Epiblog

..back to London on the sleeper, 


get off at Euston, 


half asleep, 


and guess who's there waiting at 7.30 am with a bottle of bubbly? 


Ma and Pa! 


Legends both. 


Lovely surprise, thanks parents!!






...and don't forget, folks, there's still plenty of time to log on to http://www.justgiving.com/hughwilkinson/  and make a donation to the cause ...

H X

Helmsdale - John O'Groats

Done,  finished,  fin,  finito!

It's all over and the fat lady has sung.

950 miles, over £2500 raised and I can still,  just about,  walk!

I started out earlier than usual today, hitting the final leg of LeJog  at 8.30 to leave enough time for unforeseen nightmares like punctures or fundamentalist sheep.  


The big Northern fella in the bar last night had enjoyed telling me about the 'hill to end all hills' and threw down the gaunlet,  proudly stating that I wouldn't make it up there without getting off to push.   Not one to shy away from a challenge I made it up without taking my feet off the pedals once.

Ha!

John O'Groats appeared at the end of four hours non stop pedalling.  

Not another act of bravura,  just a quiet fear that any hanging around could mean missing the only train from Wick to Inverness today.

'Jog' isn't the tumbleweed strewn backwater I'd been told it was, but the 'last shoppe in Scotland' feel to everything makes it every bit as fake as Lands End.    Still, the views are great and the sun started to shine on cue so that was alright.

I made it back to Wick with an hour to spare, downed a bowl of soup and got myself and bike onto the train,  where I am now, clattering along between water and fields.

So that's all folks!   A few quick thankyous  -  first thanks to Mum for knocking my words and pictures into shape every day.   One Terry's chocolate orange on it's way to Norwich.

Thanks to everyone who's put money in the pot.   Big or small,  the donations all add up to a tidy amount and will make a big difference to some deserving kids.

Finally,  thanks to all the people who were kind enough to put me up for free along the way, really appreciated.

Oh yeah,  thanks for reading the blog and keeping me company on ma wee trip.

Baah!   H x

Dingwall - Helmsdale

Helmsdale.    So far north I can smell the herrings in Norway.

It looks strangely like rural Kent around here, until you look into the distance and catch a glimpse of some mountains, then look the other way and see the oil refineries off the coast. The light is different to the south, kind of clearer and more vivid.

It's been the best day yet for wildlife. I spent the first 20 miles in the company of some big birds, mostly buzzards and one that looked a bit like an osprey, but I wasn't sure. 

Just as I started the last climb to Helmsdale I noticed I had an otter jogging along the verge next to me, doing that funny butterfly-stroke run that they do.  "Tarka?" I asked him, stopping to get a better look.   He didn't seem amused and jumped into the hedge.

As well as living things it has been sad to see how many of our furry and feathered friends get wiped out on the roads.   And they smell pretty bad, especially the deer.

The cheesiest moment happened today as well.  I stopped for a breather at a clearing looking out over the Firth of Moray.  Just as I sat down on the grass verge, surveying the natural beauty,  iTunes decided this would be an apt moment to play Cherish by Kool and the Gang,  possibly the corniest thing they ever committed to wax.   Apart from Joanna, maybe.

It's amazing what a soundtrack can do and,  jelly babies in hand,  I felt for a second like I was in the closing credits of a schmaltzy '80s romance, possibly starring Daryl Hannah as the love interest and me, obviously, as the heartbroken lead.   With nothing but a sunset and some confectionary to provide comfort.   Cheesy eh?

The next tune, Baggy Trousers by Madness, helped bring me round and back onto the bike.

So -  one more day to go folks.  

Early start tomorrow,  up to the top,  then back to Wick for the 4 o'clock to Inverness. 

Then back to Laandan taan!

Love and tatties Hx

Spean Bridge - Dingwall

After English (well Scottish) breakfast number 12 I hauled myself back onto the trusty ride and hit the A82 making my way up the Great Glen.

This Glen is the one that almost severs the north part of Scotland from the rest of it, and has a fair amount of water to fill in the gaps. Loch Ness is one of these watery corridors, and a big one at that. 

