Paul Coulter: Lands End to John O'Groats

2008-04-28T04:15:00.000-07:00

Day 8 - Destination John O'Groats

2008-04-28T02:55:00.000-07:00

It was weird getting on the bike for what would be the final day of this journey. The sun was up though and my old friend the wind had decided to give me a push today helping me along to the finish. Finally he had decided to work with me rather than against me. The A9 was quiet, being a Saturday morning and the views over the north sea were crystal clear. I could see oil rigs out on the horizon.

From Dornoch northwards the road was relatively flat. I soon passed Golspie with a Statue of the Earl of Sutherland standing high on the hill looking down on the village. Legend has it that after he brutally burned the locals out of their houses during the Highland clearances to make way for sheep, forcing them to move to the coast or to emigrate, he then forced the men of the village to construct a statue in his honour looking over the town. I hope someday it is struck by lightening, rolls down the hill and smashes through his house, Dunrobin Castle washing it out to sea. Golspie was a quaint little town but I had no time to stop.
The ride was going fine until I got to Helmsdale. At Helmsdale there was a steep drop down towards the village centre then the road started to climb up the hill at the other side. It climbed, and climbed and climbed. It must have been straight up for a few miles. I was glad to finally get to the summit, however I couldn't relax at the top as I knew that Berridale was waiting to have me just a few miles further on.

Berridale Braes is the steepest drop and climb on the whole trip. The decline is 13%. I was cruising along at 38mph on the gentle slope down towards berridale. Before I knew it I was picking up speed. At the approach my father was standing in a lay by filming me. I shot past him at 42mph then went over the edge. This was the most frightening part of the whole trip. The bike was vibrating violently as it picked up speed. As I was hurtling down the steep road the other side of the cliff was gradually beginning to tower above me. Berridale Braes is a v-shape inlet in the cliffs. The road goes straight down, turns at 90 degrees, hairpins over a small bridge then climbs straight back up again at the opposite side with a few hairpin bends to wind it up the cliff. As the bike was fast getting out of control and as I was hurtling faster and faster towards the 90 degree bend I knew I had to slow it down. Not least because it would be unlikely that I could safely turn the corner at such speeds but in case I carried straight on over the cliff and into the sea. I gradually eased on the back and front brakes together and could hear them squealing. I leaned into the corner now at over a more modest 30mph and started pedalling furiously. Over the bridge round the hairpin and threw myself over the front of the bike to try and drag it as far up the other side as possible using the stored momentum. It worked briefly and I quickly dropped the gears, got back down on the saddle and made it round the next hairpin. If any climb on the trip could force you off your bike and into a walk it would have been Berridale. It would have been no shame to walk it either as people struggle up in cars and vans. I had come too far to walk now and luckily my week in the saddle had increased my strength so I pushed on up the hill. Near the top drivers going in the other direction were cheering me on and this helped to push me up the far side. I took ages for the road to finally level out but was worth it. Berridale had been cracked. I now had the polka dot jersey I really was King of the Mountains on the entire ride now. The straight from Berridale to Dunbeath was a welcome relief and I made exceptional time with the wind at my back. I had heard that there was a final climb out of Dunbeath but the road was straight and the climb nothing compared to the previous two so it was a walk in the park. Next up was a straight section towards Lybster. I decided to have a tea break here. However as I was cycling through the village looking for the toilets the heavens opened and within minutes I was wet through. Dad stopped to make some sandwiches and tea but I was too cold to hang around so I got back on the bike and carried on. Luckily the rain ceased and the sun started to break through again. Perhaps it was the determination to get there but as the signposts commented that John O'Groats was getting ever closer I started to increase the pace. There was a winding section of road towards Wick. I had the bike up at 38 - 42mph on this section and was flying in and out of the bends. There was a trail of 5 cars behind me but they would have to wait. I had bowed down to the automobile for over 850 miles. This was my section of road and if they couldn't go fast enough to get past me then they wouldn't get past. I flew along at an incredible pace totally stunned at the speed on my speedometer. This lasted a good four miles before the road straightened out and the traffic got passed. Not a single car tooted a horn or was abusive. I think they were as impressed by the speed just as much as I was. I have no doubt however that the Strong tail wind had given a very helping hand but was happy to add the green jersey to my wardrobe. I cruised into Wick wincing in the Sunshine. In the 12 years I have been going "up north" I have never seen Wick on a sunny day. It was a beautiful bustling little town and I crossed the river and stopped briefly in a car park. I met another guy on a bike. He was doing LEJOG in 30 Days. I was smug saying I had done it in 7 1/2 days. He put me back in my box when he said he had ran from Lands End to London doing a marathon a day, then cycled from London to Wick taking in the highest mountains in Wales, England and Scotland on the way. "Oh" I said, and sheepishly carried on. At least I know there are people out there more insane than me!
The wind seem to push into my face on the long 4 mile straight out of town towards Reiss as the road headed inland for this section. Soon however I made the final turn off for John O'Groats. 14 miles to go. The sun was shining the wind now behind me again and the end was in sight. It was a peaceful ride north. The scenery across the flow country to my left was enchanting, the wild, rugged coast littered with castles and crofts to my right and ever present reminder of the countless generations who have carved an existence at the very edge of our nation for thousands of years. Through the village of Keiss, the last of the main settlements in the area and then there was a lonely steep but gradual incline to the top of the hill overlooking my destination. As I approached the summit I stopped in a lay by. I could see John O' Groats below me. Beyond the Pentland Firth lay the island of Stoma, Hoy and the Orkney Isles. The whole area was stunning, deserted and baking in sunshine. As I surveyed my final journey a ladybird came down and rested on my handlebars. It took one look at me then flew off, but its visit was welcome. Some days ago when I was in agony in Cornwall, Dan from Impsort (who made my clothing for Plowman Craven) had sent me an email saying that on the final mile I would stop and think about turning round and going all the way back. I didn't believe him at the time. I certainly didn't want to do it again but I now know what he meant. I could see the John O'Groats hotel in the distance. I could see the end. It wasn't just the end of the road but the end of an incredible journey. I am bizarre way I didn't want it to end. I didn't want to go back to the real world. It was the end of a chapter in your life that you could never re-live. For me it was the end of my 20s as I will be 30 in a few weeks. There was something quiet poignant standing on that hill looking down but this was no time for deep thoughts or reflections. There was a taxi to Glasgow waiting at the end and a well deserved pint so I turned the pedals for the final time and cruised down to the harbour and up to the signpost. I crossed the line, hands in the air. I had done it, I had gone from End to End. My friend Stevie Gunn from Caithness had kindly come to see me finish and showered me in champagne, as did my dad 2 mins later! Wet and sticky I picked up the bike and held it over my head and stood for a photo under the signpost. It was over. The end of Journey. Thank you to everyone who supported this venture on behalf of Schools Around the world. You can still donate at www.justgiving.com/paulcoulter. Cheers. The Coult.

