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Day 1 - July 25th
Day 2 - July 26th
Day 3 - July 27th
Day 4 - July 28th
Day 5 - July 29th
Day 6 - July 30th
Day 7 - August 5th
Day 8 - August 6th
Day 9 - August 7th
Day 10 - August 8th
Day 11 - August 9th
Day 12 - August 10th
Day 13 - August 11th
Day 14 - August 12th
Day 15 - August 13th
Day 16 - August 14th
Set off from B at 10.00am in fine cheerful weather.
Snarled up by traffic in Haywards Heath but good trip down to a stop at Stockbridge. My rehearsal trip of a month ago down to Susie paid off as getting through Winchester was a breeze and no trouble this time getting round Salisbury. Picked the wrong pub in Stockbridge, all the seats iron hard and no easy chair for a relax. It was the Grape Vine – and not again. In the car park a rather “distrait” woman of uncertain age came up to me and said “you wont live long riding that machine. Do you realise one motorcyclist in three gets killed around here!” “Perhaps they were going too fast” I suggested, but she merely said “Huh” and departed. On past the Badges the weather became cloudy and cheerless, obviously I was going into a front and by South Molton the rain had started. I had a cup of tea with Colin and Susie and then back up the road and what a devilish twisty road too, in the heavy rain to Shaftsbury, then to Gillingham and on to Wincanton via the A303. When I got to Moat House there was nobody in (so I thought)so sat for half an hour in garden shed reading Evelyn Waugh. Nice supper with Andrew & Susie and “fizzy” teenage daughter who was in but hadn’t heard me knock.
A303 – the most horrific experience. Juggernauts, up to 4 at a time roaring past at 75-80mph, buffeted, drenched with spray and terrified!! What a relief to turn into Wincanton.
Day dawned – horrible. Heavy rain and gale force wind. Resolved to leave at 11 when rain might have eased. Instead heavier, darker and windier so had to summon all my courage to leave down water filled lanes. Goggles instantly steamed up so couldn’t see the corners on this minor road coming up. And there were plenty. Rain gradually eased but wind became more violent, throwing me about rather alarmingly. Yeovil was a pain to get through, Exeter by-pass totally altered from map by incorporating some of it into M5, but A30 after that became quite fast in my direction but quite a lot of traffic in other direction. Eventually got to Lanivet after very near miss, on one of the complicated double roundabouts, with a small blue car. A close shave, my fault due to fatigue, but after a long search found the B & B. Nobody at home – getting used to this!!! Hope for better weather tomorrow.
What a day! Yesterday and day before pale shadows of this morning. Looked out of the window early and there was a pale sliver of blue on the northern horizon rapidly being ousted by heavy grey skies. By ten when I had planned to leave my very spartan B & B, (no table, no chair in my room, fierce Great Dane downstairs) rain had set in. I first went to a Motor Cycle Shop in Bodmin to have a rather worrying noise and vibration investigated. They could find nothing wrong but said both tyres were dangerous to ride on and should be changed NOW!! Hell! who’s going to do this on a Saturday? After much ringing around the tyres that would fit and were available were in Plymouth; about 50 miles away. Hell again! Goodbye to Lands End.
As I headed out of Bodmin via tedious traffic queues, pelting rain, an accident and a long badly-signed detour I went over a bridge crossing the A30 main road to Lands End. As far as the eye could see a long double line of stationery traffic. How long would it take them to reach Penzance??? The road down to Plymouth was, or would have been, beautiful if you could see more than 100 yards through the rain. Passed miles of queuing cars going the opposite way all heading to Bodmin and Lands End. What a mistake on my part to pick the start of the School hols and a weekend. Perhaps I’ll learn one day.
Into Plymouth via the Saltash Tunnel and the very impressive Tamar Bridge. Even more impressive when I learned that motor bikes were toll free. Eventually found the tyre fitters and had to wait, in reasonably dry comfort while 2 new tyres fitted. It was quite pleasant watching the rain bucket down outside and not be in it. Ate the remaining half of a three day old packet of ham sandwiches and felt good. Paid the bill and before heading out into the downpour checked the work. I cant explain why but a gut feeling told me to check the rear axle and split pin which retains the nut. Sure enough it was missing. A killer mistake, without the split pin the nut could have worked loose and then a nasty accident could have ensued. I asked the young mechanic who did the work “did he want to kill me?” and told his boss he ought to have a good bollocking. I wonder if he ever did?
