Tip of the Day: think about how you want to celebrate your achievement before you get there. We didn’t, but fortunately someone else had an idea on our behalf!

The drizzle and wind greeted us as we packed away my tent and bid farewell to the sheep dog for his friendly welcome. As we headed north in the A99, one thing we noticed repeatedly was the volume of cemetery’s full with the headstones and angles. A hamlet with a mere dozen or so homes would have hundreds of tombs; had the highland clearances seen off this number of inhabitants?

It was still early as we arrived in Wick, and a Sunday to boot. The Weatherspoons here did not open until 10am (perfectly reasonable on a Sunday) but we were not prepared to wait around for a few hours. After putting our heads in a few hotels, we were directed to Mackays Hotel and the manager took pity on us. I dare say not many establishments in these parts will provide avocado on toast, and it was a delight! Simply finding somewhere open and warm had been enough, but when we were presented with two ‘breakfast bars’ each and a small bottle of gin and tonic ‘to toast the end’, we were absolutely made up- hospitality you can’t put a price on! (£30)

Next stop would be the end. Thirty kilometres lay between us and JOG. The odd hill up into Keiss required effort, but it was steady going. We passed some cyclists laden with bulky shoulder bags and exchanged knowing cheers. We lost our coastal views to our right, the end was ever closer, then cresting Wrath Hill the island of Orkney presented itself and a simple downhill few km was all that remained. From nowhere the sun emerged. Photons replaced water. We overtook a West Ham fan who cheered back ‘We’ve do it!’ And we were there, at John O’Grotes. It was 10:15 am.

I felt contented, not joyous- I think that was tempered as we still had a 30 km ride to get to Thurso still to come, but happy that we had made it. We lined up for the signpost photo, but fell into conversation with two ladies about to embark on their own JOGLE adventure. We couldn’t help ourselves… we hit them with all our tips, told them how we had felt, said it would be great… now I was feeling joyous! And to top it off, it was G&T time!

We stayed around for an hour, writing postcard, drinking tea, eating cake, hoping everyone was looking at us and thinking “they must be awesome!” Then it was time to face the wind, get to Thurso, find that almost everywhere is shut, stumble across Y’Not, pitch our tent in the local camping ground and celebrate with too much curry. We had achieved all we wanted, it was time to congratulate ourselves and thank our partner for their persistence, resilience and not getting annoyed with one another-ness.

Our journey home could be a blog post in itself. It must be said, trains are not particularly bike friendly, though to be honest, bikes aren’t overly train friendly either. With no reservations for bikes on any direct routes south, we spent a day going to Inverness, then Aberdeen, then Glasgow. We arrived in the city just before seven. I had foreseen that going out in cycle shorts would definitely draw unwanted attention so had kitted myself in the latest threads in Inverness so we could hit the town! Of course, we ended up having a Chinese and then dessert before heading to bed before our departure to London and home, 56 hours after finishing!

Tip of the Day: Pick a good partner. As with any expeditions, there will be times when you have to make a decision where you disagree. Some of these will be trivial, but a number will be a few will carry much more weight, and when the decision you took that your partner disagreed with backfires, the reaction of your companion is important. Will they blame you, sulk and tell you to sort it out or will they recognise that neither of you wanted the negative outcome which effects you both and constructively try and get back on track? Without doubt, somethings will annoy you about your partner, but the success of the team is built on the respect and resilience they show towards each other frailties.

We stuffed our faces with toast before setting off on the very peaceful roads following the river Glass. We knew we were going to need an bit of extra push this day, our penultimate day! The previous evening, we had checked out the total distance remaining to JOG – approximately 200 km. Knowing that we wanted to get the the end around midday, but not go too far the day before, we agreed that 120 – 130 km would leave a reasonable distance to travel on the final day. Dan checked out what towns were 120 km away from our current location and suggested we stop in Lybster, 80 miles away I was assured (my phone was still set to default miles). Acting on Jim’s instructions, I took back my phone, found a hotel that served food in Lybster and made a reservation for 7pm, plenty of time. I hung up then pressed directions to the Portland hotel, the search returned 97 miles…DAN!!!

