30-Jun-1996 - Day 13 - Glencoe to Drumnadrochit

• Day's Distance: 69.73 Miles
• Total Distance: 828.53 Miles
• Time:  5 Hrs 43 Mins
• Average Speed:  12.1 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  28.5 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

After a pasta breakfast, which did nothing to inspire me, I set off continuing the descent into Glencoe.  A place set up for skiers, mountaineers and general tourism.  I crossed the bridge and rounded the peninsula  to take me to Fort William.  As I climbed the hill, the gears on the bike kept slipping.  Once the road levelled out I was able to see that the overnight rain had given the chain a stiff link.  5 minutes with the link extractor tool had me up and running smoothly once again.

At Spean Bridge I stopped for lunch at a Little Chef.  After passing hundreds and trying to avoid them, I was reduced to eating there as my only viable option.

7 miles from Fort Augustus the road crossed the Caledonian Canal and a sign pointed down the side of it saying 'Cycle path to Fort Augustus' which I thought I would try.  A decision I soon regretted.  The path was very rough dirt and gravel and full of potholes.  Parts of it were boulders piled on top of each other,  The path was much more suited for a mountain bike going on a short trail than a long distance touring bike fully loaded complete with weary rider.  Then I came across the first of two gates.  These were an absolute nightmare to negotiate with one hand trying to baslance the bike while the other tried to lift and open the gate.  Then once the bike was through, the gate was too far away to reach while hanging on to the bike.  The bike had to be backed up so I could reach the gate and then inched forward as I manipulated the gate shut.

This would not have been so big a problem if there had been two people or I was on an unloaded bike which I could just drop to the floor.  It is very difficult to just lay down a fully loaded bike and even harder to pick up again and there was nothing in the vicinity that the bike could be rested against.  I fumed and cursed my way through both gates and concentrated hard on picking a clean route through the potholes and gravel, expecting a puncture at any moment.  Fortnately I made it safely, despite encountering several cars using the cycle route as access to their houses or the lock-keepers cottage.

I finally rode up to the camp-site at Drumnadrochit via a very steep access road and, would you believe, another gate.  The place is a horse riding center with a field that they have set aside for tents.  The field is at a serious angle, tonight it will feel like I'm perched on the side of Everest.  No shop and no pub or restaurant so its a cup of soup and more of my loaf of bread - plus a dramatic depletion of my chocolate store!

Day 13 Map (approximate route)
Google maps won't show the routing via the Caledonian Canal cycle path, so I've left it on the nearest road


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29-Jun-1996 - Day 12 - Thornhill to Glencoe

• Day's Distance: 71.42 Miles
• Total Distance:758.80 Miles
• Time:  6 Hrs 51 Mins
• Average Speed:  10.4 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  29.5 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

I did not have a good nights sleep.  At about 3:00 in the morning, another tent pole snapped, under the same duty (front arch) and almost the same place as the last time.  I was so angry and frustrated I could not get back to sleep for hours.  I eventually woke in the morning quite late and set off.


After Callander the road began to wind upward - this was the start of the highlands after all.  The climb that I had been anticipating eventually came up and as I began the long climb, a local shouted "You've got a long pull ahead of you there!" and I agreed with him.  After 4 miles of struggles the road began to move downwards and the descent I had long anticipated began.  The first 3/4 mile was fine and then I turned the corner at the Killin turn off and the headwind hit me.  The remaining 6 miles of descent was a struggle at 7 or 8mph.  Half way down I stopped for lunch in a place unusual only in that the chaos that usually occurs in a restaurant's kitchen took place in the public arena with the staff 'discussing' which table needed what and who was going to do it.


Crianlarich was my minimum distance that I had set for the day and when I reached it shortly after lunch I felt I had no option but to continue.


The road continued upward until coming to an impressive valley with a bridge at the far end followed by a huge climb.  I started going up at a steady pace, which is just as well because when I got to what I thought was the top, the road continued it's upward trend.  And so it continued until I hit a sign which told me I was on the top of Rannoch Moor at 1141 feet.  I took the obligatory photographs and as I was putting my camera away I realised I was starting to feel cold.


