How to Lose 14lbs in a Fortnight

Tim Wainwright

Text first published in 'Travels on my Bike, Cycle journeys from around the world by members of the Croydon Cyclists's Touring Club'. Produced by Tim Wainwright in 1993. Reproduced by kind permission of Pauline Wainwright

The rain stopped after four hours; I was wet and cold and sitting outside a tea-caravan in a lay-by near Petersfield changing my wet socks for a dry pair. I had already gone off route as my map was in my saddlebag and I couldn't be bothered to get it out in the rain. "Where are you heading for?" asked a truck driver. "I want to be in Exeter tonight," I replied. He looked at me as if I'd just got out of a spaceship. ''You'll never make it," he said. He was right. On through Winchester to Salisbury where I joined the A30. By the time I reached Honiton I decided against cycling another 18 miles and trying to find the youth hostel in the dark. The Little Chef looked inviting so I stopped for an evening meal of tagliatelle. The waitress, spotting "Croydon CTC" on my jersey, told me she used to be in the Sydenham Wheelers in Kent and asked if I knew of them. ''Yes," I replied, "I ride their Reliability Trial every January." Within minutes of leaving the Little Chef I stopped at the first B&B sign I found and was plied with pots of tea and plates of biscuits before I climbed wearily into bed, after 182 miles in the saddle.

Day 2 A late start today, it's 9 am and sunny and mild. I thought I'd ride through Exeter city centre as I knew the ring road would add miles to the day's total; typically the road signs to the centre soon ran out and after riding through a housing estate and round some factories I found myself back on the dreaded ring road. The A30 was like a motorway, with constant coaches, lorries and cars towing caravans roaring past my elbow as I bumped over cats' eyes and drains inside the white line. The noise of the traffic was deafening and, stopping for a coffee at a roadside caravan, I had to shout my order. After putting in my earplugs which I thought I'd only be using in noisy YHAs I kept cycling for most of the day with them in. The A30 had changed since I was last on it, now bypassing all the towns and shops making it very boring. Long uphill drags in 42

