But during the Second World War this was the site of one of the top-secret radar stations – then known as Chain Home radar and Chain Home Low radar stations. RAF Tannach was operational from July 1940 to November 1945. It was run by RAF personnel, many of them volunteers in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF).  My late mother was one of those volunteers.

Although there is very little to see now, there must have been scores of servicemen and women living and working here.  I was very fortunate to be greeted by ‘Mary’, who was born just a mile or so away on a farm on the shores of Loch Hempriggs. She now lives in a new bungalow built at the crossroads adjacent to the site of the old radar station buildings. These included the Transmitter and Receiver blocks. Some buildings are used by Mary’s family for agricultural storage and she very helpfully took us for a small tour around them and also pointed out the ruins of the other remaining buildings.  Mary (maiden name Thompson) very kindly took time to explain what she could remember about  the buildings before they were demolished or fell into disrepair.

The ground is mainly flat, with little protection from wind and weather.  I well remember my mother telling us tales of how bleak this place was in winter  especially with rationed coal, a  communal shower block, a black-out and poorly constructed living accommodation blocks (Nissan huts) which offered small defence against the cold, snow and rain. Although she regailed us with accounts of the comradeship and common purpose, and fearsome flight sergeants, and only a few inches of hot water in the bath etc, she never told us children the details of what she actually did because she still regarded it as ‘hush-hush’ and she had been sworn never to divulge that information to anyone.

The small water tower still stands above one of the operations rooms. Drinking water was apparently pumped up directly from the nearby Loch Hempriggs. There were still some remains of other buildings such as the cook-house, which we photographed.  The living quarters were some distance down the road from the main operations block, which had to be negotiated on foot with or without the benefit of shielded flashlights at night.

Like most ruined places the atmosphere is somewhat eerie and you can’t help wondering about all the brave souls who worked here and helped change the course of the war. What became of them in later life?  At that time British radar was at the cutting edge of worldwide science and technology and yet it was being operated by young volunteers who had given up their civilian life and (comforts) to serve their country. My mother was a nineteen year old seamstress when she ‘joined up’.

When we piled back into the car in the late afternoon I felt really pleased that I had actually seen a part of my mother’s life from before I was born. It’s a pity she is no longer around to see the physical remnants of her work and hardships, but her ghost is still there!

My mother, WAAF Conny Crook – later McCulloch. Circa 1940. My granddaughter looks a lot like her.

My friend Tom, Mary from Tannach, and me on yet another beautiful day.

One of the surviving buildings – original purpose unknown.

One of the operations blocks, with the water tower. 

With bomb-proofing and no windows, this was probably the Transmission or Receiving Block.

Mary had been told that this was a radio room. The asbestos roofing is still in remarkably good condition especially considering the harsh local weather and the 70 winters it has survived.

The cookhouse and mess-hall, with  the North Sea in the distance.

This was the only surviving building in the area where the living accommodation (Nissan huts) had been. It was some distance from the main operations buildings. Complete with oyster-catcher on the roof.  It may have  been the ablutions block. There were also mounds of grass-covered rubble which may have been the demolished living quarters.

Marian is the Good one. 

I have thoroughly enjoyed this adventure and would recommend it to anyone who is even vaguely thinking about doing it.  That includes, especially, anyone who feels they cannot attempt it because of illness, age or disability.   It’s all in the preparation and deciding that you want to achieve it.  No-one can ever take the achievement away from you and you can bore your friends, colleagues and grandchildren about it for years to come.

The best part is not boring anyone about it, but just solitary reflection upon the highlights and lowlights of your own struggle.  You will have your own challenges, and I know that mine were physical weakness in my leg, and pain in both knees.  Weakness can be partly overcome by training and being prepared to make only slow tedious progress over hills and against the wind etc.  You will have to find your own answer to pain but my own solution was to think about a quote from T E  Lawrence who said something to the effect that there was no trick in making something not hurt -  the trick was in not minding that it hurt.  You just have to push on – if it hurts then it hurts but if you stop until the pain goes away then you’ll never get there.

The Good Bits include meeting lots of really nice, interesting, kind and generous people.  It was a pleasure to tell them about my sponsorship for Age Concern and about Bermuda generally. They were all interested.  It was surprising how many people had some connection with Bermuda, such as a friend who worked here or a relative who visited here with the navy.  I was also humbled on several occasions by complete strangers giving money for my collection when I told them why I was cycling this journey. I didn’t ask them for money – they just gave it.

The accommodation was virtually all good. I tended to use mostly hotels (such as Premier, Best Western or Travelodge) in the early days and then more bed and breakfast places later on. All the meals were either good or really good. The b&b landladies and hotel staff were invariably helpful.

There is also the scenery, views, plants & flowers, birds, animals, farming, historical places of interest, different food and drink, different spoken and written languages, local music and the pleasure of successful navigation.  Getting to the evening’s destination at the end of a day’s pedalling – more or less on time – with the promise of a hot bath and home cooked dinner is a real joy.

