May 30, 2024
My recipe for success
Kit and prep: weighty vowels, and piscine matters
Reader, I've a confession. I dithered over the right title here. "Recipe for success", or "Recipe for disaster"? In setting out how I've prepared, I've practically no idea if I've approached things in the right way. There's a definite chance that I'm just a one-man cycling calamity, waiting to unravel. But since there is fairly good empirical evidence to support the power of positive thinking, I've chosen my title, and I'll ask you kindly to respect it. That said, do feel free to message me if you predict imminent doom. I've a few more days to tweak things before I leave.
I think my aim with this post is to share how I planned Land's End to John o'Groats, or lejog as it's more manageably known. I guess the process I went through has parallels for any generic "first tour", because it's a baffling undertaking for non-cyclists. So many choices.
For starters, there's no single flat cycle path between these two iconic points, which strikes me as an election issue which should surely be given increased coverage. And my challenge does start and end in fairly remote locations, creating an early problem of bike transport. Some crazy people do apparently target this thing as a return cycle trip (lejogle), and part of me now suspects that's just a cop-out to simplify the logistical headaches. Believe me, there were points when I almost considered it myself. More later.
When I first started planning, my initial (and undeniably relevant) observation was "I've got a bike already". Once I wiped the caked mud off it, however, I realised that it probably wasn't that sound any more. The threat of a breakdown wasn't to be ignored, given that I'm about as mechanically-minded as the average haddock. Abortive test runs saw me getting through inner tubes at a ridiculous rate, and although I fitted new tyres, the weak rim brakes didn't inspire any confidence either, and everything else about the bike was starter level / 20 years old. Something to ponder.
As a second observation: I already knew that my sense of direction was pretty poor - interestingly, potentially less of an issue for the aforementioned haddock, which I'm told can undertake long journeys to relocate its spawning beds. (I'm now beginning to think the fish might have an edge on me). Anyway, whilst attempting to compensate, I quickly realised that phone batteries can be very limited where live-time navigation is concerned. Extra miles on this mammoth undertaking weren't going to be at all welcome. And neither is it easy to sense-check or even edit whatever routes Google maps might suggest. So, purchase number one was a Wahoo Elemnt bike computer, based largely on the fact that it promised decent longevity and was hugely reduced in price (possibly as a result of its missing vowel. I wondered whether this might be a weight-saving wheeze too: would sddl bgs and wtr bttls become lighter if you pruned the superfluous nomenclature?).
Purchase two was a companion app I could use for more professional route planning. I went with Komoot, which I've since found to work really well. Obviously , since this was a virtual purchase, I was happy to risk what others might view as a worryingly vowel-heavy solution.
As a side note: I was surprised to discover that most (road) bikes have what I'd consider a fairly low weight limit, generally around 115kg including the bike itself. On the one hand, that feels difficult if like me you're 6'4" and an ex-rugby player. On the other, it might force me towards a touring lifetime of fully-sprung beds, because the weight of camping gear can soon add up, effectively breaching the frame limit and putting your safety in the hands of chance. Glass half full, or half empty? Take your pick. I've already asserted my own position on the power of positivity. If you want to argue, you'll find me in the room with the en suite.
Purchase three was (see above) a New Bike. It's not like I knew much about this, but received wisdom agreed that steel bikes work best for touring, and I opted for the Fairlight Strael on the basis that it had a fistful of glowing reviews, and fitted the bill as something reasonably swift and road-ready. I figured that if I was going to do this in 14 days, a road bike was wise, since I wouldn't make those miles by going cross-country. And 14 days did seem like a fair plan: the overall journey is just short of a thousand miles, so that's around 70 miles a day. I specced a saddle upgrade, and stronger wheels, and I selected a simple black frame to try and reduce perceived desirability for thieves. I then undermined this somewhat, by tracking down some snazzy copper water cages and a designer metallic bell, to coordinate with the bike decals amd make her stand out in a crowd. Still, I guess she'll spend much of the trip covered in a thin coat of mud spots.
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For route planning, I simply sat at my laptop and looked for larger towns at around the right intervals along the way, before getting Komoot to plot some initial routes between then. These routes were fine tuned to avoid enormous hills (in most but not all cases) and also overly busy roads/ broken country byways. I did what I could to check the roads on Google earth, to make sure I wasn't inadvertently traversing any impassable roads. I don't know if it's solely a British issue, but we have a number of them that are 30% hedge, 25% grass, and 20% pothole. If you live here, you'll know what I mean.