6 Arrivée May 2017 No. 136 Tim in the Peak District in 1996/7. Photos provided by Anne Learmonth

x 28 followed by a swift descent for 30 seconds before starting the next climb, mile after mile. I came off the A30 into Launceston to get my brevet card stamped and buy some lunch, but had difficulty finding somewhere with a stamp. My bike was feeling really sluggish (I'm not used to riding with a loaded saddlebag) and in a desperate attempt to make it feel better I replaced the heavy Specialized front tyre with my spare Michelin Hi-Lite but could feel no appreciable difference. As I approached Truro the traffic thinned out and I had a few miles of pleasant cycling. I had been looking forward to cycling in Cornwall; back in the 70s I had lived there for five years, but my enthusiasm was sorely dented. All in all, it was the worst day's cycling I've ever had. The only good thing about the day was reaching Feock on the River Fal and spending the night with friends. After a superb meal and a good chat I finally got to bed at midnight. Only 114 miles today, I'm already behind schedule as I'd planned to reach Land's End tonight. Day 3 Jeez! I thought yesterday was bad! I got up at 5.30 am to go to Land's End, thinking the round trip back to Feock was about 50 miles; it was 85. There was thick Cornish mist all the way and I arrived at Penzance soaked. After buying some food and taking a photo in the mist of St Michael's Mount I reached Land's End at 9.55 where the visibility was 10 yards. I talked my way out of paying to enter Land's End and got my brevet card stamped in the hotel. Here I picked up a leaflet to get signed at John 0' Groats that would entitle me to a certificate. (At the end of the trip I duly sent it off and received back a letter asking for £10 to become a member of their club to get the certificate. I never bothered.) Inside the hotel I met a group of 44 motorcyclists who were starting the End-to- End on vintage bikes, hoping to do about 200 miles per day. Back on the A30 through Hayle, Cambome, Redruth and Truro to my friends' bungalow at Feock where I took a shower, had my lunch and then changed my folding tyre back to the Specialized Expedition. As I left the sun came out for ten minutes but it didn't last as thick fog was with me all the way to the Devonshire border. The A30 was closed for one section with a detour round the country but when cycling I usually ignore these. Consequently I had five miles of smooth new carriageway all to myself. Another Little Chef and another tagliatelle kept the carbo loading high and I found a friendly farmhouse bed and breakfast at Lewdon where I finished all the biscuits in my room plus three cups of tea. 150 miles today. Day 4 A 7 am breakfast and on the road at 7.50, back into the fog and the dreaded A30 through Exeter where I finally reached normal roads at last. Passing through Stoke Canon and Cullompton, the sun came out and I changed into shorts and jersey. I took the A38 to Bridgwater and stopped to get my brevet card stamped at St John Street Cycles where Andy Blance works. (Andy organises the Audax Altitude Awards and runs the Quantock Killer Super Grimpeur.) After a quick chat he filled my bidons but I didn't get offered a coffee. I took a photo of the Wellington monument in the distance and made a mental note to look up its history when I arrive home. Had a fairly fast ride in warm sun and arrived in Bristol at 5 pm with sunburnt face and arms. There was a lot of activity here and I realised it's some City Centre Cycling complete with TV crews. As it didn't start until 7 pm I decided to press on to Slimbridge. The rush hour in Bristol was no trouble after cycling through London daily. Slimbridge is a pleasant, purposebuilt Youth Hostel where I was given my own room with a sink. Shame about the noisy school party though. The dining-room overlooks a large pond with ducks and swans from the local wildfowl trust. I made up my own meal here: vegetable soup, wholewheat bread, baked beans on toast, tinned fruit and rice pudding. Two female hostellers sitting at my table got quite

envious that I could eat so much. Another hosteller on my table was just off to Kathmandu on a cycling trip so we had an interesting chat discussing the merits of miscellaneous cycling equipment and clothing needed for his journey. 147 miles today.

Day 5 An 8.40 start today in mist which soon cleared, giving a hot, sunny day. My legs felt like lead and refused any sort of speed as I plodded along a fairly flat A38 through Gloucester, Worcester and the A449 to Kidderminster. After getting my card stamped in a garage in Quatt I turned off the main road onto minor roads - magic. Staffordshire reminded me very much of cycling in Essex. I passed through Brewood, a very attractive village, then Albrighton, across Cannock Chase to Rugeley. I could have done with a better map for these lanes but at least my legs were feeling a lot better now. I stopped for an evening meal of jacket potatoes in Uttoxeter where the waitress addressed me as "doocks". The scenery was getting better as I headed north-east in the evening sun to Ashbourne and with a one mile 12% descent I reached Matlock Bath after much climbing. The Heights of Abraham were impressive with many climbers on the sheer rock face. Matlock YH was full of schoolkids which surprised me for a Monday in May. I thought hostels were meant for real travellers. The warden rang ahead to Bakewell then Youlgreave but they too were full so I cycled back in the dusk to Matlock Bath for a £12 B&B after rejecting one for £15 in Matlock. Glad to get in bed as I start the Pennine Way tomorrow. 148 miles today. Day 6 A 9.15 start followed a breakfast of six Weetabix, scrambled eggs, beans, toast and marmalade. I was really looking forward to the next few days as I planned to follow the Pennine Way (on metalled roads) as close as I could to the walkers' route. Several years earlier I found the route, by Arnold Robinson of Nottingham, in a cycling magazine and decided to incorporate it in my trip, cutting out all the boring main roads up to Scotland. Chatsworth House was looking magnificent in the early morning sun. Through Froggatt, Hathersage and into a headwind over the Snake Pass. It was cold and windy at the top of Holme Moss 524m) and on the descent I turned left, avoiding the Last of the Summer Wine town of Holmfirth. More serious climbing followed out of Meltham, Slaithwaite and Barkisland with exhilarating descents and fantastic scenery. From Hebden Bridge there was a three mile climb to Pecket Well (432m), with a wild descent to Oxenhope and Haworth where I stopped to photograph the steam engines at the Hope Valley Railway. A quick chat with a local to confirm my route

