even had a little cry to myself. I constantly gave myself a talking to and this went on for mile after mile. I can hardly remember the scenery, which is a pity because it is quite beautiful all along this road. I finally cracked and pulled into a lay-by for a rest, slumping to the curb with my head in my hands.

John Cobb - Land speed hero and local favourite

Anyway back to the ride. I sat and downed 2 energy gels and some mint cake then waited for the boost to kick in. I looked around and noticed a memorial and plaque at the roadside. It was to John Cobb the Englishman who held the land speed record in the 50's. He died during an attempt at the world water speed record on the loch and has been remembered fondly by the locals as a real gentleman and hero. Reading the memorial gave me a mental boost and really spurred me on. I got on my bike and made for Inverness.

The River Ness at Inverness

I finally limped in at around 7.30pm to the campsite we had been recommended by Neil. As I cycled in I couldn't help but notice that it was situated in a bit of a rough area. The site had high chain link fencing with barbed wire on the top. Just across the road was a huge funfair and it was already in full swing. My heart sank! Riding in through the gates I noticed that there were hoards of kids roaming around the site, running in and out between all the caravans. I thought "ok chill out Brian - they'll go in a bit when they get called in" How wrong was I!. I went for a shower to find a grim toilet block, painted turquoise. The shower cubicles had toilet duck cleaner sprayed all over the bases. It was freezing and the showers were just a tepid dribble. It was the pits. As I walked back to the camper I noticed some shady looking cars driving in and out. A brand new BMW and a Merc with blacked out windows kept coming and going. The drivers had skinheads and mean looks. They went into various caravans then left. I watched these guys come and go for over an hour from our van. They were either drug dealers or I'm aunt sally. I had chained my bike to the camper earlier but when a transit van pulled up outside and when the driver had a good gander at it I thought "we are out of here" I'm not staying another minute. The problem was it was 9pm and I was shattered. Rosemary had booked in earlier and had thought the manager seemed a nice guy. She asked him if we could store my bike in his office overnight which he was happy to do. He gave us the number of the local police (for which he knew the number off by heart) and said he was leaving for the evening. Great!

The Funfair finally packed in at 11pm. I was lying in bed listening to the thumping low frequency of the loudspeakers as they gently sent me round the bend. It was heavenly when the noise stopped but the tranquility was soon shattered by drunken girls screaming and shouting on the other side of the fencing. It was safe to say that Bunree to Inverness was not my favourite days ride. Hopefully tomorrow would be an improvement as I would be crossing over the Beauley, Cromarty and Dornoch firths and into the far north of Scotland.

A little update on the Demon dentist story

You may remember I posted a blog about the demon dentist a few months back. Its actually one of the top ten posts on the right hand side of the screen at the moment (as of 21st June). Well you might want to read that before you continue reading this post. trust me it will be funnier.

Well the other day I was had to nip to the dentist to have a filling replaced. It had come out during my Lejog ride and was annoying me. I walked into the surgery and had the usual cordial chat with Neil, my dentist. He then proceeded to examine my tooth and decided he needed to drill some bits of the remaining filling in order to make ready for the new filling. Once he had the drill in my mouth he whizzed it round a couple of times as though he was revving an engine then calmly said.

"So Brian, this blog of yours? What do you mean I'm the demon dentist" AARRGGH!

BlairDrummond to Bunree

Luminous gloves had to come out. All my others were wet through

BlairDrummond Campsite is situated in the walled garden of BlairDrummond house, former home of Lord Kames from as far back as 1701. It is surrounded by beautiful gardens and Scotland's only Safari Park. Whilst walking Monty in the gardens we noticed some chimpanzees in a specially constructed enclosure. It was basically a big island in the middle of the boating lake. It was thickly wooded and the chimps looked very comfortable in their surroundings. A big male was sitting at the top of a huge oak tree surveying his kingdom. He had a big red protruding bottom, so I remarked to Rosemary that I knew how he felt. You could hear the Lions roaring during the night. I woke thinking it was Rosemary snoring. It certainly kept Monty awake (the Lions, not Rosemary's snoring - I am so dead for that)

BlairDrummond Gardens 

We woke to a cool, overcast but thankfully rain-free morning. The daily ritual of walking Monty was always as a bit of a zombified lurch around the camper looking for something suitable to wear. I was usually half asleep craving at least another hour of boboland. The walk with Moo was actually a really good way of getting myself awake and my aching joints in some form of order. I headed through the gardens to where I saw the chimps the evening before. Sure enough there was 'Big red bum' at the top of the tree. I know it wasn't, but by 'eck it looked sore. I thought about donating some cycling shorts and Cavillon cream for him.

It was going to be a long and hard ride. The route would take me through Glen Ogle to Crianlarich and Tyndrum over Rannoch moor and through Glen Coe before dropping down into Ballahulish towards Fort William. I have driven this route a number of times in a car and also on a motorbike. It is one of my favourite roads in Britain. The scenery is simply stunning and very imposing. On a bicycle is was going to be much tougher.

Road to Callender

My legs were tired as I set off heading for Doune. The air was fresh and the grey clouds seemed less threatening than on the previous day. I started really steadily, spinning a lowish gear trying to loosen my legs off. I took the back road that led through some beautiful undulating countryside towards Callender. It was mid May, snow was still picking out mountains looming in the distance. I was finally in the Highlands.