Day 7 - Destination Dornoch

2008-04-27T08:15:00.000-07:00

A quick breakfast in the hostel then I headed to the Tourist info to put on yesterdays blog. When I went to pay, the man at the desk asked if I was cycling for a charity. When I explained what charity he gave me the Internet use for free! Humanity exists! Anyway inside I had been listening to the rain tap on the tin roof of the building. It wasn't much better when I got outside.
A quick change and I was off. It was damp, raining and surprisingly cold as there was a light easterly breeze. Maybe I was getting used to cycling or maybe I was just getting fitter or perhaps focused on a mission, but as I entered Kinguise I was travelling at a steady 30mph. In and out of town, then I went under my distant buddie, the A9, and followed the B9152 to Aviemore. The snow on the Cairngorms were an ever present reminder that Winter was not entirely over. I should not have been fooled by yesterdays sun. This was a beautiful little road that ran parralell with the A9 but was much quieter and more picturesque. I was making good time. The road however was a graveyard for road kill. I couldn't believe how many rabbits, mice, hedgehogs and cats were lying by the side of the road. No foxes though but then perhaps that's because they are sly! ha ha. One bizarre sighting though was about 8 dead rabbits lying in a row on the verge. Perhaps they were the loot of poachers who had been disturbed or perhaps they were being stored for later by some curious creature. Regardless I had to carry on and made good time to Aviemore. Ah Aviemore. I am not a fan of this town. It reminds me of an American Theme park. I think it looks like what foreigners might think a Scottish Highland town would look like. To me it is a Highland Blackpool. I mean how many cheap raincoats and walking poles can you buy! The only nice pieces of architecture I saw was the railway station and one nice hotel. It does however cater for the cyclist with a number of shops selling spares and accessories. I had set off with a good bike though and so had no need to stop. I carried on. On the way out of town I passed a new "luxury" housing development, Lochan Dubh. Great. Build 20 paper thin kit house bungalows in a field on the edge of a dreadful town, give it a Gaelic name that no one will spell correctly and sell the Scottish Dream to English tourists. What a con, but I am sure someone is pocketing a pretty penny. I was glad to cycle into the more honest Carrbridge. Nice toilets for a comfort break and it was onwards for me.
The sun couldn't make its mind up if it wanted to join me or not. This made for a rather sweaty cycle with the rain gear on but not actually working for its pay. Hmm. The road turned to the old A9 and snaked its way northwards toward Inverness. Not another soul in sight. Great. As I was heading towards Slochd summit, I passed a forest. In the forest near the edge was a tree with a wooden hand built tree house. I couldn't understand why on earth anyone would built a tree house in this location. There were no houses for miles and appeared to be no need. My imagination began to run wild. Maybe it was a poachers den, or perhaps a perverts woodland retreat or perhaps it was a look out post for Bin Laddens men to watch M&S lorries trundle up the A9 taking capitalist goods to the free people of the Highlands. I had no time for fantasy though and pushed on.
There was a great straight section down into Tomatin and under the railway viaduct then it was up onto the A9 for the final push into Inverness. The road was super busy and full of trucks and speeding motorists. I climbed the hill for a few miles before cresting and seeing Inverness and the north Highlands lie before me. I had my high visibility jacket on and put my back light on and went for it. I was up at around 32mph as I rode down the hill into the city. Inverness is not a favourite city of mine. It became a city a few years ago but it lacks the Culture of Glasgow, the Honesty of Dundee, the Wealth of Aberdeen, the History of Edinburgh or the Quaintness of Perth. Its a very functional city. It has expanded at an impeccable rate recently but I am not convinced it has been for the good. However it does serve a purpose providing much needed amenities located right in the heart of the Highlands. I had to get off the bike and do a suicide run with the bike on my back over the major roundabout before cycling over the Kessock bridge. This is a superb bridge but very exposed on the Morray firth. I slowly crossed it before taking the cycle path to Tore. After Tore I was back on the busy A9. The Friday commuters were busy racing each other out of town and back to their homes, the pubs or where ever they were heading. They weren't hanging around though and it was a hairy climb over the black Isle, down the other side and over the Cromarty Firth. The road quietened and straighted out and I made good progress by passing Alness, and Tain before going over my third Firth of the day, the Dornoch. I called it a day here. The signpost said that John O'Groats was still 80 odd mile away. There was a chance I could have made it but I wanted to enjoy the ride to the end, I wanted to "Arrive" at John O'Groats and most of all I wanted to be alive when I got there. It had been a fair day in the saddle and the penultimate day of the drip and that's exactly how it felt. Not quiet good enough for Glory.