Quite what had happened last night in selecting our evenings dinner venue we can’t be sure, so we put it down to fat fingers and just got on with the journey, knowing that 7pm might be a tight deadline to make! Progress was good, the town names obscure and the weather holding. Dingwall Tesco provide a banana and milkshake to keep us going as we took ourselves off the A roads and up to the high level back roads into Tain. The Cromarty Firth was looking resplendent to our right as the clouds gave way briefly and we removed layers as we passed through Alness, only to be cold again a few km later. Arriving in Tain we had got a bit wet and were hoping to get inside for breakfast. Sadly the two bakeries were take outs only, leaving us to have the full Scottish in the Royal Hotel, which meant a plate full of unidentifiable animal parts minced and squished together all fried in a bounty of oil; I was nervous for the journey ahead!

The wind gave us a good battering as we crossed the long Dornoch Firth Bridge, though largely the mountains to our left shielded us from the worst of it for most of our journey along the east coast. Dan had been cautioning me as to what to expect from here on in, his previous journeys by car up this coastal route were all memories of grey skies, grey buildings and the odd grey overcoat shuffling between closed shops to avoid the worst of the weather. So we were both happily surprised with our route. We even had a coffee and cake stop in the delightful Linda’s Café, Brora and watched a few towns folk rescue a trapped unfledged gull from a rooftop where the mother raises her chick year after year (will she never learn!) Thyme and Place served great sandwiches in the very pretty port of Helmsdale, with the communities all bustling about their daily lives.

Leaving lunch behind we had two big climbs ahead of us, the long slow road around Ord Burn and then the big dip of Berridale with its escape lanes for runaway vehicles. I was really surprised at Dan’s unease at the latter. We had sped down hills at over 50 km/h flinging ourselves into unknow bends and small B roads without much drama. But as I recorded a short video, Dan was nervous. Of course, we made it down and up with no drama, A roads do not normally have steep descents and the signs are there as a reminder that this next bit of road will be different than usual, but not for seasoned cyclists like ourselves! The most dangerous element of our escapade was the escaped highland cattle that the locals were herding off the road at the top of Berridale. A piece of cake at the closing up Laidhay Croft Museum helped us complete our almost 100 mile cycle to Lybster with an hour to spare. I was amazed, but we needed a sit down and food, and I was back on the veggie curries! But I could not rest completely, we still needed to find a place to pitch our tent, ideally for free. The land was full of grazing cattle and each field was overlooked by a farm building of some sort. We turned off the mail road and ventured towards the sea cliffs. We passed a B&B and I followed Dan’s suggestion and ask if they would mind us pitching a tent? The retired 7 fingered farmer showed us to a lovely patch of grass in the shelter of a hedge. The granddaughters came out to inspect what was happing in their Tutu’s, saw the bikes and wanted to ride theirs, the older lads came out and fired up the battered VW Sharon that was in the field and did some circuits, but I was tired enough to lay down and fall asleep and leave the commotion of our new neighbours.

Tip of the Day: Don’t blindly follow cycle routes, not only might they lead you in the wrong direction (Gretna) but sometimes they are just not particularly cycle friendly, as we found out on route 78.

Packed and off we had crossed Loch Leven and headed to Fort William by way of cycle path and the A82 which was nice a quite pre 7am. Had we had the time then perhaps we could have waited for the ferry to take us back and forth over Loch Linnhe to stick to the cycle path, but the road suited us just fine. I spotted finned mammals in the water as we enjoyed the early morning cycle and reached Fort William with only one option open for breakfast, all hail Weatherspoon’s! The easy riding continued along the canal side of cycle route 78, up the staggered lock gates of Neptune’s staircase and through small flat patches of land dedicated to the purpose of camping for those travelling the West Highland Way, idyllic!

