Day 21: The Jurassic Coast Home

I have tried to write this a couple of times now... I’ve taken a couple hours off and walked along the sea front, but nothing comes easily.
I took my time packing up this morning, knowing that I had the time to chill out and relax – at least a little. I made the decision that I wanted to do the last couple of hundred miles over a couple of days. Riding as hard and as far as I have, I am aware that the last few hundred miles are the miles when a mistake, an accident, is most likely to happen. It has also meant that I have had the opportunity to ride some of the most beautiful coast-line. That is not to say that the coast I have ridden thus far has not been beautiful, but if the light hits the sand and if the rain stays away, then there is nothing like the sun glistening over the surface of the water and across the face of rock.
I rode into Beer; everyone has said it is picturesque – the archetypal chocolate box scene. It wasn’t out of my way, and it was an opportunity to stop for a coffee, but when I arrived, I was a little disheartened... the water-front is indeed wonderful and the sun produced an amazing liquid gold crown to the bay. I didn’t get a coffee. I have noted it before, but people do obviously look quite uncomfortable when a hairy biker pulls into their little bit of peace and quiet. As I walked up the cliff-top path, I noted people looking and to start with you smile. You know what is going through their minds, and you also know that they have no idea who you really are. Would it have been any different if there were two of us instead of just me...? I don’t know, but it certainly would be fun to find out. After a while though it becomes boring. I walked back to my bike and when I arrived a black Peugeot 307 was parked just behind my bike it wasn’t blocking me and I wasn’t parked illegally so I wasn’t bothered. What did bother me was the guy starting the engine and then pulling out of the way when I started my engine. I pulled away and so did he, he pulled around in front of me and drove up the hill out of Beer nice and slowly, just keeping pace. We left Beer and rejoined the A352 towards Lyme Regis and within a mile he pulled over and I rode past. I don’t know if he was an officer in an unmarked car, but he certainly acted like one. (I know, riding around for a few years I’ve had a few follow me, and I’ve been stopped a couple of times too.)
Lyme Regis was a little brighter, not necessarily in terms of the weather though as the wind picked up and down came the first spots of rain. I had parked by the waterfront, the intention being to stop just long enough to take a couple of pictures before driving on to West Bay and then Dorchester. I pulled up next to another (older) bike and got chatting to a guy called Donald. The bike started life as a Moto Guzzi when he originally bought it back in the 1970s, but over the years he has had to make a few modifications and build in a few bolt-ons in order to keep her going. We got to talking about things to see and places to go and as impressed as he was at my tour around Britain and Ireland, I was just as impressed by his ride around and across the south of France. He hasn’t been for a few years now but the short time we had to talk about our journeys, you could see the interest beginning to peak once more.
There is definitely an itch that needs to be scratched. I am just a few hours from home, and yet I am already feeling the draw back to the road. There have been a few moments when I have sat at junctions looked right, smiled and known I’m going home, but then looked left and also known that if I make that turn, then the journey begins once more – only this time in reverse. I’m going home... but will admit to thinking about the next ride and the next challenge.
The greatest point of the day came as I turned toward Corfe castle. There it was on the hill top, standing tall and true as it has for 1,000 years.And wouldn't you know it... right in the way, a herd of cows decide to cross the road :0) I have shared the road with other motor vehicles, in fact that has been the majority case, but I have also had the pleasure of sharing it with sheep, goats, highland cows and now the cows at Corfe. Marvellous.
I rode to the final B&B of the tour. A lovely little place in the centre of Swanage town: A Great Escape, and a charming, vibrant, excitable lady (Sue) who runs the place. It is my final night on the road and she has given me a wonderfully comfortable room to help me relax this one last time.
Tomorrow I am speaking to BBC South, in an interview that they want to do about the ride, the charity, the reasons behind it, the best bits, the expectations of going home and the future... I’m not sure... the only real thing I am sure about is the planning of the next.

Day 20: A Day at the Zoo

Leaving a place is never easy, and after another enjoyable evening with family, it was a difficult moment. You never really know what to do or say and so you just go... don't look back, just ride. I guess that had I started looking over my shoulder, I would have probably never started this trip. Still I left behind a lovely family as I made my way out of Plymouth. I have, wherever possible kept as close to the coast and from Plymouth to Tipton St. John, I could have done the whole thing in less than 2 hours, but that would have completed defeated the object. So the coast it was...

I received an email from an old friend (Jason) just before I left on the ride and being as crap as I am with these things, I didn't get the chance to talk to him before I left. But he had said, if I was passing through then I should give him a bell and we'd meet up. Brilliant. I rode to Paignton Zoo where Jason now works. I didn't go there to look at the animals (although I was tempted), I wanted to spend a couple of hours with an old friend.

It is a very strange feeling but if Jason was 14yrs old the last time I saw him, that makes it 4yrs since we last spoke! He walked round the corner and bloody hell... a little taller, a little bigger build (not the skinny little kid I remembered), but the face was the same. We smiled at each other, we shock hands, and then we embraced. It was great to see him (and it brings a lump to the throat when you think of these things and the memories that come floading back). We talked about life, our families and kids. It was a lovely time, but I needed to get on and was aware of the fact that Jason had things to do as well. So I was off, with another great memory of another great friend. (Jason, I will be back... family and all.)

As I've completed little bits of the journey, I have met some really nice, interesting and friendly people, Tipton St. John, I am pleased to say prove no less. I arrived at the B&B a little after 4pm, which they had said was fine, and just in front of me was another guy in a little Peugeot 106. We smiled and suffered that awkward moment when you don't know what to say. We'd never met, I don't look the most presentable, personable person in the world and I think he would admit to being a little tired. The ice-breaker was easy. I rang the doorbell... no answer, I knocked on the door... no answer. 'Oh well' I said, 'sleep on the floor then.' He laughed. 'I'll be alright I've got a car.' He rang the bell on the other door, but still no answer. Feeling a little less tense, and definatley jaded we began to break down the barriers as we stood outside the farmhouse waiting for someone to appear. His name was John, he and his family were moving into a place just along the road tomorrow, so he was the advanced party... you know signing money away, picking up keys and everything else that goes along with it. They had spent years in the area on holiday and so had decided to bite the bullet and were moving from Leicester. 'Wow' I said, small world, I was in Leicester about 2½ wks ago. So another point of discussion. We talked about his job and how he'd come to decide on the smallest town in the world. It was an interesting moment. It was a pleasure to meet John. There are people in the world that you just click with and I'm really pleased to say we did. We just hit it off. We sorted ourselves out, showered, cahanged and started to think about the evening. John was going down into the village to find out about the Tennis club, and offered me a lift and the chance of a pint of Best in the local pub if I was interested. Of course I was... beer and conversation! So the pub it was. But Tipton St. John is the village in Hot Fuzz. Not seen it... then do so and you will realise what I'm talking about. We got to the pub to find that it was shut until 6pm, so nothing else for it... we walked around the village and spoke to the peopel in the garage/petrol station and the village shop. That's it. That's Tipton St. John. One pub, one shop & one garage. I smiled. John asked about the Tennis club, for which he had to speak to 3 different people. 1 in the garage, 1 in the shop and then 1 on the phone. He was dead excited and really wanted a game of Tennis. He'd been up since the early hours of the morning and was just about ready to smash a ball around for a while and release some of that pent up stress.The club met at 6pm. I smiled I could see where this was going. John got the answers that he needed and I think was very pleased with the outcome and as he put the phone down I expected him to say goodbye, I'd go to the pub and try to get the blog written and he'd go off and play Tennis. 'Shut' he said. The club meet on a Wednesday. So that was it, pub then. So off we went.

