LEJOG - Roundup

For some reason I have put off writing this blog post. That I cycled from one end of the country to the other hasn't sunk in. I hope it will soon.

The journey started on Wednesday morning, leaving home at 08:10 to cycle to work in Greenwich. 9.5 hours later, with my mind having been completely occupied by LEJOG the entire working day, I headed to Wimbledon to stay with Hugo, in Wimbledon.

It's a pretty direct route from Greenwich, heading to Elephant and Castle then following CS7. The sheer volume of cyclists is like nothing I've ever seen; it was akin to the biggest sportive I could imagine in this country. Quite phenomenal really. There were bikes of all sorts, from the whippets on their carbon frames to the pannier-laden commuter losing the fight against the wind.

I was stronger than most - I'd have been worried if not! - passing huge pelotons at a time like they were standing still, eventually reaching the faster guys at the front. Amongst all the carnage of what felt like a Tour de France stage, a beautiful scenario occurred where bike trumped cars and those in metal boxes had to dance to the tune of hundreds (literally) of cyclists. The scene of a pro-cycling video straight out of Amsterdam. Bliss. 

That evening I refamiliarised myself with England going out of an international tournament, before having the intricate Love Island plots explained to me. Less said the better, I think!

Thursday morning I woke at 04:20 (blazin') then drifted in and out of sleep until 05:45, 15 minutes before my alarm, which seemed a good a time as any to get out of bed. 

I've become something of an expert at faffing before an important journey/event and, rather than retrain my brain, I've simply accepted it and now allow myself more time for faffing. I know I'm faffing when I'm mid-faff yet it's therapeutic and I enjoy it. It gets me into the rhythm of what I'm about to do and I would miss my faff time should I find myself without it.

I left Hugo's at 06:15 after a solid half an hour of faffing (in that time I brushed my teeth, got dressed and filled up two water bottles. That's it!) and headed toward Paddington. My Garmin cycling computer showed me the way and I reviled in the crisp early morning, scurrying about before most of the traffic woke.

There were almost as many cyclists as cars along the way, it was that quiet. I negotiated the route without much alarm, cutting through Hyde Park's fantastic cycling path infrastructure (there's even a lane for horses!) and arrived at Paddington just after 7am.

I picked up a couple of vegan bagels (they were on offer) and two apples for £7, which I took as a win all things considered, and boarded my train. Luckily a few weeks ago I booked a space for my bike on the train, as I initially had forgotten, though when I locked my bike up in the separate carriage, there was room for five and mine was the only one there. Why else were people going from London to Penzance? Oh yeah, it stops along the way.

Before the train departed I had a moment where a powerful thought hit me: this trip would change my life. Of all the things, people, events that have changed my life pretty much every one of them has happened as a surprise. I can't think of a single moment where I've anticipated its life-changing impact. Yet here I was on the most metaphorically-perfect mode of transport about to embark on an incredible journey. 

I spent most of the journey reading Mark Beaumont's book about cycling around the world solo, which provided encouragement, excitement, and really got me pumped up for the trip. Occasionally I'd glance out the window at a fantastic view - I hoped this was a taste of the next two weeks.

I've never really explored the UK which seems silly as it's so accessible. I've been to Cornwall and Devon multiple times, went up to Newcastle in 2004 and did a bit of camping as a child, but nothing other than that. I've never set foot in Scotland or Wales. Scotland in particular was the part I was most looking forward to. My uncle had explained how he and his wife like to go to Scotland to "look at it" which I thought was an excellently articulate use of such a bland phrase. A cycling friend had also mentioned Glencoe, a place I'd see on the run along the lochs to Inverness, and told me how it was so idyllic huge companies had filmed adverts there. 

I arrived in Penzance, cycled the 10 miles (after almost leaving my helmet on the train!) to Land's End, visited the area then headed to the B&B, about a mile in land (obviously) from the tourist attraction.

