All of the photos from the trip are online on:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=247144&id=684510420&l=b3a9a87f49
Thursday 29 July 2010
Monday 26 July 2010
DAY 9 LAST DAY!
The last day! Arising for our final cooked breakfast we were driven back to Tavistock where we had left off the night before and fiddled around with the GPS before setting off on our route. The weather looked promising this morning – it was slightly overcast, but bouts of sunshine were peeping through. Not even 500m into our journey this all changed though, and once again we had torrential rain. This time though it was so bad that we had to seek shelter in a nearby bus stop and waited for about 20 minutes whilst the rain hammered on the roof. Unfortunately the issue here wasn’t just one of gritting teeth and cycling through the rain. Because it was so torrential – the roads were akin to rivers, and drains were overflowing, there was the danger of other cars aqua-planing and not being able to stop quick enough. We waited for the rain to slow down to a moderately torrential amount before starting off again.
Although we moaned about the weather (again), we were very motivated to go on just because of the knowledge that there would be CHAMPAGNE at the end. Alcohol had become a serious motivator by this point.
Someone in team TROTT (I can’t remember who at the time of writing) was informed by the weather forecasters back home, that the area had received a severe weather warning and that we were right in the middle of it. Further to add to our dis-contempt with the weather (not that we needed any more hatred of the UK weather systems by this point), that the rain was following us SOUTH, despite the fact that the wind was blowing NORTH (or so it seemed). The other group of Lands end to John O Groaters from KGS (remember – the sensible ones doing it the correct way around?) had informed us that the worst thing about Cornwall and Devon (besides the hills) was the sunburn. SUNBURN??? WE WOULD HAVE GIVEN OUR WHEELS AND CRAWLED TO LANDS END FOR SUNBURN! Grumbling we TROTTed on (a joke that we found much too amusing when cycling – possibly due to low blood sugar and bouts of delirium).
After the initial climb we pulled over in a garage to inspect Tom’s break pads. He had the same problem as I had only a few days previously, his break pads were very worn down indeed. Learning from previous mistakes, we got the support car to Google bike shops nearby our current location. There was none within 10 miles so we opted for an impromptu measure – instead of replacing the pads, we borrowed a mechanics tools and made the callipers grip the wheel more tightly. Just a side note that this was a last minute measure and should not really be done unless the last option available.
Besides that minor hiccup, all was running smoothly (besides my ankle – but I strapped on a pair and got on with it). Then Robbie ran into some technical difficulties. Bombing down a road that was overcast with trees (restricting light), Robbie tore his front tyre when he went at 3x the speed of sound over some pesky sharp stones that were inconveniently in his way. Waiting at the bottom of the hill for Robbie to wheel his bike down, I phoned the support car to tell them what had happened. Robbie arrived and began to fit a new inner tube, but upon inspection of his tyre and the finding of a hole roughly the size of a bullet hole, it was realised that he needed a new tyre completely. Putting the bike on the rack, they set off in the support car to the nearest bike shop, leaving me and Tom to continue. We speculated that his tyre must have been shot by mercenaries hired by someone from a rival charity in an attempt to stop us.
Continuing on, me and Tom tackled some hideous hills that we had to go down slowly thanks to Toms dodgy back break pad. Still, after covering some milage, we met back up with the support crew and Robbie who had a shiny new tyre.
Reunited, we cycled on for the rest of the day without event. We were informed by my father via text that his train had been delayed by a suicidal woman on a viaduct, and despite leading the chorus of “jump you bugger, jump!” he was still going to be late.
It was now nearing the end of our journey, and with only a few miles to go we encountered a sign for Lands End after as we were passing through Penzance. Excited and spurred on by the thought of finishing, we went on and a few miles down the road encountered another sign that read that read “Mt. Misery”. Surprisingly, Mt. Misery was not actually that miserable (though this was possibly due to the fact that we were nearly finished), and it was the last climb of the day. The last couple of miles really were a joy. It was all flat and downhill, and the rain had stopped by this point. We finished with the support car behind us, blaring out blazing tunes as we cruised into Lands End, through the amusements there and touching the sign.
THE END!
Although we moaned about the weather (again), we were very motivated to go on just because of the knowledge that there would be CHAMPAGNE at the end. Alcohol had become a serious motivator by this point.
Someone in team TROTT (I can’t remember who at the time of writing) was informed by the weather forecasters back home, that the area had received a severe weather warning and that we were right in the middle of it. Further to add to our dis-contempt with the weather (not that we needed any more hatred of the UK weather systems by this point), that the rain was following us SOUTH, despite the fact that the wind was blowing NORTH (or so it seemed). The other group of Lands end to John O Groaters from KGS (remember – the sensible ones doing it the correct way around?) had informed us that the worst thing about Cornwall and Devon (besides the hills) was the sunburn. SUNBURN??? WE WOULD HAVE GIVEN OUR WHEELS AND CRAWLED TO LANDS END FOR SUNBURN! Grumbling we TROTTed on (a joke that we found much too amusing when cycling – possibly due to low blood sugar and bouts of delirium).
After the initial climb we pulled over in a garage to inspect Tom’s break pads. He had the same problem as I had only a few days previously, his break pads were very worn down indeed. Learning from previous mistakes, we got the support car to Google bike shops nearby our current location. There was none within 10 miles so we opted for an impromptu measure – instead of replacing the pads, we borrowed a mechanics tools and made the callipers grip the wheel more tightly. Just a side note that this was a last minute measure and should not really be done unless the last option available.
Besides that minor hiccup, all was running smoothly (besides my ankle – but I strapped on a pair and got on with it). Then Robbie ran into some technical difficulties. Bombing down a road that was overcast with trees (restricting light), Robbie tore his front tyre when he went at 3x the speed of sound over some pesky sharp stones that were inconveniently in his way. Waiting at the bottom of the hill for Robbie to wheel his bike down, I phoned the support car to tell them what had happened. Robbie arrived and began to fit a new inner tube, but upon inspection of his tyre and the finding of a hole roughly the size of a bullet hole, it was realised that he needed a new tyre completely. Putting the bike on the rack, they set off in the support car to the nearest bike shop, leaving me and Tom to continue. We speculated that his tyre must have been shot by mercenaries hired by someone from a rival charity in an attempt to stop us.
Continuing on, me and Tom tackled some hideous hills that we had to go down slowly thanks to Toms dodgy back break pad. Still, after covering some milage, we met back up with the support crew and Robbie who had a shiny new tyre.
Reunited, we cycled on for the rest of the day without event. We were informed by my father via text that his train had been delayed by a suicidal woman on a viaduct, and despite leading the chorus of “jump you bugger, jump!” he was still going to be late.
It was now nearing the end of our journey, and with only a few miles to go we encountered a sign for Lands End after as we were passing through Penzance. Excited and spurred on by the thought of finishing, we went on and a few miles down the road encountered another sign that read that read “Mt. Misery”. Surprisingly, Mt. Misery was not actually that miserable (though this was possibly due to the fact that we were nearly finished), and it was the last climb of the day. The last couple of miles really were a joy. It was all flat and downhill, and the rain had stopped by this point. We finished with the support car behind us, blaring out blazing tunes as we cruised into Lands End, through the amusements there and touching the sign.
THE END!
DAY 8
Bristol to Tavistock
In the morning we escaped the dark tower with use of our enchanted keys and set off cycling out of Bristol. This was not fun. The hills were horrible, but one thing surprised us all – the weather was actually nice! Today actually warranted wearing suncream and vests.
Today we were all excited as it was our second to last, and thoughts of finishing in Lands End were already upon us. Today was by far our most difficult day – the rolling hills seemed to be relentlessly coming at us. It seemed that as soon as we climbed one, we would turn the corner, and it would keep winding up! Still, at least the weather was nice, which meant that when we did stop we weren’t freezing and dripping wet, hugging around the motor of the car, desperately trying to get warm and shovelling pasta into our faces.
So sun so far… and then came the cursed DARTMOOR. Some of you may be familiar with this place. I am not, but the glimpse that I got was enough to make sure that I vowed myself that I would never return. Dartmoor seems to have its own weather system, so although we may have enjoyed sunshine all day up until this point, it was soon to stop. As we began our ascent up into the national park, all seemed well, but gradually the sun was clouded over and replaced once again with the all too familiar sight of grey skies and drizzling rain. This only got worse as the temperature dropped, prompting a change in attire from the cyclists from vests to waterproofs (making their appearance once again).
