Monday 29 June 2015

Prestwick to Castle Douglas

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Today has undoubtedly been the toughest day so far, both physically and psychologically. The weather began grey and  drizzly, and there was a strong head wind all the way to Castle Douglas. This makes a significant difference when sitting so high with all the body exposed. Although the road was reasonably quite, occasionally huge, long log lorries thundered past. I felt tired, despondent, and preoccupied with the back wheel tyre, which is splitting down the middle right around the wheel. I am hoping it will get me as far as Carlisle, where I will take a day's rest. I certainly didn't expect to get me as far as it has done today. Hopefully, in Carlisle I can either purchase a new wheel, or tyre, or sow the tyre together from side to side with a tough needle and very strong thread. Alan, the unicyclist I stayed with, recommends a product called Sikaflex, used in the marine industry.

As I cycled out of Ayr, leaving the Scottish west coast behind me for good, I was joined by a single cyclist. He explained to me how the huge cargo ships docked out at sea transport coal. They wait until they are sent to obtain it from the cheapest seller, sometimes as far away as the United States or China.    

My arrival in Dalmellington, a small Scottish town eleven miles outside of Ayr, caused quite a stir. A group of men stood around the bike reminiscing, and then the workers from the bank, outside of which I had left the bike, left their posts to take photos. One of the old men, with a weathered face, wearing a cap, informed me that back in the 1930's, the police constable for that area, John Millen, went everywhere on a penny farthing. The old man also told me how as a young man he could earn seventeen pence a week down the pit, with bonuses. He'd saved up and bought his first three speed, and he and a group of seven friends had cycled all the way to Blackpool for their holiday.

One of the men kept fingering the solid front tyre of the bike, explaining to one of the other men how solid tyres were good, as you could shoot at them, and even with holes in, they would still roll. I hoped he wasn't about to try this theory out on my penny as I left town! Another man who had gathered to look at the bike, very much like Billy Connolly in his demeanour, insisted on showing me his biceps, then rolled up his trousers to show me his leg muscles. On his phone he then showed me pictures of his great grandmother, grandmother, and mother; and of himself with a long beard and shades, wearing different hats; and a picture of weights lifted clean above his head as a younger man. "They weighed five and a half stone," he said, "and I could lift them up and down all day." Behind the somewhat manic presentation, I think there was a great degree of sadness. He had lost his wife the previous year to multiple sclerosis, and had spent years before that nursing her, and carrying her.

Yesterday was the whisky cyclist. Today, I met the Brompton crochet cyclist. She introduced herself to me in Patna. Everywhere she stays, she crochets something. She is currently touring Scotland on her bike running crochet workshops. "I'll have to crochet a penny farthing now," she cried as I cycled off. Further details can be found on http://createwithfibre.blogspot.co.uk/

Despite my tiredness and despondency, I was struck by the beauty of the southern uplands, with their rolling hills and pine forests. I saw some kites circling above Loch Ken, the redness of their feathers revealed as their bodies caught the sun. As on previous days, I enjoyed the smell of pine resin from freshly cut wood, the sounds of chirping birds, the diving and darting of swifts, and the sight of numerous wild flowers. And today, maybe because the sun came out in the afternoon, and it was warm, I saw butterflies.

I have erected my bivvy tent in a campsite in Castle Douglas. The warden, knowing the ride was for charity waved the fee. Such kindness has been my experience over and over again. I was in a cafe this evening, eating pie and chips and drinking tea. The lady serving me informed there have been reports of two penny farthings in the area. So maybe I do have an impostor!

Sunday 28 June 2015

Hunter's Quay Dunoon to Prestwick

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Well, it was inevitable it would happen! Arrested for going too slow! But a huge thanks to the two police officers who eventually let me off after several hours in a police cell, without charge, provided I got a move on.                          


The ferry trip across from Hunter's Quay had been rough, with large waves and a strong headwind. And there had been a persistent drizzle. I was grateful to the ferry crew for providing me with free passage. After an hour or so, as the cloud cleared, and the sun came out, everything was transformed into vibrant colour. There were beautiful views across the Firth of Clyde to the Isle of Arran, with its lofty peaks. Yachts with colourful sails moved briskly on the wind.

Once again, I saw oyster catchers, calling loudly, diving and dodging as they chased each other; heard skylarks as they fluttered high into the air, only to dive back into the thick grass; heard the cheeping of yellow-green siskins, as they flitted between trees; saw plovers, running along the shoreline erratically, before stopping briefly to feed; and saw lone herons standing at the edge of streams or pools, tense, poised, and ready to strike out with their dagger like beaks.