As I have already said, we just clicked and that was fantastic, but perhaps better than that was the evening spent at the pub and the peopel we met. One old guy came over to get a pint as we stopped at the bar. Politely, John and I said hello to the guy and then carried on our conversation. But he wasn't happy wither that so he decided to join it and povided us with many stories about the village and village life since he'd arrived in the 1970s. We let him carry on and just smiled to each other as he continued to talk. He had been responsible for this and done that and then there was the time he got a commendation from the local Chief Inspector... my ears pricked up. 'Sorry,' I said 'you received a commendation, and what was that for...' so he told us. He talked about the traffic calming that he'd put in place after an accident. The one way system he'd set up for the local bicycle road race... He was the local copper! Then it happened. Every worst nightmare, over steps the barman... 'And another one Davey?' 'Eh, go on then Dave... one more'. Remember I said Hot Fuzz... He was Davey, the barman, Dave... and the bloody garage owner is David! It brings up all those memories of not only Hot Fuzz, but Sleepy Hollow and Royston Vasey. It really is a local place for local people :0)

We had dinner in the pub and drunk a few more pints before slowly stumbling our way back up the hill to the B&B. These are the nights which have proved such fun, and provide such great memories. Times I will cherish.

Day 19: The last dealership round

If I never see a Morrison’s store again, I’ll be happy. Only twice on this trip have I had the misfortune to need to stop in a Morrison’s and it is an experience which I never wish to repeat. The first was Leicester. I need to reach Omar to let him know where I was and that I was safe, and wouldn’t you know it, surprise, surprise my iPhone battery was dead. Quick thinking said, pop into the shop explain the situation (they could see I was travelling because the bike was covered in bags and panniers) and ask if I could plug the phone in for 5mins so that it had enough charge to get me through to Omar then he could come and meet me. The staff response was: ‘sorry sir company policy says you are not allowed to use our electric sockets’. Completely aghast I left. I turned the corner and a car park attendant was stood in his little hut about to go home. I explained the situation once again, he took the phone and charger and plugged it straight in (I hadn’t told him about Morrison’s). 5minutes later I was on my way again. Done.
Imagine then my horror when my warning light comes on and I need to get petrol, I admit I should have been watching it a little more closely, but I hadn’t. I saw signs for a superstore and made straight for it, it was Morrison’s. I thought about it… but had no choice, I had no idea how much further it was to the next petrol station so I went in. Now, as a motorcyclist, I prefer to use the ‘pay at the pump’ service. You don’t have to take your lid off, there’s no messing about wasting time and you get on the road pretty quickly. I have no idea how many petrol stations I have visited on this run, or how many I have gone to in the years that I have been riding, but once you put the card in the reader it authorises payment and away you go, fill your boots as it were... or so I thought.
I had no reason to take my lid off and I had no reason to get off my bike. There is no centre stand (the bike is to bloody heavy for a centre stand) so you keep the bike balanced in order to fill the tank. Except in Morrison’s. Over the loud speaker some banshee shouts out that unless I get off my bike she will not authorise the fuel... so I got off. I put it on the stand and then went and asked her if it was me she was talking to. ‘Yes’ she said. ‘I’m sorry…’ I said, ‘but my bike only has a side stand and the fuel won’t fill if it is not upright. That’s how you fill it.’ ‘No it’s not. You put it on the stand and fill it, company policy says you get off the bike to fill it or I can’t authorise it.’ I just stood there. Authorisation is done by the card payment system not the checkout, that’s the whole point... ‘But if I put the fuel in on the side stand it won’t fill, I need to be on it so that it balances, it’s a 17lt tank and it won’t get more than 11-12lts if it’s not upright.’ ‘Oh yes it will, my husband rides a one...’ ‘No it won’t it’s too big.’ What I should have said is what bike does your husband ride, but the moment was gone. ‘Then you just won’t get a full tank will you.’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; she is probably the most obnoxious women I have had the misfortune to meet. Do I write to Morrison’s, would it make any difference? If a company employs f**#ing idiots like that, I doubt it would do any good at all – the letter would probably be against company policy anyway!
So I added my fuel and away I went. 11lts was all that it would take (now not to label the point, but when I got to the Texaco services on the A38, they didn’t ask me to get off the bike, and they didn’t ask me to take off the lid, even though I paid in the shop. There you go… Morrison’s, sick it up your ass!
That aside, I have had a great time... I stayed with Kerry & Tim (Kerry is my cousin, Tim her husband). The girls - Caitlin and Grace were dead excitable and were exstatic about having their pictures taken sat on the bike. Caitlin has a new jacket (a fake leather) which she had to wear when she sat on the bike... mum told her she wasn't going to become a biker chick, sorry mum I think your little girl's alreadyt made that choice.
It is strange, but I really don't like turning up somewhere without having things already sorted. So for instance, a bottle of wine to have with dinner, that sort of thing, but because of limited space and a bike that already looks like a pack mule it just can't be done. So I just grateful of the opportunity to take a short walk to the local shop. Wine was supped, laughter was heard and the conversation proved welcome.
It was also the day for the last dealership on the road. Again, a strange feeling having ridden so very far, and for so very long. The rain just continued to drain at my energy, but as I turned the corner and rode up the last bit of hill, it could have been spitting fire and I really wouldn't have cared. I'd made it. I have ridden to 19 of the official dealerships in 19 days and have just one left to complete the list of 20 dealerships and that I one is at home. I am just a few short days, riding through what should be (if the rain holds off) some beautiful towns and villages.

You might have noticed how I have really avoided discussing Land's End and that's because it is shit! (Sorry)

At least John O'Groats has kept it's dignity. Land's End is now a tacky, mismatched carnival, where anything that should be there really is. For instance, and then I'll leave it there; what has Doctor Who got to do with Land's End... and please don't say that one of the episodes comes from there, that really doesn't cut it. I was... disappointed.

