Day 5 – Longtown to Crainlarach - 264k (2967m ascent) - 1308km totalThe original plan was for us all to be at Longtown by the early evening of day 4 rather than me turning up there at midnight. It transpired that a random collection of cyclists (Judith Swallow, Toby and a chap called John) had congregated at the Graham Arms asking ‘where’s Hummers?’ but sadly, I was nowhere close to base at the scheduled arrival time of 21:00.
Plans were drawn up for Day 5. Judith and Toby had teamed up to make their own way to Crainlarach and would meet me again in the evening but John planned to ride with me on the next leg to just north of Glasgow where he would peel off to catch the train back to where he was camping. As we set off towards Moffatt, what was immediately noticeable was that after 4 days and a lumpy 1000km, my legs were a bit tired. John was riding considerably faster than the pace I had settled into and trying to keep up with him was a challenge. Not that this was a problem; despite me suggesting he carry on without me, John stayed with me (or just ahead of me) and we tootled along.
Plastic flowers at Corrie Common – you may never leave:
I had been in this area a month previously on LEL and the route to Moffatt shadowed the A74 using a minor road that seemed to take an awful amount of traffic – in particular, @**!ing big lorries which was a memorably grim section. This time, my plan was to use the lanes further east and it transpired that both of us were glad to be taking this route. At first, I wondered why this route was not chosen for LEL however as they started to pitch and yaw over some pretty poor road surfaces, it became pretty clear why it may not have been a popular choice.
Moffatt itself is pretty rammed with tea shops and we were quite spoilt for choice. John picked out one at the far end of the square and it transpired that the owner was the sister of the landlady of the Crask Inn (on the road to Tongue) that I had stopped at 10 years previously. The Crask Inn was an extraordinary find and one of those unexpected moments that make any ride memorable. I remember being presented with a tray of cake and tea by the landlady who told us “Right then, I’ll be off now to walk the dogs. Just pull the door to behind you when you go lads” leaving the four of us looking at each other, in the pub, on our own. Apparently, she is still there and nothing has changed.
A steady but gentle climb out of Moffatt took us up past the Devil’s Beef Tub and on past the Crook Inn. We whizzed past this pub on LEL but I didn’t get a chance to work out whether it was open or not. This time we stopped to put on some warmer clothing and had a chance to read the bill postings on the outside of the pub. It looks like the property has been saved from being flattened/converted into dwellings but since the beginning of this year has been in s state of suspension, presumably needing more money to renovate it. You have to wonder if there is any market in the area that will keep the place alive, even if the locals manage to secure the estimated £1m to renovate it.
Devil’s Beef Tub – I am glad we are all friends now…
The Crook Inn. Any donation accepted towards the £1000000 required:
Our control stop was in Biggar but we chose the café in Broughton (Laurel Bank Tea Room) which proved a much better solution. Besides, it had started tipping it down and shelter from the deluge was most welcome. Filled with more tea and cake, we sat out the downpour then set off for the next leg over to Cumbernauld. This was a strange section where the countryside threw up some odd landscapes that didn’t seem to make any sense. For example, fields contained what appeared to be grassed over spoil heaps but these mounds seemed to be too small to fit a picture of an industrialised past. Further on, there were more oddities such as the lifeless fields of black stuff spread out in an otherwise completely rural setting. All pretty curious in themselves but not out of place when compared to the exceedingly odd Cumbernauld town centre. I have Googled this bizarre place and apparently (but unsurprisingly) was recently voted the ‘Worst Building in Britain’ which takes some doing; afterall, I have lived in Plymouth and Portsmouth. More than the buildings, the road layout was something of a challenge at tea time and we didn’t hang around to get out of Dodge although the climb up to Carron Bridge was something of a challenge of a different nature, even after a pint of beer.
Carron Bridge ancient sign post:
I bade John farewell at Flintry and set off northwards, out of the hills and onto the rolling roads to Crainlarach. There was no headwind, it was a fine evening but I was knackered and the road surface was pretty hard going. For what on paper was the ’easiest’ day, the SYHA was a welcome sight and three beers were needed to address the balance.
