Day 9 – a day to forget  

The Premier Inn in Sunderland is like every other Premier Inn, comfortable and reliable. I’d only booked B&B because there were plenty of eating options around​​ the hotel​​ and PI Thyme restaurants are a bit basic and uninteresting. ​​ My room was on the first​​ floor,​​ but my window looked out onto the same level as a car park, the hotel being built into the side of a hill.​​ No problems with noise and I slept well after a bottle of South African red from the Co-op. ​​ I went about 100 yards towards the city centre​​ and next door to the Sunderland Empire found​​ Aperitif, an Italian restaurant that was doing good business. ​​ I had a pint of Peroni with my mushroom bruschetta and then another with Pollo al Pepe, chicken with a pepper sauce and well cooked veg. ​​ Altogether a good meal before I retired to compose the blog with the aforementioned wine.​​ The main dressing room of the Empire Theatre is said to be haunted by the ghost of Sid James who suffered a heart attack on stage and later died.

I had a good breakfast before leaving at about 0836, as I had arranged to meet an old college friend of mine for lunch just outside Middlesborough. ​​ Duncan lives close by and although we meet once a year it was a good opportunity to catch-up and have some lunch.

I made the inevitable wrong turns but found my way out of the city on some good bike tracks with variable surfaces but all hard and easy to cycle. I was still following NCR1 as it snaked its way south, annoyingly littered with pesky gates which seem to serve little purpose and, in some cases, are very​​ difficult to get through with panniers.​​ 

I hadn’t reckoned on quite so much climbing but I was using the motor quite a lot on what were old railway lines so the train engines must have struggled similarly.I was down to sea level at Ryhope and Seaham but quickly climbing again and becoming concerned that I would miss my lunch date because of my slow progress, when at Hesleden I had the familiar sensation in my back wheel. ​​ I rang Duncan and said there was no way I would now make it in time, fixed the puncture and carried on to Hartlepool where, after a lot of wrong turns, I found Wet rock & ride, an atypically tidy bike shop where I bought a Schwalbe tyre with good puncture protection, which I immediately put on Lucy, and a couple of extra tubes. ​​ Hopeful that I was now past the puncture problems that have been plaguing me for the last couple of days I continued along the coast to Seaton Carew where I had a nice little spin along the prom

I was feeling a bit more chipper with my new tyre but schadenfreude struck as the heavens opened whilst I was on a particularly unpleasant bit of road, busy with a poor surface, that led into Middlesbrough. ​​ I was wearing a rain jacket but it’s not entirely waterproof but, more annoyingly my shoes were soaked with little chance that they would dry out. ​​ The rain stopped as I came to the Transporter bridge that has been closed since 2019. ​​ The only operational transporter bridge now left in the UK is the one at Newport, South Wales that I visited in 2020 when it, too, was closed, because of COVID. ​​ I was forced to make a 6 mile detour to cross the Tees

I had arranged to meet Duncan just south of Redcar at 1pm but, ​​ by the time I got to our meeting place it was 3.45. ​​ I cycled straight on knowing that​​ I still had 30 miles to go to Whitby when 3 miles further on the front wheel punctured. ​​ Now I could understand the problem with the back tyre but the front tyre was brand new when I started. ​​ I checked inside it to see what had caused the problem but there was nothing obvious so I replaced the tube and hoped for the best: fortunately that was the end of punctures and tyre changing for the day. ​​ Fingers crossed that will be the end of them, full stop.

I dropped steeply down to Saltburn-by-the-Sea, an attractive little place and climbed out almost as steeply and followed the coast up and down, sometimes in sight of the sea, more often not.

These last 20 miles to Whitby were excruciating. ​​ Steep climbs and drops through the villages of Brotten, Carlin Howe, Boulby and Hinderwell had me aching to get off the bike but I gritted my teeth and finally made it to The White Horse and Griffin where I am staying the night. ​​ It’s not a day I want to remember and I only hope that my shoes dry out tonight.

Day 8 – Into the wind

My abode for the night in Seahouses was bed only. There was no one on reception, just instructions as to how to get into the room which​​ I got to by way of a metal​​ outdoor​​ staircase. ​​ I was told to leave my bike in the boiler room,​​ and they had left a key in the lock of the door for me to use and keep overnight: only one problem, the key didn’t lock the door. ​​ I took a chance and left Lucy totally unguarded, thinking that the chances of anything untoward happening were pretty slim. ​​ My room was quite small with two single beds taking up most of the space and no desk. ​​ My eyes lit up when I spotted a fan heater which would be useful for clothes drying but it was broken and dangerous in that the heating elements worked but the fan didn’t. The shower was electric and had a mind of its own, not responding to the controls so I nearly scalded myself. ​​ I managed to get it to a bearable temperature, I’m not sure how, but I cleaned myself.​​ Given these three problems I thought I’d email and tell them the problems. ​​ The email bounced back. ​​ 

There was a Co-op across the road, so I bought a bottle of wine for the blog and some rolls, egg mayo and salami for breakfast. There was a choice of restaurants and I liked the look of an Italian but when I rocked up it was heaving so I went round the corner to an Indian which wasn’t quite so busy. Onion Bahjis looked great but disappointed with their lack of crispness. ​​ The Malaya lamb curry was good, nicely spiced and I washed down well with a pint of Cobra. Just under £30 was reasonable value.