Day 6 - Desitnation Anywhere

2008-04-25T01:45:00.000-07:00

It was an early damp start to the day but I set off fresh along my normal training route. The familiar cycle up the Crow Road, through Anniesland Cross, Breasden, Milgavie and Mugdoch seemed to dissapear in a flash. Within no time I was making headway for Strathblane, down the steep hill through the village and up towards Drymen. About 5 miles east of Drymen there is a turn off onto the A811. I had a quick look at the map and wondered whether I had made the right choice. I was heading towards Stirling and the A9. It looked more direct to head straight on via Aberfoyle and Strathyre or perhaps not to have come over via Glasgow in the first place. Regardless I stuck by my instinct and headed along the A811 towards Stirling in an Easterly direction. I was right. I do have a degree in Geography afterall and know this country inside out. A gentle climb through Arnprior, through some roadworks and I was down on the Stirling plain. This is the cyclists autoban. The flat, straight, well surfaced road heads straight into Stirling and I flew along it, Stirling and the Wallace monement to the front of me, Ben Lomond to the rear and hills either side. Just before Stirling you take a sharp left and head across the plain towards Doune. This is a great little road as there is no ditch or hedge to impeed your view and you feel like you are floating across the green grassy fields. A quick climb up into Doune at the other side after going over the tight arched bridge and already there was great distance between me and the city. Doune is a great little place and you pass the Castle where they filmed Monty Pithon and The Holy Grail. Hopefully today however there would be no flying cattle to stop me on my quest! I remember the road from Doune to Dunblane as twisty and hilly. Today however it was a walk in the park. Maybe I was just getting used to this cycling thing! There was no time to stop in Dunblane, even though a visit to the Hydro looked appealing. It was onwards over the A9, who I should meet later and up along the B8033 through Braco to pick up the A822 to Crieff. This road was undulating but the scenery as I passed from Stirlingshire to Perhshire was amazing. Coming over the final hill Crieff came into view on the valley below. It looked like a sprawling city from above rather than the quaint little village it looked like on the map. I needed have worried though as I cycled up the steep hill through the high street it was indeed a beautifull little town. It was lunchtime and the street was full of spotty teanagers from the local schools. I couldn't believe how smart they looked in their full school uniforms. Back in ayrshire you are lucky to see one tie in 20 kids. The school coming out in Ayrshire is like a whos whos of the tracksuit world! Anyway it had been a long albeit realtively pain free journey to Crieff and there was a lot of miles under the wheels by lunch. I had a quick homemade steak pie from the local bakers. Delicious. Ahh the food of champions! No time to rest however as it was onwards and upwards. As I left Crieff, I suddenly realised that I had no actual destination today. I had nothing booked. This became first a blessing and then a burden. You stay on the A85 past the golf course for a few miles then turn onto the A822 again for Amultree. This is a steep climb but the sun had come up and the mountainous landscape acted as a beautifull backdrop as I slowly ascended the mountain. The road wound its way up and I passed only a post van. As I was nearing the top of a climb I saw a grouse by the side of the road. It looked at me then sauntered out into the middle of the road. It turned and looked me up and down again as I was puffing and panting pounding my way up hill towards it. After it had surveyed my existance, it nodded and walked back to the side of the road. I had clearly won its approval. I wonder if that was the Famous Grouse? Soon I was over the crest of the hill and there was a brilliant steep descent to Amulree where there was but a disused looking hotel and a fantastic hand crafted wooden bus shelter. It needed a coat of paint and was ripe for restoration! Over the bridge though and onto the A826 to Aberfeldy and the second mountain of the day. As I started the climb, the rain came to join me. It was welcome as I was very warm after the last climb and needed the cool down. Soon however my feet were soaking and I though perhapas I shouldn't have been so forgiving of its presence. Nonetheless, I soildered on and the road was stunning. Bizzarly the sun was shining in my face, the rain was hitting me from the West and the trees to my right were gently swawing in the breeze. I soon burst through this weather front and approached the top of the hill just as the rain eased off. My yellow rain jacket had burst the zip and was flapping behind me like a cape. It had been a 7 mile gentle climb up this hill, but the road was only 9 miles long. This meant a steep 2 mile drop to Aberfeldy which was on the valley floor below. It was a steep and twisty drop and potentially very dangerous for a cyclist. I had been in the south of France a few weeks ago training and went into the maritime Alps to pracice climing and descending in the hills. I had built up my confindence and knew how to descend quickly. The difference here was that the road had no crash barriers, there were obstacles such as trees and bushes. The road was wet and very slippy. There was debrise in the form of broken branches, stones, gravel and dead wildlife littering the road. The most dangerous thing of all was that I had never been on this road and had no idea of its layout. All the sensible things in your head tell you to exercise caution and slowly decend. But then I am a man and chose to ignore all this and go for the thrill factor. I pushed that bike over the edge and went for it. YE HA. I threw the bike to the left, out into the meddile of the road, back over to the right, through the racing line, almost lost it on the next corner, the wet spray showering me asI swooped down the hill in to one bend out of the next, almost over the edge but just correcting it on time. My pedels were almost sparking on the tar as the bike swerved vilently from side to side over at more than 45 degrees. Over a hump bridge and down into Aberfeldy, jacket fliyng behind me like the Caped Cowboy arriving in town in style. I passed straight over the high street and headed towards Weem. There was another beautifull little stone bridge and a Galant statue of a soldier standing proud to remember his local men lost in the great wars. The road truned at Weem and heads West along the valley floor. The sun was up and a strong headwind blew dry my wet clothing. I was thankfull to be slowed down as it allowed me some recovery time whilst still making progress. I passed Castle Menzies on my right. An inspiring large baronial style mansion house. I had seen it in guide books over the years but never knew where it was. Today I found out. Thats the joy of cycling, you have time to see the areas that you go through and you notice things you may otherwise miss. Not long after this break climb 3 of the day awaited. I dropped the gears and started the ascent up over the B846 towards Tummel Bridge. Unlike the last climb, this one had short steep sections, lots of twists and a deep ravine at one side to persuade you to take care. Both sides of the road were heavily wooded shielding your vision and making you feel claustrophobic. It was a hard, long, slow climb. The sun had taken the temperature back to 61F, and I was very thirsty. I reached down to take some water and as I tried to place the bottle back in its carrier with one hand, my other hand steering the bike slipped and I almost fell over the edge. I caught myself on the little stone dyke and looked down the cliff to what was nearly my last destination. I couldn't believe it. Someone hadn't been as lucky as me. About 200 feet below, perched periliously on a tree overhanging the ravine was a blue 1960s Austin 1100. The driver had obviously made a mistake and went over theedge. The car must have been perched there for nearly 30 or 40 years. I hope the driver survived! I had luckily not joined them and headed north. Soon I was out of the trees and the road levelled out. I passed a small loch on my left and then it was downhill to Tummel Bridge. There is a power station down here and lots of overhead pylons spoiling the otherwise stunning view. Cars must take the new bridge but me and my bike took the old hump back stone bridge over the the river. Again I was at the bottom of a valley and had two more climbs to attack before reaching the A9. The next climb said 3 miles up in the guidebook. The road was only 4 miles long so that meant a steep drop at the far side again. Perhaps I was just tired but it was a long steep climb through a moor with some horrid evergreen trees to one side. I can't understand why we grow such aliens in this country. They are acidic and kill the soil below so that no lower ecosystems can survive. This in turns kills the foodchain and therefore we get no microclimates or wildlife on the forrest floor. There should be a law supporting indigenous trees only. Anyway, soap box away and the scenery was becoming bleaker, the sky was truning a meanacing grey and my old friend the wind and his cousin the rain came back to say hello. For once the guidebook was wrong. The climb lasted only 2 miles. I was glad. On the way up curiosity got the better of me. I kept seeing posters on gates, tress etc and had to go and see what they said. They were for Timmi, a missing "dog". Aparently it was a husky. From the picture I swear it was a grey wolf! Seemingly a few weeks ago its owners had been visiting Castle Menzies when Timmy decided to make a dash for it, never to been seen again. The sight and smell of the wilderness of the Highlands abviously appealled to Timmy and she had thought "stuff this for a game of soildiers - I'm offskie!" I can seen why the highlands would be more appealling to a wolf than the back of a volvo! I wished her luck but hoped not to meet her on my travels. I met dad near the top of the hill. We could see down the valley and up over the next hill. It looked steep. We watched a blue van dissapear down the valley and become a slow winding dot up the other side. This was going to be the killer hill of the day. After a cup of tea I decided to take it head on. Down the hill over another bridge and I started the ascent. It was a killer. It was like a brick wall. In only a few meteres I was out of the saddle over the handle bars and dragging the bike up the hill. Every trun of the pedals seemed to drain some life out of me. I always wondered why professional cyclist on the tour de france had such strong upper bodies. Now I knew. My arms pulled the bike from side to side, my body and back kept me in balance, my kneck strained to keep me looking straight and my legs furiosuly turned the pedals. Into a hairpin bend through some tress and up the next leg. The sun had come back out and was shinning down on me. Right into my face blinding me. It was like the light at the end of the tunnel. All of a sudden i was floatinmg towards the light, I could feel no pain. This was it. It was the end, I was dying and going to find out what lay beyond the light. As i nervously approached it I looked down and the black road below turned again. I swung the bike round another hairpin and then I saw it. Heaven was before my very eyes. The sun now shone on my back heating me up and before me was sea of mountains, stretching far out across the country in all directions. A rainbow had come up and made a gracefull arc across the landscape and I cycled towards it to discover what lay beneath. As I went over the top it was getting late into the evening. A herd of about 30 dear including some well antlered stags came to run along side me. It was absolutley amazing. It was like I had been allowed to join their pack. They were fearless. I stopped at the top of the hill and way below me in the valley I could see the main railine and the A9. The sun was up and it had been a great day. I had by now called a hostel and got a bed in Newtonmore. This was 21 miles away up the A9. I cycled down the hill to join the road. There was a cycle lane along side pretty much all the way, but after a mile or so it was no place for a road bike so I jumped up onto the carriage way. It was dual and surprisingly quiet. I had to make my peace with it as now we were going to be freinds for over 100 miles till I reached Wick. The sun was fading fast but the road was smooth so I got back into the zone and flew along the road. It should only take me an hour and I would be there before dark. When I got there I couldn't believe the distance covered. It had been a superb day. Perhaps not having an initial destination helped me cycle without the knowlegde of a finish line. I had really enjoyed it. I was only 160 Miles from John O'Gorats. A few days ago I resigned myself to the fact that it was going to take 8 days to do this challenge not 7 as I initially hoped. However The Coult was back in the race. Perhaps tomorrow I could really nail this ride. Lets see what tomorrow bringes.

