Photos at the finish

Nearly there

The last thigh burster-there is a speck in the distance-guess who

The welcoming party at Duncansby Head

The celebration party

Which way do we throw them?

Trophy presentation!

No we're not going back

The 2 Martins and Chris at the official sign

We’re there!

The rain had been replaced by glorious sunshine but there was not a dry eye when we finally crossed the line.
It was utterly brilliant that Martin T and his wife Tracey could be there to welcome us home-thanks to Will and Caroline who made it possible.
Photos to follow………………

The first John O Groats Sign

Lest we forget

As we don the lycra for the last time, Martin and I will stop to ponder on why we took on this challenge and when we (hopefully) glide down into John O Groats we will be thinking of Martin and other fellow sufferers of MND in whose name we have cycled and thank you for helping us to help them in some small way by raising our target of £20,000.
I will of course also be thinking of my brother in law Alan and the excess over £20,000 will be going to the Corby Renal Unit where Alan brightened the lives of fellow patients and staff.

ps guess what-it’s raining

MW at Welsh border

CK at Welsh border

Windswept Maggie on Dartmoor

Remember Bannockburn

Day 9

A beautiful day!
Stayed in a wonderfully timewarped hotel in baronial style at a basement price. For the first time CK goesfor the full breakfast-must be a good sign.
Despite the fact that we had all day to cover 50 miles, it was agreed that these would be knocked off am to enjoy half a day as a real tourist. The weather was kind all morning and we were treated to some stunning scenery wth vivid yellow shows from the blossoming gorse.
So we were done by lunchtime. After a call to Mrs K to send our love and thoughts to her and her family at the interment of my brother in law today, we had a, by our standards modest, intake of carbs before setting out to check out the rather ominous looking climbs in wait for us tomorrow. The waitress at lunch had done nothing to dispel CK’s apprehension following his leg collapse the previous day by saying “Dartmoor’s a picnic compared to Helmsdale”.
After saving his new ring for Drumnadrochit CK had been somewhat disappointed indeed pained in his use of this virgin ring. “Maybe the second time will be more comfortable” came the soothing words from Mrs W. “It normally is”she added.
Although daunting in the extent of the climb it looks manageable on fresh legs (and rocket fuel which has now been added to the Band B breakfast request).
So we then set out to be tourists visting Badbea, a now deserted settlement for displaced families in the 19thC. It looked beautiful today belying the rude existence which would have been its occupants lives.
We then went for a Wingrove “drive” with CK at the wheel. Heeding MW’s understated advice ” now this maybe a bit of back road”, this was undertaken with some caution. 6 groundings later I can confirm he was right. Mrs W chats throughout to her mum, brother, son, daughter Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.
Brora is full of golfers this week so we are in different Band B’s tonight. If theirs is better than mine, they must be at the Ritz.

Probably the last blog until we’ve finished; thanks again for your company and a big thank you to Mr and Mrs W for putting up with me.

Day 8

After the absence of hot water-never properly resolved, we apprehensively ventured down for supper but were pleasantly surprised by the fare. One novelty hotel policy was that they did not use the restaurant until all the bar tables are utilised. So it was a cosy affair with seemingly us the only Brits in the hotel which was overrun with a coach party from Germany. Breakfast was not available til 8, and so it was with some trepidation that we descended to the now operational dining room expecting to find the Germans typically there in front. They were indeed very punctual but for once the Brits were more so.
That was the good news at the start of the day. One look outside had confirmed that our faithfulbut unwelcome companion was still with us.MW opined that we needed a xxxxing boat not a bike and paddles not pedals.
So what should have been a spectacular ride down through Glencoe and then on to Fort William was ruined by constant rain and spray from th increasingly discourteous traffic. Leaving Fort William we knew we had Ben Nevis on our right but might as well have been in Thetford Forest-all we could see was the edge of pine plantations.
The afternoon weather was no better and CK was starting to feel his legs but was hoping for a 3rd 100 in a row so soldiered on as we swept along the shore of Loch Ness. There was no need for Nessie to appear to scare the tourists-2 50+ers rainsoaked and bedraggled in lycra more than did the job.
MW had his sights set on a brutal climb just outside Drumadrochit (check spelling) after turning off the main Inverness road and very impressively completed the 3/4 mile climb with a constant gradient of 15% in one go; suffice to say that CK didn’t-almost crawling up at some points.
Deapite relatively benign conditions from there on we did not quite make the hundred as any power in CK’s legs had gone at 96.
Still only 130ish to go.
Hypothetically we are pretty sure we could have completed this in 9 days but sadly we had to miss 3 hours on Thursday. In any event the Wingrove welcoming party do not arrive until Wednesday pm so we will just have to hold on til then.

Day 7

The day started with a sight as rare on this trip as Halley’s comet-a golden disk in the sky which appeared to project a warm glow.
This sparked a crisis in the choice of wardrobe for the day and CK took the huge gamble of pedalling off without his waterproof-MW had spent a fortune on a Goretex version which rolled up into the size of a thimble so was able to stow his in his back pocket.
The gamble paid off and the intrepid duo covered 60 miles in the morning enjoying a run along the seashore through Largs before catching a passenger ferry from Gourock to Kilcreggan a distance of 1 mile. From there we cycled along Gare Loch shore before crossing over to hug the shoreline of Loch Long on a mini rollercoaster run before lunching at Arrochar.
As we refuelled with carbs there was a predictable deterioration in the sky and we set off in miserably wet conditions which would persist all afternoon, CK having been reunited with his waterproof.
Despite having booked our overnight stay at Crianlarich the Iron Man had set his sights on another 100 miler so we flashed past the hotel and continued onwards and upwards towards Glencoe finishing just below the Ski Centre.101 in the day.
Is this really the end of May-there’s still snow on the top and the temperature where we finished was 10 degrees-with windchill decidely chilly. So we packed the bikes into the car and looked forward to our hot baths-unlucky no hot water and the helpful receptionist constructively pointed out that you can’t get a plumber on Sundays. Oh yes and no breakfast til8 am- 2 not very happy bunnies.
The only consolation of the day for CK is that, despite some tough climbs, his new cog (henceforth known as his new ring)remains virgin. It is being saved for tougher challenges ahead.
It will be needed tomorrow, I fear as we head up Loch Ness.
MW continues to be on fire up the hills-truly the King of the Mountains.

Day 6-evening

Supper on day 6 was an illuminating experience with some interesting local interpretations of what we thought were standard dishes-garlic bread using lovingly aged french stick with just a glimpse of margarine and most curiously no garlic.
Mrs W had the courage to question the authenticity of the recipe and was comforted to be told that another serving would be prepared at no charge.
The delay could only indicate that this time the real McCoy would be provided; so there was some unhappiness when the same aged baguette was used as the base for garlic puree spread thickly to disguise the lack of butter.
The poor barman/waiter was reassured that it was not his fault but was then given a cooking lesson from Mrs W. He skuttled off and we were then entertained by the heavily tattooed chef with a Basil Fawltyesque apology which resulted in the entire slate for the evening’s meal being wiped clean.