I was also regularly heartened by the support, blog comments, e-mails, phone calls and visits from friends, the people at Age Concern, and Mrs Thompson with her class (including Kiara) at Saltus Cavendish.

The Bad Bits were few. Reaching the point of  exhaustion with many miles still to go is not pleasant. This happened a couple of times in Devon and Cornwall, and the worst time was on Shap Fell in the cold north-east wind and driving rain. All you can do is stop, rest enough to get your breath back, have a drink of water, eat another fruit gum and get back on the bike to cover another few yards before you topple to one side and then repeat the process.  Hills don’t go on forever – they just seem that way.

I count myself fortunate compared with other LEJOGers who have written about their experiences.  Cycling on the main roads with heavy traffic was uncomfortable and scary but no-one ever ran me off the road. I never hit a really bad pothole. I only fell off my bike once and that was at extremely low speed as I tried to make a u-turn in a Cornish country lane to take a second look and photograph something. The low speed and tight turn resulted in an embarrassing display of arms, legs, bike, water bottle, maps, sunglasses and panniers scattered across the tarmac.  Thank goodness no vehicle came along, either to run over me or to witness my ineptitude.

Also, I never found myself in a town or village at evening time with nowhere to rest my head for the night. There was a single ‘poor choice’ of taking a room upstairs over a pub.  It turned out to be a tiny garret, with the noise of revelry (and juke box) keeping me  awake until the early hours of the morning. The pigeons who lived outside my window, which could not be closed, woke me with their cooing at 4 am.

The Ugly Bits are also very few. Coming across the head-on collision on the A82 was upsetting. (I did find out, several days later from an internet cafe manager, that three people  had been hospitalised from that accident but they were all either ‘stable’ or ‘comfortable’.  I sometimes have my doubts about the  use of the word ‘comfortable’.)

The other bits….

The stats.  The ride covered 1,025 miles. It took 46 days including the half days at the start and finish, plus 8 rest days.  With 109 hours in the saddle that works out at an average of 9.43 mph whilst actually pedalling.

My fastest day was 11.49 mph Alness to Balintore (flat ground and a following wind)

My slowest day was 6.11 mph over Shap Fell (up-hill, up-wind, and wet weather gear in rain)

The bike.  Never let  me down. I only had to use the multi-tool twice. Once to adjust and re-tighten the chain by fixing the elliptical fitting on the bottom bracket,  and once to re-tighten the saddle which had worked loose.

Punctures – none.                   Broken spokes – none.

Broken cables – none.          Problems with gears – none.

Some of this may have been helped by my rapidly developed skill and luck at avoiding potholes etc but most of the credit must go to the Felt Cycle Co, the Continental City Contact 700/35 tires, and Bicycle Works Bermuda who supplied them.  I addition to bad surfaces and debris on tarmacced roads the tires also withstood many miles of canal towpaths and forestry commission logging trails.  Many times I heard the dreaded ‘toyng’ of the tire displacing a stone, but never a puncture.  I am blessed.

With hindsight the gears did not reach a low enough ratio for several of the hills, and this added to my struggles. The Shimano Elfine internal 8 gear hub has insufficient range for this task.

Equipment.  This all held  up well. I would not suggest any omissions  from my original list of equipment but the following items had a free ride and were never used,  i.e.  front and rear lights, long-fingered gloves, spare chain link, tire levers, puncture repair kit, 2  inner tubes, spare tire, pliers.  Also the adjustable spanner was used once (on the real axel nuts)  to reassemble the bike from its airline box, and not used again until I dismantled the bike in the John O’Groats car park.

Items ‘lost’ en route were my knee sock (down to my faulty laundry technique) and a pair of sunglasses (probably down to my faulty memory of where I put them). I also think I left two wristbands to dry on the windowsill of my room at the Tullie Inn in Balloch. They must be dry by now.

I was generally pleased with my clothing etc, although I had to replace my non-waterproof leggings after Shap.  And I don’t care what they say about Goretex. If it’s raining in the outside, and you are sweating on the inside then you are going to get wet.  What’s more, if you stop for a rest or something to eat and it is windy then you are going to be chilled to the bone very quickly.

My prosthesis. No problems at all, except those caused by excessive wear on my skin through chafing.  In addition to ordinary biking the prosthesis also dealt with pushing the bike uphill, walking on gravel, lifting the bike through gates and stiles, clambering on and off ferries, stumbling across peat bogs and rambling into the heather.  It also got wet several times but remained unaffected under its covering of waterproof duct-tape. The prosthesis was a credit to J.E. Hanger & Co of Montreal.

The route. This was fine.  I usually managed to stick with my planned route, or make small detours to get off the major roads. The large detour via Corran and Camusnagaul over Loch Linnhe was a gem. The ‘scenic’  portion of the route through Cornwall and Devon was punishingly hilly. Shap Fell in Cumbria was somewhat unavoidable, except by very long detour, and will remain in my memories forever.