Found myself going out of Plymouth in exactly the wrong direction with traffic coming and going in all directions. I had to decide what to do – no hope of doing a U turn. Found a friendly bridge under which I stopped to read the map where it wouldn’t be instantly turned to pulp or my reading glasses fogged up – there are complications in being a born again biker – and lo! A friendly native, also a local (“yes, I live at the top of this road!) put me right and sent me out to Tavistock via a lovely moor-land road.
Came to a sharp corner and half-way down hit a large, square manhole cover some ass on the Council had decreed should go just there right on the sharpest bit of the bend. This generated a skid, which on my old tyres would have been hair raising for me and the van coming the opposite way, then past a vast wind-farm at the top of the hill.
In my opinion almost a beautiful sight. These great white birds, each on a graceful pedestal, all facing the same way, all motionless. No demand for electricity today then. Next passed a sign “Poppy’s Cornish Cream Teas, Café 2 miles”. That’s exactly what I need I thought. Oh, yum, yum, yum! Alas! You’ve guessed it..! Windows were barred, doors bolted and Poppy had fled to dryer climes. I ate the remains of my kit kat and carried on, and there or almost there, ended day 3.
Dawned bright and clear with just the odd shower early. Left around tenish having abandoned actually reaching Lands End. With the traffic jams it would have taken all day so with a reasonably clear conscience I set off down (up?) the A39 with little traffic to Davidstow to look at the glorious perpendicular church I went past yesterday. Of course being Sunday and 11.30 a service was in progress but a kind parishioner beckoned me in and I listened to part of the Sunday Mattins (and that is the correct spelling) being conducted by a lady priest who, with raven black hair and a green cope looked rather glamorous. Then I had a spell of violent sweating so quickly became soaked through and very uncomfortable (in no way connected tomy view of the lady priest)! Road almost empty and very pleasurable riding. New tyres gave confidence on cornering but bike not running well in low gears, much grinding and clanking from engine which is getting me a bit worried. The trouble could be in the gear box which may be difficult to cure, so my attitude at present is to think “What the hell! If it packs up while I’m going down a rain lashed road miles from anywhere then that’s just too bad!” Que Sera, sera, as the song says.
To S Molton and only the second shower of the day. On to John Nichols at Batney Farm some 8 miles further on, a hot bath and a super supper. The forecast for tomorrow is dismal, but I don’t mind rain every other day because you can dry out in between.
The moral for today is “Don’t believe all you see on the TV!” the weather forecast was most demoralising; and grey clouds were gathering as I left Batney with the lovely Red Deer (one magnificent stag with a head the like of which I have never seen), swallows galore all busy with their second broods and John’s superb veggie garden. Arranged to meet John Tucker, the Bridgewater motocycle clubs oldest member who volunteered to take me to a reliable motorcycle engineer he knew in Taunton who would give his opinion of the worrying graunchy crunching noise my bike was producing. After diagnosing the rear hub bearing (which proved to be OK) he solved the problem as a dry mis-adjusted chain and a worn sprocket. So after an hour and a half all was well again and the bike sounded and felt much smoother.
“Well, how much do I owe you?” I asked. “Nothing” he says “that’s ridiculous!” I said “I am going to assume you’ve charged me £20 and I’ll put it in the sponsorship fund.”
So John Tucker and ! set off northwards up the M5, I waved John goodbye at the Bridgewater turn of and I hammered up to Gloucester on a lovely dry motorway, cruising between 70 & 80. Got off motorway at Tewkesbury and after a snack lunch in a pub renewed my acquaintance with the Abbey.
I had quite forgotten what a magnificent Norman nave it possessed with huge pillars like Durham, but without the decoration. A lovely ride from Tewkesbury through Ledbury, Leominster and Ludlow to Craven Arms where I was made very welcome by Joyce at Hurst Mill. As I arrived the rain started in earnest so for once I was really in luck and never got properly wetted all day.