 I must have spent too long looking at the murky grey lake to notice my turnoff and ended up steaming the wrong way for a good 10 miles before realising my mistake. 

After a look at the map I decided to keep going and pedal through Inverness rather than make a u-turn. It would have meant a few miles less but I seem to have a mild OCD objection to going back over my tracks when I'm somewhere new.

Another golden sunny day, and some beautiful pine covered hills were chalked up on the cheerful side of the board. 

It's weird to think that in two more days my trip will be over and I'll be clipping the bike into place on the sleeper back to Euston.  I'm getting used to bagpipe music in the pub, whisky distilleries on every corner and fresh faced cyclists passing me on route to Lands End. I'm also itching to get back to the groove of playing and writing, like I always am after time away.

I've still got a fairly tough day in the saddle tomorrow though;  hills aplenty and some exotic sounding places like 'Clashmore' and 'Brora' to check out. 

The God of punctures has been kind to me so far but, as Bobby Burns said himself on the subject - "The best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft agley" aft

 agley

True 'nuff BB!

H x

Ardlui - Spean Bridge

Today was just amazing.

A shorter ride than yesterday by 30 miles, it didn't take long to get out of the lowland near Loch Lomond before I started the slow ride up through Rannoch Moor.   

After about an hour, the mindblowing beauty of Glencoe unfolded and I spent the rest of the day surrounded by mountains, valleys and more mountains. 

The sun had his Tam O' Shanter on most of the time and the west wind kept me cool.

Lunch at the 'Real food Cafe' near Glen Coe was washed down with Bru and topped off with carrot cake and coffee on the house.   Thanks Andrew the manager, top man!

And thanks legs for getting me this far without totally falling apart.   According to my sums they've carried, sorry pedalled me 755 miles since last Tuesday..   I'll be treating the faithful old pegs to some Radox lovin' later.

Tonight it's another freebie courtesy of the Spean Bridge Commando hotel.   Fortunately you don't have to be a Para to stay here, it's just a reference to the memorial down the road. Note to self,  try not to get too drunk tonight and start spinning yarns to tourists explaining how the mild limp is a result of several tours in Basra. 

By the way,  Mum took editorial control of the blog yesterday and inserted two sentences of her own.   Five English pounds to anyone who can tell which two. 

Loch Ness and more Bru tomorrow!

H x




ps from Mum:  Hugh was very tired after cycling up Loch Lomond in the dark without falling in and drowning, so his prose was not quite as cogent as usual.

Afton Water - Ardlui

Very short entry for yesterday - long,  seemingly unending,  finishing with two hours along the side of Loch Lomond in the dark (so no photos of that particular bit of scenic splendour)!  

I ended up cycling from 11am until 10.30pm even though the book promised a 6 hour ride. Must be slowing down in my old age!

Both knees are giving me trouble now and one of my Achilles' tendons has joined in.

The speedo stopped working on the Erskine bridge and my phone fell out of the rubbish holder thing, finally cracking the screen.

Apart from that, it was a great day!

In fact, it did end on a happy note when my GPS sent me two miles beyond the b&b and into a posh hotel. The receptionist told me they only had a 'superior double' but seeing as it was late she'd only charge me a single rate. A jacuzzi and two whiskies later the world was feeling like a kinder place again.

Gotta fly now, Glen Coe and Ben Nevis await...

Hx


ps    If the google map still says I'm in Kilmarnock, it's telling porkies.

Gretna - Cumnock

Wednesday. Must be Cumnock.

The rain stayed away and the sun was there or thereabouts all day, shining down on increasingly hilly surroundings and giving me another reason to be cheerful.

The aural entertainment came mostly in spoken form today. 
George Carlin's ascerbic take on everything from pointless airline announcements to the inevitability and ultimate inconsequence of the end to humankind was a good way to kick off.  


After lunch, courtesy of the cheery wee red and white chef, I moved onto an Ian Banks novel, read by an actorly Scotsman, which kept me company til the destination.

So here I am, being looked after by Julie and Alistair in Afton Water.   There was a plate of Toad in the hole waiting in the oven when I arrived, not forgetting Julie's home baked scones, almost as good as Mum's! 

