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.

Day 1 – Tongue

After my most enjoyable meal last night I cycled back the 2 miles to Pentland Lodge without using the battery so that I had a full charge before setting off this morning. There was a bit of a climb out of Scrabster but nothing I couldn’t cope with without the weight of the panniers. Lidl was conveniently next door to my lodgings, so half a bottle of South African red helped me compose the blog. I suspect that for the next few days shops will be few and far between so I’ll have to make do with what’s available at my hotel/hostel.

Setting off with 2 loaded panniers felt a bit precarious but I soon got used to it and made good progress west. There’s a 3 mile long hill out of Thurso, not so steep as to need the motor but hard work with the lightish wind in my face, but, to make up for it, there’s a similar downhill to the Forss river, one of the north coast salmon rivers that discharge into the North Atlantic. The weather forecast was for light rain at any time, so I had a showerproof jacket on and had thought to put on neoprene overshoes as my cycling shoes are my only outdoor footwear and I try to keep them dry: I carry a pair of battered deck shoes that allow me to shuffle around indoors.

A couple of miles later I spotted the familiar dome of the now decommissioned Dounreay atomic power station.

Work on a fast reactor started at Dounreay in 1955 and criticality was first achieved in 1959. It exported power to the Grid from 1962 to 1977 when it was decommissioned. A prototype fast reactor produced power from 1974-1994 but was dogged by problems and it was not until midway through its life that it achieved its designed output. All output ceased in 1994 and work to clean up the site will be ongoing for many years.

The road became a roller coaster up and down until it dropped down to the Halladale river, virtually at sea level as it makes its way slowly to the North Atlantic. Up again past Melvich to the top of the moor where I came across the Marie Curie cancer garden of hope: rather a curious thing to find in the middle of nowhere. The view across the moor to the distant sea was still good, though it was starting to show signs of rain.

I knew from my previous journey along this road that Bettyhill was going to be the hardest climb although it is easier in this direction

Sweeping down past the Bettyhill Hotel, there was still a view over the river Naver to the Torrisdale bay beyond.

But at the bottom of the hill traffic came to a halt for roadworks to the bridge across the river and we were held for a good five minutes before we were clear to go.

I now had an option of cutting across the Borgie peninsula or following the coast which is what I did. In 2012 on the penultimate day of my first Lands End to John O’Groats I stayed in the Borgie Lodge Hotel and had an unforgettable night with the locals. This time I didn’t stop but made my way

on narrow roads to Skerray Harbour in the deepening gloom although it was still not yet 2pm

I passed a pair of old thatched cottages, up for sale but not for me.

The mizzle got worse and my glasses were covered as I climbed once again onto moorland and past lochans

Now close to my destination I rejoined the A836 which was now a narrow road with passing places and I had to wait and be waited upon as traffic came from the other direction.

During the day I saw plenty of cyclists going east but only passed one pair going in my direction.

It was about 1445 when I pulled into the carpark of the Ben Loyal Hotel where I am staying tonight. I knew that reception didn’t open until 1500 but the manager spotted me waiting and I was able to book in before the appointed hour. My bike is in a store room and I shall eat and drink in the hotel.

As you can see from the profile it’s been a bit of a roller coaster and I suspect there will be more to come over the next two or three days

Day 2 – Windy

Ben Loyal hotel has been owned and run by the same family for 16 years. It’s the only restaurant in town open to all comers - the Tongue hotel caters only for residents. The bar was buzzing with an eclectic mix of locals, bikers and people of an age who were clearly doing the North Coast 500. Guiness at £5.95 a pint was hardly a snip, but the alternatives were Scottish pish. I dined on Whitebait, nicely crisp and served with tartare sauce and a venison burger which was pleasantly juicy. I rounded it off with apple crumble and custard which was excellent – big slices of apple and a large crumb on top. If anything, the portion was too big but, after a day of cycling I felt I deserved it. The shower was nicely powerful, and the single bed was comfortable. The heating system was hit and miss – when I arrived the radiator in the room was working but it soon went off. Not that it was necessary. The weather up in Scotland is still quite cool 12-15 degrees as against the 30 degrees plus in southern England. Breakfast was not the best but filled a hole. Neither of the FSBs I’ve eaten so far has featured good bacon but the sausage at Ben Loyal was tasty. Scrambled eggs were tasteless and rubbery.

Knowing that I had less then 50 miles to travel I decided to delay my departure as the weather was forecast to improve as the day progressed, so I finally left at 1034 in overcast conditions but no rain. There is a good

view from the hotel over the Kyle of Tongue which I snapped before leaving.

A couple of miles from the village a causeway crosses the Kyle and it was

already blowing a Force 4 as I crossed, making it an interesting journey. There is no cycle lane but the traffic was light and courteous and I made it across safely.

You are immediately into a relentless climb for about five miles, not particularly steep but the motor came on on a couple of occasions. At the top of the climb there is a nature walk around a lochan alongside an abandoned cottage. Air BnB anyone?

Still no rain and that was the case for the rest of the journey but the wind was something else blowing relentlessly from the south west at about 15-20 mph. Once I had crested the hill I swooped down with views towards the open sea in the distance

My route now followed the shores of Loch Eriboll which extends inland from the Atlantic for about 6 miles. The road is narrow with regular passing places and I was able to use these so that I did not hold up the regular traffic. Because this is on the North Coast 500 route there was an army of camper vans and cars, mostly well behaved with the occasional idiot deciding they didn’t need to wait for a passing place

Oh that wind, just occasionally the lee of a hill sheltered me, but it was a joy to cross the valley at the bottom end of the loch and make my way up the other side with the wind behind me.

25 miles into the journey the road turned north west and I came across a lovely little bay with golden sands and emerald water. An enterprising soul had rigged a zip wire across the valley above the beach and there was a queue of people waiting to use it, though none did whilst I was watching

I was now close to Durness, the only habitation on this coast but before I reached the village I passed Smoo Cave, which bears the unique distinction in the Uk of being the only cave system that has a cave formed by the sea joined to an inner cave formed by freshwater action. I didn’t make the £15 visit though there seemed to be plenty of potential punters on this Bank Holiday. The sea has cut into the coast forming a deep inlet alongside the caves.

Now the road turned back to the south-west and the wind was, if anything strengthening. A narrow road climbed relentlessly and, mainly because of the wind, I kept the motor running. A couple of miles past the village the road runs alongside the Kyle of Durness from where you can take a foot ferry to Cape Wrath 12 miles up the coast.

Lots of stopping and starting to let traffic past for the next ten miles, appreciably uphill into the strong breeze, making it hard work until I finally arrived at the turning to Kinlochbervie. I naively thought the journey all but over but there was still 4 miles of up and down, in one case 15% down that I shall have to climb tomorrow to get back on course. Still, I arrived at the Kinlochbervie hotel at about 1630hrs and checked in and stuck Lucy in a garage overnight. Food is only available until 1900 hrs, so I’ll do the usual offices and get down for food and drink at about 1800.

It’s been a tiring day; but my legs are fine. Tomorrow is probably the gnarliest in terms of climbing, only 50 miles but a lot of up and down: hopefully the wind will drop.

Day 3 – the sun does shine

Kinlochbervie hotel looks as though it needs a bit of TLC. It’s at the end of a road that goes nowhere so you have to know about it to go there. Looking it up on t’interweb it appears that it has been struck off the Companies register and resuscitated as KLB hotel but under the same Directorship. Such are the vagaries of Scottish Company Law.

Anyway the bedroom I was given had a double and single bed and a perfectly adequate bathroom with a decent shower, albeit over the bath so I had to climb into the tub. I ate in the hotel as there was no alternative. There were 8 other people in the restaurant on a Bank Holiday Monday so I guess a bit of advertising wouldn’t go amiss. The mushroom arancini were perfectly good and plentiful but not fantastic. A lamb burger with a spicy sauce was well cooked and tasty and I finished off with a treacle sponge swimming in custard. Altogether a pretty good meal which coupled with a couple of pints of Thatchers Gold sent me off to the blog feeling well satisfied.

Breakfast this morning was porridge and an FSB with much better bacon and a very good black pudding. I left at about 1030 as there was little hurry to travel the 50 miles to Lochinver, although the route chosen was very hilly.