                                              

Before I was arrested in Largs, I'd cycled along the promenade, past amusement arcades, shooting galleries, 'Jungle Blades,' and a merry-go-round. I was stopped by a man who'd seen me the previous day cycling along Loch Fyne. In fact, he'd stopped to take my photograph, and expected me to remember him for that. He told me his wife had seen me the previous Saturday, cycling along the West Coast. "Not me," I said, "I didn't start riding until last Sunday. Are you sure it was Saturday?" And he was sure. "He even wore a blue top like you!" I came to the conclusion that there must be two penny farthing riders touring Scotland right now, or that maybe I have an impostor. As to why I wouldn't remember this man, there's another thing you need to know should you now be inspired to purchase a penny farthing, and like me travel from John O'Groats to Land's End. People will take photos and film of you with alarming frequency, even with one hand on the steering wheel. They appear suddenly, as if they have had forewarning of my arrival, as if I was some vintage steam train, and scream out 'smile!' I don't think I have had so many shots taken of me as I have had this week.

I met Martin the whisky cyclist today, as I cycled route 7, the twenty-two mile 'Lochs and Glens' cycle track along this stretch of coastline. He visits festivals, distilleries and shops; and tours the UK, and particularly Scotland, sampling whisky. He has created his own website, with lots of fascinating pictures. Take a look at: http://whiskycyclist.weebly.com/  This evening I am camping in a caravan park in Prestwick, my tent next to a large camper van. I am grateful to Gill and Peter for the soup, bread and cups of tea. Peter has an interesting hobby dressing up as General Eisenhower, getting involved in World War Two battle reenactments, and giving speeches as the great general himself.

Tomorrow I head inland, towards Dumfries. By Tuesday, sadly, I will leave Scotland behind me.






Saturday 27 June 2015

Taynuilt to Hunter's Quay Dunoon

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I am sure it will come as no surprise, to those who know me well, that out of the two choices of ride available to me today, I took the longer, harder, sixty-four mile ride to Dunoon. It was a largely pleasant journey, beginning with a meander through grassy meadows, highland cows chewing cuds of grass, the sound of a cuckoo reverberating across the valley. Then I cycled through the pass of Brander with its steep inclines, down from which crashed huge waterfalls. The pass, after six or seven miles, gave way to the sparkling waters of Loch Awe, the banks of which were largely lined with deciduous trees and purple rhododendrons.  

The climb to the top of Glenn Array was steep and tiring. But the sun was out, and it was great to feel its warmth. And as I neared the top of the Array, walking due to the steepness, a breeze picked up. It's hard to describe just how refreshing this was. It left me thinking about 'Cycling without Age,' which was much of the motivation for undertaking this ride. Years ago, in my twenties, I worked for a short period on a ward for older men. Few had visitors, and from time to time the curtains would be drawn around a bed, and the deceased occupier removed, only to be replaced with another old man the following day. Talking to patients was discouraged; it meant you were being lazy. I remember asking one old man how long he had been there. "Three years," he said. "How often have you been out in that time?" I asked. "Never," he replied. Flouting the rules, I obtained a wheelchair. And an hour later we stood on a hill high above Salisbury, the wind in our hair (those were the days when I still had some), the sun on our faces. He pointed to various locations in the city below, and came alive as he chatted about his life, work, experiences, and family. The smile on his face, and his gratitude were deeply rewarding. There was another occasion, working in London, in an extremely busy old people's team, for Brent council, when a request came through from an old lady, Iris, for help with washing and dressing. This was low priority, and so it was three or four weeks later that I knocked on her door. I recall so vividly how she fell into my arms and sobbed. Weeks previously, she'd gone to the post office to collect her pension. Confronted by a youth, a large piece of timber in his hands, he'd demanded her money. She'd refused, and the youth had struck her repeatedly across the ribs. That's why she needed help washing and dressing. And not wanting to bother anyone, or make a fuss, she had put up with the pain and isolation. I worked for some weeks with Iris, and recall vividly how her face lit up when I turned up one morning with a bunch of flowers, and how she in turn struggled out to the shops to buy my two young children some presents. "You've restored my faith in humanity," she told me. These are moments of connection. And they really matter. We live in a society where loneliness and isolation for older people is so common, where the language we use marginalises and discredits them; old codger, dirty old man, old biddy, senile, demented, cantankerous, and fogey. We'll all be old one day. For me, loving the outdoors as I do, particularly cycling, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. and the wind in my hair (what's left of it), and having people to talk to, to share my story with, will be all important. I look forward to seeing the rickshaws along the cycle tracks in Exeter, and the connections that will be built between volunteers and our older generation.

From the top of Glen Array, their was a steady descent into Inveraray, and Loch Fyne. This wasn't too steep, and so I was able to freewheel most of the way. I had contemplated stopping here for the night, but it was only midday, and it quickly became evident the small village was a tourist honeypot. There was an endless stream of roaring motorbikes, coaches and camper-vans travelling along the A89. I'd only just stopped for some lunch - bread, cheese and a large ripe tomato - sitting on a bench overlooking the loch, when there came a voice from behind me. "Nice bike. May I take photo?" I turned to see at least a dozen Chinese tourists, with their iPod's on selfie sticks. "Smile for camera please." Click, click, click.

The most frustrating part of the day was what seemed like an endless diversion around the far end of Loch Fyne. After nearly three hours, two of which were on the busy A89, I finally reached a point which was probably no more than half a mile across the water to Inveraray. But I was to be rewarded for my efforts. As I reached Strachur, and the turning for Dunoon, out of the Creggans Inn appeared seven Scottish lads, cheering, waving, and crying out enthusiastically. They had passed me earlier in their cars. One had a glass of orange, in which were ice cubes and a straw. "It's for you," he said. "You deserve it!" The lads subsequently took a number of my cards promoting the ride and the charity.