Thanks for having me guys, and for carrying on the tradition of being guest house owners from Yorkshire, regardless of where I am!

Also thanks to Tom Savage for sorting out the map at the top, so that you can all see that I'm really doing it and not sitting on a beach in Malaga with a cold cerveza and Photoshop.

Duck me I'm knackered.    90 more clicks to do tomorrow, taking me to the top of Loch Lomond..

5-1!!!

Hx

Kirkby Lonsdale - Gretna

Scotland.      Freeedom!!       

I'm past the halfway mark, the knee seems to be holding out with some help from nurofen and the knee support strap thing, and I've made it to Gretna despite the efforts of several truck drivers to kill me on the A66.

I thought I'd celebrate my arrival with a Caeser salad at the Blacksmiths Hotel, my digs tonight. The plate of brown undressed leaves and assorted cheese makes me think that the Polish barman heard me say 'cheesy salad' but didn't quite get the request for bread. Anyway, should be some interesting cheese dreams tonight..

The scenery for the first 20 miles after Kirkby Lonsdale was just amazing. I was there a few years ago for a walking holiday with Charlotte so the place has special memories for me.

After a few hours the hills and Dales began to peter out into fairly dull landscape, made duller with grey skies and rain.

No matter, I was pleased to be heading north and must make a special thanks to my left leg for doing most of the uphill work.

I have developed the habit of singing Sinatra to the sheep I pass. There seems to be a look of appreciation mixed with bewilderment as I pedal by.

Simple pleasures!

Cumnock tomorrow. Hoots!!

Hx 

Warrington - ahem - Kirkby Lonsdale

With a belly full of breakfast, this time prepared by my own blistered hands, I set out on the road north. 

After yesterday's knee issues I started at a fairly sedate pace and trundled out of town, for once happy to let the kids on their fat-tyred mountain bikes steam past.    I'd stuffed down a couple of pain killers before leaving and took a few more with lunch but that right knee just wasn't getting any better.

So when I reached Chorley, I made a decision which some of you, I know, won't give me an easy time about when I get back:  I cycled past the train station, rubbed the knee, and u-turned back to buy a ticket to Lancaster. I know, I know, that's cheating!

In a way I guess it is. But the way I see it, I'd rather shave off 25 miles today, give the knee a bit of rest and have a chance of finishing the flipping ride. And no, you can't have your money back! Although, while we're on the subject, my selfless housemate Liane did promise to donate £5 every time I fall off or injure myself. Well, I reckon that's a tenner so far Ms Brooks... numb fingers AND a knackered knee!

So tomorrow is the day I'm saving myself for. It's a 90 mile ride and takes me over the border and into Scotland. Even if I'm flying with one engine I'm determined to get over to Jockland and celebrate with an Irn Bru and some tablet. Mmmm - tablet!

Apparently James Cracknell and Rebecca Romero made Scotland on a tandem in under 30 hours, which is quite amazing. They had to stop before the finish line though as poor old Beccy's knees were about to explode, and she's got an Olympics to get ready for. There's a lesson there for everyone, but I'm not sure what it is.

Tonight I'm being put up at the rather nice Snooty Fox in Kirkby Lonsdale, Britain's most generous town. If I'd had the time I could have stayed here free for a week in different hotels and b+bs; the people of KL were literally queuing up to have me stay. Some offered their daughter, other a free bike service, but the road is long and my work isn't done, etc..

So fingers crossed that I can be a brave soldier and keep on keeping on.

...and be in Scotland afore ye!

Hx

Telford - Warrington

That was more like it … a leisurely 60 miles up to Warrington and no spooky night rides or nightmare hills to deal with. 

I have managed to collect a couple of cycling injuries along the way though:  
my right knee has decided to stop working properly and two of the fingers on my left hand have gone numb ('cyclist's palsy' apparently - something to do with the nerves attached to the funny-bone). A bit annoying but nothing a few Nurofen and some brandy won't sort out.