I first had to retrace my steps for 4 miles back to the main road past the sea loch that I had followed the previous night

I was now back on the A838 a wide single carriageway road with a good surface. As yesterday lots of campervans, many of them German, and motorcycles who seem to hunt in 3s or 4s Anyway the cycling was easy with most inclines no more than 6 % though occasionally I had to blip the motor. Loads of scenery which looked better for the sunshine which was now creeping through.

As you can see the gorse is in full bloom, though the heather is not.

About half way I crossed this bridge at Kylesku. Until it was completed in 1984 you had to take a ferry or travel many miles out of your way

It’s a handsome structure designed by Ove Arup and cost £4 million against a budget of £2.75m (plus ca change), although that looks incredibly cheap in hindsight.

A mile or so later I left the main road for the B869. Looking at the profile for the day I realised that I was probably in for a lot of climbing, and so it proved. An immediate slope in excess of 15% then flattened for a bit before again dropping at 25%. I stayed at the top and watched a couple of cyclists make their way up slowly with no motor to help. They stopped and asked about my journey. She told me that they were doing the North Coast 500 and I wished them well before proceeding. The road now went up and down like a fiddler’s elbow. It would have been even more fun if there had been slightly less traffic which meant a few waits.

More breathtaking scenery looking back towards Kylesku and amazing views down to azure blue sea lochs

Strangely as the day went on the traffic reduced. I can only conclude that most of the tourists use this route in the morning because, by lunchtime the only vehicles I met were local.

Glorious little white sand beaches on the way with very few people on them

After this the road rose alarmingly to the highest pitch of the day and I had to select level 4 of the assist to get up and avoid the vehicles behind and in front of me.

The day finished in bright sunshine and yet more amazing views. Altogether it’s been a most enjoyable day. It’s not been overhot, no more than 12 degrees, and the wind that spoiled yesterday has died down.

I arrived at Lochinver, a thriving little fishing port with a tourist industry, at about 1630 and eventually, after much trying, managed to get into the Hostel where I am staying the night. It’s not great but it’s a bed and I’ll find somewhere to eat in due course.

Day 4 – Getting Laide

I knew that I was staying in a Hostel and the price reflected the fact that I was in a 4 bunk bed mixed dorm. The entrance to the Bunkhouse was up a set of steep stairs and at the top was a keypad to open the door. I’d been sent joining instructions a while back but couldn’t get the numbers to work, however much I tried. Eventually I found a number to ring, and it transpired that the numbers had been changed but I hadn’t been told. Once the new code was entered all was well. The problem with being in a room with others it that you can’t just spread out. In a hotel I just upend the panniers and do my charging and washing in my own good time. In a dorm you have to respect your room-mates and be a bit tidier, I eventually found a double power point hiding behind the bunks and purloined both to charge battery and phones so that was the number one priority taken care of.

The next problem was food: the hostel was called the An Cala Café and Bunkhouse and I’d assumed that I would be able to eat both in the evening and for breakfast today: unfortunately not, without any reason given there was no food available. When I arrived, I found a fellow hosteller Liz from the Wirral who was on a Highland sketching holiday, and she guided me towards the Culag hotel just around the corner. In the event it was really quite good. A couple of pints of Mc Ewen 80 shilling, a thick vegetable broth that was under-seasoned but rescued with salt and pepper and a bit of mayo and a very nicely cooked breadcrumbed haddock and chips. Cherry pie and custard finished the deal. The cost of eating out has increased exponentially and £45-50 now seems to be the going rate for a three course meal. I was able to write the blog whilst eating and make use of the hotel Wi-fi which was infinitely superior to that at the hostel. So blog written and published earlier than I would have managed and back to the hostel after a look around the harbour. Lochinver used to be a deep sea fishing port but now mainly lands shellfish

My roomie was Sue, a Brit who has been living in USA for a while and uncertain whether she wants to go back there. She was walking and trout fishing in the abundant locks. Last night she was on a long conference call followed by an even longer chat with a friend and she was kind enough to vacate the room so that I could go to bed. She and two others eventually followed. I didn’t sleep well but I rested enough that I didn’t feel drained this morning. Breakfast was a problem as there was nowhere close by, but Liz was kind enough to donate some bacon, as she claimed that she wouldn’t be able to eat it all before she goes home tomorrow. There was some Hostel bread, so I had a sarnie and a cuppa to see me on my way on what looked to be a sunny day .

My route took me out into the country on some lovely narrow roads, similar to the ones I was on last evening with stunning views in all directions.

Azure blue seas and lochs are the expectation and mountains, some of them Munros (anything over 3000 feet) surrounded me most of the day.

I was straight into some serious climbing that reminded me of the Pyrenees but the motor made it almost enjoyable. I was on back roads for the first 20 miles with little traffic

Riding the entire length of Loch Lurgainn before joining the A835 a nice wide and well surfaced road that allowed me to make good time to Ullapool, the largest settlement in Wester Ross with a population of 1500.

The town sits on the edge of Loch Broom, a significant natural harbour that hosts the Calmac ferry to Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis.

It was about 1230 so I decided to stop for a sausage and bacon roll and a cuppa which I enjoyed whilst watching a sightseeing boat docking expertly with bow and stern thrusters working hard.

I continued on the main road the entire length of Loch Broom until the A832 branched off right at Corrieshalloch Gorge about 43 miles into the journey. This was fortuitous as Scottish National Trust have a visitor centre where I replenished my water bottle and topped up my energy with a lemon curd éclair. I didn’t visit the gorge but there were plenty of people there. It’s about a mile long, 200 feet deep and 33 feet wide.

The A832 continued upwards, not steeply and in the sunshine it was a fun ride as the road is wide and the traffic light. It crested out after about 4 miles and then descended more steeply. Part way down road works led to a convoy system and I was lucky enough to be tail end Charlie which meant that the next ten miles were completely free of traffic behind me.

Back down to sea level at Little Loch Broom with about 13 miles left to cycle. I was getting quite weary and the sun had turned my knees red

Despite Gruinard Bay, which is the stretch of water opposite my hotel, being the same level as Little Loch Broom….(obviously) I had to climb over two substantial headlands before arriving at Ocean View hotel, Laide at about 1700hrs.

Day 5 Laide-Applecross

Gruinard island lies in the bay directly opposite the Ocean View Hotel where I stayed last night. Its notoriety is now largely forgotten but in 1942 it was requisitioned by the British Government to conduct tests into germ warfare with a view to spreading anthrax to the German population and hasten the end of the war. Fortunately for the world it never happened but it seems amazing that we would even contemplate such warfare. Scientists from Porton Down took 80 sheep to the 520 acre island and exploded anthrax bombs to see what would happen. Success was absolute with all sheep dying within days, but the problem then was that the anthrax spores remained in the soil making the island unusable. At the end of the war the owner asked for the island to be returned, but it wasn’t until 1986 that a serious attempt to decontaminate the island was made using formaldehyde and only in 1990 were the original owners allowed to re-purchase the island for £500.

The Ocean View Hotel sits on its own about a mile from the village of Laide. My room was a small single: it couldn’t have been much smaller with a cupboard containing the shower and loo and a basin in the room. I washed everything and hung it to dry in the window which was enjoying the evening sun and a bit of a breeze: all was dry by bedtime. There was a good bar and I enjoyed a couple of pints of McEwens keg ale. Supper was a choice between salads and pizza. I chose some garlic bread for a starter and followed it with a seafood pizza. All fine and after my lunchtime roll sufficient.

Breakfast was cold buffet including some of the best and thickest yoghurt I’ve ever seen. There was some salami and cheese to go with the bread rolls and toast. I ate sufficient.

I set off at 0911 and made my way through the village of Laide which has a post office and general stores with filling station attached. There was a steepish hill out of the village which got the blood pumping and I was then into much the same up and down that I’ve experienced since the start of the trip. I was tempted to call in at the Arctic Convoy Museum but it had not yet opened for the day so I sped past. I rejoined the coast at Poolewe, large enough to have a primary school and a couple of hotels. There was a charming rustic bench to enjoy the views over the bay

The village is also home to Inverewe Gardens, famous for sub-tropical plants and exotic species.

It seems that every time I get down to sea level, I’m immediately faced with a stiff climb over the next headland and this was no exception, needing the motor for a lot of the way. Great views from the top over Loch Ewe with a strange jetty with lots of satellite dishes on it

Once over the hill it was a swoop down to Gairloch, quite a substantial village with a population of 600 and a Co-op supermarket. I went in looking for suncream as my knees and thighs are roasting but I couldn’t find any so moved on. The road follows the shores of its eponymous loch before ramping up again. I was overtaken by a lady cyclist who I saw later in the day on her return trip. I stopped by an unnamed loch and took this picture which seemed to my mind to show a crocodile emerging from the water

As you can see a cloudless sky and bright sunshine.

