IntroductionAround twelve years ago, we took our children up to Scotland for a two-week holiday near Inverness. On one of the many rainy days we encountered, it was decided that we would visit the much fabled John O Groats that was, after all, just up the road from where we were staying and was seen as an opportunity too good to miss. After around half a day of driving through miserable weather (it was August), we arrived at our destination and were completely underwhelmed by the place. To my mind, it was almost exactly like the Cornish counterpart that I had been dragged to back in the early 70s as a child of around 9 years old. Despite it being in the middle of the day and at the height of the holiday season, there was a hotel (closed), a gift shop (closed) and no sign of a tea room or anywhere you could even buy an ice cream (as I said, it was August). A discrete distance from anything was an area of blasted heath on which a solitary post stuck out, indicating the distances to a series of international destinations and probably anywhere better than this God-forsaken blight on northern Scotland’s otherwise spectacular coastline.
My eldest son (14 at the time) was watching a succession of bedraggled cyclists and puzzled by their excitement at arriving at such a seemingly desolate place, asked me what they were up to. I explained that these were strange people; compelled with a yearning to travel from one dreadful place at the end of our sceptred isle to the other and that their joy was just an illusion, probably induced by fatigue. This failed to put him off and two years later, we were those bedraggled but joyful cyclists, arriving at John O Groats after cycling 1066 miles over 15 days using a combination of the YHA, CTC ‘Scenic’ route, the Yellowed Thong of Ambition and Copper Slipper of Destiny (pictured below):
Fast forward 10 years and for a variety of reasons, I found myself at Lands End once more; on the verge of starting a longer, lumpier expedition to John O Groats in around half the time.
Sadly, I was not joined by my previous adventurers as life had moved on for them in a way that prevented our paths from crossing on this outing. (In a moment of foolish oversight, neither was I carrying the Copper Slipper or the Yellowed Thong.) In their place, I had a new set of wheelmen who were no strangers to a challenging ride and were keen to accompany me on the road; Andy Frazer, Paul Whitehead, Toby Hopper and a relative unknown, Steve Mc Brien, were all up for pitting themselves against
Hummers Lumpy End2End. Prologue – The Trip DownTravelling by train to anywhere in the UK is something of an adventure – as long as you look at it that way.
Let’s see:
- In the blue corner, the trip down to Lands End went swimmingly well: a big fry-up at my house, onto the train(s) down to Penzance, pre-booked seats and bike places on all the services, fish & chips at a prize winning café and a mighty fine pub just up the road from the bunkhouse offering very drinkable beer at well under £3 a pint.
- In the red corner, the trip down to Lands End was something of a trial of nerves and temper: having booked places to sit on every train means you have to deal with people who have taken your place and have to be asked to move from your seat, the woman with a dog who insisted we were in her seat (we weren’t) took the prize as the ‘star traveller experience’. Then there was bloke who I nearly decked who was freaking out about the way the bikes had been stowed and was having a go at Andy (runner up for the ‘star traveller experience’), the mother who had lost her luggage and was separated from her family on Bodmin station (she was still on the train as it pulled away – her daughter wailing on the platform), the chap who pounced on us as we loaded our bikes onto the train in fear we were bike thieves (work that one out), the puncture I had within 200yds of leaving the train in Penzance, the second puncture in the 200yds we rode to the pub – all on the Friday night and before the ride was about to start.
How often have I fooled myself that all great adventures start somewhere in the middle of the boxing ring of life depicted above?
A week or two later and in writing this, the trials and tribulations of the Cornish Odyssey have already diminished. The Lands End Hostel (not part of the YHA) really was excellent and can recommend it to anyone thinking of doing this ride. It is a great stop-off for the start, is clean, well-kept and they work hard to make it so and whilst it’s marginally more expensive than the YHA in Penzance, I wouldn’t let that put you off. Plus it is just a stone’s throw from both the start and a good pub – The First and Last is just up the road, does good beer (at a reasonable price) and good food.
Day 1 – Lands End to Honiton – 240k (4053m ascent)We set off just before 7am to meet up with Steve Mc Brien at the marvellously refurbished but shut Lands End experience. There was a reassuring south-westerly blowing at our backs as we snapped jocular pictures of the illustrious randonneurs at the starting post. I have to admit that this was my third visit here this year and it had gained not the slightest iota of allure.