After settling in and locking my bike in a shed, I decided to walk to the local Costcutter in just socks. On the bike it had been a minute if that. On foot, however, it felt a lot longer and the surface was unforgiving. By the time I got back I had a small blister on my right heel and I cursed myself for being so careless before I had even begun the biggest challenge of my life! Later on I decided to cycle to the fish and chip shop, 190 Degrees West, for dinner. It was only 500 metres away! 

1

Having agreed upon a 07:30 breakfast with my hosts, I woke just before 7 to squeeze in some last minute faffing, which mainly consisted of checking and double-checking everything.

A delicious fry up - with decent thick slices of bread - later and I was ready to roll. I left bang on 8am, and rolled down the hill for a mile to Land's End. Got there, did the obligatory picture and met a group of three cycling to Okehampton!

We four left together and I wondered what level they would be; their gear was certainly better than mine! A mile later, during a short climb during which I was spinning up easily, I had the answer. Chatting with one of the guys, I could hear his breathing already. Not a good sign.

Fortunately, or naturally I suppose, the three dropped back on the next climb and I didn't see them again. I found out later on that it had taken them half an hour longer to reach Okehampton, than it had for me to get to Chulmleigh, 20 miles farther on. 

After the initial excitement of finally starting LEJOG I got into a rhythm and started eating up the tarmac. Cornwall is hilly. Not just a few big lumps here and there, like Kent, but constantly hilly. It's as if God created the West Country then decided that actually Cornwall wasn't going to fit and pinched the two ends together.

I had trained for the terrain, and handled the rises well but I couldn't imagine what it would be like - mentally - to deal with the parabolic nature of the area. But for every up there was a down. Some, cruelly, were technical, forcing me to concentrate, find the right line and descend with a tightened grip, feathering the front brake scrubbing off momentum for the next rise. The difference between easy, clear descents and ones that twist and require technique is marked.

I had hoped to find a bakery in one of the many towns I'd be cycling through but, remarkably, I didn't see one. So I had to make do with lots of sweets - my palate didn't thank me that evening. 

In total I got through: One bag of haribo, one packet of jelly babies, two bags of 'Minions' from a place bearing the same name(!), 12 fig rolls, a flapjack, two cans of 7-Up and 8 (yes, eight) litres of water. My insides didn't thank me either. 

As hard as the hills in Cornwall and Devon were, the views more than made up for them. Around every corner, through gaps in the trees and hedgerows an expanse of rolling hills and countryside could be seen. It was enough to force me off the bike to capture a picture - something I had very rarely done, yet I felt compelled to share these moments.

It didn't take long for the views to spoil me, though I never took them for granted - they were still too new and mesmerising!

So I kicked on spinning my way through a variety of Cornish towns and villages, enjoying the countryside, even occasionally finding myself on A-roads that a cyclist probably shouldn't be on. (A 10 minute stretch on the motorway-esque A30 after 100km wasn't my smartest move of the day.)

Prior to LEJOG my farthest ride was a there-and-back to Cambridge with a mate; 130 miles (210km) starting before sunrise and finishing after sunset. Day one of LEJOG would be not only farther, but also include almost three times the climbing. There were guaranteed to be dark times. And there were.

Every long distance ride has contained a spectrum of emotions: there's anticipation of what is to come; excitement to be doing the ride that, no doubt, has been planned for a considerable amount of time; the numbness of sitting on the same surface for hours on end; doubts over whether the goal is achievable; euphoria when it is.

Recognising the different emotions and not allowing them to take hold is a difficult skill I've realised. I have written before about how fantastic cycling has been for my mental health, and I've come to understand that it has helped me to deal with my emotions in an alternative way. A better way, I believe.

By acknowledging the emotion, and choosing how best to respond to it, I am not ruled by my emotions, but rather I rule them. A famous cycling quote from Jens Voigt comes to mind. When asked about what he does to block out the pain during hard rides, Jens yells "Shut Up Legs! Do what I tell you!"

So when I reached the 90 mile mark and I started to flag, I knew that I still had control; I just had to keep on top of my emotions, and not let them overcome me. 