Day 6 – Crainlarach – Applecross - 249k (3268m ascent) - 1557km totalJudith and Toby were already at the Crainlarich hostel when I arrived and had offered to join me for the next leg to Applecross. I even think we managed to leave at 6am which meant the with the exception of the odd articulated lorry, we had the A82 pretty much to ourselves all the way to across to Glen Coe with glorious views across the Scottish moorlands. On the approach to Fort William, things got busier and apart from the frequent backup of over-revving traffic behind us, there were also a series of cycling groups that seemed to stream past us, no doubt on their way to John O Groats by a more direct route than I had planned. In a moment of bizarre coincidence (there had been a number on this ride), TOMSK from YACF bumped into us leading a largish group on their first End2End. Even more bizarre was the fact that Toby and he had first met at John O Groats some years beforehand with TOMSK having finished the BR/1400km version of the End 2 End and Toby having finished his first and solo multi-day End 2 End.
You take the High Road..
Fort William presented a treasure-trove for somewhere to stop and of course our choice was none other than…sat outside of the Morrisons. On the one side, it could be regarded as a travesty that given the rich variety of the countryside we were passing through, choosing a retail chain as the place you stop off and sample it is something of an affront to local culture, let alone the local economy. On the up side, I managed to secure two cheese and onion pasties for 29p each – a bargain!
Fort William Twitterers:
As our route snaked westwards towards the Kyle of Localsh, the weather became colder and wetter, in fact miserable. This was no surprise as trips to Skye I had made in the 90s had been very patchy on the weather front and days of sustained downpours were not an extraordinary occurrence. To lift our spirits, a cup of tea with perhaps a warming bowl of soup was deemed necessary and relief came in the form of a stop advertising itself as a filling station/camp site reception/convenience store/café just by the side of the road. From the outside, this looked a perfect place to stop as it seemingly had it all; Judith was already weighing up options for tea, cake and WIFI access as we stepped through the entrance of the forecourt shop/campsite reception/tea room. Once through the door, as has often been my experience with such establishments on the west coast of Scotland, reality uncloaked itself with something of a flourish. There was no tea room, very little in the way of food on the sparsely stocked shelves and I suspect that despite the signage, luxuries such as filling your tank with the chance of a riverside pitch under canvas resided firmly in the ambitions of yesteryear. Judith and Toby bought provisions for their night stay on the basis that as pitiful as it seemed, this may be the last retail outlet we would encounter before Applecross – which turned out to be a good call. I still needed something warm to eat and it was kind of the shop owner to suggest the hotel about 2 miles up the road that actually had the warmth, comfort and food we were hoping for in preparation for the assault on Bealach na Ba – the highlight of Day 6.
Just plain weird:
I would like to believe that time travel does exist and that we can move backwards and forwards in time, to wherever we fancy, just to witness but not affect important events in history that either happened or are yet to come. Unfortunately, this expedition only seemed to offer time travel in one direction i.e. backwards so rather than arrive at the foot of Bealach na Ba in the late afternoon sunshine, we arrived at the warning sign around 9pm, in the dark, with it spitting with rain. Then again, don’t all adventures start this way?
At the start of Belach na Ba, adventure awaits:
I had driven up this road some years before with Mrs Hummerstone, she with her eyes tightly shut, me enjoying the exhilarating twists, turns and views as the single track road climbed ever higher to the 2000ft col just down from Meall Gorm. On two wheels, in the darkness with a strong cross wind, the climb took on a more exhilarating tone. The introductory part of the road up to the Bealach is reasonably shallow in gradient although as the elevation increased, so did the cross wind coming from the right hand side, each gust trying to force us off the road into oblivion. In the darkness our lights picked out the reflective passing point signs that for a while, reassured us of the way ahead. Asthe road climbed towards below the zig-zags near the summit, Judith announced that she could climb no more and was going to get off and walk. Toby and I continued, inching our way up to the pass but when I looked behind me (and judging by how far away her front light seemed) I was startled as to how far Judith had dropped back behind us. Partly through a sense of gallantry but mostly because I was knackered, I waited for Judith and walked with her up to where Toby had sheltered himself out of the wind. We were already 45 minutes later than the planned arrival time at the Hostel and I suspected that a descent back down to sea level from the Col would be no less challenging. I asked Toby to go on at his own speed; “Go on, save yourself, you are young and have your whole life in front of you …(etc)” but mostly to secure our beds and relieve the warden waiting for us to turn up. At Applecross itself, Judith and I had some debate as to where the hostel actually was but all were safely gathered in and scoffing grub by 23:00. Our vanguard Toby told the tale of his descent through the blackness down to Applecross being guided by his GPS rather than trying to follow the road as it was less likely to result in him finishing prematurely down some gully. This section of the ride had been an adventure that I will never recollect without a smile.
