23 July

The Day of Non Events.  Woken up at 6am by lightning and thunder and a little rain at the campsite.  Given the forecasts of the previous day, we decided to move the campervan onto hard ground. Best be prepared.  We were feeling quite smug about this, when the rain stopped.  It didn’t really start again all day.

It rained a bit when I was in Blackburn, but that was about it.  By the time I was in Bolton, there was blue sky and it stayed fine all the time. 

The route today took me through what could most accurately be described as ‘Industrial Britain’.  Down from Clitheroe into Blackburn, through the middle of the town and down then towards Bolton, the Leigh, Wigan and Warrington.  Not much to report really.  I grew up in places like this.  Row upon row of terraced houses, supermarkets, industrial estates etc etc.  Once I had climbed out of Blackburn, it was largely either downhill or flat, a welcome relief after yesterday. 

Once through Warrington, it was down towards Chester and to the campsite.

Longer day tomorrow, but I’m past halfway now.... 

and you know what is holding up pretty well.

22 July

So, halfway point, seventh day and just over half the miles completed. Feeling okay so far, but it was a hard day today, just over 70 miles but lots and lots of hills, some quite steep.  

I should have known what was in store on leaving Keswick.  A steep 1:4 gradient almost immediately then lots more hills all through the Lakes, as I went down through Grassmere, Ambleside and Windermere before heading down a rather hairy stretch for a couple of miles on the A65 with cars travelling at 70mph taking turns to see how close they could get to me as they went past.

Nearly all drivers are great, giving me a wide birth and passing slowly but the odd one makes stretches like this very frightening.  The route avoids A roads as much as possible but this small stretch was unavoidable.  I was glad when I turned off, heading South towards High Bentham, across Bentham moor.  Glad, that is until I could see the hill in front of me and feel the wind in my face.  The next twenty miles were the hardest so far, harder than that fateful first day into the wind on the North Coast of Scotland.  Terrible road surface, full of potholes, strong wind directly at me and steep climb after steep climb.  Finally it ended and then a very long downhill stretch I was into Clitheroe. 

Amanda hadn’t arrived when I got there, she and the boys were off in the middle of nowhere, climbing but luckily my parents had come across to meet me.  They took me to a factory outlet store, where I bought some cheap clothes a towel and soap and we spent a lovely couple of hours in the pub, chatting.  When the rest of the family arrived, we all went out for a fantastic Italian meal in Clitheroe, when my parents landed me with news of the weather forecast, and imminent thunder storms.......

Still, my bum’s not sore.

21 July

Thankfully a shorter day today, 66 miles from Beattock to Keswick.  By mutual agreement, we were up very early and left the campsite before 8am.  No one saw us leave.

This meant I was cycling at a much better time of day, with little wind and still quite cool.  I made good progress, again along a boring stretch by the side of the M74 until I got to Gretna Green, almost back into England.   I paused for a while to reflect on my time in Scotland.  Great scenery, the wind, blistering heat, no shops, miles of nothing.  Everyone I met was friendly and helpful.

Once over the border, the sun came out and I had a lovely ride down into Cumbria, along tiny single track roads, up and down hills, with great views and not a soul around.  And all before lunch on a Sunday.  

Then a long downhill into Keswick.  A great campsite here, on the banks of Derwentwater. Spent a lovely afternoon with a glass of wine and Amanda.  The boys went off climbing.  Yesterday seems such a long time ago now. 

Off down to Clitheroe tomorrow, another shorter day of less than 70 miles.

No need for a midge watch in England.

Backside still okay.

20 July

Huge day this, 93 miles in total, from Loch Lomond down to Beattock, about thirty miles north of the Border.  

First bit was fine, fairly flat into Glasgow, then a fantastic ride along cycle paths through the City, through parks, and along the banks of the Clyde. Beautiful, sunny day, loads of people around and all very helpful, which was good as the cycle routes were very complex and I needed to stop and ask the way on numerous occasions.  In fact the number of times I needed to ask for help contributed to the journey through Glasgow, taking over four hours!

Once out of the City, it became a bit more boring, with a minor road running alongside the M74, before a long climb into Beattock.

After such a long day, I was looking forward to seeing my family, having a shower and relaxing for the evening.  Oh dear.

I arrived to find them all at probably the worst campsite in the world.  About six inches in between each van, showers that had no temperature adjustment (burn or off), and a bar which was having a ‘Country and Western’ night when I arrived (this went on until after midnight and kept me awake until the early hours).  Our immediate neighbours arrived in the early evening, in a small hatchback which they proceeded to unpack, revealing three small oil filled radiators, a Z Bed a microwave and a George Foreman grill in addition to all their luggage. They disappeared off to the Country and Western night soon enough.  They were still asleep when I left in the morning.

Still, no midges here.

My backside is fine. 

19 July

Good day today, very hot, clear blue skies and still.  Not a lot to report really, there is only one road, so I didn’t get lost.  No punctures either. 

On such an uneventful day, time to reflect on the enormous contribution my family are making to this barmy adventure.  They are incredibly supportive, and without their contribution, this would be impossible.  I will owe them a huge debt at the end of this. 

The route today took me along the banks of Loch Linhe to start with then down the A82 through Glen Coe.  If you haven’t been to this part of Britain, you should, it is quite spectacular.   When I can work out how to do it, I’ll post some photos.

Through Glen Coe, the road continued upwards, climbing to 1200ft, eventually to a place called The Bridge of Orchy.  Had lunch here, alongside more German tourists. I swear there are more German tourists in this part of Scotland than in Germany.  I saw a sign yesterday which I think warned of sheep on the road, it was written in German.  They arrived at the same time as an English family, who all ordered a small glass of water each, then proceeded to take out there Tesco sandwiches for lunch whilst the Germans followed suit, taking out large quantities of rye bread and cheese from their rucksacks.  The polish waitress was very put out.  

