Travel Biography - Week 43.

The Day Before the Start of the End-to-End Ride. 

Gareth and I arrived at John O'Groats Youth Hostel one early August evening in 1990 after travelling on several trains from my hometown of Bracknell in Berkshire to Thurso on the Scottish coast, a journey stretching around 23 hours. This was similar to the boat-train journey between London and Rome I completed a couple of times in the 1970s, although this particular journey to Scotland included a wait for several hours for the connecting train at Inverness.

Before the Start of the Ride.

We shared the dormitory with several young men, more to Gareth's age than mine (he's ten years my junior) - all from the Continent, mostly Dutch. That evening, a group of them in the hostel's lounge sat around a large map of Great Britain laid out on the floor whilst celebrating their success in completing their End-to-End cycle ride northwards from Lands End to John O'Groats. However, in the Liverpool area, they hitched a ride on the Mersey ferry, hence their challenge was compromised.

Afterwards, whilst I was alone with Gareth, I spoke firmly to him, saying that in no way would we hitch any motorised ride, whether on a boat, car or train, although we both agreed that walking was allowed on steep hill climbs.

The next morning, a Saturday, was a day for local exploration around the John O'Groats area before commencing on our main ride. So we stayed in bed for longer than the rest of our dormitory. Whilst there was quite a bustle coming from outside our dorm, a richly Scottish female voice carried her words to our slumbering ears, explaining to some hostellers from the Continent that here in Scotland, everyone must carry out a mandatory duty. She then told them to stop fussing and get on with it. This became a standing joke between us for the months to come. Indeed, this particular incident made me think that the SYHA was still way behind other hostelling associations around the world when it came to modernisation to suit the desires of the adult backpacker.

Sometime after, my task was to mop the bathroom floor, a task that took less than five minutes. Gareth was given a similar task elsewhere. Throughout that holiday, mandatory duties were assigned in most hostels, the two exceptions were Carbisdale Castle in the Scottish Highlands (which closed in 2011 and sold off by the SYHA in 2014) and YHA Bristol. Also, as expected, we weren't assigned any duty at the Wilcot Hotel in Blackpool.

Here is the full list of accommodations throughout the whole holiday. All except one were YHA hostels and unless specified, each was for one night only:

Scotland.

John O'Groats - 2 nights.

Carbisdale Castle.

Aviemore.

Perth.

Broadmeadows.

England.

Carrock Fell.

Windermere - 2 nights.

Wilcot Hotel.

Chester.

Ludlow.

Bristol.

Exeter.

Fowey.

Penzance.

Duncansby Stacks, taken August 1990.

After Breakfast, we decided to explore the locality, and we had a full day to do this. First, we made our way to Dunnet Head on the north coast. It's a tongue of land jutting into the Arctic Ocean and thus, the most northerly point in the whole of mainland Britain. As we approached, we stopped at a small freshwater pond (Loch Bunfa) just a little way inland from the cliffs. At the sight, I exclaimed with loud excitement, Wow! This must be the most northerly lake in England!

To which my friend gave me a hard stare, looking straight into my eyes as if I had just uttered a blasphemy, which, actually, I did. What did you say? He asked.

Oh, I meant Scotland. He then reminded me never to refer to the Scots as English, as this would stir hostility. Fortunately, we were the only two at that isolated location.

We then cycled the 16 miles to Duncansby Head, located on the corner where the coast swings from east-west to north-south. We had a strong westerly tailwind, and I shifted to the highest gear. This evoked a response from Gareth, who was behind me, with the approximate words, By heck, he's off! And indeed I was. I rode along the quiet coastal road fast - one of those few occasions throughout the holiday.

However, the weather was moody. During the ride, the heavens opened, but there was a roadside cafe nearby, and we stopped there over warm coffee as it bucketed down outside. But it was a shower rather than prolonged rain. As we passed over a hill, in front of us looked to be something promising. I turned to Gareth to get closer to the site and check out what it was.

They turned out to be two huge Old Sandstone stacks, just off the coastal cliff, with a third stack "in the making" as it was still attached to the mainland by a narrow arch. We had arrived at Duncansby Head. I was awestruck! We never expected to see such a natural dramatist so soon, on our first full day in Scotland.

Being of sandstone rock, the sight of these stacks reminded me of the cliffs and buttes in the Grand Canyon, where I hiked twelve years earlier in 1978. Nearby, and near the Duncansby Lighthouse, was a "slot canyon" cutting into the cliff face, alive with Puffins with their loud squawks echoing within the narrow cliff walls of the canyon. This is the Geo of Sclaites, a natural phenomenon caused by cliff erosion over the millennia. At this point, I wish to remind the reader that at the time, I knew nothing of these features described here, let alone their names. It was after we returned home that, after buying an Ordinance Survey map of the area, I became familiar with the names.