Day 18: Aly does it again... A great B&B

I woke to a beautiful sunny Bristol City this morning. I was so pleased. It made such a change from looking out and seeing a grey sky and water cascading down the window. I ate breakfast and talked to George about his plans for the B&B – although I’m not sure if he was just thinking aloud rather than having any real solid plans. I packed, put on the stereo and began the day with the stereophonics. Blinding. I hit the road and the rain hit me...
I am still completely amazed that there can be so much rain in one month. I have been on the road for 18 days now and a quick calculation tells you that it’s rained – heavily – for 13 of those days. I’m soaked, my clothes are soaked, my boots are soaked (and never fully dry out even if I have a day without rain), hell everything in the world is soaked! I guess the most annoying thing to come from all the rain is that actually I can’t show anyone some of the wonderful places I’ve been, because there’s nothing to see but rain!
I rode round to Bridgwater to get another stamp on my card. I had a chance to have a brief chat with some of the guys/girls there and actually, they were pretty nice. I had a coffee and a look around. If nothing else it gave me time to relax for 5mins before getting on my bike for the long haul round to Bude, along the old A39. In the corner of the showroom (to the left of, and behind a set of stairs leading to the clothing dept) is a beautiful 1916 – model ‘J’, just sat there. I know that it might not be much to look at, but in actual fact when you think about the age, the styling and its history, it is a beautiful thing. I asked one of the guys about it and he proudly said, ‘It’s all original’. Then turned and went to sell a Ducati! I’m not a snob; I have ridden plenty of bikes of various makes, styles and sizes, but surely... I don’t know it just felt wrong. How can you do your best to sell one thing when you’re faced with another? Anyway, they were a nice bunch, I enjoyed my coffee and I left.
Sometimes I wonder why I said I wanted to avoid the motorways (wherever possible) and stick to the old A-roads. Two things about that, firstly, what a laugh I’ve had today tearing through the countryside (well tearing as best you can on a Harley Davidson). I rode from Bridgwater -to- Barnstable through some of the most fantastic countryside I seen and the most amazing colours... and then I realised that it had actually stopped raining. There were greens, and reds, yellows and browns, just building the patchwork, so often quoted. I rode through Watchet, there was no real need, but as this where the kiddies used to go with Nan & Dan, I wanted to capture a tiny bit of the excitement they felt. I rode through the little town and along toward the harbour, before turning and coming back past the boat museum. It was a wonderful ride.
If you have never driven in this part of the country, all I can tell you is that you need to take a very small car, with a very large engine :0)
The roads are amazing. I rounded a corner as I left the moors behind me and then the road just ever so slowly began to drop away, it was a wonderful – nervous feeling, as you watch the ground far, far below you and realise that you have to navigate all the way down.
At Lynton there is a road which has a gradient of 25% as you head down the cliff face into the town, with emergency run-off areas at every corner – just in case you get it really wrong... As you make your way back up the other side the road inclines to 16% which makes the road far longer and far tighter as you navigate around the bends. And yes, it’s a valley basin which means that as you head down into the valley (and back up the other side) it rains making the road greasy and very slippery on two wheels. It was hairy, my heart rate did increase, but then if it didn’t have those moments, it wouldn’t be much of an adventure would it.
The final part of the journey took me out through Bideford and then down to Bude, and most appropriately along the Atlantic Highway. It’s a lovely piece of road and it provides some great scenery through which to ride as the sun glistens on the surface of the water. It was essentially a great way to end the day. The next stop was looming and I knew I needed a shower and a comfortable bed.

So here I sit with a hundred thoughts and a thousand memories. As I left Bideford today and made my way onto the Atlantic Highway the mile-o-meter finally hit 5,000mls. This one journey has taken me some 2,660mls thus far and I have just one more coast to go.

Day 17: Tea & Jaffa Cakes!

I haven't pigged out on this trip at all, so it was coming. I left dad stood on the driveway this morning, with a strange feeling. I’ve had a few when I’ve been riding, but I’m not quite sure what this was all about. We smile at each other said our goodbyes and I was off. I think it was just the shear knowledge that once the bridge was out of the way, I’d be back in England and only days from home. It’s got nothing to do with being away too long, but everything to do with the excitement that goes along with success. I guess it’s that same feeling you have when you’re running. All the way out you feel good about it, and then you turn the corner and you no longer feel as good. Doubts begin to creep in about how far you’ve come, and how far is left, you feel like giving up, you’re so tired – and the slightest thing can annoy or upset. Then there’s the other part of you that begins to see the end in sight and the adrenalin begins to pump a little faster, a little harder. Home isn’t that far away any more and all those things you take for granted are just a short distance away. So you smile, you feel something inside, and you push on.
I have absolutely no idea if that has made any sense, but it made me feel good anyway :0) The road was wet! It rained! It kept on raining! In fact, it rained from when I left dad’s all the way to Bristol. Sometimes it was heavy. Sometimes it was torrential. Sometimes it formed a mist and slowed everyone to a crawl and at others it was just damp. You know, that dreadful rain that is so fine you end soaked to the skin, but would never believe it possible. As I crossed the Severn Bridge I couldn’t resist the moment to stop stick on the hazards and take a picture... As you pass through the two sets of uprights, the first is Wales, the second England... that was the moment I crossed the border. Home.
It’s a bit of a way I’ve travelled and when I stepped off the bike today at a little over 2,500mls I took pause and took the picture. Not only will my bike need a service, I might need a few new bits myself. My boots are sodden, my jacket clings to me when I put it on, and peals from me when I take it off. And my gloves, well the thermaline might need a few stitches... :0)
Bristol is a lovely city and although I arrived in good time, by the time I had showered and warmed up, all I really felt like doing was eating, drinking and sleeping. Honest.
The Harley Dealership was very close to where I was staying. I didn’t know that, I had no idea, but they were in hte same road – about 400yrs from each other, so I went in. Made my introductions, said hello, bought a coffee(!), bought a dealership pin(!) and left. The whole thing took less than 20mins.
I have seen some strange things in my time away, but none so strange as a pub that had been built in the guise of a castle. Fantastic... It made me smile and decided that was the place for me, so on I went. The staff were very friendly, the food hot and pleasant and the external surrounding brilliant, yet the theme had not continued inside and that was a little disappointing. Still it rounded off a wet and dreary day quite well.
Then it was back to the b&b to prepare for tomorrow and update the blog and speak to the family. So, after a brief tour (finding Sainsbury’s and picking up supplies), it was back to the room to settle in for the evening. In all with Wales behind and the sun finally warming the earth, I felt good.

Sorry no access!

Day 16: The Harley Has Landed

The AM call:
I rose at 6am; it was a night of sporadic sleep. It’s amazing, but when there is something desperately important to achieve (like catching the ferry or having to pay for another ticket), your body jumps. I really need to reset my internal clock. Still, I rose. I had to check in at 6.30am and that meant no breakfast. The first morning that I would miss a good solid meal. It’s strange, but in all the years I have not eaten breakfast, I have probably eaten far more throughout the day than I would have done had I just took the time to sort out a good breakfast to start the day.
Looking around the cabin onboard the fast-cat, adults looked stressed, children are running a muck and the occasional idiot (like me) are sat watching those others around them. The crossing is set to be dreadful, at least that’s what the forecast says and I have to say that the captain didn’t sound to convincing as he gave us the information in his welcome aboard spiel. Just looking out of the window you can see the horizon rise and fall as the rain lashes against the glass… and we haven’t even left port yet. Should make it kind of exciting.
The other side of the crossing will bring me into Fishguard. I’ve never been and have no idea what is there, but I do know that I have a hundred stories from history about the Welsh coast and the Welsh people.