Photos: Lands End, Bristol,Kendal, Beattock.

2008-04-23T11:20:00.000-07:00

Day 5 - Destination Glasgow

2008-04-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

I woke up in yet another travelodge. Aren't they so dull? I could have been anywhere. They are all the same. Not even a picture on the wall. I checked the early morning weather report. It was due to rain all day. I looked out the window and sure enough it was raining and dull. Routine of stretching, packing and breakfast over and I was off. The A74 is now closed to cyclists over Cumberland gap. This was annoying as I had to back track down the road I had come in on yesterday to reach a roundabout with the M6, A74 and A7. The diversion took me up the A7 to Longtown before throwing me back West across the country towards Gretna. This was a bad start to the day and by the time I had reached the Welcome to Scotland sign post I was wet, cold and bored. I was in a mood and stupidly missed the turn off for Ecclefechan and the B7076. I ended up on the way to Annan. Dad had gone the correct way and was miles up the right road looking for me thinking I must have been flying or had fallen into a ditch somewhere. No I was just heading west. At Annan I turned north and headed up the undulating B723 to Lockerbie. We were planning on stopping at Lockerbie but I had the bike going and when you stop in the rain you get cold so I soldiered on. Luckily at Lockerbie the B7076 has a dedicated cycle lane down both sides. This was fantastic, once again my own piece of road. Are you listening Cornwall Council - learn a lesson! The B7076 was clearly the old A74 which has now been superseded by the M74. It is a superb road, well surfaced, long, straight and traffic free. It was amazing, a real pleasure to cycle on. I thundered on up the road. The rain was annoying but the temperature was reasonable a 46 degrees Fahrenheit and so long as I stayed in motion the cold shouldn't get me. The miles disappeared and save for a jump over the busy A701 I had the road to myself. After Beattock the scenery became more appealing and I cruised ever northwards through the hilly landscape on a great road. The M74 was never too far away but was a welcome companion in this otherwise lonely and desolate landscape. Sometimes it felt like being on the set of 28 days later. Hopefully no zombies would come out and eat me though! The rain gave way but the day was still damp and the spray from the road socked my back. I ride a racing cycle which is great for speed, however if you are planning to do LEJOG and do so in a reasonable time i.e. two weeks then I would take a hybrid touring cycle with mud guards as a wet bum and back don't make for a particularly pleasant journey! About 9 miles from Abington the cycle path breaks from the road. It is part of a Sustrans route. I do applaud the work they do in setting cycle lanes up but if you do not maintain them then there is no point. Most cycle lanes are made of rough gravel or an ash like material. You need a mountain bike or a hybrid to ride on them. After two miles I gave up and got back on the empty road. The cycle lanes by the road are also quiet dangerous are they are littered with stones which rip your tyres and send you off course or cause you to skid. At least there is good tar underneath so I am going to stop complaining. Especially as there were no cars. I could not believe it, I hardly saw a single vehicle on the entire road. Abingdon village soon approached and I nodded at some lonely sheep in a field sheltering below a tree and continued on. A quick toilet stop and then I was finished with the B7076. I was heading for Glasgow so I took the redundant dual carriage way, the B7078 towards Larkhall. The first section takes you up over a very desolate moor. There is a designated cycle lane some 100 feet from the road with a line of trees in between. The path was surprisingly clear of stones and smooth so I thundered on. My old friend the wind was having a day off but his cousin the rain came back to keep me company rendering my glasses useless. Not that I needed to worry as I was completely alone on the moor. It was a weird feeling up there, very creepy. There was lots of dumped rubbish in ditches. I couldn't understand why someone would make all the effort to carry rubbish onto a moor to dump it. Why not call the council to uplift it, put it in a bin or take it to the local tip? There really are some spoons out there! Anyway a steep drop took me to a busy interchange and I turned right and climbed up into Happendon services where dad was waiting in the van. I decided not to have lunch. I was neither thirsty or hungry at all today. I was empty, bored. Turning the pedals, steering north, not thinking about anything really expect pushing on. The road crossed the M74 a few times and then after Kirkmuirhill it turned into an assault course. This had clearly been the old main road south some years ago. It was a deserted dual carriageway but still in use as a local route. You could have been forgiven for thinking it was closed as it has clearly never been maintained. There were potholes more than a foot wide and gouges all over the place. My cold bones were shaken for the next few miles and I christened the road, "The road of bones" My bike felt like it was going to shatter or rattle to bits. I was having a really boring ride today. That said I had made exceptional time. Had it been a nice day then I am sure this would have been a great cycle as the lack of traffic and designated cycle lanes were a cyclists dream. If you are ever doing LEJOG and need to make up time then the Glasgow to Carlisle stage is certainly the one to make it up. The ride wasn't over though as I still had to fight me way through the conurbation around Glasgow. The desolate moors soon gave way to the uninspiring urban jungle of South Lanarkshire. The only saving grace was that the sun was trying to break through the cloud and it looked as though it was going win. It did. I passed through some bland looking places such as Hamilton, Cambuslang, Blantyre, and Rutherglen. Soon however I was back in good old Glasgow town. It was really weird being back in the city. The city I had lived in for years adopting as my own, the city where I cycled daily. You look at places differently after such a long cycle up the country. Nothing is ever the same again. I crossed the Clyde and went into Glasgow Green. All of a sudden I had split from the peleton and was making a dash for the finish. This was the Tour of Britain and I was going to make a break for it. I passed Cavedish, received a nod from Wiggins as I took second place. In front of me in yellow was Millar. The Coult from Team Plowman Craven was steaming towards him as I raced down the final straight. The crowd were cheering but I was powering this bike on nothing but corn flakes and orange juice and I flew past him and went over the line. I had won. The Tour of Britain was mine, the victor in my own city. I zoomed past the Peoples Palace and the noise of the crowd faded. I looked around and the dream was over. There was nobody there. I wasn't a professional racing cyclist. I was just an ordinary guy on a charity cycle and the day was over. Oh well it was a good dream while it lasted. The sun was up and I turned towards the Saltmarket and headed along Clyde Street to the Broomielaw, passing my office and picking up the cycle route that I ride every day to work. It was so strange passing daily landmarks, the Rotunda, Crown Plazza, the Waverley. As I approached Partick my red sandstone tenement had never looked so welcoming. Perhaps it was a wrong choice to come via Glasgow as I know it will be difficult to get up in the morning. But then again the journey is not over and the best is about to come. Tomorrow I make a dash for the Highlands and before I know it John O'Groats will be in sight. Today started, and ended pretty dull. I did not feel much today and certainly didn't feel that I had taken much out of the ride. But that made me think. This ride isn't about me taking something from it. It is about giving something back. This ride is for Schools Around the World. This is a challenge to raise cash to build a school in Africa so that some other kids can perhaps go places in life like I have. Lets not loose sight of the reasons for doing this challenge. 3 days to go and it will soon be over. I have only raised just under half my target so if you are reading this and feel like supporting the cause then go to www.justgiving.com/paulcoulter and make a donation. Thanks.