An uncomfortable night in Joyce’s woodshed on a very small divan bed. In the early dawn I came to the conclusion that the weather being what it was and the bike chain and sprockets being doubtful it would be prudent to divide the journey into two parts and to come home for a few days to “regroup” and get the bike running well, clothes washed and map re-organised.
Also I would get some new panniers. Set off from Clunton at 10.40 down the route I know so well through Ludlow, Leominster, Ledbury and finally Gloucester. What a lovely road for motorbikes!!! Very little traffic, the road bendy enough to be interesting and surface good. As I climbed Birdlip Hill I began to be a little anxious about fuel: had I calculated correctly? Or would I have to go on reserve? Really needn’t have worried, just as the rain started a filling station hove in view and a Little Chef.
Filled the bike with fuel and then me with a really foul greasy concoction, I only chose through greed and poor judgement. Bike ran well on its meal, me less so as I felt rather queasy purring down the A419 past Cirencester to Swindon. On to Marlborough and then the old A4 (ignoring the M4) to Newbury and down well known roads to Broadstone in pelting rain. Arrived at six o’clock feeling rather tired and very soggy. 234 miles in rotten conditions, a record distance for me!
Left Broadstone with son John on his Royal Enfield in heat like an oven. What a contrast from last week. Got down to Lasham, near Alton, for a welcome cup of tea. Felt rather queasy and light headed. How on earth am I going to get to John O’Groats? The only attitude is to take one day at a time. Rather like the philosophy of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) of which I have had limited experience and of whom I cannot think too highly. However, revived by tea and a bun we rode on down to a night stop with friends at Burbage. John then goes home and I go on up to Shrewsbury.. The new panniers for the bike are a real hit, so glad I came home to get them, likewise the spare chain & sprocket, which cost £100 and probably I’ll never need. Hope tomorrow is slightly less hot but I’ll have to wait and see. And now to bed! much cheered by several glasses of wine and a good supper.
Set off 9am, John heading south and me north. Soon through leafy and cool Savernake forest (which was devastated in 1941 when I was a Marlborough school boy) by a night of super cooled rain which formed ice on whatever it landed. The ice-loaded branches of the Savernake trees were banging and crashing down all night under the weight of the ice and I also remember one of our masters skating to work down the old Bath road -–the A4!! But it wasn’t like that this morning, warm and sunny but the lovely descent only marred by a council road sweeping lorry choosing to water (!!!) and sweep the verges for some five miles at less than a snail’s pace. Why choose the morning rush hour? Then up the Roman road to Swindon. (I wonder what the Romans would have thought of our modern chaotic traffic on a road very little wider than theirs?)
To Cirencester, Roman again, and by getting on the M5 I bypassed the innumerable roundabouts circling Gloucester and ended up at Tewkesbury. From there, and I did look in at the glorious abbey again. The road across the Hereford countryside was pure delight. Few cars, open countryside and an interesting (for a motorcyclist) undulating road.
And so to Shrewsbury after a pleasant 165 miles. My destination in Shrewsbury was hard to find so I asked a postal van driver the way. I think his corns must have been paining him or his wife had threatened not to leave him after all, because he gave me a withering look and said “don’t ask me mate, I know nothing!” and stumped off. A serious charm failure on my part!!
Set off from Shrewsbury at 9am. Rather gloomy with mist and overcast but roads beautifully dry and relatively empty. Why does one let so many unfounded fears plague one’s mind (or rather my mind)? I was worried yesterday about finding my way into Shrewsbury, which in the past has given me a lot of trouble. But yesterday evening it was a breeze. Likewise today I had been rather nervous about tackling the M6 on a motorbike; especially if wet. But today it was fine and dry and after Lancaster the traffic got lighter the further North I went. So the M6, too, was a breeze!! Regretfully I have come to the conclusion that these fears that fill my mind are a product of old age and must be ignored.
What a boon my new panniers are which I acquired after my first week down to the West Country. How did I ever manage without them? It’s nice to get a glow of satisfaction from doing something right for a change. However, the glow faded somewhat when I arrived at my daughter’s at Caldbeck to discover I had left my favourite sweater on the grass at the Tebay Service Station!!
