In many ways this was just about the last thing I wanted to do on a chilly Saturday morning at 4.30am. But, like quite a few things I have done recently I have not afforded myself the luxury of too much thought and just got on and done them.
I was getting up at this ridiculous hour to give myself time to drive to Shropshire, cycle 80 miles and then drive home again...in time for tea. And the reason for the far-flung destination for an 80 mile bike ride? Well this was the hole in my Land’s End to John O’Groats adventure. When I had raced home on Day Five of the ride I was only halfway through that particular leg, and when I took the difficult decision to continue, I said I would return to place the missing piece.
So, here I was, at 7.00am in the middle of Whitchurch - just me and the bloke delivering bread to Co-op. I parked up, saddled up, and with that familiar routine - bottles - check, energy bars - check, route notes - check, less than half a brain - check, and I was on the road again.
The early part of the ride was great - sun starting to warm the tarmac, me beginning to stretch the creases out of my legs and the miles ticking off again on the Garmin. It was just like old times, but minus my back-up man Nev. Holy moly - the realisation hit me like a slap across the chops with a paid of damp track mits - who was going to get the BLTs in? Better get my foot down and be back in time for lunch, never mind tea.
All was going well (now there’s a familiar line) until I breezed out of the sumptuous Cheshire countryside - all green and rolling, and slowly, Saturday-waking to the purr of Range Rover Sports and soft snort of horses anticipating breakfast - and in to the carbon monoxide and concrete landscape that is our much-loved industrial north-west.
I once again found myself on roads I was not at all sure I should be on. Roads with names ending in ‘expressway’ are generally a bad idea with just pedal-power to avoid hazards, but I was focussed and indestructible, like an overweight Captain Scarlet before he progressed to hover-packs.
With a combination of sat-nav, Google maps and suspect memory, I eventually found the Campanile Hotel. I took, a quick picture to show I had been, ate a Snickers bar and vowed never to return to this place that hosted one of the most miserable nights of my life.
Then I was off again, chased by a huge black mass that could only be the ghost of my end-to-end come back to give me one last drenching, for old time’s sake. It caught me just south of Frodsham, deposited a few gallons of the damp stuff on me, and then returned for another three of four soakings before I finally arrived back in Whitchurch - soggy and hungry but satisfied.
So, that’s it - mission accomplished - the fat lady has sung.
I have clocked up well over 1,000 miles on a journey, the like of which I have never previously experienced, and, hope never to experience again.
Not that I haven’t appreciated the things I have seen, the people I have met, the satisfaction I have felt, It’s just that I needed to share it all with my mentor, my dad, and that is one thing I will never be able to do. Or will I? He must know, mustn’t he?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar - cheers dad x
Jez
PS - As I write - my sponsorship total for Cancer Research UK will shortly touch £3,700.00 - a huge thank you to everyone who has chipped in - greatly appreciated.
Sunday 12 June 2011
Friday 3 June 2011
Day 13
Yesssssss!
Done it!
Met my daughter Charlotte and wife Pia for the final leg of the trip, I rolled into John O'Groats at around 4pm, after a hard day's ride of more then 90 miles. The scenery today has been the best of the trip, but the hills once I hit the coast road were brutish. And then, to cap it all, the road to
John O'Groats has closed eight miles from the end! An accident meant a diversion was in place - perfect!
Anyway, gripes aside, the last day was memorable - at least I hope it proves to be so. I tried to soak it all in and snapped away whenever the opportunity arose.
I can't begin to assemble my scattergun emotions into anything coherent right now, it's just too complicated. But I do promise to properly summarise when everything has calmed down a little.
In the meantime a massive thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me.
That includes, my star man Nev, without whom it just would not have happened, my brilliant family who made me do it, and I mean that in a good way. All of my friends who have called, texted and tweeted along the way - at times you have no idea how valuable that has been.
So before this starts to sound like a gushing acceptance speech I will draw a halt, and conclude by saying...
That was for dad I know you were with me x
If you want me I'll be in the bar - surely no one can begrudge me a tinsy beer tonight?
Jez
The Buffoon has landed!
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Done it!
Met my daughter Charlotte and wife Pia for the final leg of the trip, I rolled into John O'Groats at around 4pm, after a hard day's ride of more then 90 miles. The scenery today has been the best of the trip, but the hills once I hit the coast road were brutish. And then, to cap it all, the road to
John O'Groats has closed eight miles from the end! An accident meant a diversion was in place - perfect!
Anyway, gripes aside, the last day was memorable - at least I hope it proves to be so. I tried to soak it all in and snapped away whenever the opportunity arose.
I can't begin to assemble my scattergun emotions into anything coherent right now, it's just too complicated. But I do promise to properly summarise when everything has calmed down a little.
