| Cycling Britain |
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| I looked at a few books about the "End-To-End" route, as they call it, and checked out the web sites of other riders who had documented their journey. I also started riding 30-50km every few days just to get used to staying on the saddle longer and convincing my legs to get used to the idea. The last thing I wanted was a pulled muscle on day-one. I got the best information from the British CTC (Cycle Touring Club) with maps showing a "standard" route, a "B&B" route, and a "youth hostel" route. I also got the Lonely Planet "Cycling Britain" book which contains a very detailed description of a slightly different route. I plotted these onto a big map of my own and decided to just take whichever way looked best at the time, but at least to have these other routes marked as a reference. The best maps for this journey by far were the Ordinance Survey 1:25,000 "Roadmap Series", seven of which cover the whole of Britain. They have excellent online mapping available as well. |
| "How did I end up doing this?" I thought to myself many times from within my pedal-pushing, cycling-induced trance. In the past when I would see someone bicycling with those heavy bags, maybe struggling up an extremely long hill, or burried inside a nylon suit being rained on mercilessly, I would think "that does not look fun". So how did I end up riding 1200 miles across Great Britain? I guess I had become somewhat fascinated with British culture and wanted a way to slowly and quietly have a good look at the place. I also remembered last time I was in Scotland meeting some people who were doing this particular route and it sounded appealing. I wanted a physical challenge which was both demanding and achievable, and I was already enjoying my relatively shorter rides from home. So I pretty quickly decided on doing it and started planning. I had never done any ride more than a few days around Ireland a couple of years before, and my greatest fear this time was that after all my planning and making all the effort to get to the starting line, I would ride for a few days and then wimp out. Ironically, the first couple of days on such a trip are the hardest and potentially most discouraging, but I kept going and it got easier, and I was really thankful that I stuck with it. It turned out to be one of the most blissful and energising of times - so much in fact that I was a bit sad to reach the end. |
| Just to prove that I was there, standing on the clifftops at Land's End in Cornwall. I spent one "rest" day looking around, and actually ended up riding a good 30-40 miles in the process, and believe me there are some big hills in Cornwall. |
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| Part of the harbour in the lovely town of Penzance - ten miles already, and how many left to go? |
| I went to the city of Newquay on the first day, which is known as a summer holiday spot, with some of Britains best surfing. In fact the hostel I stayed in was run by a staff of young Australian surfers on working holidays. Down at the waterfront was the "Walkabout Inn" - a *huge* restaurant and bar overlooking the main beach. One look inside and it was obvious that it was designed by an Australian mind. Everything was *big* - high ceilings, huge food portions, lots of tv screens showing Australian sporting events, and a sound system bellowing out classic Aussie rock tunes. All of the staff spoke with an Aussie accent. Fair Dinkum mate! I went through Devonshire and to the town of Okehampton for the second night. I got my first real drenching on the way into the town, and failed to put on my waterproof bag covers quickly enough, so my bags were soaked through and considerably heavier when I arrived. I treated myself to a cozy B&B called "Betty Cottles" that night, and took the luxury of having my clothes washed and dried, and took an excellent pub meal in the lounge. On day-three I rode to the city of Taunton and stayed in another B&B in an old restored millhouse by a trickling stream. I was learning how important it is to phone ahead to reserve a room in the hostels, and because these were usually full I ended up paying for a B&B these few times, but I certainly enjoyed being pampered those first days. |
| And I thought I wouldn't meet anyone along the way! |
| I didn't do much photography the first few days because I was too busy bitching and complaining to myself about the hills, but I got used to it after a while. Anyway, here's some charming Devon landscape to give you an idea. |
| Things started to get much better in Somerset, after I left Taunton and started to head north instead of east, and I passed within view of a familiar sight - the Tor of Glastonbury. It is a place steeped in mythology and an excellent place to climb up at night and look for UFOs. |