Travelling on:
The crossing was as I had imagined it would be... nobody really looked to be enjoying themselves and a good number of them sat patiently by the toilet door – just in case. Children screamed... a very young boisterous boy gave his parents hell and when that wasn’t working he cried at them, hit his mother and then cried some more. Jees... I know the crossing was bad, but that little brat needed a slap on the arse (my apologies to anyone who doesn’t agree with smacking children, but sometimes...). And, there was the first sight of land. The Welsh coast-line just ahead and in all the wonder I thought it would have, I didn't feel a bloody thing, other than sorry I'd left Ireland and the last couple of days of sun, for the wonders of more rain. Ah, the traditional British summer.
I have to remark upon it once before, but in Ireland nobody acknowledges you, I know I keep on, but it’s just weird... and yet, here, on the main-land (with the exception of the twit on the ferry), the first thing I noted as I left the ferry was an acknowledgement. (O.k. some more about the twit.) As we disembarked, one guy rushed to reach solid ground (at least that’s what I hoped was the reason), and as he did so he threw the straps from his bike in quick speed – almost hitting my bike. You’re not supposed to release your own bike because of health and safety and all that, but some people just can’t wait. A couple of crew members pointed to him and shouted and yet still he kept going... I waved at him to stop and he just looked at me angrily. I stood there, it would have been entertaining to let him go, but it would have caused a great deal of damage to a beautiful bike. Twit (I know no other name for him – there are a couple of others that I could give him, but Twit will do) was riding a Honda Varadero 1000. They are big bikes, not the heaviest, but very, very tall. He sat there looking at me and another of the crewmen shouted something at him – something not very nice. I’m sure he couldn’t hear because he had his lid on and engine revving. I get the feeling that he thought they were just delaying him. I walked over and with my hand in front of him to make sure he realised I wanted him to stay where he was, I bent down and released the final cleat. In his hast he’d released everything and just left it lying there so as he rode away the underside was still secure, had the loose end snagged on anything, he would have gone one way and the bike the other... Twit.
I disembarked into a horrible rain storm, freezing, howling wind and queue of traffic, and then I spotted a small cafe next door to the Tesco Express what a wonderful sight. The traffic was going nowhere fast as the weather closed in for the day, so I did the only sensible thing I could do. I stopped for breakfast...

The ride from Fishguard was dreadful, and the photos really dont do it justice. The first is the roadside view going up the hills in the valley... all you get is white-out from the mist, and rain and the traffic is split in two, those doing 20-30mph - as they know it's dangerous to do anything more; and those doing 50-60mph, because the roadsigns say national speed limit. The second photo is the view looking down into the valley I have just ridden up. Beautiful isn’t it. I wanted to spend some time in Wales just looking, if nothing else then looking at the scenery, but it just wasn’t there for me. Disappointing really as it can be just a lovely country. I rode down into the Cardiff area and off at Maestag... Again a wonderfully green place, if it’s not cold, windy and wet; which it was :0)
It isn’t often that I get to see my dad and so I make a point of doing so whenever I can. We sat, we talked, we drank tea, talked some more and waited for Di and Kimberley (dad’s granddaughter) to get home. Kimberley is 12yrs old and, like Corrie, thinks she’s 18yrs already. But it was wonderful to spend time with the pair of them... Dad sat in silence as Kimberley waffled on and on... like girls do. It took some getting used to, but as dad said, everywhere he goes, she goes, whether he’s walking the dogs, going shopping or just running an errand, and her mouth never stops. :0)

She was most impressed with the photo’s Aly took of bands like Pussycat Dolls and N-Dubs, and once she had access to them, she was silent and everyone else was knackered. We did sleep well.

Day 15:‘...Shane. Are you there?’

Today has been an extraordinary day in many ways. I have ridden the last of my Irish tour in brilliant sunshine; I have met some lovely people and finally looked across the Irish Sea toward home. A long day, but such a great day.
Ireland has a wonderful road system (once you’re out of the city, but I’ll come to that). If you want to get somewhere, you look for the biggest town/city in the vicinity and that's where you head for. Once you get there, branch roads then take you to the locality you want. Don’t believe me, try it. I rode away from Meadowview this morning and made straight for the main link road (M50), which is the ring-road around Dublin, and 2 junctions later I as on the N7 (A-road) heading for Waterford. Now I thought that somewhere 100mls (+) away, would be slightly more than a little confusing to reach, but you hit the N7 and there it is directions all the way through... Brilliant. Literally, I drop on to the N7 and the first road-sign said Waterford.
Waterford Harley Davidson, is almost as close to a family business as you will get in Britain, or possibly Europe, in that if you are not family, you are part of the wider family. Everyone knows you and if they don’t, then they want to. I arrived had coffee (which cheered me no end), and met Lenny. Lenny is a large gentleman, in life and personality and smiles the whole time. He is endearing and just puts you at ease as soon as you meet him. He asked about the trip and the charity. He looked at my pins, he looked at the dealership card, stamped it, reached into his pocket and gave me €20, ‘Put that in your kitty.’ He said. I thanked him and with the dealership pin, he reached into the drawer and offered me the Celtic Chapter pin. Now it doesn’t sound much, but no other dealer/chapter has done that... it was a small unspoken symbol of respect, to which he added, ‘it’s a good thing you’re doing. I only wish I had the time to make that kind of road-trip.’ We sat with our bikes; we drank coffee and chatted for a while, other staff and friends joining in as the time past. I have been a little apprehensive about the bike as I’ve met a few people on my travels, but Lenny had nothing but compliments for the bike. It made me feel good and secretly a little proud of the choice I made. It may mean nothing to anyone else, but to have someone like Lenny give his approval means a great deal to me (and it may mean nothing – ask me about it), but around his neck hung a 1% emblem.
I have loved visiting every dealership (some more than others), but Lenny’s is one that I will enjoy returning to with some anticipation. The guys were busily readying themselves for a bash tomorrow evening and then off to the Celtic Thunder rally next week. All were a little disappointed that I couldn’t join them for either or both. Guinness, bikes and lots of loud music, a great combination, but I think it best I politely declined... could you imagine the mess :0)
I gave them my thanks and said my good-byes. I will return.