So began my long struggle on the moor, with a strong head wind against me I could barely manage to keep going - averaging only 5-6mph.  I had 15 miles to go, it was after 6:00pm and already starting to get dark from the heavy cloud hanging just above head height.


Eventually I could see the beginning of the descent in the far distance.  My every effort was concentrated on keeping going and reaching that point while my mind looked around and wondered if I would end up having to camp up here in this desolate place.  My hands and feet were numb.  I could not use the fingers of my right hand to change gear as normal but put my hand over the gear lever and use my whole arm to move it in the appropriate direction.  When I tried to move my left hand I found I couldn't, it was stuck with the handlebar grip it was so numb.


Finally my goal was reached.  On a fine day with no wind, the descent would be fast, dramatic and exhilerating but today it was only a relief as I eventually wheeled into the National Trust Campsite at Glencoe.  No pubs or resaurants nearby so I raided the shop to get a loaf of bread, tins of hot dog sausages, haggis and potatoes - what a feast!

Day 12 Map (Approximate route)

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28-Jun-1996 - Day 11 - Penpont to Thornhill

• Day's Distance: 91.95 Miles
• Total Distance: 687.38 Miles
• Time:  7 Hrs 26 Mins
• Average Speed:  12.3 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  31.5 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

 After the difficulties yesterday, I set out tentatively.  Feeling stiff and unsure, the A702 across the Lowther Hills seemed to present a problem.  Despite being in a very low gear and on what appeared to be a flat road, I could not get the bike to move.  Eventually I reached a point which I knew was uphill and looking back I could see the road had been on a gradient for some time.

The day began with rain, mist and low clouds.  Depite this the view as I entered the Lowther Hills was nothing short of magnificent.  A huge long but gradual bank unfolded before me, but with such a wonderful landscape I swallowed up the road without a problem. Then began a great, long downhill coast, miles long, until it met up with and ran alongside the M74.

Leaving the side of the M74, the A73 took me towards Lanark, but it was long before then that I began to feel hungry.  As if by magic a sign appeared around the next corner saying "Carmichael - Scottish Heritage Centre & RESTAURANT".  I eagerly went in and was quickly served with a delicious home-made soup.  Then came a venison steak & kidney pie with chips and veg piled high on the plate.  Before long, that had disappeared as well and as I got an ice cream (banoffee flavour) from the waitress I talked to her about my ride.  When I finally went to settle the bill, the waitress presented me with a packed lunch of cheese & ham sandwiches, apple, Mars bar and a small bottle of orange juice.  Such a gesture was completely unexpected and the warmth and generosity of that lady had me riding on a high for 30 miles.

Another thing I noticed, now I was in Scotland, was that people in the street or pottering in their gardens would see me pass by, smile and say hello.

Reaching Lanark I began to cross the gap between Glasgow and Edinburgh.  I was expecting this to be like Liverpool/Manchester, but not a bit of it.  People still smiled and said hello or waved from their cars.  Soon the miles were swallowed up and I was on the A80 - averaging a speed of around 27mph, before finally turning off for Stirling.  I reached the town at what seemed to be rush hour with traffic building up in long queues, fortunately in the opposite direction to me.

I headed for where the map showed a camp-site but all I could find was an army training ground.  The next camp-site on the map was at Thornhill and so I headed there, slowly now as the days mileage was catching up with me.

The camp-site was a curious place with very basic facilities.  I ate the packed lunch and walked to the local shop to pick some groceries for that evening and the following morning.

Day 11 Map (Approximate route)


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27-Jul-1996 - Day 10 - Carlisle to Penpont

• Day's Distance: 55.2 Miles
• Total Distance: 595.43 Miles
• Punctures:  0

 I found the shop 'Freetime' in the centre and went in.  Phil was expecting me and he took the poles to examine.  The tent was wet from the previous mornings rain and he kindly took it to their upstairs room to spread it out and dry it.  He soon had the poles fixed up and supplied me with my old repair kit plus another for a different type of break.  All the staff were so helpful and friendly - a contrast again to the shop in Chester.

