Crossing bridges

June 22, 2024

LEJOG Day thirteen: Inverness to Helmsdale

Well, contrary to all reasonable expectations, it looks as though we might actually do this thing.

I'm sitting in Helmsdale, about 50 miles from John O'Groats, and such has been our journey that 50 miles feels like it'll be a rest day. Heck, 77 miles for today didn't even seem bothersome, given that there were so few climbs of note.

At the start of this trip, I'd really notice when my GPS told me that there was a climb coming up. Now, when it warns me of a half mile 3% gradient, and chirps "CLIMB!" at me, I think of the Cairngorms and I smile.

I don't say this to pretend that I've become some super athlete; it's rather that, a day from the end, I'm reflecting on the many changes that this tour has brought about. Discovering new landscapes within my own country, meeting so many strangers, and knowing that Raven and I have no-one to rely on but ourselves (and let's face it, she's of limited use in a crisis): all of these have been new departures. It's been a journey in more ways than one, and it's going to feel odd reintegrating to normal life once this is over. Remind me, what are you supposed to do with your day if you're not spending six hours in the saddle?

I met a lovely couple today, as I stopped for morning break in a town called Alness. They were Australians, four months into their travels, having come up through Portugal, Spain and France already, and with plans to continue to Germany and Italy once they'd finished Scotland. I can see how people get the bug.

Today was a relaxed one. I didn't know what to expect, other than haggis with breakfast, because I had to agree the selection yesterday evening. For the record, it does tend to repeat on you on the hills. I think maybe if you eat the potato scone afterwards, it might help weigh things down. I'm still learning.

Anyway, the journey was due to run alongside the A9 for quite a way, the A9 being the major route north, and subject of a fair few horror stories if you look on cycling forums. I was a bit concerned about having to jump on this road for some sections. Also, where I'd be riding alongside it, I was nervous that I might be relegated to a juddery dirt track experience again. And lastly, there'd be bridges, which always means scope for closures and lengthy diversions. All that said, it wasn't as if I was worried about the day: I just had very little idea what it might turn out like as we departed the Inverness B&B with a subtle odour of haggis wafting in our wake.

In the event, it was all rather fabulous. The cycle path was smooth and safe, sometimes taking us away from the main carriageway altogether onto a back road. North of Inverness, the traffic was definitely lessening, and the further north we went, the more pronounced this became.

We crossed the Kessock and Cromarty Firth bridges before our first stop at 25 miles, where Alness appeared to be hosting a support group for the cycling fraternity. Four of us occupied the village square, comparing panniers, while others passed through to stop at the Co-op or the bakery.

The Cromarty Firth bridge, near Dingwall. The more observant amongst you will note that by now, it was also becoming a nice day.

Alness town square, spiritual home to baked goods and ortlieb panniers.

The landscapes were softer now, partly because of the blue sky, but also because the hills had receded inland and the shoreline accompanied us on much of our journey. Coming out of Tain, onto the Dornoch Forth bridge, we spotted a sign for John O'Groats, now just 85 miles away. Had we not sorted interim accomodation and ferries, I might even have considered going for it.

Our journey continued, sometimes joining the A9 for fast, smooth tracts, at other times breaking away to avoid the traffic and enjoy coastline or country roads at our leisure. It was a beautiful trip. We did pause briefly on the back road behind (I think) Brora, where a sign suddenly warned us of a ford, with about 50 metres' notice. It wasn't a ford, unless ford is gaelic for flood. It was a river: about 10m wide, fast flowing, and not something I'd have wanted to put my car in, let alone a bicycle. Fortunately, there was an alternative, and we diverted to the wobbly pedestrian bridge so that we could continue.

Deserted country roads. Except for one man and his bike.

Deserted waterside roads, too. I'm sure the view from the A9 was also spectacular, but I appreciated the tranquility.

Our wobbly bridge. To the right, you can see the rough road disappear below the ford's surface. I think the waterway was named a ford in honour of the vehicle it swept away most frequently in 2023.

I ate lunch in Golspie, next to the short strip of sand which served as a beach, but enjoying being back by the water again, and listening to the sound of the waves and the gulls. I think I'm right in saying that Cornwall was the last time we were next to anything that could lay claim to the name of beach.

The final 25 miles were a breeze, on the smooth tarmac of the quiet main road. Several times I stopped for pictures. On the final stretch to our destination, we encountered a small glitch with the GPS, which wanted to take us onto a quieter track. I obliged and found myself immediately on a gradient of about 15%, heading up into the hills before the road flattened out. And then, after a mile or so, it dropped down again, and we rejoined the main road. I like to think this was a small test for us, and I smiled to myself as we sped back down towards Helmsdale. After all we'd been through, it was going to take more than a jumped-up farm track to defeat us.

We've come a long way.

And tomorrow, we'll be arriving.

The A9 towards Helmsdale. I suspect it's not vastly different at rush hour.

The rather splendid view from our last bridge of the day, coming into Helmsdale village. And not a closure in sight.

The day's digits. Full route and ride details at https://ridewithgps.com/trips/193769246

Today's ride: 77 miles (124 km)
Total: 883 miles (1,421 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	8
Comment on this entry	Comment	0