The last part of the day's journey took me down to Holy Loch, in Hunter's Inn. I walked along the shore front, watching dunlin in flight. I love the way in which they swerve their path, and coordinate their movements together, as if they were in some preplanned dance. Tomorrow I will take the ferry across the Clyde to Gourock. Although I shall cycle down the coast for another forty miles or so, it will be through largely built up areas. Despite the endless rain and the midges, I find myself sad to be leaving the wilder aspects of the west coast behind me.

Before I go, should anyone now feel inspired to follow in my tracks and purchase a penny farthing, I need to make you aware of two things. Firstly, be aware, should you visit the west coast, that midges have a top speed of four miles an hour. Consequently, you need to be sure you can maintain such a pace in order to stop them bothering you. Secondly, apart from the dangers of a 'header' I have described, there is another potential hazard. If you have ever watched a Robin Hood film, and in particular a chase on horseback, you'll know how the pursuing rider - normally one of the sheriff of Nottingham's evil accomplices - will often be knocked out of their saddle by an overhanging branch. This is the hazard for the penny farthing rider. All along the cycle track, following the Caledonian Way, I had to keep ducking; so much so that I am inclined to write to the powers that be for Argyll and Bute and request there is a clear pathway made available to the height of ten feet.

Friday 26 June 2015

Oban to Taynuilt

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Do try an oak smoked kipper, a silver darling, if you're in Scotland. The one I had for breakfast was delicious, with firm flesh and a subtle smoked flavour; nothing like the ones that can be purchased vacuum packed and artificially coloured from large supermarkets. I ate it with scrambled egg, overlooking Oban harbour, before catching the first bus back to Duror.

I am enormously grateful to Allan for storing my bike in his workshop, and for the many mugs of tea. Allan and his French wife Martine, create beautiful mosaic paths and patios from local stone, and are involved in making or repairing footpaths in the mountains. I didn't get to meet Martine, as she was away working, but I was impressed by the way the couple had chosen to live in Duror. Their work as cow herders having come to an end in the Swiss Alps, and still wanting to live in a mountainous area, they literally just stuck a pin in map of Scotland at random. Allan and I had some interesting conversations about how in so many areas of life, standardisation, such as in education, can stifle creativity and initiative.

The spokes, to my great relief, arrived mid-morning. Many thanks to Matthew Trott from the league of ordinary riders for supplying them for free. I set to repairing the wheel, hanging the bike from a beam so I could check how true the wheel was. There is quite an art to truing a wheel, tightening or loosening spokes on either side of any 'buckle.' I was interested in my friend Ross's idea that the conversations we have with significant people in our lives are perhaps a little like spokes. Do we not say I just 'spoke' to him or her? Such conversations keep our lives turning, and maybe we need to make minor adjustments, or even replace a spoke altogether, when our lives are not running 'true.'.

With a few minor adjustments, and after a huge plate of pasta and a vegetable stew, I was back on the road. And the weather? It was heavy and torrential rain, all the way from Duror to Connel, a ride on the penny of over two hours. But the 78 cycle route, that goes from Ballachuish to Oban, following the Caledonian Way, more than made up for that. It is undoubtedly the best off-road cycle track I have been on. It twists and turns, as it passes through buttercup meadows; alongside the shores of Loch Linnhe and Loch Creran, with spectacular views of mountains in the distance; through pine forests and more established woods of oak, birch, beech, and hazel; between rocky outcrops with colourful rhododendrons, foxgloves, and wild flowers; past remote castles, like Castle Stalker, perched on an isolated outcrop of rock; and over impressive bridges, such as the huge cantilever bridge in Connel. I saw Canadian geese, and my first ever otter, delighting in the way it so playfully and elegantly swished through the water. At one point, I somehow lost my way off the track, finding myself walking though a huge caravan park, the caravans set symmetrically overlooking the loch. Loud pop music blared from a young couple's car, and there was the smell of cigarette smoke drifting in the air. I was being attacked by midges, and was greatly relieved when I eventually found my way out of the maze of camper vans and caravans.

The rain eventually cleared, and the sun broke through, transforming the landscape, bringing it to life with vibrant colour. The cycle alongside Loch Etive towards my destination, Taynuilt, was magical, on a quiet road bordered by fields of Highland cows with long horns and shaggy coats; and by high hills and mountains. There were views all the way down the valley to Mull. I made frequent stops, filling my lungs with the cool air, imbibing the wonderful sense of peace and space, and listening to the beauty of birdsong, such as that of the lone song-thrush, on a tree stump.

I am staying with Twig and Carol. Twig built his own house in the hills above Taynuilt. For many years he ran his own sawmill. He now, amongst other things, sails boats for customers. Carol works in a plant centre and is also an aspiring artist. Again, I am very grateful to the generosity of local people.

