June 23, 2024
Tiptoe, tiptoe...
LEJOG Day fourteen: Helmsdale to John O'Groats
Did you ever play 'monster' when you were a kid? I think it goes by several different names, but the basic game is the same. Someone plays the monster, and everyone else has to creep up on them while their back is turned. If you reach the monster without being caught, you win. But when they look behind, which they do as often as they wish, if they see you moving, you're out, eaten, and have to go wait on the sidelines to see if others can do better.
Today, Scotland roused itself slowly. It was, after all, Sunday. Folk occupied themselves with lie-ins, with cooking leisurely breakfast, or perhaps even with a little gardening. It was another football day, do or die for the tartan army in the European cup, with qualification for the knockout round in the balance. And the minds of the Scots were very much on defeating 11 Hungarians on a small flat plot of green somewhere in a foreign country. Chores had to be done before the game.
At around this juncture, with Scotland focused elsewhere, a satellite picture of the far north might have revealed a small dot moving slowly along the Eastern coast of the country. Zooming in closer, it would have resembled a man and a bicycle. Surreptitiously but steadily, the dot progressed from lane to lane, threading a path northwards, staying off the main tracks, and hidden from view. And at some point just after lunch, the dot could be seen closing in on a small signpost marked "John O'Groats". Because while Scotland had been distracted by Sunday morning, and dreaming of defeating Hungary, Raven and I had made it to the monster. We had finally vanquished Scotland.
Our LEJOG is complete.
The day dawned early, and grey. I suspect that with 19 hours of daylight to cover, the sun spreads itself thinly in these parts, shining strongly only when it absolutely has to. So we slipped out of our hotel under a cold and clouded sky, straight onto the first hill climb of the day as we rose from the harbour of Helmsdale back into the last of the rolling Scottish hills.
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I knew there were a couple of long and steady climbs awaiting us at the outset. They didn't disappoint, but it was nothing we hadn't encountered many times before. It felt cold today though; I'd read of heat warnings in place across much of the UK, but the residents of northernmost Scotland certainly weren't going to be troubled. Even the hills looked different, flecked with drifts of wispy white flowers that almost resembled snow under the sullen skies. I shivered. Today wasn't about the journey, it was about the destination.
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Climb two was, pretty much, the last one of our adventure. As we crested it, we were greeted by a bank of bright yellow flowers. We were barely ten miles in, but already, it felt like the beginning of the end.
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I paused for coffee in Lybster, around 20 miles along, but there wasn't much happening. Only the local convenience shop was open, so I bought a chocolate bar and a cold drink, which I consumed looking out to sea. From here, we were turning inland, and the next time we saw water it would be on the north coast, just a couple of miles from our destination.
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The inland route was functional but dull. On a sunnier day, it might have felt different, but today it was just 15 miles of unrelieved straight road, rolling gently up and down through featureless fields. Then it curved slightly, before continuing in the same vein. The only variation was the windfarm, whose blades turned silently in recognition of the west wind which pressed against us on the open ground.
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And then we crested the brow of our last uphill slope, and after 50 long and unremarkable miles, we could see the water again. If the wheel came off here, I'd be able to pick Raven up and carry her over the finish line. I didn't need to, though. We'd finish the tour in the same way that we'd managed every last hill before; clipped in, and speeding towards the endpoint.
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And then suddenly, we were there. I don't know that there's a great way to finish this without it sounding like an anticlimax, but I promise you that it certainly didn't feel that way. We'd known we'd do this, ever since the Cairngorms, and I simply had the warm satisfaction of a job completed. At the signpost, I met a lovely couple who agreed to take the obligatory picture for me. We chatted amiably, and I went to grab some lunch from the nearby cafe. Five minutes later, they came back to me.
We bought you something, she said. It felt like you should mark the occasion. From us, and from all the other people who wouldn't be brave enough.
What a beautiful way to end the day, with the kindness of strangers.
Tomorrow, Orkney. The ferry leaves in two hours. I'd best make haste.
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5 months ago
Today's ride: 55 miles (89 km)
Total: 938 miles (1,510 km)
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 8 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 4 |
5 months ago
5 months ago