As we cycled over the rolling hills of Dartmoor, my right ankle which had thus far managed to survive 870 miles of pain began to give. Grinding pains that I am now informed are shin splints plagued me for the last section of that day which was not fun. Although fine on the flats, the pain only started once pressure was applied to climb the hills, so my tactic became to sprint these ahead of the other two and wait at the top, stretching my ankle. Help came in the form of a couple of “man up” pills (Neurofen) that came from the support car.
The weather in Dartmoor turned from bad to worse and once again the fog descended upon us, making it dangerous to cycle. The support car followed us down, hazards flashing until we were clear of the fog. Once we were up the final hill it was a home straight down into Tavistock, where we were picked up by Oli’s welcoming grandmother and driven to her house in Plymouth where we were staying for the night.
I think the whole team agree that the hearty dinner of chicken, bacon and rice that we were served was delicious, and what we were looking forward to the whole trip, having been constantly assured by Oli about her cooking expertise. We were not let down. Stomachs full we retired to bed and once again fell straight asleep.
In the morning we escaped the dark tower with use of our enchanted keys and set off cycling out of Bristol. This was not fun. The hills were horrible, but one thing surprised us all – the weather was actually nice! Today actually warranted wearing suncream and vests.
Today we were all excited as it was our second to last, and thoughts of finishing in Lands End were already upon us. Today was by far our most difficult day – the rolling hills seemed to be relentlessly coming at us. It seemed that as soon as we climbed one, we would turn the corner, and it would keep winding up! Still, at least the weather was nice, which meant that when we did stop we weren’t freezing and dripping wet, hugging around the motor of the car, desperately trying to get warm and shovelling pasta into our faces.
So sun so far… and then came the cursed DARTMOOR. Some of you may be familiar with this place. I am not, but the glimpse that I got was enough to make sure that I vowed myself that I would never return. Dartmoor seems to have its own weather system, so although we may have enjoyed sunshine all day up until this point, it was soon to stop. As we began our ascent up into the national park, all seemed well, but gradually the sun was clouded over and replaced once again with the all too familiar sight of grey skies and drizzling rain. This only got worse as the temperature dropped, prompting a change in attire from the cyclists from vests to waterproofs (making their appearance once again).
As we cycled over the rolling hills of Dartmoor, my right ankle which had thus far managed to survive 870 miles of pain began to give. Grinding pains that I am now informed are shin splints plagued me for the last section of that day which was not fun. Although fine on the flats, the pain only started once pressure was applied to climb the hills, so my tactic became to sprint these ahead of the other two and wait at the top, stretching my ankle. Help came in the form of a couple of “man up” pills (Neurofen) that came from the support car.
The weather in Dartmoor turned from bad to worse and once again the fog descended upon us, making it dangerous to cycle. The support car followed us down, hazards flashing until we were clear of the fog. Once we were up the final hill it was a home straight down into Tavistock, where we were picked up by Oli’s welcoming grandmother and driven to her house in Plymouth where we were staying for the night.
I think the whole team agree that the hearty dinner of chicken, bacon and rice that we were served was delicious, and what we were looking forward to the whole trip, having been constantly assured by Oli about her cooking expertise. We were not let down. Stomachs full we retired to bed and once again fell straight asleep.
DAY 7
Shrewsbury to Bristol
Arising fresh faced from the Shrewsbury we were hardly surprised to see that the clouds above us were still overcast. The night before we were speaking with the landlady in the Youth Hostel that we were staying in who remarked about how unlucky we had been with the weather, especially as it had been so nice only a few days previously. We all gritted our teeth and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to stab things.
Now, just to give some background info on the location that we were staying in, the place was a hole. Quite literally a hole. The terrain put us in a location whereby every road out of the place was a very steep incline, and so we opted for the support car to drive us out of the hole and onto the route from the previous day so that we could pick up pretty much where we left off from.
Once again wrestling the bikes onto the rack, clad in full lycra and waterproofs we piled into the Fiat Punto and squeezed ourselves in against the many tins of food that we had taken with us. Tarn programmed the car’s GPS to take us back to route. However, I was looking at my Garmin bike GPS and couldn’t help but notice that there was a conflict in opinion between the two systems, namely that they were taking us to two different locations, which inevitably caused complications when both me and Tom were reading each one of them and instructed Tarn to take the next left (and right) at the same time. After both the GPS systems engaged in a heated argument amongst themselves over what directions Tarn should take, we eventually got back on track (although I’m still pretty sure that my one was right…).
Winding through some small country lanes, we came across a group of sheep in the middle of the road. Robbie sped up and kept quiet behind them, then suddenly shouted “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” at them as he was around 1m away. I have never seen animals so scared in my life. These sheep darted left, right and centre, their hooves skidding all over the wet road. Some nifty bike control was needed to avoid collision with them, me and Tom darted around the road, madly trying to avoid them as Robbie wheeled away laughing at the carnage that he had caused behind him.
Apart from that small hiccup in the morning, the day was relatively without event. We met up with the support car, as usual every 20 miles to stock up on supplies and went on our way again. Rain was mild with passing showers, and bouts of sunshine that made us smile.
At the end of the day we began the descent into Bristol. Having spent most of the journey thus far not seeing any cyclists at all (other than the intelligent ones who had decided to do the cycle the correct way around, without the wind in their faces the whole time), we had a bit of a shock when we came into the city and were swamped by them. Bloody cyclists, taking up the whole road, and being such an inconvenience to motorists, and genuine charity cyclists. One man shot past us on a gleaming Bianchi carbon fibre frame with aero wheels. My desire to chase him down and overtake him again was halted when Tom shouted to me, and like a beaten dog I slipped back into the team TROTT peloton.
When we arrived at the Youth Hostel in Bristol we were greeted by a horrific myriad of puzzles to get into bed. In order to complete our first task, we were greeted by the gatekeeper at reception who bequeathed upon us three magical keys. We went across to the lift, where we used the first of our magical keys in a vain attempt to request the magical metal shaft. Returning to reception, where the gatekeeper requested his magician re-enchant the keys, we returned to the lift, and wrestled the bikes in. Pressing the button, I descended to the dungeons and got the bikes out of the magical chamber and put them in the corridor. I strolled to the bike store where I found that the enchantment on my magical key did not work on the bike store. Further to complicate matters, the enchantment seemed to have worn off completely, and I couldn’t gain access to the lift either. I got out my phone to inform the others of this complication, but there was no signal – was I to be trapped in this desolate dungeon forever!?
Knocking on a door to the games room, I was let in by a puzzled group of German tourists playing pool who wondered why an earth there was a bald, sunglasses wearing, lycra clad, dripping wet, and covered in mud cyclist, knocking on a door that said “Fire Exit – do not open unless in emergency”. There would have been a bloody emergency if they hadn’t let me in.
Returning up the stairs, I found the rest of the team crying huddled in a corner, having been broken to tears by the lift and key system. Someone went to reception for yet another magical key that would unlock the bike shed.
Once the bikes were FINALLY away, we all crammed into the lift and took it to the top floor of the magical tower. We were all very angry and in serious need of food/shower/sleep. Only two floors up and the lift stopped. The doors pinged open to reveal a small child (aged 9) who wanted to get in the lift. Snarling, we informed her that this lift was “UP ONLY” and that she could pretty much wait for the next sodding one.
Crashing into our rooms after making our way through yet more confusing doors (I have no idea how anyone expects to navigate this place when drunk), we grabbed our towels and made our way to the shower, half expecting there to be a magical “hot water key” or “soap dispenser key” for the showers.
Eventually we got to bed after uploading a backlog of blogs that we had written, but as yet had no internet to upload from. That done, I went to sleep within 10 seconds of touching my pillow, but was awakened moments later by Tarn, who seemed to be upset that I had put my used, sweaty cycling shorts in between his pillows as compensation for his driving 40 (instead of 20) miles down the road previously. Now we were even. Night!
Arising fresh faced from the Shrewsbury we were hardly surprised to see that the clouds above us were still overcast. The night before we were speaking with the landlady in the Youth Hostel that we were staying in who remarked about how unlucky we had been with the weather, especially as it had been so nice only a few days previously. We all gritted our teeth and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to stab things.
