Day 17. Lanivet to Land’s End.

The final day was here at last. We set off to return me to the point I stopped at on Monday after a good breakfast. The bike loaded onto the roof of the car and we set off for Lanivet. The hills on the way were pretty big and I was raring to go!

Dropped off at Lanivet, a few photos taken, and I was ready to begin. I headed off away from the car, back the way I had come previously, feeling strong and really positive about the day ahead. Turning off the main road, I headed towards Tremore and Inches, along narrow lanes with typical Cornish high hedges. The lack of roadsigns didn’t seem to as much of an issue as before, I was feeling rested and as such my decision making seemed to be a bit better, along with the fact that there isn’t too much variation from traveling due west. I passed through lovely little villages, climbing hills with far more ease than previously, my knee really feeling the benefit of having had a rest day. It also helped that for this day, the final day, I wasn’t carrying my panniers, and the bike felt lively and responsive and I was able to make good progress.

I joined the A39 for a few miles, down to St Columb Major, and then took another minor road/lane almost all the way into Newquay. The lanes were especially fun, without the weight of all my kit I was really enjoying swooshing down into village and hamlets, past farms, and then climbing up onto ridges again – this must be what it’s like for most cyclists, traveling with a support crew must make the journey much more relaxing and easy on the body!

South of Perranporth I joined the A3075, a fairly quick road, but not too busy either. The cycling was mostly easy, with only one steep climb at Rejerrah. I was now pretty close to Truro itself, just a few miles away to the south, I was tempted to call in and get some lunch with Alice, as a surprise, but instead pressed on towards Three Burrows and then a lovely, long descent to Blackwater. Freed of all my luggage made a huge difference, I no longer dreaded losing too much height on the downhill’s, knowing that the inevitable upcoming hills wouldn’t be so bad.

I stopped for lunch on the outskirts of Redruth, quickly inhaling a sandwich and flapjack. The weather had cooled considerably over the morning, with the wind rising too, and I soon felt cold once I’d stopped. Redruth and Camborne weren’t especially picturesque, and seemed to be one larger conurbation, with lots of out of town shopping areas and car sales rooms. Past Camborne and the road steadily rose again towards Roseworthy, but dropped again down to Hayle and St Erth. I followed the road south towards Marizion, along tree lined lanes. I was conscious that I was quickly running out of road, the end fast approaching. I was excited, eager to reach the end, and as I rolled over the last hill and down into Marizion with view of the sea and of St Michael’s mount just a short way across the bay, it actually hit me that I had very nearly cycled the entire length of the UK.

I followed a cycle path from Marizion along the sea to Penzance. The cycle path was really rocky and gravelly, which was great fun. As I bumped along the path, picking out the least rocky route I was reminded of just how good my tyres are. I passed someone with a flat tyre, offered to help but was waved on – they obviously had it under control. I hadn’t had a single puncture in over 1000 miles of sometimes poor roads, gravel paths and thorny, overgrown footpaths (Monmouthshire) – pretty amazing. If anyone reading is thinking of doing something similar, then you really can’t get better than Schwalbe marathon tyres!

At Penzance I text Alice to say I would likely be finished in about an hour. West of Penzance, the hills again rose upwards, undulating along for the final 10 miles. I was working my way up one of the last hills at Catchall when I heard a car beeping madly at me – then alongside me Alice and her parents swept past in their car! Great! I was nearly there and as they disappeared around the next corner I felt a huge wave of adrenaline and euphoria wash over me! I stamped down on my pedals, grinding out a big gear and propelled myself along the final few miles at more than 25mph, sometimes reaching more than 30+mph. With just two miles to go I slowed down to try and soak up the experience and emotions I was feeling as I neared the end of my trip. I stopped for a few minutes, caught my breath, text Alice to say I was almost there, and had a good look around at the scenery.

I had always wanted to do something like this trip, and during my twenties I had had my heart set on walking the distance. That was unrealistic due to time constraints and I never did do it. However since getting into cycling I had fantasized about doing a longer tour. It was at land’s End the previous summer that I finally said I was going to do it, feeling inspired by the scenery and finality of the land ending and ocean stretching out ahead…

I swept down over the low hill from Sennan and raced towards the finish line. There I could see a large home-made banner being held aloft by Alice’s folks and Alice standing to the side, filming my approach! I slowed down slightly and swept under the banner – that was it, almost, the trip done! I had finally finished. It had taken longer than I’d expected, and had been far, far harder than I’d expected too, but all the more rewarding for it! I posed for a few photos underneath the banner, enjoyed a glass of champagne and was presented with a finishers medal that Alice had ordered for me – a huge surprise, and really thoughtful of her!

All that was left for me to do was to cycle the final few metres down to the very end of the country, to have my photo taken at the official sign. I felt elated, but slightly numb too, there was a lot to take in and it hadn’t really sunk in, in fact it still hasn’t really. I suppose I expected to somehow feel different, like I’d been subtly but fundamentally changed, but I felt the same as before. My natural state is to downplay my emotions, and along with that goes the instinct to downplay my achievements too. I had massively enjoyed cycling the length of the UK. The scenery had been incredible – we really do like in a very diverse and beautiful landscape, but the greatest part of the trip for me was meeting so many friendly, welcoming and interesting people. I’ve said it before in this blog, but it’s worth restating – the kindness of strangers is by far and away the greatest thing I experienced on the trip! We all live our own lives, busy and stressful at times, and I think many people (myself included) often look negatively on strangers, quick to assume the worst and eager to avoid even the smallest of friendly gestures, such as making eye contact or even smiling, but this trip opened my eyes to the fact that there are many other people willing to share their time, experience and knowledge in conversation with complete strangers, and that, I think, is bloody marvellous!