The Caledonian canal opened out as it fed into Loch Lochy (genius!) and I assumed the cycle path would take us to the only road that went around the loch- the A82 on its eastern shore. We peddled through woods on smooth tarmac with the odd house tucked away into the hillside enjoying the ride until after side time we came down a hill that opened out with great views of the loch- on our right hand side…this meant we were travelling up the west bank of the loch. Well, so far the cycle route had been glorious and the signs did indicate how many miles it was to Fort Augustus, so it was taking us the correct way. After 7 km of lovely road on the west side of the loch, we were turfed out onto a lose stone surface. Our maximum speed dropped as we bounced and jolted over the rocks, our chances of damage increased and we were now either constantly ascending or descending. A few kilometres in we stopped and looked at our options…we could either return and go around to the A82, which would add an extra 15 km (not great) or continue on the scree for a further 7 km (ouch), continuing seemed the worst of the two evils. Another few kilometres of bone shaking cycling we were forced to stop, the forest was being chopped down. A lady told us that fortunately, today we would get the opportunity to continue with our journey in 15 minutes or so, but some days she has to turn people back (I just can’t imagine how I would have reacted to that!) Sure enough, we were back on our way, but the cycling was worst as the logging trucks have gouged out huge chunks of land and large, sharp and irregular stones had been scattered over the path to aid their traction, but it certainly did nothing for us.

It was a huge relief to reach Loch Laggan with no punctures, our bikes had taken a beating and we had certainly been given a workout and Dan’s hands that were already suffering with vibration tingles from his unpadded gloves we getting worse. The National Cycle Network is great, but stints like this that are marked on the map as “traffic free route on the National Cycle Network” should provide the cyclist a sense of ease knowing that the route has been tested and as Dan would say deemed ok for my mum to ride it without fear of coming off. This was far from that, and for such a long stretch! We caught some cyclists heading the opposite way to us to gain their view of the route 78 before keeping on it and the mention of disused railway line at Invergarry gave us renewed vigour. We peddled on the 78 and once again rejoiced in its serenity till we made the honeypot of Fort Augustus for lunch.

This was it, we were now on the most famous loch of them all, the one that contains the monster… Loch Ness! If we had been heading for Inverness, the the 78 would have offered us a spectacular ride through quite roads on the sides of the Ness, but we needed to branch of before Inverness, so we stuck to the A82. By now, the motorhomes we on the roads and logging vehicles taking their cargo to sawmills. We never felt threatened by them, but they were not a pleasure to ride with. Our views of Loch Ness were quite limited and we never did see Nessie. We left the loch behind at Drumnadrochit with a tinge of disappointment- we even failed to get a glimpse of the famed Castle Urquhart. Our stop in Café 82 coincided with the worst rain of the day (handy) and as we continued our journey, the sheen the rain had given landscape really brought it to life.

Most LEJOGers will take the A833 as the most direct route from here to the north, but we had to deviate to get to our overnight stop in Strury with Dan’s uncle. Our journey along Glen Urquhart was magnificent. Loch Meiklie was a perfect mirror to the sunshine that poked out from the dark clouds, the river Glass was living up to its billing and the traffic free cycle was astonishingly beautiful. We arrived at the Strury Inn and surprised Linda “we didn’t think you were coming” as with Dan’s phone being out of action we hadn’t called in and had not really tried too hard to get the message them. But they got us in, showed us to our room and swept away half the contents of the bar snacks for us to munch through. That evening Jim cooked us the most fantastic three course meal of haggis Wellington, steak and chocolate pudding. He showed us around his aviary of raptors and finished off the night with a dram of whiskey, sadly, I’m still not a fan!

Tip of the Day: Scotland is chillier than England. I only had my cycle shorts for the entire journey, and this was fine for me, but in Scotland we both needed to wear full gloves (I prefer mittens actually) and because I struggle to fall asleep in the cold, I even took my down feather lined booties for inside my sleeping bag!

Our route out of Glasgow was nothing like our route in. We followed the Clyde for a long stretch with the odd runner for company in the chilly morning air, then hopped onto a disused railway line which took us into Dumbarton with little effort. With only my phone to rely on for navigation, it was even more important to keep the battery topped up and my plug to USB device had gained a fault. Amazingly, not only did Dumbarton have a Costa Coffee open at 7:30, but just opposite a Poundland was already welcoming customers. With USB plug and Deep Heat purchased we made our along the beautiful River Leven and towards Loch Lomond.