I spent most of today sharing the A49 with weekend bikers, dusting off their Hondas, and hundreds of classic car enthusiasts. The car people are a funny old bunch, moving in pairs or threes, like grazing animals wary of danger and sticking close together for safety. 
I have to admit that it was made up for to see two beautiful specimens of my dream motor, the superfly Granada Mk 1. (both 3.0 ghia, for 70's classic car fans..)

It can be a bit tedious spending 6 hours a day listening to your own thoughts, even when they're as profound and diverse as mine, so the itunes have been keeping me entertained along the way. As well as music I loaded up with a fair few audiobooks and podcasts before I left.  Sherlock Holmes and Charles Bukowski have been good company, and I've had a few strange looks from oncoming traffic as I laughed my arse off to the Adam & Joe podcast. I thought I'd go all highbrow and get some Shakespeare in there as well, but the version of The Tempest I downloaded sounds as though John Gielgud is reading through a sieve full of rice in heavy rain. Maybe he was?

Up and on to Kirby Lonsdale tomorrow, and if my knee makes it I'll be knocking on for halfway...

Thanks to Tom Sav's Mum for putting me up tonight. Come round for a brew any time you're in SE22, Marlene!

Mañana - Hx

France Lynch - Telford

Blimey, am I nearly there yet? It's going to be a brief entry tonight for two reasons. 
One is that I've just cycled 85 miles, (the last 15 on country lanes in the dark..bad idea stopping for the footie!), and the other is.. oh I've forgotten. 


Anyway, three counties crossed today and some great sights courtesy of Cheltenham, Worcester and Ironbridge. 

I have to say a big thanks to Libby at the Coach House b+b near Stroud. Not only did she put me up for free in her lovely place but washed my clothes and fed me a slap up brekkie. Nice one!

I've got just enough energy to finish this,  drink my pint and crawl into bed.      Tomorrow Warrington.


Nearly £2000 raised so far including Giftaid. Good work people!!




Over and out  -  Hx

Bridgwater - France Lynch (near Stroud)

Day four on the big brother bicycle ride, and Hugh, (or Huw as my Welsh alter-ego is to be known from now on), has survived another 75 miles of road.


After bidding farewell to Fred, Liz and the 1940s, I found the A38 and stayed on it for most of today.


The change of scenery from Somerset up through Bristol and into the Malverns has been the most eyecatching so far.  


It's been one of those nearly rainy days where the clouds threaten but the sun shines through, giving everything a warm glow. 

The phone has forgiven me for Wednesday and is now alive and kicking so I had a good 30 mile stretch of tunes, courtesy of iTunes random play.     The standout pedalling sounds of the day came courtesy of Herbie Hancock, Shuggie Otis and David Bowie.    Thanks guys, same time tomorrow?

It's going to be a short one tonight folks.    I've left it late and want to get an early start so I make Ironbridge for the footie at 5.30.    I'll be in Scotland when England play Croatia next week, so will have the dubious pleasure of witnessing our Celtic brothers cheering every goal we concede. 
But we're not going to lose, so that's alright Jimmy!


H xx

Easton - Bridgwater

Day three of LeJog and I've made it to Bridgwater in sunny Somerset. 


Unlike yesterday, today was fairly plain sailing.   I spent last night at the top notch Easton Court on the edge of Dartmoor, a really classy thatched affair with all boxes ticked. The owners Debra and Paul were super helpful, taking me and the bike the 10 miles to Okehampton for a new seat-post and some minor TLC on the brakes. They also gave me the room for free which was nice! (Best breakfast so far by a mile, and I'm not just saying that).

I was back on the road by midday and pedalled my way to Crediton for some lunch. With the route planned and the rooms booked there isn't a whole lot of time for sightseeing, which is a pity as there's loads to see. I'll be making a trip back here soon for a visit to Diggerland and the bi-annual Bridgwater horse-drawn plough challenge!
I did make time for a quick stop in Taunton to try cider at the source;  the last ten miles to Bridgwater had a distinctly mellow feel, and I seemed to stop swearing at the start of each hill. Ooh arr my lovers!