Now, just to give some background info on the location that we were staying in, the place was a hole. Quite literally a hole. The terrain put us in a location whereby every road out of the place was a very steep incline, and so we opted for the support car to drive us out of the hole and onto the route from the previous day so that we could pick up pretty much where we left off from.
Once again wrestling the bikes onto the rack, clad in full lycra and waterproofs we piled into the Fiat Punto and squeezed ourselves in against the many tins of food that we had taken with us. Tarn programmed the car’s GPS to take us back to route. However, I was looking at my Garmin bike GPS and couldn’t help but notice that there was a conflict in opinion between the two systems, namely that they were taking us to two different locations, which inevitably caused complications when both me and Tom were reading each one of them and instructed Tarn to take the next left (and right) at the same time. After both the GPS systems engaged in a heated argument amongst themselves over what directions Tarn should take, we eventually got back on track (although I’m still pretty sure that my one was right…).
Winding through some small country lanes, we came across a group of sheep in the middle of the road. Robbie sped up and kept quiet behind them, then suddenly shouted “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” at them as he was around 1m away. I have never seen animals so scared in my life. These sheep darted left, right and centre, their hooves skidding all over the wet road. Some nifty bike control was needed to avoid collision with them, me and Tom darted around the road, madly trying to avoid them as Robbie wheeled away laughing at the carnage that he had caused behind him.
Apart from that small hiccup in the morning, the day was relatively without event. We met up with the support car, as usual every 20 miles to stock up on supplies and went on our way again. Rain was mild with passing showers, and bouts of sunshine that made us smile.
At the end of the day we began the descent into Bristol. Having spent most of the journey thus far not seeing any cyclists at all (other than the intelligent ones who had decided to do the cycle the correct way around, without the wind in their faces the whole time), we had a bit of a shock when we came into the city and were swamped by them. Bloody cyclists, taking up the whole road, and being such an inconvenience to motorists, and genuine charity cyclists. One man shot past us on a gleaming Bianchi carbon fibre frame with aero wheels. My desire to chase him down and overtake him again was halted when Tom shouted to me, and like a beaten dog I slipped back into the team TROTT peloton.
When we arrived at the Youth Hostel in Bristol we were greeted by a horrific myriad of puzzles to get into bed. In order to complete our first task, we were greeted by the gatekeeper at reception who bequeathed upon us three magical keys. We went across to the lift, where we used the first of our magical keys in a vain attempt to request the magical metal shaft. Returning to reception, where the gatekeeper requested his magician re-enchant the keys, we returned to the lift, and wrestled the bikes in. Pressing the button, I descended to the dungeons and got the bikes out of the magical chamber and put them in the corridor. I strolled to the bike store where I found that the enchantment on my magical key did not work on the bike store. Further to complicate matters, the enchantment seemed to have worn off completely, and I couldn’t gain access to the lift either. I got out my phone to inform the others of this complication, but there was no signal – was I to be trapped in this desolate dungeon forever!?
Knocking on a door to the games room, I was let in by a puzzled group of German tourists playing pool who wondered why an earth there was a bald, sunglasses wearing, lycra clad, dripping wet, and covered in mud cyclist, knocking on a door that said “Fire Exit – do not open unless in emergency”. There would have been a bloody emergency if they hadn’t let me in.
Returning up the stairs, I found the rest of the team crying huddled in a corner, having been broken to tears by the lift and key system. Someone went to reception for yet another magical key that would unlock the bike shed.
Once the bikes were FINALLY away, we all crammed into the lift and took it to the top floor of the magical tower. We were all very angry and in serious need of food/shower/sleep. Only two floors up and the lift stopped. The doors pinged open to reveal a small child (aged 9) who wanted to get in the lift. Snarling, we informed her that this lift was “UP ONLY” and that she could pretty much wait for the next sodding one.
Crashing into our rooms after making our way through yet more confusing doors (I have no idea how anyone expects to navigate this place when drunk), we grabbed our towels and made our way to the shower, half expecting there to be a magical “hot water key” or “soap dispenser key” for the showers.
Eventually we got to bed after uploading a backlog of blogs that we had written, but as yet had no internet to upload from. That done, I went to sleep within 10 seconds of touching my pillow, but was awakened moments later by Tarn, who seemed to be upset that I had put my used, sweaty cycling shorts in between his pillows as compensation for his driving 40 (instead of 20) miles down the road previously. Now we were even. Night!
Tuesday 20 July 2010
DAY 6
SUN! Is the best thing about today! After a very depressing run weather wise thus far, we were greeted with glorious sunshine as we made our way from Lancaster to Shrewsbury.
We ended up having to make up some serious milage that was lost after the mess up from the hotel location fiasco (silly teleporting hotels), before getting back onto route, but once we did, the course was a real joy to cruise through in the sunshine. We pulled over and cracked out the sun cream for the 1st time the whole trip. Slathering ourselves in it and eating supplies, we continued on South.
Later on we stopped to consult the GPS and take on fluids down a country lane. We all propped our bikes up against a wire fence and were greeted by a curious foal who seemed to take a keen interest in Tom’s handlebar tape. We turned round for a second before Tom began shouting: “stupid horse, don’t eat my bike you mug”
After we had escaped the hungry jaws of the horse we plodded on. The ground was still wet from passing showers that had been in the area earlier on. Now, we’re not sure of the technical term for this, but we’ve been referring to it all week as “jetskiing” – because of the torrent of water that shoots off the back wheel and up into the air behind – sometimes the unlucky individual that happens to be behind the wheel. Today, the person in front of me was Robbie, and it wasn’t just water that was shot up into my face. Oh no, that wouldn’t warrant a mention in the blog. Instead, Robbie had ploughed through a puddle/mound of indiscriminate farm animal manure, which shot up into my face and mouth, causing be to cough and spit out little chunklets of manure. Still, it was marginally better than some of the pasta cooking that we’ve been having so far.
Alas, my comedic adventures of the day hadn’t finished just yet. Later on I had an unfortunate mishap where I slipped off the pedal whilst starting off on a traffic light and sat down rather more abruptly than I had wished for, wincing in pain and saying “OOOOOOooooowiiiEEEEEEEEE!!!” in a high pitched voice, I tried to cycle on as Tom and Robbie were in hysterics with laughter.
I had requested that morning that Oli and Tarn visit a bike shop and buy a new set of break pads, as my back wheel seriously needed them. Stopping at a pub to fit them, I realised very quickly that I was inept at this, I managed to put the pads on, but there was so much grime in the break callipers that they needed specialist attention. Fitting the bike rack again, me and Oli drove a few miles to the nearest bike repair shop, where the guys there were very, very helpful indeed. They fitted the pads, cleaned the breaks and gave the gears a clean and a quick service.
Rejoining the others a few miles down the road, we continued cycling. After an uneventful couple of miles, we seemed to be going through lots of small clouds of ash, which we presumed to be some exhaust fumes or soot from passing lorries. Stopping at a traffic lights, we looked down at our arms and legs to realise that these black dots were crawling. We had cycled through clouds of small insects which were clinging onto us. Pulling over, the others brushed themselves down whilst I stripped off to my shorts and screamed “THEY’RE IN MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!”
Still, we continued on and finished on a very, very, steep hill. It was about half the size of the shap, but it was much steeper. Ignoring the temptation to get off and push, we did the last couple of miles slowly but surely, and collapsed once more in the youth hostel for a much needed rest.
We ended up having to make up some serious milage that was lost after the mess up from the hotel location fiasco (silly teleporting hotels), before getting back onto route, but once we did, the course was a real joy to cruise through in the sunshine. We pulled over and cracked out the sun cream for the 1st time the whole trip. Slathering ourselves in it and eating supplies, we continued on South.
Later on we stopped to consult the GPS and take on fluids down a country lane. We all propped our bikes up against a wire fence and were greeted by a curious foal who seemed to take a keen interest in Tom’s handlebar tape. We turned round for a second before Tom began shouting: “stupid horse, don’t eat my bike you mug”
After we had escaped the hungry jaws of the horse we plodded on. The ground was still wet from passing showers that had been in the area earlier on. Now, we’re not sure of the technical term for this, but we’ve been referring to it all week as “jetskiing” – because of the torrent of water that shoots off the back wheel and up into the air behind – sometimes the unlucky individual that happens to be behind the wheel. Today, the person in front of me was Robbie, and it wasn’t just water that was shot up into my face. Oh no, that wouldn’t warrant a mention in the blog. Instead, Robbie had ploughed through a puddle/mound of indiscriminate farm animal manure, which shot up into my face and mouth, causing be to cough and spit out little chunklets of manure. Still, it was marginally better than some of the pasta cooking that we’ve been having so far.