Roads varied greatly in surface quality, width, contours etc. This was part of the pleasure of the ride. Examples were the housing estate to be navigated on the way to the Avonmouth Bridge, and the actual bridges over the Severn / Manchester Ship Canal / Esk / Clyde. The towpath alongside the Caledonian Canal and the logging trail through the Clunes Forest. Then there was the memorable A74 - a glorious stretch of by-passed ‘A’  road with only ocassional local traffic on it. And the cinder cycle path along the Lune estuary into Lancaster.  Even more memorable was the mystical single  track road through the Straths of Kildonnan and Halladale.

Navigation. The Phillips Navigator map was ideal for both planning and actual navigating.   It’s a pity it doesn’t have any contour lines.  National Cycle Path signage is often poor.  I only got seriously adrift  from my intended route once, when I missed a NCR sign in the village of Pil and had to struggle up a GOTBAP hill before discovering the error.  What a waste of effort.

Communications.  Whilst I am satisfied with the weight savings of not bringing a separate phone/blackberry, camera and i-pod I was otherwise disappointed with the i-phone. I got it hooked up with a pay-as-you-go service via Vodaphone in UK. The cost was reasonable but the countrywide reception was very poor.  There were significant spells with neither data nor voice coverage. I learned that the teenyboppers - the true connoisseurs –  in Scotland all use O2.

The camera on the i-phone is good enough for ‘snaps’ in good sunshine but I was disappointed with many photos which were not good enough to put on the website or to view on a PC.  Most photos were under-exposed. I resorted to excluding as much sky as possible from the frame wherever possible but even that did not always work.

Whilst it sounds possible from the marketing literature it is not really feasible to update a website using the i-phone.  The screen is too small to do any editing.  I could merely upload photographs for subsequent editing.  It transpired that the fold-out keyboard would not connect with the i-phone and that Apple do not provide for any keyboard linkage, either via bluetooth or by wire. This is apparently due to some restrictive practise by Apple, which I feel reflects  badly on them.

I used internet cafes several times, at a cost, including those being introduced by Premier Inns and by Visit Scotland. Public libraries are OK, and free, but they tend to limit internet access to 20 minutes  or so.  I found that sweet-talking the librarian or the hotel receptionist often improved the situation enormously.

The weather.  This was fantastic. I mentioned in my SWOT analysis the possibility of UK  having a glorious summer, and the pigs are still flying past my window. In 6 1/2 weeks of cycling I had to wear my wet weather gear only three times. Most of the time I wore just a short-sleeved singlet, plus a lightweight breaker as I got into Scotland.

The so-called prevailing wind from the south-west seemed to take a couple of months off so I frequently faced a north-easterly headwind.  I regarded this as being a small price to pay for maintaining a large dry anticyclone over western UK and Ireland.  Indeed, on some days I was grateful for that wind to keep me cool on what would otherwise have been an uncomfortably hot day.

My health. I have had a couple of problems but nothing special.  The chafing under the prosthesis caused quite a lot of bleeding and I treated this with rest days i.e. bed rest of ‘doing nothing’. After being met by Felicity (my ex-wife) in Shrewsbury I managed much better because she gave me some Boots ‘Faster Healing  Hydrocolloidal Dressings’.  I had never heard of them before but can now highly recommend them.  They worked wonderfully at preventing further skin breakdown and facilitating the healing of existing wounds.

My (bad) right knee and later my (good) left knee both became painful and inflamed with the unusual demands placed upon them. This pain persisted throughout the journey.  Ibuprophen helped a bit but there is a limit  to how much of that stuff you should take. The eventual solution was to scale back my daily mileage from 30 – 35 miles to 20 – 25 miles and simply put up with whatever pain arose from that.

In the final day or so, one of the wounds became infected and got progressively worse. I eventually consulted a GP in Tunbridge Wells on my way back to Bermuda and was prescribed antibiotics.  It is still very sore, even days later, so I am thankful that this did not occur earlier in the course of the ride.

In the fifth week I developed a cold sore, which responded to the Zovirax I had taken with me, but still took a week to heal.

The memories.  These are the real fruits of the adventure, in addition to the money raised for Age Concern. In Inverness I saw a man wearing a kilt while riding a pushbike.  I also listened to live music at McCallans coffee shop in Union Street and visited Leakey’s  book shop where I could have stayed for hours -  and that was just the memories of one town!

It seems a lifetime since Marian and I went pottering along Bermuda’s railway trail on Sunday mornings and I began to think about making  the LEJOG trip.

Memories of people and places and sights and sounds and smells and achievement, and the sensation of being in harmony with yourself, the bike  and the road.  They will stay forever.

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Upon reaching the destination bed & breakfast of hotel I found it helpful to have  a routine so that nothing is forgotten.