Having put together and eaten my breakfast I left​​ just before 9, briefly passing the time of day with a man staying in the same building who was on his way back to Derbyshire. The wind was fresh,​​ and in my face,​​ and forecast to increase as the day went on. A bare three miles into the journey I came to a road closed sign. ​​ Whilst I usually ignore these and expect to get through with a bike, there was a reasonable alternative which I took, adding a couple of miles to an already long day. ​​ The roads were quiet and, apart from the wind, I was enjoying myself. ​​ I by-passed Craster, famous for kippers but got a shot of the pretty village across the bay

I was travelling on an A road​​ and managed to miss the cycle track beside it, something I did several times today. ​​ After a mile or so I was able to switch to the track and had a pleasant ride to Lesbury, crossing the river Aln which gives its name to the County Town Alnwick and the estuary at Alnmouth.

Lots more cycle track beside main roads until I reached Amble. ​​ Now I’m concerned about the state of my back tyre, with two punctures yesterday and I would like to change the tyre for the most puncture resistant specimen I can buy. I had looked at Google maps and twigged that there were a couple of bike shops in Amble that might provide what I wanted but I spent a fruitless half hour, failing to find one and finding the other closed.​​ 

Onwards along the coast, cycle paths all the way: some tarmac, some loose stone but generally OK.​​ Thirty​​ years ago,​​ Rob (aged 14) and I joined many others (at least 100) to cycle coast to coast from Druridge Bay in Northumberland to Silloth in Cumbria, to celebrate the founding of the National Trust in 1895. ​​ I remember, particularly, at least three Pennyfarthings completing the journey. ​​ Back then I was not cycling regularly and found it really hard, but we both made it to the finish. I had a Renault Espace and we drove to Druridge and needed to car to end up in Silloth so I gave the keys to a total stranger and asked him to deliver it to Silloth! All was well.

Anyway, the reason for that pre-amble is that I cycled past our point of departure today.

The wind was unrelenting as I continued along the coast making my way, often with wrong turnings through North Seaton and Blyth, at one point getting onto a main road and having to grit my teeth and put up with heavy traffic for a couple of miles. ​​ 

Eventually past Blyth where a shower of rain threatened briefly, I once again hit the coast and followed it on hard cycle tracks through Witley Bay​​ 

to North Shields where I copped the first really good bit of luck for the day when I​​ caught the ferry just before it left to cross the Tyne. ​​ A couple of minutes later and I would have been waiting half an hour for the next sailing.

£2.60 to save cycling all the way into Newcastle was a small price to pay.

Once at South Shields I was feeling that the journey was almost complete,​​ but Sunderland was still 12 miles away and I kept getting lost. ​​ Eventually I found myself on an old railway line which started with a good tarmac surface which gradually deteriorated until I​​ took​​ to the main road, past the Sunderland Greyhound Stadium and through housing estates until, finally, I reached the bridge over the river Wear.

A few more errors of navigation and I finally arrived, exhausted, at my Premier Inn hotel. ​​ I’ve paid for breakfast tomorrow, but I’ll eat out tonight.

It’s been a hard day, due to the wind which has been blowing a steady force 4 in my face all day. ​​ I’ve got a similar length of journey tomorrow over slightly more hills

Day 7 – Into England

I found the Royal McKenzie in Dunbar though Booking.com and made a reservation on the Booking website: however, I then received a message from the Manager saying that if I cancelled with Booking and reserved​​ direct, not only would I get a cheaper rate, but I would also get a free breakfast: something of a no-brainer. ​​ However, I am surprised that Booking have not caught up with this subterfuge and stopped advertising the RM. ​​ Anyway, I profited and had a very good FSB to my specifications.

On my way into town last night I noticed Belhaven Bikes, attached to the local filling station but it was closed. ​​ Presumably because they work weekends, they take the day off on Monday. ​​ It seemed worth the effort to call in this morning and see if they could fix me up with a replacement pannier rack, so I cycled down from the hotel at 0900 and, praise-be, Colin, after moving several bikes out of the way, found just what I needed hidden in a corner. I took the old rack off – four bolts out, fitted the replacement -four bolts in and I was on my way £30 poorer but a lot surer. ​​ Back to the hotel to collect the panniers and I was away from Dunbar ay 0929.​​ 

Bike paths all the way, passing the Tarmac cement works and then onto one beside the A1 for a couple of miles, turning across both carriageways as the bike path switched sides. ​​ Fortunately not busy and easy to achieve. Three miles later I went under the A1 and headed down a steep hill to Peas Bay, an ugly settlement of static homes next to a beautiful bay. ​​ What goes down must go up and I found myself climbing with the motor in its third setting which drains the battery pretty quickly. However once up on top of the hill the road roller-coastered for several miles averaging out the battery use.