www.aukweb.net and he informed me I was approaching the best views in Yorkshire. Following a 20% climb out of Goose Eye (343m) I had to agree with him as a fantastic panoramic view over Sutton-in-Craven unfolded before me. On through the Aire Valley and Skipton with a lumpy ride through Wharfedale to the Youth Hostel at Linton-in-Craven where I cooked my evening meal. It was my third visit here and I chatted with the warden who is a cycling enthusiast. The weather was a mixture of sun and cloud, fairly cool, just right for cycling, though the head and crosswinds made it hard work at times. A superb route and a fantastic day's cycling; I slept well that night. My average moving speed for the day was down to 10.9 mph and the mileage was 100, making a total so far of 842. Today's ride must have been worth 2AAA points! Day 7 8.20 start into the sun. Posted my first roll of 36 slides to Fuji from Linton. Today I'll be following one of my favourite roads beside the River Wharfe through Kettlewell and Buckden and over Fleet Moss (589m). It felt just as hard as when I last rode it on tandem and as I rounded the sharp left hand bend at the top I was on the wrong side of the road avoiding the excessive camber, hoping no traffic was coming down. I took elevenses in a cafe in Hawes where a few years ago on a week's cycling holiday I had, by chance, met club-mate Roger Smith who was riding the end of season Fleet Moss 200k. The next section promised some good climbing on roads new to me. The Buttertubs Pass proved a good challenge, followed by Keld and my third major climb of the day up to England's highest pub at Tan Hill (530m). An elderly gent recorded the scene for me on my camera and reminisced about his days in the RAF at Croydon Aerodrome in World War II. The temperature was cool, the roads were traffic-free and the scenery superb; the Pennine Way route was well worth the effort. From Tan Hill it was a terrific descent to Brough with the scenery changing abruptly from high moorland to Cumbrian pastures. There was a four mile climb out of Brough to tea in Middleton-in-Teesdale where I managed to get five cups out of one pot. My brevet card was grudgingly stamped in the post office: "I'm not supposed to use this stamp for anything but Post Office use," he grumbled. It was a scenic route through Teesdale following the river to Langdon Beck with a long climb to 627 metres (England's highest road I believe), the course for the 1992 National Hill Climb. A fantastic 40+ mph descent followed into St John's Chapel. With a clear view down the hill and no side turnings I could let the bike go. Breathtaking! After another climb over Burtree Fell (538m) to Allenheads I was on lovely wooded roads and valleys (much like Kent), through Haydon Bridge to Bellingham YH. I had never been to a hostel like this before, there was no warden or foodstore. Fortunately I had bought some food in Allendale and I cooked up a huge dish of brown rice, onions, cheese and tomatoes. There was a mother and daughter here on the last leg of their Pennine Way walk plus a group of four others. I washed all my cycling clothes and left them in the drying room with the heater on and went to bed cream crackered. Another superb day's cycling. 118 miles today.