The road now descended to Loch Maree which I followed for most of her full length although the view was largely obscured by trees. On the opposite side of the Loch was the imposing mountain Slioch

whilst to my right was a chain of peaks including Beinn Eighe. This is the Torridon Hills that I skirted round for the middle part of the day.

At the end of Loch Maree if the village of Kinlochewe where I stopped at the general stores for 1.5 litres of water as it was thirsty work in the 20 degree heat. Here the road divides, the A832 on which I had ben travelling carries on towards Inverness whilst I took the A896. This was single track for most of the way with the Torridon peaks lowering menacingly on my right.

The clouds were gathering and I expect rain for the next couple of days at least. This road was quite gentle, climbing sedately before descending much more sharply to the sea at Annat where I had to step aside to allow a sheep farmer to transport livestock hurdles that covered the width of the road.

More ups and downs until I reached Shieldaig where I left the main road and encountered the steepest climbs of the day. Unfortunately a large number of camper vans and motor cyclists also decided it was a good route. It twisted and turned with pitches up to 17%, definitely not good roads for large vehicles and I had to take to the verge on a couple of occasions. Also along this road the Council was laying fresh tarmac which is not a great surface for cycling and I felt most unsafe as I made my way through. However there were great views as a reward

Now about ten miles from my destination I was feeling very weary and fortunately once I turned the corner and headed south the road was a bit less hilly. I looked across at the island of Raasay and, in the distance, Skye which I shall visit tomorrow

As I’m staying in hostel I realised that I should have to find food elsewhere so made my way to the village of Applecross where I had excellent haddock and chips with a couple of pints of Applecross brewery Pale Ale, hoppy and good. There were a lot of like-minded people.

Tomorrow I’m almost certain to get wet. I will get a continental breakfast at the hostel before setting off about 64 miles to Skye and the ferry to Mallaig which I’ve already booked.

Day 6 - Let the wind blow high let the wind blow low

Whilst I was enjoying my fish and chips and the local Pale Ale at Applecross last evening I got chatting with Stewart, a dry stone waller from Derbyshire who’d packed his wife and kids off to Barcelona whilst he did the North Coast 500 on a motorbike. He’d covered most of the ground I’ve been cycling, albeit much more quickly, and, undoubtedly, passed me on the way. A couple of my age sat down at the same table and joined the conversation. He’s a keen fisherman and looking to explore the local lochs. A pleasant hour or so chatting before I went off to book into the Hartfield Bunkhouse, about a mile from the village up a long driveway. Part way there I was somewhat surprised to meet a red deer hind crossing the road.

I’d booked a room to myself, but it was a double bunk nonetheless. Next door was a shared shower and loo: I’m not sure how many were sharing it but I was able to shower when I got in and, this morning, got in without undue delay. There seemed to be quite a number of French people staying.

For an extra £5.50 I got a packed breakfast, a couple of croissants (very good), butter, jam, a small portion of cheese and a carton of orange juice – not all that generous but it gave me a start.

I don’t know why but everywhere I’ve been so far, I’ve heard loads of cuckoos and there were a couple going at it this morning.

The weather forecast was terrible with light rain and strong winds threatened throughout the day. I set off at 0834 because I was due to catch a ferry from the Isle of Skye to the mainland and would rather arrive early and wait, than miss it. It was spitting with rain and the cloud was low on the hills but the wind didn’t seem too bad. It clearly wasn’t going to be a day for photography, indeed the camera has stayed firmly inside my pocket all day.

After cycling the mile or so back to the village I embarked on what was going to be the biggest climb of the day, just over 5 miles from sea level to 2055 feet, over the Applecross Pass. The gradients weren’t steep but the road was narrow with passing places. On the way three red deer crossed the road in front of me. I got about half-way, and the wind was picking up to gale force, to the extent that I had to stop and GOAP for fear that I was going to be blown off the road and down a sleep slope. After a couple of hundred yards, I rounded a corner and was able to get back on and cycle a bit further, but the road snaked again and I was brought to an abrupt halt. Fortunately, at that moment, a camper van stopped alongside me and asked if I needed help, which I very much did. Steve and his wife and dog had been touring the Highlands for the week in their newly acquired campervan. He pulled over and put my bike in the back, and I rode with them to the top of the Pass and back down to sea level before I got out and we went our separate ways. Steve is a tree surgeon from County Durham and does some Enduro mountain biking, and was kindness itself. Heaven knows how I would have got over the pass otherwise.

At the bottom of the pass, I’d covered about 12 miles of the 64 I was due to cycle and used about 50% of the battery which was a bit alarming. The road followed the seashore until, just past Stromeferry the navigators suggested I turn right down what looked like an alarmingly steep hill with goodness knows what to come. I knew that staying on the main road would get me to Kyle of Lochalsh and reckoned I was better to stay on a main road than chance what the side roads would throw at me. In the event it was a mistake. The main road climbed higher and took a more indirect route, as I can see looking at the maps after I finished. Easy to be wise after the event but the extra climbing had taken its toll on the battery. I had to get over the Skye bridge, in good weather an easy feat but with the strong winds I was concerned that I would either be banned from cycling over it or be in danger of being blown off. As it happened it was no problem as the wind was blowing directly in my face and the road was sheltered by the topography. No pictures from my camera but here’s one from t’internet

I could see it from a long way off as I approached Kyle Of Lochalsh but it seemed to take forever before I crossed it, now becoming quite concerned by the amount of battery I had used. The only way to Skye before the bridge were ferries at Kyle of Lochalsh and Armadale and although a bridge had been proposed at the end of the 19th century it was not until 1971 that it was constructed with private finance that was to be re-imbursed by tolls. Over the following twenty years mass protests at the level of the toll led to fines and imprisonment for non-payment until, following the creation of the Scottish Parliament the tolls were heavily subsidised. Finally following intense political pressure, the Scottish Executive agreed to buy out the PFI holders for £27 million and tolls ceased

Once on Skye the terrain was not too lumpy but, with the wind still in my face it was hard work to make progress without the motor. I still had about 24 miles to travel to Armadale where I was booked onto the Calmac ferry to Mallaig leaving at 1645. At least time was not a concern as I had 3.5 hours to make the connection, but I finally arrived at the port with a virtually empty battery. But I made it and arrived in Mallaig at about 1715 and booked into the Marine Hotel, conveniently located in the town centre.

Not a day I shall remember fondly and it looks as though there’s more bad weather to come!

Day 7 – Mallaig to Onich

I arrived at the Marine Hotel in Mallaig cold and wet after a miserable ride across Skye to catch the ferry at Armadale.

Libby greeted me and showed me to my room on the first floor and then took me on a rather circuitous route around the back of the hotel to stow my bike. There was no shed but Lucy sat under the fire escape in an open yard that was guarded by a not very ferocious dog. I was able to wash and dry everything overnight, particularly my shoes, thanks to an electric heater in the bedroom and a heated towel rail in the bathroom. My cycling gear was hung by an open window and was dry by morning.

I went to eat at the Crab and Creel restaurant and had a very tasty Cullen Skink with a very ordinary bread roll followed by a pork chop, loads of new potatoes and steamed greens. A couple of pints of Pale Ale hit the spot. Altogether a very good meal in a restaurant that was doing good trade. Opposite the hotel the Co-op stayed open late, and I bought a bottle of Belhaven bitter and some Jaffa cakes to help with the blog.

Breakfast this morning was a walk of all of 10 yards down the corridor. I’d already ordered porridge which was lacking in salt but easy to put right and the best FSB so far with very tasty black pudding and Haggis and the best bacon yet. Jacqueline was queen of the breakfast room and looked after us very well with a lovely smile. After I’d packed, she was able to show me a short cut to my bike which saved a good deal of bother.

I was away at 0934: rain was in the air but the first 25 miles was relatively dry and the wind was not too bad. I passed some white sand beaches: the pictures don’t do them justice on an overcast day.

and followed the coast route rather than the main road. I was in sight of sea lochs for most of the day, many of them carved well inland from the open sea.

At Lochailort I joined a road that I cycled back in 2019 when I visited Ardnamurchan on my trip to the four extreme geographical points of Britain.