I have noticed a lot of things in Ireland that I have not seen anywhere else. But a couple of things need repeating. First, it is customary to nod, or wave at other motor-cyclists as you travel as a sign of acknowledgement. We are a strange breed after all. Yet here in Ireland (both north and south) that isn’t the case. Rarely did anyone return the acknowledgement as I rode. The obvious exceptions were other Harley riders and foreigners, who (like me) know no better. However, that leads me quite nicely to the second point, which is, that the one acknowledgement I did get, was the one least expected. As I rode toward Rosslare along the N25, I passed a long caravan of campers, cars and tourers (yes, they were). Not strange you say, but what I was surprised at was the acknowledgement. The older men in the group stood (with fag in mouth) and gave me the thumbs up, the younger men clapped and the women and young children just stood and watched... I don’t know why, maybe it was because I was a solo rider with luggage surrounding my bike (the epitome of the easy rider) but I obviously touched a chord, as it did with me. I nodded and gave a small salute.
My final memory, which will stay ‘til the day I die came as I sat in the lounge area drinking my last Guinness. I was able to realise every stereo-type I’d even noted, as a young Irish fellow stands shouting into his mobile phone.
‘Hello... hello, Shane. Are you there?’ Obviously I thought. You phoned and he answered. ‘Yes, yes, it’s me. Look I’ve been talking to (friends name – didn’t catch it). Yes, yes. He says he can’t email you back because you didn’t put the email address on the one you sent him.’ At that my ears pricked... ‘No, no, no... he says if you can email him again with your email address then he’ll be able to send you his. O.K? Yes, yes he will...’ I almost choked on my ‘Genius’. I said nothing, just smiled and drank. Fabulous stuff this Guinness.
I go back to the mainland tomorrow with such great memories, from such a short visit. I have really enjoyed my ride through Ireland and look forward spending a little more time here in the years to come.

Day 14: Eire

I didn't sleep very well last night, much to my surprise, but then I think it a combination of factors, not least the fact that I am constantly on the go. But the bed was dead comfy and the room spacious, the shower hot and soothing and the views across the tops of the houses and into the valley were spectacular. My only regret is the lack of time that I have to spend in this lovely area.

I had breakfast with an Italian couple, riding a BMW from home (in northern Italy) around Britain! Now that’s a journey. Yet they are doing the whole thing in something like 4 weeks and have really had less time to see things than I have. They have made one stop a day and sometimes the choices weren’t the best (their words not mine). But then what do you do? You are in a completely alien place and really have little idea what places are like apart from the propaganda, sorry leaflets you find. Still i gave them half an hour longer than I wanted to spend at the B&B, not because I felt that I had to, but because I wanted to. It was interesting to talk to people from a totally different perspective, doing – essentially – the same thing as me.
Harley Davidson, Antrim, is a fine place. The staff are friendly, open and cheerful. They know how to make you welcome and they ply you with coffee, and more importantly, they have wifi which they were very happy for me to make use of. So I did (not knowing whether I would have net access at the B&B). They signed off on the card for me, gave me a pin and directions to an O2 store, so I could replace the charger lead, which I left in Fort William... I know, real dumb, but a story for another time. Honest. I took my time in Antrim. It is a lovely little town, and it gave me time to dodge the rain as I got petrol and sent birthday cards. Happy Birthday mum! Happy Birthday Dit! Yet even in the 40mins or so I was there, it still managed to rain, and hard. It only rained once today. All the way from Antrim to Belfast and I didn’t care. I’d done one more dealership and seen a little more of this green and pleasant land, and as I left Belfast on the A1, the sun came out. I had the warmth of a mid-afternoon sun, from Belfast to Dublin and then away into the evening. It was nothing like the past 3 or 4 days. In fact, the opposite. It’s the weather that really does make all the difference. The road is long and open; you get a wonderful sense of seclusion – privacy, if you will – which just leaves you with your thoughts and dreams. But that is it... thoughts and dreams. I had wondered what it would be like to cross the border from north to south and I wasn’t disappointed. The Irish really do things a little more eccentrically than anyone else and that gave me a pause to smile.

O.k. I was a little disappointed. You round a bend in the road and it gives you a road sign telling you A1: The South. That’s it. If you turn the roundabout and head off on the A1, you are entering Eire.
I rode and rode, I wanted to make good time and I was. Not because I wanted to be able to do anything in particular, but for the main so that I could rest, relax and recover. Yet, 30 miles (or so) out of Dublin, I made the decision to keep going. If I could, if I made it to the Dublin dealership today, then I had just Waterford City to do tomorrow and that would be far less hassle. I wanted to be able to ride the last part of my Irish trip in comfort and not have to race anywhere. I will admit, I got lost. In my defence, when I put the dealership into the ‘maps app’, it gave me directions straight there. However, it’s now one way and you can’t get up the street. So you go around, but as you enter it from the other direction the road s blocked and you are diverted back where you started. I am not known for my patience, or ability to see the funny side of stupidity, but when I stopped and asked a Guarda how to get there he said... ‘you need to go back to the main-road and then turn left. Go 7 streets down on the right and then turn there to come back up... oh and see if it’s one way then make it 8.’ Wonderful! Oh and that wasn’t the end. I showed him the ‘maps app’ and he said, ‘Eh, that’s just there.’ ‘I know...’ I said, ‘but how do I get there, because that is also blocked.’ ‘See you do go down 8 on the right and then you take the 2nd left, if you then turn right and right again, then you can follow that one all the way back up and that will bring you to there.’ He pointed. Only in Ireland could something so simple be so complicated. So I did exactly as he said and what do you know. It’s no longer the ‘official’ dealership. No. Now they have gone independent and the ‘official’ dealership is about 17miles outside of Dublin on an industrial park. I could have screamed, shouted and even cried, but instead all I did was smile. I thanked the guys there and said goodbye.

The dealership in Dublin is massive! That is the only way to describe it. There are bikes everywhere. It is so big that they have a used motorcycle section downstairs as well as at ground level and some of the paint jobs are spectacular. I was in my element. I met with the guys there. They had no idea who I was, or what I was doing, but they really didn’t care. They were impressed. As I left Belfast and joined the A1 my clock finally ticked over the 2,000 miles for the journey. I have achieved something in these last few weeks that some people never manage in a lifetime and I have enjoyed it. Shit... I’m even still smiling. As I have found time and again, the staff at the dealership was fantastic. They knew how long a day it had to have been, and once they knew where I was going for the B&B they offered to lead me there as one of them had to pick his wife up from Malahide anyway (O3 miles from where I was staying). So I rode, and he guided. It was simple to follow someone else, but I’m damn sure I’d have been lost had I tried it on my own. Still it brought to an end a perfect day. I showered, I changed and then I rode the coast road. I needed something to eat and this seemed the place. And there it was The Oasis bar and restaurant. So dinner for me tonight was spent looking out across a beautiful blue bay as the sun made its way across the horizon.

Day 13: Genius!

It’s 2.45pm Thursday afternoon and I have finally made it to Cairnryan. The ride just seemed to go on forever, and lucky the roads were quite good. Yet the rain lashed down. I am amazed that it has rained so much… and it only seems to do so when I ride. I wanted to take some photographs (not only for the blog, but for memory as well), but in so much rain, the first was just a misty haze so I thought better of it and rode on. I set off on a 4 and a half hour ride, through some wonderful countryside and over the mountains around the west coast. I rode up and across Ben Nevis (o.k. not all the way, but all that remained above were clouds) and the surrounding mountains, around Loch Lomond and through the villages along the west coast, and still it rained.

Sitting on the ferry I find it quite strange that I am – relatively – dry (except my feet) and early. The map said 4 and a half. It took me 6hours. I have now completed my trip around Scotland. As near as damn it, I went up the east coast, across the north and down the west coast. I love the country, there is something about it that just warms the heart, but the friends I have seen and those that I have made on the way have made it that little bit more special.