Day 7 – Applecross – Lochinver - 245k (3482m ascent) - 1802km totalApplecross hostel, whilst friendly and in a great location, gave the impression of a work in progress. Unlike other locations listed on the SYHA website, this was an independent hostel and I guessed this may have had something to do with it having the feel of being not quite finished yet. Compared to Crainlarich, there was also little in the way of food available and the large tin of Macaroni cheese and loaf of bread was all that Toby could select from the warden for when he arrived. On the other hand, I am indebted to the warden for hanging on for our arrival as otherwise it would have been another night in a barn (or worse) for the three of us.
Applecross Hostel – Work in Progress:
In the month planning the route beforehand, there had been a fair amount of debate as to which way to go and how it could be proved i.e. what could we use as the proof of passage. Option 1, the shortest (and potentially harder) option was to cross back over the bealach to the A896 and go north whilst the other option was to go northwards from Applecross around the flattish coast to pick up the A896 further up the coast. Notice the use of the word ‘flattish’ and be aware that this comes with the usual health warnings. In the end, I opted for the northern coastal route with a picture of the sign post for Callakille as proof of passage as there is nothing much in the way of shops etc on this coast line. The lack of shops is more than compensated for as from this road there were some fine views of the Cuillin ridge that when snapped on my phone, do no justice to the vista afforded. In fact this road offers a selection of views of Skye from the hills to the south to the stacks north of Portree.
Looking back with Skye and the Cuillin in the distance:
Eventually the coastal road dumps you back onto the A896 where you climb onto a plateau with the mountains on either side of you. It is quite a spectacular section where you seem to be surrounded by massive sentinels on either side as you descend to Kinlochewe. I needed to control here and found the unexpectedly marvellous Whistle Stop Café, complete with an owner who seemed to model herself on Kathy Bates’ character in the film although for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t quite put ‘Misery’ and the practice of hobbling out of my mind. As I munched through a massive fried breakfast, I became aware that someone was stood in front of me. Looking up I saw a cyclist, older than me, who asked if he could join me for breakfast. It transpired that this random yet amiable tourist was none other than veteran cyclist and legend, Rod Goodfellow. Rod knew some of the people I did and many others I had only heard of through stories, no legends, of the AUK world. From his role of timekeeper on the Mersey Roads, it transpired Rod knew of Toby and also our hotelier of the first night, Mr Hennessey. All in all, another random occurrence in an expedition full of ‘em.
The Whistlestop Café:
There is a lot written about this far north western corner of the Highlands and much of it focusses on the Gulf Stream with its subsequent influence on the climate, flora and fauna of the area. I have to admit having completely forgotten about it until the presence of road lined with Rhododendron bushes reminded me of where I was. What also presented itself was a placard warning travellers that the ferry shown on my OS (and MemoryMap) map of the area was now sadly defunct. Something I was very pleased to have taken into account based on investigation of the route options beforehand rather than having to deal with the grim discovery of an additional ~35km on the fly.
