July 2nd – John O’Groats?

77.62 miles – total so far = 1011.1

4,019 feet of climbing – total so far = 61,595

Max elevation feet 757

Can I believe it, this is the start of the last day?

Today we will go over 60,000 feet climbed, over 1,000 miles ridden and to the official end of a LEJOG.

It may not be the most northerly part of mainland Britain, but that is neither here nor there, it is the end of the LEJOG.

When I think back to how this started, making a bit of an experimental change on a Just Giving page to see what would happen if I set one up that allowed text donations, it seems a lifetime ago. The page I set up was another of the event pages to raise money for CRY, in memory of Annie Edwards. Also to hopefully help her family get some positive by organising screening days and also as a catharsis of some sort for my family.

All this may not have happened if somehow, shortly after setting up the text donation thing on the page, I was notified by email that someone had made a donation to the page.

What? Best take a look.

That’s when I saw it was from Helen and Steve.

My text to Jenni I think was, ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit, I’ve got to do this now…’

Helen and Steve were very understanding and said I didn’t have to, but the seed had been planted.

I am nothing if not a cussid old sod. Today, nearly two years after the LEJOG I was out riding with some friends and went up a new hill that was pretty steep. I am nowhere near as fit as I was back in LEJOG days and I deliberately started at the back. Always better to come from behind if at all as opposed to starting at the front and watching everyone breeze past you.

Anyway, two thirds of the way up one of the group was taking a breather at the side of the road. It would have been very easy to pull over, say are you alright and all that, catch a breath, look at the view, but that would mean stopping and not doing the hill in one. On I went and did get to the top in one.

The other rider also arrived a bit later.

In the state of fitness I was in at the start of this last day, the hill I rode today would not have been any problem, in fact I would have gone past more than just 3 of a group of 12 I am sure, probably most of them. I was just so much fitter then.

Back to my cussid nature. I had said I was going to do a LEJOG in a public place. I had a donation. Honour demanded that I now see this through.

And that is how we find ourselves at 7:00 on day 14, getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, calling Uckfield FM one last time, packing up and getting ready to ride and then riding all by 8:30.

When I say we, I am not sure I ever saw Ruth at breakfast. She’s not a morning person and had been doing a lot of driving, and I am sure was also equally uptight, excited, anxious about today as Jenni and I were, although of course we do not show this at breakfast.

‘Pass the marmalade please.’ ‘Sugar?’ ‘More tea?’ So British. I don’t think I can say so English, as I think this trait extends to Scots as well and I had been corrected once in Scotland when I asked for a full English, well not corrected, it was just read back as ‘The full Scottish breakfast.’ Whoops.

This breakfast was under stated. No-one around from B&B staff this morning, just everything laid out for you to help yourself. For the first time I think in the ride, I didn’t really feel that hungry at breakfast.

Whereas to date I had happily scoffed everything down I could knowing it was fuel for the day, today somehow was not the same. It was the last day and there were nerves.

Bit of cereal. No hot breakfast really today, other than making some porridge or toast, but there were some really nice fresh home made scones, so I managed to cram in a couple of those with some jam. Slightly strange breakfast maybe, but carbs, sugar, fuel, all the same.

The sun was shining, so that helped with the nerves. I wasn’t starting off in wet gear. In fact, it had seemed as if the sun hadn’t really gone down. We are so far north now that you really can notice the difference in sun rise and sun set.

Saying I wasn’t starting off in wet weather gear, I was still starting in quite a lot as we were so far north now, that could be a feature phrase of this last days piece, note the one short fingered glove to allow me to swipe on the Garmin, one long fingered glove to keep the hand warm, so it wasn’t that warm at 8:30.

Time for the off. Excitement is bubbling up, but at the same time my preparation is now coming back to haunt me. Having done research into the LEJOG stuff, I had read accounts from a few other riders on how they had got on.

The section, the last or first depending on their direction of travel did get a few mentions for it being grotty A9 all the way, lots of lorries, busy roads and a couple of killer hills.

All that is fine in preparation, but it was almost a repeat of Cheddar Gorge, where the focus on those hills for me grew more and more and I was convincing myself it was going to be really hard. Would I find that there was to be a second hill that I couldn’t ride on this LEJOG? I think I may have given that away in the blurb on Day 2 when I said that the hill in Cornwall was the only one I would have to walk some of, but let’s go along with the suspense here.

Maybe one of these hills would see me suffer the ignominy of having to walk up a hill again.

I think I realised quite quickly (going past another distillery, Glen Morangie this time. I would find out how to say Glen Morangie correctly in 2017), that the pre-ride fears about the A9 were unfounded.