*

I’m not sure what hills I was riding across. ​​ The Cheviots are a bit further inland, but it was nice to be on top of them on a bright sunny day with not too much wind.​​ 

20 miles in it was back down to sea level at Eyemouth, both a working harbour and a seaside resort

Another steepish climb and then a fast descent to Berwick-upon-Tweed the northernmost town in England, though it has changed its nationality on several occasions. ​​ However since the Act of Union of 1707 Berwick has been subject to the laws of England and Wales. ​​ I crossed the River Tweed by the Old Bridge

And turned back towards the sea at Spittal into a stiffening breeze which stayed in my face for the rest of the day

Once again life became interesting as the​​ path, following NCR1 deteriorated into a narrow sandy track and slowed progress considerably. The views for about 6 miles were spectacular

Suddenly I was in the middle of Goswick golf links on a tarmac road. ​​ Just as quickly the road became a hard stone surface and then a sandy track through sand dunes.​​ 

Finally, I found a lovely fine gravel track and was beginning to think my problems had passed when the back tyre went down again. I unloaded everything and was getting ready to put in a new tube when Mike, on a mountain bike stopped to ask me if he could help. ​​ We had a bit of a chat: he lives in Berwick and was on his way down to café for tea and cake before heading back home. ​​ He wished me luck with my adventure and left me to sort out the puncture. ​​ About 200 yards further on I met the road leading to the Lindisfarne causeway and cycled on to the warning signs.

​​ I could have gone on and got back in plenty of time to miss the incoming tide but I was starting to feel pretty tired and just wanted to get on to my destination which was still 16 miles away.

I thought, erroneously, that most of the climbing was over but, to keep away from the A1, soon found myself on back roads with some serious slopes. 53 miles into the journey I went under the A1 for the last time and meandered up and down, past coastal lagoons

and on to Bamburgh with the majestic castle rearing up from the green below

I didn’t have the time or inclination to explore but the castle, owned by the Armstrong family since 1894, is open to the public for a fee.

Now on the last leg,​​ me on my last legs​​ and the battery down to 14%, I drove my tired body along the main road to Seahouses where I am staying tonight on a room only deal. ​​ There are lots of restaurants and I’ll probably buy some rolls and salami for breakfast in the morning. ​​ I’ve only travelled a little over 60 miles, but it seemed a lot further. Tomorrow will be further to travel​​ but with less ups and downs

Day 6 – Go Forth old man

I found the Victoria Hotel in Kirkcaldy on Booking.com and reserved mainly on cost but it also had good reviews. ​​ I ended up with a single room with a window that didn’t open but there was a fan in the room which served the dual purpose of drying the washed clothes and keeping the air moving around the room so that I could sleep in the comfortable but single bed.​​ As it was Sunday they served roast lamb and all the trimmings and it was very good. ​​ The soup I had for starters sounded a bit strange, leek and rice but was quite tasty. ​​ Service from the three young waitresses was excellent and I enjoyed my meal. ​​ I’d missed out on wine shopping so apart from the two pints of Guiness I had with the meal there was no alcohol for the blog.

Breakfast was included in the £75 room price and I helped myself to cereals and yoghurt and then had a FSB without beans but including haggis and black pudding. ​​ The building had been designed and built by an architect and the panelling and ceiling decorations were high quality

I was packed and away by 0920. ​​ Lucy had spent the night in a garage at the rear of the hotel and seemed none the worse for it. ​​ I took the battery up to​​ the room for charging. ​​ I like the ability to either charge on or off the bike: that wasn’t possible with the Boardman. ​​ I found my way down to the Promenade which was already quite busy with dog walkers and joggers and all was fine for about three miles with tarmac surfaced wide paths. ​​ I was then directed onto a cinder path which didn’t look too bad but soon deteriorated and I had steps and steep slopes to negotiate until I reached Burntisland when I was able to get back on the blacktop: however it had taken me more than a hour to travel 5 miles​​ and I took to the main road but then returned to cycle paths past golf courses and then through a housing estate at Dalgety Bay before finding a nice smooth path, with views of the three bridges,​​ 

which took me off road to the Forth Bridge crossing.

The old suspension bridge now only caters for pedestrians, cyclists and public transport. ​​ The cycle way is wide and is only closed if windspeeds reach 50mph. ​​ Today it was quite calm, so I sped across with no holdups. ​​ It is about 1.5 miles from end to end, and this is the second time I’ve used it.

How well the cyclist is treated in Scotland. ​​ From leaving the bridge to arriving in Leith about 10 miles later, having negotiated the whole of the Edinburgh conurbation I had no need to go on any public roads. Either cycle ways alongside roads or, mainly, dedicated cycle paths, smooth surfaced and wide enough for two-way traffic. ​​ It was hard to believe I had been through the middle of a major city.​​ 

More cycleways from Leith along the prom at Portobello, the main seaside resort for the city and on through Musselburgh before the tarmac ran out and I was pushed onto cinders through a nature reserve.​​ 

​​ Finally at Prestonpans, 40 miles into the journey, I was back onto roads with traffic

Having written about Culloden I can’t let Prestonpans pass without comment. Whilst Culloden​​ April 1746​​ was the last battle of the 1745 uprising by the supporters of James Stuart, Prestonpans was the first. On 20th​​ September 1745 an ill-prepared Government army under Sir John Cope panicked and was routed by a Jacobite force, giving much hope to the Stuart cause. ​​ Edinburgh castle held out, but the rest of the city was occupied by Jacobites. Seven months later Bonnie Prince Charlie was on the run and the Government forces had prevailed.