Day 8 I had to find the warden in the village before I left; got to pay and get my brevet card stamped. She lived in her own house in the village and she gave me a ticking off for not signing in last night. Didn't I see her handwritten note on the hostel door? I paid up and quickly got out before she gave me 50 lines! The last 42 miles of the Pennine Way were now in front of me as the sun shone down on the Kielder Forest - the dam goes on for ever, disappearing from sight only to re-emerge later on. I found a Spar shop in Kielder and bought my lunch. It was a bit hilly with a headwind but the road is free of traffic - I hadn't seen a car for hours. Three miles after Kielder village I crossed the border into Scotland and followed the road through Saughtree and after a long climb through Wauchope Forest there followed an easy descent to Bonchester Bridge to finish the Pennine Way at Jedburgh. Stopping at the first cafe I came to I had tea and superb homemade doughnuts which melted in my mouth. A van driver chatted to me about the route ahead to Stirling but I didn't follow his advice. A few more hills then it's a fairly flat road through Galashiels and a picturesque route along the River Tweed to Peebles. It was here that a police motorcycle escort approached and two black limousines without number plates swept past. I think it was the Queen. She waved. It was a hard slog into a headwind to Newbiggin, keeping my speed low. I felt like packing on this stretch as I realised I'm well behind schedule, but on turning north the wind changed direction and I felt good again. Riding through Falkirk I met a Scottish cycletourist on his way to his club-night. He was really enthusiastic about my proposed route and told me some of the highlights on the way, wishing he could do the trip as well. I reached Stirling YH at 9.30, still in shorts with the sun shining. Why are hostels always at the top of a hill? The hostel was decrepit and a large party of French schoolkids had taken over, running riot. The warden was friendly but said the hostel will close soon and hopefully be rebuilt. I bought some food in the store and cooked an evening meal and sat with the French teachers in charge of the kids, but hadn't the courage to practice my elementary French on them. 144 miles today.

Day 9 8.10 start without breakfast. In a bakers I bought some sausage-roll shaped doughnuts called "yum-yums" and intended to buy some more substantial food further up the road. I was looking forward to today's route as it's my first time in the Western Highlands. My route will take me through Crianlarich, the Great Glen to Glen Coe, Fort William, Invergary and Glen Shiel out to the West Coast at Stromeferry on Loch Carron. The road is very busy with Bank Holiday traffic, most of it towing a caravan or boat or with a mountain bike strapped on the back. I envisaged the Highlands to be very crowded later in the day. Quite a flat route to Callender, then long, low gradient climbs over the Leny Pass and Rannoch Moor. There had been no shops or cafes for miles and I was getting concerned about the lack of food. I ate my emergency bonk food (a packet of dates) and rode into a caravan park and scrounged a cup of tea from a family in a motor-home. A large fruit cake was tantalising me on the table but I wasn't offered any. Glen Coe was superb with mountains towering around me, but very cold. I had to don longs and Goretex cape for the descent. I finally found some food at a Visitor's Centre but forgot to get my card stamped, so I had to stop again a few miles down the road at another Visitor Centre. At the foot of the descent I then lost more time having to stop to take my extra clothing off. There was a terrific view from the bridge over Loch Leven back up to GlenCoe. Arrived at Fort William at 5 pm after a fast ride up a billiard table-smooth road alongside Loch Linnhe. Why can't all roads be built like this? I showed my ignorance of the Highlands by not realising it was Ben Nevis dominating the skyline on my right. It was a hard uphill ride from Invergary alongside Loch Gary but the sun was shining, the scenery was fantastic and the roads traffic-free what more could I want? About 20 German motorbikes roared past me and I wondered where they were staying that night. Two hours later I saw them camping with one large marquee-sized tent alongside Loch Cluanie. I was now slightly concerned where I was going to stop the night as I hadn't seen any sign of habitation for hours. My hostel handbook showed a hostel about 30 miles away at Shiel Bridge and as the evening was warm and sunny I carried on, arriving at Rattigan YH at 10.30, still in daylight, cream crackered. It was an idyllic setting for a hostel, right on the edge of Loch Duich with mountains running down to the water's edge. I was lucky, I got the last bed, the hostel was full of climbers and walkers up for the Bank Holiday weekend. The warden, like me, was a vegetarian and he had his own vegetable plot and greenhouse outside the back door. Asked where I had cycled from he looked most surprised when I told him Stirling. A guy standing nearby said in the old days cyclists used to ride from Stirling to Rattigan for a late lunch. They were hard men in those days! I had to gobble down a quick meal of beans and potatoes followed by creamed rice as it was nearly lights out time. I was the last one into bed, getting undressed in the dark. 165 miles today.