Whilst the reason for doing the trip was personal, I did decide to raise some money for charity along the way. If you enjoyed reading my blog, then please sponsor me - https://www.justgiving.com/teams/RichardsJOGLE2013
Many thanks xx

So, what’s next? I really don’t know at the moment, but there will of course be something in the pipeline…watch this space and thanks for reading!

 

 

Day 16. Rest day.

There isn’t a whole lot to say about the rest day, except to say that we had a lovely and relaxing time. The sun was shining and it was gloriously hot too. We went to the beach at Perranporth and sat up in the dunes, reading our books and just relaxing – lovely! Back in Truro for the early evening we sat out in our small garden, overlooking the cathedral, and enjoyed a glass of wine in the afternoon sun. My knee felt much better than it had the previous day, and I was eager to get going the next day – Land’s End here I come!

Day 15. Lapford to Lanivet.

I woke fairly early this morning – my field was again close to a railway line and I was woken by the 7:05 to wherever – pretty handy really! I’d had an uncomfortable night’s sleep and my shoulders and back ached. I was getting a bit sick of sleeping in a tent by this point, of having damp and dirty clothes and no access to a nice hot shower! All that was due to change though, as today I was aiming squarely for Truro. To see my wife, to get clean, to have a proper meal, and to sleep in a proper bed, what more motivation could I need?

Heading back past the petrol station I had stocked up at last night, and then turning right, up a steep but mercifully short hill (I hated long climbs first thing, before I’d had time to warm up my tight and achy muscles) and then on towards Zeal Monachorum and the A3072. Okehampton wasn’t too many miles further and the thankfully quiet road was straightforward too – hilly though! There was a steep climb out of Okehampton and the views south towards Dartmoor were imposing. I was forced onto the A30, only for half a mile, but it was more than enough – the road was really busy with heavy traffic climbing slowly up another steep hill. I got off the main road at the very first junction and instead headed along the old A30, along a great downhill that lasted for at least five miles. The next five miles were all uphill though and I soon found myself finally crossing a bridge over the river Tamar – I had at last reached Cornwall!

If Okehampton had seemed hilly then Launceston was positively vertical! Climbing up into the town was pretty hard work and there didn’t seem to be anywhere appealing to stop for lunch. I carried on, deciding that I had plenty of food left, and headed towards South Petherwin and then the oddly named village of Congdon’s Shop. The scenery was really stunning, far more than I’d expected of the upland area of eastern Cornwall. Upton Cross came next, and then along to Minions and Common Moor, both really beautiful, with wide, beautiful skies, rolling upland hills, phallic upright stones and wild horses roaming free.

I managed to take another wrong turn up a lane without a signpost and found myself following the river Fowey, which was little more than a stream. As before, I instinctively knew I’d made a wrong turn but didn’t want to admit it to myself, instead hoping that just around the next corner I’d come to another turning. I didn’t and instead I spent a few minutes inwardly complaining about both the scale of maps I was carrying, and the poor quality of road signs in a county that sells itself as both a holiday destination and also an outdoor activities playground. After my hissy fit had come to its natural conclusion I came across a police officer sitting on his police motorbike in the middle of nowhere! He was sitting there listening to his radio without a care in the world, and didn’t seem initially very keen to help. He soon warmed up though, and even turned off his radio – I suppose there isn’t much crime in Cornwall?! It turned out that he was originally from the same area of the country as me, and he told me the story of how he came to live in Cornwall. He also confirmed I was heading in the wrong direction and set me off in the right direction again.

Back on route and heading towards St Neot and my left knee collapsed completely, sending agonising shooting pain up and down the entire length of my knee, spasms rippling through the knee in waves. I stopped immediately and got the weight off my leg which was in real pain. After a few minutes rest the pain had subsided a bit, but I didn’t feel confident in reaching Truro in anything like a reasonable time. I phoned Alice and we discussed the various options – 1) being to stop and camp for the night, get plenty of rest and then continue tomorrow, and 2) being to get a lift to Truro and take tomorrow as a proper rest day. We agreed to go with option 2 and I decided to carry on and try to reach Bodmin, or beyond to Lanivet, partly so that Alice and her parents wouldn’t have to come too far, but mostly so that I would have a few miles less to do on the final day.

Thankfully St Neot to Bodmin was mostly downhill or level roads, and I was able to gingerly make my way as far as Lanivet in time to meet Alice and her parents at about 7pm. It didn’t take long to strip the bike of panniers and other luggage and the bike itself was soon strapped to the roof while I rested and caught up with everyone on the return car journey to Truro, which was certainly quicker than the alternative!

Showered, fed and watered too, it was soon time for an early night, after we’d discussed the plans for the next days. My knee was already feeling a bit better just for stopping when I did, and I was tempted to carry on the following day, eager to get to Land’s End and also feeling a bit guilty too for stopping when it got tough. It wasn’t how I’d imagined the penultimate day going, but truth be told it wasn’t all bad either, at least this had happened now, when there was help available, and not right at the beginning of the trip, in remote Scotland! Alice and I agreed that the best thing for my knee, but also for my enjoyment of the trip, would be to actually take a full day off, rest, recuperate, and then face the final day feeling fresh and raring to go…

 

 

Day 14. Brean to Lapford.

This morning started out really well! All packed up and ready to hit the road shortly after 9am. The first few miles were great too – completely flat, which was always nice as my legs were often really achy first thing and took a good few miles to warm up properly.