In the end I didn't, rolling into Chulmleigh just after 6pm, 10 hours after I had set off from Land's End. 

The weekend in Chulmleigh was mostly spent eating and horizontal, occasionally at the same time. The BBQ on Saturday involved a fair amount of alcohol which would take most of Sunday to recover from.

2

Monday morning quickly turned into a manic rush as my phone and Garmin Bike computer needed charging. Thankfully they were charged enough by the time we set off. 

I say 'we' because four of us left Chulmleigh, cycling 10 miles together before my comrades headed to a tea room. The average speed of 10mph for that first section showed how easy I was taking it, but I was quite glad to be doing so as I have had a tendency to start fast in the past. 

Once alone I started to try and get my legs going as they felt flat after two days off. It wasn't until 30 miles in that they felt normal. It's as if my legs were confused, not sure of what I required of them!

Like the first day they eventually obliged and I got into a rhythm, my surroundings encouraging the quick passing of miles. The difference in terrain couldn't have been more noticeable. Long flat stretches allowed me to keep a high cadence and speed while my heart rate sat in the 120s/130s - the recovery zone. The wind seemed to be at my back rather than in my face which always helps. 

Fuel for day two was: haribo, two bananas, millionaire shortbread, lemon drizzle cake, lucozade and four litres of water.

When I reached Yatton, after crossing many, many bridges, I felt remarkably fresh. My heart rate had never got out of control due to a lack of consistent hills, in fact even the 7% climb up through Shipham (just as you get into the Mendip Hills) had it in the 160s, which I could have held for hours. I was tired, of course, but nowhere near empty, which was obviously the plan as tomorrow I would have to do it all over again. 

It was a relief, though, to know I could ride 80+ miles and feel okay. I haven't done 5 hour rides on consecutive days before so it was all still new to me, but my confidence grew as I ticked each day off. 

3

Haven't slept particularly well since being away and today continued that trend. The sleep itself was fine, but I woke up at 6am to the sound of traffic, and couldn't get back to sleep again. Did some foam rolling, bit of bike cleaning, granola and yoghurt for breakfast then I set off. 

The weather forecast was favourable: high of 21, overcast, and a westerly/southerly wind. My Garmin told me to join a cycle path, which it often does, and I ignored it, as I often do, as it usually involves cycling on a crap shared path full of glass and potholes. This little detour took me into a different part of Bristol where I met a guy (didn't catch his name) and we cycled together for 10 minutes.

As we crossed the Clifton suspension bridge he offered to take my picture while I cycled across. I enthusiastically agreed, handed him my phone, and he cycled ahead. It was at this moment I realised that he could cycle off with my phone if he really wanted to! But he didn't and my trust in him earned me a fantastic photo.

Crossing the Clifton Suspension Bridge

Once I had negotiated my way through a shower on Bristol's lumpy streets, I joined the A38 (again) and the going was good and fast albeit along an uninspiring yet flat, and occasionally rough, road.

I would stay on that uninspiring road for quite some time, until Gloucester where I joined a B road with fantastic views of the Malvern Hills up ahead. It's funny, I used to dislike and avoid hills but during this trip I have grown to enjoy them. Standing at the foot of a mountain sticking out of the ground, I have an urge to get to the top of it and claim my reward of a fantastic view.

The rest of the ride was largely uneventful, crossing a few bridges the highlight of course being the Severn eventually in Worcester (I had no idea it ran as far north).

I arrived in Cutnall Green feeling much the same as the previous day. My heart rate had been low - 123bpm average - and I hadn't really broken a sweat. I drank just three litres of water, had two bananas, two rice crispie bars, two goats cheese focaccias, and a bag of reduced sugar (unintentional) fruit pastilles.

4

Didn't have a great night's sleep on Tuesday night but I felt fairly rested come the morning. Opted to clean the bike first thing (8am, lol) rather than the previous evening, which meant I didn't set off until after 9. Fortunately the weather was overcast and not especially hot so my late start didn't result in a hot finish. 

