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!
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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!
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Day 10
Again I was up before the rest of the household, and out into the kind of misty drizzle Scotland must have a copyright on.
I'm not great at decisions first thing in the morning - tea or coffee is about my limit, and that's an easy one anyway because I never have tea. But I had to choose between the peaceful cycle path along the edge of Loch Lomand and the hurly burly of the A82 heading north.
My initial option was to brave the big road, but ten minutes later I was regretting it. It was an assault on the senses too early in the day - the constant air brake blast and grinding of gears - and that was just me on the bike.
So, I hopped off the 82 and took my chances on the cycle path. When I say cycle path, maybe I should say assault course. Because it was like something out of 'It's A Knockout'. Ride along a nice smooth piece, then quickly off the bike, run with it and jump over that tree that has fallen across the path. Back on and then try not to skid on the landslide of mud. Oops, watch out for stray dogs launching at you from the undergrowth, and be careful not to overbalance or you'll be in that big lake on your right.
However, after 15 miles I was still upright with only minor scratches and shouting at Eddie Waring - "I'll play my joker!"
Well it is Day 10, I was always going to go a little loopy at some point. Yes, Ok, I know, it wasn't the first incident, but there is a name to live up to here.
After the Lomand shenanigans it was into the serious stuff - the big hills, I was entering The Highlands.
Surprisingly you will not be hearing me moan about the swine of a West wind, nor the miserable downpours that popped up throughout the day, nor the energy-sapping hills, because... it was all worth it for the spectacular, breath-taking views every inch of the way up the A82 to Glen Coe.
I was able to share these delights not only with Nev but also with a lovely couple from Australia who I kept bumping into at all the picture spots (yes, sorry about that, but it's only a hire car) and a chap I met up with from Bradford, who I was seriously impressed by - four panniers and completely self-contained, tent, food, clothes, the lot, all hanging from his bike. All I was carrying was my drink. Oh, but I was of course towing my Mars Bar Trailer, so that probably just about evened it up.
Anyway, well done man from Bradford I will be toasting your fortitude and spirit of adventure, any time now...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Said man from Bradford, just about to be overtaken by Buffoon on the charge. Yes, Ok I can see he's stopped, but I would have got him anyway.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I'm not great at decisions first thing in the morning - tea or coffee is about my limit, and that's an easy one anyway because I never have tea. But I had to choose between the peaceful cycle path along the edge of Loch Lomand and the hurly burly of the A82 heading north.
My initial option was to brave the big road, but ten minutes later I was regretting it. It was an assault on the senses too early in the day - the constant air brake blast and grinding of gears - and that was just me on the bike.
So, I hopped off the 82 and took my chances on the cycle path. When I say cycle path, maybe I should say assault course. Because it was like something out of 'It's A Knockout'. Ride along a nice smooth piece, then quickly off the bike, run with it and jump over that tree that has fallen across the path. Back on and then try not to skid on the landslide of mud. Oops, watch out for stray dogs launching at you from the undergrowth, and be careful not to overbalance or you'll be in that big lake on your right.
However, after 15 miles I was still upright with only minor scratches and shouting at Eddie Waring - "I'll play my joker!"
Well it is Day 10, I was always going to go a little loopy at some point. Yes, Ok, I know, it wasn't the first incident, but there is a name to live up to here.
After the Lomand shenanigans it was into the serious stuff - the big hills, I was entering The Highlands.
Surprisingly you will not be hearing me moan about the swine of a West wind, nor the miserable downpours that popped up throughout the day, nor the energy-sapping hills, because... it was all worth it for the spectacular, breath-taking views every inch of the way up the A82 to Glen Coe.
I was able to share these delights not only with Nev but also with a lovely couple from Australia who I kept bumping into at all the picture spots (yes, sorry about that, but it's only a hire car) and a chap I met up with from Bradford, who I was seriously impressed by - four panniers and completely self-contained, tent, food, clothes, the lot, all hanging from his bike. All I was carrying was my drink. Oh, but I was of course towing my Mars Bar Trailer, so that probably just about evened it up.
Anyway, well done man from Bradford I will be toasting your fortitude and spirit of adventure, any time now...
If you want me I'll be in the bar.
Jez
Said man from Bradford, just about to be overtaken by Buffoon on the charge. Yes, Ok I can see he's stopped, but I would have got him anyway.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Glen Coe, Scottish Highlands
Monday, 30 May 2011
Day 9
Weighed down by maps and print-outs and scribbled instructions, kindly provided by our brilliant host, I set out with fire in my heart, ready to do battle with the greatly feared Glasgow. Within 10 minutes I was back...forgot my Snickers.
Although the day's cycling once again began in the rain, the first 50 miles of the day were among the most pleasant so far. Along the old main Carlisle to Glasgow road which now is no longer the route of choice for motorists when there is a motorway option right next door. That means it's one of those rarities - a quiet road for cyclists.
Along the way I cycled with two guys from Glasgow and swapped end-to-end stories. It was all going swimmingly well until they informed me that they had decided to put in two rest days at home on account of the terrible weather that was forecast for Wednesday!! I thanked them for alerting me to that and then asked them if National Cycle Route 75 was a good way through the city. They said not, but seeing as I didn't have a Plan B decided to ignore their advice.
BIG mistake! Having navigated by chip shops and bus station and shoe shops to find the route, I quickly wished I hadn't.