I was really desperate for a cooked breakfast this morning, and so tried the nearest Tesco, to no avail, then on to the nearest Asda, to no avail either. There was nothing else for it, it had to be McDonalds! Trouble was the nearest one was all the way in Bridgwater. I raced along the flat roads from Highbridge to Bridgwater in record time, fixated on the salivating prospect of a sausage and egg McMuffin, hashbrown and hot chocolate. I arrived with just in time, but really needing the loo too – nightmare! Sadly I missed breakfast that morning, but the quarter pounder was a fair compromise.

Back on the road again, and without the lure of a tasty but nutritionally worthless meal, I found that my left knee was really starting to hurt again. The cause, I had decided was partly because each time I stopped for a quick breather, I put my left leg down. This meant that potentially hundreds of times each day I twisted my left foot out of the clipless pedal system and then supported my weight on the one leg. Also, the effect of frequently clipping out of my left pedal had seriously worn down the left cleat, to the extent that I couldn’t now properly clip in. This was a bit of a nightmare, especially when cycling uphill or cycling out of the seat. The extra work that my muscles had to do just to keep the knee in line was really taking a toll and that morning my knee would spasm almost constantly and I was reduced to cycling really slowly whilst alternatively gritting my teeth and swearing, loudly!

I located a bike shop that was on my route, using my phone, and was soon in possession of a brand new set of cleats. Looking at the old ones next to the new ones really brought it home to me just how far I had come in a relatively short period of time, and how lucky I was not to have had anything else go wrong so far! The new cleats were a joy to use – so precise and effortless to clip in, and secure too, perfect! I made my way out of Taunton, after making a wrong turn and traveling around the ring-road twice, and found myself heading towards Milverton and Wiveliscombe along gently undulating and quiet roads, through pretty Somerset countryside. At Wiveliscombe the road took a turn for the steep, climbing out of the village and then levelled out again along to Shillingford and Bampton. I was now in North Devon and close to Exmoor and the scenery was pretty beautiful. I could see what many of the cyclists I had met and spoken to along the way meant when they said that Cornwall and Devon were hard work – the roads might not have been as high as the roads in the Highlands, and the peaks certainly weren’t, but the hills were brutally steep at times, and straight up and over too! At Oakford I came the closest I had come on the whole trip to just getting off and pushing the bike to the top, only the fact I had new cleats stopped me as I felt that to get off and walk with brand new cleats would be criminal!

Another difficulty I faced in the South West was the endless maze of minor roads. At times I imagined that from above the roads must look like spaghetti that had been dropped on the floor. It was made worse by the fact that quite often I would come to a junction and there wouldn’t be any signage indicating the way forward, I would turn one way, go up a hill and then realise that I was heading around in a big circle. The roads were always fairly quiet and the scenery lovely, but at times it did get wearing and I would think about stopping for the day nice and early to allow my tired body time to recuperate, ready for the next day. One such place I was really tempted to do this was when I passed a sign saying “No man’s land” that pointed to an open field! Sadly I didn’t have any food, so couldn’t stop and carried on towards Witheridge. I didn’t however realise what Witheridge’s name meant until I got there and had to cycle up a massive ridge! The evening was now drawing in quickly and the village didn’t seem to have an open shop.

I carried on along the B3042, and then along smaller lanes to Forches Cross. By this time there really wasn’t much light left and at a cross roads (again without a sign) I managed to flag down a startled looking driver to ask for directions and the location of the nearest shop. With just a couple of miles to go I set off in the direction of Lapford and the garage shop I would find there. My brakes were now almost completely useless and going down a long and steep hill I had to resort to putting the heel of my (expensive) cycling shoes down to try and slow me down – this was getting desperate and not especially intelligent as my fragile knee wouldn’t take too much extra strain.

My bike loaded up with food again I set off from the petrol station to find somewhere to camp. The sky was an especially beautiful pink and the last embers of light from the sun faded over the surrounding ridges, before plunging the area into almost complete darkness. I found an open field right next to a small cottage – usually this wouldn’t be an ideal campsite, but it was really dark and I was desperate to get some rest. Fortunately the owner of the cottage was outside, working in his garage. I startled him when I called out to him, but he soon recovered and didn’t see why I wouldn’t be able to camp in the field as it was unused – bonus! We chatted for a while, and his wife joined us too, the both of them offering advice for tomorrow’s route. Pitching the tent took no time at all, food consumed and then straight to bed, shattered! Truro tomorrow, or so I hoped…

Day 13. Monmouth to Brean.

I woke this morning to an empty dorm room, which was odd as there was supposed to be at least one other person staying in the room – I later learnt that the guy who had booked a bed had then gone out, and by the time he got back it was late, and so, to avoid disturbing anyone he slept in his car! This was very thoughtful, if unnecessary. Breakfast at the hostel was uneventful, although loud – I initially had the dining room to myself, which was so nice, just listening to the radio – made me realise how much I was missing music! Sadly shortly after I started breakfast a whole gaggle of people and their loud and annoying kids came in too – time to get going methinks!

Leaving the hostel via the road, instead of the footpath and bridge, was actually just as hard, with a steep climb up a stony and potholed track. The road then headed down again, along a long sweeping tree lined single track road, lovely way to cover the first few miles! From there I made my way back to the main road through the area heading south – unfortunately I realised too late that I was repeating the last five miles or so of the previous day’s riding, with added hills too! I stopped for a breather by the banks of the river Wye, watching the sunlight twinkle off the water. I also watched two sets of people canoeing and kayaking down the river – the first set made it look effortless, and it looked like such fun – steering yourself down river for the day whilst the water does the hard work of carrying your weight, and that of your kit too! The second group made it look much less easy, with one lady in particular getting herself stuck on some shallow gravel banks, she was shouting and shrieking and didn’t seem to be having much fun – it made me realise that no matter what you’re doing, it will look idyllic to some, and horrendous to others!

