Bettyhill to John O’Groats – 51 Miles The final push. We’d pretty much decided to ban that phrase. I don’t exactly know why. Maybe it just sounded too keen, too jolly, the language of a life-time member of the Rambler’s association who reads his YHA newsletter from cover to cover and dubbins his boots after every walk. Or maybe we…
The Crask Inn to Bettyhill – 31 miles The day dawned bright. Brightness and sunshine nudge this landscape heavenwards. Having processed ourselves through breakfast, we left The Crask Inn without much ceremony, almost by stealth. There were no goodbyes, bonne routes, where are you heading today etc. None of that. We just got our bikes from the shed, clipped on…
Evanton to The Crask Inn – 48 miles From the earliest days of our planning for LEJOG, we’d known that there was a patch of territory in northern Scotland, between Inverness and the north coast, where accommodation was almost non-existent. Initially, with gung-ho innocence, I’d entered ‘wild camping’ next to this empty quarter in my accommodation spreadsheet. But that was always mere…
Inverness to Evanton – 20 miles Even if we didn’t physically partake in the mayhem of downtown Inverness that Saturday night, we were subjected to its soundtrack–laughter, cries, bawling arguments, screams–full bore until the wee wee hours. It sounded as if several people were murdered, or at least garrotted to within an inch of their lives, right outside our window.…
Dalwhinnie to Fort Augustus – 61 miles Like almost everything else in Dalwhinnie, breakfast options were few and far between, so we felt blessed by the full Scottish on offer at the Snack Shack Café and Bar, a large low-slung eatery with a neon sign saying ‘Open’ in one of its windows. The place felt like it had been relocated…
Aberfeldy to Dalwhinnie – 47 miles The dawn sky was clear and pure up at Glassie farm, graded white on the eastern horizon to dark night blue above our heads. The combination of huge vistas and deep calm demanded a moment of stillness and I stood in silence by the front door of the bunkhouse drinking it all in. Julian…
Day off in Stirling A day off meant a day of blogging. At least as far as I was concerned. Part of me yearned to ramble aimlessly along Stirling’s old cobbled streets, beneath its gabled roofs, past its bijou coffee shops, stopping now and then to savour some delight. But I was days behind with my writing. A friend in…
Lanark to Stirling – 50 miles The rain finally caught up with us on that autumn morning in Lanarkshire. Our unused waterproofs were pulled out from the bottom of our panniers, and we pedalled gingerly through the drizzle into the centre of Lanark. The place has pedigree: King David 1st of Scotland granted it a royal charter in 1140 and…
Lochmaben to Lanark – 50 miles It’s said that Robert the Bruce may have been born in Lochmaben. Or Turnberry Castle in Ayrshire. Or Writtle in Essex. Whatever the true location, Lochmabians have taken their tenuous claim to heart and erected a statue to the great Scottish medieval warrior king in their main square. We passed by it on our…
Keswick to Lochmaben – 63 miles Sixty three miles. For slow End-to-Enders like us, that’s a long day. We managed to leave the Youth Hostel by 7h45 – a minor miracle – not before Phil gone to take a shower in one of the shared bathrooms and forgotten his key-card. He was discovered waiting by the door to our corridor…