After a quick breakfast at the Mount View hotel (Long Rock) we trundled through the rolling Cornish countryside buoyed, with high expectations of the days ahead. Despite the now persistent drizzle, the wind stayed on our backs, blowing us through the small hedge-bordered lanes towards the King Harry Ferry and via St Awfull to the banks of the Fowey. To be fair, the Halfords at St Austell was about 100yds before my rear tyre blew out for the 3rd time (despite my patching efforts), resulting in an unplanned and unscheduled purchase of a replacement Ultra Hamsterskin. I may have paid a record price for the aforementioned tyre but this was more than eclipsed by the hearty recommendations of the two Halfords sales assistants (“I don’t use ‘em myself but they are shit hot at the price I reckon mate”) and a random stranger outside who saw it as his duty to advise me on how to fit it.
The King Harry Ferry and impromptu repair station:
For me, one of the highlights of the 1st day was going to be a revisit to the Minions tea rooms on the side of Bodmin moor. I had first visited there in 2003 and it was with barely contained delight that I rolled in to find the owner had not changed since my last visit 10 years before. Yes, he looked 10 years older and sadly there was no German marching band music playing from downstairs but nonetheless, it was the same chap we met back in 2003. He didn’t remember me, the Yellowed Thong or the carrot mascot that he posed with in the picture but it was one of the high points of the ride to find he was still there.
How time flies? Mien Host of Minions tea room (and me) 10 years ago:
From Minions, the rollercoaster between two moors of Cornwall and Devon was traversed before we passed Tavistock and finally started the climb over Dartmoor to Princetown. Just after Whitchurch Common, a wedding party were gathered for what may be a customary post-nuptial photo-session for natives of the area. Toby and I (being joyful of being in Devon once more) stopped to admire the spectacle and wonder who would come out here to have their picture taken but refrained from actually joining in. Sadly, this was a level of restraint that not all our party could demonstrate, it seems.
The trek across Dartmoor showed up the differences in preparation and fitness for the challenge that lay in store for us over the next 8 days. Andy had slipped quite a long way behind as we came off the moor at Bovey Tracy and I think he suspected that his loosely formed strategy of ‘riding into fitness’ was not going to be as successful as he had hoped. As he walked up the hill out of Widecombe, I think there was a realisation that this was a ride that was only going to get harder as it went on (a correct assessment). We had to recalculate our arrival time in Honiton and decided to opt for food in a Bovey Tracy Chinese which had the added benefit of friendly but slightly inebriated locals coming in to point and laugh at us.
As I sat there munching on my Choys Special Noodles, it occurred to me that we were nearly there and after the climb up and over Haldon were on the relatively flat charge-down to Honiton on the A30 for an arrival at Lord Audax’s Manor around midnight. Somehow we lost Andy in Exeter and he arrived about an hour or so later than us (we were two hours late as it was), in a somewhat reflective mood and unusually quiet.
Day 2 – Honiton to Tregoyd/Three Cocks – 280k (3238m ascent) – 520km totalDay 2 had been re-jigged to fit our time limit for the overall event and based on the 10km/h minimum speed, required us to leave Honiton by 06:00am. Originally, the route was shorter (around 220k) but this meant we would have to start at some God-forsaken time in the morning on day 3 otherwise we would be up against the clock riding to our first control. As a result, Toby suggested extending day 2 by around 50k so a somewhat convoluted but still agreeable route was concocted taking in Watchet, Cheddar Gorge, Yate (north-east of Bristol) and Usk before the last climb over Gospel Pass led to our second night stop at Tregoyd riding stables. It is funny how this all seems straight-forward when laid out on a spread sheet weeks before you start but can have an uncanny knack of unravelling in Real Life.
Given the lateness of arrival, we planned to leave around 7am but Andy was keen to get away early so set off before the rest of us. He was going to take an ‘easier route’ suggested by Ian out of Honiton but still had to climb to the same height to get to Dunkeswell. Ian’s recital from memory of the route to Watchet was impressive (and may well have been accurate) but we already had planned a northwards excursion that climbed up through Combe Raleigh to get the blood pumping once more. At Limers Cross, we came across Andy who had sensibly decided that enough was enough. No amount of ‘riding into it’ would help him as he had already had to get off twice to walk to the top of the first hill. I was saddened to lose a chum so early in the ride but we exchanged handshakes and good wishes before setting off in silence to Hemyock.