Mainly quiet roads through Staffordshire, into Cheshire and Lancashire with a short nip into Shropshire. The hardest part of the ride was, without doubt, the road surface. It was pretty dreadful all day, which meant sore hands and jarred joints from wrist to shoulder. I really miss the smooth Somerset roads!

In terms of scenery, most of the ride was pretty basic. Perhaps I've been spoilt so far but there just wasn't much to take pictures of, and all that sticks in my memory are a couple of quaint villages, and loads of big houses with exceptionally neat gardens.

Highlight undoubtedly seeing a man talking on the phone and eating a sandwich while driving a tractor!

5

Slept well last night. 8-8.5 hours. First 50 miles of the journey, through Manchester and Preston, almost as far as Lancaster were pretty rough: road surfaces OK, busy A road (mainly the A6), and not much worth looking at except one wonderful lake. Then I turned right, crossed over the M6 into the Forest of Bowland (about 40 seconds into the video below). Wow. Just wow. what an incredible place. Stunning views all around, good road surfaces, not much traffic, rolling hills. It stayed like that for the rest of the ride, eventually reaching the edge of the Yorkshire Dales, which were breathtaking.

I shot through Kendal town - very pretty, snaking up, over and around a river running through its heart, then I climbed a brilliantly steep hill out of town towards my destination.

From there on it was a selection of ups and downs carving through the hills, with fantastic stone walls and fields full of farm animals. The narrow, open roads and scenery were perfect for cycling; cars very much second-class citizens!

Met Sophie and Suzie just before the end when all of a sudden I'm spitting a bug out of my mouth that has just stung me! Ride over, I washed my mouth out with water and put some ice on it as it began to swell. Took an anti-histamine and an ibuprofen which worked, though I was a little worried it may have affected the following days' riding.

Forecast for tomorrow is rain all day. Hoping to avoid as much of it as I can.

6

Woke up to see a slightly cloudy but not rainy morning in Kendal. I dared to dream that the forecast was somehow completely wrong. 45 minutes after leaving I realised how foolish I had been. For the next two hours the rain hammered it down, to the point that I could hardly see there was so much water on my glasses and falling around me. 

Sometimes adverse weather conditions can throw up unexpected treats. There was a stretch through a placed called Durdar, about five miles south of Carlisle, where the road smoothed out into a false flat, glistening with surface water, and I motored along at 30mph chasing after a tractor. I have just checked and I covered five miles in just over 11 minutes!

Got into Carlisle, changed all my clothes, luckily found a cycling shop that sold overshoes and continued on my way to Moffat, after a quick sausage sandwich.

The rain held off temporarily then, right on cue as I hit 100km, continued from where it had left off earlier that morning. I followed the M6 then A74(M), crossing into Scotland - stopping at Gretna for the classic photo - for the majority of the next 25 miles while it rained and rained and then rained some more. A few of the stretches were nice and fast, but mostly gentle rolling hills.

Met up with Mum and Dad which was such a boost to morale! Had been flagging last few days but that really gave me a lift, knowing they had got up at 4am to drive 400+ miles to meet me. Had a nice meal then we set off in search of a waterfall in the Moffat Hills!

I had earmarked Day 6 as being quite an easy one; it wasn't especially long and, at 3,398ft, was as flat as it got this trip. Still, the scenery made it worthwhile, particularly the first few miles through the Dales. 

Tomorrow is the closest I'll come to a rest day (67 miles) though a bit lumpy including a big climb to start.

7

I foam rolled my legs, stretched then set off.

The road almost immediately went uphill, mist obscuring the view slightly as it lifted. A squeak - from my overshoe rubbing the crank arm - took up my attention for the first half an hour until I finally managed to pedal in a motion so that it didn't make the noise. (More on this later.)

There were a few nice roads, particularly in the first 30 or so miles, before I reached the towns like Hamilton, and built up areas which are the same wherever you go.

Progress, considering there was a not insignificant headwind, was solid and I only stopped for 20 minutes from start to finish. The bulk of that was made up by a chance meeting with another cyclist doing LEJOG!