I powered my way up the A74, turning off at Gretna to cross the Scottish border and take the obligatory photograph of my bike against the "Welcome to Scotland" sign.

So began the long, 3 hour drag to Dumfires along the A75.  A boring road and against the wind all the way.  I stopped at Dumfries for some sandwiches and then hit the road again for the the camp-site just off the A76.  A short day and as I set up my tent I had real doubts if I could make it.  I felt so tired and had travelled such a short distance I was genuinely worried my legs may finally have given out.

Day 10 map (approximate route)


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26-Jun-1996 - Day 9 - Garstang to Carlisle

• Day's Distance: 80.85 Miles
• Total Distance: 540.23 Miles
• Time:  7 Hrs 12 Mins
• Average Speed:  11.2 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  41.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

It started to pour down this morning and the tent will be wet when I put it up again.

I set off with the rain pouring but a full stomach after an extensive 'continental' breakfast (same as English breakfast but without the fry-up).

The rain gradually decreased and finally stopped as I rode through Lancaster.  A city that reminded me a lot of Durham.  Familiar places began to appear on the signs like 'Kendal' and 'Windermere'.  The vast san/mud flats appeared briefly between houses.

I reached Kendal and had another impromptu lunch.  I contacted Vaude who put me in touch with a shop in Carlisle who would be able to help with my tent pole.  As I was finishing talking to Phil at 'Freetime' in Carlisle I noticed a strange man examining my bike quite closely.  I walked up and gave a friendly but questioning "hello".

He turned out to be another LETJOG'er but had started out the previous Friday (three days after me!).  Unfortunately he was now suffering from a strain injury on his achilles tendon.  This meant he was now forced to take a rest day in an effort to recover.  His route took in Blackpool as a detour and his Scottish route took him to Ardrossan where he would take a ferry across to Arran, round to Lochranza and another ferry across to Mull and on up to Loch Ness.  A very beautiful route.  He was being sponsored for Alzheimers and was very well organized in this respect, visiting local charity shops for publicity and to pick up high energy food bars - his only food between breakfast and evening meal.

Bidding farewell and good luck, I took the route to the A6 recommended by my new friend, supposedly missing out a huge hill on the A6 at Shap.  I set off for Tebay, Orton and then Shap.

If it was flatter than the main route I'd be very suprised.  It was damn hard work!  One strange part was when the minor road ran between the two carriageways of the M6!

Penrith was awful to cycle through, the one way system takes you up a very steep hill only to come straight back down again.  I headed for the camp-site which was shown just outside Penrith.  There was no sign of it, but there was another marked just a few miles down the road.  When I got there all I found was an overgrown field and a few rusty, tattered old caravans.  I could see no other likely places so I headed for a proper bed in Carlisle.  The roads seemed strangely quiet and it was only when I finally reached Carlisle and saw the big St. Georges flags outside the pubs that I realised today was the Euro 96 semi-final; England v. Germany and it seemed I was the only person in the country not watching it.

I stopped at the first likely looking place and got a room and a decent evening meal.  A final phone call to María who leaves for Spain tomorrow and then to bed.

Day 9 route (approximate)

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25-Jun-1996 - Day 8 - Chester to Garstang

• Day's Distance:  69.90 Miles
• Total Distance: 459.38 Miles
• Time:  6 Hrs 02 Mins
• Average Speed:  11.5 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  28.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

This was the day I had been dreading, when  had to cross between Manchester and Liverpool.


The North West?  All I can say is UGH!  I went to the camping shop in Chester suggested by Vaude to sort out the broken tent pole.  They were not interested and certainly had no intention of trying to be of any help unless I was prepared to hang around for a couple of days. Feeling dejected, rejected and annoyed I left Chester after losing two hours for no benefit.  It was such a contrast to the helpfulness and enthusiasm of the shop in Taunton, it set me up for the day ahead.