Tonight's lodgings, 'Somerset House', has more of a Fawlty Towers vibe than the big building by the Thames.   Fred the owner was kind enough to make me a cup of tea when I got there, but managed to mention 'the money' no less than five times before I finally got out the door to head for the cashpoint. I'm not sure if Fred has outstanding debts to the local mafia, if a high percentage of punters do a swift u-turn when they see the 1940s decor or if he just thought I was going to do a runner after breakfast, but he made his bloody point!
So I packed my bags and found the nearest Travelodge. Only kidding, of course. I've given Fred his £22.50 so his kneecaps will live to fight another day.
No photos for today I'm afraid readers. The phone went a bit weird after being in my 'waterproof' pocket on Dartmoor yesterday and has only just recovered. I'll try and remember to get a snap of Fred and his long suffering wife Liz before I move on.
Did I mention Debra and Paul at Easton Lodge? If you're ever in Dartmoor...!

Observation of the last three days:   nearly everyone I've stayed with, as well as both blokes in the bike shop today were from the North. What's going on? Maybe there's some exchange programme going on, and I'll be staying with retired pasty makers in Warrington?

Anyway, enough already! Tomorrow,  Stroud.

H x




                                                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                           

Bodmin - Easton

Day two on the road, and what a day ....

After nailing a big breakfast and bidding farewell to Chris and Derek I faced the music and set off for Dartmoor.

Yesterday's sunshine already a distant memory, the rain finally found me. And my shoes, then my feet. There's something surreal and wierdly comforting about bombing along a 
rain-lashed A-road with samba on the iPod. Try it sometime!



The road seemed longer today even though it was 25 miles shorter than yesterday. That'll be them hills then. 


And the rain. Did I mention the rain?

Head down, and onto Tavistock, where it all started to get a bit serious. On the map it looked like a bit of a slog up the hill, over Dartmoor and home in time for Deal or no Deal.

Wrong. No custard cream today.

I assumed the road to Tavistock was the 'gruelling ascent' to the moor described in my book. Wrong again.    Think Shooters Hill times ten and make it steeper.

At the top you are supposed to be rewarded with spectacular views of endless ferns, sheep and babbling streams. Unfortunately I couldn't see more than a hundred feet, so head down again then!

More rain but the odd thumbs up from drivers coming the other way which was nice.

The sight of so many sheep stirred up my Welsh inner voice which seemed to make sense of it all. After getting more thumbs ups from a truck load of dry looking squaddies, the road flattened out and the wind stopped trying to blow me off the road.

Feeling a sense of wellbeing I decided to stretch my aching back and arms and pull back into the saddle for a moment.

This was a bad move. Not a stupid move, just a bad one. The seat snapped clean off and bounced into the verge. Could those two breakfasts have really made me such a fatso? Or did matey boy at Brixton Cycles not quite tighten the bolt enough? I suspect the latter, but haven't weighed myself yet so will defer judgement.

Anyway, 10 miles before the chequered flag and I've got no seat. "That's alright" I hear you say, "you probably sailed back standing on the pedals and thought nothing more of it".

I tried that but for some reason all my legs wanted to do was lower me onto the phantom seat. I tried sitting on the rack which gave the bike a Chopper feel, but made me look less like Peter Fonda and more like a chopper.  So pedals and, disappointingly, pushing were the order of the day.  Sorry, am I moaning?  I'll finish in a minute.  

The final icing on the decidedly brown coloured cake that was today was discovering halfway down the steepest descent so far that my back brakes had totally stopped working and the front ones had about as much grip as a pair of well oiled slugs.  


Impending death only seconds around the corner as I hurtled down the hill, I started to wonder what kind of gruesome looking device the oncoming tractor would have attached to its front. Hedgecutters? or aeration spikes?
Luckily there was no tractor.   Just the  end of the hill and my left foot making friends with the gravel, Flintstone style.

Somehow I'd managed to cover both wheels with greying oily sludge on Dartmoor and this was the reason for my 'look Mum, no brakes' moment.

Seven more standing-up miles and here I am, on a bed, all showered and feeling a bit less jarred off than an hour ago.

"After the testing terrain if Dartmoor tomorrow takes on a more pastoral character" says the book. Hope so!

H x