Donal, from Ireland, was doing the trip over a fortnight carrying all of his gear! He had only taken up cycling six months ago, which blew my mind. I thought I was new to cycling having only been doing it for a couple of years. He also explained how he wanted to do MizMal - the Ireland equivalent - in October.

I would have loved to cycle with Donal for a while but the road we met on was undulating and I would have got to Kilsyth, with Mum and Dad waiting for me, a lot later than I did, and I didn't want to waste their time, or reduce the amount of time we had together before they undertook the mammoth journey back to Hastings, having done the same journey just the day before. 

Having Mum and Dad on the trip made it extra special. It was such a boost to see them - the effort they made to get to Scotland lifted my spirits as I started to fade. 

I still feel jaded and lethargic but, as with the charity donations, knowing the support is there makes a world of difference.

Mum and Dad left around 3pm (hoping to be home for 1am!) and I had a thirty minute nap which may have been longer but for barking farm dogs.

Three days to go, 647 miles down with just over 313 left to cycle. As crazy as it sounds, I'm tempted to make Day 10 a mammoth 150+ ride to a) finish on 1,000 miles and b) eclipse the epic Cornwall ride. Whether I'll want to do an extra 40 miles when I'm 110 miles in on Tuesday remains to be seen!

Thinking about it, this challenge so far has been perfect. Before I started training it was just beyond me and I am only where I am because of the hard work I put in - there's a life lesson in there somewhere! - which has made it difficult and rewarding in equal measures.

I've wanted to do a big charity event for a while but nothing seemed worthy enough, given how active I am. This absolutely fits that bill. 

8

At 104 miles, Day 8 is the third-longest day, bettered only by the huge first and last days, and the only other century I'd have to ride. 

The forecast was damp and for a headwind along the first 30 miles and last 20 or so miles, with a crosswind along Loch Lomond. 

The views along Lomond were spectacular, experienced whilst cycling the West Loch Lomond cycle path which was mostly smooth, wide, quiet, and enjoyable to ride on. At times it got a bit bumpy where you essentially join a pavement but definitely a better option than the alternative - the busy A82.

The route had been mostly flat for the first 50 miles then started to climb as I left Loch Lomond. I stopped at Green Welly, where I met the same guy I had seen the day before! We swapped numbers, he continued on and I stopped for a jacket potato.

Rain started to fall as I left, following the A82 almost all the way. Unfortunately a lot of the drivers were in a hurry, some taking crazy unnecessary risks to pass me, a few close enough for me to touch their wing mirror without stretching. That was disappointing and frustrating because, though the road was busy, it wasn't as if there were no options to pass. It was the difference between waiting for 5 seconds!

As I got into Glen Coe, despite the inclement weather, the views were incredible. Breathtaking even. I couldn't help but be in awe of my surroundings, intimidated even. I'd love to go back and do some walking around there.

Finished up day 8 in Kinlochleven, and we headed to a pub I had cycled past to meet Donal. Unfortunately we got our wires crossed and, though we were both there at the same time, didn't get to meet up. He was in a separate part of the bar!

Back to the hostel for the evening with high expectations of day 9.

9

During the planning of the trip it quickly became clear that one day stood out from the rest. Today was that day.

Starting in Kinlochleven, approx. six miles south of Ben Nevis, the route would take me west along Loch Leven, then I'd "turn right" and head north-east along Loch Eil to Fort William, follow the road with Loch Lochy on my left to Fort Augustus, before crossing over to the other side and riding with Loch Ness on my right hand side. Before reaching Inverness, I would cut left through the Boblainy Forest to the Muir of Ord up to Strathpeffer. Nothing short of epic.

The trouble with high expectations is that they can often create a tricky situation whereby the actual experience cannot live up to the inflated hopes.

The day didn't get off to the best of starts. We found a popular local breakfast place and thought a fry up would be a good idea. Our food seemed to take forever and, while waiting I was using up my phone's battery without even thinking about what I was doing and, more importantly, what I needed my phone for later - pictures!