Leaving Devon at Simonsburrow. It was emotional:
The sections to Watchet for breakfast and onto Cheddar for lunch were familiar territory although taking in the views of Devon and Somerset on roads previously travelled on Ian (Hennessey) and Shawn Shaw’s events in daylight was something of a novelty. There were plenty of cyclists around and all manner of sparkling velos to behold outside the café at the foot of the Gorge. The three of us sat listening to one chap regale his exploits on LEJoG to a group of enchanted yet somewhat generously proportioned women who were training for a ‘300k charity event’. I can’t vouch for Paul and Toby but part of me wanted to say “hey, we are doing LEJoG too” however previous experience of explaining an Audax interpretation of any ride prevented me from opening my mouth to anything other than a cream tea.
As we left the Gorge, a blip in concentration meant we all missed the left turn (B3371) off to Compton Martin and ended up coming down off the Mendips at Chewton Mendip, adding another 23km to the route. I had originally planned to pop into to see Reg T in Keynsham but as our time had slipped again, this was now a luxury we could no longer afford and besides, there were other issues to deal with. Paul was having problems with his neck and shoulders and Toby’s bottom bracket was sounding like it was in the final death throes. By time we arrived in Yate, Toby had already decided to DNF. After a return to base, he decided to convert the week off into a series of 200k DIYs to Scotland. Paul had decided to stop in Yate and ride straight to Warrington to join us again as long as his neck/shoulder improved. This left me on my own and to the uninitiated, the thought of completing the remaining 1600k may seem like a desperately lonely and ambitious task. On the plus side, I end up riding many events on my own, am used to my own company and am happiest when going at my own pace. On the minus side, I did miss the banter that we have on rides plus there were many times when I saw a fantastic view and missed being able to turn to a riding chum and say ‘Wow, look at that’
Within no time, I was across the Severn and in a takeaway in Usk where they very kindly let me sit and eat my kebab out of the wrapper and out of the cold. They even folded and wrapped the pizza (day 2 food supplies) in a paper bag rather than me trying to find a way to mount a square box on my Carradice. Actually, all the tea rooms, hostels, hotels and takeaways I stopped at were friendly and accommodating. In the cold of that Sunday night, this may not have been the best kebab I had tasted but the kindness they showed by closing the door for a shivering cyclist to scoff their grub in the warm was really appreciated.
The lone Hummercian poised to cross into Wales:
Despite the delays incurred earlier in the day, I did my best to arrive at The Crown (Pantygellli) before last orders to enjoy a well-earned pint of Wye Valley ale and a chat with the any of locals I could actually understand. I think they told me that Steve was still on the ride and had called by the pub around 3 hours before me so I assumed he was going strong and already tucked up in bed. Ah, bed that was a good idea; just the other side of Gospel Pass and not more than 1 ½ hours away, surely?
Pantygelli (The Crown) offers refreshment for the weary traveller:
As the road snaked past the decidedly shut YHA at Castel y Ffin, it started to spit with rain and by the top of Gospel Pass, it was chucking it down and blowing a gale. The AA road map didn’t actually show the road I needed to take on the descent and I didn’t want to go wrong so late in the day (or night). I knew I had to take a sharp left to get down to Tregoyd but trying to find where you are on a phone with a touch sensitive screen and an almost flat battery in the pouring rain, in the dark, is not as easy as it sounds. Neither is managing the mostly downhill (you would think) single track road that would pitch to 1:5 at points where flocks of sheep seemed to want to hang out. I was very glad to get to Tregoyd in one piece however the relief of arriving was washed away by the next challenge; where was I supposed to be sleeping as there was nothing sign posted in the riding stables. After an hour of plodding about in the rain, I gave up and settled for an empty stable, wrapped some horse blankets around me and fell shivering into a fitful sleep.
Day 3 – Tregoyd – Warrington 254k (3394m ascent) – 774km totalI woke with a start at about 06:50 and tried to remember where I was. Oh yes, that’s right, in a bloody stable in south Wales and it is still pissing down outside. In what may well have been the quickest reveille known to man, I tidied up my ‘dormitory’ and walked purposefully across the farm, bidding ‘good morning’ to aghast equestrians I met on the way to the road. Despite being on two feet, I wasn’t quite with it and struggled to work out which road to take to reach the appropriately named Paincastle. In the end, I found a signpost which sort of tied in with the direction I had to go in and doggedly followed a single track road winding its way steeply up into the rain and gloom. I can’t remember if it was at this point or when I ended up dumped back on the road to Hay on Wye (rather than in Paincastle) that I remembered Andy saying that the AA road map didn’t show the lanes we were supposed to be following in Wales. Still, that which does not kill us etc and I had to get to Paincastle to get to Hundred House and the treasures that lay beyond.