Tomorrow I have a decision to make; either a relatively short ride over the Pass of Brander to Inverarary, or a much longer, all day ride to Dunoon. The road to Dunoon involves a frustrating ride around the far end of Loch Fyne, something like a twelve mile loop, when the actual distance across the water is a stone's throw (if your very good at stone throwing that is). In Dunoon, I will catch a ferry across to Gourock. Much will depend on the weather.

Thursday 25 June 2015

Oban

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Thanks to Matthew Trott from the 'Ordinary League of Riders,' for so quickly organising a dozen spokes to be sent by special delivery. Hopefully they will arrive tomorrow, and I can fix all the broken spokes, true the wheel, be left with some spares, and get back on the road. If you're wondering why the 'ordinary league,' it's because penny farthings were known as 'ordinary bicycles' from about the 1890's. That was to distinguish them from the growing number of 'safety bicycles,'  so called because... well, they were safer! These new safety bikes had a chain drive, and increasingly pneumatic tyres, allowing for a smoother and faster ride (basically, the sort of bikes most of us ride today). Unlike the penny farthing, they didn't result in what came to be known as a 'header,' when the rider's front wheel would hit a stone, a rut, or some obstacle, and pitch the rider forwards over the handlebars. Many riders would go down hills with their feet over the moustache bars (so shaped to allow for movement of the knees), so that should they be pitched forwards, it would be feet first. Have a look at the video of Joff Summerfield freewheeling on You Tube; 'Downhill to Death Valley.'
 
Penny farthings are also referred to as hi-wheelers, and members of cycle clubs as 'wheelmen.' So that makes me a wheel man! The wheel size is dependent on the inside leg measurement, and can be anything up to sixty inches in diameter. Modern bicycle gears are still based on measurements from penny farthings. Joff Summerfield has been around the world on his hand built penny, and is currently cycling from northernmost point of North America, to the southernmost point of South America. But the first man to go around the world on a penny was Thomas Stevens, in 1884. Unlike me, he had no mechanical difficulties! I started reading his book before I left home. It's packed with adventures. The longest distance covered on a penny farthing in an hour was 23.72 miles, in 1891.

Today has been a lazy day, looking at maps, and planning routes. After purchasing a spoke spanner and some chamois cream, I walked around Oban's harbour area, in the rain (locals assure me there is a summer, only it was on Sunday two weeks ago) watching the large Caledonian MacBrayne ferries taking passengers to islands such as Lismore, Colonsay, Mull, Barra, and Tiree, the large waves from their wake breaking on the shore line. Oban, like many of our coastal towns, once had a thriving fishing industry, but now largely relies upon tourism. Numerous shops sell Gaelic souvenirs, pipe music, and tartan clothing. In amongst the boats were small black guillemots, paddling with their delicate bright red feet. They fly low across the water, at speed, emitting a high pitched whistle, diving up to fifty meters for small fish and crustaceans.

It's sobering to think how twenty thousand years ago, a comparatively short space of time given the age of the earth, Scotland was under up to a mile of ice. It's been slowly rising ever since, and over the next century could rise by up to 10cm. Southern England by contrast is slowly sinking. This in turn will have an effect on sea levels. I also wonder, if it will have an effect on future generations of bed pushers, unicyclists, skateboarders, and penny farthing riders. Maybe if I had waited long enough to undertake this ride, it might really have been downhill from John O'Groats!

I don't know if anyone following this blog has been wanting to leave comments. I have adjusted the settings, so this should now be possible. I am very new to this!


Wednesday 24 June 2015

Fort Augustus to Duror

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Yesterday was a disastrous day as far as this journey goes. There is very little choice of roads in Scotland, and so I was forced to take the A82 from Fort Augustus towards Oban. This began pleasantly enough, making a steady speed of eight miles an hour. I watched a bridge opening for a yacht travelling up the Caledonian canal (the canal links the east and west coast, and has clearly involved some intriguing engineering). Arriving in Fort William, I swopped my unforgiving Brooks saddle, for a gel one. This proved to be a bad move. Firstly, it put my weight more squarely above the front axle. I'm certain that's why I subsequently lost seven spokes; one of which broke as I was going down hill, flying out at a ninety degree angle, causing a mighty racket as it clattered against the forks. That's now nine spokes I've lost. Secondly, because the saddle was set two-three inches higher than the Brooks saddle, it meant I could no longer easily reach for the back step when dismounting. As is was raining and slippery anyway, this resulted in two undignified falls. Thirdly, the additional height of the saddle meant I could no longer reach the pedals comfortably, which has left the muscles behind my ankles stretched and achey. In addition to all of this, the road from Fort William to Ballachulish, has to be the worst road I have ever been on. It's a narrow winding A road, used by huge lorries, coaches, endless camper vans, caravans, and bikers. I still got cheers and waves, but I also got some pretty unsavoury abuse. On top of all of that, the lace of one of my shoes, normally restrained by velcro, got caught up in the pedal. Fortunately the lace ripped apart before throwing me off the bike. It was great to get over Ballachulish bridge and take the cycle track along the old railway line, its banks lined with verdant ferns and purple rhododendrons. There was a delicious smell of wild garlic. Oyster catchers, calling loudly, chased each other along the shore line.