In the meantime a massive thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me.
That includes, my star man Nev, without whom it just would not have happened, my brilliant family who made me do it, and I mean that in a good way. All of my friends who have called, texted and tweeted along the way - at times you have no idea how valuable that has been.
So before this starts to sound like a gushing acceptance speech I will draw a halt, and conclude by saying...
That was for dad I know you were with me x
If you want me I'll be in the bar - surely no one can begrudge me a tinsy beer tonight?
Jez
The Buffoon has landed!
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Thursday 2 June 2011
Day 12
"...hey there, Mr Blue, we're so pleased to be with you..." The stuff that goes through your head when you're alone with your thoughts for hour after hour! But I'm sure you will forgive me when I tell you that for the first time on the trip we did indeed have Mr Blue Sky along for the ride.
Even before I was out of Inverness' busy streets I was going a little bit twitchy with late period ELO interrupting more constructive thoughts. So I tried to change channel and think of all the songs I knew about Inverness. It amounted to one, and you can probably guess which one that is - definitely not a, sing out loud as you wait at a zebra crossing, kind of ditty.
Anyway, back to the cycling, which this morning was excellent. Sun in my face, wind at my back and we were soon gobbling up good chunks of the busy A9. Past Invergordan and then, the unmistakable aromour of malt whisky. I don't think it was my breath, no, it wasn't, it was the Glenmorangie distillery - that smelt very tempting, even at such an early hour. But I showed great restraint and pedaled right by, with hardly a second thought. That was a lie. I didn't really get over what a rank bad decision I had just made until I was approaching Bonor Bridge, much later the same day.
But in any case I was sure I would be rewarded for my sensible abstinence. No, wrong on that one too!
Shortly after lunch the glorious free-wheeling day began to snap at my backside, before, just eight miles from Tane, sinking its knashers through my lycra. I got a puncture! Then another, and another!
I still don't know the cause of the triple flat, and it was only solved by changing a tyre as well. By this point we had used up all the new innertubes we had and were frantically sticking on patches. At one point we had three tubes hung from bushes with patches drying. It looked like we had invented something called Lay-bye Dressing, and any moment I expected that coach load of German tourists to pull over, jack up the rear end pull off a wheel, whip out a tube and join in.
For some reason Lay-bye dressing didn't capture the imagination and so, with the problem finally sorted, we were on our way again.
The helpful breeze of the morning had gone and in its place a nasty side-wind, and ahead - lots and lots of nothing. Miles and miles on the A826 (an A road which is single-track!) and more miles of nothing, until at last, after 73 miles for the day, The Crask Inn, miraculously appeared. The Inn is surrounded by a huge amount of nothing, that is apart from wonderful open space and distant hills. What a place this is. The pub is a step back in time. Creaking and musty and dark - I love it! I'm expecting them to serve Double Diamond.
Talking of beer, and therefore bars, and seeing as this is my penultimate blog of the trip, I thought I would explain my sign-off. It's a line from a Joni Mitchell song - 'Case Of You' which I've carried around with me for more than 30 years. It just seems to be a good way to wrap up the chat - I'm done talking, now I'm going to be drinking. So, as always...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Remote and beautiful. Which reminds me, we don't have a telly or a drinks tray, or any individually-packaged biscuits - but it's grand.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Even before I was out of Inverness' busy streets I was going a little bit twitchy with late period ELO interrupting more constructive thoughts. So I tried to change channel and think of all the songs I knew about Inverness. It amounted to one, and you can probably guess which one that is - definitely not a, sing out loud as you wait at a zebra crossing, kind of ditty.
Anyway, back to the cycling, which this morning was excellent. Sun in my face, wind at my back and we were soon gobbling up good chunks of the busy A9. Past Invergordan and then, the unmistakable aromour of malt whisky. I don't think it was my breath, no, it wasn't, it was the Glenmorangie distillery - that smelt very tempting, even at such an early hour. But I showed great restraint and pedaled right by, with hardly a second thought. That was a lie. I didn't really get over what a rank bad decision I had just made until I was approaching Bonor Bridge, much later the same day.
But in any case I was sure I would be rewarded for my sensible abstinence. No, wrong on that one too!
Shortly after lunch the glorious free-wheeling day began to snap at my backside, before, just eight miles from Tane, sinking its knashers through my lycra. I got a puncture! Then another, and another!
I still don't know the cause of the triple flat, and it was only solved by changing a tyre as well. By this point we had used up all the new innertubes we had and were frantically sticking on patches. At one point we had three tubes hung from bushes with patches drying. It looked like we had invented something called Lay-bye Dressing, and any moment I expected that coach load of German tourists to pull over, jack up the rear end pull off a wheel, whip out a tube and join in.