The delay coupled with my mindlessness frustrated me and I started to feel impatient. I must've eaten breakfast in record time, paid and left within five minutes!

We got back to the hostel and I just really wanted to get going until, for some reason, I looked out the window and saw a stag sat perfectly still in the long grass outside our window. I'm not sure how I spotted him, but that completely stopped me in my tracks, and eliminated any feeling I had of wanting to get going until I had marvelled at him for long enough.

Once I set off I soon realised that, regardless of my expectations, this ride would be incredible. It was everything I had hoped/expected and immeasurably more. Cycling along the lochs, with a generous tailwind, I felt as if I was flying at points, motoring along as if in a futuristic advert racing a bike (cars are no longer a thing) with a chocolate-voiced actor voicing over the footage.

Even though I had a tailwind, a lot of my speed came from me really pushing on the bike. The scenery gave me a constant supply of adrenaline to burn through and I knew, accidents withstanding, I was going to finish the trip that, in all honesty, I didn't completely believe was possible.

It's not that I doubted myself, but rather I understood the enormity of the task. Thousands have cycled this iconic journey before me, and surely thousands will after. Yet I still felt that, for me, this was a huge challenge - the biggest of my life - and needed to be paid the respect it deserved. For that reason I was nervous.

10

The final day. One last - albeit pretty long - push. Probably the most straightforward route of the trip, essentially following the north-east coast of Scotland, along the A9/A99 to John O'Groats. Prior to the start I had faint hopes of spotting wildlife in the Moray Firth. Unfortunately I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

I had made a deal with myself that, if I reached the final day and didn't feel completely exhausted, I would TT the 110+ miles and try to snag a KOM somewhere along the way. After an extended search through the Strava segments, I highlighted this 21 mile drag from Dingwall to Tain as my best chance. I ended up taking it by 4 minutes!

I spent the majority of the final day's ride thinking about trying to get to John O'Groats as fast as I could. With the wind behind all I needed to do was keep semi-aero and push down on the pedals a little harder than usual. The going was fairly good, with quite a few punchy hills including an incredible corkscrew in Berriedale about halfway. The road was so steep it had an escape lane for vehicles (usually trucks) struggling to slow down.

As it was the last day, and knowing I'd be on the bike for the best part of six hours, I decided on a two-stop strategy (à la Formula One, though a bit slower...) at roughly the one-third/40 mile mark, and two-third/80 mile point. That way I'd be able to break the ride - the second-longest of the entire trip - in to three chunks of two hours.

There isn't really much more to say about the final day. I knew day nine would be epic, and day ten had the potential to be pretty cool with some nice views, but it was mostly Scottish highland farmland and the occasional glimpse of the sea. There were stretches of miles without seeing any human life, or anything other than farm animals and most of the views rolled into one by the end.

Once I reached John O'Groats and I decided to have a little lie down, and I'm so pleased I did because of the picture this Sophie took!

What a photo!

And so, I had finished. I never know what to do at the end of a race/event - this was no different. We took a few photos, I had an ice cream and then, for the first time since packing my bike onto the train in Paddington, my bike was transported by somebody/thing other than me.

Throughout the trip, Sophie and Suzie were my support team and did everything that needed to be done in order that all I had to do was ride my bike. It sounds bizarre but, for me, riding my bike is definitely the easy bit. Anybody that read the first and/or second part of my LEJOG training posts will understand how hard I trained for this event, with the intention of the trip being as enjoyable, and manageable as it possibly could be. So a huge thank you to the both of them for their efforts.

Finally, I couldn't finish this blog post without mentioning the reason for my trip; Tristan's Pawprints.

We raised £1,648.28 altogether, mainly through the efforts of family and friends who shared the links, posted details on the Internet, badgered their friends, and some went almost as far as holding people upside down by their ankles and collecting the change that fell.

There's a long way to go in order for Rebecca to realise Tristan's dream of setting up a dog rescue charity, but this will make a huge difference.

Thank you all so much x