Heading for Warrington, it was obvious I was in a different environment.  It seemed the only signs of nature were on waste ground covered in weeds.  Even the farms, of which there were few, seemed hard and unyielding.  In Warrington I got a real taste of this regions hospitality when somebody through an empty milk bottle at me, fortunately missing me.


 I passed through Warrington and on to Wigan, although the start of one and the end of the other was undistinguishable as the A6 just ran its way through street after street of houses - generally terraced, no garden and shabbily kept.  Even the people looked hard and downtrodden, trying to survive through life.  This was very different to the general demeanor of everyone else I'd met thus far.  They had their own problems but positively enjoyed life for what ot had to give them, and they were genuinely interested in other people and their lives.

The streets continued on, house after house rolled by, interrupted only occasionally by a small outcrop of shops.  They reminded me of the groups of shops you found on the roadside in Kenya; except these were less inviting.

Finally I hit Preston - last of the big northern towns.  It was just like the previous two, chaotically busy city centre and nothing but houses outside.  I stopped for lunch at a canal-side pub which was very 'nice', very new and very bland.  In Preston city centre I had a torrent of abuse hurled at me by some kids because I wouldn't give them a lift on the back of the bike.

Finally I left this dreadful connurbation and arrived at the countryside, still quiet and reserved, but green at last!

Looking at the map, there was a camp-site on the far side of Garstamg, which I rode through hopefully.  A pleasant enough place with lots of pubs promising good food and I began to anticipate an enjoyable evening.  Unfortunately the camp-site turned out to be 4 miles beyond Garstang, but did have its own pub, complete with meals and so at least I feel full.  A strange place, it almost feels like I'm 'an alien in an alien place'.

One good thing:  They have a washer and dryer so at least I have clean clothes again.

Another good thing:  They provide breakfasts - needless to say I've ordered mine.

Day 8 route (approximate)
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24-Jun-1996 - Day 7 - Clunton to Chester

• Day's Distance:  71.50 Miles
• Total Distance:  389.48 Miles
• Time:  5 Hrs 55 Mins
• Average Speed:  12.0 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  41.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

Leaving Clunton with fond memories, the road to Shrewsbury seemed to continually climb until I reached a certain point when it suddenly started to roll gently downwards at just enough of a rate for me to freewheel at 18-20 miles/hour.  This went on and on until eventually, after four miles of barely touching the pedals, the road once again levelled out.

I continued towards Shrewsbury, stopping for an 'impromptu' lunch at a village store of an ice cream, cornish pasty, Snickers bar and a bottle of strawberry flavoured milk - also picking up a Yorkie chocolate bar to nibble on the road ahead.  I passed through the outskirts of Shrewsbury so did not see what it was like, glimpsing the cathedral spire, wreathed in scaffolding, for only a few seconds.

I eventually hit the main road to Chester and began my fight with the rest of the much larger traffic.  Approaching Chester I found the camp-site and the woman who took my money was too busy on the phone to talk to me, relying on signs, gestures and snatched asides to make her intentions clear.

The camp-site was tidy and clean but had no shop, no laundry with no availability in the immediate area other than a garage which had minimal groceries only.  There was also nowhere reasonable in the area to get a decent meal.

Route Map (Aproximate)

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23-Jun-1996 - Day 6 - Redbrook to Clunton

• Day's Distance:  61.36 Miles
• Total Distance:  317.98 Miles
• Time:  5 Hrs 46 Mins
• Average Speed:  10.6 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  40.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  0

After a very hearty breakfast of cereal, fruit juice, egg, bacon, mushrooms and toast I set off.  I quickly reached Monmouth after leaving the beauty of the Wye Valley.  After cycling through the centre of Monmouth I saw a crowd of cyclists all gathered at the side of the road and I guessed by the look of them there must be a club event taking place that day.
Leaving the town I realised I was on the wrong road and so turned round and headed back through the cyclists and through the centre, finally picking up the right road.  Passing through some beautiful countryside of gently rolling hills and lush farmland I was making slow progress up one hill when a couple of cyclists passed me as they came down.  As they did they said I should be heading for Abergevanny where the national championships were taking place.  I then realised that the gathering at Monmouth must have been the enthusiasts coming to watch the competitors and the officials were there to monitor the stage point.  I did not turn round and head back.