Back on the road and heading into the Forest of Dean offered relief from the direct sunlight, but it was stiflingly hot too, and the gradient was pretty tough at times too. North of Coleford the hills were pretty horrific, especially at English Bicknor. The downhill into Coleford was great though, and made it all worthwhile! A few miles south of Coleford I came to a village called St Briavels. I was catching my breath near the top of a hill on my way out of the village when I was passed by an older chap on a bike. He stopped and asked if I knew where I was going and we began chatting. After a few minutes he told me his name was John and he asked if I had time to go with him to his house where he would make me lunch – this just  isn’t something I would do in back home, nor is it likely (in my opinion) to be something offered to a complete stranger. I said that that would be lovely and duly followed him along a windy lane until we reached a large and quite beautiful farmhouse, complete with brick walls, outhouses and many friendly and waggy dogs. I had a nice time chatting about my trip to this kindly man, and his wife too, and learning about them too – it transpired that John is a very keen cyclist who enjoys challenging himself with very long and taxing rides. He was very inquisitive about my route and before I left I took his email address and promised to get in touch with a detailed breakdown of my eventual final route. John was keen to do the trip himself next year, with his Edinburgh based son, but thought that I was a bit mad doing it with the amount of kit I was carrying – himself being much more of a minimalist than myself! I’ve written fairly extensively about what I’ve dubbed the kindness of strangers, and so won’t repeat all of that again; suffice to say that it was very humbling to be invited back to a person’s own home, to be shown genuine hospitality and interest and fleeting friendship!

Back on the road again and seven delightful miles of downhill, sweeping all the way to Chepstow along sun-drenched and beautifully smooth roads, cruising along at 25+ miles an hour and feeling really great! From Chepstow it wasn’t far to go till the Severn Bridge and then the outskirts of Bristol and the gateway to the south west, and the finale of the trip! The Severn Bridge was really cool to cycle along, with great views up the Severn estuary and with virtually no wind either! I passed a guy cycling along slowly, with his very young daughter riding her bike beside him, she can’t have been much older than four, and still quite wobbly on her bike, but I was impressed with how she was handling the experience of cycling along a huge bridge and quipped to her dad that she’ll be a champion when she’s older…

The next few miles saw me following the local routes of the national cycle route, meandering around grim industrial estates and pretty nature reserves too. I came to the outskirts of Bristol, in a rough looking area near the Avonmouth Bridge, and stopped for supplies at a petrol station. Whilst buying my food and drink I asked the cashier what the easiest way up and onto the bridge was, and he asked a group of local lads to help me; they looked pretty dodgy and more likely to steal my stuff than give directions, but to be fair to them, they were very helpful and chatty too – a useful reminder to not judge books (or people) by their covers, something that can make me cross with others, but that I am equally guilty of!

Beyond the Avonmouth Bridge and then on to Portishead and then Clevedon was pretty lovely with the evening sun still high in the sky, and warm too. I headed inland from there as I had to avoid the M5, and so set off towards Yatton and Congresbury. I had found that as I headed further south the evenings really started drawing in quickly – in Northern Scotland the evenings seemed to go on for a long time, and even when it was dark there seemed to be some residual light, but the further south I travelled, the earlier it got dark and the darker it seemed too - still managed to watch some amazing sunsets though! From Congresbury I hoped to be able to swing by a village called Sandford, just so I could take a pic of the village sign, as part of my Hot Fuzz interest – sadly the sun was going down though, and I wanted to get further along my route before stopping for the night.

I reached Western-Super-Mare via a short but busy stretch of duel carriageway and from there made my way towards Uphill and Bleadon. I got supplies for dinner and found a couple to ask for directions to a suitable place to camp – they didn’t think there was anywhere local that would be suitable for wild-camping, and instead suggested a farmer who they said would be receptive to me putting my tent up in his garden! I set off with fairly good directions, which were straightforward to follow but couldn’t find the farm in question in the dark. I carried on a few miles more along pitch dark and narrow lanes until I found a suitable field to pitch up, not far from Brean, a small place by the sea. I always chose fields that had wide open gates, and high hedges to mask my presence too. This one also had a train line at the end, which I took to be a good sign as I had had a good night’s camp last time, all those miles ago, in Fort William! There was also a huge fireworks display taking place a few miles away, and as I was pitching my tent in the dark I could hear the constant noise of revellers and gunpowder in the distance – thankfully it soon stopped and I was able to get another good night’s sleep!

 

Day 12. Clun to Monmouth.

I had a great night’s sleep, but for some reason the nicer the sleep then the harder it seems to be to get going the following day. In this instance I don’t think it helped how lovely a spot I was camping in! Once I was ready to get going though, my sleepiness and lethargy soon evaporated as the pedals started turning along with the wheels. It didn’t take long to reach Leintwardine along gently downhill and flat roads and then on beyond there to Wigmore.

It was on the outskirts of Wigmore that I first saw large groups of cyclists, all going the other way. At first I wondered if they were just riders from a local cycle club, but it soon became apparent that they were cyclists doing the same trip as me, but in reverse, and with back up, as none of them were carrying any kit. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves, cruising along with the wind at their backs, and I got lots of waves and smiles as I passed them. I was also surprised at just how many women were cycling, close to half I would guess, which is great for cycling in my opinion!

About 10 miles or so I took a wrong turn after misreading my map, finding myself heading off towards Eardisland and a few miles of very narrow lanes and ridgeline roads that rose and fell sharply in quick succession. Back on the right path but getting low on water on a hot day I decided to stop for lunch in a charming village called Weobley, a former village of the year winner – and yet another village that reminded me of Hot Fuzz – the Simon Pegg police comedy.