| Beyond the tourist buses and cheese tasting, the mouth of the Cheddar Gorge (above) looks like a tough climb, but it actually wasn't bad at all, and flattened out considerably after the first few curves. Now if we can just get rid of those cars. However, the steepest hill of the whole trip snuk up on me soon afterwards. It's called "Dundry Hill", just to the south of Bristol and was labeled on my map as having a steep grade, but when I saw it I thought "impossible". It just seemed to go straight up into a dark tunnel of trees and an invisible summit. I dropped into the smallest gear and more or less "pedal walked" it up the hill at a snail's pace. I made a vow to myself that I wouldn't wimp-out on any hills I encountered. Of course the nice thing about going up steep hills is that it usually means you get to ride down another one. Picture on the left shows the hill leading back down the other side of the "impossible" hill, with the outskirts of Bristol in the background. I went around Bristol as much as I could - one of my favourite cities in England, but I'm not here to see cities - and headed to the edge of the Severn River and along its banks to the bridge over and into Wales, where I spent a night in Chepstow including a fine evening at one of the local pubs (this became a regular event actually). |
| Chepstow Castle and things are definitely looking up! |
| After Chepstow the road followed the valley of the Severn River and really flattened out. I enjoyed relatively easy riding and almost no rain through the next few days, stopping in Worcester, Shrewsbury, and Chester for the nights along the way - all three of them very nice places. |
| To the east of Shrewsbury I passed through the town of "Iron Bridge", thus creatively named for this - the first iron bridge ever built. In fact it is one of the first iron things ever constructed, and was made to demonstrate the strength of the "new" material. |
| In Shropshire at the site of "Wroexeter", which was one of the largest Roman settlements in Britain, dating back to 58AD. Its ruins include this wall - the largest remnant of its kind in Europe. |
| I was fortunate to ride past just as the show was about to begin. This was a demonstration of Roman military tactics being very convincingly and skillfully portrayed. I have no doubt that these guys are actively involved in the study and enactment of Roman warfare, and some of their "mock" battles were clearly borderlining on the real thing, with the occassional bloody nose or broken shield. |
| Next time I want to hear "Ferry Cross The Mersey" by Gerry and the Pacemakers, I know where to go. I learned this by riding from Chester to Liverpool via the Mersey ferry river crossing, which includes a 30-minute tour of the river and the repeated playing of the song which was a big hit at the end of 1964. |
| When you're in Liverpool, go to the main pedestrian zone. Walking downhill, take a right at the big McDonalds and go a few blocks until you see tiny "Matthew Street" on the left. This is the site of the Cavern Club, where the Beatles played many times in the early days, and also the site of "The Beatles Shop", where you can buy more or less anything to do with the Fab Four |
| Liverpool was once one of the wealthiest cities in Europe, but of course things have changed and much of it has fallen into disrepair, and they certainly could do to tidy up the place. However, there are still many excellent buildings dating back to the Victorian era, and in fact right up to WWII, which echo the days of former prosperity. In fact the downtown area is quite impressive, and it's the semi-industrial suburban sprawl to the north which could do with some help. |
| The stop for the night was in Preston, otherwise known as the ugliest city in Britain. However the next day I had to go only a couple of hours and you never would have guessed I woke up in a grey depressing polluted urban dump like Preston, for I suddenly found myself in vast green farmlands on country lanes with almost no one around. In addition, I was on my way toward the Yorkshire Dales, which I have thoroughly enjoyed cycling in before and is one of the prettiest places in England. But first I went through Lancaster and took a big right turn and headed east, and eventually I had entered the park with a reserved bed waiting in the remote town of Kirkby Stephen. I went by not the shortest of routes, going through the very steeply-hilled "Dentdale" and had my first flat tire! |
| Entrance to the Yorkshire Dales |