I recognised bits of it including the Seven Men of Moidart, Bonnie Prince Charlie’s compatriots. The trees haven’t grown

The rain now started, not heavy but proper Scotch Mist and everything was soon drenched. I stopped, as in 2019, at the food store in Acharacle for some water and Jaffa Cakes and, as much as anything else, to stretch my legs. My left knee is niggling me and needs a walk every now and then to ease the ache.

The road took me through Salen, where I stayed the night in 2019, and then eastwards along Loch Sunart. The road was narrow with passing places, through dense trees with no views and the journey to Strontian was miserable.

I now had to climb over the watershed to Loch Linnhe, not steep but I kept the motor running the whole time as I had plenty of battery power left. I was relieved to reach Ardgour where the Corran ferry takes vehicles across the Loch,

I only had 2 miles on the far side to arrive at my lodging for the night, a self- contained pod. Hopefully I’ll be able to dry everything by morning although the weather forecast is for more rain so It’ll soon be wet again.

Day 8 - Onich to Lochgilphead

When I arrived at Onich cold, very wet and pretty miserable I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to dry everything out to set off this morning. My accommodation was described as the Shack and pods at Inchree and I was given exclusive use of Pod 2.

Joining instructions were good and I was soon inside. The pod consisted of a double bed with a mini kitchen and a separate shower room. Gloriously there was a blow heater in the shower room and another in the main room: the latter dried my sopping wet shoes whilst a combination of the heated towel rail and blow heater dealt with the overshoes, gloves and jackets so that all were wearable or packable by morning. There was room for Lucy inside, which was merciful as there was torrential rain overnight to the extent that it woke me.

The next problem was food. I’d done some research and found that there was a restaurant about quarter of a mile away called Roam West and that was it. Foolishly I hadn’t thought to book but was prepared to wait until something was available. In the event I shuffled up there in the spitting rain in my deck shoes and, after a bit of head scratching was told they were very busy, but I should get fed in the next half hour or so. So I was surprised to immediately be given a table and a pint of Hazy Day IPA which, I was slightly disappointed to discover, is brewed by Greene King in Suffolk. Anyway, it was good enough to have a second. I started with good mushroom broth, went on to Venison sausage and mash and seasonal veg (somewhat undercooked to my taste) and finished with Cranachan cheesecake. The main constituents were excellent and the service attentive – all in all a good experience. Fortunately the pod was down the hill so I rolled down comfortably.

The bed was vey comfortable and I slept well until the rain-storm woke me. The bike has been giving problems with gear shifting and I tried to rectify it but not much improvement. I’ll try to get to a bike shop and see if they can help. I can make do using the motor instead of changing gear but I’m afraid unless something is done, I’ll end up with a broken cable. Having faffed about I got going just after 0900 knowing that I had about 75 miles to travel and some quite lumpy ground.

It was about 3.5 miles to the bridge at Ballachulish, just about spitting with rain but it soon cleared to an overcast day with very occasional sunshine. Thank goodness it was nothing like yesterday and I ended the day with dry feet. There is a cycle path over the bridge so no dramas, indeed I was on cycle-paths until I got to Connel bridge 31 miles into the journey. These did add a bit to the direct journey because they looped away from the main road and, in places, were very steep: but nice not to contend with traffic.

The falls of Lora are a tidal rapid where Loch Etive meets the Firth of Lorn and you get a great view of them from the historic Connel bridge which has traffic lights for one way traffic. The cyclist and pedestrian get their own carriageway tacked onto the side of the bridge

Once past Connel I took a wrong turn and ended up doing a bit of a loop through the hills above Oban but not much lost. The Sunday golfers were out in force at Glencruitten.

The weather was not conducive to photography so not much to show. When you are wearing full gloves, as I have for the last couple of days, it’s a hassle to get the phone out and set it up to take pictures so it tends to stay in the pocket.

At the end of the day I joined the Crinan canal which saves a long journey from the Firth of Clyde to the Atlantic for small craft

It’s been a long and tiring day. I think the worst I have felt so far with muscles aching and a feeling of lassitude not helped by the bike problems. I have a plan which may improve matters………

Day 9 – Kintyre

My B&B last night, The Corran was a surprise: a Victorian former doctor’s surgery on the main A83 full of interesting art, very much to my taste, including an original E H Shepherd Christopher Robin drawing. It would have been nice to have a tour of all the rooms, but what I saw appealed.

No food available in the evening and a quarter mile walk to the Indian restaurant probably did me some good, shaking out the aches from my legs and knees. The restaurant, recommended by Pauline, the larger-than-life manager of the Corran, was tiny and was almost full when I arrived. I had to sit and wait for 20 minutes but it was worth it: good onion Bhaji and poppadums. Generous and well cooked Lamb Biriyani and stuffed paratha. I’d noticed that booze was BYO and called in at the Co-op for a couple of bottles of pale ale to help it all go down. I felt very full.

The shower was a bit unreliable, but I got myself washed. There was no opportunity to dry anything and the clothes I washed were still damp this morning. I slept fitfully despite a comfortable double bed in a large room, partly because I am concerned about the gear change on the bike which has become very stiff. Because of this I had searched for bike shops and found what looked like the perfect candidate in Tarbert, through which I was due to pass today. I rang several times, but it was engaged. When I finally got through to Dave, he said that he was no longer doing bike repairs but suggested I might try Kintyre e-bikes in Campbeltown, my destination. I reckoned I’d probably be OK getting there but decided to cut my journey down, missing out the Mull of Kintyre, celebrated in song by Wings and written whilst Paul McCartney was resident in Kintyre. My legs and knees are aching and the thought of cycling 70 miles is not appealing so I cut it down to 49 miles and even that was exhausting.

After a well-cooked FSB with running commentary from the loquacious Pauline,, I started cycling at 0937 in the rain, on the main road that follows the Crinan Canal which disgorges into Loch Gilp at Ardrishaig. The forecast was for rain all day but mercifully it stopped before I reached Tarbert and stayed away for most of the day with odd showers. The wind was on my nose all day but not over strong. The west coast of Kintyre is fairly flat with the odd steepish pitch which I negotiated with the motor rather than changing gear. Because of the weather the phone stayed in my pocket most of the day and what pictures I took are poor. Just past Tarbert is West Loch Tarbet which almost cuts the Kintyre peninsula in two and several ferry services start from here to the outer Isles.

The road climbed past Kennacraig and there were rhododendrons in full bloom to brighten the otherwise dull afternoon

After Clachan the road closely follows the Atlantic coast with the low island of Gigha evident to the west

Only 35 miles into the journey I was finding it hard to keep going and stopped several times to recover.

Finally, the road dropped down into Campbeltown, a whisky destination for those in the know. At one point there were 30 distillers in the town but now there are only 3. The Dellwood hotel was on the road into town, so I had no problem finding it.

I immediately went in search of Kintyre e-bikes, but the unprepossessing single door exterior was firmly bolted. Tracey, the owner of Dellwood suggested another outlet but, again, it was closed. Finally, I went back to the hotel, had a good look at the derailleur and, after a conversation with Rob at home and a couple of twists of a screw I think I may have solved the problem. If so, I would have felt a proper muppet if I’d taken the bike to an “expert”. I’ve another 68 miler tomorrow to find out if I’ve solved the problem and there are a couple of ferries en route, which I’ve booked, to ease the pain of cycling all day.

Day 10 -Campbeltown – Rothesay

Well the first thing to say is that the gear changing problem has been solved and I have had no problems today. That is a huge relief and made today’s journey psychologically better.

Tracey gave me a room at the side of the Dellwood Hotel (the bit tacked on the side)

and told me to take the bike into the room which I did after much head-scratching as the door to the outside and the door to the room interfered with each other and I had to lift the bike up and wriggle her through the gap. Having done that, I did the usual and then thought about food. I really didn’t fancy a 500 yard walk down the hill and back so extricated the bike and went to get fish and chips and a bottle of wine. Food was good and wine made it better. I then had to wriggle the bike in again.

Having got the bike back in the room I looked hard at the derailleur and realised that the limit screw which moves the derailleur further away from the cassette was fully extended, hence the problem because the jockey wheel on the derailleur was interfering with the cassette. A couple of inward turns moved everything away from the cassette and hey presto I have a working gear system which operated perfectly today.

