Where Our Intrepid Narrator And His Partner In Crime Start Their Journey, Ray Nearly Passes Out And Will Has A 6-Stop Hill.
Ray and I made breakfast in the kitchen talking with a chap who had LEJOG’d before, and who actually cycled long distances for fun rather than charity. He told us that he kept a list of all his gear, which he spent time whittling down every trip – I think he was down to one set of clothes (he wore these at all times) and a toothbrush. Oh – and a bike. His was parked next to the Manly Steed and had very small wheels – it was a Pashley something or other and apparently has a full suspension system, something which in hindsight I should have got.
We were finished and enjoying a coffee by about 07:30, and Han and Mike had risen and joined us just as we were done. I spent some time shivering as I got into my cycle gear, and then we packed up the room and loaded the car. Ray and I mounted up, and got moving as quickly as possible to avoid being midged by the local bloodsucking vampires.
It was a pleasant and still morning as we pedalled the few miles from Canisbay to John O’Groats, and the start of our journey. The sea was the colour of lead in the distance, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. We arrived at the post to find that there were no signs saying how far Lands End was, but we took some photos stood next to it with the Journey’s End Cafe in the background. It had to be done quickly as we were getting eaten alive, and not in a good way.
There was a plaque commemorating a rider who had died on his twelfth End to End, and I was to pray to him many times on the way South for a bit of luck when it all got a bit too much.
Another intrepid cyclist was just leaving when we arrived on a recumbent bicycle, going solo, and we would meet him several times along the journey. His name was Mark (we found out later) and his bike literally fell to pieces several times through the course of the journey.
Photos taken, Lucky Heather stowed (provided by Han at the last minute) Ray and I stepped onto our bikes, clipped the SPD into the pedal (you wouldn’t want to do both while standing stationary – you’d fall over), and I reset my milometer to zero and turned the Garmin on. With the sea at our back, we looked across at each other.
“Shall we?” I asked.
“Why not?” Ray replied, and we set off on the first leg of our journey. The time was 08:50, and the Manly Steed was almost quivering with excitement.
Ray and I are not Chris Hoy-esque in our cycling abilities, but we feel that we can hold our own. We stop for a rest and a stretch and a bite to eat every 10 miles or so, which usually equates to every hour give or take, and then we are back in the saddle, and we allow about an hour for lunch. The first 40 miles we covered in this way as we pedalled along the A99 through Wick and along the coast (we passed our recumbent cyclist after about half an hour as he put on midge repellent) , and we were surprised and incredibly happy to see us reaching the 40 mark in three hours.
The scenery was by turns stunning and bleak, ith moorlands of heather and and forested hillsides everywhere, and the sun was shining brightly for much of the morning making us feel confident of finishing the day strongly. The A99 turned into the A9 at Latheron, and we continued south.
We pedalled up our first really challenging hill at Dunbeath, and then had a horrific small mountain to climb called Berriedale Brae. Until this point, my worst experience with hills (and may I point out that I hate them with a fiery passion?) had been Ditchling Beacon, which was a 4-Stopper (I had to stop 4 times to catch my breath before I could pedal to the top). Berriedale was a 6-Stopper, and it didn’t even have the decency of giving us a decent run at it as there is a hairpin bend at the bottom which means you have almost a standing start. It was hot, muggy, and although the midges had gone the horseflies were out in force. We stopped at the top, gulped down liquids and some food, and carried on happy that we didn’t have to do another one like it that day.
We were travelling with the bare essentials (waterproofs, liquids and some food) and had expected to find somewhere to grab a bite to eat along the way. This did not materialise at all, and we ran out of high energy Cliff Bars and nearly all of the water 10 miles from Helmsdale. The terrain was still fairly challenging, and we stopped for a breather and a stretch, whereupon Ray insisted that I eat one of the remaining apples and drink the rest of the water.
As we mounted up, Ray wobbled quite a lot and we had only pedalled a hundred yards before he stopped and had to lie down. Ray had until this point been convinced that he could survive on his usual 3 cups of tea a day with a couple of sandwiches, and I believe that this was a bit of a wakeup call for him. He was bonking incredibly hard (please readers – it means to run out of energy. A little more maturity...?) and this was a first for him, only ever really having seen it happen to me with my much larger required intake of food.
