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.