A rough, tough days riding. Boiling hot, windy and trafficy. I knew getting round the outskirts of Glasgow was going to be troublesome and this time my fears were well founded! And Paisley, until I got onto the M8 was grim, hot and choked with traffic. Having trouble getting first gear doesn’t help but there’s nothing I can do about it until I get home.
I do hate children!! There are two in the dining room of the road house in Dumbarton where I am hoping to quietly enjoy a steak and a couple of glasses of wine and the little beggars are stamping their feet, running and jumping round the floor. I do earnestly hope they get struck by lightning or succumb to fits or food poisoning but alas the chance is very remote. They have a large, but rather ineffective Dad who does his poor best unlike me, who was authoritative, respected, effective and much loved (?). Roll on tomorrow and a trip up the Great Glen to Inverness and then, yes then, the day after tomorrow to John O’Groats. Seemed quite impossible ten days ago in rain-lashed gale swept Cornwall.
A lovely day’s riding. Set off from Dumbarton up the A82 to meet Philip, a biking friend at a bikers mecca called “the Green Wellie” at Tyndum. Then over Rannock Moor, through Glencoe and down to Fort William. Glencoe was highly dramatic with almost stage lighting produced by a combination of mist, sun and cloud and lovely back lighting on the mountains. At Spean Bridge P & I parted company and a mile further on was the Commando Memorial, a bronze group of three combat-dressed soldiers dominating the surrounding moorland from their hillock. I wonder how many commandos there are today who come back to look at it. And what memories are stirred up? And so down the Great Glen and the mile after mile of Loch Ness. No sign of Nessie, except in the souvenir shops where the gullible spend their money. Got to Inverness about 4.30 and found my lodgings without trouble.
What a marvellous day! Left Inverness (having failed to get sponsorship from Hotel Owner) at 9.30 in mist and spotty rain. I like Inverness, a clean town with a castle (quite hideous Victorian edifice) hills, a river and clean unspoilt surroundings. No miles of ghastly suburbs.
Across the Black Isle was pure magic with dramatic cloud formations trailing across the foothills like huge ribbons of shaving soap, rain in the mountains but there in the west just the hint of brightness and better weather to come. The A9 which goes almost the whole way to John O’Groats varies from very good to very bad – and like the little girls in the ditty when it was bad it was horrid. Really nasty broken surface which probably would not affect a car with its four wheels but throws a bike all over the place. As the rain cleared it suddenly go very cold - what a contrast from yesterday – and I stopped in a lay-by to pile on more clothes.
Hands white and blue with cold so a welcome cup of tea seemed a good idea and Lo! Providence sent me a nice little café where I became human again very rapidly. All the way up I had seen signs “ John O’Groats 75 miles”, “65 miles”, “45 miles” and I began to get nervous. Surely I’m not going to breakdown now? So I put these silly thoughts out of my head and concentrated on some good riding on what was now a lovely, empty , open road to John O’Groats. I came down the final hill to the Ferry Point, the sun came out and I came to a halt at THE John O’Groats signpost. And whadda-y know? There was Eileen Laybourne sitting on the wall to greet me. Two or three bystanders came up to join us, official photographs were taken, the rest of Eileen’s family appeared and we sat in the sun to enjoy the view.
What a lovely end to 2,000 miles of biking; some good, some fabulous, some dreadful. Only one problem now – about 800 more miles to get home!!
Left Thurso after a lovely breakfast with the Laybournes; Stan L in much pain with rheumatoid arthritis, but very stoic. I don’t think I could stand what he does.
After fond goodbyes I set down the long straight road out of Halkirk heading south along a totally empty A9. The open prairie type countryside with vistas stretching seemingly forever soon gave way to more up and down land with even some trees. I had said goodbye, too, to the Orkneys which I could see from my bedroom window and to the seals which we saw yesterday evening along the shoreline.
An uneventful run down to Inverness, interrupted by a visit to Dornoch (famous internationally for its links golf course) where I once again picked the wrong pub and the wrong item on the menu.