I arrived at the port a little early. O.k. very. I was told that I needed to be there between 3-3.30pm, so that’s what I did. However, it turned out I got there at about 2.30pm and they asked me if I wanted to queue jump. Yes please, said I. The next thing… well you get the picture as you’re now up to date. The major difference being that this is the fast-cat. The one that was fully booked and I couldn't get on. It takes just 1hr rather than the 2hrs of the usual crossing. Bonus.
As I look into the distance, I can just about making out the misty, murky shape of Ireland. Time to think, time to prepare and time to get back on solid land.
I rode off the other side excited, nervous with anticipation and brimming with curiosity. What did Ireland have to offer? I found the B&B with little trouble at all. Straight up the A2. So, on I rode. I wanted to do the Giants causeway if I could and really wanted to experience some of the island. Yet, tiredness and hunger has really put paid to the day today. Having ridden some 6hrs already I found that I was beginning to get rather upset with ability of other road users, it might have been the people overtaking me on the bends, on the coast road; it might have been the discourteous way in which people pull out on you on the roundabouts (they just don't look) as you ride in unfamiliar territory, or it might have been the tractor driver that decided he had plenty of time to pull across the road in front of me with his tracker pulling a horrible long trailer, and then just looking at me as if I was mad.

I pulled on the brakes and started to slide, there was nothing that I could do. All that I remembered was that as the back-end steps out and begins to come round, you steer into it, thus counter-acting the movement of the bike. It worked – in sorts. The back-end stepped out and with me almost stood straight and the wheels beginning to slide on the wet road, the bike bounced, not much... but enough. I’ve said it before, it’s not the bikes, it’s the bloody idiots that think they own the road. It was disheartening, but after 5 or 6 seconds and the reactionary nods from drivers coming the other way – I think amazed to see me (and the bike) still standing, I decided that I’d had enough excitement for one day, turned and headed back to the B&B.
I showered and headed down to the waterfront. I wasn’t entirely sure what was around. I had been told that there was a pub, but me, being me, was far more interested in the idea of a castle! BallyGalley has its own castle and it’s right down on the sea-front, looking across to the border-lands in Scotland.
It’s not much of a castle, but it serves Guinness and it also serves food. I drank the first in the bar, then went round for dinner. I walked into the restaurant area and smiled nervously at the matra de (or whatever it is) – the manager to you and I. I only knew they were the same person because of a rather well to do (stuck up) family complained that the lamb was burned. I laughed to myself when the manager came over to apologise and then said that in fact it wasn’t burnt but in fact when cooked in this particular way they use a sauce which caramelises. Why did I laugh, it was a bit of everything. The stuck up family feeling dumb; the manager suggesting that it was caramelised and the fact that ‘caramelised’ is exactly the term used by Mikey when something is burned. Caramelised is chef speak for burnt! Brilliant!
Dinner was a fantastic experience. Everyone else sat in the restaurant were wearing suits. The staff wore shirt and dicky bow and could obviously juggle as a part time entertainment (all the stuff they carried and so elegantly). But my interest peaked when I realised I was the object of interest for so many people. It was as though they expected me to rob them. Gentlemen sat in suits, ladies in dinner dresses and me in jeans and a jumper, sporting a wind-swept beard. You can imagine how I took to it and played along as best I could. Dinner was served with proper – real silver (hallmarked) – cutlery. The manager stayed very close by. Opposite me was a young couple, possibly late 20s and it seemed obviously that nervous as he was this was the night. The intension was there to propose. He kept fiddling and fidgeting, checking that his hands weren’t too sweaty and checking his pockets every few minutes. Now if I hadn’t been there and his young lady not quite so nervy would he have had the problems he had...? Who knows. What a laugh. The poor girl sat in her dress, pearl necklace on, jewels dangling from her arms and she couldn’t stop looking. The manager edged a little closer. ‘Everything to your satisfaction? Your meal is good?’ ‘Excellent’ I replied. From nowhere a young waitress appeared to remove the plate. She smiled. I think she may have been on my side, as to the horror of the manager, she did her job... ‘Would you like dessert sir, coffee?’ I smiled back... ‘I think I will, what’s on tonight?’ She went and retrieved the menu, the smile still stretched across her slim Irish face. ‘Oh, could I have another Guinness whilst I wait.’
The manager turned green. I had reserved my table from the bar. Nobody saw me or how I was dressed and I was sat before the manager had a chance to do or say anything. I just drank my Guinness and had a good look around the place. As people paced out of the door and left me to eat the dessert I was reminded of the Trading Places film... I really didn’t fit in and $1 dollar wouldn’t have changed me. I finished and gave in. There s only so much you can eat, before you realise that the fun really is starting to drop off. So, with the best of intentions I asked for the bill. As expected it took no time at all. I paid and made my way out. A wonderful night, a great start to the next part of the adventure. Cheers! Here's to all of you.

Day 12: You need to leave to be able to return

Today has been an emotional day in many ways. I was first up this morning, I think the need to get under-way once more was knorring at me a little. It has been an amazing stay. Somewhere I have not thought of before, but somewhere that I would dearly love to return to in the not to distant future. I packed up my bags, sorted the kit, showered, shaved and got myself ready beofre anyone else had risen. I was nervous with adrenaline... it really was time to get going. Please don't get me wrong, the hospitality, friendship and kindness that I have been shown whilst on the island has been out of this world. Everyone smiles. You forget yourself, there is no sense of time or being and you just have to go with it. Wonderful.

I had a chance to say goodbye to Quentin before I left, and Nick, Bumble and John all came to see me off. It was like a second family and we all felt a little pull as I rode away from the house. The engine roared in to life, the wheels started turning and I smiled. I couldn't help myself... Ireland, Wales, Cornwall, Somerset and Home. Just 9 days remain. I said my goodbyes at the quayside, and for one final time Nick's family asked me to stay for one more night (with a smile). I turned to the ferry and I was away...

Ullapool is one of those places, its a stop gap. You know it should be more and perhaps with a little more time on my hands I'd find it a wonderful place to visit, but not today. I fuelled the bike and rode away... Fort William was approximately 4 hrs ride and the rain had started once again.

This is a journey I really enjoy. As you make your way through the winding hills, you reach inevitable goals and one of those is Ness. I joined the A82 at Drumnadrochit (to you and I, that is where the Loch Ness visitors centre is) and I smiled. Familiar territory. I followed the same road for 2 or 3 miles and as you see the first signs for Fort William you round a bend. I was feeling a little hungry and I knew what was coming, so I looked for the layby on the right...

The layby has gone now, replaced by a car park, but in the same place as it was 10 or 11 yrs ago is the same chip-shop Aly and I ate at when we were on our 5day holiday (when we renewed our vows), and the chips are still bloody good.

I rode on through the rain and wind, a little happier a little brighter and knowing that a bed was just 60miles further on.