I'm now sitting in a bedroom of the old railway station in Duror, overlooking Loch Linnhi, on a beautiful still sunny morning. Outside numerous birds are chirping. The view is stunning, with hills of Glas Bhennn, Creach Bhennin, and Benn Na Cille on the other side of the loch. Seals, porpoises and otters may frequently be seen in the loch's waters, hunting the rich sea life and run of salmon. And last night has to have been the most still and peaceful night I have ever experienced. I am staying with Joey, the commodeer of the royal highland's yacht club and his wife Verna. Joey had a career in the RAF and used to fly lightning jets. Verna spent a good part of her working life farming Highland cattle. Yesterday evening, in what used to be the gentleman's waiting area of the station, I sat and drank a huge gin and tonic in front of a mighty wood burner. As I was so tired anyway, I literally started to see double! We then enjoyed a spaghetti bolognese supper, followed by ice cream and apple pie, in what used to be the women's waiting area of the station. Our conversation once again brought home how precarious life can be and the need to embrace life in all its fullness now.

As a complete aside, I ought to say something about midges, present on the West coast from May to September. If you have never experienced them, then you're highly fortunate. They can drive you to distraction, biting every exposed bit of skin. Joey showed me a couple of midge traps he has in his garden yesterday. These are highly effective. And as midges are territorial, staying in a particular area, the traps leave the garden relatively midge free. They work by emitting carbon dioxide and a sweaty smell, which is exactly what attracts them to you or I. Joey showed me the contents of one emptied trap and I was shocked. There was literally a bucket of them, just from one day's collection.

So what to do now? I can't possibly ride any distance on a wheel with so many broken spokes. And this afternoon, I'm informed, heavy rain is forecast for twenty four hours. I am told the owner of the cycle shop in Oban may be able to make spokes, so that's where I'll be headed today. I'm also aware I may be able to get some sent to me from London, and I still have a few spares left at home. This forces me to have to stop for a day or two, which is probably no bad thing. My body needs the rest.

Tuesday 23 June 2015

Kirkhill to Fort Augustus

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A bed! Yes, that's what I heard last night. There's a woman pushing one the whole length of the country. Can you imagine what a police constable"s life must be like in John O"Groat's; constantly arresting naked ramblers, bed pushers, and chickens? I was lucky to get through unobserved. If anyone sees the lady with the bed, and she"s ahead of me, do ask if her if she'd be as kind as to push me back from Land:s End to Exeter.

Last night was supposed to have been a fantastic night to see the Northern lights. But alas, there was a thick layer of cloud. I understand the aurora is visible even in the south, so if it"s clear wherever you are, look out for it. I shall pop out of my bivvy tent in the early hours and scan the skies.

Thanks once again to Alan and Lori for accommodating me last night, and to Alan for sharing his thoughts this morning, in exchange for a Victorian penny. We had a conversation about his experiences as a volunteer ambulance crew member, and as a volunteer coastguard. A theme is emerging in every interview. Life can suddenly be taken away from us. Live it now, and don't waste precious time dwelling on regrets. Alan riding beside me for the first few miles this morning was a great morale boost. I had no idea unicycling was such an established sport. Alan's bike, one of many with diffferent wheel sizes, has gears and brakes. If you have time check out YouTube on Lutz Eicholz and Kris (or Khris) Holm. There's  even a film that includes Lutz unicycling a slack line!   I think the correct term here is 'awesome!' Thoughts for the penny! 

Today I have had offers of accommodation in Worcester, Fort William, and Plymouth. Yesterday Bristol and Ware near Shrewsbury. I've been amazed at people's generosity and hospitality. By the time I get to Land's End, my panniers will be bursting with notes. And that's great news for Ride on in Exeter, and Cycling without Age.

Another theme that seems to be emerging from my conversations, is how much good can come out of bad situations. As Geraldine, a neuroscience nurse from London, who has travelled to far flung places across the globe, told me this evening, she was once mugged in Namibia. But she was treated with such patience, love and care by local people. Which brings me to another theme, the need for authentic connection; where we put away who we think we're supposed to be, or how others would like us to be, and be truly seen. That requires relational risk taking and overcoming fear. 

Today was undoubtedly the best ride to date, I spent two and a half hours climbing a minor road, high up into heathland and mountain. I passed through a forest of beech and birch, greeted by the chirping of a myriad of birds, bubbling of mountain streams and the crashing of waterfalls, a breeze blowing through the trees, and that rich coconut smell of yellow gorse. I.have never seen such bright and magnificent gorse before, here covering vast slopes. I attach a photo, though it doesn't do it justice. As I climbed higher, the breeze became increasingly cool and refreshing, and there was a smell like resin emanating from pine trees. When I saw a layer of fresh snow ahead, I was greatly surprised. Snow in June? It turned out to be a vast area of heathland covered with cotton grass. Again I  attach a photo. One great thing about the penny, is that it forces you to slow down. I began to really notice and observe the tiniest of colourful roadside flowers, like the beautiful, yellow, small cow-wheat melampyrum, That probably makes me sound very learned. The truth is, I just looked it up.