Day 10 There was no time for a wash last night as the lights were out. Surprisingly, for a wellappointed hostel, there were no showers here. Going for a wash in the morning I realised I'd lost my soap. All my clothes stink and so did I. Scottish hostels don't do breakfasts or evening meals so I had to make do with some muesli I had with me and left at 8.30 climbing steeply into clouds. I was feeling disheartened as I had to contend with hills, headwind and fog, but as I descended the fog disappeared and I had a good ride round the lochs with plenty of hills thrown in for good measure. I stopped to photograph Scotland's "most photographed castle", Eilean Donan Castle standing offshore in the mist. Once again getting food was a concern as the few food shops I passed were closed but I persuaded a cafe in Loch Carron to make me some rolls to take out. At Tornapress I turned north to Shieldaig, thereby missing the road out to Appledore and the coastal route. Originally I had planned to ride this route over a three week course but circumstances changed and I had to make a few abbreviations to fit it into 16½ days. The Appledore route was to have been one of my highlights over the Bealach na Ba and round the coast to Shieldaig. On the moorland road to Shieldaig I had a good tailwind and met three bikies from Birdwell Wheelers, South Yorks, on tour and stopped for a chat. From Kinlochewe, round Loch Maree to Gairloch I marvelled at the super scenery, surrounded by hills, lochs, woods, gorges and sea. I passed the famous gardens at Inverewe which I had initially planned to take a day off to visit but my shortened schedule prevented this. I'll be back though. On the road to Ullapool, far into the distance, I could see a cyclist so had some incentive to chase. I caught up with him as he crawled up a long hill on his mountain bike laden with huge panniers front and rear; he told me he wasn't camping and was only out for a few days. Why do some cyclists carry so much baggage? It made me feel good with only a single saddlebag. Reaching Ullapool at 9.30 I found the hostel, right on the loch, was full. They offered me a bed on the floor if I couldn't find a B&B, which was a nice touch. They wouldn't volunteer that in England. I found a chip shop and had the biggest bag of chips I'd ever seen (later I saw the same chip shop featured in an episode of Taggart) and found a single room in a vegetarian guest house. Another fine day awheel. 143 miles.

Day 11 This B&B was a real gem of a find. For breakfast I had muesli, fruit juice, a cooked meal, a bowl of stewed fruit, herbal tea, toast and marmalade. There was a four-mile climb out of Ullapool into the mountains and although the sun was shining it was cold riding into the wind. Once again I had to miss the coastal road I had originally planned round "The Mad Little Road", described by Nick Crane as the hilliest road in Britain. Five long climbs in quick succession followed with a beautiful run downhill into Unapool, with a picture postcard setting on the side of a loch where I found a picnic site to myself for lunch. As I got further north the road started to get less hilly and I passed a sign for John Ridgeway's "Adventure Holidays"; I wouldn't mind a fortnight there. Approaching Durness I caught up with a mountain biker with tri-bars and full panniers making steady progress; we rode together for a few miles, chatting. He was doing a world cycling tour, over a period of ten years, stopping off where he could get a job teaching, and then moving on again. Nice for some. When he arrived from his native South Africa he thought he could cycle round Britain in a week, but one year later he's still trying. He was amazed at the different terrain for a small island. The final 15 miles to Durness was fairly flat and fast. At randonneur speed you don't have to visit Cape Wrath if time is tight; it could take a whole day to do the trip if the tide and ferry don't coincide with your arrival. As I didn't want to wait until next day for a ferry I got my card stamped in Durness which was bathed in bright sunlight and with the blue sea and beautiful white sand beaches it looked as good as any Continental beach. The 31 scenic miles to Tongue included some long hills around Loch Eriboll, it was quite frustrating to see cars in the distance on the other side and to realise they were on the same road going in the same direction as me. A fast descent to the bridge over the Kyle of Tongue saw me arrive at the Youth Hostel at 7 pm in time to cook a meal, wash my clothes and relax for a change. The sun was still shining at 11 pm! After a good day's ride in the sun, the tops of my ears were sunburnt and quite painful. A few days later they started to peel. 102 miles today. Day 12 I left at 8.10 in the mist for the 43 mile ride to Thurso. The route followed the most northerly road along the coast of Britain, but proved to be very disappointing. The first 27 miles were very hilly, then the scenery turned into a boring lunar-like landscape with only a few glimpses of the sea for the next 36 miles to John 0' Groats. Here I met a Londoner on a coach trip who took my photo for me as the "official" photographer at the signpost wasn't there. It was quite cold here, and I sent a few