We had already been told that you had to use the A82 around the Loch and so that was the road we took. Fast and pretty straight forward we made good speed, but never really got a good view of the famous bonnie bonnie banks and I did feel a bit disappointed. We took the hunted for a breakfast in Tarbet towards the North of the Loch and after being turned away by the hotel (we were too late) munched down panini outside the Bonnie and Ben café where we were joined by four other LEJOGers who had come up along the cycle path closer to the loch and enjoyed the views! With the cycle path terminating at Tarbet, it was onto the road for everyone heading north from here as the twists and turns became more frequent and tighter and a chance of mishap increased.

So far our journey had definitely been one of getting a job done, we were on a mission to John O’Grotes and nothing was going to stop that. But as we left Loch Lomond behind an encountered long climbs a sign appeared drawing us to the Falls of Falloch. I love a good waterfall and suggested we have a break. We arrived at the waterfalls and were not disappointed, not only was the cataract in good form, but a number of dare-devils decided to fling themselves from the top to the bottom just for our entertainment! All three made it back safely!

Tyndrum was our lunch stop, and Judith’s recommendation of TJ’s American Diner was duly accepted with triple layered pancakes and burgers all wolfed down. Until this point the weather had held and the sun had even blessed us, but this changed as we headed passed the Bridge of Orchy and into Rannoch Moor. We were now deep in the highlands. Mountains over 1000 metres flanked us on all sides though their summits remained hidden in dark grey clouds. There was an air of foreboding about our journey ahead.

Few stops lay between us and our destination of Glen Coe. The climb continued and took us up to 350 metres with a big switchback to gain height over Loch Tulla. With a steady downhill into Glen Coe, the going should have been easy as we turned west, but the driving headwind made us fight for the miles. As we pulled over to admire the view of Buachaille Etive a hold up of traffic approached, not that we were the cause, but a cyclist with a support crew driving directly behind at his speed was holding back the motorists. I dinged my bell in solidarity (PS- get a bell, they are definitely worth it!). Even with the big views, he was out of sight promptly as we pushed on for the final few miles. The rain held off with only fleeting drizzle and we had set up our tent in a campsite before dinner which was taken at the Gathering which offered fabulous food and soon became packed. A top notch day!

Tip of the Day: Buy an easy access frame bag that allows you to check your route on the go or have a quick snack without having to delve into your panniers, oh, and make sure it is waterproof!

Judith was up to wave us off and was I thankful that she had provided me with all the gear to keep warm and dry as we rode into the oncoming rain. Our journey out of Carlisle followed followed the A7 onto a road that ran parallel to the M6 before joining the national cycle route 7 in Gretna and crossed into Scotland! At the sign welcoming us to the bonnie land were 5 cyclists from the Midlands on their racers who were speeding their way up the country, averaging 150 miles a day! We compared routes and gave them sympathy that their support crew hadn’t managed to call in to see them (still, it was only just after 7am so they were probably still in the hotel). What I had not appreciated was that we were in Gretna. A kilometre further up the road was Gretna Green. I had always thought that these were the same thing, and so when I saw the cycle route sign pointing to Gretna Green, I took us along the road that was in the opposite direction, surely we wanted to head out of where we were? The road we were cycling along along was quite, gentile and surrounded by fields; we made great progress for almost 5 km until Dan realised something was up, “can you see the motorway?” Our route along the B7076 should be right next to the motorway and for the past 5 km we had been cycling along cycle route 7 east, nowhere near the rumble of lorries. A U-turn was all we could do, and that extra 10 km would prove quite significant later.