Just short of Aberlady my back tyre went down with a thud. ​​ I pulled over and removed the wheel to find a thorn in the tyre. It chose that moment to start spitting with rain,​​ so I put on my jacket and set to, removing the thorn and putting in a replacement tube. ​​ The went according to plan but when​​ it​​ came to putting the panniers back on the rack it was apparent that the rack was broken and one of the struts was waving close to the rear disc brake. ​​ There was nothing I could do but hope it would last until I can repair, or more likely replace​​ the whole rack

This coast is dotted with golf courses, perhaps the greatest being Muirfield, one of many around Gullane.​​ 

​​ I carried on to North​​ Berwick with​​ its prominent hill, North Berwick Law which I had been able to see since leaving Edinburgh,​​ 

and along the coast road with views of the Bass Rock​​ and an improbable Sauna on a cliff top.

 ​​​​ Although I was travelling along the A198 I was able to cycle on shared pavements for much of the way​​ and it was only the last 10 miles to Dunbar that I was on open roads.

Day 5 - Golf and gowns

Like Inverness Dundee was an expensive place to spend the night. ​​ Premier Inns were off the scale and,​​ if you wanted somewhere reasonably central that wasn’t a hostel,​​ it was £100 plus. ​​ I ended up with a deal at Travelodge Strathmore road, not in the centre but it sufficed. ​​ I had a dinner, bed and breakfast deal for £110 and then had to pay an extra £3.50 for Wi-fi for the night. ​​ I chose a curry (an extra £1.50) and a sticky toffee pudding. ​​ The latter with custard was good but the curry disappointing. A pint of Guiness set me back a further £6.85. ​​ I had walked 5 minutes down to the local convenience store to buy a bottle of Californian Zinfandel for £5.99 and it accompanied the blog very well. Only one double socket in the room meant that I had to think​​ about how I was going to charge everything, especially as I used the fan to dry clothes again.​​ 

Breakfast was help yourself to cereals, cooked and pastries. Better scrambled egg than PI but no black pudding or haggis. ​​ I filled up and left contented.

I had not realised quite what a steep hill I climbed to reach the hotel and I hared straight down it on my way to see three of Dundee’s most famous residents. ​​ The streets were almost empty at 0900 on Sunday morning and I was able to take the picture with no photo bombers​​ apart from the pigeons.

Dundee is famous for Jute, Jam and Journalism and the Dandy and Beano are part of the last epithet. D.C Thompson are still publishing the Beano but the Dandy is, since 2013, only produced as an annual.​​ 

I had wondered about spending a morning in Dundee to see the SS Discovery and a Jute Mill​​ experience but the forecast was for heavy rain starting at 4pm and the museums didn’t open until 11am,​​ which had the potential for a wet arrival in Kirkcaldy. ​​ I made my way to the Tay road bridge and, as usual in Scotland cyclists are well treated. ​​ There is a lift up from street level to the centre section of the bridge which is shared by pedestrian and cyclist.

As I left the lift there were two cyclists who had crossed from the other side waiting to descend but, apart from two joggers I saw no one else and got across without hindrance. I looked across at the Tay rail bridge: not much of a sight compared to its cousin on the Forth but it has stood the test of time​​ since it was completed in 1887, replacing the one that collapsed in high winds in 1879 whilst a train was crossing, killing all​​ 59​​ people on board​​ and inspiring William McGonagall’s low quality poem ‘The Tay Bridge Disaster’ which ends

"Oh! Ill-fated bridge of the silv'ry Tay,

I now must conclude my lay

By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,

That your central girders would not have given way,

At least many sensible men do say,

Had they been supported on each side with buttresses

At least many sensible men confesses,

For the stronger we our houses do build,

The less chance we have of being killed."

Once across the Firth of Tay I had off road cycleways to Tayport and then forest trails through the Tentsmuir National Nature Reserve during which I saw one Scotland Forest vehicle, two joggers and a cyclist. It​​ started to spit with rain,​​ so I stopped to put on a jacket and decided to put on my waterproof overshoes in case it started raining heavily. ​​ In order to do this,​​ I need to sit down and found a suitable log to sit on which was a bit wobbly but sufficed.​​ 

Now waterproof,​​ I continued,​​ to find,​​ about 100 yards further on around a bend,​​ several picnic tables which would have been ideal for the change! ​​ The trail surface was excellent,​​ and I enjoyed my excursion through stands of maritime pine.

I left the forest at Leuchars which proudly announces itself as the home of the British Army in Fife and there​​ is​​ a mixture of both army and RAF regiments based there. The architecture is the same as any barracks town, drab and uninteresting.

