June 24, 2024
Nought point two
The cooldown: Orkney tour
Well, the first bit of good news is that we made the ferry. We're safely off the northern shore, and have therefore avoided the delights of sleeping under a hedge.
The crossing from the mainland yesterday evening had some big waves, but the sea and the sky were azure blue. I spent some time on the crossing chatting with a fellow cyclist named John, who was touring the Scottish wilderness, and wild camping. He'd been struggling to keep his electrics powered up, so I lent him my powerbank, which until now had sat redundantly in my luggage. I felt like this was not just a good deed, but also that it justified lugging a pound of dead weight all the way from Cornwall. Win-win. As we reached the other end, John had an eight mile trip to reach his campsite, and was very much looking forward to a shower. Me, I had a trip of about half a mile, before being ushered into a warm bedroom, with a bar at the foot of the stairs. Trips like these do make you count your blessings.
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The following day felt like a holiday. Then again, hadn't the previous two weeks? In honour of this last fragment of vacation, I'd scheduled, with a sense of crushing inevitability, a (shorter) bike ride around the islands, to see as much as I could before the evening ferry back to Aberdeen, and the road trip home.
For those of you who have been following for a while, I feel like this last entry wouldn't be complete without a breakfast report. I'm pleased to say that smoked salmon and scrambled eggs were back on the menu, so I have definitely said farewell to potato scones for the foreseeable future. And sausage blocks, and haggis. No bad thing. And with sausage and bacon consumption about to go into freefall, the pigs of our green and pleasant land can sleep a little more soundly, for a while at least.
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The islands were dressed to impress today, in their finest greens and blues. I had to have a quiet word with myself before long, because the planned 50 mile route was going to take me a whole week if I kept stopping every half mile for photos.
The islands were linked by regular causeways, which had been significantly constructed during the second world war, to help protect the British naval fleet stationed there. A number of Italian p.o.w.'s had been imprisoned on Orkney and put to work building these barriers. As a lasting testament to their presence sits the wholly remarkable chapel which they'd also constructed out of two nissen huts. They'd lovingly created an amazing edifice of trompe-l'œil decoration, using salvaged wood, painted fibreboard, and even lanterns made from bully beef tins. I was, I reflected, enjoying this change of pace to be a tourist again, rather than simply watching the sights drift past in a sweaty blur.
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Continuing around the island, we passed the airport, with a plane readying for take off. For a moment, I wondered what on earth the pilot was doing, as it taxied slowly and very deliberately towards the beach. Then it stopped, turned, and made the most of a very short runway.
As I watched it gaining height, I did feel slightly jealous. It would have been a very quick and simple way to avoid tomorrow's twelve hour drive, but my guess is that Orkney to Exeter flights aren't a regular occurrence.
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From here, our cycle route took us towards Kirkwall, the islands' main town, and I was ready for a coffee. But GPS wanted to divert us back out to the next waypoint before we'd reached the centre, so with no sign of coffee in sight on the route suggested, I did the honourable thing and ignored it totally.
Town was bustling, with a festival taking place outside the main church, and as I left to recommence my journey I realised that the GPS now had me down as arriving at the port, ready to end my day. That was no good; I had another twenty miles that I wanted to cycle, and now no clue of how to get there. As I was fiddling with the tech to sort this out, I was approached by a fellow bikeophile, who wanted to look at panniers, and to pump me for ideas. I think he was actually far more experienced than I, but he kindly invited me to pop back to his nearby shop for coffee later, and I bid him farewell having sorted out a route on my phone.
From here, Raven and I took the long and rolling roads to the neolithic stone circle at the ring of Brodgar. This was the furthest extremity of our journey, and although the destination probably wasn't worthy of the miles - unless you're a real fan of stones - the day was fine and I was enjoying the ride.
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Returning at leisure to Kirkwall, I was eating some lunch on the bench when my acquaintance from earlier arrived, and offered me that coffee. He was heading out for a ride that evening with some friends - probably about thirty miles, and wanted to know if I fancied it. I accepted the coffee, but politely declined the ride: I didn't feel like another eighty mile day, or want to arrive sweaty at the ferry. But you know what? I'd been doing some maths, which is always dangerous.
We'd done 51 miles today, according to GPS and google. And we'd done 938 miles in our LEJOG. Which meant that we were only eleven away from the round thousand.
I looked at Raven, and she looked at me. The outcome of our unspoken conversation was never in doubt.
I've done a couple of marathons in my time. They weren't particularly recent, but what I do remember is this. However hard the 26 miles, the last point two was a breeze. You'd done the legwork, and this was the pleasurable part, the part that you'd earned.
Downhill all the way.
Half an hour later, via a few back roads, we were on Inganess beach, where I peeled off my cycling socks and wetted my feet in the cold water of the North Sea.
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From here, we looped round to Scapa beach, and then back to Kirkwall harbour, where I'm now sitting in a pub, digesting dinner, and waiting for the ferry check in time, so that we can begin the long trip home.
Twelve miles, that last leg.
So I think this concludes our odyssey. We completed the end-to-end; we broke the thousand-mile barrier; and after today, I think it's even possible that I've got a sun tan. Mission successful.
This will be my last blog for our trip. Other than a two mile ride to the car hire depot tomorrow, we've done all the cycling, and I don't think anyone needs the dubious benefit of my post-trip musings. Besides, one of the joys of retirement is that I no longer need to conduct debriefs or learn lessons for the future. It was what it was. And, just to be clear, it was the adventure of a lifetime, which I think should be about enough for anyone.
Thank you to those of you who've come along for the ride. I suspect it won't be our last.
Unless I'm very much mistaken, I'm a cyclist now.
Today's ride: 63 miles (101 km)
Total: 1,001 miles (1,611 km)
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Thanks for taking us along.
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