The major plus point of the room was that it contained a very efficient electric heater that dried my sopping shoes, and the kit that I washed, very swiftly. There was a bar in the hotel, but I made do with my bottle of wine and went to bed at 10. The double bed was comfortable and I slept fairly well.

Breakfast this morning was a good FSB with Lorne sausage (look it up if you don’t know) and I shared the room with a foursome of American golfers who are over for a week playing local courses and visiting distilleries.

I was away at 0934, my route up the east side of the Kintyre peninsula. When I planned it I didn’t realise quite how hilly it would be, totally different from the east coast. It was reminiscent of cycling in Devon and Cornwall with short steep climbs and then drops back to sea level before doing it all over again.

In view of the rain the camera stayed in my pocket for much of the morning but it would have been nice to get a picture of the otter that loped across the road in front of me as I was descending fast.

It would have been quite fun, as I was feeling Ok in myself, but it rained incessantly until I was about 5 miles from Tarbert so by the time I arrived at the ferry I was very wet and cold. The ferry takes 25 minutes to transport you from West Tarbert, across Loch Fyne, to Portavedie and cost me £3.80

I arrived at about 1340 for the 1440 ferry and started talking to a lady who keeps a sailing boat in the area, currently at Portavedie, and had been across to do her shop at the Tarbert Co-op. She and her husband live in Cumbria and sail up and down the coast leaving the boat in different harbours through the winter.

As we were waiting about 20 cyclists turned up on posh bikes. Talking to one of them on the ferry journey they are from a Perth cycle club and are on a 5 day trip around the area. Steve was interested in my journey and, having asked my age, hoped that he’d be able to do the same when he gets there. At 65 he looked pretty fit, so I expect he’ll still be cycling at my age. Many of the others in the group were considerably younger. They took off from the ferry at great speed and I didn’t see them again.

//

Ther weather had cleared considerably and there was even sunshine as I made the long climb away from Loch Fyne past Kames and up through the Kyles of Bute. Some very pretty scenery including hillsides covered in Rhododendrons

At the top of the climb is a viewpoint with a board explaining the geography

Once around the Kyle I had about eight miles to go to the next ferry which was to take me across to the Isle of Bute.

I was getting quite weary again but there was plenty of juice left in the battery so it stayed on for the rest of the journey. The ferry takes you from Colintraive on the mainland to the Isle of Bute: it’s a very short hop and cost me £1.70.

Once on the island it was a flat 7 mile ride to Rothesay. As my B&B was beyond the main town and I didn’t fancy venturing out again, I took the opportunity of feeding myself on the way through, once again, on very nice haddock and chips, this time with mushy peas and I brought a bottle of wine back to the hotel with some Jaffa cakes for pud.

Day 11 – The Ayrshire coast

St Ebba is a nice gentile B&B set in a row of similar establishments on the sea front of Rothesay and run by Kristine who has been in the business for 16 years so knows what it takes to make the punters happy. She showed me where to put my bike, just about under cover, but with little or no security. My room was in the attic which was quite a struggle as the second staircase was steep and narrow. The room itself was fine, spacious enough for me to spread everything out but without any drying facilities, so I didn’t wash anything but hung clothes up near the window to roughly dry. My shoes and overshoes dried on the window sill.

I composed the blog with a bottle of wine and slept well in a comfortable bed. Breakfast was ordered the night before and I ate good porridge and an FSB. The haggis had run out so I got an extra sausage. My breakfast companions were a man from Hull who specialises in taking public transport around Britain and doing sights, and a couple who are cycling somewhat lesser distances than me but taking their time and days off, today being one of those.

If I had hurried I might just have made the 0905 Calmac ferry to Wemyss Bay but elected to take a bit more time and leave on the 1000. I’d booked my ticket the night before, £4.35 for me and the bike.

It was spitting with rain when the boat left on time but there are plenty of seats, albeit up two flights of steep ladders, and I settled down next to and started talking with John who lives in Rothesay whilst his female partner lives in Largs, which is on my route. John had his partner’s dog with him and was on his way to Glasgow to arrange a conference. He talked generally about the area, including his allotment in Fairlie (even further down the coast) and the large pods of dolphins that now reside in the Firth of Clyde and, as a result, a pod of Orcas that have returned after many years. It was a pleasant way to pass the 25 minute trip and, as we parted he suggested I might like to look in on the railway station at Wemyss Bay – impressive architecture

It was, inevitably, raining as I made my way down the Ayrshire coast, the first 15 miles on main roads but not busy. At Largs there was a cycle path along the prom and then back onto roads at Fairlie. My Grandmother was the daughter of James Tennant, an industrialist whose uncle had invented a special technique for bleaching cloth and had made his fortune by patenting the process. James ran the business and lived at Fairlieburne House, since demolished and replaced with several des res’s. As I was passing, I took a picture

It was mainly cycle- paths until I reached Ayr, some better than others with a lot of tree roots showing through the tarmac. I took shelter at a bus-stop for about 15 minutes whilst a particularly heavy shower passed by, but I was still wet through. Onwards through Seamills, Saltcoats and Ardrossan with the wind, whipping up the waves, and becoming a distinct problem to cycle against

Eventually I headed inland to get away from the worst of the wind, wiggling my way through Irvine and along the edge of the golf course at Troon that has hosted the Open Championship many times, last in 2024. Past Prestwick airport (Glasgow for Ryanair) and through the middle of Ayr itself. The weather at this point was so revolting that I kept going rather than taking in some of the sights of the town including the horse race course and the birthplace of Robert Burns.

I’d been off course for over an hour when I got the familiar ding dong to tell me I was back on track. The weather improved dramatically and the sun come out as I headed out into open country with some steepish hills to climb, The first 55 miles were pan flat and I’d only used the motor to battle the headwind but now I switched it on and went as fast as I could manage, knowing that I wouldn’t arrive until after 6pm and uncertain about eating arrangements. Five miles from my destination in Girvan I passed Turnberry Golf Course

Typically, under-stated!

As a special end to a day made difficult by the weather, I was treated to Ailsa Craig rising magically from the Firth of Clyde

My hotel is a doss house, a tiny room and in need of a lot of TLC. Breakfast is continental left in the room and instructions to leave the key in the door when I go. The bike is in a covered area along with the rubbish bins and a broken bed. No food at the hotel despite it being advertised so I’ll go round the corner for Chinese.

Thank goodness tomorrow is a short journey, I need the rest.

Day 12 – Girvan – Bladnoch

I was given fairly short shrift when I arrived at Girvan last night. The front door of the Royal Hotel was firmly locked at just after 6pm and around the side was a note on the door saying “ring this number”, which I duly did. A young lass quickly appeared and said; “your room is number 6, up the stairs, there’s a continental breakfast in the room and just leave the key in the door when you leave in the morning.”

The room was taken up with a double bed, a fridge and a desk and if there had been a cat it would have been in no danger. The shower was good and I washed my cycling kit and hung it in the window to dry. Sopping wet shoes needed a long blast with the hair drier to get them anywhere near wearable and having given each of them 10 minutes with the hair drier I left them on the windowsill where they were dry in the morning. Overshoes went on the heated towel rail with my socks.

No food available at the Hotel but Girvan is a much bigger town than I had imagined (pop about 6400) and there were several choices for food in the evening. As there is a Chinese restaurant 90 yards up the road that’s where I went and enjoyed a spring roll whilst I ate and drank chicken noodle soup and then followed it with satay beef and egg fried rice, washed down with a couple of bottles of Tsingtao. A pleasant meal of generous portions. Much to my surprise on the other side of the main road from the restaurant was a large ASDA so I went in and bought a bottle of Malbec and some biscuits which I consumed whilst writing the blog.

My route today was relatively short and by the time I’d eaten my cold croissants with raspberry jam and a cherry flavoured yoghurt washed down with orange juice it was 0943 before I got away. I stopped and chatted about the weather with a kilted gentleman, who was staying in the hotel, whilst I loaded the bike: yes, he was pretty certain I’d get wet!

It was spitting and I was in full waterproofs as I cycled through the middle of the surprisingly large town and it was now understandable that ASDA had built a store there.

I emerged from the town onto the seafront cycle path into the usual head wind. At the edge of town there was a large car park with a Council loo block which was getting good use from the occupants of two coaches (one mainly Japanese) that had just parked. Anyone who wasn’t in line for a pee was taking pictures of Ailsa Craig, now uninhabited but for thousands of sea-birds, particularly gannets and puffins. The hard granite of the island is used in making curling stones.

