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The Two Fat Submariners
Lands End to John O’Groats Cycle
Diary
Day 1 - Lands End to Bratton Clovely – 96 Miles
Excitement was the word of the day as we got into our cars and headed towards Lands End to begin our first challenge. We have been working towards this for seven months and finally it was due to start… excitement, expectance, scared…. All words that spring to my mind as we travelled but overwhelmingly it was excitement. 
We decided to camp overnight at our first checkpoint location and travel by car in the early hours to the start. We packed our bike bags with enough pasties and monster energy drinks to feed half of Brighton, add to that gels, chocolate, flap jacks, sweets and I am sure you can conjure up an image of the Two Fat Submariners, nervous but laden with goodies.. It will be a good day.
As we descended through the mist to Lands Ends, it struck us at how commercial the final outpost of England had become. Images from Doctor Who to Cafes will remain with us forever. Having said this Lands End is home to the most sacred of images to those who embark upon the end to end challenge the “sign post”. The sign post guides us towards a choice of New York or John O’Groats, as we only had our cycles and not jet skies we choice the latter.
Being at Lands End so early brings many benefits such as all the tacky stuff remains closed, toilets freshly cleaned, ability to park but most importantly no changes for the obligatory sign post photographs, which went on for ages and made us even more nervous because we even received a ripple of applause from Land’s End earliest visitors. Having reached this “star” status before we had even set off only added to the pressure of the tour.
With cheeks still hurting from all the smiles and butterflies in our stomachs we climbed aboard our trusted, if somewhat loaded, machines, bode farewell to our loved ones, donned glasses, helmets and gloves and pushed the pedal down for the first of what must be close to a million times over the journey. We were off…. Let the adventure begin.
| Crossing the Start Line..!!! |
A whole five minutes later we were both out of breath on our first hill, laughing our heads off and silently saying to ourselves, what on earth did we sign up for this for J well we signed up for it to make a difference, all our charities are wonderful and that’s why we signed up.
Having continued through the initial pain barrier, which was to be the first of many, we soon settled in at a pace of 15mph giving us an average of 10mph including breaks, food stops and of course hills… This leg was the leg with the most dual carriageway and this is only because there is little alternative. Some may think that travelling on dual carriageways to be boring but oh no not in Cornwall. Dual carriageways in Cornwall are great places full of surprises. We were amazed at the amount of cars that came past us to hail some kind of verbal support or provide us with a one fingered salute (how did they know we were ex submariners). So we thank the tourists of Cornwall for making our first dual carriageway experience such an enjoyable one.
 Fingers aside Cornwall is truly stunning, twisting roads leading to tiny cottages nestled just behind neat lawns, rolling hills stuffed with sheep encompassed by perfect dry stone walls, cafes on every corner and a general feeling of relaxation. We enjoyed our transit through Cornwall and quickly met up with part 3 Myles and his safety escort Lenka. Myles will be joining us for 10 miles per day each day of the trip.
The final miles flew by and we took in the beautiful views of the Roadford Lake reservoir as we made our way down to our campsite base through the tiniest of Cornish country lanes, for anyone who has been there you will know they are no wider than a single car, typically with grass growing along the middle or gravel or by farm…. Muck…!! The last hill before the campsite was actually quite a monster and as we 4 sped down we saw a car coming the other way, under breaking and sharp breaking at that Myles’ front wheel hit the gravel in the middle of the road and out from under him it went, as Myles passed Steve down the road on his bottom, we knew he had had quite a serious fall. On inspection Myles had suffered severe gravel rash on elbows, knees and the side of his body. After a quick breather Myles being a true Bishop was up, back on his bike and even beat Steve to the top of the hill (Steve and hills really don’t get on!)
With the first day in the bag and feeling bloody great we came into the campsite to a rapturous greeting from our support crew who gave us such a wonderful welcome, prepared a fabulous dinner and a very welcome cold drink.
Day 2 - Bratton Clovely to Aldwick (8 Miles SW of Bristol) – 98 Miles
With our bellies full of tea and breakfast consisting of a sausage roll, snickers flapjack and a monster energy drink, and with the sun in our eyes we climbed aboard our machines ready for another day in the saddle. Our bike bags once again filled to the brim with goodies, yet more pasties and with the added delight of bananas too.