postcards but there's not much to interest me here, it's just a tourist trap with hundreds of visitors and coaches. As I turned south I couldn't believe my luck as the wind which blew me from Durness has gone around and was now blowing me down the east coast. The next 40 miles is very boring scenery after the west coast, but I'd done all the interesting roads I set out to do and now have five days to get to Dover and back to Croydon, approximately 900 miles. There's a nice hill at Berriedale, where I stopped at the top to eat a cheese roll and watch an elderly Ford Capri burn its clutch out trying to climb the hill. It was a cold day and my right calf had started to ache so I stopped at Helmsdale YH for the night. The middle-aged vegetarian warden was a real laid-back character who had lived on a commune in India. We struck up a good relationship and I found he used to live in Croydon a while back. There was no store here, so he gave me half a vegetable pie and some mung bean shoots he had sprouted himself; with rice and cheese, followed by muesli I made up a satisfying meal. The warden told me that when he's out cycle touring he takes a jar and some mung bean seeds and sprouts his own fresh salad in his saddle bag. He likes to have a fresh salad daily! It was a friendly group of hostellers here: one was an 81-year-old male backpacker from Devon touring Britain by bus and train. 121 miles today. Day 13 A grey and chilly start to the day, I'm wearing gloves and longs. My legs felt really dead so I stopped for elevenses of coffee and carrot cake followed by more coffee and scones. I got going a bit better after that. Ignoring a diversion sign on the A9 thinking it was just road repairs, I found myself at the start of a new bridge over the Dornoch Firth. The foreman adamantly refused to allow me across and got very bolshi, so I retraced back to the A9; it would have saved me about 20 miles. After leaving Bonar Bridge I missed the shortcut over "The Struie" in Easter Ross, adding an extra 12 miles; I should keep an eye on my map. The A9 was now getting really boring: long, long drags over the Black Isle and again after Inverness over the Schold Summit. For the last 50 miles from Inverness the road had recently been resurfaced with coarse granite chippings which caused considerable drag on the tyres. There were no cafes, shops or garages for about 40 miles. My brain was nearly done in. Was I glad when a Little Chef appeared. At 5.15 the sun came out at last and it was warm and sunny all the way to Kingussie youth hostel. (Next day, while buying some food in a small shop, the assistant corrected my pronunciation: it's not Kin-gussie but King-ussie.) For the second successive day my calf became painful after 100 miles giving rise for