In the afternoon I dropped down into Drumnadrochit, walking at a 45 degree angle, grasping the bike to stop it being pulled away from me by the steepness of the hill. I was then into the long cycle along the touristy Loch Ness to Fort Augustus. The original Gaelic word for the town was Kiliwhimin, renamed following a Jacobite uprising in 1715. They're is an impressive series of lock gates at Fort Augustus, for boats entering or leaving the Caledonian canal.

Now, I am in my bivvy tent, listening to the sound I hate most in this world, snoring! The two guys in a tent close by are in harmony, one deep and guttural, and the other high pitched and whiney. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, so must chuck a shoe at them.

Helmsdale to Kirkhill near Inverness

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This was not a particularly eventful day, and involved a lot of unpleasant cycling down the A9, traffic hurtling past. But at least it wasn't raining, and I had a favourable tail wind. I wasn't in the mood for interviewing anyone. The previous day's ride had left me tired physically and mentally, and my butt was sore. Retrospectively, I wish I had interviewed people; like the bodyguard from Brora, who had moved from East London twelve years previously, after leaving the forces, to buy a dilapidated hotel. "It's a work in progress" he told me; and I could certainly see why. He supplied me with two monster energy drinks, something I'd never normally consume. They left my teeth zinging! Then there was Diana in Golspie, who gave me a donation for the charity, Sue in Invergordon who stopped to chat, and a Spanish couple from Catalonia, off a huge cruiser moored in the Moray Firth. I don't know what it is about the penny farthing, but it seems to bring out the best in people. In each town and village people of all ages stop and chat, and wish me well; and on the road people wave, give me the thumbs up, laugh and smile, or slow down in order to take pictures or movies. I stopped at one house to ask for directions in the evening, and was asked if I'd like accommodation. I can't imagine that happening on a conventional bike.

Yesterday, I cycled far further than originally intended. This was in large part due to the fact that the Cromarty ferry wasn't running, and I wasn't able to camp at Nigg hotel. So late afternnon I pushed on to Kirkhill near Inverness, arriving at dusk. I stayed with some unicyclists, Alan and Lori. Alan is particularly keen, and has unicycled across the world.

So, with little to report, I thought I might say something about riding a penny. I get asked a lot how I get up on to the saddle, and how I get down. Well both are easy; there's a small step at the rear of the bike. You hold the handle bars, put your foot on the step, and push off, standing as you do so, and jumping into the saddle. Getting down is the same, but in reverse. Another question I get asked a lot, is if it is 'wobbly' sitting up so high. The answer is 'no,' it's absolutely no different to a conventional bike, only a lot higher.

The wheel on a penny is fixed, meaning there are no gears, and that pedalling backwards is the only way of braking. This can present problems. I can freewheel down hills, providing they are not to steep, by letting the pedals spin round without my feet on them. However, the front wheel can go into a speed wobble! And I have to be very cautious about when I freewheel, judging when the road levels out and the steepness of the incline. So, I can't freewheel around bends downhill, as I can't see what lies ahead. Twice now I have lost control, hurtling at speed down hill, holding the handlebars as tight as I can - trying to prevent too much wobble - hoping and praying I don't meet a junction. There's absolutely no way of regaining control. Just as a matter of interest, the record for cycling from end to end on a penny farthing is just over five days. This was achieved by the phenomenal cyclist George Pilkington-Mills (1867-1845) at the age of eighteen. I'll attempt breaking that record next year.


Sunday 21 June 2015

John O'Groats to Helmsdale

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Any thoughts I had yesterday about this ride being 'crazy,' soon dissipated. Today, the longest day of the year, I saw a walking goldfish! And the tattooed taxi driver (who never takes any holiday), who took my bike from Wick to John O'Groat's, told me about people walking the distance backwards; riding unicycles; the naked rambler (arrested numerous times, once with his wife!); young lads pushing shopping trolleys with fridges in; people dressed as chickens and riding 50cc mopeds; and people driving tractors, riding skateboards, and unicycling. I started out feeling quite sane! The landlady I stayed with in Wick, June, told me how she had rushed to John O'Groats with a group of women to see the naked rambler. He was arrested before she arrived. "You didn't miss much!" said one of the many women who had turned up to see him. Not surprising if it was anything like this afternoon, with a cold wind and driving rain!

In all, the trip to Wick by train the previous day had taken four and a half hours. The latter stages went through mile upon mile of bleak looking highland. In the distance, dark mountains rose threateningly through the misty rain. There were occasional herds of deer, startled by the rat a tat of the train; circling buzzards; a lone lapwing in a field; isolated and abandoned crofts; and weathered and jagged posts of wood, crisscrossing in random fashion. I can only guess they were once fences, but now they looked like a world war battle scene. As the train trudged along the line to Helmsdale, past a calm iridescent sea, I saw a stalking heron, and a seal rise and disappear.                                