It was a new feeling as we pushed down the pedal to set off on day two. The new feeling was one of aching, lead weights known to the non end to end community as legs, which were screaming “are you mad?” to our brains at the top of their voice. A further five long miles into the days cycle and our legs accepted that our brain really can tell them what to do and they soon fell into line and began to be like little power engines again.
As we crossed into Devon and the earth that banked the roads turned to a deep red and after some emergency bike bag realignment to stop it rubbing on tyres we could safely marvel at the wondrous countryside of Devon in all its glory and to be honest Devon is very beautiful. The rolling hills of Devon turned into our first big town and along with it came town drivers, strapped into their metal dragons ready to do battle with the nippy slim line tigers that the Two Fat Submariners were astride. It seems that within towns drivers are even more rude, fingers changed into strange hand signals and drivers delighted it getting as close as possible to the curb to ensure they held us up.
As the town returned to countryside and we reached more hills, our posteriors joined in the earlier chorus of our legs and began singing to us or should that be stinging. Was our anti chaffing cream about to fail us? Well the answer was a resounding yes and we laughed at the fact we were slightly saddle sore… little did we know what would come later on in our journey.
Steve had prepared maps for each day with all the inclines and declines of the day marked out at the precise mileage, however there was a small error in the map and as we approached our final six miles having diverted so that Myles did not have to go up too large a hill on his cycle we encountered a sudden 800 feet climb in just ¾ mile. Pain is not the word.
We climbed to the summit and then met with Myles and escort Lenka for their miles and made our way to the campsite where our support team met us with another wonderful welcome and we enjoyed a wonderful barbecue and ate far too many sausages
Day 3 - Aldwick to Aston-on-Clun (2 Miles W of Craven Arms on the A49 in Herefordshire) – 99 Miles
A well deserved 30 minute lay in offered little to ease the pains when the alarms went off at 0530 on day 3. Everything was starting to hurt now and leaping out of bed and on to the bike seemed reserved for days one and two.
 However, 40 minutes later fuelled on lush scrambled eggs, bike bags topped to the brim and a gallon of Monster Energy Drinks, bottoms smothered in anti chaffing cream, we set off for a day of bridges and counties.
| The Whole Gang end of Day 3 |
Our new enthusiasm for the day was immediately squashed as before our legs had the slightest chance to stop screaming in pain we faced another enormous climb from our campsite up to and past Bristol airport. The closest description to the pain in our legs during this climb is it is like having your thigh muscles pulled open and chilli powder placed in the open wound. It hurt. Undeterred we slogged it out and reached the top and then down into the very pleasant city of Bristol.
Bristol was a lovely place, courteous people, city cycle paths and wonderful cycle route next to the river Avon and under the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Remove the slight head wind, certain indiscretions from Mr. Mills caused by breakfast and the first few spots of drizzle and it would have been completely blissful. However, even with the aforementioned issues this was a beautiful cycle way.
The nice views continued all the way to the Severn Bridge where we found the cycle way and had a great time crossing it… what a marvel, beautiful views, the mighty river Severn, and our gateway to Wales. The day was going handsomely and as we coasted down the bridge into Wales we made our first food stop of the day. This stop was not the best idea as once full and when we got back onto our bikes the full pain of the saddle sores struck us. Steve somewhat worse with actual open wounds and a rather badly positioned blocked hair follicle. Having negotiated the best location for our butts to rest upon our saddles we set off for Herefordshire through the wonderful Wye Valley. The Wye Valley is lovely, really beautiful, fabulously friendly people who knew without asking we were doing the End to End and offered us support by cheering or clapping.
Those of you who know Hereford will know that there is only one way in and one way out – via large hills. We negotiated the inbound hill with ease and while riding through the heart of Hereford suddenly we heard the screeches of car tyres and screams. It was then that we saw several of Steve’s GRC work colleagues who had been tracking us had come out to wish us luck. It was a welcome break and wonderful to have some support on our route. After a jovial 15 minutes we set off to get up and over our outbound hill to meet up with Myles and Lenka. With its natural beauty and quiet leafy lanes, Myles and Lenka met us a little further than normal and we really enjoyed the slower pace back to what was to be one of our favourite campsites.