Ullapool was the last port of call for the day and despite it being towards the tip of the Highland coast, was quite the tourist hot-spot. There was quite a cross-section of shops and even a delicatessen where I managed to find a business card to say I had been there. For the first time in the ride, I was only around 2 ½ hours from the end of the leg and it was remotely possible that I would arrive at dusk rather than some Godforsaken time of the night. Out of interest, I text Judith and Toby to find out where they had got to; suspecting them to already be in the Lochinver hostel eating pies and sipping tea. To my surprise, they were ½ mile down the road from me, sat outside Ullapool’s (and I suspect the north-west Highland’s) Tescos, sat on the floor eating a variety of foods that I don’t think any of us would consider if not on an Audax. I rode over to meet them and bought some provisions for a joint tea; three tins of beans, two tins of Macaroni cheese and two sticks of bread all looped over my seatpost and held safely within 3 carrier bags. It may not have looked tidy but it did the job. I would also like to point out that other than on this trip, I never normally eat Macaroni cheese.
There were two ways to get from Ullapool to Lochinver; one was the route I had planned to do: a 48k route that threaded through the hills over a single track road (allegedly beautiful). The other was the route Toby and Judith were going to take: 60k of main road (‘main road’ being a relative term in the Highlands) that climbed almost the same amount but more gently with a long slightly downhill approach to our destination. What to do? In the end, I opted for the company. Whilst I had enjoyed what had possibly been the best day of the ride so far, I am no Audax hermit and openly admit to enjoying the prospect of riding with chums rather than spend more time on my own. As it happened, the ride along Loch Assynt in the fading light was spectacular and despite the added 12km, we arrived in Lochinver at 21:30 which I am almost embarrassed to admit was the earliest I had finished any of the previous days.
On the road to Lochinver with Judith & Toby. Note the extended luggage carrying capabilities:
Day 8 – Lochinver – John O Groats - 244k (3677m ascent) - 2046km totalDespite the name ‘Lochinver Mission’ conjuring up some kind of time travel backwards into the 1930s, this was place a real find. The hostel is part of a bigger yet modest suite of buildings near the town-end of the road down to Lochinver’s ferry port. During the daytime, I would imagine all kinds of activities are held there and if you arrive there early enough (i.e. before 20:30) you’ll also get something to eat. Sadly any culinary delight was going to be something that eluded the three of us although the hostel had provided tea, coffee, milk and cereals (i.e. porridge) for the morning.
Judith had plotted a route that had her staying at our B&B in Wick and Toby had plotted a route back to Inverness so it was going to be a solo expedition around the northern coast of Scotland for me. Although a relatively short day, I still had another 30k to add on the 244k in order to get to Wick so I couldn’t really hang around but by golly, retracing the last two miles of our descent into Lochinver the night before was a challenge for my exhausted legs. Bearing this in mind, it was just as well that I had no idea what was to follow….
The road ahead beckons…
When I studied the AA road map in the comfort of my bedroom a week before the ride, I noticed that unlike your standard OS 1:50000 maps, the familiar chevrons one finds scattered along lumpy byways was all but absent from the roads I had chosen and was completely missing from minor (white) roads - except for the bit from Lochinver to Kylestrome via Drumbeg. By a series of symbols and colours (and arrows), the AA classified this as a road of ‘outstanding natural beauty’. It was indeed a beautiful road and the stretch to Drumbeg was simply enchanting (even if the only shop on this section was closed) however beyond Drumbeg, the route took on more of the character of a theme park rollercoaster. Although thoroughly enjoyable, when it eventually spat me back out onto the A894, I was pretty wrecked with still quite a distance to cover.
Drumbeg; exceptional award winning shop – not open on Saturday mornings:
I have to admit to having lost the ability to sing at some point. On that road to Shieldag:
Still, it wasn’t raining, the most challenging section of the day’s climbing was over and all I had to do now was to tour the rolling road between Tongue and Thirsk where I knew it would get lumpy again from my visit there 10 years before. I also knew that from east of Thurso, it would be pretty much 30 miles of dead flat to John O Groats. This pretty positive picture (and the fantastic scenery) kept me on the right side of side of sullen despair all the way to Durness where I stopped to shiver over a sandwich and survey the wonder of a single pump garage defeating a chap who seemed to be on his own personal octane rating. Actually, I spoilt myself in Durness and stopped again in the hotel down the road for some hot soup and a pot of tea to help ward off the Black Dog that didn’t seem to want to leave my side. It does sound like I was having a miserable time but in truth, my mood swung from being cold and miserable to feeling overwhelmed and overjoyed with the fantastic scenery around me. The weather perked up too and before long, it was positively balmy.