Very soon I was carrying my bike along glass-strewn paths, through questionable neighbourhoods and being glared at by threatening locals. I don't want to be mean to Glasgow, but this was not an environment in which I felt comfy. By this point I had lost CNC 75, maybe the locals had torn down the signs and used them to attack lost cyclists.
I wasn't hanging around to test this theory and headed, quite quickly, back to a major road.
It was then navigation by compass. I set it for west and just got my head down. Which was again a good tactic, especially around Parkhead where I decided it wouldn't be prudent to wait for the traffic lights to turn green. I don't think cycling is big in that part of the city, but I do think some of the guys lurching out of The Sharmrock Bar would have liked a closer look at my sat nav.
Finally, finally I cleared the city centre and headed for Dumbarton. I found myself on roads that looked suspiciously like motorways, but by then I was past caring and figured they were still safer than some of the 'quieter' roads I had recently used in the east side of the city.
Eighty two miles on the clock today, and without doubt the most stressful day's cycling so far.
Now then, what do they prescribe for stress in these parts? Ah yes...
If you want me I'll be having a wee dram in the bar.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Although the day's cycling once again began in the rain, the first 50 miles of the day were among the most pleasant so far. Along the old main Carlisle to Glasgow road which now is no longer the route of choice for motorists when there is a motorway option right next door. That means it's one of those rarities - a quiet road for cyclists.
Along the way I cycled with two guys from Glasgow and swapped end-to-end stories. It was all going swimmingly well until they informed me that they had decided to put in two rest days at home on account of the terrible weather that was forecast for Wednesday!! I thanked them for alerting me to that and then asked them if National Cycle Route 75 was a good way through the city. They said not, but seeing as I didn't have a Plan B decided to ignore their advice.
BIG mistake! Having navigated by chip shops and bus station and shoe shops to find the route, I quickly wished I hadn't.
Very soon I was carrying my bike along glass-strewn paths, through questionable neighbourhoods and being glared at by threatening locals. I don't want to be mean to Glasgow, but this was not an environment in which I felt comfy. By this point I had lost CNC 75, maybe the locals had torn down the signs and used them to attack lost cyclists.
I wasn't hanging around to test this theory and headed, quite quickly, back to a major road.
It was then navigation by compass. I set it for west and just got my head down. Which was again a good tactic, especially around Parkhead where I decided it wouldn't be prudent to wait for the traffic lights to turn green. I don't think cycling is big in that part of the city, but I do think some of the guys lurching out of The Sharmrock Bar would have liked a closer look at my sat nav.
Finally, finally I cleared the city centre and headed for Dumbarton. I found myself on roads that looked suspiciously like motorways, but by then I was past caring and figured they were still safer than some of the 'quieter' roads I had recently used in the east side of the city.
Eighty two miles on the clock today, and without doubt the most stressful day's cycling so far.
Now then, what do they prescribe for stress in these parts? Ah yes...
If you want me I'll be having a wee dram in the bar.
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Bonhill, Loch Lomand
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Day 8
The writing was on the wall as I began the slow climb out of Kendall around half seven. I was heading into a black void where there used to be a sky and some mountains.
The rain only waited a few minutes before it started to lash down. The westerly wind joined in the fun and I was under siege for the next 20 miles. Knowing when the odds are against me, I eventually sought refuge in a bus shelter five miles from Carlisle and tried to get my shivers under control. I was seriously cold and soaked to the skin.
But, just a few short miles from this moment of deep gloom, the sky began to lighten, and although the fiercely gusting wind refused to join in with the more enlightened approach to weather conditions, the afternoon was so much better.
Just before lunch we crossed the border at Gretna and then, re-energised by a sarnie or two, I struck out for Lockerbie and then Moffat.
On arrival here in Moffat the last chill of the morning was burnt away by a spectacularly warm Scottish welcome from our josts at the Buchan Guest House. Brenda has to be one of the chirpiest people I have met, and even as I write she's washing my cycling kit for me - what a star.
So, some detailed planning and co-ordination now needed as we prepare to plot a way around the metropolis that is Glasgow tomorrow.
Just before I go (you know where) a huge thank-you for the brilliant support I am receiving through family and friends' text (when it works) and through my Twitter pals - you have provided a massive boost and kept me going - cheers.
If you want me I'll be in McBar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
The rain only waited a few minutes before it started to lash down. The westerly wind joined in the fun and I was under siege for the next 20 miles. Knowing when the odds are against me, I eventually sought refuge in a bus shelter five miles from Carlisle and tried to get my shivers under control. I was seriously cold and soaked to the skin.
But, just a few short miles from this moment of deep gloom, the sky began to lighten, and although the fiercely gusting wind refused to join in with the more enlightened approach to weather conditions, the afternoon was so much better.
Just before lunch we crossed the border at Gretna and then, re-energised by a sarnie or two, I struck out for Lockerbie and then Moffat.
On arrival here in Moffat the last chill of the morning was burnt away by a spectacularly warm Scottish welcome from our josts at the Buchan Guest House. Brenda has to be one of the chirpiest people I have met, and even as I write she's washing my cycling kit for me - what a star.
So, some detailed planning and co-ordination now needed as we prepare to plot a way around the metropolis that is Glasgow tomorrow.
Just before I go (you know where) a huge thank-you for the brilliant support I am receiving through family and friends' text (when it works) and through my Twitter pals - you have provided a massive boost and kept me going - cheers.
If you want me I'll be in McBar
Jez
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Moffat, Dumfries & Galloway
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