I crossed the Eden estuary at Guardbridge, the remains of a former bridge alongside the modern one

I continued on to St Andrews. ​​ The whole journey so far had been pan flat and easy cycling and there were cycle tracks alongside the road to make it even easier. There are seven golf courses on the links and I was cycling​​ alongside three of them on my way to the town centre, keeping an eye open for golf balls that had gone astray but alas did not find any.

The iconic Old Course, home to many championships and considered one of the best in the world was closed to golfers but open to the public who were walking everywhere. ​​ I took a picture of the Swilcan bridge

and moved on to the centre of town which was a sea of red as students of St Andrew’s University crossed the road to take part in the Pier walk, a tradition that happens each Sunday of the​​ semester when they walk to the end of the pier, climb a ladder and then return at a higher level.​​ 

​​ It was particularly busy today as the first Sunday of the Michaelmas semester and there were many hundreds, if not thousands of students taking part, most wearing their red gowns

My route now took me south east to Crail.​​ 

​​ I was battling into a strong head-wind and the motor was being used more than normal but​​ as I​​ turned west along the south coast of the Kingdom of Fife the wind was on my beam, helping me along. Through Anstruther, Pittenweem and Elie and on through Lower Largo and Leven, crossing the river of the same name. ​​ I was keen to get to Kirkcaldy before the forecast rain so didn’t stop to take pictures​​ and fortunately made it to the Victoria Hotel by 3.30pm without getting wet.

It’s been an enjoyable day with things to see. ​​ The weather has been overcast and the head wind has been trying but I’m making good progress.

Day 4 – Take the rough with the smooth

You can get some amazingly good deals with Premier Inns. I don’t know how they decide on pricing but the deal I got at Portlethen which lies about 7 miles south of Aberdeen City Centre was a cracker. ​​ Bed, breakfast and an evening meal for £73.99, certainly the cheapest night of this trip. ​​ My room was on the ground floor of a block situated away from Reception and the Brewer’s Fayre restaurant that served the meals, but only a short stroll across the car park. The hotel is beside the A92 but it’s well screened and I wasn’t at all disturbed by traffic. ​​ A five minute walk over the flyover is an ASDA store and I went and bought a bottle of wine – a very palatable Australian red blend from McGuigan – for blog inspiration, before I went across for food. ​​ The meal deal was​​ a drink (I chose Belhaven) and​​ either a starter and main course or a main course and pud, though you could have all 3 for an extra £2.99. ​​ I went for chicken wings in a bbq sauce, messy but tasty and haddock and chips with mushy peas. ​​ Now if you can’t get good haddock in this neck of the woods​​ it’s a poor do,​​ and it didn’t disappoint: tasty fish in good batter and well cooked chips and peas. ​​ Nothing I could fault.

I was able to use the fan to dry the clothes and they were ready by bed-time. Breakfast was the usual Premier Inns help yourself. ​​ No black pudding or haggis, which was disappointing, but good sausages and well cooked bacon. ​​ Scrambled eggs weren’t great.​​ 

I was away by about 0900 knowing that I had about 73 miles to travel. My planned route took me through some housing estates to keep me off the main road but when I looked at it, the road wasn’t busy and there was a rudimentary cycle track,​​ so I hit the A92 for​​ about 3 miles. ​​ Once off that I had a lovely ride along lanes until I reached Stonehaven.

 ​​​​ There was a large group of middle aged cyclists coming the opposite way and I stopped to chat. ​​ They were on a trip doing 30-40 miles a day and a number of them were obviously feeling the pain.

A steepish climb out of Stonehaven on a tarmac​​ cycleway Ied to more country lanes with gentle climbs​​ until I once again came down to sea level at Inverbervie.

​​ More excellent cycle track along the shore to Gourdon which was where the fun started. ​​ I realised that there was likely to be some pretty rough tracks because there is no Google street view of the route but, my word, it was rough, with large pebbles across the track.​​ 

​​ I GOAPed more than once and made very slow progress until I got back on the A92 and made my way through Montrose which seems to cater for the large support vessels used in the North Sea oil and gas business, and crossed the river Esk, now about halfway into my journey.​​ 

​​ More ups and downs on minor roads before I reached Arbroath, home of the eponymous Smokie.​​ 

​​ There were a lot of pedestrians,​​ and I dinged my bell a few times. It never ceases to amaze me that if there are two people walking side by side and I ding my bell they inevitably part and go to opposite sides of the way instead of both staying on the left.​​ 

From Arbroath I was on cycleways all the way to Dundee, not all tarmacked but all in good condition. ​​ 

I passed Carnoustie Golf Links with plenty of players on a sunny Saturday​​ 

and reached Broughty Ferry with its sinister looking castle guarding the Tay estuary.

I managed to miss some instructions from the navigators and went much further into Dundee on the coastal path than I had intended which entailed​​ a bit of back-tracking to get back on course; but I eventually found my way to The Travelodge where I am staying, arriving just before 5pm.

Day 3 – Round the bend

I would like to be more generous but, honestly, Fraserburgh is the arsehole of Scotland. ​​ I was staying at the Cheers Bar and Tavern slap bang in the centre of town.