Back on the road, after cheesecake and other tasty lunchtime foods saw lovely B roads through villages such as Madley, Clehonger and Kingstone, and the miles rolled quickly by. I was pretty close to Ross-on-Wye by tea time and the sun had come out once again – lovely. Ross looked like a nice little town as I passed by, hilly though, and I stopped to chat to a Swiss woman who was cycle touring around Britain, albeit very slowly, covering a mere 30k a day – she was able to stop everywhere she wanted and soak up everything she came across, but still, I don’t think touring at that pace would suit me - I was now looking forward to completing my trip and returning to my daily routine and lifestyle. That’s not to say that I wasn’t enjoying myself, I was, and felt that the trip was having a positive effect on my sense of self, along with an increased sense of human goodness, but I was missing my wife, and hot showers, and a comfortable bed, and…

South of Ross-on-Wye I took what I didn’t know was a wrong turn, and ended up following the meandering road alongside the river for about 6 or 7 miles. I eventually found someone to ask for directions at a sports field. It turned out that I was very close to the youth hostel, but the wrong side of the river! I followed the directions of the sports field chap and found myself dragging my bike and luggage along an overgrown footpath, through brambles and stinging nettles until…I found myself back at the starting point of the sports field! Sheepishly cycling along the outside of the football field was pretty funny as the guy from earlier spotted me and just shook his head at me. I tried again and this time actually found the right bridge, hooray! Dragging the bike up a steep bank and onto the bridge was hard and heavy work, but the bridge was pretty cool, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie!

I found the youth hostel soon after, checked in and then enjoyed my first hot shower in days – bliss! The rest of my time at the hostel was spent sorting through and cleaning my kit, cooking dinner and chatting to Alice. I was looking forward to turning south west once over the Severn Bridge and chatting to the staff at the hostel it seemed that the hostel was on the route for many “end to enders” – usually from the south, and often four days in – this was welcome news indeed as I was pretty sure that I could cover the distance in the same timeframe. It was also nice to be able to cook my evening meal in a proper kitchen and I even enjoyed a couple of alcoholic ginger beers, after which it was definitely time for bed!

Day 11. Chester to Clun.

Alice and our friends, Claire and Eug, had to leave fairly early to get back to Cambridge by lunchtime. It had been really great to see them all, especially my wife, and was very grateful to Claire and Eug for suggesting and then coming all the way to the other side of the country to see me! I decided that I would wait at the Campsite for the breakfast café to open – I wasn’t disappointed, the fried breakfast I had was absolutely delicious, especially the black pudding!

 I was ready to set off by 10am, and the sun was beating down strongly. The first 10 miles or so were mostly flat, but once Wrexham was past, the road got quite hilly in places, which was hard work, especially in the hot sun. Shortly after lunch the sun went in to hide for the rest of the day, and whilst it didn’t rain, it became quite cool as the wind rose from the south. The hills got bigger and harder as the day progressed and as I spent the day repeatedly crossing from England to Wales, and back again.

I took a detour from my planned route in the mid afternoon as I was feeling really tired and a bit sick of the windy roads that ultimately weren’t getting me any further south. I decided to join an A road. For about 10 miles I cycled along a duel carriageway, which was actually completely fine as there was a wide cycle/hard shoulder. The traffic was heavy though and after 10 miles my nerves were getting shredded. I stopped at a service station and topped up on fizzy drinks, thinking I would need the sugar to get me through what I thought was going to be more intense miles. Whilst at the service station I chatted to a guy who was sat outside waiting for his wife, as my nerves were shredded I think I spent much of the conversation swearing and being negative – to the extent that the guy pointed out that I didn’t sound like I was having fun! I tried to counter that with how it had been a great experience, but ultimately I think that I was starting to feel the effects of being on the road continuously. Seeing Alice leave that morning had made me realise how much I had missed her, and our quiet life back home. I was still glad I was doing the trip, as it was something I’d wanted to do for a very long time, but I was equally looking forward to it being done with! Not sure if it was just me, but I felt that each time I crossed into Wales that the quality of the driving got worse...bent road signs indicate that I might be right...

Back on the road and expecting more busyness, but thankfully the road got both more narrow (single lanes) and quieter too – bonus! Welshpool wasn’t far away, and the road was flat too. I arrived at Welshpool needing more supplies and headed into Morrison’s. I was outside refuelling on a chicken baguette when some very dodgy and shifty looking individuals arrived close by – one was clearly a drug dealer, surrounded by his entourage of sycophantic cronies. They were standing right next to my bike, and I was conscious of the few valuable possessions I had potentially going missing to fund their lifestyle – as a result I kept a close eye on them, but not too close as the leader of the pack was particularly shifty and kept making eye contact, trying to suss me out. Luckily they soon left without incident (or my possessions) but I was reminded that my normally liberal attitude towards drug use is through the rose tinted glasses of my own teenage experimentation, and not necessarily the experience of many, many people up and down the country.

Safely back on the road by 5pm I headed south east towards a village called Church Stoke – the rolling countryside was really lovely again, and the sun came out again briefly too. I reached a place called Bishop’s castle and carried on towards a village called Clun. I had planned to reach Knighton by nightfall, but hadn’t counted on the road to Clun being really hard work! I found myself really struggling with the gradient, and needed to take regular breaks to rest and catch my breath – I don’t think I’d faced gradients this tough since the north of Scotland, and had forgotten how much fun they are – my legs were feeling strong, but I was still glad to reach the top and then glide down to the village.

The time was getting on, it was almost 8pm by this point, and the light wasn’t too great. I saw a local man putting his ducks to bed for the night in their coop. I asked him what the road was like to Knighton and he said that it was about a mile straight up, then half a mile flat, then another mile straight up – much like the road I’d just completed – I didn’t fancy carrying on too much further as the light was quickly fading. Thankfully the man said I could camp where we stood, on the village green – a beautiful spot, close to the remains of the village hall/castle and right next to a small stream – perfect!

