Are we nearly there yet?
104.1 Miles, 4,541 ft of Elevation / 167.5 Km, 1,384 m of Elevation
Start: 06:13 Finish: 13:57 Moving Time: 7hrs 1min
Ride Across Britain: 100% Complete
We woke at 4.30am in the cold and dark of Northern Scotland, already well prepared.
After 9 days of camping we were pretty good, but the day took on that extra significance, so packing was done to perfection the night before, during the night and first thing in the morning.
Everything I didn’t need was at the bottom of the big bag. Everything to go on the bike was on one side in the tent. Things I needed to get ready were in the small bag, which would go in the big bag at the last minute, all to travel by truck.
Chammy cream was rubbed into bib shorts and they were donned for the last time. A long-sleeved jersey was covered with a gilet, a raincoat in the back pocket. Gloves, bike computer and sunglasses sat collected in my helmet. Two filled bottles and fully charged lights were already on the bike.
Breakfast started with a cup of tea left outside my tent – thanks Ed – then finished in the marquee with the usual: bacon, sausage, egg, beans, porridge, croissants.
We crossed the start line at 6.13am, still in darkness and following winking rear lights up the road. We had just over 100 miles (160km) to our final destination. Even with all my layers on I was cold, but within ten minutes it felt bearable.
The light slowly grew as quiet lanes picked their way through ferns and pine trees. The road ran alongside a rushing river and up into wide expanses of moorland, the sun breaking through clouds clinging to the mountains in the East. We climbed and descended on good roads, still cold but surprised by the rich scenery.
We made rapid progress towards the first pit stop at Altnaharra, where thick clouds of midges filled the air. All the staff were wearing head nets, except for Roy, who is in charge of the water. As Ed put it: Midges don’t bite Roy. Roy bites midges.
We refilled, restocked and toileted in record time and could already feel the midges make pinpricks all over our faces, ears, legs. Our fellow riders rushed around and swore, surprised to have found a new level of discomfort in a 9-day world of pain.
In the morning I had remembered to put on ‘Avon Skin So Soft’, supposedly the midges’ Kryptonite. In the end this merely reduced the number of bites to ‘scores’ rather than ‘hundreds’, based on the exposed skin of other cyclists.
We ate on the move as we rode away from the carnage, alongside Loch Naver. It was a long body of water, enough that in the South we rode in dappled sunlight and in the North we rode inside a raincloud with a headwind.
The climb to Bettyhill took us alongside a Sandy creek to the North Coast Road, heading East. We had cycled beyond the rain and it was warmer except from the occasional gust of wind. The final pit stop was just off the road in a car park and a handwritten chalk sign said ‘Just 31.4 Miles!’ (50.5km).
Having made more than 300,000 pedal strokes to that point since Land’s End, everyone faced significant wear and tear so it was hard to know what was worth mentioning. But the pain in my right knee was starting to reach levels where I couldn’t use it and I dropped behind the group (Ed, Zoe and Andrew) on a simple climb.
It turned out I could survive by using only my left leg, or by getting out of the saddle to stand on the pedals, but our average speed came down. No-one seemed to mind as we were already making good progress along the long, straight roads.
The Orkney Islands lay across the water, wind farms turned far out at sea, a farmer and a sheepdog sat atop a quad bike, herding sheep. We counted down the miles and looked for any sign of the finish.
At last we spotted flags and coaches in the distance and knew that we had made it. Relief and jubilation were finally allowed.
We had set off at 06:57 on Saturday 5th September 2021. After 9 days and 976 miles (1,571km), with 65 hours and 59 minutes in the saddle, we rounded the last corner and heard the announcer read our names as we passed the finish line. The large crowd of supporters cheered.
A photographer crouched just beyond the line and we tried to pose without falling over on the wet grass. The main organisers were there congratulating riders and their team handed out medals.
Wearing them with pride, we walked our bikes back to the road and freewheeled down the hill to get a photo with the ‘sign’. No paywall here, just a line of happy, exhausted cyclists and some friends and family. The photographer took official snaps and fellow riders used phones to capture the moment for themselves.
Our final jobs were to pack our bikes for transit and get ourselves on a coach back to Inverness. We attached pipe lagging, removed pedals and handed over our tired machines, frankly glad to see the back of them. After months obsessing over saddle heights, gear ratios and tyre choices, we would have happily thrown our bikes into the sea.
We joined the standby queue for an earlier bus and got onto the 4.20, at last feeling like we were done. We sat at the front, near the driver and with a great view forward. The lady with the clipboard and high-viz jacket walked on and congratulated us, saying the journey would take 3 hours, if we didn’t get stuck behind any tractors or cyclists.
Riders were still coming in so the driver waited for a while before pulling out onto the road, then turned and set off. Before long we were, briefly, stuck behind a cyclist. In fact I recognised Stuart, whom I had spoken to a couple of times when we ended up riding next to each other. Slim and probably in his late forties, he had a distinctive skull tattoo on his right calf, and some days wore walking boots rather than cycling shoes.
As the road was taking him away from the finish, we guessed that he was doing the ‘extra’ 24 miles (39 km) that some wanted to ride in order to make up 1,000 miles in total.
It wasn’t for us. Instead the relief that we could just sit down on a soft seat and do nothing, then later walk on a carpet, eat in a restaurant, and sleep in a bed.
The driver overtook Stuart and we sped off down the rolling coastal lanes, leaving him to his bike, the wind and the roads.
We had done it. From the southern tip of England to the northernmost point of mainland Scotland, under our own steam. We battled steep hills and long flats, blazing heat and freezing cold, saddle sores and injuries, exhaustion and sleep deprivation – but we defeated them all.
Our reward was relief and elation, thousands raised for charity, and memories for a lifetime. The iconic climbs, the stunning views, the fast descents and the remarkable people. In particular, huge respect for those less suited to the challenge than us but able to do it anyway for a charity or cause they believed in.
During one evening, there was a presentation to around 30 riders of a ‘Gold’ jersey to recognise their third time completing the ride. I couldn’t catch the whole thing but my friend Rich from work was likely one of them. He completed the distance in 2018 and 2019, before working as a chaperone in this years’ event – cycling up and down the route helping other riders each day.
So at times the question came up: “would you do it again?” and my answer was: “fair play to those who do, but it’s not for me”.
There will be other, fresh challenges ahead, both those I choose and those thrown at me by life. Whatever they may be, at least I know that we all have within us what it takes to keep going, when all we want to do is get off and lie down.
The Cycling Eagle 