Day 4 Preston to Carslile

2008-04-22T12:23:00.000-07:00

Maybe it was the familiar surroundings of my brothers guest room, but last night I had the best sleep so far in the trip. I woke early in the morning and was sitting in the kitchen. I heard my two young nieces running into my bedroom shouting "wakey wakey uncle Paul" but to their surprise I was gone. I was downstairs having a cup of tea, some brown bread toast and a bowl of Kellogg's Crunchy Nut. It was a great start to the day. My brother was a marketing manger for Kellogg for 10 years so his house is always full of their products and given that they used to sponsor the Tour of Britain I decided to make them my chosen brand of cereal for the event! That said if Nestle want to sponsor my next adventure I am more than happy to jump brand as I am partial to the occasional Honey Nut Loop! Ha ha. My brothers wife had kindly washed all my gear and it was sitting ready for me at the door. Then she remembered a parcel had arrived for me. It was my Plowman Craven team kit! After a few trips up and down the country it had finally caught up with me. Anyway after breakfast we said our good byes and i headed back to Preston. It was a beautiful morning and I was feeling great. The A6 was busy through Preston but once through the far side and under the M55 the road was clear going north. I cruised past the queues of traffic heading into town. For once I was going counter to the flow and I was off. The old A6 is great and has a dedicated cycle lane. For the first time on the trip I had my own space on the open road. Maybe it was the new Plowman Craven team kit I was wearing or maybe it was the weather but I was flying. Lancashire is a cracking county and the villages along the A6 were stunning. I took a diversion off the main road and through a splendid little town called Garstang. Half way through this cycle friendly village a black cat ran in front of me. That's good luck isn't it? Here's hoping! Anyway I was through the other side back on the A6 and off again. The bike was up over 20 mph. It was a great start to the day. Over to my right was the busy M6 and the traffic was flowing fast in a northern direction. In between me and the M6 was the main west coast rail line and just at that a Virgin train whizzed north and impeccable speeds then down on the lonely road was me and my treck thundering along on the cycle lane and top speed. The day was looking good, the omens were great and the road was disappearing fast under my wheels. My old friend "The Wind" was back to keep me company however this time he was a little more accommodating and kept a gentle breeze to my right hand side. Thankfully he had decided to blow from the south east and give me a little helping hand. If you are going to LEJOG it in April you have to be prepared for a windy companion, thankfully today he was on my side and I stormed on towards Lancaster. Lancaster was upon me within the hour. I couldn't believe the rate of travel today. On my approach to the town there was a signpost saying "Welcome to Lancaster - the cycle friendly city" that certainly was true as I descended the gentle drop into the city the cycle path became red - no other traffic was allowed on it. This was my space and I thundered into the city centre. I approached the one way system and followed the road ahead. Lancaster looked like a fantastic little place that would be ripe for exploration of the twisty streets, but this was no day for being a tourist. I had a border to raid today and my mind was focused on going north. That all nearly came to an abrupt end when a red van decided to turn right not bothering to consider the cycle lane. The IVECO badge was just about imprinted on my left thigh as I violently swerved to avoid the idiot. A shriek came from two women trying to cross the road who witnessed this piece of careless driving. Anyway Unscathed and after a few bad words, I was gone, down the hill, up the hill and out of town. Next stop was supposed to be a village 7 miles north but by this time I had the bike pushing 30mph and the sun was shining so a quick toilet stop at the Truck Haven and I continued ever north. The sign posts were soon reading Kendal 11 miles and lunch was looming. The A6 gave way to a busy dual carriage way which made for a hairy 5 miles but soon I was back on the road again and steaming down hill into the beautiful Lakeland village of Kendal. Dad was there already with the van and we had some soup and fresh rolls for lunch. The break didn't last long despite over 50 miles on the saddle as the big event of the day was playing on my mind. Shap. The hardest hill on the route. The killer. The road that has a signpost telling you to take oxygen with you and a gas mask. OK maybe I am over playing it a little but its not the place you want to tackle without thinking about it. Its not the kind of place you want to get stranded on dressed in nothing but pink Lycra either! We made an agreement to meet at the summit. I expected to take 2 hours to get over it. I set off up the cobbled streets and out of town. The road was great. The surface smooth, the scenery acting as a stunning backdrop and the sun providing a welcome back light. I slowly wound the bike up the winding road through the hills. I dropped it to a mid gear and kept a steady pace. After about half and hour I turned a corner and couldn't believe it. The road dropped back down a few hundred feet. All that effort wasted and I would have to reclaim the height again at the other side of the valley. I pushed the bike into top gear and gunned it down the hill hoping to create enough velocity to get me up the other side. No such luck. Too many sandwiches from Greggs at lunchtime obviously! Over the next hill and the climb continued ever upwards. The sun was really beating down and I was glad I had discarded my winter jacket that I had been wearing until this point. That freezing barren moor on Bodmin in Cornwall seemed like a light year away. This was cycling heaven. My old friend the wind kept me company by my side cooling me down and we soldiered on. The fields were full of lambs, birds were singing and the country was green. This was becoming a great day. Further up the hill I turned another corner and again the road dropped a few hundred feet went over a small stone bridge and then went up a very steep incline at the far side. There was nothing else for it. I put the bike back up into top gear, put the tip of my toes on the pedals, dropped onto the bottom bars and hung over the back seat. The bike was flying my legs were turning at a rate I had never turned them at before. It was super human. I glanced down at the speedo and was up at nearly 40. Two old dears having a picnic on the bridge gave me a clap as I zoomed past them and flew up the other side. I expected, like the last hill to loose velocity quickly, but I kept turning the pedals and made it 3/4 of the way up the next hill. I could no longer turn the high gear and quickly dropped down to a mid range and stood on the pedals my knees almost touching the the handlebars as I leaned over the front of the bike dragging it up the hill. I was almost there and then I turned the corner and saw the wall. Shap was not over. I had a few more hundred feet to climb and it was staring down at me. It was going to have me. I had travelled too far on this journey to let some English Hill get me. Old faithful would take me to the top of this hill. It was mine. I could see dads van on the top so I knew it was the summit. The end was in sight and I was going to have it. I was turning the pedals standing on the bike but it had dropped to 4mph. It was almost over, there was nothing else for it but to drop to the lower gear bracket. I tend always to try and cycle in top gear or on one of the mid gears. I hate using the lower gears. I had become a road cyclist. Mountains were not my friends. They were not made for cyclists. Had I wanted to go up hills I would have become a mountain biker. Anyway, I had no choice I flicked the gear to go into the low bracket and I must have been going too slow or too fast for it but it missed the bracket and the chain flew off. I was off. Into the crash barrier. I jumped over it, sat on the dry stone dyke and looked over it. There was a drop of 1000feet or so. Shap was still going to be mine. I picked the bike up, put the chain back on with one finger holding it in place, rested the back on my shoulder and turned the pedals with my other hand. Within seconds the chain was on and I was off again. I thundered up that hill. It was mine. As I approached the summit I knew I had made it. Shap was in the bag. I almost felt like getting my polka dot jersey out the van. Today your honour, the Coult is "King of the Mountains." Over the summit and you could see the M6 in the distance, I switched the gears up and crested the mountain. 20mph, 30mph, 40 mph, there was no stopping me now. I thundered down the mountain and cruised into Shap village at 31 mph. I have never been able to ride this bike so fast on the flat. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the wind, but these wheels were in motion and the stage was mine. A quick cup of tea in Shap and I was off again. Next stop Penrith. The road to Penrith was great. It was undulating, but the sun was still out and the scenery was superb. For the first time in the entire ride I was enjoying the cycle. This was the ride I had been looking for since I bought my bike last year and took up cycling. This is what I imagined a long distance cycle to feel like. These were the conditions I had longed for. Finally the Journey was how I had imagined. The undulating road took me into another great little find. Penrith, so often by passed on my many journeys up and down the country had become a very welcome diversion. I made my way through the winding market town streets dropped a gear at the square and pushed on up the hill towards the castle and railway station. Another quick catch up with dad and I was off again. This wasn't a day to hang around. I was on form, I was in the zone and had become at one with the bike and the open road. The miles were disappearing the journey was mine. Before I left the car park I started a bad cough. Maybe I had used up all my breath, maybe I was coming down with something. I cruised down the hill slowly and then back up out of the town, coughing all the way. I quickly emptied my water bottle trying to clear it. There was only about 17 miles to go and nothing was going to stop me today. The sun soon returned about 2 miles out of town after an unwelcome vacation for half an hour and the road leveled out. The next villages flew past and before I knew it Carlisle and the M6 were back in view. I seemed like no time at all since we had stopped in Carlisle on the way south for breakfast. Back then the journey seemed so long that I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like to be back. It felt great. Just over the horizon was Scotland. England was almost over. I had made exceptional time today, I was on top form. For the very first time on the entire ride I felt in control of the journey. I had beaten the clock. This expedition was going to be mine. I was in charge and things were looking up. I cruised down the hill and into Carlisle. 98 miles down today and I felt like I could go on. I thought about making a dash over the border to claim some miles from tomorrows ride but I did what all ageing rock stars should do. I quit at the top. It had been a great day, it had gone well, but it was over. I didn't want to push it. Tomorrow I head for home, here's hoping the weather still wants to be my friend.