​​ At a quick glance you’d miss the entrance but beyond the narrow passageway is a vast area of bars and entertainment areas. ​​ How much they are used is anyone’s guess but Lizzie, probably in her 60s but could have been younger, booked me in and locked Lucy in a shed at the back of the huge area. ​​ My room was up a rickety staircase, accessed through a door with a fierce spring,​​ with several trip hazards on the way but the room itself, overlooking the main street, was​​ fine with a bathroom across the landing. ​​ The shower was adequate,​​ a tad weak but​​ it​​ got the grime off and allowed me to rinse the clothes before hanging them in the window where they dried nicely overnight particularly as the early morning sun shone straight in.

I asked about food,​​ but Cheers don’t cook in the evening and about all that was on offer was takeaways. ​​ Fraserburgh has a population of about 13,000​​ and, as far as I could see, there was only one restaurant, in the Saltoun Inn where you could sit down and eat. ​​ By the time I realised that that was an option I’d already ordered a Chinese takeaway accompanied by a bottle of Hardy red from the Iceland store across the road that felt as though it would dissolve what’s left of my teeth.​​ 

​​ I ate and drank in my room whilst writing the blog and trying to get on-line which proved impossible with the Cheers Wi-Fi. During the day I take photos on my phone and save them to One drive so that I can then select them on the Asus lap-top that I use to write the blog. ​​ Without a wi-fi connection this is impossible so I wrote the words​​ and saved the file to my computer and resigned myself to being unable to publish until I could find a reliable wi-fi. I went downstairs to the bar and complained, but the barmaid wasn’t interested, so I had a pint of Tennents and went back upstairs to bed. I suddenly had a thought that there might be other open wi-fi systems in the area and sure enough Boots, directly opposite my room​​ on the other side of the street, was showing a very weak signal. ​​ I logged on and, praise be, it worked. ​​ I was able to add pictures and publish the blog before I turned in. Hurrah for Boots.

Fraserburgh has the unenviable reputation as the Scottish town with the greatest heroin problem. ​​ 20% of young men are addicts and heroin is cheap: it costs about £80 a week which is​​ less than the cost of​​ smoking 20 cigarettes a day,​​ and​​ is​​ readily available. ​​ Many of these work on the fishing boats, a hard life,​​ fiercely cold​​ and​​ back-breaking, but, for which, they earn good money. ​​ Whilst working they​​ keep​​ their habit​​ in check​​ with dihydrocodeine but as soon as they return, they’re back on the smack. The bar at Cheers was full of noisy young men who, when the pub closed, spilled out into the street and kept me awake arguing and shouting until 0130 when I finally got a chance of sleep. ​​ As you can tell I’m not a fan of Fraserburgh!

Breakfast was included in the room price and was served by Polish Anna. ​​ A large carafe of orange juice was most welcome, and the fry-up was​​ good, a marked improvement on yesterday.

I was packed up and ready to leave at about 0900. ​​ The sun was shining brightly and the forecast was for dry weather. ​​ I still had about 4 miles of easterly way to make and turned the corner at Inverallochy and headed south. ​​ I was following the coast but out of sight of the sea as there are no roads along the shoreline. The ground​​ was flat with a lot of large fields of harvested cereals. ​​ Judging by the number of straw bales the harvest has been good and there were tractors busy ploughing for the next crop.

I crossed the river Ugie and made my way into Peterhead, the largest fishing port on the east coast with a substantial fish market and some mega trawlers in harbour.

I cycled around the harbour and bay but didn’t venture into the centre of town;​​ but, and maybe the weather helped, it had an altogether more optimistic feel than Fraserburgh. Beyond Peterhead I was able to stay in sight of the sea, albeit 100 or so feet asl. ​​ More harvested fields and herds of prime cattle, mainly continental crosses, which were looking very well. ​​ I imagine farmers in the north east of Scotland will have a bumper year.

Beyond Cruden Bay I had to join the A975, not too busy as it crossed the River Ythan

I confess I’ve never heard of the Ythan and wondered why it doesn’t feature in the world of salmon fishing. ​​ I was soon to find out. ​​ I passed through the town of Newburgh and, as I was in no hurry turned off my route and made for Newburgh beach. ​​ There is a large car park, surprisingly full, and a lot of people wandering around. The local authority has​​ installed a marvellous boardwalk which I was able to cycle along for the 300 yards to the beach. ​​ The opposite shore was a mass of seabirds,​​ but the estuary was heaving with grey seals – you can just about see some of them in this picture. ​​ Any salmon that makes it into the estuary must pretty quickly become seal food,

To keep off​​ the A90 I had to pass Trump International Golf Links

The Donald has invested about £50 million quid buying 1400 acres of land at Balmedie, just north of Aberdeen and building not one, but two brand new Golf Links with a hotel and accompanying razzamatazz. ​​ He is desperate for the R&A to hold the Open there and, indeed, it would make an excellent venue with good transport links and plenty of space. ​​ Whether it will happen remains to be seen. ​​ He has, since 2014 also owned Turnberry on the West Coast which has been a venue for the Open in the past.