As we entered the lush green and sloping campsite the smell of today’s barbecue gently beckoned us home, with its smoke rolling down the hill like a scene from Rorkes Drift only without Zulu’s and the British Army.
John one of the support team made best use of the relaxed cyclists, wonderful weather and beautiful back drop to take our first team and support team photo.
At the end of the day we felt very relaxed after the ride and despite our legs starting to really feel the pain, my hands being numb, Steve’s hair issues, and being saddle sore, we were making good progress and it felt great.
Day 4 - Aston-on-Clun to Tarleton (7 miles SW of Preston) – 109 Miles
With a good rest, our bike bags packed and both riders full of porridge, we set off on our longest leg of the whole 10 days. The only bonus about doing 109 miles on day four is that day four is also the flattest day of all. Not only that, but there was a real sense of excitement about the campsite we were booked into with quad bikes, nightlife, fair ground and it looked brilliant.
With a zing in our step, if that was possible with legs that were extremely stiff, we climbed back on the bikes and gently sat down and got cycling. It was clear that our butts were now in a pretty bad state and today would be hard on the nether r
egions. However contrary to us our bikes were holding up very well with only a couple of minor adjustments needed to keep them going strong.
Our route took us along past Warrington and St Helens where car drivers completely ignored us and were not too worried if we were hit, blocked or slowed up.
We knew that we had a long run on a single road today – 60 miles but when we got there we did not expect to have the wind coming straight in our face, head on. Having the wind head on, not only made us feel cold but slowed our average speed while we were peddling twice as hard to get through it. It was really hard all the way but we kept going didn’t give up and the experience made us so much stronger on the rest of the trip, but when we took the left turn off the road and out of the direct wind all of a sudden we were cycling at 20mph.
Myles and Lenka met us as planned and completed their miles with ease and we rolled into the campsite. We found our support team cramped into a corner will little space between our tents and camper, one key between 21 for the bath room and no sign of the fair, bikes, open spaces, and as for the nightlife, well that was a “western” style line dancing hall. It was not what we thought it would be and everyone was generally down.
With the campsite not great we decided to eat out, so off to the Cock and Bottle and dinner for 21. As we sat all talking about our day and the cycle, we were over heard by the landlord and a couple next to us who gave us £15 between them. My faith in humanity after the disappointment of the campsite was immediately restored and we thanked them all for their very kind support. Full and a with a couple of well earned Guinness’ we planned the next day and then hit the hay.
Day 5 - Tarleton to Dalston (4 Miles SW of Carlisle) – 105 Miles
Day 5 started off like any other day so far, a hearty breakfast of porridge and green tea, loading of our bike bags and Monster drinks, application of anti chaffing, and ibuprofen gel and the dread, excitement and expectation of riding through the wonderful Lake District. Our legs had finally accepted that they had to work for a living, but now my left knee was causing some discomfort and bit of pain and I had also lost the feeling in my fingers (which are still the same even as you read this!), combine that with Steve’s severe nether region issues and we must have made a sorry sight.
The day cycle route would take us through some of the most beautiful countryside in Britain and we could not wait to get going. The cycle went great initially and we generated quite a pace until we got to the Lake District and we started to hack over the hills, which were followed by more hills, and even more hills but we kept to our planned route taking us down through Windermere and Keswick.
Cycling down though Windermere the roads got smaller and busier but we continued to make good speed, until we got to the foot of our highest climb of about 1100 feet with the reward of a six mile down hill run after it.
It was on the run down the hill that day 5 turned into quite the scary day. We were coming down the hill and going relatively fast at about 35 mph when a car attempted to overtake us (probably a tourist) trouble then as a car came the other way leaving the driver in the situation of do I brake and pull in behind bikes or ‘nah’ I will make it put my foot down. The driver chose option 2, but didn’t make it and he was forced to pull over, clipping Steve whose back wheel hit my front wheel leaving him with the option to pull right which would have caused both riders into the path of the whizzing traffic and certain doom or ditch it. I very courageously chose to ditch.