Day 3 - destination Preston

2008-04-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

It was another very early start. Today my muscles were really beginning to hurt. I did my now routine stretching, had my cereal and fruit and got on the bike. Oh that was sore. For the first time sitting on the bike was painfull. It was going to be an uncomfortable day as the pressure was finally taking its toll on my butt! The road climbed slowly up the A49 but was straight. There was a mammoth climb bout 6 miles out up to Queens house park ( i think) but the steep drop made up for the sweat. The sun was breaking through and the countryside opened up. As pleasant as it was I couldn't quite enjoy the morning ride. It was uncomfortable on the saddle and the early Monday morning drivers were in a hurry to get to work. They were impatient to wait behind a cyclist on this busy road and a few drivers made questionable manoeuvres! Despite the tiredness and discomfort I had to stay alert. It was a matter of life and death! It seemed to take forever to get to Ludlow where we stopped for tea and a snack and waited till the commuters were safely in their offices supping cappuccinos allowing us cyclists to re-claim the road. It was nerve wracking however as I continued towards Shrewsbury. The Mondeo and 3 series men had been replaced by white van men, lorries and tractors. It was a busy road and was a case of survival of the fittest. I might have been the fittest physically but was no match for a 5 tonne truck so I got to the city met my dad and had a re-think. Shrewsbury was a beautiful town, very historic. I made my way up the steep high street and through the city centre. There was no time for sight seeing. We decided to take a parallel road the B5476 to Whitchurch. This was a great choice. The road was scenic, there were few cars and the hedges provided some shelter from the still present wind. The fields were yellow and the ride was really pleasant. There was only one thing playing on my mind and that was the huge conurbation around Manchester that was looming ahead. I jumped back on the A49 and took the reasonably flat road towards Warrington. It was a nice road but was heavy with traffic. The saddle was irritating and my neck was sore after fighting to keep my head up into the high winds of the previous days. This is the longest section of the whole ride at 145 miles. Although the conditions were fair, the stress was beginning to take its toll. I finally realised that the distances I was aiming for each day was too much. But I have committed to it and there was nothing for it but to keep on peddling. Warrington looked a nice post industrial town that had clearly had a renaissance in recent years. The roads were very busy as it was mid afternoon on a Monday. Thankfully there was green cycleways for much of the urban journey through to Wigan but they were often punctured by ill thought parked cars forcing me out onto the busy carriageways. Eventually the urban ride was over and I was back out in the country heading towards Standish. I followed this familiar road past the shop where I bought my bike last year and continued the familiar road to Preston. The journey was almost over and it was only 4.30pm so I had made exceptional time today due to the flat surface and reduced winds, all this despite a sore behind! I then turned round and headed back to Adlington to stay with my brother for the evening. I put on his computer and see that I have received lots more donations on my just giving site so thank you very much for all the support. 3 Full days down, about 385 miles down. I am very very tired and starting to feel the pain. The encouraging comments and texts are really keeping me going so thank you. Tomorrow I am going to head for Carslile and hopefully this will be my final day in England. I will get back on to blog hopefully Wednesday night by which time I will be in either Glasgow or Edinburgh. I hear that the A7 was a bad choice so have yet to decide. Tomorrow though I go over Shap. Wish me luck!