Where I had previously been riding alongside the A9 on cycle paths or B roads that went parallel and the joined up, where I am now on the A9, it is quite quiet.

It’s Saturday after all, it’s the weekend. We are also really quite far north (that phrase again) and there is not a lot of reason for heavy traffic up here.

Another good thing, excitement is starting to over-ride everything else. Whilst I still have nerves about the hills to come, every mile I do is ticked off. Every place I go through is somewhere that I have now passed and I am nearer to John O’Groats.

We have planned our first stop today ahead of the first of the big hills. Getting there, I’m riding along past sea water lochs that are still as a millpond, reflections of mountains in the background stunningly beautiful. Then as I move north, I am closer to the coast and the sun glittering on the sea is breath taking. How can I feel anything other than excited and elated. This is such a beautiful thing to be doing, I want to do it for ever.

Someone else in another story talks of a road that goes on for ever and that is what this feels like, but in a really good way.

I have got to the stage where it is natural riding this bike. Whether it is up, down, flat, turn the pedals, wheels turn, feet, metres slip by, the road is ridden. Looking around at the land as you just pass through it, not really part of it, observing, being observed, no-one really knowing what it is that I am doing, maybe for most not even registering on them, but I keep going.

Deep, but it was a different feeling this day.

Helmsdale. The last of the first stops. Sorry if I also keep coming back to ‘the last’ of something, but that was how my mind was working. I had had my last breakfast before riding, I had made my last start, this was my last first stop, and here we saw what support could be.

By coincidence, the self same spot where we chose to have this meet up between rider and support was the spot selected by another team of rider, this lot doing a JOGLE. Difference being, they were young and fit and had ridden 50 miles compared with my 30, probably started the same time!

But I put their speed down to what heir support car was offering. Masses of food, hot coffee, massages, EPO and all sorts of other things. Well some of that may be made up, but he had this down to a fine art. However, each to their own, I did not need that as what I had been getting by on worked for me and the support cars had been brilliant throughout.

After this stop, was the first of those hills that I had been fretting over. Please reference Cheddar Gorge again for this first one. Although it went up to the high point of the day, it was over enough miles to make it just a steady drag and I was in no mood or no level of fitness to let a steady drag hold me back or depress me. 757 feet high, and nothing higher between me and the end.

Crack on up it and on to the next challenge please, and how many more miles ticked off, how many to go? 47 to go.

On to Berridale. Biiiig downhill here, and then the steepest hill of the day. Even this wasn’t too bad, but it was pretty steep, hitting the 20% mark at points and then a steady drag again after the first burst.

I do like the picture Jenni took from just up the hill here (it's the one above} where her view was ‘that’s a sodding great big lorry going very close to Mike’ and my view was ‘there goes another lorry but at least this one has given me plenty of space!’

Quick refuel, and attention to a slight squeak that had started up. Spray it with any oil, or lube stuff I can lay my hands on as it will become annoying, but also, lets just get on with it. No real problem, and this did sort it out. Probably the downpour at the end of yesterday removed a touch too much grease.

Then Dunbeath and Latheron are the last of the hills of any size. There is one more hill, a couple of hundred feet right at the end, but the remaining 30 miles to get there are either just gently undulating or even better, downhill.

Lunch at Latheron, still in the sun, still a pretty sea to look over. Obviously did not know this, but 2 hours 15 minutes more riding to go. 34 miles to go.

Also at Latheron, I have said good bye to the A9, A99 now, that sounds like it should be quieter, as this goes to Wick, and John O’Groats and not really anywhere else.

The next 13 miles are pretty much bobbing along the top of the cliffs, then its 3 miles steadily downhill into Wick. Coming up to Wick, I can see over the flattening landscape to the west clouds coming that have the tell tale curtains below them indicating raid. They seem to be on an intercept course, sort of coming diagonally across the landscape towards me. Sure enough, it does start to rain. Well it really wouldn’t be a LEJOG day without rain. 1 day out of the 13 riding days I did not get wet at all, cannot remember which one that was, but it doesn’t matter as out comes the waterproof, on it goes and on I go.

Into Wick, meet up and sit in the Yaris for a few minutes while the shower passes over.

We have one more stop after this. We now have 17 miles to go. 1 hour 5 minutes.

The girls stop off for some petrol at the petrol station in Wick and probably a wee.

Couple of small undulations, still along the A99 and along the cliff edges, and then there is the little red Yaris for the last time awaiting to refuel me. I love that Yaris.

7 miles to go after this.

The picture on the left is that stop. Clouds in the background now. I don't know why they are pointing South. Last piece of Bakewell Tart probably, thanks Nick, thanks Geoff.