www.aukweb.net concern. After a shower at the youth hostel I found a quiet room, laid on my back and elevated my legs on a chair - the next best thing to a massage according to an article in Cycling Weekly. 138 miles today. Day 14 I was on the road by 8 am and bought rolls, cheese and fruit in town. After passing through Newtonmore I rejoined the A9, back on to the coarse grit surface for another 50 miles. A steady climb to 462 metres took me over the Pass of Drumochter and through Pitlochry to find a cafe at Ballinluig where I stopped for coffee. The sun was shining and I had a good tailwind as I headed towards Perth when I noticed a car stopped at the side of the road. As I approached I saw a female motorist: with a rear wheel puncture and stopped to help her jack the car up and replace the wheel. With my good deed for the day done I entered Perth hoping for a quick ride to Edinburgh. How wrong could I be. Trying to find my way out of Perth was an ordeal, all signposts pointing to motorways and I ended up on a dual carriageway going to Dundee. After jumping over a few barriers I got back to the city centre and found the correct road. From Perth to Edinburgh by road is great if you're in a car - just follow the motorway but on a bike not only is there no direct route but also no signs to Edinburgh either. A map with a scale of 1:400,00 didn't help the situation. I now had a strong headwind as I zigzagged from one road to another following useless signposts, which told me nothing I wanted to know. The first signpost for Edinburgh since I left Perth was on the approach to the Forth Bridge and the metal ramps up to the cycle path were a dog's dinner. I'd like to meet the guy who designed it and make him spend the day riding it. It's now 5.10 pm and very cold. I'm wearing three layers plus a Goretex cape, Tudor longs and gloves; in two days' time it will be June, start of our summer. After crossing the bridge my next decision turned out to be my worst nightmare. Not knowing which was best, to go through Edinburgh city centre or take the ring road, I chose the latter, hoping for a fast ride. The traffic was horrendous, screaming past me at high speed; I was forced to ride in the gutter, trying to avoid cats' eyes. The noise was deafening and once again used my earplugs. After what seemed an eternity on this cursed road a Little Chef appeared and with shattered nerves and feeling totally depressed I stopped for an evening meal and waited for the rush hour traffic to end. Once out of Edinburgh the A9 is a peaceful, undulating road with pleasant scenery and I felt in a good mood again after a two hour stop in the Little Chef. I was heading for Melrose youth hostel and in Galashiels decide to phone ahead to check for bed spaces (only the first time I've done this in 13 days). Just a moment, what's this? Melrose YH is closed for repairs. I cursed myself for not checking the handbook properly and spent half an hour looking for B&B in Galashiels. As it was still daylight I'd lost track of time: it was 10.30 when I knocked on the guest house door and surprised the landlady with my late arrival. The pain in my calf hadn't recurred. 162 miles today. Day 15 A cold and misty morning greeted my 8.40 start on the hilly road to Jedburgh. My map showed the A68 as the shortest route south but there were faint alarm bells ringing in my head. A68? Wait a moment, I'm not a member of the infamous A68 Club, exclusive to finishers of the first LondonEdinburghLondon. I could recall Sheila Simpson's article in Arrivee "To EL and Back" and quote: "After a night without sleep, the hills of the A68 seemed magnified and, no matter how carefully these experienced cyclists rode, the climbs drained more than they knew was prudent in the first half of such a marathon ride." Oh well, I'd climbed so many hills in the last fortnight a few more weren't going to worry me now; my map showed only three chevrons to Carterway Heads, about 60 miles away. (I'll have to write to the cartographers at Michelin and tell them they've missed about a dozen!) It was a long climb to 418 metres where I crossed the border at Carter Bar; a freezing fog had descended and it was so cold I stopped to put my overshoes on. At the border I checked my computer, 1,965 miles in total, 982 of them in Scotland. Like an oasis in the desert a tea-caravan appeared out of the fog and I stopped for a hot drink. I must have looked in a bad way as the lady gave me a second cup free as I stood outside looking enviously through the window into the warm interior. For the next 36 miles to Corbridge it was a continuous succession of steep hills with the road ahead constantly disappearing under the brow of the next hill. Turning off the A68 into Corbridge for lunch I found it to be a super Olde Worlde town with a choice of good cafes and a baker's shop selling my favourite Bannock Buns, the first I had found on this trip. Why don't they sell these in the South? they are excellent cycling food. Another 20 hilly miles followed, then approaching Darlington the road levelled out at last. Through Northallerton and into Thirsk where I stopped in a chip shop for meal of jacket potatoes and baked beans. Seeing my Croydon jersey the owner reminisced with me on happy days spent living in Croydon: so much night life there, she said, not like this little town with nothing to do. My brevet card was stamped at 23.30 in an all-night garage in York. The young lady on the till, enquiring where I was going on a bike at such a late hour, gave me a giant Mars bar free. I had now decided to ride through the night as I had about 370 miles to go and 42 hours to the deadline. Stopping for a ten minute doze in a bus shelter was a big