Alas, my comedic adventures of the day hadn’t finished just yet. Later on I had an unfortunate mishap where I slipped off the pedal whilst starting off on a traffic light and sat down rather more abruptly than I had wished for, wincing in pain and saying “OOOOOOooooowiiiEEEEEEEEE!!!” in a high pitched voice, I tried to cycle on as Tom and Robbie were in hysterics with laughter.
I had requested that morning that Oli and Tarn visit a bike shop and buy a new set of break pads, as my back wheel seriously needed them. Stopping at a pub to fit them, I realised very quickly that I was inept at this, I managed to put the pads on, but there was so much grime in the break callipers that they needed specialist attention. Fitting the bike rack again, me and Oli drove a few miles to the nearest bike repair shop, where the guys there were very, very helpful indeed. They fitted the pads, cleaned the breaks and gave the gears a clean and a quick service.
Rejoining the others a few miles down the road, we continued cycling. After an uneventful couple of miles, we seemed to be going through lots of small clouds of ash, which we presumed to be some exhaust fumes or soot from passing lorries. Stopping at a traffic lights, we looked down at our arms and legs to realise that these black dots were crawling. We had cycled through clouds of small insects which were clinging onto us. Pulling over, the others brushed themselves down whilst I stripped off to my shorts and screamed “THEY’RE IN MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!”
Still, we continued on and finished on a very, very, steep hill. It was about half the size of the shap, but it was much steeper. Ignoring the temptation to get off and push, we did the last couple of miles slowly but surely, and collapsed once more in the youth hostel for a much needed rest.
DAY 5
The horrible weather yet again continued. It was wetter today than our wet kit from the ice demons in the Mayfair Hotel in Dunoon (don’t go there, ever.), however, spirits were lifted as we approached the border into England, around 30 miles into our course for the day.
We stopped by the ‘welcome to england’ sign, de-mounted our bikes and kissed the plaque, jumping with joy. I stood with one leg on either side of border and wondered if you were born where I was standing, whether you would be Scottish or English?
The moment we crossed the border we were greeted with glorious sunshine which lasted the entirety of 5 minutes. Rain continued to pour down on us, shattering our previously held belief that the weather would improve once we got across the border.
Entering Cumbria, we had a hilly up and down day through the winding hills, the big climb of the day was the shap, which was roughly a 900 million ft ascent. This was a real challenge; the driving wind was pushing us down as we relentlessly continued up. We climbed and climbed, but the winding hill just never seemed to plateau. When it finally did, a very heavy mist descended on us. We literally could not see 10m in front of us, so we pulled over to the side of the road, still being battered by the driving rain and the howling wind. We phoned Oli and Tarn and got them to drive to the top to escort us down with their hazards flashing.
Once we were free of fog, there was some beautiful views on our descent. We met up again with our support car and took on supplies before preparing for our final slog. We were 20 miles away from our destination. Or so we thought.
15 miles out, we had a phone call from Tarn. Him and Oli had driven ahead to the accommodation, and had encountered a slight problem. Namely that it wasn’t there. It had magically teleported 40 miles away from where it should have been. By this point it was already 8.45pm and had covered 115 miles. The thought of doing an extra 55 miles in the dark was slightly daunting. Shivering and wet, we propped up our bikes and took shelter from the wind behind a tree in a farmers yard.
Never fear though! Handily, Tom had relatives local to the area, who had been trying without success to chase us down all day and meet us, but due to weather conditions on the shap and other setbacks etc. had been thus far unable to meet up with us and deliver their precious cargo of chocolate and biscuits. Tom called them up and after attaching all the bikes to the rack on the support car, we were escorted to the CORRECT hotel address 55 miles away.
Arriving at around 10.30pm, we collapsed into our rooms and awaited the arrival of the support car. Once they arrived, we helped them unload the bikes and secure them away. By this point, we still hadn’t eaten, and we were all in the mood for some filthy, disgusting, greasy, cardio damaging food. And lots of it. Oli and Tarn elected to drive to the nearest KFC and buy a heart stopping amount of food in a bucket. They arrived at 11.05, closing time was 11. We had to settle for sandwiches from the bar, and nibbled on them whilst planning our route for the next day, and trying to figure out how on earth we would get back on our route.
We stopped by the ‘welcome to england’ sign, de-mounted our bikes and kissed the plaque, jumping with joy. I stood with one leg on either side of border and wondered if you were born where I was standing, whether you would be Scottish or English?
The moment we crossed the border we were greeted with glorious sunshine which lasted the entirety of 5 minutes. Rain continued to pour down on us, shattering our previously held belief that the weather would improve once we got across the border.
Entering Cumbria, we had a hilly up and down day through the winding hills, the big climb of the day was the shap, which was roughly a 900 million ft ascent. This was a real challenge; the driving wind was pushing us down as we relentlessly continued up. We climbed and climbed, but the winding hill just never seemed to plateau. When it finally did, a very heavy mist descended on us. We literally could not see 10m in front of us, so we pulled over to the side of the road, still being battered by the driving rain and the howling wind. We phoned Oli and Tarn and got them to drive to the top to escort us down with their hazards flashing.
Once we were free of fog, there was some beautiful views on our descent. We met up again with our support car and took on supplies before preparing for our final slog. We were 20 miles away from our destination. Or so we thought.
15 miles out, we had a phone call from Tarn. Him and Oli had driven ahead to the accommodation, and had encountered a slight problem. Namely that it wasn’t there. It had magically teleported 40 miles away from where it should have been. By this point it was already 8.45pm and had covered 115 miles. The thought of doing an extra 55 miles in the dark was slightly daunting. Shivering and wet, we propped up our bikes and took shelter from the wind behind a tree in a farmers yard.
Never fear though! Handily, Tom had relatives local to the area, who had been trying without success to chase us down all day and meet us, but due to weather conditions on the shap and other setbacks etc. had been thus far unable to meet up with us and deliver their precious cargo of chocolate and biscuits. Tom called them up and after attaching all the bikes to the rack on the support car, we were escorted to the CORRECT hotel address 55 miles away.
Arriving at around 10.30pm, we collapsed into our rooms and awaited the arrival of the support car. Once they arrived, we helped them unload the bikes and secure them away. By this point, we still hadn’t eaten, and we were all in the mood for some filthy, disgusting, greasy, cardio damaging food. And lots of it. Oli and Tarn elected to drive to the nearest KFC and buy a heart stopping amount of food in a bucket. They arrived at 11.05, closing time was 11. We had to settle for sandwiches from the bar, and nibbled on them whilst planning our route for the next day, and trying to figure out how on earth we would get back on our route.
DAY 4
Getting the ferry the morning from Dunoon across the bay to Greenock where our cycle began. Once on the other side we fiddled with the GPS system for around 30 minutes, trying to decipher why it was going to take us up the most hideous hills (probably similar in scale to Mt Doom from Lord of the Rings). Never fear! I re-calculated the route using the auto-routing feature on the system and we all stood by anxiously waiting for about 10 minutes for it to re-calculate our route.
I was the first to get a look.It seemed our options were to:
1) Tackle the mount Doom route
2) Cycle 130.2 miles around them via a series of cycle routes.
We opted for mount Doom. Protecting onto our rings with gel saddles and padded shorts, the fellowship started on a journey that would probably destroy them (the rings)
Whilst cycling we encountered a strange sight. A glowing yellow orb up between the clouds that seemed to be emitting light. We were confused by what this could be, possibly a U.F.O, (there had been sightings in nearby areas). We looked at it for a while before Robbie clicked and pointed out that it was the sun.
But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared again. Once again the weather was relentless and refused to give way. Shivering like drowned rats we plodded on and up the roads. One of the worst things about the day was the road surfaces, which have been the worst so far. Truly they were shocking, with gaping potholes every few metres and uneven gravel that hadn’t been smoothed , so we were weaving back and forth, desperately trying to avoid shards of glass and other obstacles in our way.