“I picked my spot, just over a stone walled gully and jumped for the grass, my left leg made it but my right one didn’t and caught the wall. It was a big crash and we were going so fast Steve took at least 70 meters to stop. Jogging back and seeing my bike in the road and cars stopped (not the guy who hit us by the way!), Steve was overcome with emotion thinking I was laying in bits under the car, it wasn’t until I came out of the bush with two huge holes in my leg that Steve knew I was ok. I looked at him and said I have to go to hospital even though it wasn’t gushing with blood, we knew it needed some serious attention. We rolled down 200 meters pulled off the road and observed the injury. It was clear that I need more help than our first aid kit could offer as it was possible to see my shin bone. At that time John appeared in his land rover and offered to take me, but after much conversation I turned him down and we agree
d I could cycle the 7 miles remaining to Keswick to go to hospital. John would go on ahead a couple of miles to ensure we were ok which was very kind of him.
After a quick visit to Lloyds chemist we got directions to the hospital and a short cycle later we were in the cottage hospital. The wonderful nurse in the minor injury department quickly checked me over and instead of a quick clean, two plasters and on your way I was told we need to get a doctor to come and stitch the leg. Nurse Gail continued to clean me while being completely annoyed by Steve who was asking her to not clean the blood until he had a good picture, and could she clean above it so he could get a clear shot of the wounds. Steve made us all laugh although I think we got on her nerves. Gail patched me up and told us to wait in the waiting room. As we sat there in Lycra looking like the “only two gays in the village” we engaged in polite conversation with another victim of the cars. Within five minutes the intrepid duo fell asleep – as I was coming in and out of sleep I noticed that our fellow patients had begun to whisper so not to wake us. People are great aren’t they?
An hour later the doctor came and assessed...6 stitches, 3 steri-strips and a heap of pain killers. Steve still taking bloody pictures and then a stroke of luck, my anaesthetic involved a needle and he hates them – at last 5 minutes peace. So the doctor did 6 great stitches and told me under no circumstances should I carry on with the cycle and to have the wound looked at the next day. I said it may be hard as we were at the campsite and could she give us some bandages and medical pads, to
which she gave me loads – the secret code for “go for it”
We quickly got back on our bikes, sent an update text back to the camp and preceded to cycle the 30 miles left that day arriving at the campsite at 2045. Myles and Lenka deferred their cycle and did it locally.
After spending a while reassuring our support team that I was ok and that the doctors had agreed for me to continue we finally got to the showers. However, although the campsite was wonderful the showers were cold, so we washed in the sinks. Steve basically took up all the sinks and was washing his blocked hair pore when an old chap came out of the loo with hands in an ‘I need to wash them’ position but because we had taken all the sinks he made the choice to speak to us and not wash his hands!!
We sat down, ate, reassured everyone again, and then went to bed, to say the least it was an eventful day.
Day 6 - Dalston to Prestwick – 99 Miles
With 50% of the tour done, we had been told by many a member of the support team and friends “it’ll all be downhill once you get to day six”. Well which bloody fool came up with that statement – someone who has never done the end to end for sure? We looked at the maps for the next few days and they were all really, really hilly. No downhill for the Two Fat Submariners.
| Once Communicators.... Always Communicators!! |
| The support party en-route Prestwick |
We started a little later today due to the injury of my leg and we were obviously more than a little concerned if it would make the day. The lay in came at a price with stiffness and sore legs but with bikes laden and stomachs full we climbed back aboard our trusty machines. Well I know I can speak for both Steve and I when I say that our butts were killing us at this point, we both had open wounds which we covered in anti chaffing gel and ibuleve painkilling gel to try and relieve the pain. It worked a little.
We soon got into a rhythm and my leg held up nicely and 30 miles or so in to the journey by Carlisle (Carlisle! weren’t we in Lands End just 5 and a bit days ago… it felt amazing) my left knee needed a reapplication of painkilling gel and we decided to stop for some food. After 2 minutes of being stopped we observed an interesting looking man who we knew had to head our way. The conversation was amusing so I have documented it below.