First – look after the bike.

Find out where the bike can be stored, safely and under shelter. What are the arrangements for access to the bike during the evening or evening? If is not accessible then you will need to remove all panniers and bags. Most hotels I used allowed me to take the bike into the bedroom, which is safest and most convenient. Most b&bs had a lockable shed somewhere out back. I never had to leave Felicity out in the rain overnight. If the bike will be needed to get yourself to dinner then make the necessary arrangements for access.

Relax the gear change cable. Inspect the tires for nails, thorns or bits of stone which may cause a puncture later on if they are left where they are.  Don’t top up the tire pressures until tomorrow morning.

Check the spokes to make sure none need tightening.  If the bike has started making any unusual noises during the day’s ride then investigate and fix them.

Remove the computer and take it to the room before it is accidentally zeroed.

Use the bike-lock and cable wherever and whenever you leave the bike. Lock it to a fixture if possible.  (Radiators are good for this).

Make a written note of the mileage, time and average speed. Finish off any scribbled notes made on the road.

Second – look after yourself.

Bath or shower. I used to take my cycling clothes in the shower or bath with me and do my laundry at the same time as washing myself. The exception is the cycling shorts, which should be hand-washed in water which is as hot as you can bear. It’s important to keep these as clinically clean as possible.

Drying the clothes is easy if you first wrap them as tightly as possible in the bath-towel and then wring them together. (An alternative is to walk up and down the towel-roll). Leave for ten minutes and then unwrap and put on a heated towel rail for the night. If there is no towel rail then you may have to use a hairdryer. If there is no hairdryer in the room then you should ask the landlady for one. Some landladies will actually do your laundry or at least let you use their washing machine and dryer.

If worst comes to worst then your clothes will be still damp in the morning and you will have to put them on again, damp. It’s not the end of the world.

I found it better to shave in the evening than in the morning, if I was going to shave at all.

Write up the notes of mileage etc and complete any notes made during the day of scenery, flora and fauna, traffic, roads, items of interest, conversations etc.  I found it essential to keep a notebook and pen readily to hand for this sort of thing throughout the day (in my bar bag beside the fruit gums and the i-phone /camera).

Have dinner. Chatting to others in the restaurant, dining room or pub is always interesting and someone may make a further donation towards your sponsored charity.

Seek access to a computer and update the blog. This is not always possible each day , which makes it even more important to write up your notes frequently. Otherwise I know I will forget things. Updating a day’s blog using the i-phone keyboard is a challenge because the keyboard and screen as so small, so gaining access to the hotel or b&b computer is very helpful.  Otherwise you may have to wait until you are in a large town which boasts an internet cafe.   I found reception on my i-phone was very patchy, and it was frustrating to be out of contact for both the internet and telephone at times.

Third – plan tomorrow

Bearing in mind how strong you feel, the forecast weather for tomorrow, the likely wind, the terrain, any injuries you have collected, and any other demands such as timing deadlines for return to work etc, you can decide on a target for tomorrow’s journey mileage. Then find a suitable location for tomorrow night. Then book a b&b or hotel. This can be done through the internet, or a tourist information office, or by telephone, or after chatting with tonight’s landlady. They can often make recommendations or give you contact information.

You can often get more useful information about tomorrow’s route, or choice of route, from local people.

I used to then decide on a route and memorize the map and the main waypoints for tomorrow, plus any significant views or local sights that I wanted to visit. This is the best time to look for alternatives to the main roads for tomorrow’s journey.  Local people are always willing to offer information and advice about alternative routes, frequently called ‘the back road’.

Rearrange your damp laundry on the towel rail or festoon it across windowsills, on hangers or over radiators. One trick with spare clothes which have not dried by the morning is to fix them by elastic strapping to the pannier on the bike. Then they get dried by the passing breeze as you cycle along.  On one occasion I obviously didn’t fix one of my stockings firmly enough.  So somewhere on the A49 between Hereford and Leominster there is light brown knee-sock which belongs to me, originally bought from the English Sports Shop in Bermuda.

Get an early night. In my case I usually spent some time on the Daily Telegraph crossword and then picked up my paperback book.  The bookreading put me to sleep very quickly, and I didn’t finish the book for several weeks. Throughout my journey I found that the combination of exercise, fresh air and single objective gave me a good night’s sleep, every night

With Felicity and our Bermuda flag

With Anne, Tom (from Kent) and Marian (from Bermuda).

The Welcoming Committee.

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Starting off from Thurso I climbed past the old castle and found myself in a brisk north-west wind. Very nice. The traffic on the A836 was fairly light. The surface was good.  Large portions of the road were dead straight even though the Romans had no hand in building this road (I think). Perhaps it was General Wade or some such who built these straight roads.