Back on track but 30 minutes behind where we might have expected to be, I was hungry. Kirtlebridge may be marked on road signs to suggest that something might be there, but a few houses was all. I couldn’t help but think ‘I’d be having breakfast now if only…’ By the time we had reached Lockerbie I was munching through my supplies of dry breakfast bars and well in need of something less compacted together… I guess perhaps a haggis panino can be described as compacted food, but it sure tasted fab! On our arrival Dan asked to get his phone on charge. I hadn’t really been paying much attention, but he had failed to get his phone to work since this mornings downpour, and the 30 minutes charge didn’t really do much other than make the phone vibrate a bit, but always with a blank screen.

The sun was making an appearance as we circumnavigated Moffat, constantly gaining height steadily. It had been 25 km since breakfast and would be a further 25 until we could reach Abington- our next most likely point for food, but we wanted to avoid the steep ascent going back down to Moffat would add to our journey, so after a chocy bar break, it was back to the B7076. We continued to climb to over 300 metres, Dan’s phone was still unresponsive and he was now feeling a stiff pain in his calf and for the first time the occasional gap would open up between us with me at the front. By the time we reached the Abington services I thrust upon Dan my supply of Voltarol and gave him the story of ‘taking the rope’. I learnt the story from some Scouters on the Southern 50 Challenge (a 50 mile finish it as quick as you can hike). We came across a team where two members were strapped to each other with some bungee cord. They explained that the chap at the front was feeling fine and keen to get ahead, but the chap on the back was tired and had been falling back. On long hikes when conversation can dry up, large gaps can appear and the person at the back not only gets physically left behind, but mentally they have to be really strong to keep with it, and often this is where people retire in such competitions. But the rope is there to keep the group together- the lead member cannot escape and if the person being pulled needs to stop, then they stop together. The hardest thing about the rope is omitting to yourself that you need the rope. At this point in our journey, I thought Dan needed the rope, yet he was always trying to get to the front and push our pace and would only sit behind me for half a kilometre before taking the lead on again.

As we progressed cycle path 74 took us off the roads completely and into our own cycling carriageway with long stretches between villages. By the time we reached Blackwood, we got back onto the A72, but by now the time was 4pm and the traffic a little heavier so we got back on cycle path 74 and launched ourselves down steep gradients with deathly sharp bends over bridges (Stonehouse) through Larkhill and into Hamilton. We could claim to be on the outskirts of Glasgow, Dan was caring an injury, we were both tired and the earlier mistake from Gretna was nagging at me. “We could stop here” I offered. But Dan refused, we had said at the start of the day that Glasgow was our aim, so Glasgow it had to be. I struggled with deciding how best to get us into the city- roads crowded my map, which one would be best? The most direct I was told, so it was onto the A724. By now, we were in the metropolitan area of Glasgow and the A roads were moving more slowly, restricted to 40 mph and traffic lights. The cycling was at least predictable even if the distance to a place of refuge was not.

In planning our journey, I had taken England and Dan was responsible for Scotland. With his phone no longer working, it was a case of his memory and additions I could improvise. Equally, although we had a tent, pitching it in Glasgow was not appealing, and so our nights accommodation was still in doubt. After a monumental effort and a final ten kilometres that never seemed to end, we had reached the city centre. Despite my wish to find somewhere to stay first- Dan insisted we had food and the rather overpriced Thali in Madha was the place to be! It worked a treat, Food and drink allowed us to brighten the mood and even celebrate our achievement. We searched the internet and found the Euro hostel had a 4 person dorm, so I booked it for just us, and there was even a bike store to boot. It had been a testing day, but we had finished it together as a team.

Tip of the Day: Wash your bum! So for any travellers to Asia, you will be accustomed to the lack of any toilet paper and deploying a soapy left hand to clean yourself after defecating. As I was only wearing the one set of cycle shorts for the two week trip (and to be honest, even if I had a few spares this applies) to keep them from smelling awful, best practice is to go Asian and have a proper scrub after each number 2, often the best places equipped for such use are disabled toilets as they have a sink very close to the loo!