Then it was onto the A77 but with a proper cycle track for about the first seven miles. After that ran out it was on to a substantial hard shoulder until, just after Ballantrae, I made for the hills, leaving the traffic behind. The road was not well surfaced and I climbed up 600 feet into the low cloud. Nonetheless I quite enjoyed it and came thundering down to re-join the main road about 16.5 miles in. The way continued downhill until I once again saw the sea after 22 miles.

The traffic was much lighter than I had expected given that this is the main road from the Ayrshire coast to the ferry ports at Cairnryan

Loch Ryan is a wonderful natural harbour with protection from all but the worst north-westerly winds. Stena operate ferries to Belfast whilst P&O Ferries link with Larne.

I missed Stranraer and the Mull of Galloway. It would have added too much mileage, so I took to the hills once again finding myself on a track that became more like a river bed for a mile or so landing me in a large farmyard. Having got past that I was in woodland, the first I have really been in on this trip

However I was soon on the A75, wide enough with cycle track in many places and I was making pretty good time. I stopped to take a picture of the wild flowers beside the road

After 42 miles I came across an extraordinary bit of useless engineering. The main road became dual carriageway and alongside it was a well surfaced road open to all traffic but virtually unused and sandwiched between the two a dedicated cycle track – what a waste of money. I then had to make my way across both carriageways to leave the A75 behind for good and take to a lovely quiet country road through Forestry plantations

I surprised a dog walker and cyclist chatting in the middle of the road and continued on until I crossed the river Bladnoch, flowing fast and deep

As I was staying in the village of Bladnoch I thought that I must be getting close but no, there was still another 8 miles to travel. On the way I passed the Torhouse Stone Circle

And eventually pitched up at the Bladnoch Inn at about 3pm. Owner Derek greeted me and showed me my room and a berth for the bike.

It’s been an enjoyable day, largely dry but cold.

Day 13 – Bladnoch to Dumfries

Derek is a native of Dublin but has been in the hospitality business all his life. Since leaving Ireland he’s worked in Germany but for the last 26 years he has owned and managed the Bladnoch Inn.

It looks inviting from the outside and is what I expect from a British pub but, as any fule kno, the pub trade is not good, and Derek would like to sell and retire. Costs of everything, lack of staff and the ability of most people to afford to go to the pub regularly have led to a black hole that looks unlikely to change.

We put the bike in the restaurant for the night, and I went up and showered and changed. The room has low ceilings and two single beds. There were enough power points to charge everything and a good heater which I used to dry shoes and socks. My cycling kit was washed and dry by morning. I went downstairs and had a pint of Belhaven best whilst I thought about eating. In walked Tim a lady cyclist born in the Netherlands but living on Strangford Lough in Northern Ireland for long enough to sound like a native to me. I must have cycled past her door on my circumnavigation of Ireland in 2018. We chatted about cycling and the weather. She was meeting her son and D-I-L to cycle around the area and wished me well before cycling on to Wigtown where she is staying. Apparently Wigtown is the National Book town of Scotland – bet you didn’t know that (nor did I) and hosts an annual literary festival in the autumn.

Another pint of Belhaven and I ordered lasagne and garlic bread and had sticky toffee pudding and ice cream to round it off. All good. Stomach dealt with I went up to compose the blog which was done by 10 so I thought I’d venture down for a last drink before bed. Derek was behind the bar and Dave, a retired policeman was on the Guinness. Having poured the drinks Derek came and sat with us at the bar and we had an interesting, free ranging and wide discussion. Dave had had a 30 year career with Glasgow’s finest, including escorting the Princess Royal on her frequent visits to Scotland. I told them a bit of my history and I learned about them. Bladnoch has a thriving boxing club that has produced several good fighters and it was Dave’s father who founded the club. I told them about the blog and Dave suggested I should write a book about my cycling adventures and bring it to the Wigtown festival. I opined that the market is flooded with people writing about their cycle journeys; but never say never. It was an enjoyable evening and after 1130 before we went our separate ways.

No breakfast at the Bladnoch Inn, so I was away at 0902. In order to head east I first needed to go north, so that I could cross the river Cree at Newton Stewart. The road was good and the traffic light and there was a cycle path that followed the river bank up to a pedestrian bridge

The sun was shining, and the forecast was for good weather all day. Just beside the bridge was an Aldi so I went in and bought a BLT sandwich, a couple of hard boiled eggs and a pack of Jaffa cakes (the nearest thing to toast and marmalade I could think of). I sat in the sun and ate my breakfast before continuing. Knowing that I was cycling over 70 miles and that some of the terrain looked lumpy, I made a mental note to stop and get off the bike to stretch my legs every ten miles or so.

I headed south towards Creetown where I joined a cycle track that must have been an old railway line but didn’t admit to it. I’ve since researched it, and It was part of the Glasgow and South western railway line between Dumfries and Stranraer and was known affectionately as the Paddy Line. I probably crossed over it several times during the day but the section I was on ran to Gatehouse of Fleet.

I was now on the high moors and had an exhilarating run down to Kirkcudbright which I reached about lunchtime. By the harbour I spotted the Scran Van and had a delicious bowl of Cullen skink and a cup of tea

More climbing away from the River Dee but my regular stops had the desired result and the effort was pleasurable. I was about half-way into the journey with more climbing and descending to Dalbeattie – wonderful rolling countryside, much softer contours than the Highlands with sheep and cattle enjoying the sun

I chased a hare down the road for 100 yards or so until he ducked into the gateway.

The strange thing about today was that I had purposely chosen to follow the coast as much as possible, but it was 60 miles into my journey before I saw the Solway Firth.

The direct route from Bladnoch to Dumfries was about 56 miles but my route added another 20 or so. I can’t say I feel cheated because I have enjoyed my day: I arrived at my destination just before 6pm having lost myself in Dumfries. Back to England tomorrow with a shortish trip along the Solway Firth to Gretna and down to Silloth.

Day 14 – Into England

My judgement was severely clouded by the price of a budget single room at the Townhouse, Dumfries. You tend to get what you pay for, and, for £42 I found myself in a small one room cabin with attached shower and loo, in a converted shipping container. The nearest restaurant was miles away but there was a microwave and the basics for cooking, and an Aldi on the opposite side of the road. I rustled up cottage pie and cauli cheese with ice cream and raspberries to follow. A bottle of drinkable white finished it off. With all my stops during the day I didn’t arrive until after 6pm, so by the time I’d sorted everything out and blogged it was bed-time: not a good experience. The bed was awful, the base falling apart and the mattress on its last legs, so I hardly slept and got up feeling poorly. My one pair of trousers are so covered in bike oil and grease that a trip to Matalan, half a mile away was called for. On the way there I was harangued by a loony complaining in a loud voice that paedophiles were looking at his bum. He followed me up to Matalan and continued in the same vein. Having bought my trousers, I was able to get away from him. I had to return by the same route so called into Aldi for much the same breakfast as I had yesterday

With all the toing and froing it was 1030 before I cleared the outskirts of Dumfries, heading for Annan, a substantial market town on the eponymous river

It was time to stop and get off the bike to stretch my legs which I did at a bus shelter. Well on my way to Gretna, a town I have visited on most of my cycle trips to and from Scotland, I was shortly back in England

The next three miles follow the M6 with consequent traffic noise but once over the River Esk the road takes to the countryside and is a road I have travelled often.

As it wiggles its way towards Carlisle. 35 miles in, the road crosses the River Eden and heads west. At this point I was feeling rather jaded and needed some food to buck me up, so I headed towards the centre of Carlisle, finding a One Stop where I bought some Jaffa cakes which made me feel considerably better. I was still about 20 miles from Silloth, my destination but a combination of food and liberal use of the motor got me there about 1530 and I got to see the Solway Firth close to for the first time in 2 days

It’s been overcast all day but, once again, no rain; so my shoes are dry and all that was needed was to wash what I wear next to my skin. It’s also been rather tedious with no good views or sights to see. Hopefully a good night’s sleep will put me in a better frame of mind tomorrow for my journey along the Cumbrian coast.

