We did it!

I suppose the first thing I should post is WE DID IT! A total of 1,071 miles over 14 days. However, the last two days were anything but uneventful. We had to cover 175 miles in the last two days, with 110 of those on day 13. But …

Day 13

We got up ridiculously early expecting to spend at least 14 hours on the road. We were by now fully aware that our estimates of how long days were going to take were always totally wrong, and considering this was the longest day by about 20 miles we just hopped to make it before dark.

For the first part of the ride I had plotted a bit of a sprackle through open country, so 30 minutes after a hearty breakfast and saying goodbye to Anna’s mum and Sandra and Dick whilst the mist still lay heavy across the Scottish moors and farms, we found ourselves on a rocky track three miles north of Nethy Bridge.  It was quite a precarious track with two heavily rutted, rocky tyre-tracks. Ian placed a wheel wrong and the next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of someone falling off their bike behind me. Ian got back up and at first appeared fine, we had been barely moving when it happened, and I was already to get going again. Then we noticed his little finger on his right hand. It had been completely dislocated at the second joint and was sticking out at a 30 degree angle the wrong way. We discussed the merits of trying to ‘relocate’ it ourselves, Rich phoned his Mum, who phoned his Uncle (a Doctor), describing the ‘yank and pull’ method… Ian didn’t look convinced. The cows in the field next to us started to charge about, sensing something was wrong. We considered abandoning him. I’d heard some years ago on Countryfile that Scotland were considering  reintroduced wolves, he’d probably be a pile of bones before the weekend. We could tell everyone he’d begged us to go on, taken one for the team, a real non-fictional Captain Oates. I was overruled, and instead we used a mobile telephone to call Dick who came and picked him up and took him to Aviemore hospital. Ian’s martyrdom would have to wait for another day.

With Ian safely packed away with his bike in Dicks Volvo estate, we pushed on. All a little bit somber at the loss of one of our comrades, and proceeded up the 7 cycleway along the A9. After about 40 minutes (and at the top of the highest climb of the day) I had a call from Dick. Ian had apparently made a full recovery and would live. He’d also managed to blag £10 out of the Doctor for MSF! A few miles further on we were reunited, Ian had missed only about 10 miles and it had all taken about an hour! Brilliant.

We forged on along the A9 and got into Helmsdale about 8.45pm. Irene, the Hostel owner, quickly phoned the local pub to make sure that they would stay open for us, and with a quick change we were down the Tartan Lounge eating steak pies! There was a sense that we had made it! This was the final challenge, the 75 miles tomorrow seemed like a stroll down to the local shops in comparison.

Day14

We got up and went through the usual routine, acutely aware that this would be for the last time. We managed to get on the road quite early, after raiding the local Spar for various pastries and cereal bars, straight away we realised that the A9 was actually quite hilly after Helmsdale. We climbed, we descended, we climbed we descended, we had a wee in a farmer’s field whilst the farmer was watching, then started climbing and descending again. It was after a couple of hours that we started to see the JOGLEers. All fresh with their crisply pressed lycra and happy faces. Some were wearing matching jerseys and had none of the road weariness we were all showing. Also, none of them were carrying their own kit as they zipped by on their carbon road bikes. As much as I loathed their chirpiness, there loud ‘good-mornings’ and ‘not-far-nows’ I also pitied them. I thought ‘I know Cornwall and it’s a killer, you’ll get there when you feel like I do now!’ This made me feel better, our fellow LEJOGers would no doubt be all chipper to them when they were going through it. Ha ha ha.

Ahem. Anyway, we carried on, and got to Wick. People don’t talk about Wick, I didn’t even know it existed, and it’s easy to see why. There was not one redeeming feature. We stopped and, spotting a rather fine coffee machine in the window of a Café I quickly order a coffee. The machine was clearly only ornamental, what I got was half a teaspoon of Nescafe in a polystyrene cup with water for £1.50. Rather than argue and appear like a London-coffee-snob-pillock i deliberately looked confused and slowly paid, hoping my subtle frown would convey my whole thought process about the situation ... i don't think it worked.

We met Dave and Monique and had a quick chat, Dave looking very satisfied behind the wheel of his big campervan, and this was just the spur we needed for the last few miles.

I threw my coffee away and we left Wick, everything run down and shut, to see a large, gleaming Tesco’s on the outskirts of the town looking as if it had beaten the life out of the old town and had now positioned itself on higher ground ready for it’s final assault.

The A99 was to be our final road, and off we went about a mile later towards JOG finally leaving the A9 after 3 days or so. I didn’t realise the Orkneys we as close to the mainland and it was a shock when we finally saw the sea to realise this was the end of known Britain. It was also quickly dawning on us that we were nearly there. For me, the big moment was not getting to the actually bit where all the tourist nonsense is, it was the battered non-descript local authority ‘John O’Groats’ sign that made me happy. We had done it. 

We took lots of photos then headed the few miles into JOG. There were other cyclists (again, none with panniers and most with obvious helpers attending to their every whim) who had just finished and I couldn’t help feeling what we had done was a bit special. Not something everyone would do. We stayed there for about an hour, took the photos, said goodbyes, and headed into Thurso.

Monique managed to find the most unlikely of bars that was really quite good, and somewhere I don’t think I would even have looked at twice if we had walked past it. We had a couple of beers, hogged the jukebox, played some pool, then went off to sleep. Or rather went back to the hostel, had a row with the owner which nearly turned into a fight, then went to sleep after locking the door and vowing to leave very early so we didn't have to deal with the idiot again.

Day 15&16

A lovely train ride through the Cairngorms with none of the horror stories you here about bikes and Scotrail. The change at Inverness was easy and the Guard was happy to let Rich and Ian use their later tickets for the earlier train. We had a nice night out in Edinburgh, and managed to catch up with Sandy, Anna’s friend from way back when, before heading off back to London on the Sunday, although we cut it very fine for the train in the end!

So we did it. It was almost full of too many memories for one holiday and there are lots of things that keep springing back into my head. I enjoyed it, but it was tough and everyone’s relationships and friendships were tested at some point. Thanks for reading. Ta ta x