A9 pretty free of traffic and if I buzzed along at about 55-60 I didn’t hold many people up and could enjoy the views. Overtaken by two bikers doing all of 80 mph, what can they see of the lovely country we were going through? Nearly murdered by a BMW going so fast he was almost in orbit but on the whole the drivers I met or was overtaken by showed consideration and good road manners. Maybe when on holidays and not under the pressures of the daily grind aggressive people’s aggression tends to melt away. And so into Kingussie and to my B & B; a farmhouse run by a charming Scots woman with such a taste for ornaments and knick knackery that makes me terribly nervous. Sooner or later I am going to knock something over. Fingers crossed.
Left Kingussie and on down the A9. Took my courage in both hands when I came to a traffic queue and filtered my way up to the front. It just isn’t in my nature but it is one of the advantages of a motorbike; so why not take advantage of it? Bikers have to suffer in other ways anyway. Got to Kinloch Rannock (a lovely spot) in time for a coffee with my sister (on hols there) and then to the other end of the Loch for sandwiches with a girl who has suddenly migrated from Brighton to a Crofters cottage 20 miles from a shop. And on her own too. After such a social whirl I took to the hills and over some mountain moorland where I have never seen such wonderful heather; all in full bloom. Mile after mile of it too, and in one spot a cluster of 20 – 30 beehives. I bet that honey would be delicious.
Then through Crieff, a very jolly town with flower baskets everywhere and on to my night stop, Dollar, where I intended to refuel, have run a bit too low.
“Filling Station?” I asked a local. “No there’s none here now, and the nearest one is over 10 miles away” “So that’ll teach you Sassenachs” he said, even if only with his eyes. Luckily my Brother, bless him, had a can of fuel so I am not stuck for an early start in the morning. Dollar comes from the French, doleur meaning grief I am told, but what anybody should be sad about, I don’t know. It’s a clean, lively town with a world famous Academy smack in the middle and a “mountain goat” golf course for the young and energetic.
Tomorrow seriously heading for home. Can it really be so soon?
Left Dollar, and my brother in a gentle shower of rain. My brother is amazing, he was at death’s door last April after two major ops within 3 weeks – now he scuttles around like an animated earwig, very thin, but cooking, gardening and even driving! Miracles do happen.
Getting around Edinburgh took an age, you have to keep a watchful eye for the signs. How do you decide which lane to get in when the choice is “North” or “South” and you want to go East? Eventually up over the hills to Jedburgh, hard work as I was buffeted by high winds which throw you around from side to side and you want relax, but the A68 from Jedburgh to Corbridge was sheer magic with fantastic views and a blue sky and showers sort of day.
From Scotch Corner, where the advertised tourist Information service does not exist, I went down to Ripon and renewed my acquaintance with the Cathedral which I last visited 6 years ago on a push bike. As I stood outside explaining to one of the guides what I had done then and what I was doing now a delightful lady came up and pressed £2 into my hand “for a good cause”. Perhaps I look older and more down-at-heel than I THOUGHT ON THE OTHER HAND it could be my electric personality (but I doubt it).
Woke to a view of Ripon Cathedral (one of my favourites) sitting on its little hill and bathed in the early morning sun.
After a breakfast where the plates, cups and saucers and the marmalade jar were covered with dust (they were combining one field away up wind of the pub) I set off down the A1 determined to get as far as possible. With 285 miles to go to home I thought I might get to Cambridge for the night. However, pessimistic as usual I found the going was excellent with a dry road, bike running like a sewing machine and not too dense traffic at any stage. So I hammered on down at a steady 70 mph, wind now behind me and Lo! I reached the Dartford Crossing at 2pm and, unbelievably, home at three.
Now to gather my thoughts, clean and polish the bike and slowly get back to normal. I think I am a better and more confident rider than I was when I started out. Motorways (in the dry) and dense town traffic hold no horrors for me now and I am now confident enough to filter to the head of a queue when there’s a hold up.
To sum up: I met lots of nice people; enjoyed some glorious countryside; covered 2,889 miles and did not once have an aching bottom!!
Todays mileage 281
Total mileage 2889
Days on the road 16
Average daily mileage 180
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