After yesterdays marathon run I decided to stop early and so headed for the next camp-site shown on the map, fortunately on the road I was on.  I reached the crossroads where the map showed the camp-site to be and there, on the opposite side of the road was a large overgrown field and a weather worn sign with the word "Campsite" barely legible.  There was no sign of life, no sign of facilities and so I checked the map and headed for the next one indicated.

 A little off the beaten track, but not too far out of my way, I arrived at Clunton and quickly found the camp-site.  There, a man dressed all in white, with white, close cropped hair showed me where I could stay.  After talking with him and some of the guests, they soon knew I was on a charity bike ride.  Ed, the all in white owner of the camp-site declared that I could stay there for free as he used to swim for the British Heart Foundation in his younger days.

As I was putting the tent up a young boy came up and gave me five pounds.  A donation from the other campers I had been talking to.

That evening I walked to the local pub and had a wonderful steak chasseur.  While there I started talking to another of the campers who was a control desk manager for the police force at Paisley near Glasgow.  As well as recounting the horrific events that regularly took place as part of his job, he told me he was an archer and had been in the British Team, but family commitments prevented him from putting in the required training now.  This was the reason he came to this quiet corner of the country.  It seems that Ed and his wife are serious archery judges, his wife in fact being so senior will spend most of her August in Atlanta for the Olympics.  The camp-site was just a sideline for what was, in fact, a special archery centre with fields for various types of archery events.

As well as a good evenings conversation, he also refused to allow me to buy a drink, either for him or for myself, because of me cycling for charity.  Such spontaneous generosity is truly touching.  Then to top everything, the pub landlord gave me five pounds to donate to the BHF.

Route Map (Aproximate)
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22-Jun-1996 - Day 5 - Willand to Redbrook (Nr Monmouth)

• Day's Distance:  96.22 Miles
• Total Distance:  256.62 Miles
• Time:  8 Hrs 0 Mins
• Average Speed:  12.0 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed:  38.5 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:  1

With a loud "Hurrah!!" I left Waterloo Cross Campsite and headed for Taunton.  Arriving there I was amazed to see the guy from the train station at Penzance.  He and his mate were just getting ready to go their separate ways.  David, the one I had previously met, asked if we should ride together, to which I agreed.  We bought some food and I managed to find a camping shop where they supplied an additional emergency repair kit.

Twenty miles down the road we stopped for a toilet break.  When I returned to the bike I saw the back tyre was flat.  David did not want to wait around while I fixed the puncture and so he pressed on.  Twenty minutes later and much dirtier I set off once again.  I made good progress and felt strong passing Cheddar Gorge and so decided to go for it and cross the Severn Bridge.

Skirting around Bristol and through an impressive gorge (including the Clifton Suspension Bridge) I cycled on to Avonmouth.  This is the industrial area for Bristol and a complete contrast of landscapes as I sped between rundown industrial units and overgrown verges.  An Eddie Stobarts depot and ICI Severnside were there but eventually the bridge came into view and then came closer.

Reaching the bridge footpath access I stopped to take a photograph.  A jogger, who had just come over from Chepstow kindly took a photo of me and even offered me a cup of tea at his house back over the river.  I declined (graciously) wanting to make the campsite at Brockweir before it was too late.

Reaching Chepstow I got directions for the campsite from a strange old man stood in his front garden.  I began the huge climb which continued forever, eventually levelling out.  I reached the crossroads for Brockweir and, like the old man had said, began the descent.  A very steep, very long and very narrow descent finally got me to Brockweir where the girl at the pub informed me that the campsite was back up the hill and about 3 miles back the way I came.  I looked at the map and decided to press on towards Monmouth where there was another campsite.