We departed Galgate as early as ever into overcast skies, the whether appeared to be on the turn. Lancaster and Carforth came and went quickly as we continued up the A6 with the outline of the Lake District imposing itself onto the horizon with each passing kilometre. A delightful scene of deer’s beyond a meandering stream caused me to slow as we passed through Milnthorpe, but it was too become far less joyous as we joined the A591 into Kendal. Perhaps because it had more numbers in it than the A6, I assumed the traffic load would be similar, but quickly it became apparent that we would be battling to maintain some room on the roads. Dan once again got shaken up by a passing motorist and we soon got ourselves off and into Kendal for breakfast and another visit to a bike shop to adjust Dan’s squeaking breaks (a job that took 30 seconds and left me thinking how did we not think to loosen off the break nuts, apply the break lever and tighten up the break nuts again, simple!)

Leaving Kendal it was back on the nice and quiet A6 for the bit we had been waiting for since the start- the climb up to Shap at 430 metres above sea level. Although this was to be our highest point of the route, the height was gained over 13km and the views were impressive just enough to keep your mind from realising just how long you had been in the lowest gear for. An hour after leaving Kendal we were at the top. Dan had been doing plenty of filming as I lagged up a few minutes later, helped by the cheers of a local peloton that zoomed passed downhill. Then came the great bit of zooming down the other side and into a cosy tea room in town. Warmed up and caked up we headed out, fumbled in our panniers for a bit and cycled 10 minutes out of town until I suddenly realised “Dan, I didn’t pay for cake”. After a pause to consider ‘hey, we’ve just had free cake!’ we pointed our bikes back to the tea room and did the honourable thing- it was good cake after all!

Two days previous we had experienced two nights of home comforts at the hands of others and had grown to rather like it. Whilst considering the distances of the following days cycles, Carlisle appeared reasonable stopping point, and I chanced to send a text message to good Scout friend who lives in the area; Judith had got back immediately and offered here garden and a tent for a night, fab! As we headed towards Penrith a crazy woman stood in a layby waving frantically. Dan was of course up front and pulled in rather confused and guessing what kind of assistance this distressed lady may be in need of, but as I pulled over I was greeted by the welcome arms of Judith, driving back home and keeping an eye out for two cyclists!

A late lunch in Penrith gave me a chance to begin making bookings for our bikes onto the train network for the journey back. At this point we had decided that with no parkrun’s taking place in Scotland due to Covid restrictions, there was no point in aiming for Thurso by Saturday and equally, Scotrail was striking on Sunday anyway. So I called up Sean at Scotrail HQ and booked our bikes onto the 6:40 service for Monday arriving in Inverness before 11. Great, next I needed a train from Inverness to Edinburgh…with space for the bikes. This proved not possible, as was any train to Glasgow- all bike reservations taken! As ever when any train related issue becomes a problem I messaged Helen, she would know what to do!

A few hours later we had rolled along the pleasant backroad that parallels the M6 to Judith’s house and were cleaning our bikes, using all of her Muck-Off and coating her rags in all sorts of bike dirt till they were more grease than cloth. After a huge portion of home grown veggie pasta bake Judith checked out the weather – rain was forecast and plenty of it. She eyed up my flimsy pvc mac and insisted I take her cycling jacket and overshoes. I was bowled over but not surprised by her generosity. That night we slept in a tent where kneeling up was possible, oh the luxury!

Tip of the day: know the basics of bike maintenance and have a practice before you leave. With some help from bike friend Joe, I had replaced the front gears, chain and all the cables, and with a bit of YouTube could just about index my gears to boot! It all made me much more confident in case anything went wrong; and very handily Dan had deliberately got lots of punctures on our practice rides to help!

Day five was now a rest day- 120 km would take us halfway between our next home stay, so we were in in rush to leave and we’re even fed a true cyclists breakfast if double porridge. The roads in the morning were peaceful and took us through delightful countryside. We even followed route 5 for a few miles- the same cycle path that goes right passed our homes in Didcot linking Reading to Holyhead. However, as we did second breakfast in Stockton Heath we knew this was all about to end as the A49 lay ahead.