Outside ‘the dorm’:
In the shelter of a café in Llandindod Wells, I have to admit that those treasures seemed rather further away than I had hoped for. I roughly knew the road that pitched and rolled north from Llanidloes (via Staylittle) but my confidence in finding Llanidloes itself was somewhat undermined by the fact that I couldn’t see the interconnecting lanes on my AA atlas that had been evident when we were planning the route. In the end, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and a longer route via the A roads to and from Newtown to pick up the minor road to Pandy at Llanbrynmair would be an easier route to navigate and less likely to find me head-scratching in the middle of nowhere. It was longer by around 12km but only sacrificed 500m of climbing and being visible on my map meant that I was more likely to be able to follow it without getting lost again.
Lower Lundy farm – I have to admit to wondering just how much further up the hill Higher Lundy farm was:
As I turned off the A470, as if by magic (from Pandy onwards) the weather changed and offered a clear approach to Bwlch Y Groes. This turned out to be the best part of the day with fantastic views as you climb out of the villages below – something that I took the opportunity to enjoy at leisure by stopping frequently near the top and taking pictures. Every day had this sort of contrast: some dark moments, where grim determination was the only back stop to pull you through versus elation and fantastic moments experienced in some of the most scenic parts of the UK. After the climb came the long and fast descent to Bala, followed by the pretty nondescript run into Chester and arrival at the Travelodge in Warrington by 10pm.
Bwlch Y Groes - fine views all the way to the top:
The dreaded third day was completed, within a reasonable time frame with the Yorkshire Dales to follow. Hurrah!
Day 4 – Warrington to Longtown - 270k (3300m ascent) - 1044km totalIt would seem that the morning of day 4 was not to be a point of celebration for all of our brave party. Paul had made it to Warrington but was in too much pain to continue and reluctantly retired and Steve Mc Brien text me to say that he had encountered various problems in the posterior area that made continuing unwise and probably too painful to contemplate. Toby had already planned a set of ~200k distances for the rest of the week and would team up with Judith Swallow who was meeting us at Longtown.
It was a solitary but determined Hummers who set off (late again) to wrestle through the traffic to the first checkpoint, Orell. I have nothing against the area but by golly, it was grim going through the non-stop procession of traffic lights combined with road works in what felt like a very built up region. After Wigan, the route climbed out of the urban sprawl towards Belmont to intersect the ridge we had ridden along 10 years before. There had obviously been a recent event there (either running or cycling) and encouraging comments dedicated to the participants had been written on the road such as ‘GO Janice’ and ‘We love you Dad’. This graffiti, combined with the climb up to the unexpectedly pretty St Peter’s church lifted my sagging spirits considerably and despite the head wind, I found new legs for the stretch down to Blackburn with the prospect of food on my mind.
St Peters in Belmont:
Despite its grim appearance and selection of very grim residents, Blackburn revealed a very fine café with an owner whose huge baps must have been a talking point for miles around. Rarely have I seen so large, soft yet delicately powdered a display. I went for the creamy egg filling in mine and felt satisfied in a way that had it been suggested by anyone else, I may have struggled to believe them. Unfortunately the same could not be said of the café encountered in Skipton but then again, perhaps I had been spoilt earlier in the day.
From Skipton, the route took me north once more and passed through villages daubed with Tour of Britain signs, across the beautiful Yorkshire Dales to Hawes. There were a couple of cracking climbs on this section but my recollection will always be riding next to the carved limestone slabs in the river climbing towards Dodd Fell and the pub on top of Tan Hill (the imaginatively named Tan Hill Inn), on the other side of Hawes. I also passed the Keld Inn where my wife and I had met my daughter and her prospective mother in law on their Coast to Coast expedition. It was a superb tour of the Dales and I count myself very lucky to have been up there on such a beautiful afternoon.
Just after the climb and before the descent to Hawes:
The views and scenery lifted my spirits far beyond the first half of the day and carried me through Brough, Penrith and Carlisle to the Graham Arms at Longtown, arriving there just before midnight. Luckily for me, there were a couple of chaps (who spoke no English) with travel suitcases trying to get in and the landlord had just come out to see what the racket was just as I rolled up. Another day done and hopefully the rest of the ride was going to be seasoned with the type of spectacular countryside I had just passed through.
Tan Hill and the pub:
Part 2 HERE