I had received an e-mail message from the very helpful people at Caithness Horizons. They had researched the photo of a building I had taken between Shebster and Westfield and identified it. (Please see the Reay – Thurso blog page). The staff went out of their way to help me with this query and especially with research into the wartime radar station at Tannach which I would be visiting after I had finished the LEJOG. My thanks go to all of them who helped, including Joan, Dave, Marion, Bob the IT guy, and the lady in the cafe.

The buildings around here seem to be low, so as to keep out of the wind. There is a striking beach at Castletown.  If it weren’t for the weather it would be as nice as Bermuda. Then came some unusual-looking sand dunes. After lunch at the only pub in Dunnet I continued in tourist mode and cycled to Mary Anne’s cottage. This is a interesting historical place, lovingly preserved, giving an insight into a way of life which no longer exists.  The tour included an account of the process of cutting, turning, collecting, stacking, drying and burning peat. It reminded me of Strath Halladale.  I also contemplated how I learned all about ‘common rights of turbery’ for my banking exams a lifetime ago but it wasn’t until this trip that I clapped eyes on my first real piece of turf!

Then I set off for Dunnet Head, past Brough (pron Brog).  The road was narrow, steep, with switchbacks and the north-west wind seemed a lot stronger now that I was battling against it.  Several SPARs here, and having to pause to let oncoming traffic get past.  When you get to the top, the effort all seems worthwhile, in retrospect. I think I could also see John O’Groats for the first time in the distance.

The freewheel back downhill and downwind was exhilarating. It included the view of what was obviously a mill at Ham with its own mill-pond – now derelict and silted up.

5th July – 23.22 miles. 2 hours 18 minutes.  Avge 10.1 mph

After another overnight stay at the Castle Arms at Mey I went round the nearby Castle of Mey which was enjoyed, and improved upon, by the late Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother.

Then I got the long-awaited phone call and set off to meet up with the welcoming committee at John O’Groats. The road undulates a bit, with only the view and the livestock to make it interesting. The weather reminded me of its constant presence by raining on me a bit in the last couple of miles. The last few hundred yards to the signpost are actually downhill, which surprised me for some reason.

At the signpost we had joyous greetings and  photographs.  We also met a few people who were either finishing or just setting off. This included Will English from Bristol who was starting off, and had already read some of this blog!   I wish him the best of luck and godspeed.

Then Marian, Tom, Anne and I disassembled poor Felicity and decanted her into the boot of the car. After a quick change out of these cycling shorts and clothes (what a relief) we departed for the pilgrimage to my mother’s wartime posting at RAF radar station at Tannach.  An account of that visit will follow.

6th July – 10.14 miles.  59 minutes.  10.31 mph

I am now in Tunbridge wells, continuing to enjoy the best British weather in years.  In fact it’s a heatwave.  My knees are  hurting now more than they did whilst I was resting during evenings ‘on the road’. I think that’s because of being immobile for so long sitting in luxury on the back seat watching the hills, rivers, mountains, trees and clouds fly by.  The journey down was surreal.

The road along the roof of Scotland, near Murkle.

Mary Anne’s cottage, near Dunnet.

Me, and the forefinger of an obliging German lady who took the photo, at Dunnet Head.

Coming down off Dunnet Head. Impressive cliffs and John O’Groats in the far distance.

Shetland pony, near Mey.

The Bermudian tourist at the castle of Mey.

Over a thousand miles and this is my first sighting. I believe the black and white animals on the right are called Jacob’s Sheep. I haven’t seen these in years. There is a biblical explanation for their name but I can’t remember what it is.

This fellow came across the field to greet me and say goodbye, near Huna.  I was putting my rain-jacket on. Wasn’t that nice of him? As I was only a couple of miles from the finish I shared the last of my fruit pastilles with the horse.  He gave me a big grin, so I assume he enjoyed them.

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This schedule is beginning to feel very relaxed and a little lazy.

With the usual, invaluable, advice from my landlady (Ros at Linkside B&B) I soon turned off the A836 at Isauld and took a minor road through Shebster and Westfield. This is ‘the back road’ to Thurso.  The sun shone. The road had few hills. The road surface was mostly recently-laid tarmac without even the new white lines. Traffic was quiet. The moderate westerly wind was at my back. This is positively indulgent.

As I crested a hill above Thurso I was presented with a grand view over to Dunnet Head and the Orkneys.

On Sunday I spent some time looking round Thurso, which is replete with Viking history. The Caithness Exhibition is very interesting and the Visit Scotland staff were as helpful as ever. Both these offices were open on Sunday.  As usual my landlady, Fiona at the Navidale Guest House, was full of good advice. The rooms were so nice that I arranged for my ‘welcoming committee’ of three people to also stay here in a couple of days time.

Over lunch I also met up with three guys who have just reached here on bikes from Land’s End. They will finish this afternoon and then train and fly back to their home in Southampton. Flying (from Inverness) turned out to be both quicker and cheaper than using the train. We swapped war stories about the journey so far and discussed what life would be like when we returned to normality.