Day 15 – Blown away

I’ve been to Silloth before. In 1995 the National Trust celebrated its centenary with a 100 mile bike ride starting from Druridge Bay in Northumberland and ending in Silloth. My then 14 year old son Rob and I joined Patrick Watson, in whose memory I’m doing this current ride, and his son James and we successfully completed the one day challenge. I also think I may have stayed in the Golf Hotel previously: since leaving the Royal Agricultural College Cirencester in 1971 several of us have met up annually to reminisce and play a gambling game called Continental billiards. Whilst I was putting my bike away last night, I stumbled upon a snooker table in the basement and, as these are becoming rare as hen’s teeth in hotels I Wapped the “boys” to ask if we’d been to Silloth and the answer was affirmative. So there.

The Golf Hotel is a bit tired. It was once quite grand, but it needs a facelift and, with the current economic climate it’s unlikely to get one. My room was on the second floor and was perfectly acceptable. A single comfortable bed and enough room around it, windows that opened and allowed the washing to dry and a slightly temperamental shower.

I ate in the restaurant with very few others: excellent fritto misto with mayonnaise and a badly overcooked steak pie that I should have sent back but ate anyway and chips and peas. A couple of pints of John Smiths helped it down. The staff are stretched, manning both the hotel and the restaurant but the service was OK

I slept quite well after putting the blog to bed with a bottle of SB which I bought in the Spar round the corner. There was quite a lot of life in the pubs as I walked off supper but if they’re not doing business on a weekend in June, they might as well surrender.

FC(umbrian)B was well cooked and produced promptly so all in all it wasn’t a bad experience and cheap at £67.50 for B&B.

The weather forecast was daunting: 25-30mph winds from the south west which was the direction I was heading. There was also a high chance of rain at some point. I dressed accordingly and was wearing 5 layers and overshoes.

The first 7 miles were gruelling, and I had to run the motor just to keep going. During that time, I used 15% of the battery which was unsustainable on a 64 mile journey.

I was beginning to wonder if I would be best to call it a day and catch a train. Fortunately, the west Cumbria railway runs all along the coast and down to Millom, my final destination.

I thought I’d keep going and, if and when the battery died, I’d hop on a train which are quite frequent even on a Sunday.

The conditions improved and I was now on dedicated cycle paths that were more sheltered. Through Workington I was entirely off road and cycling was enjoyable. The other side of town I had a climb into the country and back down to sea level to follow the coast below the cliffs at Parton

Round the corner was Whitehaven, little industry now but the harbour has been developed to provide for the small fishing fleet and a yacht marina

I paused at the top of the climb out of town towards St Bees, to have a walk and eat the rest of a bar of fruit and nut that I started in Workington. The country was rolling with rain shrouded fells in the distance. The barley was just starting to turn colour and the wheat was growing strongly

St Bees lies in a fold of the hills, on the railway line, and has a famous school in the centre

Beyond St Bees the route stayed on top of cliffs above the stormy sea until, at Braystones, it jinked inland to avoid part of the Egremont Estate. This was a pleasant interlude because it took the wind lout of my face. In the distance I could see the towers and buildings of Sellafield, Europe’s largest Nuclear Power site. Originally known as Windscale, in 1950 the two nuclear reactors were built to produce weapons grade plutonium but were shut down in 1957: they have still not been fully decommissioned, demonstrating the complexity of nuclear fuels. Also on the site are the Calder Hall power station, the first to export energy to the Grid in 1956, and now decommissioned, and a plant for reprocessing fuel. Its main purpose is now to store spent fuel from other nuclear reactors. Nuclear power seems a wonderful carbon free way of generating “free” electricity but the costs of cleaning up and decommissioning are huge, as much as £120 billion for Sellafield alone.

I probably could have stayed inland but there appeared to be a coastal path between Sellafield and the sea, and I decided to take it: not a good experience, though it had a solid base sand had blown over it and I had to GOAP on a couple of occasions

The path came back onto hard top at Seascale village about 42 miles into the journey and I’d managed to save sufficient battery power not to have to worry about using it as the road rollercoasted along to Ravenglass

where I crossed the Mite estuary on an iron railway bridge and turned inland passing the station which serves both the main line railway that I had been following, and the Ravenglass and Eskdale steam railway, originally built to transport iron ore but now a popular visitor attraction.

Just around the corner is Muncaster Castle, another visitor attraction and, as I was passing, a steam engine was being strapped down onto a low loader. This later passed me about 10 miles further on with a long queue of traffic behind it.

On wards and upwards with views down across the Esk valley

The last ten miles of the journey were a real roller-coaster but I had sufficient battery power to be able to use the motor freely and arrived at Millom at about 1800hrs.

It’s been a hard day but satisfying to have been able to complete what looked as if it was going to be defeat at the start. And to top it all NO RAIN.

Day 16 – around the inlets

Geri is an Essex girl who spent her working life with the Post Office and, when she retired 8 years ago, decided that Cumbria would be the place she’d most like to be. So she bought Pavilion House in Millom and has been running it as a B&B ever since. I’d guess it’s a Victorian building with decent sized rooms, a comfortable double bed and a good FCB in the morning. At £64.40 it was good value for money. I pitched up at about 6pm feeling pretty weary after my battle against the wind: the bike had to stay in the front garden but was secure enough. Geri said that food was available in town but probably only until 7pm so I quickly got washed and changed and walked the 100 yards down the road to Da Vinci, as one would expect, an Italian trat. In fact, they were open until 8 so there was no need for hurry, but I sat down and was quickly given a Peroni. Excellent sweet pepper soup to start with decent bread, penne all Carbonara and a very good cheesecake to finish: £29.99 for the 3 courses. I had another Peroni and wandered back via the Spar and bought a bottle of undistinguished white to write the blog.

After a good breakfast I was away at 0908. I wanted to follow the coast as much as possible so first had to head north to Broughton in Furness to cross the River Duddon. There were excellent cloud formations as I looked back at the estuary and more climbing and descending that I had bargained for, but the sunshine helped.

Past Broughton and Grizebeck I was heading south to Barrow In Furness, home to our nuclear submarine building industry. Just past Dalton in Furness I noticed this hill. From a distance it looked like a spoil heap but it is clearly a geographical feature

The BAE sheds used for warship building stand out as you come into town. Behind them is Walney Island

I stopped at Aldi for a drink and some Jaffa Cakes before moving on along the coast. Barrow has a fine Town Hall and clock

Once around the corner the road follows Morecambe Bay and there is a decent cycle path for the first five miles. The Bay is a treacherous place with quick-sands and fast flowing tides. There is a public right of way connecting Kents Bank on the Cumbrian side with Hest Bank on the Lancashire coast; but it should only be attempted with a qualified guide. In 2004 21 Chinese illegal immigrants were drowned when they were overcome by the tide whilst cockle picking.

On up the coast to Ulverston which is dominated by the lighthouse on Hoad Hill. Although it could have had a use for navigation and, indeed, a Grant of £100 from Trinity House towards building it stipulated that it should, it has never housed a light and stands as a memorial to Sir John Barrow a local worthy who rose to be second secretary to the Admiralty

I was forced onto the main road to Greenod where I was able to cross the River Leven by way of a footbridge, the tide filling the channel

On the other side I had to negotiate a very rough track for a couple of miles before hitting the blacktop and heading south past Holker Hall and Cark and Cartmel railway station. Everywhere I have been during the last couple of days I have seen signs for Cartmel Races at the end of the month. I’ve attended in the past, and the course is known for good viewing and a very long run to the finish. It’s a good day out for the family.

Through Grange-over-Sands with some swanky hotels and a bustling high street and then into the countryside at Meathop, generally flat country but every now and then there was a short sharp climb to keep me on my toes.

I see in hindsight that I could have easily avoided the A590 and some very fast moving traffic but instead braved the hard shoulder for three miles until I was able to turn off at Levens and move past Levens Hall, noted for its topiary garden, onto the A6 as it headed south to my final destination the Bulls Head Hotel at Milnthorpe.

It’s been a good day in the sunshine although still not warm but, once again I’ve avoided the rain.

Day 17 – Cumbria to The Fylde

The Bull’s Head in Milnthorpe was a good choice. I was welcomed warmly, given a space for the bike in the courtyard and shown my room which was up a couple of flights of stairs which was the usual struggle with two panniers and a battery. However the room was a good size, the bed very comfortable and the shower adequate. As it was only about 4pm when I arrived I had plenty of time to wash everything and hang it to dry by the window. I pootled about for a bit and went down to supper at 7. A table had been reserved and leek and potato soup, chicken casserole in a cheese sauce with (wonder of wonders) seasonal greens and potatoes and an unnecessary sticky toffee pudding sent me to bed feeling a bit bloated. I also had a couple of pints of good IPA, the first proper ale since Inverness. This morning breakfast, included in the price of £75, was cooked and served by the landlady and very good it was too.