Man I used to be a professional cyclist
Steve Oh really, wow, we’re not professionals though we are cycling to John O’Groats
Man That’s a long way where did you come from?
Steve Lands End, We’re doing it for charity.
Man Charity, which one?
Steve Help for heroes and…..
Man I used to be a hero. How much have you raised?
Barry About £7000 so far
Man That’s a lot isn’t it. And how much do you get?
Barry Nothing we’re doing it for charity
Man Nothing, well that’s a bit stupid isn’t it? Can I trouble you for a coffee?
We never got to know this chaps name but he truly was a hero and an inspiration for us to complete this challenge and raise a lot of money.
The road past Carlisle was pretty uneventful until the weather got awful. The wind turned in our face, rain began stinging our legs and cheeks, lorries whizzing past soaking us, and it was hell. This road just went on and on… then we smelt the lovely smell of cheap, horrible, fatty beef burgers cooking in a roadside van. We agreed that the next one would be around the corner and the smell was just too intoxicating, we needed one. SEVENTEEN miles of sheer torture until the next van appeared like a crimson hut on the horizon enticing weary travellers to come to its table and chairs and indulge in some real food. With jets of saliva squirting up the throat we applied our breaks and hit the menu. We would like two bacon, sausage, double egg, with mushrooms, sauce and everything possible. With a look of delight our engaging serving lady prepared our feast and it was fabulous and so tasty. Not a morsel was left.
We kept on track making good speed to meet Myles and Lenka which we agree to meet in Ayr on our way to Prestwick. I have to say that this was Myles hardest day, the traffic here was very heavy, roads not very good and it was a tough 10 miles. But both he and Lenka did very well to make it and ensure they made the challenge.
We arrived at our campsite t
| On the Bonnie Bonnie banks of Loch Lomond! | o the wonderful greeting of our support team, the sound of planes flying out of Prestwick at a wonderful clean and tidy campsite by the sea. It was really nice there and thank goodness that the planes don’t fly all night.
Day 7 - Prestwick to Inverarnan (Top of Loch Lomond) – 84 Miles
After 6 days, we now had our morning routine off to a tee, alarm, porridge, load cycles, shower, dress and off, it was a well rehearsed plan and everything at this point was almost on auto pilot. However, our legs did seem to finally be accepting that this was going to happen for the next days and they were getting quicker and quicker to lose their stiffness and aching.
We headed off up towards Glasgow and climbing yet another huge hill on the way, which when we reached the peak were rewarded with not only yet another resoundingly wonderful view but also 4 miles of pure downhill pleasure towards Paisley. This hill was a fast hill down and we thoroughly enjoyed the cycle down increasing in speed as we went. Faster and faster, so fast that we managed to go two miles past our turn off. Undeterred and feeling great after our easy cycling we were soon back on track picking our way through the suburbs towards Erskine Bridge.
Back on track and on the map we came to a sign which said “no through road for satnav users”. Assuming that it was a mere case of the road becoming so narrow it was unsuitable for cars we continued. We cycled along the road for a couple of miles and rather pretty it was too, through a lovely picture postcard farm setting, down a smaller lane to some rather grand and imposing gates, which were open. Steve and I looked at each and decided to ring the butler and housekeeping. None of the calls from the gate were answered, so we decided that it is far easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission and we headed into the estate.
Down through neatly organized gardens and hedgerows we finally came to the big house and another set of imposing gates, only this time locked. We quickly pressed every simple code such as 1234 or 0000 on the code pad but nothing worked. We were trapped! Steve spotted a young filly doing a spot of equestrian practice so he asked her for the code and was refused point blank as it was something she was never, ever, allowed to give out. But we could go and speak to the lady of the house and she may help us.