Setting off from Reay. Where did I put the sunglasses?

Dounray Power Station. No longer producing power, but will take several years to de-commission.

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Between Shebster and Westfield lies this ruin. Complete with bell-tower. The Old Manse was next door so maybe it was a Presbyterian Church?  Or a school?

Note. Those helpful people at Caithness Horizons in Thurso subsequently idenftified this building as the Reay Free Church 1844. They contacted me the next day to tell me what it was.   How helpful !

Very imposing and austere.

This one bull had fifteen heifers with him in the field. Obviously none of them was ‘in the mood’

On a clear day you can see the old man! On the right is Dunnet Head with its cliff. On the horizon is Orkney Islands. At the far left you can see a column of rock known as the Old Man of Hoy. To the right of the Orkney is a stack from which they burn off the surplus gas arising from the North Sea pipe terminal. That is at Scapa Flow. If you cannnot see it then that;s due to the limitations of my I-Phone camera.

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Downtown Thurso at 9 o’clock on a Saturday night.

12.08 miles.  1 hour 12 minutes.  Avge 10 mph

I was also sorry to leave a great B&B, and their two dogs and the ducks, geese, and hens.

The cycling was easy. The slope was downward. The wind was behind me. The sun was shining all day. The traffic was non-existent until I reached the A836.  But still I was sorry to be travelling this road and leaving this enchanted place.

From Forsinard I crossed the railway lines and cruised northwards down the valley – Strath Halladay. The stream at this point is very small – only a burn. There is no sign of habitation until Forsinain, where the valley sides begin to be covered by Forestry Commission conifers.

This is the Flow Country.  The narrow valley bottom (the ‘in-by land’ as it’s called in Cumberland) is fertile and arable. The banks and hills are mostly poor grazing and peat bog.

Further downstream there are a number of places shown on the map, but they turn out to be really small places – perhaps only a farmhouse with buildings.

Near Trantlebeg there is a walled burial ground for the strath. I wandered round it and saw many familiar names like MacKay, Sutherland and MacKenzie. When you read the places these souls lived you realise how small is the catchment area.  I could actually see the recited place names of Trantlebeg, Trantlemore and Croick. Imagine the local scene a hundred years ago and less.  People would be born, grow up, get married, raise a family and then die – all within sight of the place where they knew they would be buried.  It was the same place their parents, grandparents and older generations were buried.  It must have been a hard life for them, but I guess there was some comfort in having that certainty in mind.

As in the Strath of Kildonen there are many sad looking abandoned houses. It is poignant to think that these places were house and home to several generations of hard working farmers. The views are magnificent, at least they were for me at this time of year.  Oh, what stories these homes could tell, about a way of life which no longer exists.  I am reminded of a line by Shelley…  ” I met a traveller from an antique land”.  I feel like that traveller who has been privileged to pass through this land.

Within a couple of hours I would be within sight of an advanced nuclear power station at Dounray. What more sharp a contrast can there be?

An unamed bridge over a small burn which later grows  to become the Halladay.

That burn has small trout in it, which can be seen if you just wait quietly and watch

Someone has been cutting peat here. It is now laid out to dry.  The bricks of peat have a pleasant smell to them.

Combined harvester – an early model. I was a little surprised to see this because there is so little land that is fertile enough to grow cereals, and the growing season will be short.  Nevertheless, they obviously succeeded in growing grain at some stage.

An abandoned cottage.  There were also cow byres nearby.

The view from the front (and only) door. The yellow flowers are gorse bushes and the River Halladay is in the middle-ground.

On the A 863 between Melvich (mel-vick) and Reay (ray). This is the last county sign on this journey. The big grin is partly because the hill turns downward just around the corner and there is a fee-wheel all the way to Reay. I am beginning to sense ‘the end’.

The sign also mentions the Mod, which is a competitive music festival somewhat like an Eisteddford. In the background are both Dunnet Head and the Orkneys – where I don’t have to go!

21.54 miles.  1 hour 58 minutes.  Avge 10.9 mph

The kindness of people was again demonstrated today. Mike from the Mirage cafe opened up early to make me a ham sandwich and salad to take with me for lunch. Furthermore he offered advice on my route, and refused to take any payment for the sandwich etc.  It was ‘his contribution’.

The first part of today’s ride was to be a long drag up the Helmsdale river.  The wind was more-or-less behind me which is a psychological boost if only because that means it is not against you!   The road is narrow single track and is usually close to the river and overlooks the fishing beats which are jealously guarded.  It costs a fortune to fish here in one of Europes best salmon fishing rivers.  Imagine paying up to 9,000 pounds for a week’s fishing.  One man, one rod, and you don’t even get to keep all you catch. In fact it isn’t even a week because it’s not permissable to fish on a Sunday.  Even the salmon get a lie-in once a week.