As usual it didn’t take long to set up camp, and just as I was finishing, the man from earlier reappeared with a kettle full of boiling water for me to cook with – just perfect! Small gestures like that make a huge difference at the end of a long day, and really saved time too! Again, we stood chatting for quite a while – mostly about the local area, and a trip he had taken a decade ago to Everest basecamp in the Himalaya.

These random conversations I had with people were really great, people really open up and share something of their own lives and I always felt very lucky that people were willing to chat with me, a complete stranger – I suppose that it can be easier to chat to someone unknown to yourself at times, and certainly people disclosed sensitive and personal information to me, but then my livelihood no doubt has something to do with this too. I really enjoyed the conversations I had with everyone I spoke to, and I think that my natural curiosity about people and their stories was able to come to the fore much more than in my day to day life, but then, traveling on your own does open you up to chatting with people you might not approach otherwise. Each of the conversations I had with complete strangers was a highlight of the trip though, and I can honestly say that the single best thing about the trip was having my faith in the kindness of strangers renewed.

Camp all set up and dinner eaten it was more or less time to get some sleep. Whilst the village of Clun was another highlight of the trip, there was one downside to the location – I had absolutely no mobile phone reception, and the phone box up the road was disconnected – and so this night was the only night I wasn’t able to contact and speak to Alice L

Day 10. Garstang to Chester.

I woke to a cool morning, with lots of condensation in the tent – evidently it had been a cold night with little cloud cover – fortunately I hadn’t noticed at all, tucked up all warm in my tent. I was keen to get going this morning as I knew that I would see my wife at the end of the days’ ride! Friends of ours; Claire and Eug had suggested some time ago the idea of the three of them coming to meet me somewhere on my trip. We’d originally decided we’d meet in the Welsh town of Welshpool, but due to my falling behind the schedule we’d had to re-think the plans. I’d managed to put in two long mileage days and so was potentially only a full day behind the original schedule, and we agreed to meet in Chester, or just outside the town at a nearby campsite.

The days’ riding was nice and flat, although quite built up and industrialised; with towns blending into one another and lots of business and retail parks – with the ensuing traffic too! Still, the people I met were among the friendliest! I was cycling through the town of Preston when at a set of traffic lights I was aware of a young guy leaning out of the passenger window of a small car – back home I would instantly think it would be someone about to try and push me from my bike, (and I’m from sleepy Cambridge) but this trip has taught me that 99 out of a hundred times, people are friendly and nice. Anyway, this young guy was clearly in the car with his dad, and the two of them were enthusiastically asking questions about my trip and the charities I was raising money for (the custom designed cycling jersey I was wearing was a help here) and as the lights turned green they leaned out of the car, shook my hand and gave me a handful of coins to go towards my charities! I was utterly flabbergasted, and genuinely don’t think you would get the same reaction in the South, or the South East/East Anglia!

Later, as I was cycling along another fairly busy road I became aware of a cyclist behind me – usually fellow cyclists zoom straight past with just a nod or quick hello – but this chap came alongside me, and stayed there. We got chatting, again about my trip and experiences along the way, and he told me of his own recent charitable cycling trip to the Himalaya – sounded like extraordinary stuff! We cycled alongside each other for about 5 miles, before we stopped and had ice-creams and coffee at a café he recommended. It was so lovely to have the time to chat and stop with this guy, to learn something of his life, and that of his family too.

Break over and back to the pedals though and I was soon making good progress towards Warrington, through more built up areas, but that was fine as the road was level and I had somewhere to be!

From Warrington onwards the wind picked up, as did the gradient – but not by much and I managed to reach Chester in time for rush hour. Chester itself looked to be a nice town, although I can’t say that I saw any of the cast of Hollyoaks! I didn’t have far to go now, but in my haste to reach the campsite I managed to take a wrong turn, winding up on a very busy duel carriageway and heading towards Wrexham! After a few miles I was sure I’d made a wrong turn – it’s funny but sometimes whilst you know you’ve made a mistake, you keep going in the hope that you’re instincts are wrong – they rarely are though, or at least that was my experience! I managed to get across four lanes of heavy traffic without being squashed, and made my way back towards the campsite, where Alice and our friends Claire and Eug were ready and set up to meet me. Showered and clean, I was ready to be reunited with my wife after over a week apart - the longest we’d been apart since living together. The four of us went for a lovely meal in a local pub (certainly the nicest food I’d had in a while!), and a couple of Guinness’ later it was time for sleep! Sleep that wasn't on the thinnest Thermarest on the market was soooo good, as was sleeping next to my beautiful wife :)

Day 9. Burgh by Sands to Garstang.

Despite getting an early night and sleeping well, I didn’t get going until quite late today. I chatted to Alice again in the morning to discuss different route options – I had wondered if it might be easier to follow the coastline around Cumbria, instead of heading inland and up and over the higher roads of the Lake District. It turned out that going along the coast would be many more miles, and so I headed off inland, over the hills of northern Cumbria. It took most of the morning to reach Penrith, and I was feeling really exhausted – time to refuel and stock up on food for the rest of the day too!

Refuelled and with more energy I headed out of Penrith, south along the old A6. The road steadily rose up until I reached the village of Shap, skirting along the M6. I can’t say I was feeling much love for the very eastern side of the Lakes – it just didn’t feel very Lakes-esque, much more like Yorkshire – the past few days had felt a bit underwhelming, passing through rural but very agricultural areas that smelt rather fragrant was a bit of a come down from the far north-west of Scotland, and the rugged beauty found there. The fact that I was now back in England was a mini achievement in its own right, but I also felt that the highlight of the trip was already behind me. Anyway, onwards I went and past Shap the road headed downhill again, all the way into Kendal. I couldn’t find any mint cake shops, so just carried on. It was now the early evening and the roads were pretty busy with commuters.