There are of course many possibilities to get north, but almost all cyclist with a time budget appear to take the A49 between Warrington and Wigan. It’s the most direct way and simple to navigate, but comes at the cost of being busy. Perhaps it was how much others had built it up, perhaps it’s Dan’s dislike of sharing roads with anything, but I was not looking forward to the next hour or more if riding. For me though, it didn’t live up to the hype. Yes it was busy and had lots of lorries, but we passed through lots of retail parks, traffic lights and some whopping round-a-bouts which all helped reduced the speed of the vehicles passing us. I was far more perturbed on the A5106 into Chorley as hordes of motorists parked up on the side of the road to visit Frederick’s ice cream parlour, opening doors without looking and forcing us into oncoming traffic. It was self centred human behaviour at its worst we even rounded are causing tailbacks as the driver sat in their car licking their ice cream!

Subliminal messages must have got the better of us as we pulled into Preston (way better than you are probably imagining) and hunted down a sweet treat at Heavenly Desserts, which could only be ordered in person once you had viewed the online menu using their QR code, only to be told what you wanted was not available so they suggested some alternatives…

From here on we took the leisurely route 6 north along the avoiding the A6, until having crossed the M6 for the forth time decided that we just wanted dinner, which I had earmarked for Galgate with its clearly marked campsite. A speedy last 5 km and we were ready to pitch up and head out for dinner. A few trips down roads but no sign of the campsite, I called out to an elderly couple- the sort that had lived in the same house all their lives and new the whole community. “There has never been a campsite here my dear, you’ll need to head to Wyre Bridge. But the food in the Plough is lovely”. Needless to say, we took in the advice of the pub grub and then pitched our tent around the back of the sports pavilion after having a ‘tramps shower’ (stood over a sink trying not to splash) whilst the local drumming group played Japanese inspired beats.

Tip of the day: if speed is important for your trip, take the A roads early in the morning.

A night in a comfy bed meant we had an extra 20 minutes of welcome sleep and set out a little after 6am. We had already discussed today’s route and decided we would not manage to 170 km that stood between us and Dan’s work colleague Martin and would simply see how close we could get. Maybe it was this reduced pressure, maybe it was a great nights rest, or perhaps some flattish, fastish roads, but we were making great early progress and were lucky to find a Starbucks open in Worcester at 7:30 am on a Sunday.

The villages that we passed through looked resplendent, Tewksbury, Kempsey and Astley all decked in bunting and celebrating Britishness. But we weren’t hanging about and followed a string of Mods on their smelly mopeds into Kidderminster, over 60 km covered in three hours and we were on fire! We had a simple breakfast at a Tesco then followed the beautiful Staffordshire canal north.

Until this point, I had mostly been using my OS map app to follow our route which I had plotted weeks before in preparation. The app uses lots of data, and so I had downloaded the map over WiFi. However, our use of A roads during the morning was not what I had plotted and so we were not on my map anymore. Dan took over using google maps as we headed in to Albrighton which promptly tried to take us through private fishing reserve (strictly no entry to riffraff) then around three sides of a golf course. We persisted and were rewarded with a fab lunch in Twelve Thirty Two (a reference to how old the town charter is I recall) which was packed with day tripping cyclists.

At this point Dan managed to contact Martin, the kind gent that said he would put us up for the night. With the miles we had put in, we were ‘only’ 70 km away, no probs for fresh legs! I was still cautious but Martin (a race cyclist) was much more positive, “I’d better order in the takeaway soon then!” With his optimism we had renewed vigour to push on. The A41 set us off on a fast pace. More flags awaited us in Newport, an ice cream stop in Market Drayton and always passing through villages that could have featured in Hot Fuzz.

By the time we made it to Wettenhall, we should have been exhausted, but if anything, I was jubilant. We had covered more distance than we had expected, worked together really well as if we were in a team pursuit, and now had our reward of a fab bed and a Chinese takeaway. Today had been a turning point, this cycle was definitely on!

Tip of the day; invest in Sudocrem (or similar brand) and apply liberally to thighs and bottom.

I’d heard that Cornwall was hilly. I can definitely confirm this status. Our preparation for LEJOG had seen us cycling 120 km and going up about 1250 metres each weekend- that should do the job we thought!