| Some people are surprised to learn that in England people live inside the national parks. What would the Yorkshire Dales be, after all, without all those old stone houses? |
| One of the many relaxing places to stop along the way |
| Near the turnoff to Kirkby Stephen, I found this very old crumbling ruin of a castle. Unfortunately a sign at the gate said "closed due to f&m" (foot and mouth disease). F&M has taken a huge toll on the agricultural industry of course, and in the Dales there were particularly many signs with warnings as well as disinfectant stations that motorists are required to drive through. |
| The YHA hostel is in an old Methodist church, complete with stained glass windows and the original pews - half of which have been flipped around to accomodate dining tables. There were TWO other people staying there! Normally at this time of year it would be full of people coming here for all the great walking and cycling trails. Foot and Mouth disease is the culprit, and has closed all the trails, and the tourism business in general is in serious decline here until the disease is erradicated. It had no impact on my cycling, however. My last night in England was in Carlise, and I passed the halfway point of my trip and crossed the next day into Scotland. |
| Despite feeling like a tacky showoff, I had to capture the moment of finally entering Scotland. Doesn't look too much different - so far... |
| Chester is a beautiful city, with a detailed and fascinating history, interesting architecture, and lots of tourists. I could have stayed longer, but I was nearly half way and I wanted to keep my pace going. |
| July 2001 |
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| The first town I stopped in was "Dumfries" in the bottom of a large valley with this picturesque old bridge. |
| To the north of Dumfries, just off the A76 I saw this old church on a small lane leading into a green valley. This is one of the kinds of things I wanted to see. There was of course no one around, so I was able to quietly stroll around the many old headstones contemplating lives and times past and try to feel something about days now forgotten. I had a quiet chat with the horizontal inhabitants and decided I'd rested long enough. |
| I was headed for the village of Wanlockhead - the highest village in Scotland, so I felt the need to move on, but I was distracted by the indication of a respectable old castle a few miles off the road, so I went and checked it out. It is called Drumlanrig Castle, and dates back some 700 years to the last days of Robert the Bruce. Read about it more if you like. |
| Finally after climbing some impressive hills through some of the first "highland" landscapes of the trip, I arrived at Wanlockhead, which has a small YHA hostel in an old stone house run by a surly "can't be bothered" woman who's name I've forgotten. It has been a holiday-making destination for years, but now that the lead mine has been closed it is in decline. |
| The day riding from Wanlockhead to Glasgow was perhaps the worst of all. The prevailing winds were from the northwest - precisely the direction I rode all day - and it rained a lot. I arrived in Glasgow and took the alternative route along the Clyde River and continued north to Dumbarton, where finally I was in green countryside with the first of the true highland hills on the horizon. My stop for the night was at the Loch Lomond youth hostel. It was my second time up this way and reconfirmed to me that this is where the magic of Scotland begins. |
| The SYHA hostel in Loch Lomond is in an old stone mansion. |
| The view from my dormitory-style room in the hostel, with Loch Lomond in the distance. |
| The day riding from Loch Lomond to Glen Coe took me for a long way down narrow twisting roads alongside the Loch, with the mountain Ben Lomond on my right and many vehicles - especially tour buses - coming from behind. Then the countryside opened up and I became surrounded by growing hills and vast scenery that means you're in the Scotish Highlands. The road goes up, but somehow the scenery made me forget about it. Nearing Glen Coe - one of the most beautiful settings in Scotland, it suddenly started to rain - very hard! I had all my wet weather stuff on from head to toe and I stayed dry inside, but I could only laugh at how pathetic I must have seemed to the occassional passing motorist. I had become the person I once took immense pity on when I saw such people cycling through a delluge, but in fact I was pretty happy to be there. Of course the end for the day was coming up soon. |