We pulled over at a roadside junction to consult the GPS and discuss where we were going to meet the support car. As we were talking, a gang of ‘youths’ (approximate age 14-15) approached us and began eyeing up our bikes. Smiling at our skintight attire (which was funny because they looked equally ridiculous in their tracksuits that clearly had never seen anyth8ing close to exercise), one of the short and dumpy girls asked me in a thick Scottish accent:
“Can aaaaaaai have yur baike?”
To which I very swiftly replied a very firm and grumpy sounding “No”
Laughing at me the girl turned to walk away before I told her that she “could never ride my bike because she was much too fat”. The hurt look on her face was enough to spike team morale, and the group of the previously very cocky teenagers shuffled away looking dejected and hurt. To add insult to injury, the words “Nice come back!” was shouted after them.
Laughing, we continued on our way and met up with the support car and arranged to meet up with them around 20 miles down the road for lunch. However, Tarn was driving, and instead of doing the sensible thing of driving 20 miles down the road, he instead drove 40 miles, leaving us cyclists starving hungry, dehydrated and out of water, prompting an annoyed phone call. Tarn gave us the co-ordinates of their location, which on my GPS seemed to put him in the middle of a wood, halfway up a mountain about 30 miles away from our location. Needless to say, the co-ordinates were wrong, and lunch was waiting for us by the side of a quiet stream. Oli came to the rescue and water was delivered to us and we continued to lunch.
After lunch, the cycling was getting to my head. In order to keep my spirits up I started playing games with approaching traffic (no Gran, not ‘chicken’). Waving and sticking my thumbs up to every car that passed trying to count up the ‘score’ that I got from every honk. I was going to encourage Robbie and Tom to join me in playing this game, but they didn’t seem to be in the mood, preferring to deal with it all by keeping their heads down and concentrating on the cycling.
Pulling over at a bus stop with around 20 miles to go, we took a break before our final slog. Cracking open a couple of cans of Nurishment, Tom immediately started shouting:
“YOU STUPID DRINK! WHY DID YOU DO THAT!!??” He had spilled some on himself and decided to take out his frustration on the can itself. Clearly the can was now sentient and had a mind out to spill itself all over him.
Our final destination for the day was the interestingly named “Haugh of Urr” (which did sound like a location from Lord of the Rings), and stopped in a pub for a pub food dinner. Unpacked at the youth hostel at around 9pm and collapsed into the showers and then into bed for a very long an refreshing sleep.
On an extra note, quote of the day comes from Tarn, who, after Robbie looked at the route and said “that’s like trying to cook bacon with ice”, replied with “but... you can cook bacon with ice”
I was the first to get a look.It seemed our options were to:
1) Tackle the mount Doom route
2) Cycle 130.2 miles around them via a series of cycle routes.
We opted for mount Doom. Protecting onto our rings with gel saddles and padded shorts, the fellowship started on a journey that would probably destroy them (the rings)
Whilst cycling we encountered a strange sight. A glowing yellow orb up between the clouds that seemed to be emitting light. We were confused by what this could be, possibly a U.F.O, (there had been sightings in nearby areas). We looked at it for a while before Robbie clicked and pointed out that it was the sun.
But as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared again. Once again the weather was relentless and refused to give way. Shivering like drowned rats we plodded on and up the roads. One of the worst things about the day was the road surfaces, which have been the worst so far. Truly they were shocking, with gaping potholes every few metres and uneven gravel that hadn’t been smoothed , so we were weaving back and forth, desperately trying to avoid shards of glass and other obstacles in our way.
We pulled over at a roadside junction to consult the GPS and discuss where we were going to meet the support car. As we were talking, a gang of ‘youths’ (approximate age 14-15) approached us and began eyeing up our bikes. Smiling at our skintight attire (which was funny because they looked equally ridiculous in their tracksuits that clearly had never seen anyth8ing close to exercise), one of the short and dumpy girls asked me in a thick Scottish accent:
“Can aaaaaaai have yur baike?”
To which I very swiftly replied a very firm and grumpy sounding “No”
Laughing at me the girl turned to walk away before I told her that she “could never ride my bike because she was much too fat”. The hurt look on her face was enough to spike team morale, and the group of the previously very cocky teenagers shuffled away looking dejected and hurt. To add insult to injury, the words “Nice come back!” was shouted after them.
Laughing, we continued on our way and met up with the support car and arranged to meet up with them around 20 miles down the road for lunch. However, Tarn was driving, and instead of doing the sensible thing of driving 20 miles down the road, he instead drove 40 miles, leaving us cyclists starving hungry, dehydrated and out of water, prompting an annoyed phone call. Tarn gave us the co-ordinates of their location, which on my GPS seemed to put him in the middle of a wood, halfway up a mountain about 30 miles away from our location. Needless to say, the co-ordinates were wrong, and lunch was waiting for us by the side of a quiet stream. Oli came to the rescue and water was delivered to us and we continued to lunch.
After lunch, the cycling was getting to my head. In order to keep my spirits up I started playing games with approaching traffic (no Gran, not ‘chicken’). Waving and sticking my thumbs up to every car that passed trying to count up the ‘score’ that I got from every honk. I was going to encourage Robbie and Tom to join me in playing this game, but they didn’t seem to be in the mood, preferring to deal with it all by keeping their heads down and concentrating on the cycling.
Pulling over at a bus stop with around 20 miles to go, we took a break before our final slog. Cracking open a couple of cans of Nurishment, Tom immediately started shouting:
“YOU STUPID DRINK! WHY DID YOU DO THAT!!??” He had spilled some on himself and decided to take out his frustration on the can itself. Clearly the can was now sentient and had a mind out to spill itself all over him.
Our final destination for the day was the interestingly named “Haugh of Urr” (which did sound like a location from Lord of the Rings), and stopped in a pub for a pub food dinner. Unpacked at the youth hostel at around 9pm and collapsed into the showers and then into bed for a very long an refreshing sleep.
On an extra note, quote of the day comes from Tarn, who, after Robbie looked at the route and said “that’s like trying to cook bacon with ice”, replied with “but... you can cook bacon with ice”
Day 3
Cycling to Dunoon was not a pleasure. Although the GPS initially showed 65 miles, prompting a brief celebration from myself as I looked at it, I quickly realised that this was 65 miles was as the crow flies. Instead, team TROTT were in for a rollercoaster ride round the west coast of Scotland. Once again the rain poured down on us from dark grey skies.
The Glencoe valley provided us with some absolutely stunning imagery, we gazed up at the towering summits that disappeared into the misty clouds lingering above us.
After passing through some difficult climbs on the valley we were surprised to see Ben Kumar from the other team of ex-KGS pupils who were doing the same cycle we were doing, only from Lands End up (probably a more sensible option, as we’ve had the wind against us and in our faces the whole way), after stopping for a chat and a quick photo with him and Lawrence, we continued down the road and swiftly met up with the rest of their crew.
We all turned green with envy when their support van (yes VAN, not car) pulled up, and the back doors were opened to reveal an arsenal of equipment and sports nutrition, which appeared to be enough to feed an army. We took advantage of this extra surplus by jamming several snickers bars into our lycra and cycling jealously away.
Pulling up for a wee cup of tea at a pub en route, I warmed my sodden gloves by placing the two pots of tea on them, an inspired choice, I thought. Whilst we were inside gingerly sipping tea and watching the heavens pouring on the pub window. But there was no point in procrastinating, so we donned our goggles, swim caps, speedos, nose clips, arm bands, wetsuits and oxygen tanks and dived back into our route, getting soaked instantly.
Still, after a pretty boring day of getting drenched and going uphill an unreasonable amount of time, we took a detour that cut out two huge peaks that we would have to have gone up, although extended our route by a couple of miles. Still, it was a compromise that we were willing to make.
Making a toilet break at a tourist information centre before one of the last massive climbs of the day, me and Tom discovered that toilets were ‘self assembly’. The whole thing was all apart – meaning that I had to balance the seat on top of it whilst attempting to use it. Still, after an interesting wrestle I left the cubicle and informed Tom of this predicament. The door closed behind him and as I was washing my hands I heard a slipping noise and a crash, plus some cursing and the words “yes, you were right, the ******* toilet isn’t secured”.