The End-to-End Ride Begins.

That next morning, the hostel warden did not assign us any duties. Whether it was due to being Sunday and the Scots were religiously devoted to the Lord's Day, or whether we carried out our duties already and therefore had no need for another assignment, I will never know. But we got on well with her. She was due to retire in a short while, and we agreed to send her a postcard from Lands End as soon as we arrived there. 

We arrived at the House Hotel, next to the harbour. The white building enclosed a car park which was actually the terminus of the A9, a major class A road leading to Falkirk, near Edinburgh, along 290 miles before becoming the M9 into the Scottish capital. Back in 1990, this road was the A9 from the hotel car park in John O'Groats to just beyond Falkirk. At present, some 32 years later, the 23-mile route to Latheron from John O'Groats became the A99 whilst the road to Thurso became the new A9 when before it was the A895. Therefore, in this Biography, I will refer to the A9 as it was in 1990.

Across the entrance of the hotel car park was a white line painted right across the start of the road. At each end, there were two logos, one at each end, the Start and the Finish. At first, I was baffled why each of the two words was at "the wrong end" of the line. It was afterwards that I realised that the Start/Finish line was painted on the road for the benefit of walkers, who by law, had to walk on the right side of the road here in the UK.

We lined our bikes behind the line and a bystander, at my request, took photos. Then I began the countdown, 5,4,3,2,1, Go! And we set off on what would have been the traditional 874-mile route to Lands End. But with a couple of detours, first through the Lake District, then soon after another for Blackpool, we most likely pushed a total of 900 miles in two weeks.

We found the A9 to be quite an amazing road, including crossing the Dormoch Firth on a very long, low road bridge, and another low bridge spanned the Cromarty Firth, and as we approached Inverness, the A9 crossed the Moray Firth. The road also passed some lovely rivers, including the River Shin backed by mountains of the Scottish Highlands and gives a spectacular view from our dormitory Window at Carbisdale Castle. Other rivers we crossed include the River Tilt and the River Tummel, the latter before joining the River Tay as it passes through the city of Perth.

Of historic sites, Blair Atholl Castle is worth mentioning. This white edifice, similar to the House Hotel at John O'Groats, is surrounded by beautiful public gardens. It was lunchtime when we arrived here, and the gardens were the ideal spot for a picnic. And except for Lands End, this was how we ate throughout the holiday. We made our own breakfast and evening meal in the hostel member's kitchen. We took turns. One evening, I did the cooking, and he did the washing up. The following evening, our tasks were reversed. During the day, we lunched on snacks we bought at a grocery or superstore. All this fared well for our budget.

There was only one puncture throughout the entire trip, and that was on Gareth's front wheel after we left Aviemore for Perth, a remote, deserted spot on the road. Fortunately, I carried a puncture repair outfit, a spare innertube, and some essential tools necessary for the job, and having stopped, I handed my kit bag to him and he made a successful repair. We had no more flats since then.

Gareth repairs a puncture after leaving Aviemore.

Then we came across an elderly local who cautioned us with a degree of seriousness that we were riding during "the busy rush-hour traffic." Afterwards, we both laughed. There wasn't a vehicle in sight. The road was deserted for a weekday morning. Perhaps, we should escort this chap to London during a typical weekday morning during the school term. He'll then realise the real meaning of rush hour!

The stretch of the A9 between Aviemore and Perth was most deceptive when it came to the gradient. Pedalling out of Aviemore, we were unaware that we were cycling uphill. The road looked so level, yet, I couldn't understand why I felt a draining of energy. Even after the puncture repair break, there was mile after mile of tough pedalling without much reward. Eventually, I saw a roadside sign telling us that we'd reached the summit. 

From the moment we passed the sign, everything changed. I was riding in front, and I changed to the highest gear as we began to accelerate. In next to no time, we were going fast - like the clappers, as we sped towards Perth. It was during this part of the ride that we eventually stopped at Blair Atholl Castle for a rest and a picnic lunch.

By evening, we arrived at Perth Youth Hostel, our fourth stop on the ride, to settle for the night. As this hostel boasted a laundrette, this was a good time st stuff all our sweaty, smelly clothing into the front load and leave the following morning dressed in fresh clothing.

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From now on, all distances will be given in miles only. To convert to kilometres, multiply the number of miles by 1.62. Examples:

1 mile = 1.62 km.

16 miles = 25.9 or approx 26 km.

23 miles = 37.3 km.

290 miles = approx 470 km.

874 miles = approx 1,416 km.

Next Week: The Ride Continues.