I passed under the A90 in Balmedie village and made my way west to the B995 which took me across the river Don

which has retained its reputation as a salmon fishery. ​​ Now in the ‘burbs of Aberdeen I spent a lot of time cycling on pavements and in cycle lanes which were of limited use because of stopping buses and cars parked in them but I eventually reached the centre to find my proposed route was blocked by roadworks in Union Street. ​​ I diverted and eventually got back on course to cross the River Dee (one of the greatest salmon rivers that, much further west,​​ flows through the Balmoral estate) by the George VI bridge which has a nice wide cycleway.

I turned right and followed the river for a mile before climbing steeply out of the valley and across country, at times on dirt track, before reaching my destination the Premier Inn at Portlethen shortly before 4pm.

Day 2 –​​ Ups and downs

Stotfield Hotel​​ stands opposite​​ the Moray Golf Club​​ which has two 18 hole courses and a putting green that was getting good use as I arrived at about 2.15 pm. ​​ It was spitting with rain but it didn’t come to anything and, having put Lucy in the conference room for the night, I lugged my two panniers and bike battery​​ up to my room on the first floor. ​​ The Hotel has a rather sad feel to it. Grand structure with a wide staircase but needs a lot of tlc to bring it back to its Edwardian best. ​​ The room was fine with a good shower​​ over the bath​​ and I washed everything and hung it up to dry, having squeezed as much moisture out of the clothes by wrapping them in towels and wringing hard. ​​ It worked: by morning they were dry enough to wear. ​​ It was simplest to eat in and I got to the bar at about 6.45 and had a pint of Tennents bitter, sat down and ordered Haggis​​ Pakoras for starters​​ – sorry they’re off tonight. ​​ Ok ​​ Beetroot Falafel bites. ​​ I’ll have the Homemade steak and vegetable pie to follow. ​​ Service was quick but surly. ​​ All the waitresses were large ladies who looked as though they would rather be somewhere else and food was plonked down without a word. ​​ The Falafel bites were good but the pie – oh why can’t people accept that a pie needs to be enclosed in pastry. ​​ I was served a steak and vegetable stew with a flaky pastry biscuit. ​​ It was tasty enough and there was plenty of it served with mashed potato but it wasn’t as advertised. ​​ I suppose £22 for two courses wasn’t bad value but not a great experience. The highlight was a magnificent sunset over the Moray Firth.

I woke early again and was down for breakfast at 0800. Different waitresses but still surly. ​​ The fried eggs were​​ seriously​​ overcooked, the potato bread was greasy and there was no haggis or black pudding – altogether pretty disappointing. ​​ I made do​​ with sausage and bacon​​ and was away from the hotel by 0857. ​​ The sun shone brightly and it was forecast to stay dry until later in the day. ​​ I made my way down to the harbour and East beach and stopped to take a picture.

The way out of Lossiemouth was a cycle trail which took me to a lightly used road​​ that passed the former RAF Milltown airfield, now abandoned and covered in crop stubbles, though the runways are still there. ​​ Shortly after the airfield the navigators instructed me to turn right down a farm track that deteriorated into a grass track through the woods.​​ Storm Floris had covered​​ the track in fallen branches and I had to GOAP for a couple of hundred yards before I once again found some blacktop. ​​ The road was little used and I made good time to​​ Garmouth where I found an excellent cycle track along an old railway. ​​ At the start there was even a cycle repair station with track pump and other useful bits for self-service. Although only about a mile long this route crossed over the River Spey (second of the​​ great salmon rivers I have crossed) by way of a magnificent iron viaduct. Impossible to get a picture from the side so here is one off t’internet.​​ 

​​ The carriageway is so narrow that there is only room for one user and I had to stop and pull Lucy to one side whilst a young lady with pram came towards me. Further on a cyclist stopped to allow me to proceed.​​ 

The track joined a side road and I made my way to Buckie, once home to the largest steam drifter fleet in Scotland but now a shadow of itself. There is still industry and the port refits RNLI Lifeboats amongst other shipbuilding works.

My route now took me uphill and I joined another cycle track, this one not tarmacked but a good surface except in a few places where someone had put loose gravel which nearly had me off the bike. ​​ A fairy trail had been constructed for small people,​​ with grottos and wendy houses along a mile or so of the track. I was about 80 feet asl and continued across country until I reached Portnockie where an unlikely diversion through a farmyard arrived at the best bit of cycle tarmac I’ve yet encountered. ​​ Sadly only a couple of miles long it the route looked down over the Cullen Golf course – very picturesque.

​​ At Cullen I was pushed back onto the road, not any old road but the A98 which I had been trying to avoid for the last couple of days. ​​ Not a pleasant experience made even more scary when a truck towing a caravan decided to overtake a tractor and trailer coming towards me. ​​ A minute or so later and I’d have had to bale out onto the verge but all was well. I was glad to reach Portsoy where I found another cycleway to Banff, mostly on minor roads but signed as the National Cycle Route 1 which I’ve been following most of the day and with a lot of ups and downs. Back down to sea level at Banff but still on a cycleway, I skirted the harbour and crossed an old stone bridge which had a pavement that I could ride on and avoid the traffic. ​​ It was then back on the A98, fortunately not busy, along the coast to Macduff and I climbed a steep hill out of the town until I was able to turn off onto a B road.