I soon realised my legs were not keen on that idea and so I began to look for a B&B along the Wye valley, eventually arriving at Redbrook.  The people were very friendly and the food was excellent.  I ended up in the bar until 12:30am talking with the locals about the former industrialisation of the Wye valley, which used to process the tin mined in Cornwall.  This has all disappeared now although traces do remain if you know where to look, I was told.  We also talked about the local 'politics', which was a real intrigue as a plot was being hatched to give somebody his cummuppence for being so obnoxious to everybody.  Eventually the evening drew to a close and I made my way to a REAL BED!



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21-Jun-1996 - Day 4 - Willand (Rest Day)

Laid and sat around all morning, finally heading to the pub at 12:30. The meals there are nice, well cooked, but lack a certain 'je ne sais quoi'. Adequate, but nothing to get excited about.
In the afternoon I went for a quick cycle to Willand to get some provisions.  I was talking to the lady in the shop when they suddenly opened up the till and handed me eleven pounds to go towards the British Heart Foundation (I was raising money for the BHF on the back of my cycle ride).  It is the first time en route that anyone that I have talked to has actually offered anything.

In the evening, just as I was to start writing cards and this diary, I heard a bang.  I looked outside but could see nothing.  Getting out of the tent I saw that a pole had snapped.  After much banging and hammering and cursing I managed to fit the emergency repair sleeve in place.  I then went to phone my parents to see if they could contact Vaude, the tent manufacturer and organise a replacement.

Feeling weary and wary of the tent’s imminent collapse, I retired to sleep, ready for an early morning.

20-Jun-1996 - Day 3 - Tavistock to Willand

• Day’s Distance: 52.8 Miles
• Total Distance: 160.42 Miles
• Travel Time: Around 6 hours
• Average Speed: Around 10.0 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed: 37.5 Miles/Hr
• Punctures: 0

The worst day so far. From the word go my legs felt tired and just got worse. At Crediton I stopped to visit the loo and as I removed the cycle computer, accidentally zeroed it (which is why the travel time and average speed are only approximate). There is little to say about today other than “ouch” and “help”. I hardly noticed the countryside as I needed all my concentration just to keep the bike moving forwards at what seemed a snails pace. I should have stopped for something to eat at Crediton but did not and quickly regretted it. It is the first time onthe journey I’ve actually felt hungry (i.e. starving). I asked for directions at Tiverton tourist information and they directed me to Waterloo Cross. A strange caravan park which seems to be more residential than touring and has the strange feel of a council estate with gangs of kids hanging around outside the toilet blocks and men in oily overalls playing football. The toilets and especially the showers are filthy. I cannot bring myself to have a shower here, I preferred the rough and ready, ant filled showers of the Masai Mara in Kenya to these. One advantage is the pub next door which does a selection of passable meals.

Day 3 map (approximate route)

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19-Jun-1996 - Day 2 - Veryan to Tavistock

• Day’s Distance: 55.57 Miles
• Total Distance: 107.62 Miles
• Travel Time: 5Hr 23Min
• Average Speed: 10.3 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed: 40.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures:0

Today was a day for meeting characters. I set off to St Austell to find something to eat. St Austell is an old town with a now pedestrianised narrow high street. It’s also on a hill side which means you are unwilling to cycle up and then have to come down again. I did cycle up and found that I had passed the high street, so I did the only sensible thing, got off and walked. I quickly found a baker selling some nice looking bread and freshly baked pasties. I bought some buns for later and a steak pastie for immediate consumption. The high street had a number of seats and so I made myself comfortable to allow the pastie to cool. This was just in time to catch the attention of the town drunk/tramp. Seeing somebody who equally stood out, he walked over to ‘greet’ me, sat down and began to talk. His name was Hector and he was 60 years old. He described himself as a “crazy old man” an alcoholic and a street philosopher. He had no money and his only comfort at night was an old sleeping bag he had hidden in the churchyard. He cheerily waved hello to nay ‘likely punters’ passing, especially young women. His beard was encrusted with the outpourings of his hairy red nose. He disappeared for a short time and just as I was finishing my pastie, he returned. He suddenly began quoting poetry about a daffodil which he said had been written by somebody approximately contemporary with Chaucer. A Scot, he was a real life Rab C Nesbitt character. Having now finished my pastie I made my excuses and left.