We had pitched our tent just a few hundred metres from the famous sign post and after the obligatory photos we were away at 6am, we felt excited, the morning views were exciting, even the hills were exciting, at first!

A good 10 km into our ride along the very pleasant cycle route three I noticed I had a stowaway- snailey. Our bikes had just been lain in the heath, where snailey must have climbed on board. Snailey was as keen an adventurer than us and traveled all over my bike until at 27 km he made it onto my gear shifter just as we went up bridge. I nudged down a gear and snailey dropped off, farewell dear traveller!

Many LEJOGers had said that Cornwall was the hilliest part of the trip, and oh my, was I feeling it on day one. It was also blisteringly hot. After yet another arduous climb around some China quarries we had set eyes on a pub to stop for lunch in Nanpean. Alas, the boards over the door told us all we needed to know, we peddled on up hill to find a shop for any restbite, but not a thing could be found. The exhaustion of the effort and the disappointment felled me to the ground; day one 80 km in and this was feeling bigger than I had expected.

After 10 minutes in the shade and a heap of snack bars our new aim was Roche a further 10 km away. The journey was punctuated by micro stops, gulps of warm water and anguish at yet another hill. But as we pushed up into the high street a humble pasty shop with the worlds densest pastry ensemble came to my aid.

The days biggest and arguably my toughest climb of the entire trip was the hill out of Lanhydrock. Now some 120 km into day one and my right knee caused me to wince at every revolution as I inched up the 150 metre ascent. Dan was long gone as he raced with himself up each hill and I could not keep up, but keep those wheels moving I did.

By the evening and after our first navigational mishap along the road to Horsebridge, two weary bodies crossed the border in Devon and promptly stopped for dinner. The pub classic lasagna was followed by an immediate uphill kindly supported by a courteous driver who waited at the bottom before making her way passed us and sharing stories of cycling in these parts!

On planning our journey our equipment included a tent so that we always had the option of stopping when we could go no further, and although we both had different ideas of how far this was, the outskirts of Lydford was it for tonight. A corner of a farmers field seemed ideal, and no sooner had I unfurled the tent then the farmer showed up…! Fortunately he was happy enough with our pitch for the night, though Dan’s hay fever had other ideas.

Tip of the day: call on friends and family to put you up for the night, we stayed with four friends along our route and and not only does it give you a comfy bed for the night, but other people to talk with to celebrate your progress!

The storm had passed through overnight, so it was a damp start to the day. We had paid to stay on a campsite and as fortune would have it, the owner was a former cyclist and happy to help us with our needs to give our bikes a scrub down. We set off with clean bikes along the flat and fab disused railway line of cycle route 26. We covered the 25 km in no time and arrived almost an hour before the parkrun start time. The excitement grew as the event team assembled, runners gathered and we set off, Dan in his trainers he had been carrying especially for the run, and myself in my mountain bike shoes with the cleats removed. The seafront run was chilly to start but it was great to be back.

This is one of the first points in the journey where routes can differ quite a bit, with some heading across the Severn to Wales. Of course, we were off to a bed in Cheltenham which meant cycling below the M5 and across the Avon bridge. The route was a mixture of fine country lanes, a few ropy tracks that caked our bikes in mud, and a few council estates, one of which was our lunch stop at Smilers cafe. An hour later and Dan’s stomach was doing turns.

We were now in quite a remote part of the world on quite country lanes, great for cycling, not great if the calls of nature keep knocking! Fortunately Dan’s job had seen him work in this neck of the woods, so we aimed for the quaint little towns of Oldbury and Berkeley for comfort breaks and lovely tea rooms.

By the time we had reached Gloucester, Dan was drained, which meant for the first time I could comfortably keep up. I was now the one keen for us to keep moving. The cycle path had become a zig-zag through alleys which became frustrating to negotiate, so I directed us to a straight A road and we cycled the 15 km in silence. We had been tested once again, but we stoically “sucked it up” and arrived at brother Paul’s at 6:05pm, five minutes later than I had said we would, bonza!

A massive home cooked pizza, a soft bed and company other than just the two of us was a welcome change.