I decided that I would head towards Garstang, and was able to book a campsite for the night, short notice over the phone. The road was really flat now, with virtually no hills at all as I passed into Lancashire. The people I interacted with at a petrol station were extremely friendly and curious about my trip – calling out to other customers to tell them of my adventure!

I arrived at the campsite, which was small but really nice – the owner was a complete contrast to the owner of yesterday’s site – smart, professional and interested in my journey – he did however point out to me a full A4 sheet of rules to abide by at the site – I actually quite liked his strictness, as it meant that the site was run well, and was very clean, and quiet too! However, the flipside was that it cost £1 for 5 exact minutes in the shower – not quite so good! Anyway, my evening routine was soon done and I had time to watch and photograph a beautiful sunset. It was then time for a deep sleep after a long 90 mile day!

Day 8. Kilmarnock to Burgh by Sands.

Today was a long day in terms of mileage. Last night I had discussed with Alice the reality of having to cover more miles each day in order to make it far enough south by the following Wednesday so that we could meet up. My knee had started spasming last night and whilst I was a bit worried about that, I also knew that the second half of the journey was along flat roads, and headwind permitting, I could make good time and try to finish for the day earlier than usual – I was also really looking forward to a shower, and hopefully clothes washing too!

I set off from my campsite early and made my way into Kilmarnock, which was only a mile away to the south. McDonalds for breakfast might not have been high dining, but certainly filled a hole and got me whizzing along.

The roads south of Kilmarnock rose up into the southern uplands of Scotland – nothing too severe though, just nice and steady, and thankfully my knee was holding up too. The clouds were low today, and whilst it didn’t rain, it certainly looked likely. I knew the area of the south west of Scotland quite well, having holidayed there for many years as a child, and so I didn’t linger long anywhere – constantly aware that I needed to make the day’s mileage.

South of Dumfries the road flattened out, to the extent that without the sheep populating the fields it could easily have been the fens of East Anglia! My keen weather watching paid off and I was rewarded with a great tailwind along the coastal road between Dumfries and Annan, and the sun came out to play too! I stopped at Tesco in Annan for supplies and then made my way along the last few flat miles of Scotland.

At the border sign I stopped and chatted to a fellow “end to ender” heading north, we swapped stories and route planning before going our separate ways again – I was determined to get to my campsite before dark for a change, and whilst it was still only the early evening, I knew from experience that the last miles can be pretty tough, even on the flat, as energy levels can dip and suddenly all the joy of cycling and looking at the scenery can vanish leaving only sore and achy limbs behind.

I arrived at the campsite with over an hour of warm daylight left, which was great as I could actually air out my tent and dry a few items in the sun. The campsite had sold itself as an upmarket “glamp-site” and I was really looking forward to a lovely and luxurious shower. Sadly, but not unexpectedly, the site was nothing of the sort – just a family trying to squeeze some extra cash  out of their farm and horse riding business. As a result the facilities were actually pretty basic, and some way away from the camping field – the shower was lovely and hot though, and the owner did agree to wash my dirty cycling clothes after I bribed her with offering to give her the rest of my detergent as a thank you – no problem for me, and it was so nice to wear clean clothes for the next few days too!

Camping early enough to watch the sun set was great, especially as I was clean for the first time in days. Being able to cook my dinner without having to resort to torch-light was pretty good too, along with the ability to charge my phones too – maybe it was a glamp-site after all?

Day 7. Falls of Falloch to Kilmarnock.

This morning I actually got to see the lovely Falls of Falloch, as it had already been pretty dark by the time I pulled off the road last night! It had been a good spot to camp, with the exception of the midges. It was also odd at times as the sound of the waterfall actually sounded like people talking and laughing – which is quite disconcerting when you wake up at 3am! Anyway, the sun was shining and the falls were a lovely place to eat breakfast and have my morning coffee – as the photo testifies!

Once on the road the day got even better – all downhill and really beautiful with such a deep and beautiful blue sky. As Loch Lomond approached, the scenery got even more beautiful, with peaks rising on the far side of the loch. The road winded gentry along the banks of the loch, and I was lucky with the traffic too. At the time of my trip there were extensive traffic works along the banks of Loch Lomond – which was great for me as the traffic would speed past me as soon as the lights changed, leaving me cycling in silence for long glorious minutes.

I stopped at a tourist info spot for a latte and a chocolate tiffin, lazily watching the tourist boat chug slowly around the edge of the loch – it reminded me of a trip I had taken with my family when I was about 11 years old – I think the boat chugging around the loch full of tourists could have been the very same one from all those years ago, it certainly looked pretty old…

Back on the road again, I turned left at the next junction, and headed towards Arrochar, and then down the A814 towards Faslane along the shore of Loch Long. The road was lovely and shaded from the afternoon sun, which was really hot and as the road began to rise again steeply I passed an older couple cycling along. Further down the road I stopped for a breather, the same couple arrived over the hill and we chatted for about 40 minutes about my trip, their lives in Manchester and Durham, and their trip up to this area to participate in an organised swim in Loch Lomond – sounded lovely, especially as the sun was really beating down now! We parted company and I continued down towards Helensburgh, where I hoped to be able to cross the Clyde to Greenock – sadly the ferry service had been stopped back in April, and I instead followed the cycle path further along the banks of the Clyde until I reached the Erskine Bridge. The Erskine Bridge was the first really big bridge I had ever cycled along, which was fun, and I was at least separated from the traffic, cycling along the pathway instead. At the end of the bridge I turned left and then right at a roundabout, finding myself getting lost in a nature reserve – at least the cycling was fun, following the footpaths through the trees along switchback trails. I came across a man who was sitting smoking next to his bike, he was very out of shape but had been out for the day on his bike and we swapped stories along with opinions on the state of healthcare and social provision (I’m a mental health student) as he was a social worker.