Day 11: Quentin's Birthday

Today was a lazy day. There were plans to do so much, but today was the last chance for me to relax and unwind, before starting again tomorrow. I had washing to finish, kit to prepare and pack, and plans to make for the next stage (Ullapool – Fort William). I had considered going from Harris to Skye and then riding the island bridge back onto the mainland and then down to Fort William, but when I tried to book the ferry the only one available was at 4:30pm so I wouldn’t actually set off (the other side) until 6pm. The only way to do it is from Ullapool.
I sorted the washing and had a lazy morning. Nick and I had talked about doing some surfing whilst I was up here and we hadn’t managed to fit it in, so as I had breakfast, Nick went to see a friend and picked up the board and checked the forecast.
I have never surfed before and what a laugh. I can confirm that I cannot surf, but I really enjoyed trying. We were in a quiet bay on the north east side of the island and it was quite sheltered. The waves were 6-8ft and I was nervous. We donned our wet-suits and made for the sea – Nick at a rate of knots, running down the beach...
I tried. I really did. I managed to master the idea of body boarding and after 2 hours even managed to get onto my knees on a good number of occasions, but only twice did I make it all the way up and that left Nick in fits of laughter as I tumbled down the other side of the board. That said, Nick was very complimentary about my surfing (everyone else on the beach just seemed to think we were completely mad). I struggled on... It was a wonderful afternoon, relaxed and full of laughter; it was as the day should have been. The sun beating down, a gentle breeze across the cliff-tops and plenty of waves to keep us busy.
In the evening we had been invited to the local Thai restaurant to celebrate Quentin’s birthday. Quentin is Nick's family's next door neighbour on the island and a truly wonderful man). I had never met any of these people before, and yet all have made me so welcome. The meal was wonderful and full of laughter, the perfect way to end the stay in Stornoway. I was asked about the trip, the charity I was riding for and the route I was following. We talked of our families, holiday destinations and work, with Nick being the newest member to join academia and Donny (Quentin and Margaret’s friend) about to retire. Then with a whiskey nightcap to finish my stay in the Western Isles, we were done.
From this point on everything leads home. Tomorrow brings a ferry crossing in rough waters, and a long ride south along the Lochs. But ultimately I’m now heading home.

Day 10: The Road Less Travelled

I would have liked to have started this entry by exploding into a passionate discourse surrounding the days’ events, but instead find myself angered and pissed off with nothing more than my mobile phone once again. If I never encounter another iPhone in this life-time that will have been a good thing. As we cleared up after dinner and drank a final glass of wine, I picked up my phone as I have every night in the hopes of a hundred text from friends, family and loved ones. Yet instead, I was greeted by the message: ‘No Sim Installed’. It is the second time that this same message has appeared and it required me to remove and replace the Sim card. Not really an issue you might say, but actually you need a key to get the Sim card out (which I don’t have with me as I didn’t want to lose such a tiny little thing – believe me take a look at it, it is the smallest thing in the world) and then you hope that once replaced it recognises the card otherwise you are well and truly screwed. So currently, not only do I have no signal, I now have no phone at all! How happy am I? So, if you are listening out there Mr. iPhone... sort this piece of shit out, or take it off the market. Do I have any choice but to warn people at every opportunity not to buy it? No I bloody well do not. So I will. iPhone, don’t buy it. It’s shit!!!
That aside today has been truly spectacular. Nick, his parents and I drove to a fabulous little beach which had the remains of a settlement which went back up across the cliff-face, the rocks and hills in front of us. We gave our own explanations of what each of us thought may have happened in the village, as well as how they lived, where they sorted and stored things and what the enclosures would have looked liked. From there we entered the round house on the beach; a reconstruction of a round-house that was found in the area of the beach. It is remarkable, but once inside there is no sound from the outside world accept perhaps the ocean smashing into the rocks across the bay, or the occasional bird singing as it sat on the straw and turf roof. It was nothing but peaceful.
We met Elizabeth (the caretaker – of sorts), who took the time to talk to us and explore the house. It was an extremely interesting visit and I got the feeling that she was so very pleased that we showed such an interested in the little house.
From there we made our way old to look at the Calandish Stones. A ring of stones set into the ground at some point around the time of Stonehenge. Yet there are no barriers here and you can still walk up and touch the stones. Nick and I watched the video in the visitors centre and then we made our way out to the stones. We walked, we talked and watched the myriad birds rising on the gentle summers breeze. Then for the first time in an age, there came a gentle buzzing from my jacket and I knew I had signal.
It is a very strange thing and nobody is really very sure why all of these stone circle were set up around Britain, but we do seem to have a higher concentration than anywhere else, nor are we sure why the practice was significant for a period of perhaps a 1,000 years. What I am sure of is that on that one spot, for the first time since I have been in the Western Isles, I had full signal on my phone and clear reception. I phoned home.
From there we made our way to the Barrack (?) on the Western side of the Island. A fantastic building and although a ruin you could still get access and climb part of the way up the tower. If I’m honest, the first thing that I thought of when I saw the ruin was the film Highlander, and the scene when Sean Connery’s character has his head cut off by the Kergen (watch it, you’ll see what I mean). More impressive however, was the sight we were presented with as we drove away – making our way to the lighthouse at Ness (the most Northern point on the island). We cut across winding valleys and round the side of mountains as we made our way north and as we did, Bumble and I thought we spied large birds gliding across the surface of the lochs. So, with interest peaking, Nick turned the car around and we made our way as closely as we could to the loch-side. In the distance, maybe half a mile away, there they were Golden Eagles cutting across the sky, dancing and playing in the warm air. At first we could only make out two, but as we stood watching a third and then a fourth rose into the air and began the process of diving and climbing, it seemed almost as though parents were teaching their children the skills they needed before going out into the world alone. It was truly magnificent and a memory I will hold for a long while to come.
For me the day was complete long before we reached the lighthouse (although that was spectacular). We turned the headland in a small bay. It was an important moment because it was the last convenience stop on the tour. Yet, as Nick and I looked out into the bay, we saw the most wonderful dark shape in the water, a moment later with binoculars in hand we watched a huge Basking shark cut through the wake as it made its way into the warmer water scooping the plankton. We spent 10 maybe 15 minutes just watching as the Gannets, Gulls and Gillimots circled in the sky above, diving and feeding in the wake of the great black shadow. That, the eagles and seals we saw yesterday have all made the islands everything I wished for. The nature, the history, the peace and the friendship. A wonderful visit.
Tomorrow I begin the process of packing, planning and cleaning my bike. I am now at the half way point and everywhere I go from here leads home. It is a strange feeling. I am looking forward to moving on, although I would dearly love to stay. I want to go home to friends and family, but I think I will miss the adventure in a way I never thought I would. It is an emotional experience I never expected.