Disaster! Arriving in Wick, and unpacking the boxes, midges driving me to distraction, I found I had forgotten to pack some essential bolts and the cotter pins. Steve Brown, who helped me pack the boxes, kindly rang a taxi firm to have them delivered from Exeter. A very reasonable price of £1250.00! However, as luck would have it, I had brought two spare cotter pins; and with the help of June, who produced a container of bolts, I was able to improvise. June is a most kind and generous women. I was deeply touched by her story when I gave a penny for her thoughts. Numerous losses have taught her that now is all there is. As she said, the bottom of one's world can fall out any time. She identified compassion as the most important thing she has learnt on her journey through life. I was deeply touched when she refused payment for bed and breakfast. The hug we shared felt deeply connecting. It was so encouraging to see her standing by the roadside, cheering and waving as I cycled through Wick later that morning.

I averaged nine miles an hour for the first two hours, cycling past abandoned crofts, peat channels, and majestic looking castles standing precariously on the edges of cliffs - some in a state of dilapidation. The expected rain had not arrived, and the air was warm. I enjoyed the sounds of skylarks, the 'peewit' of lapwings, the bleet of newborn lambs,  the coconut smell of yellow gorse, and the sight of flowers adorning the roadside - rosebay willowherb, cuckoo flowers, pink wild roses, pink campion, cowslip, and surprisingly, bluebells. Just about every car, bus and lorry driver that passed cheered and waved, and honked their horns, which was to be the case all day. I went past two separate walkers, expecting to take two and a half months to get to Land's End, one raising money for 'Help for Heroes.' And coming the other way, I saw numerous cyclists (one on a recumbent) that were nearing the end of their journey. But alas, this state of bliss was not to last. I'd been dreading the Berridale Braes, of which I had heard numerous terrible tales. And the rain had started, driven by a headwind, at times almost bringing me to a halt. I stopped in a small concrete block which passes as a bus stop, hungrily eating cheese, tomatoes and biscuits. It was then that I was spotted by Gail, from a bungalow opposite, who asked me in for a cup of tea.

She introduced me to Graham her husband, a grey bearded biker, who sat relaxed in an armchair listening to loud rock music, smoking, and watching TV; to Nicole, her niece; to her two noisy Jack Russell's; and to a huge Alsatian, eyeing me suspiciously from the back garden. I've never seen such a collection of skulls as those that surrounded Graham. Not real skulls, but model skulls, in all shapes and sizes. Draping one was a large rubber bat. There was even a poster stuck on the back of the living room door of skulls. Downing the tea quickly, and consuming an offered doughnut (never did a doughnut taste so good), I got on my way.  But not before Gail told me how useless the bus shelter was. "You stand in it waiting for a bus," she said, "sheltering from the rain, and the bus drives right past without seeing you!" I'm convinced there may have been a few skeletons in the cupboard in that family. Talking of skeletons, I passed several graveyards today in windswept remote spots outside towns. It felt as if there was something very final about death; none of your soft, southern, light coloured stone for tombstones, but austere black granite

I hadn't gone far when I was flagged own by Jude and Nick, who'd met a week previously at a unicycle event on the Isle of Skye. Nick, from Los Angeles, who had come to Scotland to report on the unicycling event (the participants had unicycle up one of Skye's highest mountains) was keen to ask me questions for 'biketalk,com.' I was happy to get shelter from the rain, to consume two slices of delicious banana cake and a muffin, and be interviewed. I asked both if I could give a penny for their thoughts, and was struck by their response; again the need to embrace the journey and not worry about the destination.

The last few miles to Helmsdale were tough. Berriedale lived up to its reputation, with its steep descent and hairpin bends. I arrived in a B&B in Helmsdale, 55 miles from John O'Groats, after nine hours on the road, tired, aching and hungry. Barry, the landlord, kindly went to the local fish and chip shop and returned with a 'fish supper;' undoubtedly the biggest portion of fish and chips I have ever seen. I subsequently had a hot bath, which like the doughnut earlier in the day, was unquestionably the most relaxing bath I have ever had.

Saturday 20 June 2015

Train from Inverness to Wick

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For the last few days, the prospect of setting out from John O'Groat's to Land's End on a penny farthing drawing ever nearer, I have, from time to time, been overwhelmed with anxiety. What am I doing? It all seemed like a lot of fun when I first had the idea; an exciting adventure, an intrepid journey worthy of brave adventurers of old, an escape from the predictability of day to day living. But now, rain streaking in horizontal lines along the train windows, it seems a huge challenge; a looming, forbearing mountain, with its peak lost in cloud. 'Crazy' might be an apt word to use, if I wasn't so against language defining people who attempt anything out of the 'ordinary,' as somehow not normal.