| In Glen Coe I stayed at this farm bunkhouse, where my fascinatingly semi-toothless incomprehensible proprioter took the £7 fee and handed me a roll of moldy wet blankets. You sleep on the bunks seen along the back wall. There were only a few of us staying in the bunkhouse and we combined our cooking efforts before going out for an evening at the local pub. At right is one of the scenes leaving Glen Coe on the road toward Fort William. |
| Above is the city centre park at Fort William. I only stopped for a moment on the way up, but stopped for a couple nights on the way back down to climb Ben Nevis. To the city of Inverness I rode 100 miles through what is known as the "Great Glen" - a horizonatl line leading through Loch Lochy and Loch Ness. It was the longest distance I rode in one day, and I was glad to arrive! At right is a scene at Fort Augustus with a somewhat stressed looking bagpipe player entertaining tourists. He seemed to be having trouble getting in tune and kept starting over. |
| From Inverness I crossed the "Black Isle" and ended up in the Kyle of Sutherland - a very happy place with contented cows and men wearing hip boots fishing in the river. The sun came out and I ended up in a t-shirt and shorts heading for the excellent hostel in Carbisdale Castle. |
| Carbisdale Castle was a real experience. It has been faithfully maintained and features original artworks as well as a resident ghost. Some people I met and I spent the late evening prowling the labrynth of hallways spooking each other. |
| From the castle I went on a very lonely and peaceful road up to the top of Scotland at the seaside town of Bettyhill. The magic seemed to reach a new high. |
| A "happy attack" sunset at Bettyhill... Tomorrow I'm headed for John O'Groats and the big finish! |
| The last official day of the ride was excellent, passing by green countryside with the sea pounding on the left. Many highland cows sit on grassy farmlands munching away. |
| The Scottish thistle is everywhere in the highlands and northern regions, and if it isn't the national flower, it ought to be. |
| Sorry about this, but I'm a little bit proud of myself here. Seventeen days and 1200 miles later, at John O'Groats and the official signpost where I asked a nice man to capture the moment. |
| The sleepy YHA hostel at John O'Groats |
| If I could move the official finish line for John O'Groats anywhere else it would be here at Duncansby Head, which is really the end of the line. It is another 15 minutes out a narrow road and over a few more hills, but is a much more dramatic way to finish. From here you really can't go farther north or east without swimming. The stacks of rock here are home to colonies of many sea birds, including puffins at the right time of year. I spent the better part of a day out here just soaking up the vibe. You can walk farther south along this coast for even more remote and breath-taking scenery. |
| I had to get back to the town of Thurso the next day to catch a train back to Inverness and make my way back to Europe. On the way I went out to Dunnet Head, the most northerly point in Scotland (mainland, that is). On the west side of the headlands is Dunnet Bay, with a sweeping stretch of sand. Who says there aren't great beaches in Scotland? |
| Dunnet Bay on a blissfully sunny afternoon... |
| I got the train from Thurso back to Inverness and a bus to Fort William. I wanted to top off the ride with a climb up Ben Nevis, the highest point in Great Britain - all of 1600 metres. |
| <<< With bike looking up at Ben Nevis |
| In Fort William I met Linda and Vera, two Swiss girls (sisters) and we decided to do the climb together. We had a fortunate turn of luck with the weather, as it had been foggy and rainy the previous days on the summit. |
| Scenes of the climb... |
| Lunch break on the top of Ben Nevis |
| It was a long way back on a train - the Flying Scotsman - back down to Newcastle and a ferry to Amsterdam. I spent a few days in Amsterdam getting rained on, but otherwise having a good time. |
| Amsterdam has some unusual scenery Mothers and small children - avert your eyes! |
| Nearly home and waiting for the train to Cologne at Amsterdam station... The End |
| The hardest part, as it turns out, was just getting to Land's End, which is deceivingly far away from London. I stuck my bike on a train to Oostende in Belgium and got a Hoverspeed ferry to Dover where I spent one night. Getting the train to London was easy, but getting a train out of London to Penzance was another thing. There is essentially room for only four bicycles on any given British train (how sad) and I had to be a bit creative and get one to Exeter and then catch another one coming down from Manchester headed for Penzance. I was very lucky indeed to get even this option. But after a very long day I finally arrived in Penzance and rode the extra 10 miles to the YHA hostel at Land's End. |