Durness, Black Dog and blue skies:
The last 70 miles from Tongue to JoG had been the last day of our tour back in 2003 so I stopped to take a snap of the SYHA we stayed in and sent it to my comrades ahweel of yesteryear. The hostel looked exactly how I remembered it on the day we arrived and had been a real tonic to us; not just because it felt open and friendly but because the warden had put on cake even though the hostel was officially closed. We had asked her where we could leave the bikes and much to the wardens amusement, had queried the fact that there was no lock on the bike shed. “Who do you think would steal your bikes and get away with it around here?” was her response. I hoped that Tongue and its SYHA was still like that.
The final section had lost none of its charm and the countryside is very different to the other parts of the northern coastline. It is almost as if Dartmoor has been shifted 800 miles north as the road meanders from Bettyhill to Reay with spectacular views to your left and right coupled with some glorious descents to hold your attention. At one point, it was if I was a spectator of a silent film version of the ride we had done 10 years ago. On the climbs, I could see my son pulling away from me as we raced together up the hills and on the descents, I could see my chum Keith whizzing past us. Nostalgia washed over me in glorious Technicolor and I don’t think this was just because I hadn’t eaten anything since Durness. Then, just west of Thruso, the hills abruptly ended and it became almost pan-flat for the last 30 miles. Looking at the time the pictures were taken (at Tongue and then at JoG), despite my feeling shot away, with the gift of a tail-wind I estimate it only took 4 ½ hours to cover the last 112km.
The trusty Hummercian:
From Reay, I decided to follow Cycle Network route 1 which turned out to be a worthwhile decision. This minor road is never that far away from the A836 but was a far more pleasant and picturesque route through the farmlands to John O Groats. As darkness started to fall, I could see the coastal lighthouses winking in the waters of the Pentland Firth which spurred me on and by 20:30 I found myself staring in disbelief at the completely renovated John O Groats experience. Gone was the ‘Is that all there is?” experience of 2003, supplanted by a ‘Wow, look at that’. Two chaps offered to take my picture and would have done so had they been sober enough to actually work the camera on my phone but I needed some evidence for my proof of passage. On the way in I had noticed a large glass fronted café to the left that appeared to have people in it and wandered over there to try my luck at getting a receipt. The café area had been set up for an evening function and as I rather sheepishly crept in the door a chap came over to me from one of the tables. To be honest, I steeled myself for him to politely throw me out but to my surprise, he arranged for a one of his staff to open up the shop and stamp my card. This was yet another act of kindness from a random stranger to add to a great experience on what had been a great tour.
I still needed to get something to eat and although I had been offered a seat at the dinner, I politely declined as there was still the 30km to Wick to consider (yes, I know some of you may find this hard to believe). Instead, I said my thank yous and scooted up the road to the pub/hotel I had passed on the way through, keen to get something before they stopped serving. As I walked into the hotel I heard a “Hummers! What will you have to drink?” and knew that solid food would have to wait a bit longer as a liquid dietary supplement bought for me from the bar by TOMSK appeared in my hand. His LEJoG group had finished earlier and were already on the single malt trail of post-completion celebration but as incredulous as it might seem (to anyone who knows me), I politely drank my pint and declined the offer of a whisky as I still had to get back to Wick.
The last 30k was something of a blur; partly because it was dark partly because I needed to eat and partly because I was knackered. Coming into Wick, I stopped off at the newly built Tescos and bought a pre-cooked curry only to find a proper curry house in the town centre. I say ‘town centre’ but Saturday night Wick was more like downtown-Dodge and it comes to something when you are locked inside a curry house ‘for your own safety’ whilst waiting for a takeaway. I found our lodgings (a great B&B – Careys Guest House), found Judith, ate my curry sat on the floor and went to sleep.
Part 3 HERE