The weather forecast was not good, strong winds and showers throughout the day. I set off at 0942 and went across to the Morecambe Bay coast, surprised by the steepness of some of the early climbs. I dropped down to sea level at Arnside, looking across the Bay to Grange-over-Sands where I had been yesterday

The tide was rolling in rapidly as I climbed up a steep hill to Arnside Knott and back down to sea level round the corner at Silverdale. I headed on to Carnforth with occasional squally showers spoiling the journey. I took shelter on more than one occasion, and the camera didn’t feature for much of the early journey.

Next stop Lancaster where I got a bit lost before joining a rough canal path which deteriorated so much that I diverted onto the nearby road

The wind was howling as I made my way south through Cockerham and on to Pilling where I stopped at a bus stop to eat a bar of chocolate and rest for a while. The roads were straight and I was caught up in road dressing which gummed up my tyres for a while.

My original plan had been to cross the River Wyre at Knott End as it disgorged into the sea at Fleetwood but the ferry was unreliable so I decided to go and make the crossing at the first bridge which was about five miles upstream. By the time I got there the wind was so strong that I had to GOAP over the bridge for fear of being pushed off the narrow cycle way.

I was now at the northern end of Blackpool and hit the coast at Norbreck

From now on I was on cycle paths all the way to my destination at Lytham but I still had to contend with very strong winds which were blowing me sideways. Past Blackpool North Pier, looking out for trams

And the iconic Tower

And Pleasure beach on which we have had hours of fun as a family when we lived in nearby Lytham for five years

Rounding the corner, so that the wind was helping, to St Annes-on Sea, full of hotels and retirement homes and finally on to Lytham, with its windmill on the Green, where I am staying the night with a friend.

The wind has been a pest, and I can only hope that it drops away for my final leg tomorrow to Chester. The forecast is for more rain but I’ll trade that for less wind

Day 18 – Full circuit

In 1977 my employers Guardian Royal Exchange Assurance asked if I would go to Lytham St Annes to take over the Management of their estates portfolio in the North Of England, including about 3000 acres of in hand agricultural land and Lytham Hall a Georgian gem designed by John Carr of York. Kate was a year old, Jim was on the way and neither Annie or I had any connection with the area, so It was a leap of faith to uproot ourselves from our quaint little cottage in Oxfordshire and head north. It took a while to settle in, but we made some true friends in our five years in Lancashire. Meg and Ian Hargreaves lived around the corner and had children of a similar age to ours and it was to them that I went in search of a bed and some company for the night. Sadly, Ian is very ill in a care home, but when I rang, Meg immediately offered to put me up and produced a lovely meal that we shared with another old friend, Michael, the retired family doctor who oversaw the birth of Jim in 1978 and his friend Sally. On these long cycle trips one of the things I miss, is a relaxed evening reminiscing and relaxing.

I knew I was in for almost 80 miles of riding today on flat ground: no chance to stop pedalling so it’s exhausting work. I got away after breakfast at 0850 and headed east because the Ribble estuary cuts 10 miles inland to Preston. It was overcast with a bit of rain in the air and I was dressed accordingly. There is a cycle lane beside the road and once in Preston completely off road cycle ways

Yesterdays wind had, thank goodness, abated and it wasn’t until I reached Southport 25 miles into the journey that I was aware of it at all. It’s a trifle ironic that Lytham and Southport are only about five miles apart as the crow flies but you need to travel 25 miles to get from one to t’other.

Last year on my final day of riding the East Coast I took a picture of the longest pier in Britain at Southsea. This year my final day included the rather less magnificent pier at Southport

Out in Morecambe Bay was a host of windmills

And I made my way down the coast past Royal Birkdale Golf Course, host of the Open Championship on many occasions and Formby GC which has also hosted international tournaments. At Crosby I was moving into suburban Liverpool and soon passing the docks, now mainly container shipping. There were plentiful cycle ways and I passed the new football ground that Everton have built.

Soon there was the Liver building in front of me, and it didn’t take long to find St James station.

There is no cycle way across the Mersey: cycles are banned from the tunnels so it’s either Ferry across the Mersey or you can put your bike on the Metro at St James and travel one stop to Hamilton Square in Birkenhead on the Wirral - which Is what I did. Very simple with good lifts but expensive at £ 3.95 for the short ride.

I played rugby at Bedford in the 70s and amongst my team mates was Alan Towersey who has retired to the Wirral and arranged to meet up with me at some point today. I gave an ETA and amazingly we arrived at the station within 5 minutes of one another. Alan kindly bought me a cup of tea and arranged to follow me down the Wirral to take some pictures so here is the only action picture of me that you are likely to see

Thanks Alan for chasing me around the countryside.

The bottom part of the Wirral is marshland, some of it firing ranges and I was surprised to go into Wales for almost ten miles of the journey

As part of my circumnavigation of Britain included my trip around Wales in 2020 it should not have been; and the main purpose of today was to mark the end of that journey. I crossed this bridge in 2020 and that is where the paths crossed.

I now had a long hard 5 mile slog along the canalised River Dee before I reached the outskirts of Chester and followed the river past the racecourse

Arriving at the Townhouse Hotel at about 1815.

So that’s it: over a period of 12 years I have cycled all the way around the island of Britain. I’ll sit down later and work out the distance but it must be somewhere around 6000 miles. I think this stage has been the hardest, both in terms of terrain and, particularly, the weather.

Day 19 – Going home

I stayed last night in the Chester Townhouse. The bike stayed round the back in an overflow restaurant area and my room was, for once, not on the second floor. The room was small and pretty much filled by the comfortable double bed but it had all the amenities including a fan to dry the cycling kit. There was a desk and good light to write the blog and the modern bathroom had a powerful shower though it was hard to control the temperature: for £61 room only it was excellent value.

I went out looking for food. There seemed like a good candidate with lots of different ales, but it was quiz night and the kitchen was closed. I contemplated trying to muscle in in a quiz team but decided, after finishing a very pleasant IPA that food was more important. I wandered up the hill and found the Olive Tree which served Mediterranean themed food and enjoyed Fritto Misto and a Caesar salad with sweet potato chips on the side. Perfectly pleasant but not outstanding, though the waitresses were friendly and chatty.

I woke this morning to heavy rain and needed to travel a couple of miles across the city to the railway station: I got wet but not badly so and arrived in plenty of time for my 1022 train to Newport (Gwent). A cup of tea and a bacon sandwich from Costa was ridiculously expensive but what do you expect?

The train is a little two carriage job that started in Holyhead and came along the north Welsh coast, stopping everywhere. It comes into the buffers and then proceeds in the opposite direction, ending in Cardiff but stopping at all the stations on the Marches, the route I took on my bike in 2020.

The bike space already had one in place but David, who was getting out at Shrewsbury, moved so that I could put mine on the inside.

We got talking: although originally from Lincolnshire he has lived in Scotland for many years, currently near Fort William, and has had a couple of days cycling across Wales before supporting his son on a 15 peak hiking challenge, which he hopes to complete in under 22 hours. It’s called the Welsh 3000s, so the equivalent of Scottish Munros, roughly 50km with 4000m in elevation gain. David much prefers off road cycling but on a Gravel bike whereas, although I enjoy going off road for short sections, I generally stick to minor hardtop roads.

He congratulated me on my achievement and wished me well for any future challenges. So, there it is in all its technicolour glory, the map of my circumnavigation achieved over a period of ten years but mainly in the last six.

I got off at Newport with 46 minutes to wait for a train to Westbury. I’m not sure why I booked it this way originally, because I could just as easily have got a train from Newport to Castle Cary. My original plan was to get off the train at Westbury and cycle 25 miles home through the grounds of Longleat House and past the Safari Park, but when I got off the train the wind was blowing and it was spitting rain and I wimped out, went onto Train Pal and booked a ticket to Castle Cary, only 17 minutes down the line, for £7.90 and rang Jim and asked him to collect me, which he did at about quarter past four and we were back home before five.

Thanks for following me and to all those who have supported the Dorset and Somerset Air Ambulance. Between you you’ve already raised £1885 and I hope there may be a few more contributors now that I’ve finished. It’s been a trying journey battling the weather and especially the wind. I’ll take a week off cycling and see how I feel. What next…….?