When we arrived in Dunoon we got showered and went to the local Indian. An interesting choice as they also served European food, and since none of us cyclists could manage a heavy curry after having consumed nothing but power bars, nutritionally enhanced milk, and isotonic drinks our stomachs were feeling, let us say, fragile, (and leave it at that, you don’t want details but I’ll just say that I can’t begin to imagine the look of horror on the next poor person to walk into a toilet after Robbie has ‘visited’), we ate up and returned to the hotel, where we found out that the central heating had been turned off.
Although we had been told that it would be on for an hour when we arrived, when we got back from the restaurant it was still dripping wet and freezing cold. Never mind, I thought, and strolled downstairs to ask if they could switch it back on, or if they had a drying room. I was confronted by a large man, about 6ft 3 tall and just as wide. He appeared to be very annoyed that I had temporarily stopped him from eating chips in front of the television. I explained our predicament and asked him if he could switch the heating back on:
“No, I won’t do that for you,” He panted, presumably out of breath from having to haul his hefty frame 2m away from his television and chips. He would probably have to eat another bucked of chips just to compensate for the calories burned in shifting all that weight that far. “I’m not having the heating pumping on for 10 hours just so you lot can have dry kit”
“But we have to cycle 100 miles tomorrow, and we need our kit to be dry”
“I don’t care, it’s not my problem” He retorted. Well I thought, what will be his problem is that everyone who reads this blog definitely won’t be visiting the Mayfair Hotel in Dunoon. I may also draw an offensive cartoon, portraying fat man as the ice king who tries his best to freeze charity cyclists Ha! Vengance!
The Glencoe valley provided us with some absolutely stunning imagery, we gazed up at the towering summits that disappeared into the misty clouds lingering above us.
After passing through some difficult climbs on the valley we were surprised to see Ben Kumar from the other team of ex-KGS pupils who were doing the same cycle we were doing, only from Lands End up (probably a more sensible option, as we’ve had the wind against us and in our faces the whole way), after stopping for a chat and a quick photo with him and Lawrence, we continued down the road and swiftly met up with the rest of their crew.
We all turned green with envy when their support van (yes VAN, not car) pulled up, and the back doors were opened to reveal an arsenal of equipment and sports nutrition, which appeared to be enough to feed an army. We took advantage of this extra surplus by jamming several snickers bars into our lycra and cycling jealously away.
Pulling up for a wee cup of tea at a pub en route, I warmed my sodden gloves by placing the two pots of tea on them, an inspired choice, I thought. Whilst we were inside gingerly sipping tea and watching the heavens pouring on the pub window. But there was no point in procrastinating, so we donned our goggles, swim caps, speedos, nose clips, arm bands, wetsuits and oxygen tanks and dived back into our route, getting soaked instantly.
Still, after a pretty boring day of getting drenched and going uphill an unreasonable amount of time, we took a detour that cut out two huge peaks that we would have to have gone up, although extended our route by a couple of miles. Still, it was a compromise that we were willing to make.
Making a toilet break at a tourist information centre before one of the last massive climbs of the day, me and Tom discovered that toilets were ‘self assembly’. The whole thing was all apart – meaning that I had to balance the seat on top of it whilst attempting to use it. Still, after an interesting wrestle I left the cubicle and informed Tom of this predicament. The door closed behind him and as I was washing my hands I heard a slipping noise and a crash, plus some cursing and the words “yes, you were right, the ******* toilet isn’t secured”.
When we arrived in Dunoon we got showered and went to the local Indian. An interesting choice as they also served European food, and since none of us cyclists could manage a heavy curry after having consumed nothing but power bars, nutritionally enhanced milk, and isotonic drinks our stomachs were feeling, let us say, fragile, (and leave it at that, you don’t want details but I’ll just say that I can’t begin to imagine the look of horror on the next poor person to walk into a toilet after Robbie has ‘visited’), we ate up and returned to the hotel, where we found out that the central heating had been turned off.
Although we had been told that it would be on for an hour when we arrived, when we got back from the restaurant it was still dripping wet and freezing cold. Never mind, I thought, and strolled downstairs to ask if they could switch it back on, or if they had a drying room. I was confronted by a large man, about 6ft 3 tall and just as wide. He appeared to be very annoyed that I had temporarily stopped him from eating chips in front of the television. I explained our predicament and asked him if he could switch the heating back on:
“No, I won’t do that for you,” He panted, presumably out of breath from having to haul his hefty frame 2m away from his television and chips. He would probably have to eat another bucked of chips just to compensate for the calories burned in shifting all that weight that far. “I’m not having the heating pumping on for 10 hours just so you lot can have dry kit”
“But we have to cycle 100 miles tomorrow, and we need our kit to be dry”
“I don’t care, it’s not my problem” He retorted. Well I thought, what will be his problem is that everyone who reads this blog definitely won’t be visiting the Mayfair Hotel in Dunoon. I may also draw an offensive cartoon, portraying fat man as the ice king who tries his best to freeze charity cyclists Ha! Vengance!
DAY 2
Arising for a cooked breakfast at 7.15 in Tain, the team began to cry as we looked out the window as the rain that had plagued us the day before seemed to have persisted throughout the night. Taking a hint from the day before I thought it best to actually wear some clothes this time round, as opposed to repeating my poorly dressed fiasco the day before. Wrapping up warmly in a fleece/leggings/waterproof combo we all set off for our next destination, Fort William, approximately 95 miles south west, and on the other side of Scotland to where we were.
The day started very well, even though it was pouring with rain we managed to keep spirits up by singing Disney songs to ourselves whilst pottering down a country lane. We got some odd looks from cows and local farmers as 3 lycra clad lads sped past singing “yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me”.
At our first stop, we received news from Tarn and Ollie in the support car that they had managed to acquire a tin opener from the local Lidl meaning that we could open one of the many 1.7kg tubs of tuna that my father had, in all his wisdom, purchased around 6 months ago from a nuclear bunker supplies depot, failing to realise that it is extremely difficult to eat that much tuna in one sitting. The 5 of us healthy strapping lads tried this for lunch, and managed to devour approximately 1kg of fish.
Stopping off at a Tescos cafe enabled Tom and Robbie to strip down to their leggings and quite literally wring their “thermal” tops dry, plus their jerseys, and their supposed “waterproofs”, whilst I smugly sat down, removed my waterproof, and remarked that I was bone dry and chuckled as I watched the other two doing press ups in a Tescos car park to keep warm. The solution to their problem would be a cup of tea, so I bravely volunteered to enter Tesco in full cycling gear to buy 3 cups. Unfortunately for me, cycling cleats at the bottom of shoes are not really designed for Tescos clean, white, shiny floors, and the 1st step I took onto the surface had my feet sliding in different directions. I balanced myself by grabbing onto the nearest object, which just so happened to be the shopping trolley of a surprised looking Scottish woman. Lucky for her that the fruit in her trolley was all still intact. I then proceeded to stroll more carefully into the cafe where I found out that they had run out of cups by an enthusiastic Tesco employee. I suggested that she might perhaps give me a china mug to take 25m away for my freezing friends to drink from. Horrified, the woman replied that “not EVEN Tesco employees are allowed to do that!”. Thinking of alternatives that didn’t involve carrying the equivalent of three cups of boiling tea with my hands out to Robbie and Tom (although, in retrospect, this may have helped to warm my hands). I returned to find the two of them topless, sheltering from the rain in the car park, doing press ups and star jumps to keep warm, whilst bemused locals watched in amusement. They went inside for their tea, whilst I watched the bikes.
Stopping was a mistake. It was difficult to get going again because of the cold, but once the blood got pumping after a series of sprints that we did, we warmed up and got on route again. We were scheduled to meet Tarn and Oli at the Loch Ness cafe, and arrived in due course after going down a 15% hill that lasted for around a mile. Once again, “speed demon” Montgomery took lead and shot off out of eyesight. He has no idea of the speed he was doing, but some locals at the bottom said they saw a blue flash whizz past them and a few seconds later heard the whoosh. After he had broken the sound barrier he had enough time whilst waiting for Tudor “scared of downhill” Morris and Tom “sensible speed” Beaumont, to have a drink and pop into a bush for a pee.