I ordered a pint of Coke and a sandwich, said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and felt a bit smug. 

Then downhill for 15 miles to the top of Loch Lomond and eventually to Luss, where we are camping, right on the shores of the Loch.

Down into the village tonight for fish and chips then off to bed.

A few midges here..........

But my backside isn’t sore. 

18 July

Bright and optimistic this morning as I headed across Scotland, alongside Loch Ness before climbing up to around 1500ft then a long downhill into Fort Augustus. 

Just like the two previous days, stunning scenery and warm weather, but thankfully now not much wind.  From Fort Augustus, I decided to take the path down the side of the Caledonia Canal.  A good move, I thought, avoiding the traffic and on the level.  The ground was a bit rough, but it must be better than the A82.

From there, I crossed the canal again and back on to the road, re affirming my decision to take the canal path, much better to be away from the traffic and safely ‘off road’.   After a few miles, my family passed and stopped for a break and a quick chat on the banks of Loch Oich, then off again alongside Loch Lochy into Fort William.

Now the problems started.   Having had such a good experience alongside the Caledonian Canal, I thought I’d take the track on the opposite side of Loch Lochy and avoid the major road.  Much safer.   Great idea, so long as you don’t take a wrong turn and end up climbing into a forest, 800 ft above the Loch.  The path petered out to nothing and I was left literally high and dry.  I turned round to descend then a loud bang.    My back tyre was punctured.  But more than that, the side of the tyre had a large rip in it.  When I repaired the puncture, and inflated it, the inner tube just ballooned out of the whole, then burst.

Still, no problem, I had another tube, but by this stage, I had run out of gas cannisters which I use to inflate the tyres.....and I’d forgotten to take my pump.

It was four miles back to the road and about six to the other end of the Loch and back to civilisation, where I thought I’d be able to borrow a cycle pump from someone, so I set off walking.  I walked, and walked and walked.  I met  a lot of German’s mysteriously all with massive rucksacks, walking along a deserted track in the middle of nowhere, but no one with a bike pump.

About 200yds from the end of the track, after over an hour and a half walking, I met Dave and Stuart, two cyclists from Chorley, on their way back to Fort Augustus.  Between us, with the aid of their bike pump and a wrapper from an energy bar, to bolster the rip in the tyre, we successfully repaired the bike and I was off again. 

The campsite here is on the banks of Loch Linnhe and quite spectacular, overlooked by Ben Nevis.

And there are no midges.

And my backside isn’t sore.

17 July

Wind a lot less today, but still against me.  Much easier cycling, though in a lighter breeze.  The first ten miles was uphill across some stunning countryside to a pub called The Crask Inn, which is literally in the middle of nowhere. It must be at least ten miles from the nearest house!  Didn’t look like anyone was home when I passed.  Once at the top, it was downhill for almost thirty miles into Lairg, then Bonar Bridge and from there along B roads to DIngwall.

Then a hitch.

Well, not so much of a hitch as a small disaster.  

My SatNav ran out of battery.  I’d plugged it in to charge overnight but for some reason that hadn’t worked.  It just went dead, with me in the middle of Scotland in a place called Evanton, which with about thirty houses probably qualifies as a major connobation. 

Things started to slide a bit from there, really. My route, planned with the help of a book called ‘The End to End Cycle Route’ by Nick Mitchell, takes me carefully along minor roads, which is great in terms of safety, but a bit of a problem if you lose your map.

‘I know’, I thought, ‘I’ll sellotape my iphone to the handlebars and use the map on that’.  Two problems with this idea, first, with no signal, there is no map, and second, you can’t see the screen outside.  Still, by this time, I was in Dingwall, which has a Co Op so I stopped for directions.  The nice chap asked where I was going, and resisting saying ‘to hell in a handcart’ I told him I was on the way to Inverness but didn’t know how to get there.  He gave me some pointers to get me back on track and off I went.

Things went okay then, until I came to the A9.   I remembered the route took me along a minor road at this point which runs alongside this dual carriageway into Inverness.  Still with no map, I thought ‘how lucky am I’ to see a cycle route signposted to Inverness.  I’ll follow this, I thought and off I went.   As the traffic noise from the A9 faded into the distance, I was oblivious. I was nearly there, wind behind, traveling effortlessly to my destination.  

Then I thought, ‘hang on’.  Wind behind.  It’s coming from the west today.  If the wind is behind, I’m traveling towards Norway.  Sure enough, after another mile or so I came around a corner to be faced with the magnificent views across the North Sea.  Inverness was somewhere over my right shoulder, fading in the distance.  I retraced my steps back along the road and after five or six miles, came across a tiny blue sign, pointing the way for cyclists to Inverness.  I went past, to check if there was one when coming from the other direction.  There wasn’t. 

Still, I was only six miles from Inverness by this stage, so home and hosed, really.

Not.

I eventually came to the Inverness bridge, which I knew had a cycle path alongside it. But today it was closed for repair.  Good news, though, there was a diversion, under the bridge (which is about 200ft in the air) which meant a hairy descent then a crippling 1:4 climb to the other side of the carriageway. Then across the bridge with very frightening crosswinds and into Inverness. 

At this point, things started to go wrong. I arrived in Inverness at 4:30.  I arrived a the campervan at 6:15.  It’s six miles.    Putting it simply, I got lost.  In my attempt to avoid the major roads, I ended up traveling down every minor road in Inverness.   After an hour, I met a very nice lady in a Park (don’t ask how I got there) who directed me and finally I arrived at the campsite.

What should have been 80 miles was closer to 100.

Still, no midges.

And my backside’s not sore.