Fortunately we had set aside emergency rations for just this situation, and so I leapt into action and produced a Honey & Chocolate Stinger gel pack from the Manly Steed. This is basically chocolate and honey in gel form, which provides a huge kick of energy to your system in about two minutes. Ray went from Horizontal to Vertical in about three minutes, and he was able to get back in the saddle and we were on our way in about five.
The run into Helmsdale has a beautiful long hill which we freewheeled down (I pity those coming north – it’s long!!) and we stopped at the first likely looking pub to get some food and some much needed rest.
Hannah and Mike had been doing the tourist thing on their way south, and had apparently had a wonderful morning. They had a large fry up in a cafe called Morag’s in Wick, and then had tried to visit a Llama Farm only to find that it had no llamas. They walked right up to us as we were sat on some picnic tables feeling somewhat sorry for ourselves. They were parked 200 hundred yards away and had been trying to find bad souvenirs.
We ordered food and moved inside as the heavens once more opened and deluged in spectacular fashion, and we managed to avoid the worst of it, although The Manly Steed received a good soaking.
After lunch we mounted up once more, and wearily pedalled the last 16 miles to Golspie through periodic showers. This felt very tough as our energy levels were still at low ebb, and we made sure to eat as much as possible on the move.
We arrived in Golspie and spent some time trying to find our B&B, which turned out to be an absolutely delightful house call Blar Mhor where we received a warm welcome from Eileen, who offered to wash our clothes. We gratefully accepted, and after hot baths Ray and I felt almost human again. The Manly Steed was parked in the garage along with its smaller counterpart, and after a quick rub down we left them no doubt nattering about the day’s journey. Mike drove us the 400 yards into town (we were not going to walk it) and we had dinner at a Fish & Chip shop where I had macaroni cheese washed down with two bottles of Lucozade Sport.
We got back to Blar Mhor at about 20:30, and I politely declined Mike’s offer of staying up drinking. I collapsed into bed in our beautiful and spacious room (if only all our accommodation could have been like this!!) at 21:00, and remember nothing until 07:30 when the alarm went off, and Day 2 was underway.
Ray and I made breakfast in the kitchen talking with a chap who had LEJOG’d before, and who actually cycled long distances for fun rather than charity. He told us that he kept a list of all his gear, which he spent time whittling down every trip – I think he was down to one set of clothes (he wore these at all times) and a toothbrush. Oh – and a bike. His was parked next to the Manly Steed and had very small wheels – it was a Pashley something or other and apparently has a full suspension system, something which in hindsight I should have got.
We were finished and enjoying a coffee by about 07:30, and Han and Mike had risen and joined us just as we were done. I spent some time shivering as I got into my cycle gear, and then we packed up the room and loaded the car. Ray and I mounted up, and got moving as quickly as possible to avoid being midged by the local bloodsucking vampires.
It was a pleasant and still morning as we pedalled the few miles from Canisbay to John O’Groats, and the start of our journey. The sea was the colour of lead in the distance, and there wasn’t a breath of wind. We arrived at the post to find that there were no signs saying how far Lands End was, but we took some photos stood next to it with the Journey’s End Cafe in the background. It had to be done quickly as we were getting eaten alive, and not in a good way.
There was a plaque commemorating a rider who had died on his twelfth End to End, and I was to pray to him many times on the way South for a bit of luck when it all got a bit too much.
Another intrepid cyclist was just leaving when we arrived on a recumbent bicycle, going solo, and we would meet him several times along the journey. His name was Mark (we found out later) and his bike literally fell to pieces several times through the course of the journey.
Photos taken, Lucky Heather stowed (provided by Han at the last minute) Ray and I stepped onto our bikes, clipped the SPD into the pedal (you wouldn’t want to do both while standing stationary – you’d fall over), and I reset my milometer to zero and turned the Garmin on. With the sea at our back, we looked across at each other.
“Shall we?” I asked.
“Why not?” Ray replied, and we set off on the first leg of our journey. The time was 08:50, and the Manly Steed was almost quivering with excitement.