Callender was a small and prosperous looking town with Victorian hotels hewn from the local grey stone. It lies on the banks of the river Teith and is known as the gateway to the Highlands. Tourists were following Tartan clad guides up and down the high street as I cycled by. I liked Callender.

The A84 started to climb as I left Callender. It wasn't steep, just a slow grind into the hills. There was no real letting up and I found it tough. I passed Loch Lubnaig to my left with thick forests of pine on my right. It was quite beautiful. I don't know if its just me but I find trees very comforting. I get a real feeling of calm and serenity when cycling through trees.

I was heading for Lochearnhead where I would meet Rosemary for a stop and I was grateful to see the familiar site of our lovely old Hymer parked up overlooking the Loch. Rosemary had already taken Moo for a walk and had started preparing bacon butties. She was visibly more relaxed now we were in the Highlands. There was really only one road to follow and carefully planned routes to rendezvous were no longer necessary. We could simply work out the distance I wanted to ride to the next stop and Rosemary would just head off up the road and wait for me there.

I set off again and picked up the A85 which turned from due north and headed west. I noticed straight away that for the first time in nearly the entire ride that I had the wind behind me. I felt fantastic!  As I approached Glen Ogle I heard above a very distinctive call. Looking up I saw what looked like two eagles* circling overhead. They were magnificent birds, much bigger than buzzards. I felt very privileged.

This was the high point of my ride. It was as though ten men were pedalling for me.  My lungs were sucking in huge gulps of the cool mountain air as I mashed on the pedals. I was flying. I have never felt so good on a bike before. My speedo was reading thirty two miles an hour and I wasn't going down hill. I was grinning like a Cheshire cat as I sped along. What the hell had Rosemary put in my lunch?  Out of nowhere an RAF Typhoon thundered by on a low level run through the mountains.  I nearly jumped out of my skin. It skimmed the the tree line to my left then climbed away on full afterburners, diamonds dancing in its flaming engines. The torchered air on the wings formed huge vortices as it headed straight for the ceiling. I wasn't the only one having fun in Glen Ogle. It was a truly awesome site and I was loving the whole experience.

Rosemary finally found me at Tyndrum

I must have eaten up twenty five miles when my phone went. It was Rosemary. "Where on earth are you" "Just riding along" I replied. "Well I've been driving for ages and I haven't seen you". She'd set off after me and had expected to pass me after three or four miles. "I was worried you were in a ditch" "I went five, ten, fifteen, twenty miles and you weren't on the road". She had called Neil to check on 'Find my friends' to see where I was. It turned out I was still five miles ahead of her. I carried on through Crianlarich at full bore and in the end I met Rosemary as I approached Tyndrum, where we had arranged to meet.

It had been, by quite some distance the best riding I have ever experienced. I don't know what came over me.
* we spoke with my Friend Neil Tuckwell in Inverness who is a keen amateur ornithologist and he confirmed they would have been eagles

By 'eck it's getting hilly round here

Is that Lance Armstrong 

Nope, its just dopey old me

From Tyndrum I picked up the A82 and headed for Glen Coe. This was the Highlands proper as I climbed into Argyle and Bute. The mountains rose up on both sides and the moody sky looked ominous. I still felt great as I passed through Bridge of Orcy. I had arranged to meet Rosemary at the famous view point where the road climbs steeply onto Rannoch Moor. I could see the Hymer in the distance way above. The road does a horseshoe and rises sharply up the long climb. I decided to get out of the saddle and 'monster it' all the way to Rosemary. It was my Alp 'D'uez and I had Lance Armstrong in my pocket. Whatever I had been on that day I want some more.

Rannoch Moor

Glen Coe - You can just see the rain between the mountains in the middle of the shot

A hauntingly beautiful place

It started to rain! "that's all I need" I thought to myself. Rannoch moor is a pretty bleak place at the best of times. Its a vast treeless windswept plateau, strewn with small lochs and drainage courses. It looks 'otherworldly' for want of a better description. In the distance I could see the mountains of Glen Coe and my heart missed a beat. If you have ever driven through Glen Coe you will understand. The sheer majesty of the scenery stirs your soul. With ghosts of Clansmen peering down from the lonely crags, it is quite intimidating and quite beautiful at the same time. The rain started to come down like stair rods. Luckily Rosemary had seen the rain ahead and stopped just up the road. I jumped in the camper just as it went torrential. Wow! that was good timing. We sat it out for half an hour until it passed over. We had a quick hug then I hopped out and Rosemary drove off for the campsite near Ballahulish. I was at the top of the pass and I could see her wind her way down the steep road for miles.

I was glad I had changed my brake pads at Blair Drummond. It was very wet and the lorries and buses gave no quarter as they thundered by. The road spray got into my eyes and stung like hell, making the decent really quite hairy. But I loved it, I had ridden 700 miles, I was in Glen Coe riding my bicycle and I had a big smile on my face.

Bunree - overlooking Loch Linnhie 

Am I supposed to be impressed?

The next morning 

Not a bad view to wake up to?

I began to tire as I passed through Glen Coe village heading for the coast and Bunree. However it was all worth it when I saw the view we had from the campsite. We were right on the shore of Loch Linnhe. It was stunning and apparently was voted the Caravan Clubs best site. I had cycled almost 90 miles. It was my best days riding since starting at Lands End and it will stay in my memory for a long time to come.

Next up - Bunree to Inverness - From best to worst in more ways than one.