Bypassing Lostwithial and Liskeard, the town where we were so rudely dumped by Great Western Railways, I began to head for a camp-site at St Anns Chapel, just a few miles west of Tavistock. I found the place and turned in, but to my dismay it was only a field with no facilities. Iwas turning to come out again and look a little further when a man came running up asking if he could help. I explained that I was after somewhere with showers and shop, etc. and he apologised that, as yet, he did not have those developments in mind. We continued talking, with him telling me about some Germans and Dutch who had also stayed there and were keen cyclists. I told him of my trip to John O’Groats and he remembered about a young girl who was doing the same thing about six years ago on a three wheeler. I asked him if it had a seat in front and he said it did.

“Was she 5’2” with spiky blonde hair?”
“Yes, that’s her. Tiny she was, we thought she’d never make it, it took four blokes to push her and her bike off the campsite. But she did have this air of determination.”

I explained that I thought she was Josie Dew and quite a famous travel writer (in cycling circles at least). He couldn’t believe it when I told him of all the places she had been to. “I’d often wondered what happened to her. I’m really pleased you’ve been able to tell me.”

In the end we were talking for three quarters of an hour and it was starting to get a little late. Dartmoor was visible in the distance but becoming less so as the mist descended. I bid farewell to the camp warden, promising to return when more suitably equipped and set off for Tavistock. Fortunately it was not too far to the camp-site and I turned in only to find the shops already closed. I looked in and asked if there was any chance of getting any provisions. The warden agreed to open the shop for me and I bought some milk, eggs, fruit and cheese so I could have a reasonable meal that evening.

Picking a likely looking spot I began to pitch the tent but after all the hot, dry weather, the pegs were not keen on being buried in the hard baked ground. Several times I had to go to the brook that ran along the back of the tent to straighten bent pegs with suitable rock hammer and anvil. I was struggling with another peg and pulled it out almost bent double when a man came up offering a loan of his hammer. He saw the state of the peg and offered me some spares. I said I had enough and could straighten the bent pegs but he refused to take ‘no’ for an answer. We returned to his tent where he showed me a bucket full of different types of peg. “Take what you want” he offered. I gratefully took two metal pegs at which he gave me a couple of plastic pegs as well. I thanked him profusely for his generosity and returned to my half erected tent. It now took only a few moments to finish off with the help of his hammer. I’d showered, laundered my clothes and just finished off my cheese omelette when the man returned to check I had food. I told him I had just eaten and showed him the Trangia meths stove I was using. He was very interested since he had not seen anything quite like it in his fifty five years of campling, since he was 16/17. Again we were talking for an hour or so and it was quite dark by the time we returned to our respective abodes. He told me of his working years as an electrical fitter working on power stations for the CEGB (Central Electricity Generating Board). He also told me of the devastation of industry in Cornwall since all the tin mines had closed down. Not just the mines but all the ancillary industries had disappeared leaving unemployment and despair. Many of the miners had moved abroad and there are now Cornish miners all over the world. He told me a local saying: “When you find a hole in the ground, if you look deep enough, you’ll find a Cornishman down there”.

As I turned in to bed, rain began to fall, which it continued to do right through the night, stopping only as I was finishing my breakfast.

Day 2 map (approximate route)

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18-Jun-1996 - Day 1 - Lands End to Veryan

• Day’s Distance: 52.05 Miles (not including the 5 miles from the camp-site to Lands End)
• Total Distance: 52.05 Miles
• Travel Time: 4:51
• Average Speed: 10.7 Miles/Hr
• Max Speed: 34.0 Miles/Hr
• Punctures: 0