Ray and I are not Chris Hoy-esque in our cycling abilities, but we feel that we can hold our own. We stop for a rest and a stretch and a bite to eat every 10 miles or so, which usually equates to every hour give or take, and then we are back in the saddle, and we allow about an hour for lunch. The first 40 miles we covered in this way as we pedalled along the A99 through Wick and along the coast (we passed our recumbent cyclist after about half an hour as he put on midge repellent) , and we were surprised and incredibly happy to see us reaching the 40 mark in three hours.
The scenery was by turns stunning and bleak, ith moorlands of heather and and forested hillsides everywhere, and the sun was shining brightly for much of the morning making us feel confident of finishing the day strongly. The A99 turned into the A9 at Latheron, and we continued south.
We pedalled up our first really challenging hill at Dunbeath, and then had a horrific small mountain to climb called Berriedale Brae. Until this point, my worst experience with hills (and may I point out that I hate them with a fiery passion?) had been Ditchling Beacon, which was a 4-Stopper (I had to stop 4 times to catch my breath before I could pedal to the top). Berriedale was a 6-Stopper, and it didn’t even have the decency of giving us a decent run at it as there is a hairpin bend at the bottom which means you have almost a standing start. It was hot, muggy, and although the midges had gone the horseflies were out in force. We stopped at the top, gulped down liquids and some food, and carried on happy that we didn’t have to do another one like it that day.
We were travelling with the bare essentials (waterproofs, liquids and some food) and had expected to find somewhere to grab a bite to eat along the way. This did not materialise at all, and we ran out of high energy Cliff Bars and nearly all of the water 10 miles from Helmsdale. The terrain was still fairly challenging, and we stopped for a breather and a stretch, whereupon Ray insisted that I eat one of the remaining apples and drink the rest of the water.
As we mounted up, Ray wobbled quite a lot and we had only pedalled a hundred yards before he stopped and had to lie down. Ray had until this point been convinced that he could survive on his usual 3 cups of tea a day with a couple of sandwiches, and I believe that this was a bit of a wakeup call for him. He was bonking incredibly hard (please readers – it means to run out of energy. A little more maturity...?) and this was a first for him, only ever really having seen it happen to me with my much larger required intake of food.
Fortunately we had set aside emergency rations for just this situation, and so I leapt into action and produced a Honey & Chocolate Stinger gel pack from the Manly Steed. This is basically chocolate and honey in gel form, which provides a huge kick of energy to your system in about two minutes. Ray went from Horizontal to Vertical in about three minutes, and he was able to get back in the saddle and we were on our way in about five.
The run into Helmsdale has a beautiful long hill which we freewheeled down (I pity those coming north – it’s long!!) and we stopped at the first likely looking pub to get some food and some much needed rest.
Hannah and Mike had been doing the tourist thing on their way south, and had apparently had a wonderful morning. They had a large fry up in a cafe called Morag’s in Wick, and then had tried to visit a Llama Farm only to find that it had no llamas. They walked right up to us as we were sat on some picnic tables feeling somewhat sorry for ourselves. They were parked 200 hundred yards away and had been trying to find bad souvenirs.
We ordered food and moved inside as the heavens once more opened and deluged in spectacular fashion, and we managed to avoid the worst of it, although The Manly Steed received a good soaking.
After lunch we mounted up once more, and wearily pedalled the last 16 miles to Golspie through periodic showers. This felt very tough as our energy levels were still at low ebb, and we made sure to eat as much as possible on the move.
We arrived in Golspie and spent some time trying to find our B&B, which turned out to be an absolutely delightful house call Blar Mhor where we received a warm welcome from Eileen, who offered to wash our clothes. We gratefully accepted, and after hot baths Ray and I felt almost human again. The Manly Steed was parked in the garage along with its smaller counterpart, and after a quick rub down we left them no doubt nattering about the day’s journey. Mike drove us the 400 yards into town (we were not going to walk it) and we had dinner at a Fish & Chip shop where I had macaroni cheese washed down with two bottles of Lucozade Sport.
We got back to Blar Mhor at about 20:30, and I politely declined Mike’s offer of staying up drinking. I collapsed into bed in our beautiful and spacious room (if only all our accommodation could have been like this!!) at 21:00, and remember nothing until 07:30 when the alarm went off, and Day 2 was underway.
I laugh out loud - you write well!
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