Day 9, Sunday 25th June 2000
Running for Home
We woke in Helmsdale at 6am in readiness for our pre-8am get away. I met the lady of the house on the stairs. She muttered something in unintelligible Scottish (a bit like Reggie Perrins chef McStay). I smiled and said nothing.
The menu had a "full scottish" so obviously I filled my boots. Dave changed the habits of a lifetime and joined me in a "cooked" but he fell short of a "full" going for a rather girlie poached egg and bacon. The blood in my black pudding was going to be the fuel for my first charge.
Not Quite Out of the Woods
As we approached Helmsdale the previous evening we could see the road left the village up a steep gradient. What we did not know was how long this gradient was. Our E2E mentor Andrew Roberts had sent us a congratulatory message which informed us "HOME ST. NICE SMALL ROLLING HILLS TO THE FIN" this was a great fillip to our flagging wind beaten morale.
As I began to climb the hill out of Helmsdale I became slightly alarmed by the ferocity of the slope. In my lowest gear I had to zig zag to keep going. Andrew's message was playing on my mind. Perhaps this was some cruel joke and the road to Lands End was a continuum of switchbacks. The next ten miles did little to dilute my concern. On one descent I got up to 41mph and that does not happen on small rolling hills.
Its an ill wind
Things slowly improved hillwise but the head wind picked up. We were averaging about 10mph. The big goal was head and nothing would now stop us.
We met a fellow E2Eer who was coming south. He shared his jelly babies and we discussed the relative merits of Shimano and Campagnolo. He warned us of the toughness of the Wick to John O'Groats stretch.
We rested briefly in Wick and met another E2Eer who also stressed the difficulty of the last leg.
As you leave Wick the sign says John O'Groats 17 miles which, even on a bike, is not a great distance under normal conditions. The prevailing conditions may be normal if you live in Wick but for two lads from the south they represented a final challenge that added further to the value of the prize. Boreas was playing with us. It reminded me of poor old Odysseus who is just trying to get home and the gods are amusing themselves by throwing obstacles in his path.
Three miles to go and a climb to the top of a small hill from which we could glide down into the shambolic collection of derelict looking buildings that is John O'Groats. Dave had been left behind by the superior downhill abilities of the Galaxy so I stopped so we could regroup and seize victory together.
Done It!
We crossed the line into the freezing cold of the John O'Groats carpark. The photographer was huddled in his car trying to keep warm and looked slightly put out to be given some business. We were cold but warm in spirit as he arranged us under the traditional finger post.
After the photo-shoot he directed us to the Inn where the paperwork would be completed. While there I struck up a conversation with Paul a piping navvy from Manchester who gave me a fiver to add to our haul for CFT.
We chatted with the barman and told him that our dream, at that moment, would be to be taken, with bikes, by taxi all the way to Inverness (about 120 miles). The alternative would be another 20 miles directly into the wind to catch a train in Thurso where, so we had been told, the chances of loading our bikes on the train were slim. The barman knew a man who would do it. Within minutes it was all arranged he was coming to pick us up at half past two (in 45 minutes time) the price had not been discussed.
At the appointed time, in fact 15 minutes early, a ruddy-faced man in his sixties presented himself. The cost was discussed but only very briefly as 90 pounds at that point was a no brainer if he had said one thousand pounds we would have given it serious consideration.
Outside was parked the ex-GPO Sherpa van minibus with the last row of seats removed to make room for bikes (or farm animals).
The van was warm and we were very tired. I was trying to be polite and converse with driver. This was not too easy as his accent was thick and all his talk was peppered with Rab C Nesbit style asides to curse the other road users.
Dave took the back row of seats and sensible drifted off into oblivion his dreams no longer haunted by headwinds or endless hills.
The van made Inverness railway station by 5pm and our train was at 8:20pm so we had a few hours to kill. We decamped to a bar where the Holland Yugoslavia game was playing. Our table was round the corner from the telly so every time a goal was scored we had to get up and go and have a look. As Holland were inconsiderate enough to score 6 goals we were hardly still for ten minutes at a time.
The Last Challenge
When I came to book the sleeper tickets for the train home I was informed that there was no room on the train for our bikes. The alternative suggested was to use the Red Star parcel service to have the bikes delivered home. This was Sunday so, as one might expect from a former nationalised institution, the Red Star office was closed. We decided that our best bet was to "blag" the bikes onto the train. If challenged we would claim we did not realise a ticket for the bikes was required and then put the onus on ScotRail to get them home.
At 8:20 we were waiting with all the other passengers at the platform barrier. Looking around I could see no other bikes, which was slightly odd as all the tickets were sold.
The train was finally ready and a surge of passengers flooded through the barriers. I was head down looking for the guard's van and was 5 or 6 carriages down before Dave caught up with me and told me that the helpful guard had shown him the bike storage place in the very first carriage. Nobody asked us for any tickets. We stowed our bikes, in a van with eight slots only one of which was occupied, and snuck off triumphantly to get away from scene of the crime. Dave heard one of our fellow passengers say to her companion. "Look at those lucky sods they managed to get bookings for their bikes"
Home At Last
The train sped through the night and pulled into Euston just after 8. Our bikes were still in their racks. We shook hands and departed for our respective homes. After 919 miles on some savage terrain with no mechanical problems, after day 1, it was hugely ironic that Dave's chain snapped on the way across London.
Stats
Dave 55 miles 4hrs 52mins 11.3 mph Average 39 mph Max
Will 54 miles 4hrs 46mins 11.3 mph average 41 mph max