Meeting the support team at the cafe a few moments later, still shaking and wiping the tears from my eyes, and cleaning other bodily fluids that I lost after going downhill rather fast on a wet road, we settled down on some benches by the Loch Ness cafe – apparently the staff there really do “believe in the monster”, which amused me. I didn’t get the chance to ask them if they also believed in Santa Claus, Bigfoot . Sitting down on the benches, we were delighted to hear the screeching and piercing noise of a unenthusiastic small boy, spurred on by his over enthusiastic father, playing the bagpipes to an amused group of Japanese tourists who all insisted on photographing the spectacle. The temptation to stop this noise by pushing the boy off a cliff was worryingly overwhelming.
After a snack consisting of chocolate, sausage rolls and Nourishment drink, I requested that Oli fill my water bottles in the cafe as I was wearing cycling shoes. Horrified, he turned to me and said “I’ve been driving all day, and what have you been doing? SITTING DOWN! Sitting down all day long! And all day yesterday. And you’ll be sitting down all the way to Lands End” . Oli then contended with evil glares from the group and laden with about 500 million bottles to fill.
Cycling by Loch Ness was a delight. We coasted along the mild flats, shielded from the majority of the rain by the surrounding trees, and the scenery was stunning – two lyrca clad backsides bobbing up and down in front of my face for many hours.
We finished the day with a horrible windy section on a road by a Loch just before Fort William, there was some amazing scenery but it didn’t matter, we were all too tired to appreciate it. Short and sharp hills just before the end were as tiresome as the shocking jokes that have been going on (including that one).
Still, in Fort William now, and heading 105 miles South to Dunoon tomorrow. Hurrah!
The day started very well, even though it was pouring with rain we managed to keep spirits up by singing Disney songs to ourselves whilst pottering down a country lane. We got some odd looks from cows and local farmers as 3 lycra clad lads sped past singing “yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me”.
At our first stop, we received news from Tarn and Ollie in the support car that they had managed to acquire a tin opener from the local Lidl meaning that we could open one of the many 1.7kg tubs of tuna that my father had, in all his wisdom, purchased around 6 months ago from a nuclear bunker supplies depot, failing to realise that it is extremely difficult to eat that much tuna in one sitting. The 5 of us healthy strapping lads tried this for lunch, and managed to devour approximately 1kg of fish.
Stopping off at a Tescos cafe enabled Tom and Robbie to strip down to their leggings and quite literally wring their “thermal” tops dry, plus their jerseys, and their supposed “waterproofs”, whilst I smugly sat down, removed my waterproof, and remarked that I was bone dry and chuckled as I watched the other two doing press ups in a Tescos car park to keep warm. The solution to their problem would be a cup of tea, so I bravely volunteered to enter Tesco in full cycling gear to buy 3 cups. Unfortunately for me, cycling cleats at the bottom of shoes are not really designed for Tescos clean, white, shiny floors, and the 1st step I took onto the surface had my feet sliding in different directions. I balanced myself by grabbing onto the nearest object, which just so happened to be the shopping trolley of a surprised looking Scottish woman. Lucky for her that the fruit in her trolley was all still intact. I then proceeded to stroll more carefully into the cafe where I found out that they had run out of cups by an enthusiastic Tesco employee. I suggested that she might perhaps give me a china mug to take 25m away for my freezing friends to drink from. Horrified, the woman replied that “not EVEN Tesco employees are allowed to do that!”. Thinking of alternatives that didn’t involve carrying the equivalent of three cups of boiling tea with my hands out to Robbie and Tom (although, in retrospect, this may have helped to warm my hands). I returned to find the two of them topless, sheltering from the rain in the car park, doing press ups and star jumps to keep warm, whilst bemused locals watched in amusement. They went inside for their tea, whilst I watched the bikes.
Stopping was a mistake. It was difficult to get going again because of the cold, but once the blood got pumping after a series of sprints that we did, we warmed up and got on route again. We were scheduled to meet Tarn and Oli at the Loch Ness cafe, and arrived in due course after going down a 15% hill that lasted for around a mile. Once again, “speed demon” Montgomery took lead and shot off out of eyesight. He has no idea of the speed he was doing, but some locals at the bottom said they saw a blue flash whizz past them and a few seconds later heard the whoosh. After he had broken the sound barrier he had enough time whilst waiting for Tudor “scared of downhill” Morris and Tom “sensible speed” Beaumont, to have a drink and pop into a bush for a pee.
Meeting the support team at the cafe a few moments later, still shaking and wiping the tears from my eyes, and cleaning other bodily fluids that I lost after going downhill rather fast on a wet road, we settled down on some benches by the Loch Ness cafe – apparently the staff there really do “believe in the monster”, which amused me. I didn’t get the chance to ask them if they also believed in Santa Claus, Bigfoot . Sitting down on the benches, we were delighted to hear the screeching and piercing noise of a unenthusiastic small boy, spurred on by his over enthusiastic father, playing the bagpipes to an amused group of Japanese tourists who all insisted on photographing the spectacle. The temptation to stop this noise by pushing the boy off a cliff was worryingly overwhelming.
After a snack consisting of chocolate, sausage rolls and Nourishment drink, I requested that Oli fill my water bottles in the cafe as I was wearing cycling shoes. Horrified, he turned to me and said “I’ve been driving all day, and what have you been doing? SITTING DOWN! Sitting down all day long! And all day yesterday. And you’ll be sitting down all the way to Lands End” . Oli then contended with evil glares from the group and laden with about 500 million bottles to fill.
Cycling by Loch Ness was a delight. We coasted along the mild flats, shielded from the majority of the rain by the surrounding trees, and the scenery was stunning – two lyrca clad backsides bobbing up and down in front of my face for many hours.
We finished the day with a horrible windy section on a road by a Loch just before Fort William, there was some amazing scenery but it didn’t matter, we were all too tired to appreciate it. Short and sharp hills just before the end were as tiresome as the shocking jokes that have been going on (including that one).
Still, in Fort William now, and heading 105 miles South to Dunoon tomorrow. Hurrah!
Wednesday 14 July 2010
Day 0 and Day 1
So, day one is over.
We spent all of yesterday getting trains from Kings Cross in London all the way up to Wick in Scotland. Train journey went very smoothly, but day 0 was not without its issues...
An annoying 8 yr old who insisted on opening the loud hydraulic doors EVERY 5 MINUTES to go to the toilet. We assumed at first that she had some horrific bowel condition, but it seemed like she would linger in the toilet and lock herself in there for brief periods of time, before coming back out and staring vacantly into space. This annoyed Robbie who voiced his thoughts of discontent to the little girl.
Then we got off the train, and waited for our pre-booked cab. And waited. And waited.
Phoned up the company, turns out that someone had written our booking for the next day - luckily we got the cab up to the youth hostel in John O Groats where we encountered the
LANDLADY FROM HELL - quotes include
"OH I REMEMBER YOU, YOU'RE THE ONES WHO INSISTED ON GETTING OFF THE WRONG STOP OF THE TRAIN" fully ignoring our explanation that we were doing a charity cycle and a cab from where she had told us to get off would have been more expensive, but never mind.
We phoned her apologetically from the cab as we were on our way, informing her that we were going to be arriving in 20 minutes (at 10.50)
"WELL YOU'D BETTER BE!" she said, and then cackled menacingly down the phone.
I don't know if it was just me, but we got the impression that she wasn't happy with us.
On another note, Robbie had been expressing his desire to get started cycling all day on the train and said as a throwaway comment: "I just want to do some cycling as soon as we get off the train"
Tom however, decided to take this literally and replied immediately with "That's not a bad shout", ignoring the fact that we
a) allready had a booking that night
b) had no way of sleeping anywhere
c) would be cycling until 6am in the morning, and then would have to cycle
it was one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas. It was up there with Germans voting for the Nazi party in 1933 and the disallowed 2nd goal in the Germany - England match.
Arising at 6.45am fresh faced we cooked porridge in the Youth Hostel before realising how freezingly freezing cold the weather was. I had taken the wise decision to leave my thermals in my main bag which was, at the time, in a very cramped car near Junction 44 of the M6. Thus the layers I opted to wear were
1) Sweaty vest from journey up (initially intended to throw away)
2) Sweaty t-shirt from journey up (also initially intended to throw away, and belonging to Robbie, not myself.)