Several people have asked me today what I'm doing and where I'm going, such as the elderly good-natured gentleman, who fished the north west coast of Scotland for sixty years, on the train from Aberdeen to Inverness, out for a father's day treat with his two daughters; or the gentleman from Tunbridge Wells, on an organised walking tour in the Outer Hebrides with his supercilious looking wife, at Inverness station. I told them both I was cycling end to end, and they seemed awestruck. But I didn't say how. "We might end up seeing you on TV," laughs the fisherman, as the train arrives into Inverness. "You never know!" I reply. "Do you have a good bike?" says the man from Tunbridge Wells, in his clipped English accent. I imagine he's a retired stockbroker. "Yes," I say, thinking about the strange looking Victorian contraption awaiting me in Wick. "Does it have good tyres?" he says. "Yes," I say. "Are they these new solid tyres that don't puncture?" "Oh yes!" I reply truthfully, "I have solid tyres." Is it one of these fancy new bikes?" he says, as he half browses the property page in the Telegraph. "Mm, not that new," I reply, the word 'bone-shaker' juddering through my mind. "We have hotels booked for two nights on each island. How about you? Have you booked all your accommodation?" I think of the bivvy bag tent, camping mat, and trusty down feather sleeping bag I've used for the last thirty eight years in my holdall. "I like to book my accommodation as I go along." I guess I don't want to tell anyone what I'm doing right now. Their likely comments will only add to my sense of trepidation.

I eat my lunch on the bank of the river Ness, before catching the train from Inverness to Wick, sitting on some stone steps, a cool wind blowing up the river, the sound of buskers bagpipes exuding from the city. Somehow the lid of my pasta salad has punctured, and olive oil has leaked out into the contents of my bag. So annoying! A couple close by stare down into the river, as if looking for fish amongst the wavering weed. Their black pit bull terrier stares at me with menacing eyes, and emits a sound between a sniff and a bark. A huge black raven appears, and I throw it a bow-tie shaped piece of pasta. It gobbles it down. Instantly another raven sweeps down from a nearby building, followed by two huge gulls. The ravens, intimidated, disappear; and both gulls, their beaks wide open before me, let out piercing guttural cries. One then attacks the other, stabbing at it with its beak. Last night I was kept awake by the cries of these huge birds, sounding like a riotous mob. They nest on the roofs of buildings in Aberdeen. Ross, the friend I was staying with, told me how ravens and crows pick up the young gull chicks in their beaks, whilst the parents are out searching for food, play with them like a cat with a mouse, and then drop them off the side of the building.

I had the first of my 'Penny for your thoughts' interviews with Ross and his partner Emma last night; such an interesting conversation about journeys vs destinations, fear, love, the negative consequences of regret, the construction of reality, identity, spirituality, authenticity and time. I gave them one of my hundred tarnished Victorian pennies, as I intend to do with everyone who shares their thoughts about life as a journey on route. And now, as the train leaves Ardgay station bumps along the track, past lakes, mountains patched with snow, yellow gorse, and forests, I recall the leaving present from my last group of students on a Relate counselling course, a model penny farthing mounted on a block of wood with the inscription 'the only impossible journey is the one we never begin.' It's our journeys through life that matter most, I think, not the destination; though for all sorts of reasons I find that hard to live by. If we're always thinking ahead, then we miss out on the present moment. And do we ever really arrive? I recall years ago, camping in Chamonix, by chance next to Adrian Burgess, the climber. He enthralled the family with stories of his climbing. There was one thing he said to my son, keen to commence climbing himself, that has stayed with me. "Don't look up," he said. "If you do that, you'll lose focus, and may never reach the summit. Concentrate on each foothold, the next handhold, that's where the real pleasure lies." Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. Let me focus on the beginning, each moment, and for now, forget Land's End.


Wednesday 10 June 2015

Packing the Penny

Many thanks to Steve and Carolin for their help on Sunday with packing the penny. It turned out to be one of those Blue Peter like exercises, sticking boxes together with sticky tape. The bike leaves for Wick on Monday, transported at the very reasonable price of £30.00. I may start my own travel company offering cheap travel deals in personalised boxes.



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Tuesday 2 June 2015

A Bit About the Charity

In June of this year I shall be cycling my penny farthing bicycle from John O'Groats to Lands End (the JOGLE), raising money for 'Ride - On Cycling for All,' a charity based in Exeter. I shall be keeping to minor roads, cycling over 1000 miles. The money is being raised specifically for 2 specially adapted rickshaws, as developed by Cycling Without Age in Denmark. I'd encourage you please to watch the Ted talk at the end of this page It's inspirational.

As you can see, these rickshaws are a great way of caring for and connecting with older people, and generating a volunteer-minded society. There are currently about 37 municipalities in Denmark involved with the project, making use of over 150 rickshaws. The international attention in the project is massive, including interest from Australia, New Zealand, US and Canada. Eight municipalities in Norway are now rolling. Along with the team at 'Ride-On Cycling for All,' we aim to be the first city in the UK to acquire these rickshaws. Imagine these bikes taking out our older citizens along the Exe cycle tracks, providing them with the right to 'wind in their hair.'



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A Brief Introduction...

Many thanks to my son Ben who created the video below as part of his degree in Adventure Media. Just a taste of the 1000 miles or so ahead! On route, I shall be interviewing people about what makes their journey through life most meaningful, giving away as I do so Victorian pennies. This is part of a project titled 'A Penny for Your Thoughts.'


My Penny to Freedom from Ben Woolner on Vimeo.


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