Really odd stop, nothing at this place that was marked as a place. Keiss. Strangely, in 2017 met some people at JO’G who were doing the NC500 and were cycling down to stay the night there. We happily informed them there was nothing there!

So, Keiss. Sitting in the car, bike leaning against the front of it, eating a banana, drinking the last bit of the protein shake for during the day, when we see that we have the donation we needed to get us up to the £7,000 target. 8 miles to go, 30 minutes riding, 1,007 miles done, 77 hours, 36 minutes of riding.

That is the first time I have added up the time that I spent riding. And it’s a lot lower than I thought. In fact, I am sure it can’t be right, but it is from the Garmin times recorded. Ross was part of a world record setting team of 4 cyclists, well he was the poor sod driving for 4 days while they did the ride in 50 hours. 77 hours seems amazingly close to them!

I’ve just gone back and checked, those figures are right.

But after all that time and effort, myself on the bike, Helen, Steve, Jenni and Ruth supporting, Stewart, Ross, Glenn and Jonny keeping me company, we are 8 miles from the end and can now screen 200 people for heart problems. Not that we needed a lift that close to the end, but thank you Anna Readman, you gave us a massive lift.

Seeing that the target was hit, there seemed to be nothing else to do but get out of the car and get on with the last bit. I watch the little red Yaris head off and go past me (they had to turn around) as I am working up to the last bit of solo riding, I will see them again at the signpost.

I remember Ross saying when he did a 24 hour ride over 10 25 mile laps, that he wanted to do the last lap on his own as a signature to what he had done. This was the same for me.

If I had been offered company on most stages of the ride, I would have said, yes, fine, come along, but somehow these last 8 miles were to become deeply personal so I was glad to be solo.

A couple of times I thought yes, that’s the last bump, only to see the Garmin or the landscape unfurl another bump.

6 miles to go.

5 miles to go.

2 ½ miles to go.

At 2 ½ miles to go I come over the crest of another bump and that was it. That was the last bump I have to contend with as spread out before me is the sea. No longer just on my right, but now straight ahead as well.

I can see the houses of John O’Groats.

The picture below. That's it. No more hills. I can see the end. And it's all downhill.

I can see the Orkneys. I never realised just how close they were to the mainland.

The sky is blue, the sea is calm, the sun is out, the wind almost behind me, I can press on into John O’Groats at full speed.

1,012 ½ miles done.

I slow down and pull into the side of the road. I get off the bike and walk 20 yards to my left off of the road and lean the bike up against a panorama board.

This tells me what I am looking at.

2 ½ miles to go.

A car pulls in beside me. Two people get out and come and look at the board as well as I start taking clothes off. As it has dried, I now take the waterproof off and fold it up, put it in my back pocket so my CRY top is clearly visible now. I want to finish with the CRY top on display.

I pass a few words with the other people.

They ask ‘Have I ridden far?’ I can honestly answer, ‘Just over 1,000 miles so far with 2 ½ to go.’

I know it is time to get on the bike and ride that last bit.

2 ½ miles to go.

For a minute, I don’t want to get back on. I want to stand there and soak up the moment.

I will never be here again.

2 ½ miles to go.

I may come back, but I will never stand here again for the first time having ridden 1,000+ miles, knowing that I have 2 ½ miles left to complete what for me has been an amazing, mammoth, testing, exhilarating two weeks.

I don’t want it to end.

Then there is the rush of satisfaction starting. I only have 2 ½ miles to go.

We can do 2 screening days now, screen 200 people to see if they have the risk that Annie had, but to catch it before it kills them.

OK, I am ready now. 2 ½ miles to go. All downhill riding towards that beautiful blue sea, the signpost and Ruth and Jenni.

I don’t see much of those 2 ½ miles as I have to admit I was crying quite a bit. There were just so many emotions running wild.

Exhilaration was a big one. It was a long way for me.

Wonderment, sadness, that we had the money for screenings, but thinking of why we had done this.

Relief even maybe, wouldn’t have to ride 80 miles tomorrow. I could see the family and return to a normal life.

All combined, with a wealth of other emotions, it came flooding out. You don’t tend to expect to achieve so much as you get older, but this bucked that trend, big time.

I said earlier, I felt joined to the bike and maybe it was Eddy who got me down those last 2 ½ miles as I was not really with it any more.

Eddy did slightly go astray at the very end, as can be seen on the video, as I managed to not come down the road to the signpost but through the car park and then onto the road.

For Jenni and Ruth tracking me with the camera ready it was a where has he gone now moment, and then there they were, there I was, 20 yards to go and we are all hugging and crying and cheering and hugging.

I have never been so grateful that I have those two wonderful ladies with me as I am at that moment.

Deep breath, step back and then hug again.

We were all thinking of Annie at that point.