The river has a clearly-defined flood plain with the railway line on the western side of it and the road on the east. I reckon, from my ancient and hazy recollection of geography, that the river dispays ’incised meanders’. If that is so then the mature river must have been rejuventated. That could possibly have happened, and maybe still is, by the removal of the weight of ice as the ice sheet melted at the end of the last ice age. So the land, even this massive and ancient land, will be rising up and causing the menaders to firm up and deepen.  That’s my theory, anyway.   It helps pass the time and miles on days like this to have a theory to daydream about.

The valley is also full of wildlife in the form of lapwings, curlews, oyster catchers and even a buzzard whom I startled from his fence-post perch when he didn’t see me coming. Farmsteads are few and far between. Traffic was very sperse. I took some time to wander round Baile an Or (gaelic for Town of Gold).  This is the scene of the Scottish gold rush of the 19th century. There was a shanty town of prospectors drawn by the news of some gold being found here. It was real enough, but soon worked out. The Duke of Sutherland’s estate didn’t like it either because the miners were making too much noise and disturbing the grouse, reputedly.  The charming legacy is that everyone is still allowed to pan for gold here as long as it’s not for financial gain. Several people still do so, and collect tiny bits of gold which can eventually be made up into  a piece of jewellery. I heard tell of one man who built up his collection until he had enough gold to make a wedding ring.

Back to the long slog upwards.  The road has obviously had a bad winter, and needs mending in places.  I must remebe rto keep an eye on the road at all times in order to miss things. After Kinbrace the gradient slackened as I left the Helmsdale river and began following the Bannock Burn. I then stopped by the road to have my lunch, sheltering from the wind beside a conifer plantation. Mike’s generosity was clearly demonstarted in the size of the portions. It was at this stage that the sun began to shine, and I saw a herd of about 2o red deer in the distance.  It was also the time when the midges found me. To be precise I think they were detered from me by the ministrations of the Avon lady but they showed a strong liking for ham sandwich on white, with french mustard. I didn’t want to spray my food before eating the remainder.  Neither did I want to end up eating the midges along with the lunch. So I hurredly finished and got back on the bike.

As I reached the headwaters of the Bannock Burn and met those of the Halladale the ground leveled off. This is a true watershed. I heard a faint whistle in the distance and a two-carriage train came slowly up and passed me.  It looked rather incongruous somehow, but was a striking sight. It was a pity that the train hadn’t passed me where the lines were adjacent to the road.  It would have made a splendid photograph.

In glorious sunshine I cruised along into Forsinard. There isn’t much here, especially as the train halt is unmanned and the station building given over to a very worthy successor – the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds has a visitor centre here.  The RSPB runs a large nature reserve hereabouts.

My lovely Forsinard Guest House B&B also specialises in free range eggs from hens, ducks and geese.  Sue, the landlady, makes her own jam and marmalade and sells them by the wayside using an honesty box!

It was at this point that I will part company with the railway line. I contemplated how I had followed the line since Inverness, Dingwall, Allness, Tain, Golspie and Helmsdale.   My mother and father had to use this same line for interminable train journeys when they were posted up here during WW11. Winter days are very short.  I am travelling these parts in the best possible weather conditions. Imagine a slow train in the winter, in an old-fashioned compartment carriage, everybody smoking, blacked-out, and there is no-one in the station cafes to serve them.

Rain, rain. (..and the forefinger of the landlord who was seeing me off.)

The haar, looking out to the North Sea from near Navidale, near Helsdale.

End of ordinary road. Beginning of single lane with passing places for the next 40 miles.

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Must be getting near to St David’s

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Panorama of the Helmsdale River.  I hope this illustrates my theory on incised meanders.

The bridge at Baile an Or, where the gold prospecting starts.

The watershed, with nothing in front…

…and nothing behind, i.e no people, no sheep, no cattle, no buildings.

It looks like a pile of firewood until you get close to it and appreciate the scale.  This is new logging.  You could smell the freshly cut pine for hundreds of yards downwind. Real pine smell – not like stuff out of a bottle.

Ten red deer stags ‘at bay’. Sorry for the poor photo detail

The train, silhouetted against the waters of Loch Lucy

The wayside stall, with honesty box

My B&B for the night.  Houses are snuggled close to the gound in this part of the world

Forsinard Halt. Unmanned crossing with no gates, and a forlorn-looking former signal box.  Even the platform is not high enough to match the trains – hence the yellow plastic steps. Charming in the sunshine. What a change in the weather since this morning!

Colin and Katy.  The protectors of birds and educators of people.

26.36 miles.  2 hours 35 minutes  Avge 10.2 mph

It turned out there is no internet cafe in Golspie, nor in Brora, so that’ll set me back a dayor so with the blog.

There is a steep hill out of Golspie involving a GOTBAP. After the crest the road runs parallel with the railway which was reputedly built be the Duke of Sutherland who owns or owned most of the land hereabouts. There is even a private railway station across the street from the gates to Dunrobin Castle. Very convenient.

