E2E - Day 16 - 16th August – 81.36 miles
The showers died away during the night but, fortunately, the wind kept up till dawn. This had the effect of preventing both dew and condensation from forming and, after breakfast, I was able to pack away a virtually dry tent. One annoyance that I wasn’t expecting at that time of the morning though was midges. Camping with the children at Glen Nevis and around Fort William in years gone by, I’d experienced them at their worst; great swarms of them, crawling up your nose, in your ears, mouth and eyes and generally driving you to distraction; but normally in the late afternoon and early evening. Perhaps the winds of the day before had prevented their meanderings but, now that it had died down somewhat, as it always seems to do just before and after dawn, they’d come out to forage. There weren’t enough though to warrant donning the head net that I’d been carrying in expectation of such an eventuality. I managed to put up with them for the short time it took to breakfast and load up the bike.
It was only 7.20 on a calm Sunday morning when I rode back out to the A9, turned north and headed onto the raised causeway taking the road across the Dornoch Firth. Much later, I got talking to a young cyclist who’d ridden the same route the day after me. He described crossing the Dornoch Firth as “hellish” but the bridge over the Moray Firth as a “cake-walk”. His ride was at a different time of day in both cases but it just goes to show what a drastic effect the wind has on cyclists; something that very few drivers appreciate.
I made good time for the first twenty or thirty miles. The westerly wind had got up again but, for now, I was heading predominantly north-east. Since Inverness, I’d been pleasantly surprised by the lack of hills. I suppose it helped that the road predominantly hugged the coast, making for a more undulating rather than hilly ride. “This last stretch isn’t going to be too bad” I thought – then I got to Helmsdale. The long, steep dive down was a spectacular surprise. My speedo touched 40mph. Once through the little settlement, situated at a point where the river of the same name joins the sea, the inevitable equally long and equally steep ride up commenced. This came as a bit of shock to the system after the last few days. Nothing for it but granny gears, head down and slowly grind ever upwards. “Could be doing without too many more of them” I said to myself as the road levelled off and continued on its undulating way, but within eight or nine miles, there was Berriedale and an almost identical performance.
Once out of this second stupendous climb, and thinking that the terrain would be similar all the way to John O’Groats, I decided to grab some food as soon as possible and reappraise my situation. I remembered it was Sunday and wondered how easy it would be to obtain refreshments. I’d heard that the Lord’s Day observance lobby could be powerful in these parts . The next opportunity was Dunbeath where I arrived with around 50 miles on the clock; there was a camp site marked there too. A nice little pub overlooking the sea came up, and it was open. Obviously commerce had won out over religious considerations. I went in for some lunch. The landlord was yet another Englishman – I’m beginning to think that the ‘Highland Clearances’ have been secretly carried out again and the locals replaced with people from south of the border! Obviously used to a steady stream of E2Eers as customers, he asked about my ride. I told him I’d probably done about enough for the day but certainly wouldn’t make it any further than Wick. “Why not finish it off?” he replied. I reminded him of Helmsdale and Berriedale and said that I wasn’t getting any younger. “There’s nothing else like that” he replied. “The worst of the hills are behind you. You’ll easily do it by five o’clock”.
He was a friendly man, but like most of his profession, rather rotund and patently not a cyclist. However, he spoke convincingly, and was no doubt saying what I wanted to hear. I’d done similar distances many times in the past, but not recently. I was confident that I could do it, even fully loaded. And a sixteen day End to End sounded better than a seventeen. I resolved to “stop being a self-indulgent old fart” and get on with it; “Knock the bastard off” to borrow again that famous phrase from Sir Edmund Hillary. I finished my lunch, downed my last dregs of tea and got back on the bike.
The ride to Wick wasn’t too bad; the landlord’s words were proving to be true. The persistent, sometimes gusty, westerly wind became stronger and was gradually veering round to blow from a more northerly direction. Although hell bent on completing the ride, I gave some thought to the return journey and made a quick enquiry as to the location of Wick Station. It turned out to be a fool’s errand; no trains on a Sunday; booking office closed. Another brief diversion to find the public loo, and then through the town centre and onto the road north. ‘John O’Groats 16′ the sign read – almost there!
This was a great psychological fillip but, for the first two or three miles out of Wick, the road goes straight up a gradual incline in a north-westerly direction – straight into the teeth of the ever increasing wind; showers too by now. I couldn’t be bothered to get dressed up; it just didn’t matter how wet I got now. The wind seemed to sense my mood. As the impatience boiled up, it gusted. I was down to 5 mph at times; certainly not a speed warranted by such an insignificant gradient. After what seemed an age, I finally reached a point where the A99 made an abrupt right turn and levelled off for a few hundred yards, affording a brief respite from the headwind. It now undulated onwards, twisting and turning its way around the coastline. Through four of five more little settlements and a dozen or so miles and I’d be there. The wind was as strong as ever and the showers now merged together to form continuous rain.
On and on the road seem to go, until a sign reading ‘John O’Groats 1 ½ came up. By this time, the rain had turned to a cross between drizzle and mist, restricting visibility ahead. I topped what was obviously the last rise and, although I couldn’t see my destination, I sensed that it was now down hill all the way. I passed a B & B and noted the absence of a ‘no vacancies’ sign. Then came a massive advertising billboard - incongruous in this bleak setting – announcing the Seaview Hotel. It looked very grand. Within a minute or two, my bike was leaning against the outside wall, while I stood in bar of the not at all grand Seaview doing the business. There was nothing available in the main building, however, I could have a basic room in the annex across the road, plus breakfast for £35. Sorted. I glanced at my watch; it was 4.50. The landlord back in Dunbeath really did know his stuff.
As with any of these expeditions, the end always seems to be a bit of an anticlimax. “Oh well, that’s it done” I said to myself. “Now lets think about getting home.” To that end, I off-loaded the bike, dumped everything in my room and headed down the few hundred yards or so to the centre of town, in search of the tourist information office, which I’d been informed would be open. I located the office very close to the road sign indicating Land’s End 874 miles. So, my duty was done. I’d ridden from sign to sign. Though I don’t know how the distance has been calculated. Perhaps it’s by motorway. The advertised cycling routes mostly give distances between 1,000 and 1,200 miles; I’d done 900.
The tourist office proved to be partially useful. I managed to get a train timetable showing me the four trains a day from Wick to Inverness but, as usual, the staff could only tell me what I was able to read for myself. “What about bikes” I asked. “Is there any need for reservations?” “Don’t know” was the entirely expected reply. You’d think an organisation like that would liaise with Scotrail and have the information at their fingertips. As I’ve said before, they’re nice people but typical civil service/local authority types; the system has knocked all the initiative out of them. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow” I said to myself and headed back to the hotel.
In spite of the miles that day, I didn’t feel particularly tired. A shower, change of clothes and a passable meal back across the road in the main hotel and it was time to settle down. Scribble log, e mails, the TV news and it was time for bed. It was still raining. I fell asleep.