3) Evans cycles jersey (AREN'T THEY BRILLIANT, YOU SHOULD BUY LOTS OF STUFF FROM THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GREAT)
4) Sweaty Gap jumper (initially intended to throw away, and SEVERAL sizes too small)
5) Waterproof
6) Essential wear - Oakley sunglasses. These did feel slightly unnecessary when it was very cloudy, pouring down with rain and water was streaming off them. However, I would have been completely blind without them, thanks to their HD lenses, which meant I could see everything in full glorious 1080p High Definition. They're 3D too - everything seems so realistic when you're wearing them.
So those were my clothing decisions for the day, the others were much better prepared than I, opting instead for base layers, full fingered gloves and waterproofs.
Still, full of porridge we set off to John O Groats for the compulsory photo underneath the sign, unfortunately, due to: "recurring theft" the sign was not there, so we were left standing around a white pool, smiling like fools as an old man we had hassled took a picture of us.
But alas, disaster had struck us only too early. The cycling gods had not looked favourably on us this day, Tom was bent.
His rear was bent. Very, very bent.
And by that I mean that his rear wheel was bent, and we have in no way been making "bent" themed jokes at him all day, because that would be really mean and we're all in this together anyway.
After phoning a man who claimed he could "fix anything bike related" he took a look at Tom's bike and decided that this term was subjective. He drove poor diddums to a bike shop where he had his wheel fixed.
Meanwhile, me and Robbie had arranged to meet him at a junction 30 miles down the road, and embarked on our cycle, remarking about how it "could be worse, it could be raining".
After we met up with Tom we covered mainly flat road all the way to Tain, except for one horrendous hill, around 60 miles into our journey, the lead up to which Robbie "speed demon" Montgomery relished, and sped off down, shortly followed by Tom, myself on the other hand was left whimpering as I snailed my way down the hill at a moderate 35mph, where the other two cruised it at 45mph. My irrational fear of "fallingoffacliffbecauseiwenttoofast" kicked in as we went down the hill.
Fortunately I caught them on the climb thanks to having drank more Nurishment than the other two, and thus having much more energy and being generally better and faster all round, all thanks to the amazing power of that really, really awesome superb milk drink.
Shameless advertising aside, my earlier comment on "it could be worse, it could be raining" - after we had finished that climb, the rain started. And. Did. Not. Stop. The cycling gods seemed to have been granted Zeus' weather control powers as they threw torrential rain and wind in our faces. There was nothing else for it except to quite simply "man up" and get on with it, spurred on by my optimistic hollering of "SINGING IN THE RAIN" as we screamed down the A9.
We arrived in Tain, at Creag Dhu guest house, and several hot showers and fish and chips later, we are now settling down for a good night’s sleep.
Stay tuned for more of Team TROTTs adventures, this time tomorrow (or later, if the internet doesn't decide to come crashing down on me).
Tomorrow is 115 miles to Fort William, via Loch Ness and a LOT of hills. Hurrah!
We spent all of yesterday getting trains from Kings Cross in London all the way up to Wick in Scotland. Train journey went very smoothly, but day 0 was not without its issues...
An annoying 8 yr old who insisted on opening the loud hydraulic doors EVERY 5 MINUTES to go to the toilet. We assumed at first that she had some horrific bowel condition, but it seemed like she would linger in the toilet and lock herself in there for brief periods of time, before coming back out and staring vacantly into space. This annoyed Robbie who voiced his thoughts of discontent to the little girl.
Then we got off the train, and waited for our pre-booked cab. And waited. And waited.
Phoned up the company, turns out that someone had written our booking for the next day - luckily we got the cab up to the youth hostel in John O Groats where we encountered the
LANDLADY FROM HELL - quotes include
"OH I REMEMBER YOU, YOU'RE THE ONES WHO INSISTED ON GETTING OFF THE WRONG STOP OF THE TRAIN" fully ignoring our explanation that we were doing a charity cycle and a cab from where she had told us to get off would have been more expensive, but never mind.
We phoned her apologetically from the cab as we were on our way, informing her that we were going to be arriving in 20 minutes (at 10.50)
"WELL YOU'D BETTER BE!" she said, and then cackled menacingly down the phone.
I don't know if it was just me, but we got the impression that she wasn't happy with us.
On another note, Robbie had been expressing his desire to get started cycling all day on the train and said as a throwaway comment: "I just want to do some cycling as soon as we get off the train"
Tom however, decided to take this literally and replied immediately with "That's not a bad shout", ignoring the fact that we
a) allready had a booking that night
b) had no way of sleeping anywhere
c) would be cycling until 6am in the morning, and then would have to cycle
it was one of the worst ideas in the history of bad ideas. It was up there with Germans voting for the Nazi party in 1933 and the disallowed 2nd goal in the Germany - England match.
Arising at 6.45am fresh faced we cooked porridge in the Youth Hostel before realising how freezingly freezing cold the weather was. I had taken the wise decision to leave my thermals in my main bag which was, at the time, in a very cramped car near Junction 44 of the M6. Thus the layers I opted to wear were
1) Sweaty vest from journey up (initially intended to throw away)
2) Sweaty t-shirt from journey up (also initially intended to throw away, and belonging to Robbie, not myself.)
3) Evans cycles jersey (AREN'T THEY BRILLIANT, YOU SHOULD BUY LOTS OF STUFF FROM THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE SO GREAT)
4) Sweaty Gap jumper (initially intended to throw away, and SEVERAL sizes too small)
5) Waterproof
6) Essential wear - Oakley sunglasses. These did feel slightly unnecessary when it was very cloudy, pouring down with rain and water was streaming off them. However, I would have been completely blind without them, thanks to their HD lenses, which meant I could see everything in full glorious 1080p High Definition. They're 3D too - everything seems so realistic when you're wearing them.
So those were my clothing decisions for the day, the others were much better prepared than I, opting instead for base layers, full fingered gloves and waterproofs.
Still, full of porridge we set off to John O Groats for the compulsory photo underneath the sign, unfortunately, due to: "recurring theft" the sign was not there, so we were left standing around a white pool, smiling like fools as an old man we had hassled took a picture of us.
But alas, disaster had struck us only too early. The cycling gods had not looked favourably on us this day, Tom was bent.
His rear was bent. Very, very bent.
And by that I mean that his rear wheel was bent, and we have in no way been making "bent" themed jokes at him all day, because that would be really mean and we're all in this together anyway.
After phoning a man who claimed he could "fix anything bike related" he took a look at Tom's bike and decided that this term was subjective. He drove poor diddums to a bike shop where he had his wheel fixed.
Meanwhile, me and Robbie had arranged to meet him at a junction 30 miles down the road, and embarked on our cycle, remarking about how it "could be worse, it could be raining".
After we met up with Tom we covered mainly flat road all the way to Tain, except for one horrendous hill, around 60 miles into our journey, the lead up to which Robbie "speed demon" Montgomery relished, and sped off down, shortly followed by Tom, myself on the other hand was left whimpering as I snailed my way down the hill at a moderate 35mph, where the other two cruised it at 45mph. My irrational fear of "fallingoffacliffbecauseiwenttoofast" kicked in as we went down the hill.
Fortunately I caught them on the climb thanks to having drank more Nurishment than the other two, and thus having much more energy and being generally better and faster all round, all thanks to the amazing power of that really, really awesome superb milk drink.
Shameless advertising aside, my earlier comment on "it could be worse, it could be raining" - after we had finished that climb, the rain started. And. Did. Not. Stop. The cycling gods seemed to have been granted Zeus' weather control powers as they threw torrential rain and wind in our faces. There was nothing else for it except to quite simply "man up" and get on with it, spurred on by my optimistic hollering of "SINGING IN THE RAIN" as we screamed down the A9.
We arrived in Tain, at Creag Dhu guest house, and several hot showers and fish and chips later, we are now settling down for a good night’s sleep.
Stay tuned for more of Team TROTTs adventures, this time tomorrow (or later, if the internet doesn't decide to come crashing down on me).
Tomorrow is 115 miles to Fort William, via Loch Ness and a LOT of hills. Hurrah!
Monday 12 July 2010
Final thoughts before leaving...
Leaving tomorrow... fully pumped and ready for the very long train journey to Wick
Hope this all goes to plan... FINGERS CROSSED
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