Day 2 - Sunday to Hereford

2008-04-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

I must suffer from SAD because I got up early and it was dry, bright and reasonably warm. I was feeling great. Some stretching, clean clothes and a bowl of Fruit n fibre and I was off. The noise of the M5 disappeared as I headed north east. Maybe it was something phycological but I was in good spirits as I felt I was now heading up the country. My next major stop of the day was Bristol. The road to Bristol was reasonably flat and I went through some nice towns with Taunton being one of my favourites. A lot of the villages had markets on and there was a cheery buzz about the county. I was now in Somerset and the thought of summer seemed to be on everyone faces. The cloud had been broken by the sunshine and despite the wind still being in my face it felt as though I was cycling again. It felt like a normal Sunday run through the Campsie fells. I was actually enjoying myself for the first time on the trip. I did get tired however I stopped to meet my dad some 20 miles south of Bristol. We were on a nice straight section of road beside a Field and there was wildlife around as we had a cup of tea and looked at the route ahead. Dad had been filming me periodically along the route and the sections where I was soaking wet in Cornwall cursing at the camera seemed like an eternity away and we laughed at my behaviour. Soon I was on the road again and it was up over the Mendip hills along to Bristol international (Dad got questioned by security here for filming! - they thought he was a terror suspect - he soon explained what he was doing and they wished us luck) Just past Bristol Airport there is a steep drop down into Bristol. This was brilliant and I really enjoyed getting speed up and whizzing into Bristol. There were some beautifully bright painted townhouses high on the hill clinging onto the cliff face. I turned onto the A4 and followed the dual carriage way along the river deep below the cliffs and sprinted under the Clifton Suspension Bridge where I stopped to meet Dad and get a photo. I had also just passed the SS Great Britain. It now is masted and is restored. I last saw it 11 years ago when I drove Lands End to John O'Groats, it was then a wreck so it was really great to see this fine piece of Brunnel design coming back to life. Anyway, to get back to the point, we had a drink and an energy bar and decided to make for Wales before having a late lunch. I set off along the cycle path that would take me to Avonmouth and then along the Bristol Channel to the Severn Bridge. This was only about 16 miles in distance but the cloud had finally won and the sun was gone. It was dull, and that's not just the weather. From Avonmouth north to the bridge you go through industrial estates and industrial wasteland. It wasn't pleasant. Being on the coast meant that my old Friend the north wind was back in my face to keep me company. It was a long few miles. The only comfort was the lack of traffic. I made it to the bridge and cycled to the flyover where I waved at my dad as he drove up to the toll booth. He felt fleeced as he had to pay £11 for his little van. Eco warriors like me however go free on our pedal power machines! Surprisingly the wind was not too bad as I crossed. The sign said 15mph max as I cycled up to the crest. I was impressed to be cruising at 14mph as I went over the crest and down the other side I was up to 22mph. I decided to claw back some time and break the rules as there was no one else on the bridge...catch me if you can! From the bridge I passed a sign saying welcome to Wales. It felt great to be heading north, I had turned the leg of the country and was heading in the right direction. I met my dad at Chepstow race course and we had a late lunch. The market had just finished so the course was open and we managed to use the facilities and stock up on some cheap fruit. We were well into the afternoon by now and I was tiring but in surprisingly good spirits as it was dry, I was heading north and was actually having fun. I set off up a steep hill for a few miles and then descended the fast winding road down to Tintern Abbey. I met up with dad again and used the toilets again - It is amazing how much fluid your body can take on when cycling over 100 miles! Not to mention how much you loose! There was a group of Mods on mopeds which diverted dads attention away from the stunning Abbey ruins. He filmed them burning up the road into the distance then filmed me sauntering off into the valley. The valley to Monmouth was beautiful and quaint. I passed along the river, through forests (Forest of Dean I think) and over stone bridges. About a mile from Monmouth I passed a cyclist. We got chatting as he explained he was tired and slow because he had come all the way from Chepstow. "Where have you come from?"he said. "Lands End" I replied and pushed on up the hill. The local county fair was just finishing and there was huge tailback into town. I did something that I usually hate to see cyclists do - I jumped onto the pavement and rode into town skipping the queue. I was supposed to meet dad in Monmouth but couldn't see him so carried on through. There was a steep climb out the far side. I thought it would last for a few minutes. It lasted for ever. I just seemed to be climbing higher and higher. I was really beginning to tire. I met dad in a lay by and we discussed taking an hour off. I looked at the map and it was only another 15 miles to Hereford where we were booked into a hotel so decided to keep going. The road was undulating, the rain had come back to haunt me and I was getting very very weary. We decided to meet up every three miles to break the journey. Every hill I climbed and every corner I turned I longed to see the van, but it never appeared. These three miles stages were soul destroying. Eventually I joined the A49 only a few miles from Hereford and dad left me for the final time that day. It was a busy road into town, but it was dangerous. Not the road itself, but me on it. I was getting delusional, I was clearly dehydrated despite the fluids i had been drinking and I was exhausted. I would cycle 100s of yards and not remember. I was on complete autopilot, asleep in the saddle. I narrowly missed parked cars as I could no longer keep my neck up to look ahead. I found my eyes wander down towards the spokes of the front wheels. Mesmerising me. My legs were turning but I couldn't even feel myself pushing them. The Welcome to Hereford sign post was true. I was glad to get there. It had started off a great day but the last 14 miles seemed like hell. I enjoyed 80 miles of the day, why oh why did I decide to do it in a week covering 125miles? The only thing that can keep me going is knowing that by this time next week I'll be back at my flat ironing shirts for the office, watching Heartbeat and knowing that I raised £10k for Schools around the world.