I set off at 10:25am after saying goodbye to my very friendly hosts - Liz and Kevin. It did not take long to reach Lands End and I had an ‘official’ photograph taken. At 10:40am I set off on the journey retracing my steps of the morning and the previous night.
Bypassing Penzance I started travelling on ‘virgin’ road and headed for Marazion which was a very pretty village but most notable for being the access point for St Michaels Mount - an island with a tidal footpath to the mainland. A dramatically high hill, taking up almost the entire island, is topped by a large, incredibly impressive monastary / abbey. Unfortunately the light at that time of day left the island in near silhouette and so the photographs may not be quite so inspiring as the reality.
The landscape unfolded as a series of gentle valleys and hills which I felt quite happy about coping with. That is until I crossed the King Henry ferry - a transportation across the river set in a beautiful, tranquil wooded valley. The road wound up steeply from the ferry and carried on going up. Eventually I reached the top and felt exhausted. At this point I knew I would not reach my destination. Consulting the map I saw a camp-site marked just past Veryan which was not far away. With much effort in the heat of the afternoon I reached my new found goal only to discover that it had been taken over only the previous week and the shop’s stock was minimal with only a few tins and packets and no deliveries of eggs, milk, bacon, etc. With tent pitched I cooked some rice as the sun began to set. The cloud formations were so impressive I photographed my tent with this incredible backdrop.
Day 1 Map (approximate route)

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17-Jun-1996 – Day 0 - The Journey Down

Sue came to pick me up at 06:20. With the van loaded and on our way to Darlington, I started to remember things that I had forgotten, such as the vaseline intensive care for the chamois in the shorts and the new batteries for the lights.
The train arrived on time and we made rapid progress down to Bristol. So accurate was it running to schedule that it started pulling out of Birmingham New Street only three seconds after its alloted departure time.
With three hours to spare in Bristol I had a whistle stop tour of the centre, or rather, its one way system. After several tours around these roads I eventually stumbled into Bristol Temple Mead station and decided to stay there rather than risk losing it again.
After a twenty minute delay I left BTM for Penzance. This was a 'Sprinter' train although it is drastically misnamed. At Plymouth we had a twenty minute extended stop due to 'staff difficulties' they explained they were sending someone up from Cornwall by road. After this the train slowed down, stopping at every station possible and not moving quickly between them. Finally at Lizkeard the train stopped altogether and we were instructed to assemble on the platform to await another train. Twenty minutes later, this arrived and we duly got on. This train was itself forty minutes late and the extra stops it now had to include for our trains schedule now put it 48 minutes late.
We finally arrived in Penzance at 9:20pm, 2 hours and 20 minutes after our scheduled arrival time. I was greeted by a man who was also doing the LETJOG on a bike, setting off tomorrow and expecting a friend who had not turned up. We chatted for a while and he kindly offered to let me share their B&B room of I didn't fancy travelling to Lands End, but I gratefully declined and set off into the gathering dusk for a camp site.
I soon realised that I needed my lights and so they were dug out from a pannier – miraculously I could remember which one. With the onset of dusk O realised I would not be able to get to Lands End and have time for something to eat. Eventually I came across a camp-site and turned in. Immediately I sensed I'd hit on a good spot and the owner greeted me cheerily with a Geordie accent! He explained the facilities and offered to make me dinner, even though it was after the normal finishing time for catering. I gladly accepted and erected my tent. On my return to the shop/bar – yes it was licensed! I ordered a chicken and mushroom pie and what turned out to be a very bice pint of Edridge Pope Bitter. Feeling full and happy I retired to bed.

The story of a solo cycle ride from Lands End to John O'Groats in 1996

Article from the Evening Gazette 12-Jun-1996

I've finally started to transcribe my notes from my Lands End to John O'Groats solo cycle ride which I completed a mere 15 years ago. So this is the story of the journey faithfully transcribed from the notebook I used - no editing nor massaging. This is how I expressed myself at the time, usually on the evening sat in a camp-site, or even better, a bar!
As this was long before I had a digital camera, all the pictures are on 35mm slides. If I can dig them out and get them digitized, then I'll add them to the relevant pages.

So here goes, the story of how I managed to cycle from one corner of Great Britain to the other via some curious route choices. Some on purpose, others less so.