mistake as I awoke freezing cold and couldn't stop my teeth chattering for the next few miles. Heading for the main BR station in Doncaster I hoped to find an all-night cafe but was out of luck. A local taxi driver pointed one out to me across the road, full of chain-smoking cabbies -a real greasy spoon but a welcome haven in the middle of the night. My planned route through Gainsborough, Lincoln and Peterborough was now cast aside as I decided to bash down the A1 through the night while it was still traffic free. Longing for a hot drink and a meal I passed many Little Chefs still not open before I found a roadside caravan just opening at about 6 am. They refused payment from me, I must of looked in a bad way. Day 16 Today was just a blur as I pressed on down the A1, glued to the white line as traffic roared past. I must be crazy. After a good breakfast and a wash and brush-up in the lorry drivers' wash room in the Welcome Break at Newark (or was it Grantham?) I felt fit for the ride to Baldock in Hertfordshire where the Al changes to motorway. It was now 5.10 pm and it's a frantic dash through the hills of Hertfordshire and Essex to catch the ferry at Tilbury. At 8.15 I still have 21 miles to go and I'm flat out on empty dual carriageways trying to get the last ferry at 10 pm. It's a fraught and frustrating ride as darkness closes in as there as no signposts to the ferry, only to Tilbury and I've no idea where the docks are. I arrived at 9.45 to find the ferry leaves at 10.15, having been out of action all day due to mechanical trouble; I'm now relieved at not having arrived earlier. The captain gave me a free fare when I told him I'd just ridden non-stop from Scotland. 396 miles since yesterday morning in Galashiels with an average moving speed of 14 mph.

Day 17 The last day. Am I glad. Long distance cycling has suddenly become a bit of a chore and I'm craving to get into my own bed again. It's sunny but quite cold and I have total power failure after 23 miles and stop to eat two bananas and a Mars bar. I can't believe the hill out of Folkestone to Dover, 14% and long, it feels like climbing Fleet Moss again. The penultimate Brevet Card stamp is at 11.45 am in Dover where a hotel clerk uses his stamp upside down. Leaving Dover I stopped at my last Little Chef for coffee, fudge cake and a Danish pastry. I expect my teeth will rot after all the junk I've eaten on this trip. The A20 to Dover is fairly quiet as a new motorway has taken all the traffic, but the road surface is diabolical, potholes and bumps continually jarring my aching backside. Stopping to examine my rear wheel, which has developed a wobble, I am horrified to find a one inch split in the side of the rim where a spoke has nearly pulled through. Deciding not to try repairs I carry on gently for the final 60 miles with the tyre wearing the paint off the chainstay. Charing, Harrietsham and Maidstone are passed as I start to get onto familiar home territory on the A25 into Sevenoaks. A final climb of Botley Hill and it's a seven mile downhill to home in Sanderstead where Pauline is waiting with a super roast dinner and a bottle of Champagne.

Summary I'd been on the road for 16 days and 12¼ hours, covering 2,474 miles (3,918 km) with only 4 hours' rain on the first morning. The total cost had been £250 and despite eating to the maximum my weight had dropped 14lbs. I'd had no punctures and the only mechanical trouble was the split rim on the last afternoon. I can't say I enjoyed every mile but the Peak District, the Pennine Way, the Borders and the West Coast of Scotland were outstanding, more than compensating for the boring bits in between. Most useful items carried: a teaspoon and a small Tupperware tub which I filled with muesli and orange juice for a satisfying snack.