On my way again I headed along the edge of Glasgow airport and then into Paisley, where I stopped for dinner – this time a foot long subway. Back on the road again and heading towards Dunlop and Stewarton along the smaller roads, the road began to rise again, nothing too severe, but tiring none the less after a long day in the heat! About 5 miles north of Kilmarnock my knee started to spasm really badly. I couldn’t stop where I was, as I didn’t have any food to see me through the night and into the morning, and so had to grit my teeth and just keep on pedalling. I found a garage, stocked up and then headed off looking for somewhere suitable to put my tent up for the night. I chose a field where the entrance had been used as a fly-tipping dump, not the nicest of spots maybe, but I figured that seeing as I was now firmly in an agricultural area, farmers may not look too kindly on campers in amongst their crops or livestock – anyway, just a few metres away from the rubbish but close to the hedge, the field was level and unused – perfect.

Setting up didn’t take any time at all and I was soon nicely ensconced in my sleeping bag, food consumed and wife chatted to, and I was soon fast asleep!

Day 6. Fort William to Falloch Falls.

I woke on day 5 to heavy rain, in fact it had rained heavily throughout the night, although it hadn’t disturbed me in my tent. It seemed to take a while getting going that morning, eating and then packing up in the rain wasn’t especially pleasant, but was all part of the adventure.I did sit and watch as a tourist steam train set off for the day ahead, which was pretty cool, in a Harry Potter sort of way. I cycled into the centre of Fort William where I found a Morrison’s supermarket – supplies purchased, then back outside - and the rain had stopped – wonderful! Then next door for McDonald’s before finally heading to Boots for the much needed support bandage.

I was finally on the road and heading south along Loch Linnhe by lunch time, then inland past Loch Leven, and then finally up towards Glen Coe. The road was pretty tough going; the gradient wasn’t especially tough, but it was relentless! The road was narrow too and very busy, with car after car full of holidaymakers, with bikes and canoes strapped to their roofs, speeding by; not giving an inch or slowing at all. It was pretty grim to be honest, and the clouds had come back down, with the occasional spot of rain threatening – the views were still lovely though, especially of the Three Sisters, and I had already been very lucky with the weather, so I really couldn’t complain! There were tourists everywhere, and I was a little pleasantly surprised by the amount of Asian tourists there were, all taking pictures with their Ipads and the women striking catwalk-like poses – a bit out of place for vogue I thought, but I suppose the world is constantly changing and India has a burgeoning middle class – progress eh?!!

Glen Coe nearly done, I met a friendly young Scottish couple, out for a walk along the glen. We chatted for a just a few minutes about my trip, and their own weekends of adventure - they didn't live too far away, and were able to spend lots of their weekends rambling around the beautiful countryside. They also gave me plenty of advice about the coming miles, and places of interest to stop by.

Glen Coe finally done, I headed up onto Rannoch Moor which wasn’t as bleak as I’d imagined – lots of midges though! Then down to Bridge of Orchy where I stopped for a glass of coke and a piece of cake. It was here that I met the only negative person on the whole trip – there was a Scottish man in his late 50’s I would say, with a Soltaire tattoo on his forearm - who struck up a conversation with me about his day of walking in the hills and mountains nearby – so far so good. I asked him for advice about the local area – places to stop for supplies etc and the state of the roads – in particular the gradient – well, he told me that the road to the nearest settlement, a place called Tyndrum, about 8 miles away, where he himself lived, was flat or downhill all the way – great news I thought, and I was soon on my way again – only to find that the road was uphill the whole way, until the very last mile when it finally went down again. Don’t get me wrong, the riding was great, along beautiful scenery, but hard going too, and I was conscious that had he given false information under different circumstances, the outcome could have been dangerous. Anyway, I was so angry at being lied to, based purely (I believe) on my accent or nationality, that I seriously considered going door to door in Tyndrum until I found him, and giving him a bump on the nose! Luckily for him I didn’t have time for violence, and had to keep on rolling – rolling downhill that was, as the road finally carried on going down for miles and miles – probably eight or nine miles, all the way to Crianlarich, which was a blessing for my knee and for my failing energy levels too!

Past Crianlarich, on the A82, it was time to look for somewhere to camp. There was no way I was going to make it as far as Ayr, as I’d originally planned – not making it as far as the pre-set destination each day really put a strain on the whole timeframe, and I was already thinking that the trip was going to take at least one extra day, maybe more! I discussed it all with my wife, Alice, and we agreed that staying safe and trying to enjoy myself were both far more important than sticking to an arbitrary timeframe that had been devised months earlier in the comfort of our flat! The fact that I’d failed the previous day to make it as far as Altnafeadh, south of Glen Coe, along with the various late starts, more frequent stops than I’d imagined, and challenging terrain meant that covering distances of more than ninety miles was, at least at this point, unrealistic. Having the freedom to add an extra day, or two, made all the difference, and I was able to relax and enjoy my trip without worrying.

I found a spot to wild camp very close to the Falls of Falloch, which was lovely – but midge mad! They were absolutely everywhere, being so close to a waterfall and ensuing river, along with having a still soaked tent from the morning deluge, was a recipe for midge heaven – I had to resort to actually using my head net! Once inside the tent though, all was well and I was soon asleep after having my customary tin of rice pudding J - great recovery food, tasty too!