John O'Groats to Helmsdale

      

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.