Day 1 - Destination Tiverton

2008-04-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

I could not sleep at all last night and watched the clock until it finally flashed 6.00am. I got up and went into the bathroom to stretch for 15 mins. Soon I was ready to go and I arranged to meet my dad for breakfast at 9am on the A30. I went outside and got onto the bike. It was damp as I left the service area of Hayle and joined the dual carriage way. No sooner had I got going that it started to rain. It kept me cool however and I got a good rhythm going, despite the wind in my face. I had chosen to go from Lands End northwards as my research has discovered that the prevailing winds are South Westerly. This would mean they would be behind me pushing me along and they would have come from the gulf stream so would be warm. I would have had to have been very very very unlucky to get the rare North Easterly wind. This wind would be cold coming from the Artic, strong and in my face. I was extremely unlucky. I had only covered 9 or so miles at my normal pace when the full exposure of the dual carriageway became apparent. The wind was almost pushing me backwards and must have been at about 30 miles per hour. That meant I had to put enough energy in to get the bike to 40mph in order to make progress. Progress is perhaps the wrong word. I felt like I was being pushed backwards by a sumo wrestler. By 20 miles I was shattered and had to take my first energy gel of the day. I was supposed to be keeping these gels for the stages over 100 miles, not 20! The only saving grace of the morning was that there was very little traffic on the road and given it was newly laid it was smooth to ride on. By 9.10am I was really tired and could see a lay by up ahead with a toilet. It was pouring with rain, I was wet, tired and badly in need of the toilet and a cup of tea. I thought to myself wouldn't it be great if my support driver was there with the kettle brewing. No sooner had I thought this than I looked over my shoulder and saw dad's "Blue Lamp Logistics" van come over the hill. I pulled in and got in the back of the van. I was dripping with water and had to change into my Day 2 clothes. I had only travelled 26 miles in 2 hours. Not a great start. After some tea and soup, I was off. The dry set of clothes were soon heavy with rain. Dad overtook me on a steep climb and I was down to a staggeringly slow 8 mph. As I watched the tailights disappear into the distance I couldn't believe how stupid I was to think I could take on a task of this magnitude. Soon however I had no time to wallow or feel depressed as the road had started to get busy, very busy and I had to concentrate. My glasses were next to useless as they don't come with wipers so the road ahead was even more out of focus as I struggled to see in front of me through the spray. Lorries and buses started to whizz past almost as if they hadn't seen me. This was very frightening. Then side winds would catch the wheels and blow me almost a foot into the carriageway into the path of the cars behind me. Every up hill section was painful but there was always the thought of the steep decent to keep me going. This didn't last long. Normally on a 8 - 9% drop I can get the bike well over 30mph. However with such strong headwinds I was lucky to get it up to 15mph which was supposed to be my average speed. Then things took a turn for the worse. A green Vauxhall Vectra decided to swerve into me trying to knock me over, blasting the horn at the same time with a bunch of spotty Neds (or CHAVS - in England) laughing. This was not good and didn't do much for my confidence in the already dismal conditions. It wasn't over however as a Caravan driver decided to blast his horn too not long afterwards. I think drivers should read the highway code which will tell then that cyclists are fully entitled to use an A - Class road and that they should give us room, not try to kill us. I said to myself if it happens again I am giving up. 3 miles later it did, this time a woman in a people carrier stuffed with spotty kids, a Labrador and duvets up to the back window. I got off the bike and climbed up an embankment that took me onto a small road that led down into Bodmin. I met my dad in the car park and he left me to have more soup and get changed for a third time while he went to the tourist office to get advice on a different route. It turned out the route I was taking was the official route, it was just dangerous! We worked out a diversion however that took me further north towards Port Issac, where they film Doc Martin, before going inland again over the moor to Holdsworthy, Okehampton, Credition. It was late by the time I made it to Credition and we had some food. Not long now till Tiverton and our stop for the night. I shouldn't have spoke to soon. It said "Undulating road" in the guidebook. Maybe I was just wet and tired but it was hilly and I was shattered. After what seemed like an eternity I arrived in Tiverton and met my dad at the town centre car park. Save for one lonely red Ford Ka we were the only guests in town. We checked the map and it transpired the Travelodge Tiverton is not actually in Tiverton but at junction 27 of the M5, some 6 miles away down another dual carriage way. It was on route however and dad followed me as best he could for the last six miles. By the time I got to bed (In Devon now) I was out for the count. That was only day 1. If this weather keeps up I don't think I can do this distance. Deflated was too strong a word but I was too tired to care.

The begining

2008-04-21T10:29:00.001-07:00

Hello. We drove down to Lands End on Friday. It was a long slow day taking over 12 hours. I had booked us into the Premier Inn at Hayle which is 19 miles from Lands End. It was after 8pm by the time we checked in and we decided to head down to Lands End for some photos. After arriving we realised that the famous sign post gets taken down in the evening. There was no one around and the light was fading fast. After a few photos I decided to cycle back to Hayle for two reasons, one it would shave 19 miles from day 1 and secondly it would save me coming back down and doubling back. I set off at 8.50pm and was less than a mile from Lands End when the full force of the wind became apparent. I knew I was tired but I was struggling to get the bike above 11 miles per hour. I had worked out that I needed to average 15 miles an hour to hit my target. It was not a good start. I passed Sennen and the last Inn in England and started to get into a rhythm. Soon I was 7 miles from Penzance, my first miles stone and cruising along the country lanes with high hedges either side giving me some but not much shelter from the strong winds. Soon however the light had gone and the second disaster struck. I had been in Evans cycle shop at Braehead some months ago looking at lights and the shopkeeper was trying to sell my a headlamp at £190. He said it would shine like a car headlamp and was sworn to be brilliant by mountainbikers. I opted for the £20 light. It was great throughout my training but then most of that was done in the city or along dual carriageways, both of which were well lit. This road in Cornwall was pitch black. I could not see a thing in front of me. I was riding blind and it was frightening, not only because I couldn't see where I was going but because I couldn't see potholes. I narrowly missed a dead badger lying on the road and didn't want to join him. My dad was driving the support van so I got him to sit behind me with his full beam on lightening the road ahead. This worked well except when a car came up and he had to pull in leaving me to cycle on into the darkness until he caught up. The bright lights of Penzance were a welcome sight over the dark horizon as my first mile stone was in sight. No sooner had I approached the welcome streetlamps on the outskirt of town when disaster 3 of the evening happened. To go back slightly, my racing bike is fitted with pedals that are made for clip on racing shoes. This enables the toe to be secured and allows you to lift the pedal as well as push it, therefore both feet are working the pedals at the same time. You can therefore go up hills faster and travel faster and more efficiently as your feet never change position. It also means you build up and use the same muscles. The drawback however is that they are difficult to get in and out of and dangerous if you are going slow when approaching a junction or need to stop suddenly and cannot get your feet out. Essentially you fall over. I was nearly squashed by a transit van in Falkirk doing the Race for Life last September so tend only to use them in daylight and on straight roads or roads I know well. With this in mind, I had decided to wear trainers tonight. This was fine until I realised that I was riding using the arch of my foot on the pedal and not my toe. I had not lowered my seat to compensate for this in the rush to get going. Thus I had been stretching my calves about 24mm further than normal. On the way to Penzance after only 9 miles I felt it snapping. I jumped off my bike as soon as I felt it going. I couldn't believe it. Only 1% of the journey down and it could all have been over. There was no way I could have gone back to work. I sat at the side of the road and did some stretches, walked around and it seemed o.k. I carry a tool kit under my saddle so re-adjusted the seat and set off. I cruised down into Penzance and then followed the winding country roads up to Hayle. I made a mistake by missing the bypass and ended up cruising through the village. It was a welcome diversion as the locals were cheerily making their way back from the pub and a few shouted "End to End" which was encouraging. I arrived back at the hotel at 10.30pm. The porter looked at me and asked where I was heading the next day. I told him Tiverton. He laughed at me and told me I had better get myself a motor bike as the weather forecast was for storms, heaving Northwesterly winds and rain - all day. I went to my room, buzzing with adrenaline because I had finally started but nervous about the task ahead. I sprayed my leg with muscle ease and looked at the map. My 19.5miles was nothing compared to the 880 on the map ahead. Oh well I chose to do this, in fact I had wanted to do LEJOG all my life, I just couldn't work out why that night!