Over to the big stone house we went and knocked on the large wooded door. To our surprise a frail and very Scottish elderly lady answered and told us that the road was closed and she could not open it because of the horses. We retorted with an overview of our challenge and luckily she relented and even offered to show us a short cut. The lady hopped into her car and opened the gate and sped off. We had to follow her, the tarmac soon was replaced by a grass lane, over bumps, rocks, and we arrived at very old, rusted set of gates. “That’ll be the road by the quarry, it’s much faster to where ye want to go.” We thanked her graciously and lifted our bikes over the fence and we back on the open road thinking we had got one over her and our short cut was a success. Wrong…. She had taken us further back than where we had started, so she had the last laugh.
Finally we reached the Erskine Bridge and we enjoyed the cycle across the river and into Dumbarton. We carried on into Alexandria for some medical supplies and a well earned “smokey and chips” which was fantastic, Smokey’s are a Scottish treat and we hadn’t had one for years. It was so good.
Back up to full power it was full on along the left side of Loch Lomond which was absolutely stunning. It was the first Loch side I have every rode along and it will not be the last. Even the fact it was raining cats and dogs did not dampen my appreciation of it.
We met with Myles and Lenka and they joined us for the final push along the loch and through the rain. This was another tough but great ride for Myles until we reached the campsite where unfortunately he took a spill on the slippery wood that the bridge was constructed of. He quickly brushed himself down, another cut to his knee, and proudly joined the team as we made our way down the entrance road.
The campsite was at the top of Loch Lomond and by the time we arrived the support crew were pretty down as it continued to rain, tents we wet and everyone had had enough. So, the campsite had a very pleasant bar and restaurant so we all enjoyed some Scottish hospitality delivered by a Slovak waiting and a South African bar man. The steak was wonderful and the beer welcome.
The end of the evening introduced to a new enemy of the tour. With the rain abated the midges came out in force, with Steve a particular favourite for them. We went to bed full and scratching, ready for tomorrow.
Day 8 – Invernarnan to Fort Augusta (Bottom of Loch Ness) – 89 Miles
This was billed as the most beautiful of days through the highlands and the awe-inspiring mountains of Glencoe, which for sure it would be but what we didn’t bank upon was the weather.
The transit to Glencoe took us over some of the largest climbs of the tour. We were so high that when it wasn’t raining we were still getting drenched due to cycling through the clouds and when we dropped down the other side of the climb and back in to the valley the winds were so strong that they almost lifted us off our cycles. Being in the clouds did spoil our views a little, but Glencoe remains one of our favourite parts of the tour. It took us 40 miles of climbs to reach Glencoe and as we got higher, the rain got colder, the wind got stronger and colder, and we became very blue
| A damp but mysterious Glencoe | and shivery.
We stopped in Glencoe for a fantastic mug of hot tea while the weather continued to deluge rain upon us, we were soaked to the skin and turning even bluer with cold, we had to cycle again quickly. Back on our bikes, cold and stiff, the wind still howling we were both feeling it, our waterproofs were no longer working and we were getting colder. Finally we managed to get into a rhythm again but the rain kept coming, then like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow we saw a sign in a tiny village saying outdoor clothing sale in village hall today, we both braked at the same time and said we had to find it, which was actually easy as the village only had two streets.
We entered the village hall like two drowned zombies, water dripping off everything, blue and shivering. The lady who ran the event looked shocked to see us and quickly aided us to buy new jackets and T-shirts then very kindly guided us upstairs to the committee room to change. When we got into the room there was a huge red sofa and I for the first time had the urge just to curl up and sleep, obviously we didn’t have time to do this but it looked so inviting. We quickly dried off, changed, had a warm up and got back underway once again feeling human and ready to cycle. I think this particular leg of the journey was in real danger had we not found this little village hall that day.
The rest of the journey was equally as wet but we were snug and warm and dry again allowing us to take in the breathtakingly beautiful loch as we passed Fort William and on to Fort Augusta.
Myles and Lenka were on time and in the right location and they joined us for a damp 10 miles as we continued along in the wonderful rugged countryside. It is amazing in the Highlands with enormous birds of prey on every corner, peat burners still in operation, beautiful estates and castles proudly defending them. It was truly fantastic.