Lastly, I looked at a booking site, to make sure I could access and reserve reasonable accommodation in each place. I didn't have too many preconceptions about towns/ cities I really wanted to visit, although I was certainly keen to pass through the lake district and the scottish highlands. On that basis, I firmed things up and booked 14 refundable options, making sure that breakfast was included. I did try to go to inexpensive venues, partly for obvious reasons, but also because I find bigger hotels soulless and (often) quite bland. Going independent not only has a feelgood factor, but it adds to the adventure - for good or ill, you never know quite what you'll get. That said, I spent a fair bit of time perusing reviews. Often, when you go independent you get warmer welcomes, but there were some things I resolutely didn't want to get, like food poisoning, or fleas. Cheapness has its limits.
For the record, my planned stopping points (and daily mileage to get there) became
- Bodmin 63
- Crediton 64
- Weston-super-Mare 64
- Hereford 73
- Market Drayton 72
- Preston 74
- Grasmere 65
- Carlisle 38
- Larkhall 85
- Perth 68
- Tomintoul 81 (this day will be my bête noire of the trip: I've opted for some beautiful roads, at the expense of horrendous climbs)
- Inverness 48
- Helmsdale 78
- John o'Groats 58
The last challenge was transport. I could persuade my wife to get me to the start line, around two hours' drive from home. Overnight stay, early breakfast, waving of white handkerchiefs and a tearful parting. Easy. But getting back was more problematic. Most cycle forums tended to agree that getting bikes onto UK trains is a bit pot luck: probably unsurprising given that this is broadly the experience for long-suffering foot passengers too. It would only be possible to reserve one of very few cycle spaces from the northern extremities, 12 weeks beforehand. When I phoned the train operator up to do so, they made it clear that there would be engineering work the previous weekend, and that any replacement buses still running wouldn't necessarily take a bike. Also, just to add a further element of jeopardy, there were ongoing train strikes. So in the end, I opted to head further north, with a ferry to Orkney, which would be exciting as a brief celebratory stop-off, and then a second boat back to the comparative metropolis of Aberdeen. From here, one-way car hire became a possibility. Bingo.
In parallel, I was now spending my children's inheritance on cycle kit, with regular packages being left on our doorstep, in our bushes, or behind/inside our bins, dependent on the mood of the delivery driver in question. If for any reason the bike ride didn't happen, at least I'd have had some fun with my impromptu treasure hunts. I tried to get good kit wherever I could, because I wasn't planning on taking much, and I wanted it to keep me comfortable.
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Bags seemed important, and were high on my list, because I felt like having more than one outfit might become socially desirable in any venture of over two days. I started with a Topeak half frame bag, and a front roll bag. I didn't fancy panniers, in case I started toppling backwards on steeper inclines! These first two bags gave me 14l of space - allegedly - which I supplemented with an Ortlieb 4l saddle pack and a 1.5l top tube bag, for snacks and a phone. I liked the Ortlieb kit as it was easily removable, so could come with me for security at short food stops.
To fill these many bags, I was taking two cycle outfits (top/shorts/socks/gloves), and one set of vaguely normal, very quick-drying technical clothing for the evenings. All finished off with the season's must-have accessory, a pair of espadrilles, which were about the smallest packable shoe I could find. I also had a goretex rain jacket, and after a training run or two, I decided to further invest in some goretex socks. You can't guarantee dry June weather in the UK, and I didn't fancy finishing the trip with trench foot.
For mechanicals, I had some inner tubes, multi tool, spare foldable tyre, chain link, spokes, pump, and lube. Probably overkill, but the spectre of an 80 mile day in the isolated Cairngorms hung over me. Just in case, I did get some insurance which promised to get me to a train station or bike shop if the worst should happen.
Electricals had a category of their own. Lights, of course, but also smartwatch, phone, powerbank, and my cyclng navigtr gdgt. And lastly, odds and ends, like plasters and wipes, toiletries, cable ties, and a moderately secure lock I could wear around my waist.
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The last thing worth noting was my decision to do a bit of wider reading. As a novice, it's not too hard to find various forums populated with disturbingly knowledgeable cyclegeeks. They're welcoming and helpful. I devoured journals from those who had done lejog before, and I posted noob questions about everything from bike position, to best locks and route options. So although I'm badging this as a solo and unsupported endeavour, what I'd very much like to say is this. We all stand on the shoulders of giants. And if things go pear-shaped, we can definitely consider this a team effort.
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