Now the climbing started in earnest and I was reminded of Cornwall last year when I saw a sign saying 20%. ​​ For the next 10 miles or so it was up and down some very steep inclines and I was thankful for the motor which hadn’t been used much until then.

​​ 

As it was,​​ I used about 20% of the battery over those 10 miles to New Aberdour. At that point I went back down to sea level and the last 5 miles or so were along a cycle track beside the carriageway. ​​ I found my way to the centre of Fraserburgh and my lodgings for the night just before 3pm.

It's been an interesting day with very different topography, generally enjoyable except for the A98. ​​ The weather has been kind with no rain at all although it is still quite chilly at times. Tomorrow,​​ I turn the corner and head south to Aberdeen.

Day 1​​ –​​ Gently, gently

Wetherspoons are excellent at serving well prepared food and drink,but their hotels are a bit meh. ​​ The King’s Highway is a stone’s throw from the​​ railway​​ station and I booked in easily and was given a key card that opened doors on the way to the room as well. ​​ I suppose I should have asked or used my eyes but, after I’d lugged my panniers up three flights of stairs, I realised there was a lift. ​​ The receptionist didn’t tell me but said I could leave the bike in a passage on the ground floor: as there was a lift, it came into the room with me. The room was fine with an enormous bed but was in the attic: poor value for £125 a night but there wasn’t anything better close to the station. As it was burger night I dined on a smoky burger and a pint of Belhaven 80 shilling for​​ a total of​​ £9.99. Both were good and made up, to some extent, for the high room price.

Knowing I didn’t have far to go today it shouldn’t have been an early start, but roadworks started in the street at 0645 so that put an end to any sleep. ​​ I went downstairs and ate a £7.48 Scottish fry-up which I washed down with a cup of tea, packed everything and was outside and on my way by 0900. I was slightly concerned as to how the bike would handle as this was her first outing with loaded panniers and, indeed, the front end is light and skittish but once I got some speed up and got used to it all was well.​​ 

There’s a steepish hill out of Inverness and I blipped the motor to get up it​​ and made my way to the Culloden Road. Bike paths extend to the edge of the city, some shared with pedestrians, so I made good progress to the Culloden Battlefield site, about six miles from the city centre. Plenty of coaches and cars in the car park and a lot of American accents. I​​ hitched my steed to a railing –​​ rather​​ I used my hiplock to chain Lucy to a bike stand – and made my way to the visitor centre. ​​ 

There was an​​ exhibition for a payment to the National Trust for Scotland but I declined and went outside to look at the battlefield​​ on Drummossie moor. ​​ 

Now the battle of Culloden fought on 16 April 1746 in snow and rain is a strange beast. ​​ You would think that the Scots would be keen to forget that the army of Bonnie Prince Charlie was given a hammering ​​ by the Government forces of George II commanded by his 25​​ year old son the Duke of Cumberland; but this wasn’t really a Scottish Nationalist fight. Charles Stuart was trying to gain the throne of England, Ireland and Scotland​​ for his father James (hence the Jacobite rebellion)​​ and there were probably more Scotsmen against as for him. ​​ This was an unwanted invasion of Scotland and​​ some​​ of Cumberland’s troops were pure-blooded Scots.​​ Anyway,​​ the site of this, the last pitched battle fought on British soil, has been well preserved and the lines of the armies as drawn up at the start of proceedings are marked on the flat moor by red and blue flags.​​ 

The Jacobites attacked and were repelled with large losses, thought to be 2000 killed or wounded - and in those days most would have died of their wounds - against 350 or so of Cumberland’s men. It was the final Stuart attempt to regain the throne and​​ the final verse of the British National Anthem makes reference

Lord grant that Marshal Wade*
May by thy mighty aid
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the King!

*Wade built many military roads in Scotland to move troops easily across the difficult terrain but was replaced as Commander by Cumberland in 1746.

I didn’t linger but moved east along roads with little traffic. ​​ I made my way down towards the sea at Ardersier, just past which is Fort George a working military post and small arms fire was rattling around me as I rode past.

​​ I passed through Nairn,​​ where the promised rain started in earnest, and crossed​​ over a wrought iron footbridge

I crossed the River Findhorn, the first of the great east coast salmon rivers that I shall cross, on an old railway bridge. ​​ There was a hopeful fisherman on the bank but​​ not testing the water.

On to Forres where the​​ rain​​ abated so I stopped and took a picture of the Benromach distillery, though how it describes itself as Speyside stretches credulity.

I passed Diageo’s Roseisle distillery and a large field of pigs that were, no doubt, benefitting from the brewery waste. The roads were flat and straight as I headed for Burghhead and a visit to the sea which I had been away from since Ardersier. There is a small port and a sandy beach which, no doubt, does good trade in the school holidays but was, today, almost deserted

With only 12 or so miles to go and rain, again, threatening, I pushed on to my destination, the Stotfield hotel in Lossiemouth. RAF Lossiemouth sent a couple of jets into the air as I passed,​​ and I noted the verdant golf courses unlike those in the south. ​​ The general greenness of the countryside is certainly a change from home.