We arrived at the campsite in great spirit and the sun finally broke through the clouds to join in the welcome. Everyone was back on a high and we walked down to the village at the bottom of loch Ness to take in a few beers and a lovely meal.
Day 9 – Fort Augusta to Dornoch – 78 Miles
Today was designed to be the shortest of the legs as we had to cross a lot of steep climbs and also we wanted to be in good shape for our last day in the saddle. With our legs now operating like machines and just the odd moment of knee pain for me, our backsides now like leather and getting used to it, we set off in the hope for a reasonably quick time for our cycle today.
Once again we proved to be easy pickings for the midges that used the first ray of sunshine through the clouds to warm their bodies to hunt their human prey. Although I have to say that despite being bitten a few times it was Steve who is clearly the sweeter. We did take revenge on the micro devils though by killing thousands of them as they spattered into our jackets and bike bags, it was midge carnage.
We cycled along Loch Ness with the same thing that must run through anyone’s mind as they circle the great and world famous loch. “Come on Nessey, were doing this for charity you know, appear and make us famous!” Sadly, she remained as elusive as ever so we just continued along our route.
The shores of Loch Ness brought us our final and most evil of hills, so steep that we had to zigzag to get up it, but like all the others we conquered it with pride to achieve our ultimate goal.
With all the effort we expended to get up this hill we notice Steve’s saddle had worked loose and we stopped to check it. On inspection we discovered that not only had it worked loose but the stem had snapped completely. We decided to take our time and try to find a cycle shop. As we were about to leave my phone rang and the support team told us they were in the next town having a coffee. What a stroke of luck as we had spares there and could use one of the other bikes to take a saddle from.
We stopped for tea, exchanged Steve’s saddle which looked like it would destroy all the good work he had done to make his butt like leather and we carried on.
We continued to storm our way through and got to the campsite at 2.30 enabling us to enjoy a bit of time with our families an
d have another lovely dinner out. Just one day to go….
Day 10 – Dornoch to John O’Groats – 83 Miles
With Still 83 miles to go there was a certain spring in our steps as we leaped aboard our cycles to begin our final stage of the tour. Emotions were high as we departed the campsite and we were nervous that now on the final stage of our leg, what we will do tomorrow, what the welcome will be like, could anything go wrong….
Our spring in the step was soon flattened as the last day in the saddle was going to prove to be one of the toughest. Immediately the road surface was awful, traffic heavy and we always seemed to be going uphill. Then in the distance a ray of sunlight flickered off of a road sign and we saw it John O’Groats 78 miles. It was the firs
| The Duo arrive John O'Groats | t time we had seen the name on a road sign and it was terrific. As we carried on hills turned into really big hills and really big hills turned into oh my God’s. But as with all the hills we climbed them and continued our journey.
All along this route there were moments of inspiration like the first John O’Groats sign, a wonderful Orchid growing wild in a lay by, a fellow end to ender on his last 3 days – he was walking it, all of the wonderful Scots that supported us knowing what we were doing and most of all being passed by the support team all screaming support to us out of the car windows as we sped along.
We decided to meet Myles and Lenka early at 13 miles out and they joined us for the final cruise on to John O’Groats. The maps that we used said that the actual end of the country is Duncansby Head Lighthouse, which is a further 2 miles northeast. Soon we saw it on the horizon and we made the right turn on the outskirts of John O’Groats and headed towards the lighthouse. We spotted a coach returning from the outpost and excitement really started to grow. We whizzed down the hill and up the other side and approached the car park. “Can you see their cars”? We all looked but nothing. Where was the fanfare, champagne, support party, where was the sign… there was nothing. We stopped and called the support team and as we suspected they were all in the town of John O’Groats.
With heavy legs we went back down the hill, back up the hills and cycled for two very long miles. Finally we saw them, the crowd of cheering supporters, what a feeling as we free wheeled the final 100 meters towards them. On arrival we were besieged with family and friends who were delighted to see us. An immediate cold beer, some well earned chips and about a thousand photographs at the sign. Memories that will stick with us forever.
We could not have made it without our wonderful support team, sponsors, friends, and each other. So we thank you all from the bottom of our hearts.
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