Day 9: The Western Isles

And then I arrived. Lewis is nothing that I had expected, but then I am not entirely sure what I did expect. It was raining, Nick had fore-warned me and from the many green faces that left the ferry at breakneck speed, I had guessed that the crossing wasn’t the enjoyable experience that it should have been. As I sat on the mid deck writing the last blog I had watched men, women and children alike rush for the bathroom in order to evacuate. It was rough. But stood on the Quayside, camera in hand was Nick and his father (John). It was wonderful to see a familiar face once again and brilliant to realise that someone was actually as excited about you arriving as you were about being there.
It had been 1,500 miles of travel. 1,500 miles of adventure and for the first time I really felt that I was in familiar territory.
We sat we drank tea and wine and Bumble (Nick’s mum) plied me with Dark Chocolate to get my energy back, and cheese and biscuits, and we talked. I hadn’t really talked or listened for a couple of days and it felt good, safe, friendly. I slept as I haven’t for a week, exhaustion taking over from the excitement which had kept me going this long. But still by the time I rose the rain had stopped, the sky had cleared and the county-side looked fabulous.
I was asked and offered a hundred things to do, but remained non-committal and just went with the flow. This was my time to relax and so relax I did. But what a day. We drove the length of Lewis and down into Harris, a smaller island linked by bridges. Where Lewis is quite flat and open, Harris – by way of comparison – is hard and rugged; each complimenting the other. My personal love was for Harris, the scenery stunning. We rounded mountains and drove along headland which just caught your breath and excited your senses. The sheep rule the roads, walking about as if to command and you have to wait. As we drove to the Bridge to Nowhere they lined the road and stood defiant daring us to drive on through; standing at the side of the road like gangs of ‘chavs’ and ‘chavettes’ daring to give us a go if we threatened them with mint sauce.
We had lunch on the beach, watching the birds and listening to the sea. Then a brisk wall along the sea-line and a cup of tea to round it off. The Golden road produced some stunning views and an opportunity to sit and observe seals basking in the sun on a small island just off shore. 20+ seals lay in the sun, occasionally dipping into the Loch for a swim before returning to bathe in the warmth of the afternoon. The day was peaceful, quiet and filled with warmth. The rain, it seemed had drifted away.

Day 8: The Northern Road to Stornoway

As I sit on board the ferry bound for Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, I thought now as ever was a good time to reflect... I am now 7 Days (1,500 miles) from home, the adventure proper. In general the week has had its ups (the landscape) and its downs (the rain – when it comes). Yet the ups have definitely outweighed the downs.
(Nobody else seems to have noticed, but there was a huge bang a moment ago and it felt like something hit the underside of the ferry. Not nervous at all.)
I walked to the point this morning where I finally looked across the North Sea to the Orkney’s. I admit a lump rose in my throat, but there was nobody there to share it with. Not even the passing stranger. It is a bizarre place, but then the sun came out...
As I packed my bags I had some mixed feelings. It’s peaceful here. It’s beautiful (when you can actually see what you’re looking at.), and then I thought... I’ll be glad to leave. Scotland has always had a reputation for heavy drinkers and here you can see why. Breakfast just confirmed the same thinking as I walked into the dining-room and the same spotty kid asked me (in some crabby slur) if I wanted a cup of tea. I thanked him as I remembered him and his mates falling out of the bar last night as I sat making final preparations for today’s trip. Here (John O’Groats) is the place where children first learned to say ‘I’m bored, there’s nothing to do.’ and they’re bloody right.
There are some things that I wanted to do whilst on this journey and one was to ride the Northern road. Many said I was mad, others just laughed. But when you think of Britain as a green and pleasant land there is nowhere that epitomises it more so than here. The road I had to ride led me through 183 miles of twists and turns. I have ridden through valleys, over mountains and even through them. I stopped to look at the birth place of a Loch; I have raced the wind along the coast of the Loch. I watched Gulls rise on the draft and dive as they fed and hunted – the way they should be and not preying on the bins that humans allow to over-flow. I have seen beaches of lush golden sands and walked amongst fallen rocks dividing the waters from the hills into a thousand different streams. This could never be seen from any motorway or highway winding its way, straight as an arrow, from ‘A’ to ‘B’. (Still it would have saved me three or four hours in the saddle.) All told, I think the roads I have ridden today have been the one’s I have loved more than any other. (Good, another loud bang and the guy on the table next to me said ‘Shit!’ under his breath. I’m not going mad.)
Finally, I pulled into Ullapool. I have seen more bikes here in the short time I have been here than I have seen on the road in the past three or four days. I don’t know where they have all come from or where they are going to, but I had the chance to talk to one of the guys. Simon. Like me Simon is on the road, a trip he does every year. He picks his place, takes the time out and rides. So we sat and talked and swapped stories for an hour or so, before he started his trip home and I moved on to Stornoway. The ferry has been a joy to behold... But as we pull into the dock and the last green face crawls from the toilets, I'm smiling. This is as far from home as I can get. There is no more. To the West - the Americas. To the north - the Pole. That's it then half way.

Day 7: John O'Groats - The Pain...

First and foremost, I must thank Steve and Fiona for their hospitality last night. I hope you recover from your cold soon Fiona. Don't pass it to Steve, he's got enough work on... :0)

Dinner was a fantastic curry at the local tandori house, with a couple of pints of Kingfisher. Brilliant. We talked politics, work, education and most importantly (with any curry) we talked football. A late night followed, which this trip just seems to attach for some reason. Ah well, I'll just have to sleep for three days when I get back home.

The difference a day makes is remarkable. Where yesterday saw the best weather I've seen in an age, today it rained. It rained from the moment I put my lid on -to- the moment I sat in the bar here. The rain has been constant and the wind just bites at you. The result is a headache which you wish was a hang-over. But still I had a ride to complete and today's was longer than any other. I rode from Alloa, through Stirling, Aviemore, Inverness and Wick (fucking Wick)! and so many little towns and villages in between. But the pain was excruciating. My fingers were so solid at one point that I could not put the fuel into the bike and I had to wait about quarter of an hour to thaw out (...even now, it's so back that my fingers are tingling as I write. I feel sleepy and the only thing I've to improve my being is Glenmorange).

Yet even in the rain and wind and chill-blanes which sting your body, you ride on. Pitlochery and the Tummel Valley was just as I remember it and Inverness too. In fact the scenery all around has been fab. But apart from fuel I have stopped nowhere. When I left Aviemore, I had diesel gloves on. They helped... Until I got a third to forty miles out, and then the rain got through... 'Ah well' I thought, 'its rain...' by the time I got to Wick, I couldn't feel my fingers. They hurt, they hurt so much. I stopped. I danced on the forecourt of a petrol station as I tried to stamp warmth back into my body. I couldn't feel my fingers, I didn't know if they were holding the handlebars or not, and I had no idea if I would again. Yes it was bloody cold. Its now a 1-1 and a half hours or so since I arrived in John O'Groats. There is nothing here... Nothing. The north sea, a couple of hotels, a few more B&Bs and fishermen (I guess, although there is no proof other than the clothes they wear, but that could just be because they're bloody cold). I jumped off the bike. I walked into the B&B. I got the key. I turned on the swower and that was me for the next 20mins. I'm tired. It's 6pm, and I'm tired. It's not just the ride, it's the rain. It is so draining, you just don't realise.

Right Stornoway tomorrow. Watch this space...