For some reason Lay-bye dressing didn't capture the imagination and so, with the problem finally sorted, we were on our way again.
The helpful breeze of the morning had gone and in its place a nasty side-wind, and ahead - lots and lots of nothing. Miles and miles on the A826 (an A road which is single-track!) and more miles of nothing, until at last, after 73 miles for the day, The Crask Inn, miraculously appeared. The Inn is surrounded by a huge amount of nothing, that is apart from wonderful open space and distant hills. What a place this is. The pub is a step back in time. Creaking and musty and dark - I love it! I'm expecting them to serve Double Diamond.
Talking of beer, and therefore bars, and seeing as this is my penultimate blog of the trip, I thought I would explain my sign-off. It's a line from a Joni Mitchell song - 'Case Of You' which I've carried around with me for more than 30 years. It just seems to be a good way to wrap up the chat - I'm done talking, now I'm going to be drinking. So, as always...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Remote and beautiful. Which reminds me, we don't have a telly or a drinks tray, or any individually-packaged biscuits - but it's grand.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Crask Inn, Crask!
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Day 11
Loch Leven, just across the road from our b&b, went to bed a placid, tranquil pool of water, and woke up a raging ferment. It had developed steroid waves which were punching skywards to meet the avalanche of water coming down. Yes, it was a little on the moist side.
Had I been able to find another singular buffoon on the loose in Glencoe at 7.30am I would have suggested we teamed up and grabbed a ride with Noah...it was, end-of-the-world-type grim.
But it was just me, so I set sail single-handed and steered a course for Inverness.
On The A82, conditions were some of the worst I had ever cycled in. Every time a big lorry went by I was faced with two options - either close my eyes and hold my breath, or adopt 'hang 10' position and try and ride the wave.
After 20 minutes I could not have been wetter if I had walked straight into Loch Leven.
And the aqua theme continued all morning- the rain bashed down and the views were of water too as the A82 hugged the banks of Lochs on its way north east. I rode alongside Loch Leven, Loch Oich, Loch Linnhe, Loch Ness and Loch Lochy (they had obviously run out of names by the time they got to this one).
There were two things that still managed to cheer me today...
1, everytime I came up for air I saw a bus load of German tourists splashing off their executive coach and peering through the mist and rain trying to see what they should be seeing. Boy did they look miserable!
2, that gorgeous south-westerly wind, becoming gale-force later. It was right at my back and gave me a ride I could only dream of as I ate up the miles to Inverness. If anyone happened to spot a lone and soggy cyclist apparently shouting to himself on the A82 today, it was me and I was talking to the wind - expressing my thanks with a customary hoop and holler.
I rolled into the capital of The Highlands, well ahead of schedule, which is probably just as well because I'm going to need a few hours to dry out all of my dripping kit.
Ah well, there's no point in sitting watching it dry...if you want me I'll be in the bar!
Jez
A break in the clouds over Loch Ness - monster pictured top right.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Had I been able to find another singular buffoon on the loose in Glencoe at 7.30am I would have suggested we teamed up and grabbed a ride with Noah...it was, end-of-the-world-type grim.
But it was just me, so I set sail single-handed and steered a course for Inverness.
On The A82, conditions were some of the worst I had ever cycled in. Every time a big lorry went by I was faced with two options - either close my eyes and hold my breath, or adopt 'hang 10' position and try and ride the wave.
After 20 minutes I could not have been wetter if I had walked straight into Loch Leven.
And the aqua theme continued all morning- the rain bashed down and the views were of water too as the A82 hugged the banks of Lochs on its way north east. I rode alongside Loch Leven, Loch Oich, Loch Linnhe, Loch Ness and Loch Lochy (they had obviously run out of names by the time they got to this one).
There were two things that still managed to cheer me today...
1, everytime I came up for air I saw a bus load of German tourists splashing off their executive coach and peering through the mist and rain trying to see what they should be seeing. Boy did they look miserable!
2, that gorgeous south-westerly wind, becoming gale-force later. It was right at my back and gave me a ride I could only dream of as I ate up the miles to Inverness. If anyone happened to spot a lone and soggy cyclist apparently shouting to himself on the A82 today, it was me and I was talking to the wind - expressing my thanks with a customary hoop and holler.
I rolled into the capital of The Highlands, well ahead of schedule, which is probably just as well because I'm going to need a few hours to dry out all of my dripping kit.
Ah well, there's no point in sitting watching it dry...if you want me I'll be in the bar!
Jez
A break in the clouds over Loch Ness - monster pictured top right.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Inverness, Scottish Highlands
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