Getting there
I needed to get to Thurso to start the final leg of my round Britain journey. Plane to Inverness and train or bus to Thurso is arguably the easiest but Easyjet who fly directly to Inverness from Bristol won’t take electric bikes. If I wanted to get really silly, I’d cycle there but age has grown and enthusiasm waned, so I settled on the train.
Jim took me to Bristol Parkway to catch the 0942 train that starts in Exeter and ends in Edinburgh. This is run by CrossCountry a train company owned by Arriva and not currently under threat of privatisation although they have been criticised by the Government for poor service. Because it is possible to buy split tickets I utilised the services of TrainPal who fixed me up with a ticket from Bristol to Edinburgh on CrossCountry and then a separate ticket from Edinburgh to Inverness on LNER, which is now owned by the tax payer. From Inverness there is a regular service to Thurso run by ScotRail, again Government controlled.
We arrived at Bristol with almost an hour to spare. The traffic through Bradford-on-Avon was as light as it gets and the M4 and M32 were flowing freely. The early morning sun was shining and I sat on a bench and enjoyed it until it was time to put the bike in a lift and make my way to the platform.
The train was pretty much on time, and I found the bike carriage, never the easiest things as the station staff never seem to know exactly where it will be, and hung the bike up by its front wheel alongside another that had travelled from further afield.
We were scheduled to arrive in Edinburgh at 17:07 giving me 26 minutes to change onto the LNER service that had come up from London on the East coast route, for the onward journey to Inverness with an arrival time of 20:08. Split tickets are fine if everything goes according to plan but, if it doesn’t, you are potentially at the mercy of rival train companies who won’t accept that the fault is with them, not you.
All went well through Birmingham, the hub of CrossCountry trains, and onwards north, heading for Sheffield and the east Coast, travelling close to much of my cycle route last year. However, at Darlington, the wheels ground to a halt and we were left stationary for a while and then moving slowly. The train manager, for such is the name given to what we knew as a Guard, explained that there had been breakdowns ahead and we were suffering. The silver lining, if there was one, was the fact that the LNER train was immediately behind us and couldn’t pass, so there was every chance that we would get to Edinburgh in time for me to make the change. I was able to follow this on my phone and deduced that it might be better for me to jump off the CrossCountry train at Berwick-upon-Tweed and wait on the same platform for 12 minutes and jump on the LNER train which I knew was going to Inverness. However, the station manager at Berwick told me that I was at risk of having to pay an extra fare, so I stayed where I was, knowing that I had to change platforms at Edinburgh, almost certainly involving lifts and escalators.
We duly arrived in Edinburgh an hour late and, as I suspected, because the LNER train was on a different line by now, only had about 5 minutes to make the change. I charged up escalators and bumped down steps and made it to Platform 9 as the LNER train pulled in. There was another cyclist, who was heading north for his first long distance ride, meeting a couple of friends to JOGLE in about 12 days, camping on the way. Together we found the cycle carriage which already had a couple of bikes in place. Having had the mad rush, the train then sat for a good five minutes before we were on our way!
The train was full and I didn’t get a seat until we were past Stirling. I’ve made the journey before, through Perth, Pitlochry and Aviemore and it’s picturesque, especially in the evening sunshine. We sailed over Drumochter Pass, the highest point in the British rail network, and I thought of my past bike rides up it in both directions. The Scots taxpayer has funded a superb tarmac bike track that mirrors the adjacent A9 and is a joy to cycle. Finally at 2109 (and that’s important) we arrived in Inverness, an hour and a minute behind schedule.
There is now a rule that delays of more than 30 minutes are entitled to a refund, 50 % from 30-59 minutes and 100% from 60 -90 minutes. After that you’re entitled to compensation. So, dear reader, because both legs were more than an hour behind schedule I’ve claimed for a full refund. LNER have confirmed, whilst I have to wait for CrossCountry to agree. So there’s about £70 to come back which, as I’ve already accounted for it, I’ll pass onto the air ambulance.
The downside was that it was getting late and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I’d purposely booked into accommodation close to the station, the Black Isle Hostel which is attached to a bar/ pizza house, itself an offshoot of the Black Isle brewery which produces a large number of different beers. Reception for the hostel was up 2 sets of stairs and was still, surprisingly, open when I arrived. The accommodation is at first floor level and there’s a lot of it. My bike went into a store room at street level, and I was booked into a 4 bed dorm with 2 sets of bunk beds. After struggling to get in because of a recalcitrant door, I dumped everything and made for the bar, just in time for a black pudding and goat’s cheese pizza (very tasty ) and a pint of Black Isle 60 shilling ale (£5.90 a pint). It did the job and I went back to my room to find another occupant already asleep. I was soon in a very uncomfortable bed and was disturbed at about 1 am when another couple of people turned up to make a full house. At 6 am the person who had been asleep when I arrived decided to get up and repack all his belongings in a large back pack, disturbing everyone. In the event it was totally unnecessary because, in conversation with him later, he was in no hurry to go anywhere – just a congenital worrier. After I departed, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had unpacked and repacked again.
I had some time to kill before the train to Thurso left at 1041, so went in search of something to get the chain oil off my only pair of trousers, picked up when I was struggling to hang the bike up in the train. In the event I couldn’t find what I was looking for so I’ll just put up with the stains.
I got to the station with bike and panniers at about 1015 to find quite a number of bikes in the concours with more arriving by the minute. This was worrying because I know that the 2 carriage train to Thurso only has 8 bike spaces and there was a good chance that all the bikes in the station were heading that way. So, I got to the front of the queue and was first on board. In the event there was no need for panic as very few of the bikes boarded. I don’t know where they were going but it wasn’t Thurso or Wick. Bikes sit on a cradle rather than hanging and I found a seat alongside.
This is the third time I’ve made this train journey. It takes about 4 hours, stopping at 21 stations on the way, with some significant grades that really make the diesel engines work. It’s a scenic journey following the coast until Helmsdale where it dodges back and forth over the Helmsdale river up to the Flow country, the largest remaining blanket bog in Europe, and then turning east towards the coast. I spotted a large herd of red deer and a hen harrier on the hunt. At Georgemas junction the train stops and reverses the 6 miles to Thurso before returning through the junction to finish its journey at Wick on the east coast. Only one other cyclist got off the train at Thurso along with a large number of hill walkers.
There is a Premier Inn beside the station but it was a lot more expensive than several alternatives and I’ve plumped for Pentland Lodge Hotel, B&B for £82. I have a perfectly adequate single room and the bike is in a locked shed. The owner is charming and recommended a restaurant in Scrabster, from where you can take a ferry to Orkney and Shetland, a ten minute bike ride along the coast. Owner/chef Jody Sinclair allowed me to park my bike by the kitchen and I’ve dined very well, if expensively, at the Galley restaurant, on a smoked mackerel Caesar salad and astonishingly fresh hake with a parmesan crust on a bed of leeks and mash, washed down with a glass of rose. My inner man is well satisfied.
It’s been a lazy day with no need to rush and I’m looking forward to getting back on the bike in earnest for my first leg to Tongue 48 miles (and a lot of ups and downs) west of here, tomorrow. I travelled most of the route in the opposite direction 12 years ago but I’m making a bit of a coastal detour towards the end.