Then it started to sink in, that was it, we had finished.

No more miles.

Breathe.

Breathe…..

ZERO MILES TO GO……………………………………

There has to be a bit of a gap there, as we were muddled and don’t really know happened for a minute or so, then it was open the champagne. A splendid accompaniment for champagne is Mackie’s Haggis flavoured crisps. Oh, and strawberries. And chocolate digestives. A bit unexpected the last one, but we still had a lot of food in Carlos Car (the little Yaris has a name).

After that, go to that signpost and take some pictures.

I phoned people now. Some were there, some weren’t. At this stage, I think I spoke with Ross and Stewart, left messages with Glenn, Helen and Steve and Jonny, I hope I also left a message with Nick and Geoff, but I may have that wrong. It felt as if I was on another planet talking to people in Sussex or Yorkshire, and John O'Groats is a bit like that.

There was quite a steady stream of people arriving finishing rides, mostly rides, cannot remember a walker.

We take some pictures for people, they take pictures for us.

Then we sit on the blanket, in the sun, looking across the sea to Orkney, looking at the signpost, looking back up the road, just looking, soaking it all up.

People watching now is brilliant. More cyclists arrive.

We start talking to a couple who finished 30 seconds or so before me, and who it turned out started 2 hours before me on June 19th. I guess that means I won.

We are surprised to find out that they have done this for their honeymoon.

They are still speaking to each other though so it seems that it can’t have been too stressful. They also said that they followed a lot of the Sustrans route and weren’t impressed as there were lots of cycle paths and canal paths some of which were quite dangerous, so my week plotting road routes seemed like time even more well spent than it had felt at the start.

We stayed on the grass and blanket for at least an hour. Looking over the calm sea to the Orkneys, watching people come and go at the sign post, taking more pictures, talking to more people. There is a general bonhomie abounding and stories are shared freely. This is a strange club of people who have mostly been quite solitary for some time now freely sharing.

There was one family waiting. They had a banner welcoming their lady rider who had been riding alone to John O’Groats. Don’t know more about how she did the ride, but apparently she was not expecting to be met. Similar to us, she had some contact with other people, I don’t think she had a tracker, but she had texted people who were amongst those waiting saying that she had got very close to John O’Groats, but then didn’t want to finish (wasn’t that about a page or two up from me?).

She thought about it as riding, and decided she wouldn’t finish. She would go to Dunnet’s Head (the most northerly part of the UK and approximately 15 miles from John O’Groats) to extend her ride. It was a lovely day after all and she had no need to rush to the signpost…..

By the time we slowly, almost reluctantly packed up and started to move away from the signpost, she hadn’t arrived. Clearly still enjoying ‘The Ride’.

We did pack things up.

Eddy was placed upon the back of Carlos, and I was squeezed into the back of Carlos. Off to tonight’s B&B.

There aren’t many places to stay in and around John O’Groats. I had managed to find a guest house, about 3 miles up the road.

The directions were meant to be straight forward and it was easy to find. Half an hour later we were on the phone to the lady asking here where she was!

Off the main road at John O'Groats, there are quite a few small country roads, and barely a sign post between them. After a somewhat odd conversation, where we were advised, ‘It’s really easy to find’ and ‘I don’t know where you are’ we did manage to find the place.

At this stage, we were just glad to have done so, and were starting to think about performing the nightly duties, somewhat reduced now.

No route plotting tonight, no working out where to meet, no charging of the 500 devices, but we still had blogs to write, I don't think Jenni has been able to read Ruth's last blog even now, and a bit of chilling to do.

The house we were staying in was a menagerie.

At least half a dozen dogs, some cats, horses and ducks. Oh, and about three thousand teddy bears, looking down at you from the top of cupboards, poking around corners, hiding in the toilet….

We quickly realised that our host was far more enamoured with animals and teddy bears than humans. There wasn’t a TV in the room, as there had been but some people had watched football on it and made too much noise, probably disturbed the cats, and the TVs were removed.

In all honesty, harmless, and gave us a good recommendation for a place to eat, but still a bit daunting. I think we were almost a touch shell shocked at this point from getting to the end of the journey, but also, applied the usual approach, look, think about, move on.

Evening meal, just around the corner from the Castle of Mey, Queen Mum’s pad. Drank beer, ate food, tried a local malt, then back to the B&B. This time we managed to find it.

It has been said before, and was even more noticeable here, that it was light. Not just at 9 or 10 o’clock, but at 2 in the morning. It didn’t get dark.

Maybe that bit should be in tomorrow’s story as it is past midnight.

Past midnight, at the end of the LEJOG.

A LEJOG for Cardiac Risk in the Young

July 2nd – John O’Groats?

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