The intrepid cyclist setting off from Golspie in bright, but cold, sunshine.

What is that strange road-sign in the distance?

Ah yes.  This was left by some kind person to inform / remind all passers-by on the A9 in Sutherland of the result of that football match, in case they hadn’t heard.
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The way into Helmsdale, by road, bike or rail

The Helmsdale -Kildonan war memorial, which chimes every quarter hour with Westminster chimes loud enough for the whole town to hear.

Next to it is an underground ice-house where they stored ice from the frozen river in the winter for use in the fishing industry i.e. to freeze the herring and send it to London and elsewhere.

The old bridge at Helmsdale, still in use, built by Thomas Telford (another Scotsman).

The A9 was full of hilly bits which called for several SPARs.   The stong wind didn’t help.  Brora used to be a thriving place. It even had a coal mine once upon a time. Now it is renowned for its ice cream shop, but I didn’t buy any because I was already too cold. Like many places along this coast, Helmsdale once prospered on the herring fishing, but there are now very few fishing boats left. Helmsdale also has an interesting history associated with its planned development in association with the enforced clearances initiated by the Dukes of Sutherland. Unlike most places in this part of the world, the streets are laid out in a grid pattern

My overnight stay at Navidale House hotel was made delightful by gracious host and hostess. I was even given a lift into town in order to shop/ blog so as to avoid having to climb the steep hill to the hotel.

There was a coal fire going in the lounge, which gives you some idea how cold it was. To a large extent the cooler climate up here is counteracted by the warmth of the people.  Everyone seems friendly. Also they don’t lock up doors all the time. Shops are sometimes left open but unattended, and there are roadside stalls with honesty-boxes beside them.  Andy Murray has reached the semi-finals at Wimbledon.

Rather than carry on up the boring A9 I have decided to see some more of the interesting heart of the Scottish highlands by going up along the Helmsdale valley, through Kinbrace and Forsinard to the A836 which runs along  the roof of Scotland. This later transpired to be an excellent decision.

18.72 miles.  2 hours 19 minutes.  Avge 8.0 mph

The first village I came to was the Hill of Fearn. The war memorial at the crossroads bears the names of another two heroes by the name of Vass and several called Ross.

Then on to rejoin the A9.  At Tain I detoured into the town and got an hour on the PC at an internet cafe at the ‘music emporium’.  Then I went on past Glen Morange (more-ann-gee) where they make particularly good lemonade. The bridge at Dornoch came next, just as I was getting hungry. When they built this bridge it must have reduced the traffic through Bonar Bridge considerably.

On the recommendation of a kind lady in Tesco’s in Tain I stopped for lunch at the Tall Pines restaurant at Evelix. The food is good, the portions enormous, the price reasonable and the service fine. There I met a couple who were driving up to Orkney to look after a farm for two weeks while some friends visit their own home in Gloucestershire. After a nice chat they volunteered a generous contribution to my Age Concern collection.  I never cease to be pleasantly surprised by the spontaneous kindness of so many people.

The afternoon became warmer and sunnier. The colours of the countryside reflected the bright yellow of the gorse bushes, golden irises, purple heather, dandelions, buttercups, foxgloves etc.  The birds came out again, including lapwings, curlews, pied wagtails, seagulls in large number, and my friend the skylark.  This time I saw the skylark because he had chosen that moment to swoop down on some unsuspecting morsel for his lunch.

At the crossing over the River Fleet there is a long climb up what is appropriately near ‘The Mound’.  At the top of this climb I came upon the first road sign I have seen with the name ‘John O’ Groats on it.  That really made me think that I was making progress and that this way of life would, for me, be over fairly soon.  As I will not be taking the shortest possible route between here and JOG I will be covering more than 76 miles before the finish.  Nevertheless, it seemed an important moment.  So I had a good mouthful of Irn Bru, mounted up, and set about pushing those miles behind me.

Golspie is another former prosperous fishing village which now depends upon tourism, farming and a little fishing. I belive there is also a call-centre nearby providing employment. It has a beautiful beach, and the landlord of the Golf Links hotel was full of useful and interesting information about the locality.

He, like a large number of the people running guest houses and hotels in Scotland, was in fact an Englishman. He was nevertheless very well-informed about local scots history and geography.

Dornoch Bridge.  The longest of its type in Europe

And this time it really does mean ‘beware of low-flying aeroplanes’.  And the crosswind was fearsome.

Yet another boundary. Sutherland is the biggest administrative area (county) in Europe but has the lowest population density.

Another abandoned wayside cottage – complete with adjoining byre for the cattle

A reminder of home in Bermuda (the sign says ‘Cloverdale’)

My first sight of John O’Groats on a road-sign. I must be ‘getting there’.  For some reason I felt a bit emotional upon seeing this.

My destination for tonight. Golspie from a distance

25.44 miles.  2 hours 41 minutes.  Avge 9.4 mph